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-<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Marion Fay, by Anthony Trollope</title>
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-<body>
-<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30100 ***</div>
-<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Marion Fay, by Anthony Trollope</h1>
-<p> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>Links to Volumes</h3>
-<div class="center">
-<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="1">
-<tr><td><a href="#v1">VOLUME I.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td><a href="#v2">VOLUME II.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td><a href="#v3">VOLUME III.</a></td></tr>
-</table>
-</div>
-<hr class="full" />
-<p><a name="v1" id="v1"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<p> </p>
-
-<h1 class="title">MARION FAY.</h1>
-
-<h3>A Novel.</h3>
-<p> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h4>BY</h4>
-
-<h2>ANTHONY TROLLOPE,</h2>
-
-<h4>AUTHOR OF<br />
-<br />
-"FRAMLEY PARSONAGE," "ORLEY FARM," "THE WAY WE<br />
-<br />
-LIVE NOW," ETC., ETC.</h4>
-<p> </p>
-<p> </p>
-
-<h3><i>IN THREE VOLUMES.</i></h3>
-
-<h2>VOL. I.</h2>
-<p> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<p> </p>
-
-<h4>London:<br />
-CHAPMAN & HALL, <span class="smallcaps">Limited</span>,
-11, HENRIETTA ST.<br />
-1882.</h4>
-
-<h5><i>[All Rights reserved.]</i></h5>
-
-<p> </p>
-<hr class="narrow" />
-<p> </p>
-
-<h5>Bungay:</h5>
-
-<h6>CLAY AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS.</h6>
-
-<p> </p>
-<hr class="narrow" />
-<p> </p>
-<p> </p>
-
-<h3>CONTENTS OF VOLUME I.<br /> </h3>
-
-<div class="center">
-<table class="sm" style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="3">
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">I. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-1" >THE MARQUIS OF KINGSBURY.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">II. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-2" >LORD HAMPSTEAD.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">III. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-3" >THE MARCHIONESS.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">IV. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-4" >LADY FRANCES.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">V. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-5" >MRS. RODEN.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">VI. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-6" >PARADISE ROW.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">VII. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-7" >THE POST OFFICE.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">VIII. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-8" >MR. GREENWOOD.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">IX. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-9" >AT KÖNIGSGRAAF.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">X. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-10" >"NOBLESSE OBLIGE."</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XI. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-11" >LADY PERSIFLAGE.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XII. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-12" >CASTLE HAUTBOY.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XIII. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-13" >THE BRAESIDE HARRIERS.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XIV. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-14" >COMING HOME FROM HUNTING.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XV. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-15" >MARION FAY AND HER FATHER.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XVI. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-16" >THE WALK BACK TO HENDON.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XVII. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-17" >LORD HAMPSTEAD'S SCHEME.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XVIII. </td><td align="left"><a href="#c1-18" >HOW THEY LIVED AT TRAFFORD PARK.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XIX. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-19" >LADY AMALDINA'S LOVER.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XX. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-20" >THE SCHEME IS SUCCESSFUL.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XXI. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-21" >WHAT THEY ALL THOUGHT AS THEY WENT HOME.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XXII. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-22" >AGAIN AT TRAFFORD.</a></td></tr>
-</table>
-</div>
-
-<p> </p>
-<hr class="narrow" />
-
-<p><a name="c1-1" id="c1-1"></a> </p>
-<h1>MARION FAY.</h1>
-<p> </p>
-<hr class="narrow" />
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER I.</h3>
-<h4>THE MARQUIS OF KINGSBURY.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>When Mr. Lionel Trafford went into Parliament for the Borough of
-Wednesbury as an advanced Radical, it nearly broke the heart of his
-uncle, the old Marquis of Kingsbury. Among Tories of his day the
-Marquis had been hyper-Tory,—as were his friends, the Duke of
-Newcastle, who thought that a man should be allowed to do what he
-liked with his own, and the Marquis of Londonderry, who, when some
-such falling-off in the family politics came near him, spoke with
-indignation of the family treasure which had been expended in
-defending the family seat. Wednesbury had never been the Marquis's
-own; but his nephew was so in a peculiar sense. His nephew was
-necessarily his heir,—the future Marquis,—and the old Marquis never
-again, politically, held up his head. He was an old man when this
-occurred, and luckily for him he did not live to see the worse things
-which came afterwards.</p>
-
-<p>The Member for Wednesbury became Marquis and owner of the large
-family property, but still he kept his politics. He was a Radical
-Marquis, wedded to all popular measures, not ashamed of his Charter
-days, and still clamorous for further Parliamentary reform, although
-it was regularly noted in Dod that the Marquis of Kingsbury was
-supposed to have strong influence in the Borough of Edgeware. It was
-so strong that both he and his uncle had put in whom they pleased.
-His uncle had declined to put him in because of his renegade
-theories, but he revenged himself by giving the seat to a
-glib-mouthed tailor, who, to tell the truth, had not done much credit
-to his choice.</p>
-
-<p>But it came to pass that the shade of his uncle was avenged, if it
-can be supposed that such feelings will affect the eternal rest of a
-dead Marquis. There grew up a young Lord Hampstead, the son and heir
-of the Radical Marquis, promising in intelligence and satisfactory in
-externals, but very difficult to deal with as to the use of his
-thoughts. They could not keep him at Harrow or at Oxford, because he
-not only rejected, but would talk openly against, Christian
-doctrines; a religious boy, but determined not to believe in revealed
-mysteries. And at twenty-one he declared himself a
-Republican,—explaining thereby that he disapproved altogether of
-hereditary honours. He was quite as bad to this Marquis as had been
-this Marquis to the other. The tailor kept his seat because Lord
-Hampstead would not even condescend to sit for the family borough. He
-explained to his father that he had doubts about a Parliament of
-which one section was hereditary, but was sure that at present he was
-too young for it. There must surely have been gratification in this
-to the shade of the departed Marquis.</p>
-
-<p>But there was worse than this,—infinitely worse. Lord Hampstead
-formed a close friendship with a young man, five years older than
-himself, who was but a clerk in the Post Office. In George Roden, as
-a man and a companion, there was no special fault to be found. There
-may be those who think that a Marquis's heir should look for his most
-intimate friend in a somewhat higher scale of social rank, and that
-he would more probably serve the purposes of his future life by
-associating with his equals;—that like to like in friendship is
-advantageous. The Marquis, his father, certainly thought so in spite
-of his Radicalism. But he might have been pardoned on the score of
-Roden's general good gifts,—might have been pardoned even though it
-were true, as supposed, that to Roden's strong convictions Lord
-Hampstead owed much of the ultra virus of his political
-convictions,—might have been pardoned had not there been worse
-again. At Hendon Hall, the Marquis's lovely suburban seat, the Post
-Office clerk was made acquainted with Lady Frances Trafford, and they
-became lovers.</p>
-
-<p>The radicalism of a Marquis is apt to be tainted by special
-considerations in regard to his own family. This Marquis, though he
-had his exoteric politics, had his esoteric feelings. With him,
-Liberal as he was, his own blood possessed a peculiar ichor. Though
-it might be well that men in the mass should be as nearly equal as
-possible, yet, looking at the state of possibilities and realities as
-existent, it was clear to him that a Marquis of Kingsbury had been
-placed on a pedestal. It might be that the state of things was matter
-for regret. In his grander moments he was certain that it was so. Why
-should there be a ploughboy unable to open his mouth because of his
-infirmity, and a Marquis with his own voice very resonant in the
-House of Lords, and a deputy voice dependent on him in the House of
-Commons? He had said so very frequently before his son, not knowing
-then what might be the effect of his own teaching. There had been a
-certain pride in his heart as he taught these lessons, wrong though
-it might be that there should be a Marquis and a ploughboy so far
-reversed by the injustice of Fate. There had been a comfort to him in
-feeling that Fate had made him the Marquis, and had made some one
-else the ploughboy. He knew what it was to be a Marquis down to the
-last inch of aristocratic admeasurement. He would fain that his
-children should have understood this also. But his lesson had gone
-deeper than he had intended, and great grief had come of it.</p>
-
-<p>The Marquis had been first married to a lady altogether unconnected
-with noble blood, but whose father had held a position of remarkable
-ascendancy in the House of Commons. He had never been a Cabinet
-Minister, because he had persisted in thinking that he could better
-serve his country by independence. He had been possessed of wealth,
-and had filled a great place in the social world. In marrying the
-only daughter of this gentleman the Marquis of Kingsbury had indulged
-his peculiar taste in regard to Liberalism, and was at the same time
-held not to have derogated from his rank. She had been a woman of
-great beauty and of many intellectual gifts,—thoroughly imbued with
-her father's views, but altogether free from feminine pedantry and
-that ambition which begrudges to men the rewards of male labour. Had
-she lived, Lady Frances might probably not have fallen in with the
-Post Office clerk; nevertheless, had she lived, she would have known
-the Post Office clerk to be a worthy gentleman.</p>
-
-<p>But she had died when her son was about sixteen and her daughter no
-more than fifteen. Two years afterwards our Marquis had gone among
-the dukes, and had found for himself another wife. Perhaps the
-freshness and edge of his political convictions had been blunted by
-that gradual sinking down among the great peers in general which was
-natural to his advanced years. A man who has spouted at twenty-five
-becomes tired of spouting at fifty, if nothing special has come from
-his spouting. He had been glad when he married Lady Clara Mountressor
-to think that circumstances as they had occurred at the last election
-would not make it necessary for him to deliver up the borough to the
-tailor on any further occasion. The tailor had been drunk at the
-hustings, and he ventured to hope that before six months were over
-Lord Hampstead would have so far rectified his frontiers as to be
-able to take a seat in the House of Commons.</p>
-
-<p>Then very quickly there were born three little flaxen-haired
-boys,—who became at least flaxen-haired as they emerged from their
-cradles,—Lord Frederic, Lord Augustus, and Lord Gregory. That they
-must be brought up with ideas becoming the scions of a noble House
-there could be no doubt. Their mother was every inch a duke's
-daughter. But, alas, not one of them was likely to become Marquis of
-Kingsbury. Though born so absolutely in the purple they were but
-younger sons. This was a silent sorrow;—but when their half sister
-Lady Frances told their mother openly that she had plighted her troth
-to the Post Office clerk, that was a sorrow which did not admit of
-silence.</p>
-
-<p>When Lord Hampstead had asked permission to bring his friend to the
-house there seemed to be no valid reason for refusing him. Low as he
-had descended amidst the depths of disreputable opinion, it was not
-supposed that even he would countenance anything so horrible as this.
-And was there not ground for security in the reticence and dignity of
-Lady Frances herself? The idea never presented itself to the
-Marchioness. When she heard that the Post Office clerk was coming she
-was naturally disgusted. All Lord Hampstead's ideas, doings, and ways
-were disgusting to her. She was a woman full of high-bred courtesy,
-and had always been gracious to her son-in-law's friends,—but it had
-been with a cold grace. Her heart rejected them thoroughly,—as she
-did him, and, to tell the truth, Lady Frances also. Lady Frances had
-all her mother's dignity, all her mother's tranquil manner, but
-something more than her mother's advanced opinions. She, too, had her
-ideas that the world should gradually be taught to dispense with the
-distances which separate the dukes and the ploughboys,—gradually,
-but still with a progressive motion, always tending in that
-direction. This to her stepmother was disgusting.</p>
-
-<p>The Post Office clerk had never before been received at Hendon Hall,
-though he had been introduced in London by Lord Hampstead to his
-sister. The Post Office clerk had indeed abstained from coming,
-having urged his own feelings with his friend as to certain
-unfitnesses. "A Marquis is as absurd to me as to you," he had said to
-Lord Hampstead, "but while there are Marquises they should be
-indulged,—particularly Marchionesses. An over-delicate skin is a
-nuisance; but if skins have been so trained as not to bear the free
-air, veils must be allowed for their protection. The object should be
-to train the skin, not to punish it abruptly. An unfortunate Sybarite
-Marchioness ought to have her rose leaves. Now I am not a rose leaf."
-And so he had stayed away.</p>
-
-<p>But the argument had been carried on between the friends, and the
-noble heir had at last prevailed. George Roden was not a rose leaf,
-but he was found at Hendon to have flowers of beautiful hues and with
-a sweet scent. Had he not been known to be a Post Office
-clerk,—could the Marchioness have been allowed to judge of him
-simply from his personal appearance,—he might have been taken to be
-as fine a rose leaf as any. He was a tall, fair, strongly-built young
-man, with short light hair, pleasant grey eyes, an aquiline nose, and
-small mouth. In his gait and form and face nothing was discernibly
-more appropriate to Post Office clerks than to the nobility at large.
-But he was a clerk, and he himself, as he himself declared, knew
-nothing of his own family,—remembered no relation but his mother.</p>
-
-<p>It had come to pass that the house at Hendon had become specially the
-residence of Lord Hampstead, who would neither have lodgings of his
-own in London or make part of the family when it occupied Kingsbury
-House in Park Lane. He would sometimes go abroad, would sometimes
-appear for a week or two at Trafford Park, the grand seat in
-Yorkshire. But he preferred the place, half town half country, in the
-neighbourhood of London, and here George Roden came frequently
-backwards and forwards after the ice had been broken by a first
-visit. Sometimes the Marquis would be there, and with him his
-daughter,—rarely the Marchioness. Then came the time when Lady
-Frances declared boldly to her stepmother that she had pledged her
-troth to the Post Office clerk. That happened in June, when
-Parliament was sitting, and when the flowers at Hendon were at their
-best. The Marchioness came there for a day or two, and the Post
-Office clerk on that morning had left the house for his office work,
-not purposing to come back. Some words had been said which had caused
-annoyance, and he did not intend to return. When he had been gone
-about an hour Lady Frances revealed the truth.</p>
-
-<p>Her brother at that time was two-and-twenty. She was a year younger.
-The clerk might perhaps be six years older than the young lady. Had
-he only been the eldest son of a Marquis, or Earl, or Viscount; had
-he been but an embryo Baron, he might have done very well. He was a
-well-spoken youth, yet with a certain modesty, such a one as might
-easily take the eye of a wished-for though ever so noble a
-mother-in-law. The little lords had learned to play with him, and it
-had come about that he was at his ease in the house. The very
-servants had seemed to forget that he was no more than a clerk, and
-that he went off by railway into town every morning that he might
-earn ten shillings by sitting for six hours at his desk. Even the
-Marchioness had almost trained herself to like him,—as one of those
-excrescences which are sometimes to be found in noble families, some
-governess, some chaplain or private secretary, whom chance or merit
-has elevated in the house, and who thus becomes a trusted friend.
-Then by chance she heard the name "Frances" without the prefix
-"Lady," and said a word in haughty anger. The Post Office clerk
-packed up his portmanteau, and Lady Frances told her story.</p>
-
-<p>Lord Hampstead's name was John. He was the Honourable John Trafford,
-called by courtesy Earl of Hampstead. To the world at large he was
-Lord Hampstead,—to his friends in general he was Hampstead; to his
-stepmother he was especially Hampstead,—as would have been her own
-eldest son the moment he was born had he been born to such good luck.
-To his father he had become Hampstead lately. In early days there had
-been some secret family agreement that in spite of conventionalities
-he should be John among them. The Marquis had latterly suggested that
-increasing years made this foolish; but the son himself attributed
-the change to step-maternal influences. But still he was John to his
-sister, and John to some half-dozen sympathising friends,—and among
-others to the Post Office clerk.</p>
-
-<p>"He has not said a word to me," the sister replied when she was taxed
-by her brother with seeming partiality for their young visitor.</p>
-
-<p>"But he will?"</p>
-
-<p>"No girl will ever admit as much as that, John."</p>
-
-<p>"But if he should?"</p>
-
-<p>"No girl will have an answer ready for such a suggestion."</p>
-
-<p>"I know he will."</p>
-
-<p>"If so, and if you have wishes to express, you should speak to him."</p>
-
-<p>All this made the matter quite clear to her brother. A girl such as
-was his sister would not so receive a brother's notice as to a
-proposed overture of love from a Post Office clerk, unless she had
-brought herself to look at the possibility without abhorrence.</p>
-
-<p>"Would it go against the grain with you, John?" This was what the
-clerk said when he was interrogated by his friend.</p>
-
-<p>"There would be difficulties."</p>
-
-<p>"Very great difficulties,—difficulties even with you."</p>
-
-<p>"I did not say so."</p>
-
-<p>"They would come naturally. The last thing that a man can abandon of
-his social idolatries is the sanctity of the women belonging to him."</p>
-
-<p>"God forbid that I should give up anything of the sanctity of my
-sister."</p>
-
-<p>"No; but the idolatry attached to it! It is as well that even a
-nobleman's daughter should be married if she can find a nobleman or
-such like to her taste. There is no breach of sanctity in the
-love,—but so great a wound to the idolatry in the man! Things have
-not changed so quickly that even you should be free from the feeling.
-Three hundred years ago, if the man could not be despatched out of
-the country or to the other world, the girl at least would be locked
-up. Three hundred years hence the girl and the man will stand
-together on their own merits. Just in this period of transition it is
-very hard for such a one as you to free himself altogether from the
-old trammels."</p>
-
-<p>"I make the endeavour."</p>
-
-<p>"Most bravely. But, my dear fellow, let this individual thing stand
-separately, away from politics and abstract ideas. I mean to ask your
-sister whether I can have her heart, and, as far as her will goes,
-her hand. If you are displeased I suppose we shall have to part,—for
-a time. Let theories run ever so high, Love will be stronger than
-them all." Lord Hampstead at this moment gave no assurance of his
-good will; but when it came to pass that his sister had given her
-assurance, then he ranged himself on the side of his friend the
-clerk.</p>
-
-<p>So it came to pass that there was great trouble in the household of
-the Marquis of Kingsbury. The family went abroad before the end of
-July, on account of the health of the children. So said the <i>Morning
-Post</i>. Anxious friends inquired in vain what could have befallen
-those flaxen-haired young Herculeses. Why was it necessary that they
-should be taken to the Saxon Alps when the beauties and comforts of
-Trafford Park were so much nearer and so superior? Lady Frances was
-taken with them, and there were one or two noble intimates among the
-world of fashion who heard some passing whispers of the truth. When
-passing whispers creep into the world of fashion they are heard far
-and wide.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c1-2" id="c1-2"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER II.</h3>
-<h4>LORD HAMPSTEAD.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>Lord Hampstead, though he would not go into Parliament or belong to
-any London Club, or walk about the streets with a chimney-pot hat, or
-perform any of his public functions as a young nobleman should do,
-had, nevertheless, his own amusements and his own extravagances. In
-the matter of money he was placed outside his father's
-liberality,—who was himself inclined to be liberal enough,—by the
-fact that he had inherited a considerable portion of his maternal
-grandfather's fortune. It might almost be said truly of him that
-money was no object to him. It was not that he did not often talk
-about money and think about money. He was very prone to do so, saying
-that money was the most important factor in the world's justices and
-injustices. But he was so fortunately circumstanced as to be able to
-leave money out of his own personal consideration, never being driven
-by the want of it to deny himself anything, or tempted by a
-superabundance to expenditure which did not otherwise approve itself
-to him. To give 10<i>s.</i> or 20<i>s.</i> a
-bottle for wine because somebody
-pretended that it was very fine, or £300 for a horse when one at a
-£100 would do his work for him, was altogether below his philosophy.
-By his father's lodge gate there ran an omnibus up to town which he
-would often use, saying that an omnibus with company was better than
-a private carriage with none. He was wont to be angry with himself in
-that he employed a fashionable tailor, declaring that he incurred
-unnecessary expense merely to save himself the trouble of going
-elsewhere. In this, however, it may be thought that there was
-something of pretence, as he was no doubt conscious of good looks,
-and aware probably that a skilful tailor might add a grace.</p>
-
-<p>In his amusements he affected two which are especially expensive. He
-kept a yacht, in which he was accustomed to absent himself in the
-summer and autumn, and he had a small hunting establishment in
-Northamptonshire. Of the former little need be said here, as he spent
-his time on board much alone, or with friends with whom we need not
-follow him; but it may be said that everything about the <i>Free
-Trader</i> was done well,—for such was the name of the vessel. Though
-he did not pay 10<i>s.</i> a bottle for his wine, he paid the best price
-for sails and cordage, and hired a competent skipper to look after
-himself and his boat. His hunting was done very much in the same
-way,—unless it be that in his yachting he was given to be tranquil,
-and in his hunting he was very fond of hard riding. At Gorse Hall, as
-his cottage was called, he had all comforts, we may perhaps say much
-of luxury, around him. It was indeed hardly more than a cottage,
-having been an old farm-house, and lately converted to its present
-purpose. There were no noble surroundings, no stately hall, no marble
-staircases, no costly salon. You entered by a passage which deserved
-no auguster name, on the right of which was the dining-room; on the
-left a larger chamber, always called the drawing-room because of the
-fashion of the name. Beyond that was a smaller retreat in which the
-owner kept his books. Leading up from the end of the passage there
-was a steep staircase, a remnant of the old farm-house, and above
-them five bed-rooms, so that his lordship was limited to the number
-of four guests. Behind this was the kitchen and the servants'
-rooms—sufficient, but not more than sufficient, for such a house.
-Here our young democrat kept half-a-dozen horses, all of them—as men
-around were used to declare—fit to go, although they were said to
-have been bought at not more than £100 each. It was supposed to be a
-crotchet on the part of Lord Hampstead to assert that cheap things
-were as good as dear, and there were some who believed that he did in
-truth care as much for his horses as other people. It was certainly a
-fact that he never would have but one out in a day, and he was wont
-to declare that Smith took out his second horse chiefly that Jones
-might know that he did so. Down here, at Gorse Hall, the Post Office
-clerk had often been received as a visitor,—but not at Gorse Hall
-had he ever seen Lady Frances.</p>
-
-<p>This lord had peculiar ideas about hunting, in reference to sport in
-general. It was supposed of him, and supposed truly, that no young
-man in England was more devotedly attached to fox-hunting than
-he,—and that in want of a fox he would ride after a stag, and in
-want of a stag after a drag. If everything else failed he would go
-home across the country, any friend accompanying him, or else alone.
-Nevertheless, he entertained a vehement hostility against all other
-sports.</p>
-
-<p>Of racing he declared that it had become simply a way of making
-money, and of all ways the least profitable to the world and the most
-disreputable. He was never seen on a racecourse. But his enemies
-declared of him, that though he loved riding he was no judge of an
-animal's pace, and that he was afraid to bet lest he should lose his
-money.</p>
-
-<p>Against shooting he was still louder. If there was in his country any
-tradition, any custom, any law hateful to him, it was such as had
-reference to the preservation of game. The preservation of a fox, he
-said, stood on a perfectly different basis. The fox was not preserved
-by law, and when preserved was used for the advantage of all who
-chose to be present at the amusement. One man in one day would shoot
-fifty pheasants which had eaten up the food of half-a-dozen human
-beings. One fox afforded in one day amusement to two hundred
-sportsmen, and was—or more generally was not—killed during the
-performance. And the fox during his beneficial life had eaten no
-corn, nor for the most part geese,—but chiefly rats and such like.
-What infinitesimal sum had the fox cost the country for every man who
-rushed after him? Then, what had been the cost of all those pheasants
-which one shooting cormorant crammed into his huge bag during one
-day's greedy sport?</p>
-
-<p>But it was the public nature of the one amusement and the thoroughly
-private nature of the other which chiefly affected him. In the
-hunting-field the farmer's son, if he had a pony, or the butcher-boy
-out of the town, could come and take his part; and if the butcher-boy
-could go ahead and keep his place while the man with a red coat and
-pink boots and with two horses fell behind, the butcher-boy would
-have the best of it, and incur the displeasure of no one. And the
-laws, too, by which hunting is governed, if there be laws, are
-thoroughly democratic in their nature. They are not, he said, made by
-any Parliament, but are simply assented to on behalf of the common
-need. It was simply in compliance with opinion that the lands of all
-men are open to be ridden over by the men of the hunt. In compliance
-with opinion foxes are preserved. In compliance with opinion coverts
-are drawn by this or the other pack of hounds. The Legislature had
-not stepped in to defile the statute book by bye-laws made in favour
-of the amusements of the rich. If injury were done, the ordinary laws
-of the country were open to the injured party. Anything in hunting
-that had grown to be beyond the reach of the law had become so by the
-force of popular opinion.</p>
-
-<p>All of this was reversed in shooting, from any participation in which
-the poor were debarred by enactments made solely on behalf of the
-rich. Four or five men in a couple of days would offer up hecatombs
-of slaughtered animals, in doing which they could only justify
-themselves by the fact that they were acting as poultry-butchers for
-the supply of the markets of the country. There was no excitement in
-it,—simply the firing off of many guns with a rapidity which
-altogether prevents that competition which is essential to the
-enjoyment of sport. Then our noble Republican would quote
-Teufelsdröckh and the memorable epitaph of the partridge-slayer. But
-it was on the popular and unpopular elements of the two sports that
-he would most strongly dilate, and on the iniquity of the game-laws
-as applying to the more aristocratic of the two. It was, however,
-asserted by the sporting world at large that Hampstead could not hit
-a haystack.</p>
-
-<p>As to fishing, he was almost equally violent, grounding his objection
-on the tedium and cruelty incident to the pursuit. The first was only
-a matter of taste, he would allow. If a man could content himself and
-be happy with an average of one fish to every three days' fishing,
-that was the man's affair. He could only think that in such case the
-man himself must be as cold-blooded as the fish which he so seldom
-succeeded in catching. As to the cruelty, he thought there could be
-no doubt. When he heard that bishops and ladies delighted themselves
-in hauling an unfortunate animal about by the gills for more than an
-hour at a stretch, he was inclined to regret the past piety of the
-Church and the past tenderness of the sex. When he spoke in this way
-the cruelty of fox-hunting was of course thrown in his teeth. Did not
-the poor hunted quadrupeds, when followed hither and thither by a
-pack of fox-hounds, endure torments as sharp and as prolonged as
-those inflicted on the fish? In answer to this Lord Hampstead was
-eloquent and argumentative. As far as we could judge from Nature the
-condition of the two animals during the process was very different.
-The salmon with the hook in its throat was in a position certainly
-not intended by Nature. The fox, using all its gifts to avoid an
-enemy, was employed exactly as Nature had enjoined. It would be as
-just to compare a human being impaled alive on a stake with another
-overburdened with his world's task. The overburdened man might
-stumble and fall, and so perish. Things would have been hard to him.
-But not, therefore, could you compare his sufferings with the
-excruciating agonies of the poor wretch who had been left to linger
-and starve with an iron rod through his vitals. This argument was
-thought to be crafty rather than cunning by those who were fond of
-fishing. But he had another on which, when he had blown off the steam
-of his eloquence by his sensational description of a salmon impaled
-by a bishop, he could depend with greater confidence. He would
-grant,—for the moment, though he was by no means sure of the
-fact,—but for the moment he would grant that the fox did not enjoy
-the hunt. Let it be acknowledged—for the sake of the argument—that
-he was tortured by the hounds rather than elated by the triumphant
-success of his own manœuvres. Lord Hampstead "ventured to
-say,"—this he would put forward in the rationalistic tone with which
-he was wont to prove the absurdity of hereditary honours,—"that in
-the infliction of all pain the question as to cruelty or no cruelty
-was one of relative value." Was it "tanti?" Who can doubt that for a
-certain maximum of good a certain minimum of suffering may be
-inflicted without slur to humanity? In hunting, one fox was made to
-finish his triumphant career, perhaps prematurely, for the advantage
-of two hundred sportsmen. "Ah, but only for their amusement!" would
-interpose some humanitarian averse equally to fishing and to hunting.
-Then his lordship would arise indignantly and would ask his opponent,
-whether what he called amusement was not as beneficial, as essential,
-as necessary to the world as even such material good things as bread
-and meat. Was poetry less valuable than the multiplication table? Man
-could exist no doubt without fox-hunting. So he could without butter,
-without wine, or other so-called necessaries;—without ermine
-tippets, for instance, the original God-invested wearer of which had
-been doomed to lingering starvation and death when trapped amidst the
-snow, in order that one lady might be made fine by the agonies of a
-dozen little furry sufferers. It was all a case of "tanti," he said,
-and he said that the fox who had saved himself half-a-dozen times and
-then died nobly on behalf of those who had been instrumental in
-preserving an existence for him, ought not to complain of the lot
-which Fate had provided for him among the animals of the earth. It
-was said, however, in reference to this comparison between fishing
-and fox-hunting, that Lord Hampstead was altogether deficient in that
-skill and patience which is necessary for the landing of a salmon.</p>
-
-<p>But men, though they laughed at him, still they liked him. He was
-good-humoured and kindly-hearted. He was liberal in more than his
-politics. He had, too, a knack of laughing at himself, and his own
-peculiarities, which went far to redeem them. That a young Earl, an
-embryo Marquis, the heir of such a house as that of Trafford, should
-preach a political doctrine which those who heard ignorantly called
-Communistic, was very dreadful; but the horror of it was mitigated
-when he declared that no doubt as he got old he should turn Tory like
-any other Radical. In this there seemed to be a covert allusion to
-his father. And then they could perceive that his "Communistic"
-principles did not prevent him from having a good eye to the value of
-land. He knew what he was about, as an owner of property should do,
-and certainly rode to hounds as well as any one of the boys of the
-period.</p>
-
-<p>When the idea first presented itself to him that his sister was on
-the way to fall in love with George Roden, it has to be acknowledged
-that he was displeased. It had not occurred to him that this peculiar
-breach would be made on the protected sanctity of his own family.
-When Roden had spoken to him of this sanctity as one of the "social
-idolatries," he had not quite been able to contradict him. He had
-wished to do so both in defence of his own consistency, and also, if
-it were possible, so as to maintain the sanctity. The "divinity"
-which "does hedge a king," had been to him no more than a social
-idolatry. The special respect in which dukes and such like were held
-was the same. The judge's ermine and the bishop's apron were
-idolatries. Any outward honour, not earned by the deeds or words of
-him so honoured, but coming from birth, wealth, or from the doings of
-another, was an idolatry. Carrying on his arguments, he could not
-admit the same thing in reference to his sister;—or rather, he would
-have to admit it if he could not make another plea in defence of the
-sanctity. His sister was very holy to him;—but that should be
-because of her nearness to him, because of her sweetness, because of
-her own gifts, because as her brother he was bound to be her especial
-knight till she should have chosen some other special knight for
-herself. But it should not be because she was the daughter,
-granddaughter, and great-granddaughter of dukes and marquises. It
-should not be because she was Lady Frances Trafford. Had he himself
-been a Post Office clerk, then would not this chosen friend have been
-fit to love her? There were unfitnesses, no doubt, very common in
-this world, which should make the very idea of love impossible to a
-woman,—unfitness of character, of habits, of feelings, of education,
-unfitnesses as to inward personal nobility. He could not say that
-there were any such which ought to separate his sister and his
-friend. If it was to be that this sweet sister should some day give
-her heart to a lover, why not to George Roden as well as to another?
-There were no such unfitnesses as those of which he would have
-thought in dealing with the lives of some other girl and some other
-young man.</p>
-
-<p>And yet he was, if not displeased, at any rate dissatisfied. There
-was something which grated against either his taste, or his
-judgment,—or perhaps his prejudices. He endeavoured to inquire into
-himself fairly on this matter, and feared that he was yet the victim
-of the prejudices of his order. He was wounded in his pride to think
-that his sister should make herself equal to a clerk in the Post
-Office. Though he had often endeavoured, only too successfully, to
-make her understand how little she had in truth received from her
-high birth, yet he felt that she had received something which should
-have made the proposal of such a marriage distasteful to her. A man
-cannot rid himself of a prejudice because he knows or believes it to
-be a prejudice. That the two, if they continued to wish it, must
-become man and wife he acknowledged to himself;—but he could not
-bring himself not to be sorry that it should be so.</p>
-
-<p>There were some words on the subject between himself and his father
-before the Marquis went abroad with his family, which, though they
-did not reconcile him to the match, lessened the dissatisfaction. His
-father was angry with him, throwing the blame of this untoward affair
-on his head, and he was always prone to resent censure thrown by any
-of his family on his own peculiar tenets. Thus it came to pass that
-in defending himself he was driven to defend his sister also. The
-Marquis had not been at Hendon when the revelation was first made,
-but had heard it in the course of the day from his wife. His Radical
-tendencies had done very little towards reconciling him to such a
-proposal. He had never brought his theories home into his own
-personalities. To be a Radical peer in the House of Lords, and to
-have sent a Radical tailor to the House of Commons, had been enough,
-if not too much, to satisfy his own political ideas. To himself and
-to his valet, to all those immediately touching himself, he had
-always been the Marquis of Kingsbury. And so also, in his inner
-heart, the Marchioness was the Marchioness, and Lady Frances Lady
-Frances. He had never gone through any process of realizing his
-convictions as his son had done. "Hampstead," he said, "can this
-possibly be true what your mother has told me?" This took place at
-the house in Park Lane, to which the Marquis had summoned his son.</p>
-
-<p>"Do you mean about Frances and George Roden?"</p>
-
-<p>"Of course I mean that."</p>
-
-<p>"I supposed you did, sir. I imagined that when you sent for me it was
-in regard to them. No doubt it is true."</p>
-
-<p>"What is true? You speak as though you absolutely approved it."</p>
-
-<p>"Then my voice has belied me, for I disapprove of it."</p>
-
-<p>"You feel, I hope, how utterly impossible it is."</p>
-
-<p>"Not that."</p>
-
-<p>"Not that?"</p>
-
-<p>"I cannot say that I think it to be impossible,—or even improbable.
-Knowing the two, as I do, I feel the probability to be on their
-side."</p>
-
-<p>"That they—should be married?"</p>
-
-<p>"That is what they intend. I never knew either of them to mean
-anything which did not sooner or later get itself accomplished."</p>
-
-<p>"You'll have to learn it on this occasion. How on earth can it have
-been brought about?" Lord Hampstead shrugged his shoulders. "Somebody
-has been very much to blame."</p>
-
-<p>"You mean me, sir?"</p>
-
-<p>"Somebody has been very much to blame."</p>
-
-<p>"Of course, you mean me. I cannot take any blame in the matter. In
-introducing George Roden to you, and to my mother, and to Frances, I
-brought you to the knowledge of a highly-educated and extremely
-well-mannered young man."</p>
-
-<p>"Good God!"</p>
-
-<p>"I did to my friend what every young man, I suppose, does to his. I
-should be ashamed of myself to associate with any one who was not a
-proper guest for my father's table. One does not calculate before
-that a young man and a young woman shall fall in love with each
-other."</p>
-
-<p>"You see what has happened."</p>
-
-<p>"It was extremely natural, no doubt,—though I had not anticipated
-it. As I told you, I am very sorry. It will cause many heartburns,
-and some unhappiness."</p>
-
-<p>"Unhappiness! I should think so. I must go away,—in the middle of
-the Session."</p>
-
-<p>"It will be worse for her, poor girl."</p>
-
-<p>"It will be very bad for her," said the Marquis, speaking as though
-his mind were quite made up on that matter.</p>
-
-<p>"But nobody, as far as I can see, has done anything wrong," continued
-Lord Hampstead. "When two young people get together whose tastes are
-similar, and opinions,—whose educations and habits of thought have
-been the <span class="nowrap">same—"</span></p>
-
-<p>"Habits the same!"</p>
-
-<p>"Habits of thought, I said, sir."</p>
-
-<p>"You would talk the hind legs off a dog," said the Marquis, bouncing
-out of the room. It was not unusual with him, in the absolute privacy
-of his own circle, to revert to language which he would have felt to
-be unbecoming to him as Marquis of Kingsbury among ordinary people.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c1-3" id="c1-3"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER III.</h3>
-<h4>THE MARCHIONESS.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>Though the departure of the Marquis was much hurried, there were
-other meetings between Hampstead and the family before the flitting
-was actually made.</p>
-
-<p>"No doubt I will. I am quite with you there," the son said to the
-father, who had desired him to explain to the young man the
-impossibility of such a marriage. "I think it would be a misfortune
-to them both, which should be avoided,—if they can get over their
-present feelings."</p>
-
-<p>"Feelings!"</p>
-
-<p>"I suppose there are such feelings, sir?"</p>
-
-<p>"Of course he is looking for position—and money."</p>
-
-<p>"Not in the least. That might probably be the idea with some young
-nobleman who would wish to marry into his own class, and to improve
-his fortune at the same time. With such a one that would be fair
-enough. He would give and take. With George that would not be
-honest;—nor would such accusation be true. The position, as you call
-it, he would feel to be burdensome. As to money, he does not know
-whether Frances has a shilling or not."</p>
-
-<p>"Not a shilling,—unless I give it to her."</p>
-
-<p>"He would not think of such a matter."</p>
-
-<p>"Then he must be a very imprudent young man, and unfit to have a wife
-at all."</p>
-
-<p>"I cannot admit that,—but suppose he is?"</p>
-
-<p>"And yet you think—?"</p>
-
-<p>"I think, sir, that it is unfortunate. I have said so ever since I
-first heard it. I shall tell him exactly what I think. You will have
-Frances with you, and will of course express your own opinion."</p>
-
-<p>The Marquis was far from satisfied with his son, but did not dare to
-go on further with the argument. In all such discussions he was wont
-to feel that his son was "talking the hind legs off a dog." His own
-ideas on concrete points were clear enough to him,—as this present
-idea that his daughter, Lady Frances Trafford, would outrage all
-propriety, all fitness, all decency, if she were to give herself in
-marriage to George Roden, the Post Office clerk. But words were not
-plenty with him,—or, when plenty, not efficacious,—and he was prone
-to feel, when beaten in argument, that his opponent was taking an
-unfair advantage. Thus it was that he often thought, and sometimes
-said, that those who oppressed him with words would "talk the hind
-legs off a dog."</p>
-
-<p>The Marchioness also expressed her opinion to Hampstead. She was a
-lady stronger than her husband;—stronger in this, that she never
-allowed herself to be worsted in any encounter. If words would not
-serve her occasion at the moment, her countenance would do so,—and
-if not that, her absence. She could be very eloquent with silence,
-and strike an adversary dumb by the way in which she would leave a
-room. She was a tall, handsome woman, with a sublime gait.—"Vera
-incessu patuit Dea." She had heard, if not the words, then some
-translation of the words, and had taken them to heart, and borne them
-with her as her secret motto. To be every inch an aristocrat, in look
-as in thought, was the object of her life. That such was her highest
-duty was quite fixed in her mind. It had pleased God to make her a
-Marchioness,—and should she derogate from God's wish? It had been
-her one misfortune that God should not also have made her the mother
-of a future Marquis. Her face, though handsome, was quite impassive,
-showing nothing of her sorrows or her joys; and her voice was equally
-under control. No one had ever imagined, not even her husband, that
-she felt acutely that one blow of fortune. Though Hampstead's
-politics had been to her abominable, treasonable, blasphemous, she
-treated him with an extreme courtesy. If there were anything that he
-wished about the house she would have it done for him. She would
-endeavour to interest herself about his hunting. And she would pay
-him a great respect,—to him most onerous,—as being second in all
-things to the Marquis. Though a Republican blasphemous rebel,—so she
-thought of him,—he was second to the Marquis. She would fain have
-taught her little boys to respect him,—as the future head of the
-family,—had he not been so accustomed to romp with them, to pull
-them out of their little beds, and toss them about in their
-night-shirts, that they loved him much too well for respect. It was
-in vain that their mother strove to teach them to call him Hampstead.</p>
-
-<p>Lady Frances had never been specially in her way, but to Lady Frances
-the stepmother had been perhaps harder than to the stepson, of whose
-presence as an absolute block to her ambition she was well aware.
-Lady Frances had no claim to a respect higher than that which was due
-to her own children. Primogeniture had done nothing for her. She was
-a Marquis's daughter, but her mother had been only the offspring of a
-commoner. There was perhaps something of conscience in her feelings
-towards the two. As Lord Hampstead was undoubtedly in her way, it
-occurred to her to think that she should not on that account be
-inimical to him. Lady Frances was not in her way,—and therefore was
-open to depreciation and dislike without wounds to her conscience;
-and then, though Hampstead was abominable because of his
-Republicanism, his implied treason, and blasphemy, yet he was
-entitled to some excuse as being a man. These things were abominable
-no doubt in him, but more pardonably abominable than they would be in
-a woman. Lady Frances had never declared herself to be a Republican
-or a disbeliever, much less a rebel,—as, indeed, had neither Lord
-Hampstead. In the presence of her stepmother she was generally silent
-on matters of political or religious interest. But she was supposed
-to sympathise with her brother, and was known to be far from properly
-alive to aristocratic interests. There was never quarrelling between
-the two, but there was a lack of that friendship which may subsist
-between a stepmother of thirty-eight and a stepdaughter of
-twenty-one. Lady Frances was tall and slender, with quiet speaking
-features, dark in colour, with blue eyes, and hair nearly black. In
-appearance she was the very opposite of her stepmother, moving
-quickly and achieving grace as she did so, without a thought, by the
-natural beauty of her motions. The dignity was there, but without a
-thought given to it. Not even did the little lords, her brothers,
-chuck their books and toys about with less idea of demeanour. But the
-Marchioness never arranged a scarf or buttoned a glove without
-feeling that it was her duty to button her glove and arrange her
-scarf as became the Marchioness of Kingsbury.</p>
-
-<p>The stepmother wished no evil to Lady Frances,—only that she should
-be married properly and taken out of the way. Any stupid Earl or
-mercurial Viscount would have done, so long as the blood and the
-money had been there. Lady Frances had been felt to be dangerous, and
-the hope was that the danger might be got rid of by a proper
-marriage. But not by such a marriage as this!</p>
-
-<p>When that accidental calling of the name was first heard and the
-following avowal made, the Marchioness declared her immediate
-feelings by a look. It was so that Arthur may have looked when he
-first heard that his Queen was sinful,—so that Cæsar must have felt
-when even Brutus struck him. For though Lady Frances had been known
-to be blind to her own greatness, still this,—this at any rate was
-not suspected. "You cannot mean it!" the Marchioness had at last
-said.</p>
-
-<p>"I certainly mean it, mamma." Then the Marchioness, with one hand
-guarding her raiment, and with the other raised high above her
-shoulder, in an agony of supplication to those deities who arrange
-the fates of ducal houses, passed slowly out of the room. It was
-necessary that she should bethink herself before another word was
-spoken.</p>
-
-<p>For some time after that very few words passed between her and the
-sinner. A dead silence best befitted the occasion;—as, when a child
-soils her best frock, we put her in the corner with a scolding; but
-when she tells a fib we quell her little soul within her by a
-terrible quiescence. To be eloquently indignant without a word is
-within the compass of the thoughtfully stolid. It was thus that Lady
-Frances was at first treated by her stepmother. She was, however, at
-once taken up to London, subjected to the louder anger of her father,
-and made to prepare for the Saxon Alps. At first, indeed, her
-immediate destiny was not communicated to her. She was to be taken
-abroad;—and, in so taking her, it was felt to be well to treat her
-as the policeman does his prisoner, whom he thinks to be the last
-person who need be informed as to the whereabouts of the prison. It
-did leak out quickly, because the Marquis had a castle or château of
-his own in Saxony;—but that was only an accident.</p>
-
-<p>The Marchioness still said little on the matter,—unless in what she
-might say to her husband in the secret recesses of marital
-discussion; but before she departed she found it expedient to express
-herself on one occasion to Lord Hampstead. "Hampstead," she said,
-"this is a terrible blow that has fallen upon us."</p>
-
-<p>"I was surprised myself. I do not know that I should call it exactly
-a blow."</p>
-
-<p>"Not a blow! But of course you mean that it will come to nothing."</p>
-
-<p>"What I meant was, that though I regard the proposition as
-<span class="nowrap">inexpedient—"</span></p>
-
-<p>"Inexpedient!"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes;—I think it inexpedient certainly; but there is nothing in it
-that shocks me."</p>
-
-<p>"Nothing that shocks you!"</p>
-
-<p>"Marriage in itself is a good thing."</p>
-
-<p>"Hampstead, do not talk to me in that way."</p>
-
-<p>"But I think it is. If it be good for a young man to marry it must be
-good for a young woman also. The one makes the other necessary."</p>
-
-<p>"But not for such as your sister,—and him—together. You are
-speaking in that way simply to torment me."</p>
-
-<p>"I can only speak as I think. I do agree that it would be
-inexpedient. She would to a certain extent lose the countenance of
-her <span class="nowrap">friends—"</span></p>
-
-<p>"Altogether!"</p>
-
-<p>"Not altogether,—but to some extent. A certain class of people,—not
-the best worth knowing,—might be inclined to drop her. However
-foolish her own friends may be we owe something—even to their
-folly."</p>
-
-<p>"Her friends are not foolish,—her proper friends."</p>
-
-<p>"I quite agree with that; but then so many of them are improper."</p>
-
-<p>"Hampstead!"</p>
-
-<p>"I am afraid that I don't make myself quite clear. But never mind. It
-would be inexpedient. It would go against the grain with my father,
-who ought to be consulted."</p>
-
-<p>"I should think so."</p>
-
-<p>"I quite agree with you. A father ought to be consulted, even though
-a daughter be of age, so as to be enabled by law to do as she likes
-with herself. And then there would be money discomforts."</p>
-
-<p>"She would not have a shilling."</p>
-
-<p>"Not but what I should think it my duty to put that right if there
-were any real distress." Here spoke the heir, who was already in
-possession of much, and upon whom the whole property of the family
-was entailed. "Nevertheless if I can prevent it,—without quarrelling
-either with one or the other, without saying a hard word,—I shall do
-so."</p>
-
-<p>"It will be your bounden duty."</p>
-
-<p>"It is always a man's bounden duty to do what is right. The
-difficulty is in seeing the way." After this the Marchioness was
-silent. What she had gained by speaking was very little,—little or
-nothing. The nature of the opposition he proposed was almost as bad
-as a sanction, and the reasons he gave for agreeing with her were as
-hurtful to her feelings as though they had been advanced on the other
-side. Even the Marquis was not sufficiently struck with horror at the
-idea that a daughter of his should have condescended to listen to
-love from a Post Office clerk!</p>
-
-<p>On the day before they started Hampstead was enabled to be alone with
-his sister for a few minutes. "What an absurdity it is," she said,
-laughing,—"this running away."</p>
-
-<p>"It is what you must have expected."</p>
-
-<p>"But not the less absurd. Of course I shall go. Just at the moment I
-have no alternative; as I should have none if they threatened to lock
-me up, till I got somebody to take my case in hand. But I am as free
-to do what I please with myself as is papa."</p>
-
-<p>"He has got money."</p>
-
-<p>"But he is not, therefore, to be a tyrant."</p>
-
-<p>"Yes he is;—over an unmarried daughter who has got none. We cannot
-but obey those on whom we are dependent."</p>
-
-<p>"What I mean is, that carrying me away can do no good. You don't
-suppose, John, that I shall give him up after having once brought
-myself to say the word! It was very difficult to say;—but ten times
-harder to be unsaid. I am quite determined,—and quite satisfied."</p>
-
-<p>"But they are not."</p>
-
-<p>"As regards my father, I am very sorry. As to mamma, she and I are so
-different in all our thinking that I know beforehand that whatever I
-might do would displease her. It cannot be helped. Whether it be good
-or bad I cannot be made such as she is. She came too late. You will
-not turn against me, John?"</p>
-
-<p>"I rather think I shall."</p>
-
-<p>"John!"</p>
-
-<p>"I may rather say that I have. I do not think your engagement to be
-wise."</p>
-
-<p>"But it has been made," said she.</p>
-
-<p>"And may be unmade."</p>
-
-<p>"No;—unless by him."</p>
-
-<p>"I shall tell him that it ought to be unmade,—for the happiness of
-both of you."</p>
-
-<p>"He will not believe you."</p>
-
-<p>Then Lord Hampstead shrugged his shoulders, and thus the conversation
-was finished.</p>
-
-<p>It was now about the end of June, and the Marquis felt it to be a
-grievance that he should be carried away from the charm of political
-life in London. In the horror of the first revelation he had yielded,
-but had since begun to feel that too much was being done in
-withdrawing him from Parliament. The Conservatives were now in; but
-during the last Liberal Government he had consented so far to trammel
-himself with the bonds of office as to become Privy Seal for the
-concluding six months of its existence, and therefore felt his own
-importance in a party point of view. But having acceded to his wife
-he could not now go back, and was sulky. On the evening before their
-departure he was going to dine out with some of the party. His wife's
-heart was too deep in the great family question for any gaiety, and
-she intended to remain at home,—and to look after the final
-packings-up for the little lords.</p>
-
-<p>"I really do not see why you should not have gone without me," the
-Marquis said, poking his head out of his dressing-room.</p>
-
-<p>"Impossible," said the Marchioness.</p>
-
-<p>"I don't see it at all."</p>
-
-<p>"If he should appear on the scene ready to carry her off, what should
-I have done?"</p>
-
-<p>Then the Marquis drew his head in again, and went on with his
-dressing. What, indeed, could he do himself if the man were to appear
-on the scene, and if his daughter should declare herself willing to
-go off with him?</p>
-
-<p>When the Marquis went to his dinner party the Marchioness dined with
-Lady Frances. There was no one else present but the two servants who
-waited on them, and hardly a word was spoken. The Marchioness felt
-that an awful silence was becoming in the situation. Lady Frances
-merely determined more strongly than ever that the situation should
-not last very long. She would go abroad now, but would let her father
-understand that the kind of life planned out for her was one that she
-could not endure. If she was supposed to have disgraced her position,
-let her be sent away.</p>
-
-<p>As soon as the melancholy meal was over the two ladies separated, the
-Marchioness going up-stairs among her own children. A more careful,
-more affectionate, perhaps, I may say, a more idolatrous mother never
-lived. Every little want belonging to them,—for even little lords
-have wants,—was a care to her. To see them washed and put in and out
-of their duds was perhaps the greatest pleasure of her life. To her
-eyes they were pearls of aristocratic loveliness; and, indeed, they
-were fine healthy bairns, clean-limbed, bright-eyed, with grand
-appetites, and never cross as long as they were allowed either to
-romp and make a noise, or else to sleep. Lord Frederic, the eldest,
-was already in words of two syllables, and sometimes had a bad time
-with them. Lord Augustus was the owner of great ivory letters of
-which he contrived to make playthings. Lord Gregory had not as yet
-been introduced to any of the torments of education. There was an old
-English clergyman attached to the family who was supposed to be their
-tutor, but whose chief duty consisted in finding conversation for the
-Marquis when there was no one else to talk to him. There was also a
-French governess and a Swiss maid. But as they both learned English
-quicker than the children learned French, they were not serviceable
-for the purpose at first intended. The Marchioness had resolved that
-her children should talk three or four languages as fluently as their
-own, and that they should learn them without any of the agonies
-generally incident to tuition. In that she had not as yet succeeded.</p>
-
-<p>She seated herself for a few minutes among the boxes and portmanteaus
-in the midst of which the children were disporting themselves prior
-to their final withdrawal to bed. No mother was ever so blessed,—if
-only, if only! "Mamma," said Lord Frederic, "where's Jack?" "Jack"
-absolutely was intended to signify Lord Hampstead.</p>
-
-<p>"Fred, did not I say that you should not call him Jack?"</p>
-
-<p>"He say he is Jack," declared Lord Augustus, rolling up in between
-his mother's knees with an impetus which would have upset her had she
-not been a strong woman and accustomed to these attacks.</p>
-
-<p>"That is only because he is good-natured, and likes to play with you.
-You should call him Hampstead."</p>
-
-<p>"Mamma, wasn't he christianed?" asked the eldest.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, of course he was christened, my dear," said the mother,
-sadly,—thinking how very much of the ceremony had been thrown away
-upon the unbelieving, godless young man. Then she superintended the
-putting to bed, thinking what a terrible bar to her happiness had
-been created by that first unfortunate marriage of her husband's. Oh,
-that she should be stepmother to a daughter who desired to fling
-herself into the arms of a clerk in the Post Office! And then that an
-"unchristianed," that an infidel, republican, un-English, heir should
-stand in the way of her darling boy! She had told herself a thousand
-times that the Devil was speaking to her when she had dared to wish
-that,—that Lord Hampstead was not there! She had put down the wish
-in her heart very often, telling herself that it came from the Devil.
-She had made a faint struggle to love the young man,—which had
-resulted in constrained civility. It would have been unnatural to her
-to love any but her own. Now she thought how glorious her Frederic
-would have been as Lord Hampstead,—and how infinitely better it
-would have been, how infinitely better it would be, for all the
-Traffords, for all the nobles of England, and for the country at
-large! But in thinking this she knew that she was a sinner, and she
-endeavoured to crush the sin. Was it not tantamount to wishing that
-her husband's son was—dead?</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c1-4" id="c1-4"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER IV.</h3>
-<h4>LADY FRANCES.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>There is something so sad in the condition of a girl who is known to
-be in love, and has to undergo the process of being made ashamed of
-it by her friends, that one wonders that any young woman can bear it.
-Most young women cannot bear it, and either give up their love or say
-that they do. A young man who has got into debt, or been plucked,—or
-even when he has declared himself to be engaged to a penniless young
-lady, which is worse,—is supposed merely to have gone after his
-kind, and done what was to be expected of him. The mother never looks
-at him with that enduring anger by which she intends to wear out the
-daughter's constancy. The father frets and fumes, pays the debts,
-prepares the way for a new campaign, and merely shrugs his shoulders
-about the proposed marriage, which he regards simply as an
-impossibility. But the girl is held to have disgraced herself. Though
-it is expected of her, or at any rate hoped, that she will get
-married in due time, yet the falling in love with a man,—which is,
-we must suppose, a preliminary step to marriage,—is a wickedness.
-Even among the ordinary Joneses and Browns of the world we see that
-it is so. When we are intimate enough with the Browns to be aware of
-Jane Brown's passion, we understand the father's manner and the
-mother's look. The very servants about the house are aware that she
-has given way to her feelings, and treat her accordingly. Her
-brothers are ashamed of her. Whereas she, if her brother be in love
-with Jemima Jones, applauds him, sympathizes with him, and encourages
-him.</p>
-
-<p>There are heroines who live through it all, and are true to the end.
-There are many pseudo-heroines who intend to do so, but break down.
-The pseudo-heroine generally breaks down when young Smith,—not so
-very young,—has been taken in as a partner by Messrs. Smith and
-Walker, and comes in her way, in want of a wife. The persecution is,
-at any rate, so often efficacious as to make fathers and mothers feel
-it to be their duty to use it. It need not be said here how high
-above the ways of the Browns soared the ideas of the Marchioness of
-Kingsbury. But she felt that it would be her duty to resort to the
-measures which they would have adopted, and she was determined that
-the Marquis should do the same. A terrible evil, an incurable evil,
-had already been inflicted. Many people, alas, would know that Lady
-Frances had disgraced herself. She, the Marchioness, had been unable
-to keep the secret from her own sister, Lady Persiflage, and Lady
-Persiflage would undoubtedly tell it to others. Her own lady's maid
-knew it. The Marquis himself was the most indiscreet of men.
-Hampstead would see no cause for secrecy. Roden would, of course,
-boast of it all through the Post Office. The letter-carriers who
-attended upon Park Lane would have talked the matter over with the
-footmen at the area gate. There could be no hope of secrecy. All the
-young marquises and unmarried earls would know that Lady Frances
-Trafford was in love with the "postman." But time, and care, and
-strict precaution might prevent the final misery of a marriage. Then,
-if the Marquis would be generous, some young Earl, or at least a
-Baron, might be induced to forget the "postman," and to take the
-noble lily, soiled, indeed, but made gracious by gilding. Her
-darlings must suffer. Any excess of money given would be at their
-cost. But anything would be better than a Post Office clerk for a
-brother-in-law.</p>
-
-<p>Such were the views as to their future life with which the
-Marchioness intended to accompany her stepdaughter to their Saxon
-residence. The Marquis, with less of a fixed purpose, was inclined in
-the same way. "I quite agree that they should be separated;—quite,"
-he said. "It mustn't be heard of;—certainly not; certainly not. Not
-a shilling,—unless she behaves herself properly. Of course she will
-have her fortune, but not to bestow it in such a manner as that."</p>
-
-<p>His own idea was to see them all settled in the château, and then, if
-possible, to hurry back to London before the season was quite at an
-end. His wife laid strong injunctions on him as to absolute secrecy,
-having forgotten, probably, that she herself had told the whole story
-to Lady Persiflage. The Marquis quite agreed. Secrecy was
-indispensable. As for him, was it likely that he should speak of a
-matter so painful and so near to his heart! Nevertheless he told it
-all to Mr. Greenwood, the gentleman who acted as tutor, private
-secretary, and chaplain in the house.</p>
-
-<p>Lady Frances had her own ideas, as to this going away and living
-abroad, very strongly developed in her mind. They intended to
-persecute her till she should change her purpose. She intended to
-persecute them till they should change theirs. She knew herself too
-well, she thought, to have any fear as to her own persistency. That
-the Marchioness should persuade, or even persecute, her out of an
-engagement to which she had assented, she felt to be quite out of the
-question. In her heart she despised the Marchioness,—bearing with
-her till the time should come in which she would be delivered from
-the nuisance of surveillance under such a woman. In her father she
-trusted much, knowing him to be affectionate, believing him to be
-still opposed to those aristocratic dogmas which were a religion to
-the Marchioness,—feeling probably that in his very weakness she
-would find her best strength. If her stepmother should in truth
-become cruel, then her father would take her part against his wife.
-There must be a period of discomfort,—say, six months; and then
-would come the time in which she would be able to say, "I have tried
-myself, and know my own mind, and I intend to go home and get myself
-married." She would take care that her declaration to this effect
-should not come as a sudden blow. The six months should be employed
-in preparing for it. The Marchioness might be persistent in preaching
-her views during the six months, but so would Lady Frances be
-persistent in preaching hers.</p>
-
-<p>She had not accepted the man's love when he had offered it, without
-thinking much about it. The lesson which she had heard in her earlier
-years from her mother had sunk deep into her very soul,—much more
-deeply than the teacher of those lessons had supposed. That teacher
-had never intended to inculcate as a doctrine that rank is a mistake.
-No one had thought more than she of the incentives provided by rank
-to high duty. "Noblesse oblige." The lesson had been engraved on her
-heart, and might have been read in all the doings of her life. But
-she had endeavoured to make it understood by her children that they
-should not be over-quick to claim the privileges of rank. Too many
-such would be showered on them,—too many for their own welfare. Let
-them never be greedy to take with outstretched hands those good
-things of which Chance had provided for them so much more than their
-fair share. Let them remember that after all there was no virtue in
-having been born a child to a Marquis. Let them remember how much
-more it was to be a useful man, or a kind woman. So the lessons had
-been given,—and had gone for more than had been intended. Then all
-the renown of their father's old politics assisted,—the re-election
-of the drunken tailor,—the jeerings of friends who were high enough
-and near enough to dare to jeer,—the convictions of childhood that
-it was a fine thing, because peculiar for a Marquis and his
-belongings, to be Radical;—and, added to this, there was contempt
-for the specially noble graces of their stepmother. Thus it was that
-Lord Hampstead was brought to his present condition of thinking,—and
-Lady Frances.</p>
-
-<p>Her convictions were quite as strong as his, though they did not
-assume the same form. With a girl, at an early age, all her
-outlookings into the world have something to do with love and its
-consequences. When a young man takes his leaning either towards
-Liberalism or Conservatism he is not at all actuated by any feeling
-as to how some possible future young woman may think on the subject.
-But the girl, if she entertains such ideas at all, dreams of them as
-befitting the man whom she may some day hope to love. Should she, a
-Protestant, become a Roman Catholic and then a nun, she feels that in
-giving up her hope for a man's love she is making the greatest
-sacrifice in her power for the Saviour she is taking to her heart. If
-she devotes herself to music, or the pencil, or to languages, the
-effect which her accomplishments may have on some beau ideal of
-manhood is present to her mind. From the very first she is dressing
-herself unconsciously in the mirror of a man's eyes. Quite
-unconsciously, all this had been present to Lady Frances as month
-after month and year after year she had formed her strong opinions.
-She had thought of no man's love,—had thought but little of loving
-any man,—but in her meditations as to the weaknesses and vanity of
-rank there had always been present that idea,—how would it be with
-her if such a one should ask for her hand, such a one as she might
-find among those of whom she dreamed as being more noble than Dukes,
-even though they were numbered among the world's proletaries? Then
-she had told herself that if any such a one should come,—if at any
-time any should be allowed by herself to come,—he should be
-estimated by his merits, whether Duke or proletary. With her mind in
-such a state she had of course been prone to receive kindly the
-overtures of her brother's friend.</p>
-
-<p>What was there missing in him that a girl should require? It was so
-that she had asked herself the question. As far as manners were
-concerned, this man was a gentleman. She was quite sure of that.
-Whether proletary or not, there was nothing about him to offend the
-taste of the best-born of ladies. That he was better educated than
-any of the highly-bred young men she saw around her, she was quite
-sure. He had more to talk about than others. Of his birth and family
-she knew nothing, but rather prided herself in knowing nothing,
-because of that doctrine of hers that a man is to be estimated only
-by what he is himself, and not at all by what he may derive from
-others. Of his personal appearance, which went far with her, she was
-very proud. He was certainly a handsome young man, and endowed with
-all outward gifts of manliness: easy in his gait, but not mindful of
-it, with motions of his body naturally graceful but never studied,
-with his head erect, with a laugh in his eye, well-made as to his
-hands and feet. Neither his intellect nor his political convictions
-would have recommended a man to her heart, unless there had been
-something in the outside to please her eye, and from the first moment
-in which she had met him he had never been afraid of her,—had
-ventured when he disagreed from her to laugh at her, and even to
-scold her. There is no barrier in a girl's heart so strong against
-love as the feeling that the man in question stands in awe of her.</p>
-
-<p>She had taken some time before she had given him her answer, and had
-thought much of the perils before her. She had known that she could
-not divest herself of her rank. She had acknowledged to herself that,
-whether it was for good or bad, a Marquis's daughter could not be
-like another girl. She owed much to her father, much to her brothers,
-something even to her stepmother. But was the thing she proposed to
-do of such a nature as to be regarded as an evil to her family? She
-could see that there had been changes in the ways of the world during
-the last century,—changes continued from year to year. Rank was not
-so high as it used to be,—and in consequence those without rank not
-so low. The Queen's daughter had married a subject. Lords John and
-Lords Thomas were every day going into this and the other business.
-There were instances enough of ladies of title doing the very thing
-which she proposed to herself. Why should a Post Office clerk be
-lower than another?</p>
-
-<p>Then came the great question, whether it behoved her to ask her
-father. Girls in general ask their mother, and send the lover to the
-father. She had no mother. She was quite sure that she would not
-leave her happiness in the hands of the present Marchioness. Were she
-to ask her father she knew that the matter would be at once settled
-against her. Her father was too much under the dominion of his wife
-to be allowed to have an opinion of his own on such a matter. So she
-declared to herself, and then determined that she would act on her
-own responsibility. She would accept the man, and then take the first
-opportunity of telling her stepmother what she had done. And so it
-was. It was only early on that morning that she had given her answer
-to George Roden,—and early on that morning she had summoned up her
-courage, and told her whole story.</p>
-
-<p>The station to which she was taken was a large German schloss, very
-comfortably arranged, with the mountain as a background and the River
-Elbe running close beneath its terraces, on which the Marquis had
-spent some money, and made it a residence to be envied by the eyes of
-all passers-by. It had been bought for its beauty in a freak, but had
-never been occupied for more than a week at a time till this
-occasion. Under other circumstances Lady Frances would have been as
-happy here as the day was long, and had often expressed a desire to
-be allowed to stay for a while at Königsgraaf. But now, though she
-made an attempt to regard their sojourn in the place as one of the
-natural events of their life, she could not shake off the idea of a
-prison. The Marchioness was determined that the idea of a prison
-should not be shaken off. In the first few days she said not a word
-about the objectionable lover, nor did the Marquis. That had been
-settled between them. But neither was anything said on any other
-subject. There was a sternness in every motion, and a grim silence
-seemed to preside in the château, except when the boys were
-present,—and an attempt was made to separate her from her brothers
-as much as possible, which she was more inclined to resent than any
-other ill usage which was adopted towards her. After about a
-fortnight it was announced that the Marquis was to return to London.
-He had received letters from "the party" which made it quite
-necessary that he should be there. When this was told to Lady Frances
-not a word was said as to the probable duration of their own stay at
-the château.</p>
-
-<p>"Papa," she said, "you are going back to London?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, my dear. My presence in town is imperatively necessary."</p>
-
-<p>"How long are we to stay here?"</p>
-
-<p>"How long?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, papa. I like Königsgraaf very much. I always thought it the
-prettiest place I know. But I do not like looking forward to staying
-here without knowing when I am to go away."</p>
-
-<p>"You had better ask your mamma, my dear."</p>
-
-<p>"Mamma never says anything to me. It would be no good my asking her.
-Papa, you ought to tell me something before you go away."</p>
-
-<p>"Tell you what?"</p>
-
-<p>"Or let me tell you something."</p>
-
-<p>"What do you want to tell me, Frances?" In saying this he assumed his
-most angry tone and sternest countenance,—which, however, were not
-very angry or very stern, and had no effect in frightening his
-daughter. He did not, in truth, wish to say a word about the Post
-Office clerk before he made his escape, and would have been very glad
-to frighten her enough to make her silent had that been possible.</p>
-
-<p>"Papa, I want you to know that it will do no good shutting me up
-there."</p>
-
-<p>"Nobody shuts you up."</p>
-
-<p>"I mean here in Saxony. Of course I shall stay for some time, but you
-cannot expect that I shall remain here always."</p>
-
-<p>"Who has talked about always?"</p>
-
-<p>"I understand that I am brought here to be—out of Mr. Roden's way."</p>
-
-<p>"I would rather not speak of that young man."</p>
-
-<p>"But, papa,—if he is to be my husband—"</p>
-
-<p>"He is not to be your husband."</p>
-
-<p>"It will be so, papa, though I should be kept here ever so long. That
-is what I want you to understand. Having given my word,—and so much
-more than my word,—I certainly shall not go back from it. I can
-understand that you should carry me off here so as to try and wean me
-from <span class="nowrap">it—"</span></p>
-
-<p>"It is quite out of the question; impossible!"</p>
-
-<p>"No, papa. If he choose,—and I choose,—no one can prevent us." As
-she said this she looked him full in the face.</p>
-
-<p>"Do you mean to say that you owe no obedience to your parents?"</p>
-
-<p>"To you, papa, of course I owe obedience,—to a certain extent. There
-does come a time, I suppose, in which a daughter may use her own
-judgment as to her own happiness."</p>
-
-<p>"And disgrace all her family?"</p>
-
-<p>"I do not think that I shall disgrace mine. What I want you to
-understand, papa, is this,—that you will not ensure my obedience by
-keeping me here. I think I should be more likely to be submissive at
-home. There is an idea in enforced control which is hardly compatible
-with obedience. I don't suppose you will lock me up."</p>
-
-<p>"You have no right to talk to me in that way."</p>
-
-<p>"I want to explain that our being here can do no good. When you are
-gone mamma and I will only be very unhappy together. She won't talk
-to me, and will look at me as though I were a poor lost creature. I
-don't think that I am a lost creature at all, but I shall be just as
-much lost here as though I were at home in England."</p>
-
-<p>"When you come to talking you are as bad as your brother," said the
-Marquis as he left her. Only that the expression was considered to be
-unfit for female ears, he would have accused her of "talking the hind
-legs off a dog."</p>
-
-<p>When he was gone the life at Königsgraaf became very sombre indeed.
-Mr. George Roden's name was never mentioned by either of the ladies.
-There was the Post Office, no doubt, and the Post Office was at first
-left open to her; but there soon came a time in which she was
-deprived of this consolation. With such a guardian as the
-Marchioness, it was not likely that free correspondence should be
-left open to her.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c1-5" id="c1-5"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER V.</h3>
-<h4>MRS. RODEN.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>George Roden, the Post Office clerk, lived with his mother at
-Holloway, about three miles from his office. There they occupied a
-small house which had been taken when their means were smaller even
-than at present;—for this had been done before the young man had
-made his way into the official elysium of St. Martin's-le-Grand. This
-had been effected about five years since, during which time he had
-risen to an income of £170. As his mother had means of her own
-amounting to about double as much, and as her personal expenses were
-small, they were enabled to live in comfort. She was a lady of whom
-none around knew anything, but there had gone abroad a rumour among
-her neighbours that there was something of a mystery attached to her,
-and there existed a prevailing feeling that she was at any rate a
-well-born lady. Few people at Holloway knew either her or her son.
-But there were some who condescended to watch them, and to talk about
-them. It was ascertained that Mrs. Roden usually went to church on
-Sunday morning, but that her son never did so. It was known, too,
-that a female friend called upon her regularly once a week; and it
-was noted in the annals of Holloway that this female friend came
-always at three o'clock on a Monday. Intelligent observers had become
-aware that the return visit was made in the course of the week, but
-not always made on one certain day;—from which circumstances various
-surmises arose as to the means, whereabouts, and character of the
-visitor. Mrs. Roden always went in a cab. The lady, whose name was
-soon known to be Mrs. Vincent, came in a brougham, which for a time
-was supposed to be her own peculiar property. The man who drove it
-was so well arrayed as to hat, cravat, and coat, as to leave an
-impression that he must be a private servant; but one feminine
-observer, keener than others, saw the man on an unfortunate day
-descend from his box at a public-house, and knew at once that the
-trousers were the trousers of a hired driver from a livery-stable.
-Nevertheless it was manifest that Mrs. Vincent was better to do in
-the world than Mrs. Roden, because she could afford to hire a
-would-be private carriage; and it was imagined also that she was a
-lady accustomed to remain at home of an afternoon, probably with the
-object of receiving visitors, because Mrs. Roden made her visits
-indifferently on Thursday, Friday, or Saturday. It was suggested also
-that Mrs. Vincent was no friend to the young clerk, because it was
-well known that he was never there when the lady came, and it was
-supposed that he never accompanied his mother on the return visits.
-He had, indeed, on one occasion been seen to get out of the cab with
-his mother at their own door, but it was strongly surmised that she
-had then picked him up at the Post Office. His official engagements
-might, indeed, have accounted for all this naturally; but the ladies
-of Holloway were well aware that the humanity of the
-Postmaster-General allowed a Saturday half-holiday to his otherwise
-overworked officials, and they were sure that so good a son as George
-Roden would occasionally have accompanied his mother, had there been
-no especial reason against it. From this further surmises arose. Some
-glance had fallen from the eye of the visitor lady, or perhaps some
-chance word had been heard from her lips, which created an opinion
-that she was religious. She probably objected to George Roden because
-he was anti-religious, or at any rate anti-church, meeting, or
-chapel-going. It had become quite decided at Holloway that Mrs.
-Vincent would not put up with the young clerk's infidelity. And it
-was believed that there had been "words" between the two ladies
-themselves on the subject of religion,—as to which probably there
-was no valid foundation, it being an ascertained fact that the two
-maids who were employed by Mrs. Roden were never known to tell
-anything of their mistress.</p>
-
-<p>It was decided at Holloway that Mrs. Roden and Mrs. Vincent were
-cousins. They were like enough in face and near enough in age to have
-been sisters; but old Mrs. Demijohn, of No. 10, Paradise Row, had
-declared that had George been a nephew his aunt would not have
-wearied in her endeavour to convert him. In such a case there would
-have been intimacy in spite of disapproval. But a first cousin once
-removed might be allowed to go to the Mischief in his own way. Mrs.
-Vincent was supposed to be the elder cousin,—perhaps three or four
-years the elder,—and to have therefore something of an authority,
-but not much. She was stouter, too, less careful to hide what grey
-hairs years might have produced, and showing manifestly by the nature
-of her bonnets and shawls that she despised the vanities of the
-world. Not but that she was always handsomely dressed, as Mrs.
-Demijohn was very well aware. Less than a hundred a year could not
-have clothed Mrs. Vincent, whereas Mrs. Roden, as all the world
-perceived, did not spend half the money. But who does not know that a
-lady may repudiate vanity in rich silks and cultivate the world in
-woollen stuffs, or even in calico? Nothing was more certain to Mrs.
-Demijohn than that Mrs. Vincent was severe, and that Mrs. Roden was
-soft and gentle. It was assumed also that the two ladies were widows,
-as no husband or sign of a husband had appeared on the scene. Mrs.
-Vincent showed manifestly from her deportment, as well as from her
-title, that she had been a married woman. As to Mrs. Roden, of
-course, there was no doubt.</p>
-
-<p>In regard to all this the reader may take the settled opinions of
-Mrs. Demijohn and of Holloway as being nearly true. Riddles may be
-read very accurately by those who will give sufficient attention and
-ample time to the reading of them. They who will devote twelve hours
-a day to the unravelling of acrostics, may discover nearly all the
-enigmas of a weekly newspaper with a separate editor for such
-difficulties. Mrs. Demijohn had almost arrived at the facts. The two
-ladies were second cousins. Mrs. Vincent was a widow, was religious,
-was austere, was fairly well off, and had quarrelled altogether with
-her distant relative George of the Post Office. Mrs. Roden, though
-she went to church, was not so well given to religious observances as
-her cousin would have her. Hence words had come which Mrs. Roden had
-borne with equanimity, but had received without effect. Nevertheless
-the two women loved each other dearly, and it was a great part of the
-life of each of them that these weekly visits should be made. There
-was one great fact, as to which Mrs. Demijohn and Holloway were in
-the wrong. Mrs. Roden was not a widow.</p>
-
-<p>It was not till the Kingsburys had left London that George told his
-mother of his engagement. She was well acquainted with his intimacy
-with Lord Hampstead, and knew that he had been staying at Hendon Hall
-with the Kingsbury family. There had been no reticence between the
-mother and son as to these people, in regard to whom she had
-frequently cautioned him that there was danger in such associations
-with people moving altogether in a different sphere. In answer to
-this the son had always declared that he did not see the danger. He
-had not run after Lord Hampstead. Circumstances had thrown them
-together. They had originally met each other in a small political
-debating society, and gradually friendship had grown. The lord had
-sought him, and not he the lord. That, according to his own idea, had
-been right. Difference in rank, difference in wealth, difference in
-social regard required as much as that. He, when he had discovered
-who was the young man whom he had met, stood off somewhat, and
-allowed the friendship to spring from the other side. He had been
-slow to accept favour,—even at first to accept hospitality. But
-whenever the ice had, as he said, been thoroughly broken, then he
-thought that there was no reason why they should not pull each other
-out of the cold water together. As for danger, what was there to
-fear? The Marchioness would not like it? Very probably. The
-Marchioness was not very much to Hampstead, and was nothing at all to
-him. The Marquis would not really like it. Perhaps not. But in
-choosing a friend a young man is not supposed to follow altogether
-his father's likings,—much less need the chosen friend follow them.
-But the Marquis, as George pointed out to his mother, was hardly more
-like other marquises than the son was like other marquis's sons.
-There was a Radical strain in the family, as was made clear by that
-tailor who was still sitting for the borough of Edgeware. Mrs. Roden,
-however, though she lived so much alone, seeing hardly anything of
-the world except as Mrs. Vincent might be supposed to represent the
-world, had learned that the feelings and political convictions of the
-Marquis were hardly what they had been before he had married his
-present wife. "You may be sure, George," she had said, "that like to
-like is as safe a motto for friendship as it is for love."</p>
-
-<p>"Not a doubt, mother," he replied; "but before you act upon it you
-must define 'like.' What makes two men like—or a man and a woman?"</p>
-
-<p>"Outside circumstances of the world more than anything else," she
-answered, boldly.</p>
-
-<p>"I would fancy that the inside circumstances of the mind would have
-more to do with it." She shook her head at him, pleasantly, softly,
-and lovingly,—but still with a settled purpose of contradiction. "I
-have admitted all along," he continued, "that low
-<span class="nowrap">birth—"</span></p>
-
-<p>"I have said nothing of low birth!" Here was a point on which there
-did not exist full confidence between the mother and son, but in
-regard to which the mother was always attempting to reassure the son,
-while he would assume something against himself which she would not
-allow to pass without an attempt of faint denial.</p>
-
-<p>"That birth low by comparison," he continued, going on with his
-sentence, "should not take upon itself as much as may be allowed to
-nobility by descent is certain. Though the young prince may be
-superior in his gifts to the young shoeblack, and would best show his
-princeliness by cultivating the shoeblack, still the shoeblack should
-wait to be cultivated. The world has created a state of things in
-which the shoeblack cannot do otherwise without showing an arrogance
-and impudence by which he could achieve nothing."</p>
-
-<p>"Which, too, would make him black his shoes very badly."</p>
-
-<p>"No doubt. That will have to come to pass any way, because the nobler
-employments to which he will be raised by the appreciating prince
-will cause him to drop his shoes."</p>
-
-<p>"Is Lord Hampstead to cause you to drop the Post Office?"</p>
-
-<p>"Not at all. He is not a prince nor am I a shoeblack. Though we are
-far apart, we are not so far apart as to make such a change essential
-to our acquaintance. But I was saying— I don't know what I was
-saying."</p>
-
-<p>"You were defining what 'like' means. But people always get muddled
-when they attempt definitions," said the mother.</p>
-
-<p>"Though it depends somewhat on externals, it has more to do with
-internals. That is what I mean. A man and woman might live together
-with most enduring love, though one had been noble and wealthy and
-the other poor and a nobody. But a thorough brute and a human being
-of fine conditions can hardly live together and love each other."</p>
-
-<p>"That is true," she said. "That I fear is true."</p>
-
-<p>"I hope it is true."</p>
-
-<p>"It has often to be tried, generally to the great detriment of the
-better nature."</p>
-
-<p>All this, however, had been said before George Roden had spoken a
-word to Lady Frances, and had referred only to the friendship as it
-was growing between her son and the young lord.</p>
-
-<p>The young lord had come on various occasions to the house at
-Holloway, and had there made himself thoroughly pleasant to his
-friend's mother. Lord Hampstead had a way of making himself pleasant
-in which he never failed when he chose to exercise it. And he did
-exercise it almost always,—always, indeed, unless he was driven to
-be courteously disagreeable by opposition to his own peculiar
-opinion. In shooting, fishing, and other occupations not approved of,
-he would fall into a line of argument, seemingly and indeed truly
-good-humoured, which was apt, however, to be aggravating to his
-opponent. In this way he would make himself thoroughly odious to his
-stepmother, with whom he had not one sentiment in common. In other
-respects his manners were invariably sweet, with an assumption of
-intimacy which was not unbecoming; and thus he had greatly
-recommended himself to Mrs. Roden. Who does not know the fashion in
-which the normal young man conducts himself when he is making a
-morning call? He has come there because he means to be civil. He
-would not be there unless he wished to make himself popular. He is
-carrying out some recognized purpose of society. He would fain be
-agreeable if it were possible. He would enjoy the moment if he could.
-But it is clearly his conviction that he is bound to get through a
-certain amount of altogether uninteresting conversation, and then to
-get himself out of the room with as little awkwardness as may be.
-Unless there be a pretty girl, and chance favour him with her special
-companionship, he does not for a moment suppose that any social
-pleasure is to be enjoyed. That rational amusement can be got out of
-talking to Mrs. Jones does not enter into his mind. And yet Mrs.
-Jones is probably a fair specimen of that general society in which
-every one wishes to mingle. Society is to him generally made up of
-several parts, each of which is a pain, though the total is deemed to
-be desirable. The pretty girl episode is no doubt an
-exception,—though that also has its pains when matter for
-conversation does not come readily, or when conversation, coming too
-readily, is rebuked. The morning call may be regarded as a period of
-unmitigated agony. Now it has to be asserted on Lord Hampstead's
-behalf that he could talk with almost any Mrs. Jones freely and
-pleasantly while he remained, and take his departure without that
-dislocating struggle which is too common. He would make himself at
-ease, and discourse as though he had known the lady all his life.
-There is nothing which a woman likes so much as this, and by doing
-this Lord Hampstead had done much, if not to overcome, at any rate to
-quiet the sense of danger of which Mrs. Roden had spoken.</p>
-
-<p>But this refers to a time in which nothing was known at Holloway as
-to Lady Frances. Very little had been said of the family between the
-mother and son. Of the Marquis George Roden had wished to think well,
-but had hardly succeeded. Of the stepmother he had never even wished
-to do so. She had from the first been known to him as a woman
-thoroughly wedded to aristocratic prejudices,—who regarded herself
-as endowed with certain privileges which made her altogether superior
-to other human beings. Hampstead himself could not even pretend to
-respect her. Of her Roden had said very little to his mother, simply
-speaking of her as the Marchioness, who was in no way related to
-Hampstead. Of Lady Frances he had simply said that there was a girl
-there endowed with such a spirit, that of all girls of her class she
-must surely be the best and noblest. Then his mother had shuddered
-inwardly, thinking that here too there might be possible danger; but
-she had shrunk from speaking of the special danger even to her son.</p>
-
-<p>"How has the visit gone?" Mrs. Roden asked, when her son had already
-been some hours in the house. This was after that last visit to
-Hendon Hall, in which Lady Frances had promised to become his wife.</p>
-
-<p>"Pretty well, taking it altogether."</p>
-
-<p>"I know that something has disappointed you."</p>
-
-<p>"No, indeed, nothing. I have been somewhat abashed."</p>
-
-<p>"What have they said to you?" she asked.</p>
-
-<p>"Very little but what was kind,—just one word at the last."</p>
-
-<p>"Something, I know, has hurt you," said the mother.</p>
-
-<p>"Lady Kingsbury has made me aware that she dislikes me thoroughly. It
-is very odd how one person can do that to another almost without a
-word spoken."</p>
-
-<p>"I told you, George, that there would be danger in going there."</p>
-
-<p>"There would be no danger in that if there were nothing more."</p>
-
-<p>"What more is there then?"</p>
-
-<p>"There would be no danger in that if Lady Kingsbury was simply
-Hampstead's stepmother."</p>
-
-<p>"What more is she?"</p>
-
-<p>"She is stepmother also to Lady Frances. Oh, mother!"</p>
-
-<p>"George, what has happened?" she asked.</p>
-
-<p>"I have asked Lady Frances to be my wife."</p>
-
-<p>"Your wife?"</p>
-
-<p>"And she has promised."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, George!"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, indeed, mother. Now you can perceive that she indeed may be a
-danger. When I think of the power of tormenting her stepdaughter
-which may rest in her hands I can hardly forgive myself for doing as
-I have done."</p>
-
-<p>"And the Marquis?" asked the mother.</p>
-
-<p>"I know nothing as yet as to what his feelings may be. I have had no
-opportunity of speaking to him since the little occurrence took
-place. A word escaped me, an unthought-of word, which her ladyship
-overheard, and for which she rebuked me. Then I left the house."</p>
-
-<p>"What word?"</p>
-
-<p>"Just a common word of greeting, a word that would be common among
-dear friends, but which, coming from me to her, told all the story. I
-forgot the prefix which was due from such a one as I am to such as
-she is. I can understand with what horror I must henceforward be
-regarded by Lady Kingsbury."</p>
-
-<p>"What will the Marquis say?"</p>
-
-<p>"I shall be a horror to him also,—an unutterable horror. The idea of
-contact so vile will cure him at once of all his little Radical
-longings."</p>
-
-<p>"And Hampstead?"</p>
-
-<p>"Nothing, I think, can cure Hampstead of his convictions;—but even
-he is not well pleased."</p>
-
-<p>"Has he quarrelled with you?"</p>
-
-<p>"No, not that. He is too noble to quarrel on such offence. He is too
-noble even to take offence on such a cause. But he refuses to believe
-that good will come of it. And you, mother?"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, George, I doubt, I doubt."</p>
-
-<p>"You will not congratulate me?"</p>
-
-<p>"What am I to say? I fear more than I can hope."</p>
-
-<p>"When I tell you that she is noble at all points, noble in heart,
-noble in beauty, noble in that dignity which a woman should always
-carry with her, that she is as sweet a creature as God ever created
-to bless a man with, will you not then congratulate me?"</p>
-
-<p>"I would her birth were other than it is," said the mother.</p>
-
-<p>"I would have her altered in nothing," said the son. "Her birth is
-the smallest thing about her, but such as she is I would have her
-altered in nothing."</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c1-6" id="c1-6"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER VI.</h3>
-<h4>PARADISE ROW.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>About a fortnight after George Roden's return to Holloway,—a
-fortnight passed by the mother in meditation as to her son's glorious
-but dangerous love,—Lord Hampstead called at No. 11, Paradise Row.
-Mrs. Roden lived at No. 11, and Mrs. Demijohn lived at No. 10, the
-house opposite. There had already been some discussion in Holloway
-about Lord Hampstead, but nothing had as yet been discovered. He
-might have been at the house on various previous occasions, but had
-come in so unpretending a manner as hardly to have done more than to
-cause himself to be regarded as a stranger in Holloway. He was known
-to be George's friend, because he had been first seen coming with
-George on a Saturday afternoon. He had also called on a Sunday and
-walked away, down the Row, with George. Mrs. Demijohn concluded that
-he was a brother clerk in the Post Office, and had expressed an
-opinion that "it did not signify," meaning thereby to imply that
-Holloway need not interest itself about the stranger. A young
-Government clerk would naturally have another young Government clerk
-for his friend. Twice Lord Hampstead had come down in an omnibus from
-Islington; on which occasion it was remarked that as he did not come
-on Saturday there must be something wrong. A clerk, with Saturday
-half-holidays, ought not to be away from his work on Mondays and
-Tuesdays. Mrs. Duffer, who was regarded in Paradise Row as being very
-inferior to Mrs. Demijohn, suggested that the young man might,
-perhaps, not be a Post Office clerk. This, however, was ridiculed.
-Where should a Post Office clerk find his friends except among Post
-Office clerks? "Perhaps he is coming after the widow," suggested Mrs.
-Duffer. But this also was received with dissent. Mrs. Demijohn
-declared that Post Office clerks knew better than to marry widows
-with no more than two or three hundred a year, and old enough to be
-their mothers. "But why does he come on a Tuesday?" asked Mrs.
-Duffer; "and why does he come alone?" "Oh you dear old Mrs. Duffer!"
-said Clara Demijohn, the old lady's niece, naturally thinking that it
-might not be unnatural that handsome young men should come to
-Paradise Row.</p>
-
-<p>All this, however, had been as nothing to what occurred in the Row on
-the occasion which is now about to be described.</p>
-
-<p>"Aunt Jemima," exclaimed Clara Demijohn, looking out of the window,
-"there's that young man come again to Number Eleven, riding on
-horseback, with a groom behind to hold him!"</p>
-
-<p>"Groom to hold him!" exclaimed Mrs. Demijohn, jumping, with all her
-rheumatism, quickly from her seat, and trotting to the window.</p>
-
-<p>"You look if there aint,—with boots and breeches."</p>
-
-<p>"It must be another," said Mrs. Demijohn, after a pause, during which
-she had been looking intently at the empty saddle of the horse which
-the groom was leading slowly up and down the Row.</p>
-
-<p>"It's the same that came with young Roden that Saturday," said Clara;
-"only he hadn't been walking, and he looked nicer than ever."</p>
-
-<p>"You can hire them all, horses and groom," said Mrs. Demijohn; "but
-he'd never make his money last till the end of the month if he went
-on in that way."</p>
-
-<p>"They aint hired. They're his own," said Clara.</p>
-
-<p>"How do you know, Miss?"</p>
-
-<p>"By the colour of his boots, and the way he touched his hat, and
-because his gloves are clean. He aint a Post Office clerk at all,
-Aunt Jemima."</p>
-
-<p>"I wonder whether he can be coming after the widow," said Mrs.
-Demijohn. After this Clara escaped out of the room, leaving her aunt
-fixed at the window. Such a sight as that groom and those two horses
-moving up and down together had never been seen in the Row before.
-Clara put on her hat and ran across hurriedly to Mrs. Duffer, who
-lived at No. 15, next door but one to Mrs. Roden. But she was
-altogether too late to communicate the news as news.</p>
-
-<p>"I knew he wasn't a Post Office clerk," said Mrs. Duffer, who had
-seen Lord Hampstead ride up the street; "but who he is, or why, or
-wherefore, it is beyond me to conjecture. But I never will give up my
-opinion again, talking to your aunt. I suppose she holds out still
-that he's a Post Office clerk."</p>
-
-<p>"She thinks he might have hired them."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh my! Hired them!"</p>
-
-<p>"But did you ever see anything so noble as the way he got off his
-horse? As for hire, that's nonsense. He's been getting off that horse
-every day of his life." Thus it was that Paradise Row was
-awe-stricken by this last coming of George Roden's friend.</p>
-
-<p>It was an odd thing to do,—this riding down to Holloway. No one else
-would have done it, either lord or Post Office clerk;—with a hired
-horse or with private property. There was a hot July sunshine, and
-the roads across from Hendon Hall consisted chiefly of paved streets.
-But Lord Hampstead always did things as others would not do them. It
-was too far to walk in the midday sun, and therefore he rode. There
-would be no servant at Mrs. Roden's house to hold his horse, and
-therefore he brought one of his own. He did not see why a man on
-horseback should attract more attention at Holloway than at Hyde Park
-Corner. Had he guessed the effect which he and his horse would have
-had in Paradise Row he would have come by some other means.</p>
-
-<p>Mrs. Roden at first received him with considerable
-embarrassment,—which he probably observed, but in speaking to her
-seemed not to observe. "Very hot, indeed," he said;—"too hot for
-riding, as I found soon after I started. I suppose George has given
-up walking for the present."</p>
-
-<p>"He still walks home, I think."</p>
-
-<p>"If he had declared his purpose of doing so, he'd go on though he had
-sunstroke every afternoon."</p>
-
-<p>"I hope he is not so obstinate as that, my lord."</p>
-
-<p>"The most obstinate fellow I ever knew in my life! Though the world
-were to come to an end, he'd let it come rather than change his
-purpose. It's all very well for a man to keep his purpose, but he may
-overdo it."</p>
-
-<p>"Has he been very determined lately in anything?"</p>
-
-<p>"No;—nothing particular. I haven't seen him for the last week. I
-want him to come over and dine with me at Hendon one of these days.
-I'm all alone there." From this Mrs. Roden learnt that Lord Hampstead
-at any rate did not intend to quarrel with her son, and she learnt
-also that Lady Frances was no longer staying at the Hall. "I can send
-him home," continued the lord, "if he can manage to come down by the
-railway or the omnibus."</p>
-
-<p>"I will give him your message, my lord."</p>
-
-<p>"Tell him I start on the 21st. My yacht is at Cowes, and I shall go
-down there on that morning. I shall be away Heaven knows how
-long;—probably for a month. Vivian will be with me, and we mean to
-bask away our time in the Norway and Iceland seas, till he goes, like
-an idiot that he is, to his grouse-shooting. I should like to see
-George before I start. I said that I was all alone; but Vivian will
-be with me. George has met him before, and as they didn't cut each
-other's throats then I suppose they won't now."</p>
-
-<p>"I will tell him all that," said Mrs. Roden.</p>
-
-<p>Then there was a pause for a moment, after which Lord Hampstead went
-on in an altered voice. "Has he said anything to you since he was at
-Hendon;—as to my family, I mean?"</p>
-
-<p>"He has told me something."</p>
-
-<p>"I was sure he had. I should not have asked unless I had been quite
-sure. I know that he would tell you anything of that kind. Well?"</p>
-
-<p>"What am I to say, Lord Hampstead?"</p>
-
-<p>"What has he told you, Mrs. Roden?"</p>
-
-<p>"He has spoken to me of your sister."</p>
-
-<p>"But what has he said?"</p>
-
-<p>"That he loves her."</p>
-
-<p>"And that she loves him?"</p>
-
-<p>"That he hopes so."</p>
-
-<p>"He has said more than that, I take it. They have engaged themselves
-to each other."</p>
-
-<p>"So I understand."</p>
-
-<p>"What do you think of it, Mrs. Roden?"</p>
-
-<p>"What can I think of it, Lord Hampstead? I hardly dare to think of it
-at all."</p>
-
-<p>"Was it wise?"</p>
-
-<p>"I suppose where love is concerned wisdom is not much considered."</p>
-
-<p>"But people have to consider it. I hardly know how to think of it. To
-my idea it was not wise. And yet there is no one living whom I esteem
-so much as your son."</p>
-
-<p>"You are very good, my lord."</p>
-
-<p>"There is no goodness in it,—any more than in his liking for me. But
-I can indulge my fancy without doing harm to others. Lady Kingsbury
-thinks that I am an idiot because I do not live exclusively with
-counts and countesses; but in declining to take her advice I do not
-injure her much. She can talk about me and my infatuations among her
-friends with a smile. She will not be tortured by any feeling of
-disgrace. So with my father. He has an idea that I am out-Heroding
-Herod, he having been Herod;—but there is nothing bitter in it to
-him. Those fine young gentlemen, my brothers, who are the dearest
-little chicks in the world, five and six and seven years old, will be
-able to laugh pleasantly at their elder brother when they grow up, as
-they will do, among the other idle young swells of the nation. That
-their brother and George Roden should be always together will not
-even vex them. They may probably receive some benefit themselves, may
-achieve some diminution of the folly natural to their position, by
-their advantage in knowing him. In looking at it all round, as far as
-that goes, there is not only satisfaction to me, but a certain pride.
-I am doing no more than I have a right to do. Whatever
-counter-influence I may introduce among my own people, will be good
-and wholesome. Do you understand me, Mrs. Roden?"</p>
-
-<p>"I think so;—very clearly. I should be dull, if I did not."</p>
-
-<p>"But it becomes different when one's sister is concerned. I am
-thinking of the happiness of other people."</p>
-
-<p>"She, I suppose, will think of her own."</p>
-
-<p>"Not exclusively, I hope."</p>
-
-<p>"No; not that I am sure. But a girl, when she
-<span class="nowrap">loves—"</span></p>
-
-<p>"Yes; that is all true. But a girl situated like Frances is bound not
-to,—not to sacrifice those with whom Fame and Fortune have
-connected her. I can speak plainly to you, Mrs. Roden, because you
-know what are my own opinions about many things."</p>
-
-<p>"George has no sister, no girl belonging to him; but if he had, and
-you loved her, would you abstain from marrying her lest you should
-sacrifice your—connections?"</p>
-
-<p>"The word has offended you?"</p>
-
-<p>"Not in the least. It is a word true to the purpose in hand. I
-understand the sacrifice you mean. Lady Kingsbury's feelings would
-be—sacrificed were her daughter,—even her stepdaughter,—to become
-my boy's husband. She supposes that her girl's birth is superior to
-my boy's."</p>
-
-<p>"There are so many meanings to that word 'birth.'"</p>
-
-<p>"I will take it all as you mean, Lord Hampstead, and will not be
-offended. My boy, as he is, is no match for your sister. Both Lord
-and Lady Kingsbury would think that there had been—a sacrifice. It
-might be that those little lords would not in future years be wont to
-talk at their club of their brother-in-law, the Post Office clerk, as
-they would of some earl or some duke with whom they might have become
-connected. Let us pass it by, and acknowledge that there would be—a
-sacrifice. So there will be should you marry below your degree. The
-sacrifice would be greater because it would be carried on to some
-future Marquis of Kingsbury. Would you practise such self-denial as
-that you demand from your sister?"</p>
-
-<p>Lord Hampstead considered the matter a while, and then answered the
-question. "I do not think that the two cases would be quite
-analogous."</p>
-
-<p>"Where is the difference?"</p>
-
-<p>"There is something more delicate, more nice, requiring greater
-caution in the conduct of a girl than of a man."</p>
-
-<p>"Quite so, Lord Hampstead. Where conduct is in question, the girl is
-bound to submit to stricter laws. I may explain that by saying that
-the girl is lost for ever who gives herself up to unlawful
-love,—whereas, for the man, the way back to the world's respect is
-only too easy, even should he, on that score, have lost aught of the
-world's respect. The same law runs through every act of a girl's
-life, as contrasted with the acts of men. But in this act,—the act
-now supposed of marrying a gentleman whom she loves,—your sister
-would do nothing which should exclude her from the respect of good
-men or the society of well-ordered ladies. I do not say that the
-marriage would be well-assorted. I do not recommend it. Though my
-boy's heart is dearer to me than anything else can be in the world, I
-can see that it may be fit that his heart should be made to suffer.
-But when you talk of the sacrifice which he and your sister are
-called on to make, so that others should be delivered from lesser
-sacrifices, I think you should ask what duty would require from
-yourself. I do not think she would sacrifice the noble blood of the
-Traffords more effectually than you would by a similar marriage." As
-she thus spoke she leant forward from her chair on the table, and
-looked him full in the face. And he felt, as she did so, that she was
-singularly handsome, greatly gifted, a woman noble to the eye and to
-the ear. She was pleading for her son,—and he knew that. But she had
-condescended to use no mean argument.</p>
-
-<p>"If you will say that such a law is dominant among your class, and
-that it is one to which you would submit yourself, I will not
-repudiate it. But you shall not induce me to consent to it, by even a
-false idea as to the softer delicacy of the sex. That softer
-delicacy, with its privileges and duties, shall be made to stand for
-what it is worth, and to occupy its real ground. If you use it for
-other mock purposes, then I will quarrel with you." It was thus that
-she had spoken, and he understood it all.</p>
-
-<p>"I am not brought in question," he said slowly.</p>
-
-<p>"Cannot you put it to yourself as though you were brought in
-question? You will at any rate admit that my argument is just."</p>
-
-<p>"I hardly know. I must think of it. Such a marriage on my part would
-not outrage my stepmother, as would that of my sister."</p>
-
-<p>"Outrage! You speak, Lord Hampstead, as though your mother would
-think that your sister would have disgraced herself as a woman!"</p>
-
-<p>"I am speaking of her feelings,—not of mine. It would be different
-were I to marry in the same degree."</p>
-
-<p>"Would it? Then I think that perhaps I had better counsel George not
-to go to Hendon Hall."</p>
-
-<p>"My sister is not there. They are all in Germany."</p>
-
-<p>"He had better not go where your sister will be thought of."</p>
-
-<p>"I would not quarrel with your son for all the world."</p>
-
-<p>"It will be better that you should. Do not suppose that I am pleading
-for him." That, however, was what he did suppose, and that was what
-she was doing. "I have told him already that I think that the
-prejudices will be too hard for him, and that he had better give it
-up before he adds to his own misery, and perhaps to hers. What I have
-said has not been in the way of pleading,—but only as showing the
-ground on which I think that such a marriage would be inexpedient. It
-is not that we, or our sister, are too bad or too low for such
-contact; but that you, on your side, are not as yet good enough or
-high enough."</p>
-
-<p>"I will not dispute that with you, Mrs. Roden. But you will give him
-my message?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes; I will give him your message."</p>
-
-<p>Then Lord Hampstead, having spent a full hour in the house, took his
-departure and rode away.</p>
-
-<p>"Just an hour," said Clara Demijohn, who was still looking out of
-Mrs. Duffer's window. "What can they have been talking about?"</p>
-
-<p>"I think he must be making up to the widow," said Mrs. Duffer, who
-was so lost in surprise as to be unable to suggest any new idea.</p>
-
-<p>"He'd never have come with saddle horses to do that. She wouldn't be
-taken by a young man spending his money in that fashion. She'd like
-saving ways better. But they're his own horses, and his own man, and
-he's no more after the widow than he's after me," said Clara,
-laughing.</p>
-
-<p>"I wish he were, my dear."</p>
-
-<p>"There may be as good as him come yet, Mrs. Duffer. I don't think so
-much of their having horses and grooms. When they have these things
-they can't afford to have wives too,—and sometimes they can't afford
-to pay for either." Then, having seen the last of Lord Hampstead as
-he rode out of the Row, she went back to her mother's house.</p>
-
-<p>But Mrs. Demijohn had been making use of her time while Clara and
-Mrs. Duffer had been wasting theirs in mere gazing, and making vain
-surmises. As soon as she found herself alone the old woman got her
-bonnet and shawl, and going out slily into the Row, made her way down
-to the end of the street in the direction opposite to that in which
-the groom was at that moment walking the horses. There she escaped
-the eyes of her niece and of the neighbours, and was enabled to wait
-unseen till the man, in his walking, came down to the spot at which
-she was standing. "My young man," she said in her most winning voice,
-when the groom came near her.</p>
-
-<p>"What is it, Mum?"</p>
-
-<p>"You'd like a glass of beer, wouldn't you;—after walking up and down
-so long?"</p>
-
-<p>"No, I wouldn't, not just at present." He knew whom he served, and
-from whom it would become him to take beer.</p>
-
-<p>"I'd be happy to pay for a pint," said Mrs. Demijohn, fingering a
-fourpenny bit so that he might see it.</p>
-
-<p>"Thankye, Mum; no, I takes it reg'lar when I takes it. I'm on dooty
-just at present."</p>
-
-<p>"Your master's horses, I suppose?"</p>
-
-<p>"Whose else, Mum? His lordship don't ride generally nobody's 'orses
-but his own."</p>
-
-<p>Here was a success! And the fourpenny bit saved! His lordship! "Of
-course not," said Mrs. Demijohn. "Why should he?"</p>
-
-<p>"Why, indeed, Mum?"</p>
-
-<p>"Lord—; Lord—;—Lord who, is he?"</p>
-
-<p>The groom poked up his hat, and scratched his head, and bethought
-himself. A servant generally wishes to do what honour he can to his
-master. This man had no desire to gratify an inquisitive old woman,
-but he thought it derogatory to his master and to himself to seem to
-deny their joint name. "'Ampstead!" he said, looking down very
-serenely on the lady, and then moved on, not wasting another word.</p>
-
-<p>"I knew all along they were something out of the common way," said
-Mrs. Demijohn as soon as her niece came in.</p>
-
-<p>"You haven't found out who it is, aunt?"</p>
-
-<p>"You've been with Mrs. Duffer, I suppose. You two'd put your heads
-together for a week, and then would know nothing." It was not till
-quite the last thing at night that she told her secret. "He was a
-peer! He was Lord 'Ampstead!"</p>
-
-<p>"A peer!"</p>
-
-<p>"He was Lord 'Ampstead, I tell you," said Mrs. Demijohn.</p>
-
-<p>"I don't believe there is such a lord," said Clara, as she took
-herself up to bed.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c1-7" id="c1-7"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER VII.</h3>
-<h4>THE POST OFFICE.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>When George Roden came home that evening the matter was discussed
-between him and his mother at great length. She was eager with him,
-if not to abandon his love, at any rate to understand how impossible
-it was that he should marry Lady Frances. She was very tender with
-him, full of feeling, full of compassion and sympathy; but she was
-persistent in declaring that no good could come from such an
-engagement. But he would not be deterred in the least from his
-resolution, nor would he accept it as possible that he should be
-turned from his object by the wishes of any person as long as Lady
-Frances was true to him. "You speak as if daughters were slaves," he
-said.</p>
-
-<p>"So they are. So women must be;—slaves to the conventions of the
-world. A young woman can hardly run counter to her family on a
-question of marriage. She may be persistent enough to overcome
-objections, but that will be because the objections themselves are
-not strong enough to stand against her. But here the objections will
-be very strong."</p>
-
-<p>"We will see, mother," he said. She who knew him well perceived that
-it would be vain to talk to him further.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, yes," he said, "I will go out to Hendon, perhaps on Sunday. That
-Mr. Vivian is a pleasant fellow, and as Hampstead does not wish to
-quarrel with me I certainly will not quarrel with him."</p>
-
-<p>Roden was generally popular at his office, and had contrived to make
-his occupation there pleasant to himself and interesting; but he had
-his little troubles, as will happen to most men in all walks of life.
-His came to him chiefly from the ill-manners of a fellow-clerk who
-sat in the same room with him, and at the same desk. There were five
-who occupied the apartment, an elderly gentleman and four youngsters.
-The elderly gentleman was a quiet, civil, dull old man, who never
-made himself disagreeable, and was content to put up with the
-frivolities of youth, if they did not become too uproarious or
-antagonistic to discipline. When they did, he had but one word of
-rebuke. "Mr. Crocker, I will not have it." Beyond that he had never
-been known to go in the way either of reporting the misconduct of his
-subordinates to other superior powers, or in quarrelling with the
-young men himself. Even with Mr. Crocker, who no doubt was
-troublesome, he contrived to maintain terms of outward friendship.
-His name was Jerningham, and next to Mr. Jerningham in age came Mr.
-Crocker, by whose ill-timed witticisms our George Roden was not
-unfrequently made to suffer. This had sometimes gone so far that
-Roden had contemplated the necessity of desiring Mr. Crocker to
-assume that a bond of enmity had been established between them;—or
-in other words, that they were not "to speak" except on official
-subjects. But there had been an air of importance about such a
-proceeding of which Crocker hardly seemed to be worthy; and Roden had
-abstained, putting off the evil hour from day to day, but still
-conscious that he must do something to stop vulgarities which were
-distasteful to him.</p>
-
-<p>The two other young men, Mr. Bobbin and Mr. Geraghty, who sat at a
-table by themselves and were the two junior clerks in that branch of
-the office, were pleasant and good-humoured enough. They were both
-young, and as yet not very useful to the Queen. They were apt to come
-late to their office, and impatient to leave it when the hour of four
-drew nigh. There would sometimes come a storm through the Department,
-moved by an unseen but powerful and unsatisfied Æolus, in which
-Bobbin and Geraghty would be threatened to be blown into infinite
-space. Minutes would be written and rumours spread about; punishments
-would be inflicted, and it would be given to be understood that now
-one and then the other would certainly have to return to his
-disconsolate family at the very next offence. There was a question at
-this very moment whether Geraghty, who had come from the sister
-island about twelve months since, should not be returned to King's
-County. No doubt he had passed the Civil Service examiners with
-distinguished applause; but Æolus hated the young Crichtons who came
-to him with full marks, and had declared that Geraghty, though no
-doubt a linguist, a philosopher, and a mathematician, was not worth
-his salt as a Post Office clerk. But he, and Bobbin also, were
-protected by Mr. Jerningham, and were well liked by George Roden.</p>
-
-<p>That Roden was intimate with Lord Hampstead had become known to his
-fellow-clerks. The knowledge of this association acted somewhat to
-his advantage and somewhat to his injury. His daily companions could
-not but feel a reflected honour in their own intimacy with the friend
-of the eldest son of a Marquis, and were anxious to stand well with
-one who lived in such high society. Such was natural;—but it was
-natural also that envy should show itself in ridicule, and that the
-lord should be thrown in the clerk's teeth when the clerk should be
-deemed to have given offence. Crocker, when it first became certain
-that Roden passed much of his time in company with a young lord, had
-been anxious enough to foregather with the fortunate youth who sat
-opposite to him; but Roden had not cared much for Crocker's society,
-and hence it had come to pass that Crocker had devoted himself to
-jeers and witticisms. Mr. Jerningham, who in his very soul respected
-a Marquis, and felt something of genuine awe for anything that
-touched the peerage, held his fortunate junior in unfeigned esteem
-from the moment in which he became aware of the intimacy. He did in
-truth think better of the clerk because the clerk had known how to
-make himself a companion to a lord. He did not want anything for
-himself. He was too old and settled in life to be desirous of new
-friendships. He was naturally conscientious, gentle, and unassuming.
-But Roden rose in his estimation, and Crocker fell, when he became
-assured that Roden and Lord Hampstead were intimate friends, and that
-Crocker had dared to jeer at the friendship. A lord is like a new
-hat. The one on the arm the other on the head are no evidences of
-mental superiority. But yet they are taken, and not incorrectly
-taken, as signs of merit. The increased esteem shown by Mr.
-Jerningham for Roden should, I think, be taken as showing Mr.
-Jerningham's good sense and general appreciation.</p>
-
-<p>The two lads were both on Roden's side. Roden was not a rose, but he
-lived with a rose, and the lads of course liked the scent of roses.
-They did not particularly like Crocker, though Crocker had a dash
-about him which would sometimes win their flattery. Crocker was brave
-and impudent and self-assuming. They were not as yet sufficiently
-advanced in life to be able to despise Crocker. Crocker imposed upon
-them. But should there come anything of real warfare between Crocker
-and Roden, there could be no doubt but that they would side with Lord
-Hampstead's friend. Such was the state of the room at the Post Office
-when Crocker entered it, on the morning of Lord Hampstead's visit to
-Paradise Row.</p>
-
-<p>Crocker was a little late. He was often a little late,—a fact of
-which Mr. Jerningham ought to have taken more stringent notice than
-he did. Perhaps Mr. Jerningham rather feared Crocker. Crocker had so
-read Mr. Jerningham's character as to have become aware that his
-senior was soft, and perhaps timid. He had so far advanced in this
-reading as to have learned to think that he could get the better of
-Mr. Jerningham by being loud and impudent. He had no doubt hitherto
-been successful, but there were those in the office who believed that
-the day might come when Mr. Jerningham would rouse himself in his
-wrath.</p>
-
-<p>"Mr. Crocker, you are late," said Mr. Jerningham.</p>
-
-<p>"Mr. Jerningham, I am late. I scorn false excuses. Geraghty would say
-that his watch was wrong. Bobbin would have eaten something that had
-disagreed with him. Roden would have been detained by his friend,
-Lord Hampstead." To this Roden made no reply even by a look. "For me,
-I have to acknowledge that I did not turn out when I was called. Of
-twenty minutes I have deprived my country; but as my country values
-so much of my time at only seven-pence-halfpenny, it is hardly worth
-saying much about it."</p>
-
-<p>"You are frequently late."</p>
-
-<p>"When the amount has come up to ten pound I will send the
-Postmaster-General stamps to that amount." He was now standing at his
-desk, opposite to Roden, to whom he made a low bow. "Mr. George
-Roden," he said, "I hope that his lordship is quite well."</p>
-
-<p>"The only lord with whom I am acquainted is quite well; but I do not
-know why you should trouble yourself about him."</p>
-
-<p>"I think it becoming in one who takes the Queen's pay to show a
-becoming anxiety as to the Queen's aristocracy. I have the greatest
-respect for the Marquis of Kingsbury. Have not you, Mr. Jerningham?"</p>
-
-<p>"Certainly I have. But if you would go to your work instead of
-talking so much it would be better for everybody."</p>
-
-<p>"I am at my work already. Do you think that I cannot work and talk at
-the same time? Bobbin, my boy, if you would open that window, do you
-think it would hurt your complexion?" Bobbin opened the window.
-"Paddy, where were you last night?" Paddy was Mr. Geraghty.</p>
-
-<p>"I was dining, then, with my sister's mother-in-law."</p>
-
-<p>"What,—the O'Kelly, the great legislator and Home Ruler, whom his
-country so loves and Parliament so hates! I don't think any Home
-Ruler's relative ought to be allowed into the service. Do you, Mr.
-Jerningham?"</p>
-
-<p>"I think Mr. Geraghty, if he will only be a little more careful, will
-do great credit to the service," said Mr. Jerningham.</p>
-
-<p>"I hope that Æolus may think the same." Æolus was the name by which a
-certain pundit was known at the office;—a violent and imperious
-Secretary, but not in the main ill-natured. "Æolus, when last I heard
-of his opinion, seemed to have his doubts about poor Paddy." This was
-a disagreeable subject, and it was felt by them all that it might
-better be left in silence. From that time the work of the day was
-continued with no more than moderate interruptions till the hour of
-luncheon, when the usual attendant entered with the usual
-mutton-chops. "I wonder if Lord Hampstead has mutton-chops for
-luncheon?" asked Crocker.</p>
-
-<p>"Why should he not?" asked Mr. Jerningham, foolishly.</p>
-
-<p>"There must be some kind of gilded cutlet, upon which the higher
-members of the aristocracy regale themselves. I suppose, Roden, you
-must have seen his lordship at lunch."</p>
-
-<p>"I dare say I have," said Roden, angrily. He knew that he was
-annoyed, and was angry with himself at his own annoyance.</p>
-
-<p>"Are they golden or only gilded?" asked Crocker.</p>
-
-<p>"I believe you mean to make yourself disagreeable," said the other.</p>
-
-<p>"Quite the reverse. I mean to make myself agreeable;—only you have
-soared so high of late that ordinary conversation has no charms for
-you. Is there any reason why Lord Hampstead's lunch should not be
-mentioned?"</p>
-
-<p>"Certainly there is," said Roden.</p>
-
-<p>"Then, upon my life, I cannot see it. If you talked of my mid-day
-chop I should not take it amiss."</p>
-
-<p>"I don't think a fellow should ever talk about another fellow's
-eating unless he knows the fellow." This came from Bobbin, who
-intended it well, meaning to fight the battle for Roden as well as he
-knew how.</p>
-
-<p>"Most sapient Bobb," said Crocker, "you seem to be unaware that one
-young fellow, who is Roden, happens to be the peculiarly intimate
-friend of the other fellow, who is the Earl of Hampstead. Therefore
-the law, as so clearly laid down by yourself, has not been infringed.
-To return to our muttons, as the Frenchman says, what sort of lunch
-does his lordship eat?"</p>
-
-<p>"You are determined to make yourself disagreeable," said Roden.</p>
-
-<p>"I appeal to Mr. Jerningham whether I have said anything unbecoming."</p>
-
-<p>"If you appeal to me, I think you have," said Mr. Jerningham.</p>
-
-<p>"You have, at any rate, been so successful in doing it," continued
-Roden, "that I must ask you to hold your tongue about Lord Hampstead.
-It has not been by anything I have said that you have heard of my
-acquaintance with him. The joke is a bad one, and will become vulgar
-if repeated."</p>
-
-<p>"Vulgar!" cried Crocker, pushing away his plate, and rising from his
-chair.</p>
-
-<p>"I mean ungentlemanlike. I don't want to use hard words, but I will
-not allow myself to be annoyed."</p>
-
-<p>"Hoity, toity," said Crocker, "here's a row because I made a chance
-allusion to a noble lord. I am to be called vulgar because I
-mentioned his name." Then he began to whistle.</p>
-
-<p>"Mr. Crocker, I will not have it," said Mr. Jerningham, assuming his
-most angry tone. "You make more noise in the room than all the others
-put together."</p>
-
-<p>"Nevertheless, I do wonder what Lord Hampstead has had for his
-lunch." This was the last shot, and after that the five gentlemen did
-in truth settle down to their afternoon's work.</p>
-
-<p>When four o'clock came Mr. Jerningham with praiseworthy punctuality
-took his hat and departed. His wife and three unmarried daughters
-were waiting for him at Islington, and as he was always in his seat
-punctually at ten, he was justified in leaving it punctually at four.
-Crocker swaggered about the room for a minute or two with his hat on,
-desirous of showing that he was by no means affected by the rebukes
-which he had received. But he, too, soon went, not having summoned
-courage to recur to the name of Roden's noble friend. The two lads
-remained for the sake of saying a word of comfort to Roden, who still
-sat writing at his desk. "I thought it was very low form," said
-Bobbin; "Crocker going on like that."</p>
-
-<p>"Crocker's a baist," said Geraghty.</p>
-
-<p>"What was it to him what anybody eats for his lunch?" continued
-Bobbin.</p>
-
-<p>"Only he likes to have a nobleman's name in his mouth," said
-Geraghty. "I think it's the hoighth of bad manners talking about
-anybody's friends unless you happen to know them yourself."</p>
-
-<p>"I think it is," said Roden, looking up from his desk. "But I'll tell
-you what shows worse manners;—that is, a desire to annoy anybody.
-Crocker likes to be funny, and he thinks there is no fun so good as
-what he calls taking a rise. I don't know that I'm very fond of
-Crocker, but it may be as well that we should all think no more about
-it." Upon this the young men promised that they, at least, would
-think no more about it, and then took their departure. George Roden
-soon followed them, for it was not the practice of anybody in that
-department to remain at work long after four o'clock.</p>
-
-<p>Roden as he walked home did think more of the little affair than it
-deserved,—more at least than he would acknowledge that it deserved.
-He was angry with himself for bearing it in mind, and yet he did bear
-it in mind. Could it be that a creature so insignificant as Crocker
-could annoy him by a mere word or two? But he was annoyed, and did
-not know how such annoyance could be made to cease. If the man would
-continue to talk about Lord Hampstead there was nothing by which he
-could be made to hold his tongue. He could not be kicked, or beaten,
-or turned out of the room. For any purpose of real assistance Mr.
-Jerningham was useless. As to complaining to the Æolus of the office
-that a certain clerk would talk about Lord Hampstead, that of course
-was out of the question. He had already used strong language, calling
-the man vulgar and ungentlemanlike, but if a man does not regard
-strong language what further can an angry victim do to him?</p>
-
-<p>Then his thoughts passed on to his connexion with the Marquis of
-Kingsbury's family generally. Had he not done wrong, at any rate,
-done foolishly, in thus moving himself out of his own sphere? At the
-present moment Lady Frances was nearer to him even than Lord
-Hampstead,—was more important to him and more in his thoughts. Was
-it not certain that he would give rise to misery rather than to
-happiness by what had occurred between him and Lady Frances? Was it
-not probable that he had embittered for her all the life of the lady
-whom he loved? He had assumed an assured face and a confident smile
-while declaring to his mother that no power on earth should stand
-between him and his promised wife,—that she would be able to walk
-out from her father's hall and marry him as certainly as might the
-housemaid or the ploughman's daughter go to her lover. But what would
-be achieved by that if she were to walk out only to encounter misery?
-The country was so constituted that he and these Traffords were in
-truth of a different race; as much so as the negro is different from
-the white man. The Post Office clerk may, indeed, possibly become a
-Duke; whereas the negro's skin cannot be washed white. But while he
-and Lady Frances were as they were, the distance between them was so
-great that no approach could be made between them without disruption.
-The world might be wrong in this. To his thinking the world was
-wrong. But while the facts existed they were too strong to be set
-aside. He could do his duty to the world by struggling to propagate
-his own opinions, so that the distance might be a little lessened in
-his own time. He was sure that the distance was being lessened, and
-with this he thought that he ought to have been contented. The
-jeering of such a one as Crocker was unimportant though disagreeable,
-but it sufficed to show the feeling. Such a friendship as his with
-Lord Hampstead had appeared to Crocker to be ridiculous. Crocker
-would not have seen the absurdity unless others had seen it also.
-Even his own mother saw it. Here in England it was accounted so
-foolish a thing that he, a Post Office clerk, should be hand and
-glove with such a one as Lord Hampstead, that even a Crocker could
-raise a laugh against him! What would the world say when it should
-have become known that he intended to lead Lady Frances to the
-"hymeneal altar?" As he repeated the words to himself there was
-something ridiculous even to himself in the idea that the hymeneal
-altar should ever be mentioned in reference to the adventures of such
-a person as George Roden, the Post Office clerk. Thinking of all
-this, he was not in a happy frame of mind when he reached his home in
-Paradise Row.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c1-8" id="c1-8"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER VIII.</h3>
-<h4>MR. GREENWOOD.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>Roden spent a pleasant evening with his friend and his friend's
-friend at Hendon Hall before their departure for the yacht,—during
-which not a word was said or an allusion made to Lady Frances. The
-day was Sunday, July 20th. The weather was very hot, and the two
-young men were delighted at the idea of getting away to the cool
-breezes of the Northern Seas. Vivian also was a clerk in the public
-service, but he was a clerk very far removed in his position from
-that filled by George Roden. He was attached to the Foreign Office,
-and was Junior Private Secretary to Lord Persiflage, who was
-Secretary of State at that moment. Lord Persiflage and our Marquis
-had married sisters. Vivian was distantly related to the two ladies,
-and hence the young men had become friends. As Lord Hampstead and
-Roden had been drawn together by similarity of opinion, so had Lord
-Hampstead and Vivian by the reverse. Hampstead could always produce
-Vivian in proof that he was not, in truth, opposed to his own order.
-Vivian was one who proclaimed his great liking for things as he found
-them. It was a thousand pities that any one should be hungry; but,
-for himself, he liked truffles, ortolans, and all good things. If
-there was any injustice in the world he was not responsible. And if
-there was any injustice he had not been the gainer, seeing that he
-was a younger brother. To him all Hampstead's theories were sheer
-rhodomontade. There was the world, and men had got to live in it as
-best they might. He intended to do so, and as he liked yachting and
-liked grouse-shooting, he was very glad to have arranged with Lord
-Persiflage and his brother Private Secretary, so as to be able to get
-out of town for the next two months. He was member of half-a-dozen
-clubs, could always go to his brother's country house if nothing more
-inviting offered, dined out in London four or five days a week, and
-considered himself a thoroughly useful member of society in that he
-condescended to write letters for Lord Persiflage. He was pleasant in
-his manners to all men, and had accommodated himself to Roden as well
-as though Roden's office had also been in Downing Street instead of
-the City.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, grouse," he said, after dinner. "If anything better can be
-invented I'll go and do it. American bears are a myth. You may get
-one in three years, and, as far as I can hear, very poor fun it is
-when you get it. Lions are a grind. Elephants are as big as a
-hay-stack. Pig-sticking may be very well, but you've got to go to
-India, and if you're a poor Foreign Office clerk you haven't got
-either the time or the money."</p>
-
-<p>"You speak as though killing something were a necessity," said Roden.</p>
-
-<p>"So it is, unless somebody can invent something better. I hate races,
-where a fellow has nothing to do with himself when he can't afford to
-bet. I don't mean to take to cards for the next ten years. I have
-never been up in a balloon. Spooning is good fun, but it comes to an
-end so soon one way or another. Girls are so wide-awake that they
-won't spoon for nothing. Upon the whole I don't see what a fellow is
-to do unless he kills something."</p>
-
-<p>"You won't have much to kill on board the yacht," said Roden.</p>
-
-<p>"Fishing without end in Iceland and Norway! I knew a man who killed a
-ton of trout out of an Iceland lake. He had to pack himself up very
-closely in tight-fitting nets, or the midges would have eaten him.
-And the skin came off his nose and ears from the sun. But he liked
-that rather than not, and he killed his ton of trout."</p>
-
-<p>"Who weighed them?" asked Hampstead.</p>
-
-<p>"How well you may know a Utilitarian by the nature of his questions!
-If a man doesn't kill his ton all out, he can say he did, which is
-the next best thing to it."</p>
-
-<p>"Are you taking close-packing nets with you?" Roden asked.</p>
-
-<p>"Well, no. Hampstead would be too impatient. And the <i>Free Trader</i>
-isn't big enough to bring away the fish. But I don't mind betting a
-sovereign that I kill something every day I'm out,—barring Sundays."</p>
-
-<p>Not a word was said about Lady Frances, although there were a few
-moments in which Roden and Lord Hampstead were alone together. Roden
-had made up his mind that he would ask no questions unless the
-subject were mentioned, and did not even allude to any of the family;
-but he learnt in the course of the evening that the Marquis had come
-back from Germany with the intention of attending to his
-Parliamentary duties during the remainder of the Session.</p>
-
-<p>"He's going to turn us all out," said Vivian, "on the County
-Franchise, I suppose."</p>
-
-<p>"I'm afraid my father is not so keen about County Franchise as he
-used to be, though I hope he will be one of the few to support it in
-the House of Lords if the House of Commons ever dares to pass it."</p>
-
-<p>In this way Roden learnt that the Marquis, who had carried his
-daughter off to Saxony as soon as he had heard of the engagement, had
-left his charge there and had returned to London. As he went home
-that evening he thought that it would be his duty to go to Lord
-Kingsbury, and tell him, as from himself, that which the father had
-as yet only learnt from his daughter or from his wife. He was aware
-that it behoves a man when he has won a girl's heart to go to the
-father and ask permission to carry on his suit. This duty he thought
-he was bound to perform, even though the father were a person so high
-and mighty as the Marquis of Kingsbury. Hitherto any such going was
-out of his power. The Marquis had heard the tidings, and had
-immediately caught his daughter up and carried her off to Germany. It
-would have been possible to write to him, but Roden had thought that
-not in such a way should such a duty be performed. Now the Marquis
-had come back to London; and though the operation would be painful
-the duty seemed to be paramount. On the next day he informed Mr.
-Jerningham that private business of importance would take him to the
-West End, and asked leave to absent himself. The morning had been
-passed in the room at the Post Office with more than ordinary
-silence. Crocker had been collecting himself for an attack, but his
-courage had hitherto failed him. As Roden put on his hat and opened
-the door he fired a parting shot. "Remember me kindly to Lord
-Hampstead," he said; "and tell him I hope he enjoyed his cutlets."</p>
-
-<p>Roden stood for a moment with the door in his hand, thinking that he
-would turn upon the man and rebuke his insolence, but at last
-determined that it would be best to hold his peace.</p>
-
-<p>He went direct to Park Lane, thinking that he would probably find the
-Marquis before he left the house after his luncheon. He had never
-been before at the town mansion which was known as Kingsbury House,
-and which possessed all the appanages of grandeur which can be given
-to a London residence. As he knocked at the door he acknowledged that
-he was struck with a certain awe of which he was ashamed. Having said
-so much to the daughter, surely he should not be afraid to speak to
-the father! But he felt that he could have managed the matter much
-better had he contrived to have the interview at Hendon Hall, which
-was much less grand than Kingsbury House. Almost as soon as he
-knocked the door was opened, and he found himself with a powdered
-footman as well as the porter. The powdered footman did not know
-whether or no "my lord" was at home. He would inquire. Would the
-gentleman sit down for a minute or two? The gentleman did sit down,
-and waited for what seemed to him to be more than half-an-hour. The
-house must be very large indeed if it took the man all this time to
-look for the Marquis. He was beginning to think in what way he might
-best make his escape,—as a man is apt to think when delays of this
-kind prove too long for the patience,—but the man returned, and with
-a cold unfriendly air bade Roden to follow him. Roden was quite sure
-that some evil was to happen, so cold and unfriendly was the manner
-of the man; but still he followed, having now no means of escape. The
-man had not said that the Marquis would see him, had not even given
-any intimation that the Marquis was in the house. It was as though he
-were being led away to execution for having had the impertinence to
-knock at the door. But still he followed. He was taken along a
-passage on the ground floor, past numerous doors, to what must have
-been the back of the house, and there was shown into a somewhat dingy
-room that was altogether surrounded by books. There he saw an old
-gentleman;—but the old gentleman was not the Marquis of Kingsbury.</p>
-
-<p>"Ah, eh, oh," said the old gentleman. "You, I believe, are Mr. George
-Roden."</p>
-
-<p>"That is my name. I had hoped to see Lord Kingsbury."</p>
-
-<p>"Lord Kingsbury has thought it best for all parties
-that,—that,—that,—I should see you. That is, if anybody should see
-you. My name is Greenwood;—the Rev. Mr. Greenwood. I am his
-lordship's chaplain, and, if I may presume to say so, his most
-attached and sincere friend. I have had the honour of a very long
-connexion with his lordship, and have therefore been entrusted by him
-with this,—this,—this delicate duty, I had perhaps better call it."
-Mr. Greenwood was a stout, short man, about sixty years of age, with
-pendant cheeks, and pendant chin, with a few grey hairs brushed
-carefully over his head, with a good forehead and well-fashioned
-nose, who must have been good-looking when he was young, but that he
-was too short for manly beauty. Now, in advanced years, he had become
-lethargic and averse to exercise; and having grown to be corpulent he
-had lost whatever he had possessed in height by becoming broad, and
-looked to be a fat dwarf. Still there would have been something
-pleasant in his face but for an air of doubt and hesitation which
-seemed almost to betray cowardice. At the present moment he stood in
-the middle of the room rubbing his hands together, and almost
-trembling as he explained to George Roden who he was.</p>
-
-<p>"I had certainly wished to see his lordship himself," said Roden.</p>
-
-<p>"The Marquis has thought it better not, and I must say that I agree
-with the Marquis." At the moment Roden hardly knew how to go on with
-the business in hand. "I believe I am justified in assuring you that
-anything you would have said to the Marquis you may say to me."</p>
-
-<p>"Am I to understand that Lord Kingsbury refuses to see me?"</p>
-
-<p>"Well;—yes. At the present crisis he does refuse. What can be
-gained?"</p>
-
-<p>Roden did not as yet know how far he might go in mentioning the name
-of Lady Frances to the clergyman, but was unwilling to leave the
-house without some reference to the business he had in hand. He was
-peculiarly averse to leaving an impression that he was afraid to
-mention what he had done. "I had to speak to his lordship about his
-daughter," he said.</p>
-
-<p>"I know; I know; Lady Frances! I have known Lady Frances since she
-was a little child. I have the warmest regard for Lady Frances,—as I
-have also for Lord Hampstead,—and for the Marchioness, and for her
-three dear little boys, Lord Frederic, Lord Augustus, and Lord
-Gregory. I feel a natural hesitation in calling them my friends
-because I think that the difference in rank and station which it has
-pleased the Lord to institute should be maintained with all their
-privileges and all their honours. Though I have agreed with the
-Marquis through a long life in those political tenets by propagating
-which he has been ever anxious to improve the condition of the lower
-classes, I am not and have not been on that account less anxious to
-uphold by any small means which may be in my power those variations
-in rank, to which, I think, in conjunction with the Protestant
-religion, the welfare and high standing of this country are mainly to
-be attributed. Having these feelings at my heart very strongly I do
-not wish, particularly on such an occasion as this, to seem by even a
-chance word to diminish the respect which I feel to be due to all the
-members of a family of a rank so exalted as that which belongs to the
-family of the Marquis of Kingsbury. Putting that aside for a moment,
-I perhaps may venture on this occasion, having had confided to me a
-task so delicate as the present, to declare my warm friendship for
-all who bear the honoured name of Trafford. I am at any rate entitled
-to declare myself so far a friend, that you may say anything on this
-delicate subject which you would think it necessary to say to the
-young lady's father. However inexpedient it may be that anything
-should be said at all, I have been instructed by his lordship to
-hear,—and to reply."</p>
-
-<p>George Roden, while he was listening to this tedious sermon, was
-standing opposite to the preacher with his hat in his hand, having
-not yet had accorded to him the favour of a seat. During the
-preaching of the sermon the preacher had never ceased to shiver and
-shake, rubbing one fat little clammy hand slowly over the other, and
-apparently afraid to look his audience in the face. It seemed to
-Roden as though the words must have been learnt by heart, they came
-so glibly, with so much of unction and of earnestness, and were in
-their glibness so strongly opposed to the man's manner. There had not
-been a single word spoken that had not been offensive to Roden. It
-seemed to him that they had been chosen because of their offence. In
-all those long-winded sentences about rank in which Mr. Greenwood had
-expressed his own humility and insufficiency for the position of
-friend in a family so exalted he had manifestly intended to signify
-the much more manifest insufficiency of his hearer to fill a place of
-higher honour even than that of friend. Had the words come at the
-spur of the moment, the man must, thought Roden, have great gifts for
-extempore preaching. He had thought the time in the hall to be long,
-but it had not been much for the communication of the Earl's wishes,
-and then for the preparation of all these words. It was necessary,
-however, that he must make his reply without any preparation.</p>
-
-<p>"I have come," he said, "to tell Lord Kingsbury that I am in love
-with his daughter." At hearing this the fat little man held up both
-his hands in amazement,—although he had already made it clear that
-he was acquainted with all the circumstances. "And I should have been
-bound to add," said Roden, plucking up all his courage, "that the
-young lady is also in love with me."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh,—oh,—oh!" The hands went higher and higher as these
-interjections were made.</p>
-
-<p>"Why not? Is not the truth the best?"</p>
-
-<p>"A young man, Mr. Roden, should never boast of a young lady's
-affection,—particularly of such a young lady;—particularly when I
-cannot admit that it exists;—particularly not in her father's
-house."</p>
-
-<p>"Nobody should boast of anything, Mr. Greenwood. I speak of a fact
-which it is necessary that a father should know. If the lady denies
-the assertion I have done."</p>
-
-<p>"It is a matter in which delicacy demands that no question shall be
-put to the young lady. After what has occurred, it is out of the
-question that your name should even be mentioned in the young lady's
-hearing."</p>
-
-<p>"Why?—I mean to marry her."</p>
-
-<p>"Mean!"—this word was shouted in the extremity of Mr. Greenwood's
-horror. "Mr. Roden, it is my duty to assure you that under no
-circumstances can you ever see the young lady again."</p>
-
-<p>"Who says so?"</p>
-
-<p>"The Marquis says so,—and the Marchioness,—and her little brothers,
-who with their growing strength will protect her from all harm."</p>
-
-<p>"I hope their growing strength may not be wanted for any such
-purpose. Should it be so I am sure they will not be deficient as
-brothers. At present there could not be much for them to do." Mr.
-Greenwood shook his head. He was still standing, not having moved an
-inch from the position in which he had been placed when the door was
-opened. "I can understand, Mr. Greenwood, that any further
-conversation on the subject between you and me must be quite
-useless."</p>
-
-<p>"Quite useless," said Mr. Greenwood.</p>
-
-<p>"But it has been necessary for my honour, and for my purpose, that
-Lord Kingsbury should know that I had come to ask him for his
-daughter's hand. I had not dared to expect that he would accept my
-proposal graciously."</p>
-
-<p>"No, no; hardly that, Mr. Roden."</p>
-
-<p>"But it was necessary that he should know my purpose from myself. He
-will now, no doubt, do so. He is, as I understand you, aware of my
-presence in the house." Mr. Greenwood shook his head, as though he
-would say that this was a matter he could not any longer discuss. "If
-not, I must trouble his lordship with a letter."</p>
-
-<p>"That will be unnecessary."</p>
-
-<p>"He does know." Mr. Greenwood nodded his head. "And you will tell him
-why I have come?"</p>
-
-<p>"The Marquis shall be made acquainted with the nature of the
-interview."</p>
-
-<p>Roden then turned to leave the room, but was obliged to ask Mr.
-Greenwood to show him the way along the passages. This the clergyman
-did, tripping on, ahead, upon his toes, till he had delivered the
-intruder over to the hall porter. Having done so, he made as it were
-a valedictory bow, and tripped back to his own apartment. Then Roden
-left the house, thinking as he did so that there was certainly much
-to be done before he could be received there as a welcome son-in-law.</p>
-
-<p>As he made his way back to Holloway he again considered it all. How
-could there be an end to this,—an end that would be satisfactory to
-himself and to the girl that he loved? The aversion expressed to him
-through the person of Mr. Greenwood was natural. It could not but be
-expected that such a one as the Marquis of Kingsbury should endeavour
-to keep his daughter out of the hands of such a suitor. If it were
-only in regard to money would it not be necessary for him to do so?
-Every possible barricade would be built up in his way. There would be
-nothing on his side except the girl's love for himself. Was it to be
-expected that her love would have power to conquer such obstacles as
-these? And if it were, would she obtain her own happiness by clinging
-to it? He was aware that in his present position no duty was so
-incumbent on him as that of looking to the happiness of the woman
-whom he wished to make his wife.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c1-9" id="c1-9"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER IX.</h3>
-<h4>AT KÖNIGSGRAAF.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>Very shortly after this there came a letter from Lady Frances to
-Paradise Row,—the only letter which Roden received from her during
-this period of his courtship. A portion of the letter shall be given,
-from which the reader will see that difficulties had arisen at
-Königsgraaf as to their correspondence. He had written twice. The
-first letter had in due course reached the young lady's hands, having
-been brought up from the village post-office in the usual manner, and
-delivered to her without remark by her own maid. When the second
-reached the Castle it fell into the hands of the Marchioness. She
-had, indeed, taken steps that it should fall into her hands. She was
-aware that the first letter had come, and had been shocked at the
-idea of such a correspondence. She had received no direct authority
-from her husband on the subject, but felt that it was incumbent on
-herself to take strong steps. It must not be that Lady Frances should
-receive love-letters from a Post Office clerk! As regarded Lady
-Frances herself, the Marchioness would have been willing enough that
-the girl should be given over to a letter-carrier, if she could be
-thus got rid of altogether,—so that the world should not know that
-there was or had been a Lady Frances. But the fact was patent,—as
-was also that too, too-sad truth of the existence of a brother older
-than her own comely bairns. As the feeling of hatred grew upon her,
-she continually declared to herself that she would have been as
-gentle a stepmother as ever loved another woman's children, had these
-two known how to bear themselves like the son and daughter of a
-Marquis. Seeing what they were,—and what were her own children,—how
-these struggled to repudiate that rank which her own were born to
-adorn and protect, was it not natural that she should hate them, and
-profess that she should wish them to be out of the way? They could
-not be made to get out of the way, but Lady Frances might at any rate
-be repressed. Therefore she determined to stop the correspondence.</p>
-
-<p>She did stop the second letter,—and told her daughter that she had
-done so.</p>
-
-<p>"Papa didn't say I wasn't to have my letters," pleaded Lady Frances.</p>
-
-<p>"Your papa did not suppose for a moment that you would submit to
-anything so indecent."</p>
-
-<p>"It is not indecent."</p>
-
-<p>"I shall make myself the judge of that. You are now in my care. Your
-papa can do as he likes when he comes back." There was a long
-altercation, but it ended in victory on the part of the Marchioness.
-The young lady, when she was told that, if necessary, the
-postmistress in the village should be instructed not to send on any
-letter addressed to George Roden, believed in the potency of the
-threat. She felt sure also that she would be unable to get at any
-letters addressed to herself if the quasi-parental authority of the
-Marchioness were used to prevent it. She yielded, on the condition,
-however, that one letter should be sent; and the Marchioness, not at
-all thinking that her own instructions would have prevailed with the
-post-mistress, yielded so far.</p>
-
-<p>The tenderness of the letter readers can appreciate and understand
-without seeing it expressed in words. It was very tender, full of
-promises, and full of trust. Then came the short passage in which her
-own uncomfortable position was explained;—"You will understand that
-there has come one letter which I have not been allowed to see.
-Whether mamma has opened it I do not know, or whether she has
-destroyed it. Though I have not seen it, I take it as an assurance of
-your goodness and truth. But it will be useless for you to write more
-till you hear from me again; and I have promised that this, for the
-present, shall be my last to you. The last and the first! I hope you
-will keep it till you have another, in order that you may have
-something to tell you how well I love you." As she sent it from her
-she did not know how much of solace there was even in the writing of
-a letter to him she loved, nor had she as yet felt how great was the
-torment of remaining without palpable notice from him she loved.</p>
-
-<p>After the episode of the letter life at Königsgraaf was very bitter
-and very dull. But few words were spoken between the Marchioness and
-her stepdaughter, and those were never friendly in their tone or
-kindly in their nature. Even the children were taken out of their
-sister's way as much as possible, so that their morals should not be
-corrupted by evil communication. When she complained of this to their
-mother the Marchioness merely drew herself up and was silent. Were it
-possible she would have altogether separated her darlings from
-contact with their sister, not because she thought that the darlings
-would in truth be injured,—as to which she had no fears at all,
-seeing that the darlings were subject to her own influences,—but in
-order that the punishment to Lady Frances might be the more complete.
-The circumstances being such as they were, there should be no family
-love, no fraternal sports, no softnesses, no mercy. There must, she
-thought, have come from the blood of that first wife a stain of
-impurity which had made her children altogether unfit for the rank to
-which they had unfortunately been born. This iniquity on the part of
-Lady Frances, this disgrace which made her absolutely tremble as she
-thought of it, this abominable affection for an inferior creature,
-acerbated her feelings even against Lord Hampstead. The two were
-altogether so base as to make her think that they could not be
-intended by Divine Providence to stand permanently in the way of the
-glory of the family. Something certainly would happen. It would turn
-out that they were not truly the legitimate children of a real
-Marchioness. Some beautiful scheme of romance would discover itself
-to save her and her darlings, and all the Traffords and all the
-Montressors from the terrible abomination with which they were
-threatened by these interlopers. The idea dwelt in her mind till it
-became an almost fixed conviction that Lord Frederic would live to
-become Lord Hampstead,—or probably Lord Highgate, as there was a
-third title in the family, and the name of Hampstead must for a time
-be held to have been disgraced,—and in due course of happy time
-Marquis of Kingsbury. Hitherto she had been accustomed to speak to
-her own babies of their elder brother with something of that respect
-which was due to the future head of the family; but in these days she
-altered her tone when they spoke to her of Jack, as they would call
-him, and she, from herself, never mentioned his name to them. "Is
-Fanny naughty?" Lord Frederic asked one day. To this she made no
-reply. "Is Fanny very naughty?" the boy persisted in asking. To this
-she nodded her head solemnly. "What has Fanny done, mamma?" At this
-she shook her head mysteriously. It may, therefore, be understood
-that poor Lady Frances was sadly in want of comfort during the
-sojourn at Königsgraaf.</p>
-
-<p>About the end of August the Marquis returned. He had hung on in
-London till the very last days of the Session had been enjoyed, and
-had then pretended that his presence had been absolutely required at
-Trafford Park. To Trafford Park he went, and had spent ten miserable
-days alone. Mr. Greenwood had indeed gone with him; but the Marquis
-was a man who was miserable unless surrounded by the comforts of his
-family, and he led Mr. Greenwood such a life that that worthy
-clergyman was very happy when he was left altogether in solitude by
-his noble friend. Then, in compliance with the promise which he had
-absolutely made, and aware that it was his duty to look after his
-wicked daughter, the Marquis returned to Königsgraaf. Lady Frances
-was to him at this period of his life a cause of unmitigated trouble.
-It must not be supposed that his feelings were in any way akin to
-those of the Marchioness as to either of his elder children. Both of
-them were very dear to him, and of both of them he was in some degree
-proud. They were handsome, noble-looking, clever, and to himself
-thoroughly well-behaved. He had seen what trouble other elder sons
-could give their fathers, what demands were made for increased
-allowances, what disreputable pursuits were sometimes followed, what
-quarrels there were, what differences, what want of affection and
-want of respect! He was wise enough to have perceived all this, and
-to be aware that he was in some respects singularly blest. Hampstead
-never asked him for a shilling. He was a liberal man, and would
-willingly have given many shillings. But still there was a comfort in
-having a son who was quite contented in having his own income. No
-doubt a time would come when those little lords would want shillings.
-And Lady Frances had always been particularly soft to him, diffusing
-over his life a sweet taste of the memory of his first wife. Of the
-present Marchioness he was fond enough, and was aware how much she
-did for him to support his position. But he was conscious ever of a
-prior existence in which there had been higher thoughts, grander
-feelings, and aspirations which were now wanting to him. Of these
-something would come back in the moments which he spent with his
-daughter; and in this way she was very dear to him. But now there had
-come a trouble which robbed his life of all its sweetness. He must go
-back to the grandeur of his wife and reject the tenderness of his
-daughter. During these days at Trafford he made himself very
-unpleasant to the devoted friend who had always been so true to his
-interests.</p>
-
-<p>When the battle about the correspondence was explained to him by his
-wife, it, of course, became necessary to him to give his orders to
-his daughter. Such a matter could hardly be passed over in
-silence,—though he probably might have done so had he not been
-instigated to action by the Marchioness.</p>
-
-<p>"Fanny," he said, "I have been shocked by these letters."</p>
-
-<p>"I only wrote one, papa."</p>
-
-<p>"Well, one. But two came."</p>
-
-<p>"I only had one, papa."</p>
-
-<p>"That made two. But there should have been no letter at all. Do you
-think it proper that a young lady should correspond with,—with,—a
-gentleman in opposition to the wishes of her father and mother?"</p>
-
-<p>"I don't know, papa."</p>
-
-<p>This seemed to him so weak that the Marquis took heart of grace, and
-made the oration which he felt that he as a father was bound to utter
-upon the entire question. For, after all, it was not the letters
-which were of importance, but the resolute feeling which had given
-birth to the letters. "My dear, this is a most unfortunate affair."
-He paused for a reply; but Lady Frances felt that the assertion was
-one to which at the present moment she could make no reply. "It is,
-you know, quite out of the question that you should marry a young man
-so altogether unfitted for you in point of station as this young
-man."</p>
-
-<p>"But I shall, papa."</p>
-
-<p>"Fanny, you can do no such thing."</p>
-
-<p>"I certainly shall. It may be a very long time first; but I certainly
-shall,—unless I die."</p>
-
-<p>"It is wicked of you, my dear, to talk of dying in that way."</p>
-
-<p>"What I mean is, that however long I may live I shall consider myself
-engaged to Mr. Roden."</p>
-
-<p>"He has behaved very, very badly. He has made his way into my house
-under a false pretence."</p>
-
-<p>"He came as Hampstead's friend."</p>
-
-<p>"It was very foolish of Hampstead to bring him,—very foolish,—a
-Post Office clerk."</p>
-
-<p>"Mr. Vivian is a clerk in the Foreign Office. Why shouldn't one
-office be the same as another?"</p>
-
-<p>"They are very different;—but Mr. Vivian wouldn't think of such a
-thing. He understands the nature of things, and knows his own
-position. There is a conceit about the other man."</p>
-
-<p>"A man should be conceited, papa. Nobody will think well of him
-unless he thinks well of himself."</p>
-
-<p>"He came to me in Park Lane."</p>
-
-<p>"What! Mr. Roden?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes; he came. But I didn't see him. Mr. Greenwood saw him."</p>
-
-<p>"What could Mr. Greenwood say to him?"</p>
-
-<p>"Mr. Greenwood could tell him to leave the house,—and he did so.
-There was nothing more to tell him. Now, my dear, let there be no
-more about it. If you will put on your hat, we will go out and walk
-down to the village."</p>
-
-<p>To this Lady Frances gave a ready assent. She was not at all disposed
-to quarrel with her father, or to take in bad part what he had said
-about her lover. She had not expected that things would go very
-easily. She had promised to herself constancy and final success; but
-she had not expected that in her case the course of true love could
-be made to run smooth. She was quite willing to return to a condition
-of good humour with her father, and,—not exactly to drop her lover
-for the moment,—but so to conduct herself as though he were not
-paramount in her thoughts. The cruelty of her stepmother had so
-weighed upon her that she found it to be quite a luxury to be allowed
-to walk with her father.</p>
-
-<p>"I don't know that anything can be done," the Marquis said a few days
-afterwards to his wife. "It is one of those misfortunes which do
-happen now and again!"</p>
-
-<p>"That such a one as your daughter should give herself up to a clerk
-in the Post Office!"</p>
-
-<p>"What's the use of repeating that so often? I don't know that the
-Post Office is worse than anything else. Of course it can't be
-allowed;—and having said so, the best thing will be to go on just as
-though nothing had happened."</p>
-
-<p>"And let her do just what she pleases?"</p>
-
-<p>"Who's going to let her do anything? She said she wouldn't write, and
-she hasn't written. We must just take her back to Trafford, and let
-her forget him as soon as she can."</p>
-
-<p>The Marchioness was by no means satisfied, though she did not know
-what measure of special severity to recommend. There was once a
-time,—a very good time, as Lady Kingsbury thought now,—in which a
-young lady could be locked up in a convent, or perhaps in a prison,
-or absolutely forced to marry some suitor whom her parents should
-find for her. But those comfortable days were past. In a prison Lady
-Frances was detained now; but it was a prison of which the
-Marchioness was forced to make herself the gaoler, and in which her
-darlings were made to be fellow-prisoners with their wicked sister.
-She herself was anxious to get back to Trafford and the comforts of
-her own home. The beauties of Königsgraaf were not lovely to her in
-her present frame of mind. But how would it be if Lady Frances should
-jump out of the window at Trafford and run away with George Roden?
-The windows at Königsgraaf were certainly much higher than those at
-Trafford.</p>
-
-<p>They had made up their mind to return early in September, and the
-excitement of packing up had almost commenced among them when Lord
-Hampstead suddenly appeared on the scene. He had had enough of
-yachting, and had grown tired of books and gardening at Hendon.
-Something must be done before the hunting began, and so, without
-notice, he appeared one day at Königsgraaf. This was to the intense
-delight of his brothers, over whose doings he assumed a power which
-their mother was unable to withstand. They were made to gallop on
-ponies on which they had only walked before; they were bathed in the
-river, and taken to the top of the Castle, and shut up in the dungeon
-after a fashion which was within the reach of no one but Hampstead.
-Jack was Jack, and all was delight, as far as the children were
-concerned; but the Marchioness was not so well pleased with the
-arrival. A few days after his coming a conversation arose as to Lady
-Frances which Lady Kingsbury would have avoided had it been possible,
-but it was forced upon her by her stepson.</p>
-
-<p>"I don't think that Fanny ought to be bullied," said her stepson.</p>
-
-<p>"Hampstead, I wish you would understand that I do not understand
-strong language."</p>
-
-<p>"Teased, tormented, and made wretched."</p>
-
-<p>"If she be wretched she has brought it on herself."</p>
-
-<p>"But she is not to be treated as though she had disgraced herself."</p>
-
-<p>"She has disgraced herself."</p>
-
-<p>"I deny it. I will not hear such a word said of her even by you." The
-Marchioness drew herself up as though she had been insulted. "If
-there is to be such a feeling about her in your house I must ask my
-father to have her removed, and I will make a home for her. I will
-not see her broken-hearted by cruel treatment. I am sure that he
-would not wish it."</p>
-
-<p>"You have no right to speak to me in this manner."</p>
-
-<p>"I surely have a right to protect my sister, and I will exercise it."</p>
-
-<p>"You have brought most improperly a young man into the
-<span class="nowrap">house—"</span></p>
-
-<p>"I have brought into the house a young man whom I am proud to call my
-friend."</p>
-
-<p>"And now you mean to assist him in destroying your sister."</p>
-
-<p>"You are very wrong to say so. They both know, Roden and my sister
-also, that I disapprove of this marriage. If Fanny were with me I
-should not think it right to ask Roden into the house. They would
-both understand that. But it does not follow that she should be
-cruelly used."</p>
-
-<p>"No one has been cruel to her but she herself."</p>
-
-<p>"It is easy enough to perceive what is going on. It will be much
-better that Fanny should remain with the family; but you may be sure
-of this,—that I will not see her tortured." Then he took himself
-off, and on the next day he had left Königsgraaf. It may be
-understood that the Marchioness was not reconciled to her radical
-stepson by such language as he had used to her. About a week
-afterwards the whole family returned to England and to Trafford.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c1-10" id="c1-10"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER X.</h3>
-<h4>"NOBLESSE OBLIGE."<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>"I quite agree," said Hampstead, endeavouring to discuss the matter
-rationally with his sister, "that her ladyship should not be allowed
-to torment you."</p>
-
-<p>"She does torment me. You cannot perceive what my life was at
-Königsgraaf! There is a kind of usage which would drive any girl to
-run away,—or to drown herself. I don't suppose a man can know what
-it is always to be frowned at. A man has his own friends, and can go
-anywhere. His spirits are not broken by being isolated. He would not
-even see half the things which a girl is made to feel. The very
-servants were encouraged to treat me badly. The boys were not allowed
-to come near me. I never heard a word that was not intended to be
-severe."</p>
-
-<p>"I am sure it was bad."</p>
-
-<p>"And it was not made better by the conviction that she has never
-cared for me. It is to suffer all the authority, but to enjoy none of
-the love of a mother. When papa came of course it was better; but
-even papa cannot make her change her ways. A man is comparatively so
-very little in the house. If it goes on it will drive me mad."</p>
-
-<p>"Of course I'll stand to you."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, John, I am sure you will."</p>
-
-<p>"But it isn't altogether easy to know how to set about it. If we were
-to keep house together at <span class="nowrap">Hendon—"</span>
-As he made this proposition a
-look of joy came over her face, and shone amidst her tears. "There
-would, of course, be a difficulty."</p>
-
-<p>"What difficulty?" She, however, knew well what would be the
-difficulty.</p>
-
-<p>"George Roden would be too near to us."</p>
-
-<p>"I should never see him unless you approved."</p>
-
-<p>"I should not approve. That would be the difficulty. He would argue
-the matter with me, and I should have to tell him that I could not
-let him come to the house, except with my father's leave. That would
-be out of the question. And therefore, as I say, there would be a
-difficulty."</p>
-
-<p>"I would never see him,—except with your sanction,—nor write to
-him,—nor receive letters from him. You are not to suppose that I
-would give him up. I shall never do that. I shall go on and wait.
-When a girl has once brought herself to tell a man that she loves
-him, according to my idea she cannot give him up. There are things
-which cannot be changed. I could have lived very well without
-thinking of him had I not encouraged myself to love him. But I have
-done that, and now he must be everything to me."</p>
-
-<p>"I am sorry that it should be so."</p>
-
-<p>"It is so. But if you will take me to Hendon I will never see him
-till I have papa's leave. It is my duty to obey him,—but not her."</p>
-
-<p>"I am not quite clear about that."</p>
-
-<p>"She has rejected me as a daughter, and therefore I reject her as a
-mother. She would get rid of us both if she could."</p>
-
-<p>"You should not attribute to her any such thoughts."</p>
-
-<p>"If you saw her as often as I do you would know. She hates you almost
-as much as me,—though she cannot show it so easily."</p>
-
-<p>"That she should hate my theories I can easily understand."</p>
-
-<p>"You stand in her way."</p>
-
-<p>"Of course I do. It is natural that a woman should wish to have the
-best for her own children. I have sometimes myself felt it to be a
-pity that Frederic should have an elder brother. Think what a gallant
-young Marquis he would make, while I am altogether out of my
-element."</p>
-
-<p>"That is nonsense, John."</p>
-
-<p>"I ought to have been a tailor. Tailors, I think, are generally the
-most ill-conditioned, sceptical, and patriotic of men. Had my natural
-propensities been sharpened by the difficulty of maintaining a wife
-and children upon seven and sixpence a day, I really think I could
-have done something to make myself conspicuous. As it is, I am
-neither one thing nor another; neither fish nor fowl nor good red
-herring. To the mind devoted to marquises I can understand that I
-should be a revolting being. I have no aptitudes for aristocratic
-prettinesses. Her ladyship has three sons, either of which would make
-a perfect marquis. How is it possible that she should not think that
-I am standing in her way?"</p>
-
-<p>"But she knew of your existence when she married papa."</p>
-
-<p>"No doubt she did;—but that does not alter her nature. I think I
-could find it in my heart to forgive her, even though she attempted
-to poison me, so much do I stand in her way. I have sometimes thought
-that I ought to repudiate myself; give up my prospects, and call
-myself John Trafford—so as to make way for her more lordly
-lordlings."</p>
-
-<p>"That is nonsense, John."</p>
-
-<p>"At any rate it is impossible. I could only do it by blowing my
-brains out—which would not be in accordance with my ideas of life.
-But you are not in anybody's way. There is nothing to be got by
-poisoning you. If she were to murder me there would be something
-reasonable in it,—something that one could pardon; but in torturing
-you she is instigated by a vile ambition. She is afraid, lest her own
-position should be tarnished by an inferior marriage on your part.
-There would be something noble in killing me for the sake of dear
-little Fred. She would be getting something for him who, of course,
-is most dear to her. But the other is the meanest vanity;—and I will
-not stand it."</p>
-
-<p>This conversation took place early in October, when they had been
-some weeks at Trafford Park. Hampstead had come and gone, as was his
-wont, never remaining there above two or three days at a time. Lord
-Kingsbury, who was ill at ease, had run hither and thither about the
-country, looking after this or the other property, and staying for a
-day or two with this or the other friend. The Marchioness had
-declined to invite any friends to the house, declaring to her husband
-that the family was made unfit for gaiety by the wicked conduct of
-his eldest daughter. There was no attempt at shooting the pheasants,
-or even preparing to shoot them, so great was the general depression.
-Mr. Greenwood was there, and was thrown into very close intercourse
-with her ladyship. He fully sympathized with her ladyship. Although
-he had always agreed with the Marquis,—as he had not forgotten to
-tell George Roden during that interview in London,—in regard to his
-lordship's early political tenets, nevertheless his mind was so
-constituted that he was quite at one with her ladyship as to the
-disgraceful horror of low associations for noble families. Not only
-did he sympathize as to the abomination of the Post Office clerk, but
-he sympathized also fully as to the positive unfitness which Lord
-Hampstead displayed for that station in life to which he had been
-called. Mr. Greenwood would sigh and wheeze and groan when the future
-prospects of the House of Trafford were discussed between him and her
-ladyship. It might be, or it might not be, well,—so he kindly put it
-in talking to the Marchioness,—that a nobleman should indulge
-himself with liberal politics; but it was dreadful to think that the
-heir to a great title should condescend to opinions worthy of a
-radical tailor. For Mr. Greenwood agreed with Lord Hampstead about
-the tailor. Lord Hampstead seemed to him to be a matter simply for
-sorrow,—not for action. Nothing, he thought, could be done in regard
-to Lord Hampstead. Time,—time that destroys but which also cures so
-many things,—would no doubt have its effect; so that Lord Hampstead
-might in the fulness of years live to be as staunch a supporter of
-his class as any Duke or Marquis living. Or perhaps,—perhaps, it
-might be that the Lord would take him. Mr. Greenwood saw that this
-remark was more to the purpose, and at once went to work with the
-Peerage, and found a score of cases in which, within half-a-century,
-the second brother had risen to the title. It seemed, indeed, to be
-the case that a peculiar mortality attached itself to the eldest sons
-of Peers. This was comforting. But there was not in it so much ground
-for positive action as at the present moment existed in regard to
-Lady Frances. On this matter there was a complete unison of spirit
-between the two friends.</p>
-
-<p>Mr. Greenwood had seen the objectionable young man, and could say how
-thoroughly objectionable he was at all points,—how vulgar, flippant,
-ignorant, impudent, exactly what a clerk in the Post Office might be
-expected to be. Any severity, according to Mr. Greenwood, would be
-justified in keeping the two young persons apart. Gradually Mr.
-Greenwood learnt to talk of the female young person with very little
-of that respect which he showed to other members of the family. In
-this way her ladyship came to regard Lady Frances as though she were
-not Lady Frances at all,—as though she were some distant Fanny
-Trafford, a girl of bad taste and evil conduct, who had unfortunately
-been brought into the family on grounds of mistaken charity.</p>
-
-<p>Things had so gone on at Trafford, that Trafford had hardly been
-preferable to Königsgraaf. Indeed, at Königsgraaf there had been no
-Mr. Greenwood, and Mr. Greenwood had certainly added much to the
-annoyances which poor Lady Frances was made to bear. In this
-condition of things she had written to her brother, begging him to
-come to her. He had come, and thus had taken place the conversation
-which has been given above.</p>
-
-<p>On the same day Hampstead saw his father and discussed the matter
-with him;—that matter, and, as will be seen, some others also. "What
-on earth do you wish me to do about her?" asked the Marquis.</p>
-
-<p>"Let her come and live with me at Hendon. If you will let me have the
-house I will take all the rest upon myself."</p>
-
-<p>"Keep an establishment of your own?"</p>
-
-<p>"Why not? If I found I couldn't afford it I'd give up the hunting and
-stick to the yacht."</p>
-
-<p>"It isn't about money," said the Marquis, shaking his head.</p>
-
-<p>"Her ladyship never liked Hendon for herself."</p>
-
-<p>"Nor is it about the house. You might have the house and welcome. But
-how can I give up my charge over your sister just when I know that
-she is disposed to do just what she ought not."</p>
-
-<p>"She won't be a bit more likely to do it there than here," said the
-brother.</p>
-
-<p>"He would be quite close to her."</p>
-
-<p>"You may take this for granted, sir, that no two persons would be
-more thoroughly guided by a sense of duty than my sister and George
-Roden."</p>
-
-<p>"Did she show her duty when she allowed herself to be engaged to a
-man like that without saying a word to any of her family."</p>
-
-<p>"She told her ladyship as soon as it occurred."</p>
-
-<p>"She should not have allowed it to have occurred at all. It is
-nonsense talking like that. You cannot mean to say that such a girl
-as your sister is entitled to do what she likes with herself without
-consulting any of her family,—even to accepting such a man as this
-for her lover."</p>
-
-<p>"I hardly know," said Hampstead, thoughtfully.</p>
-
-<p>"You ought to know. I know. Everybody knows. It is nonsense talking
-like that."</p>
-
-<p>"I doubt whether people do know," said Hampstead. "She is twenty-one,
-and as far as the law goes might, I believe, walk out of the house,
-and marry any man she pleases to-morrow. You as her father have no
-authority over her whatever;"—here the indignant father jumped up
-from his chair; but his son went on with his speech, as though
-determined not to be interrupted,—"except what may come to you by
-her good feeling, or else from the fact that she is dependent on you
-for her maintenance."</p>
-
-<p>"Good G——!" shouted the Marquis.</p>
-
-<p>"I think this is about the truth of it. Young ladies do subject
-themselves to the authority of their parents from feeling, from love,
-and from dependence; but, as far as I understand in the matter, they
-are not legally subject beyond a certain age."</p>
-
-<p>"You'd talk the hind legs off a dog."</p>
-
-<p>"I wish I could. But one may say a few words without being so
-eloquent as that. If such is the case I am not sure that Fanny has
-been morally wrong. She may have been foolish. I think she has been,
-because I feel that the marriage is not suitable for her."</p>
-
-<p>"Noblesse oblige," said the Marquis, putting his hand upon his bosom.</p>
-
-<p>"No doubt. Nobility, whatever may be its nature, imposes bonds on us.
-And if these bonds be not obeyed, then nobility ceases. But I deny
-that any nobility can bind us to any conduct which we believe to be
-wrong."</p>
-
-<p>"Who has said that it does?"</p>
-
-<p>"Nobility," continued the son, not regarding his father's question,
-"cannot bind me to do that which you or others think to be right, if
-I do not approve it myself."</p>
-
-<p>"What on earth are you driving at?"</p>
-
-<p>"You imply that because I belong to a certain order,—or my
-sister,—we are bound to those practices of life which that order
-regards with favour. This I deny both on her behalf and my own. I
-didn't make myself the eldest son of an English peer. I do
-acknowledge that as very much has been given to me in the way of
-education, of social advantages, and even of money, a higher line of
-conduct is justly demanded from me than from those who have been less
-gifted. So far, <i>noblesse oblige</i>. But before I undertake the duty
-thus imposed upon me, I must find out what is that higher line of
-conduct. Fanny should do the same. In marrying George Roden she would
-do better, according to your maxim, than in giving herself to some
-noodle of a lord who from first to last will have nothing to be proud
-of beyond his acres and his title."</p>
-
-<p>The Marquis had been walking about the room impatiently, while his
-didactic son was struggling to explain his own theory as to those
-words <i>noblesse oblige</i>. Nothing could so plainly express the
-feelings of the Marquis on the occasion as that illustration of his
-as to the dog's hind legs. But he was a little ashamed of it, and did
-not dare to use it twice on the same occasion. He fretted and fumed,
-and would have stopped Hampstead had it been possible; but Hampstead
-was irrepressible when he had become warm on his own themes, and his
-father knew that he must listen on to the bitter end. "I won't have
-her go to Hendon at all," he said, when his son had finished.</p>
-
-<p>"Then you will understand little of her nature,—or of mine. Roden
-will not come near her there. I can hardly be sure that he will not
-do so here. Here Fanny will feel that she is being treated as an
-enemy."</p>
-
-<p>"You have no right to say so."</p>
-
-<p>"There she will know that you have done much to promote her
-happiness. I will give you my assurance that she will neither see him
-nor write to him. She has promised as much to me herself, and I can
-trust her."</p>
-
-<p>"Why should she be so anxious to leave her natural home?"</p>
-
-<p>"Because," said Hampstead boldly, "she has lost her natural mother."
-The Marquis frowned awfully at hearing this. "I have not a word to
-say against my stepmother as to myself. I will not accuse her of
-anything as to Fanny,—except that they thoroughly misunderstand each
-other. You must see it yourself, sir." The Marquis had seen it very
-thoroughly. "And Mr. Greenwood has taken upon himself to speak to
-her,—which was, I think, very impertinent."</p>
-
-<p>"I never authorized him."</p>
-
-<p>"But he did. Her ladyship no doubt authorized him. The end of it is
-that Fanny is watched. Of course she will not bear a continuation of
-such misery. Why should she? It will be better that she should come
-to me than be driven to go off with her lover."</p>
-
-<p>Before the week was over the Marquis had yielded. Hendon Hall was to
-be given up altogether to Lord Hampstead, and his sister was to be
-allowed to live with him as the mistress of his house. She was to
-come in the course of next month, and remain there at any rate till
-the spring. There would be a difficulty about the hunting, no doubt,
-but that Hampstead if necessary was prepared to abandon for the
-season. He thought that perhaps he might be able to run down twice a
-week to the Vale of Aylesbury, going across from Hendon to the
-Willesden Junction. He would at any rate make his sister's comfort
-the first object of his life, and would take care that in doing so
-George Roden should be excluded altogether from the arrangement.</p>
-
-<p>The Marchioness was paralyzed when she heard that Lady Frances was to
-be taken away,—to be taken into the direct neighbourhood of London
-and the Post Office. Very many words she said to her husband, and
-often the Marquis vacillated. But, when once the promise was given,
-Lady Frances was strong enough to demand its fulfilment. It was on
-this occasion that the Marchioness first allowed herself to speak to
-Mr. Greenwood with absolute disapproval of her husband. "To Hendon
-Hall!" said Mr. Greenwood, holding up his hands with surprise when
-the project was explained.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, indeed! It does seem to me to be the most,—most improper sort
-of thing to do."</p>
-
-<p>"He can walk over there every day as soon as he has got rid of the
-letters." Mr. Greenwood probably thought that George Roden was sent
-about with the Post Office bags.</p>
-
-<p>"Of course they will meet."</p>
-
-<p>"I fear so, Lady Kingsbury."</p>
-
-<p>"Hampstead will arrange that for them."</p>
-
-<p>"No, no!" said the clergyman, as though he were bound on behalf of
-the family to repudiate an idea that was so damnatory to its honour.</p>
-
-<p>"It is just what he will do. Why else should he want to have her
-there? With his ideas he would think it the best thing he could do
-utterly to degrade us all. He has no idea of the honour of his
-brothers. How should he, when he is so anxious to sacrifice his own
-sister? As for me, of course, he would do anything to break my heart.
-He knows that I am anxious for his father's name, and, therefore, he
-would disgrace me in any way that was possible. But that the Marquis
-should consent!"</p>
-
-<p>"That is what I cannot understand," said Mr. Greenwood.</p>
-
-<p>"There must be something in it, Mr. Greenwood, which they mean to
-keep from me."</p>
-
-<p>"The Marquis can't intend to give her to that young man!"</p>
-
-<p>"I don't understand it. I don't understand it at all," said the
-Marchioness. "He did seem so firm about it. As for the girl herself,
-I will never see her again after she has left my house in such a
-fashion. And, to tell the truth, I never wish to see Hampstead again.
-They are plotting against me; and if there is anything I hate it is a
-plot." In this way Mr. Greenwood and the Marchioness became bound
-together in their great disapproval of Lady Frances and her love.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c1-11" id="c1-11"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XI.</h3>
-<h4>LADY PERSIFLAGE.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>Hampstead rushed up to Hendon almost without seeing his stepmother,
-intent on making preparations for his sister, and then, before
-October was over, rushed back to fetch her. He was very great at
-rushing, never begrudging himself any personal trouble in what he
-undertook to do. When he left the house he hardly spoke to her
-ladyship. When he took Lady Frances away he was of course bound to
-bid her adieu.</p>
-
-<p>"I think," he said, "that Frances will be happy with me at Hendon."</p>
-
-<p>"I have nothing to do with it,—literally nothing," said the
-Marchioness, with her sternest frown. "I wash my hands of the whole
-concern."</p>
-
-<p>"I am sure you would be glad that she should be happy."</p>
-
-<p>"It is impossible that any one should be happy who misconducts
-herself."</p>
-
-<p>"That, I think, is true."</p>
-
-<p>"It is certainly true, with misconduct such as this."</p>
-
-<p>"I quite agree with what you said first. But the question remains as
-to what is misconduct.
-<span class="nowrap">Now—"</span></p>
-
-<p>"I will not hear you, Hampstead; not a word. You can persuade your
-father, I dare say, but you cannot persuade me. Fanny has divorced
-herself from my heart for ever."</p>
-
-<p>"I am sorry for that."</p>
-
-<p>"And I'm bound to say that you are doing the same. It is better in
-some cases to be plain."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh—certainly; but not to be irrational."</p>
-
-<p>"I am not irrational, and it is most improper for you to speak to me
-in that way."</p>
-
-<p>"Well, good-bye. I have no doubt it will come right some of these
-days," said Hampstead, as he took his leave. Then he carried his
-sister off to Hendon.</p>
-
-<p>Previous to this there had been a great deal of unpleasantness in the
-house. From the moment in which Lady Kingsbury had heard that her
-stepdaughter was to go to her brother she had refused even to speak
-to the unfortunate girl. As far as it was possible she put her
-husband also into Coventry. She held daily consultations with Mr.
-Greenwood, and spent most of her hours in embracing, coddling, and
-spoiling those three unfortunate young noblemen who were being so
-cruelly injured by their brother and sister. One of her keenest pangs
-was in seeing how boisterously the three bairns romped with "Jack"
-even after she had dismissed him from her own good graces as utterly
-unworthy of her regard. That night he positively brought Lord Gregory
-down into the drawing-room in his night-shirt, having dragged the
-little urchin out of his cot,—as one might do who was on peculiar
-terms of friendship with the mother. Lord Gregory was in Elysium, but
-the mother tore the child from the sinner's arms, and carried him
-back in anger to the nursery.</p>
-
-<p>"Nothing does children so much good as disturbing them in their
-sleep," said Lord Hampstead, turning to his father; but the anger of
-the Marchioness was too serious a thing to allow of a joke.</p>
-
-<p>"From this time forth for evermore she is no child of mine," said
-Lady Kingsbury the next morning to her husband, as soon as the
-carriage had taken the two sinners away from the door.</p>
-
-<p>"It is very wrong to say that. She is your child, and must be your
-child."</p>
-
-<p>"I have divorced her from my heart;—and also Lord Hampstead. How can
-it be otherwise, when they are both in rebellion against me? Now
-there will be this disgraceful marriage. Would you wish that I should
-receive the Post Office clerk here as my son-in-law?"</p>
-
-<p>"There won't be any disgraceful marriage," said the Marquis. "At
-least, what I mean is, that it will be much less likely at Hendon
-than here."</p>
-
-<p>"Less likely than here! Here it would have been impossible. There
-they will be all together."</p>
-
-<p>"No such thing," said the Marquis. "Hampstead will see to that. And
-she too has promised me."</p>
-
-<p>"Pshaw!" exclaimed the Marchioness.</p>
-
-<p>"I won't have you say Pshaw to me when I tell you. Fanny always has
-kept her word to me, and I don't in the least doubt her. Had she
-remained here your treatment would have induced her to run away with
-him at the first word."</p>
-
-<p>"Lord Kingsbury," said the offended lady, "I have always done my duty
-by the children of your first marriage as a mother should do. I have
-found them to be violent, and altogether unaware of the duties which
-their position should impose upon them. It was only yesterday that
-Lord Hampstead presumed to call me irrational. I have borne a great
-deal from them, and can bear no more. I wish you would have found
-some one better able to control their conduct." Then, with a stately
-step, she stalked out of the room. Under these circumstances, the
-house was not comfortable to any of the inhabitants.</p>
-
-<p>As soon as her ladyship had reached her own apartments after this
-rough interview she seated herself at the table, and commenced a
-letter to her sister, Lady Persiflage, in which she proceeded to give
-a detailed account of all her troubles and sufferings. Lady
-Persiflage, who was by a year or two the younger of the two, filled a
-higher position in society than that of the Marchioness herself. She
-was the wife only of an Earl; but the Earl was a Knight of the
-Garter, Lord Lieutenant of his County, and at the present moment
-Secretary of State for the Home Department. The Marquis had risen to
-no such honours as these. Lord Persiflage was a peculiar man. Nobody
-quite knew of what his great gifts consisted. But it was acknowledged
-of him that he was an astute diplomat; that the honour of England was
-safe in his hands; and that no more perfect courtier ever gave advice
-to a well-satisfied sovereign. He was beautiful to look at, with his
-soft grey hair, his bright eyes, and well-cut features. He was much
-of a dandy, and, though he was known to be nearer seventy than sixty
-years of age, he maintained an appearance of almost green juvenility.
-Active he was not, nor learned, nor eloquent. But he knew how to hold
-his own, and had held it for many years. He had married his wife when
-she was very young, and she had become, first a distinguished beauty,
-and then a leader of fashion. Her sister, our Marchioness, had been
-past thirty when she married, and had never been quite so much in the
-world's eye as her sister, Lady Persiflage. And Lady Persiflage was
-the mother of her husband's heir. The young Lord Hautboy, her eldest
-son, was now just of age. Lady Kingsbury looked upon him as all that
-the heir to an earldom ought to be. His mother, too, was proud of
-him, for he was beautiful as a young Phœbus. The Earl, his father,
-was not always as well pleased, because his son had already achieved
-a knack of spending money. The Persiflage estates were somewhat
-encumbered, and there seemed to be a probability that Lord Hautboy
-might create further trouble. Such was the family to whom
-collectively the Marchioness looked for support in her unhappiness.
-The letter which she wrote to her sister on the present occasion was
-as <span class="nowrap">follows;—</span><br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p class="jright">Trafford Park,<br />
-Saturday, October 25th.</p>
-
-<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My Dear
-Geraldine</span>,—</p>
-
-<p>I take up my pen to write to you with a heart laden with
-trouble. Things have become so bad with me that I do not
-know where to turn myself unless you can give me comfort.
-I am beginning to feel how terrible it is to have
-undertaken the position of mother to another person's
-children. God knows I have endeavoured to do my duty. But
-it has all been in vain. Everything is over now. I have
-divided myself for ever from Hampstead and from Fanny. I
-have felt myself compelled to tell their father that I
-have divorced them from my heart; and I have told Lord
-Hampstead the same. You will understand how terrible must
-have been the occasion when I found myself compelled to
-take such a step as this.</p>
-
-<p>You know how dreadfully shocked I was when she first
-revealed to me the fact that she had promised to marry
-that Post Office clerk. The young man had actually the
-impudence to call on Lord Kingsbury in London, to offer
-himself as a son-in-law. Kingsbury very properly would not
-see him, but instructed Mr. Greenwood to do so. Mr.
-Greenwood has behaved very well in the matter, and is a
-great comfort to me. I hope we may be able to do something
-for him some day. A viler or more ill-conditioned young
-man he says that he never saw;—insolent, too, and talking
-as though he had as much right to ask for Fanny's hand as
-though he were one of the same class. As for that, she
-would deserve nothing better than to be married to such a
-man, were it not that all the world would know how closely
-she is connected with my own darling boys!</p>
-
-<p>Then we took her off to Königsgraaf; and such a time as I
-had with her! She would write letters to this wretch, and
-contrived to receive one. I did stop that, but you cannot
-conceive what a life she led me. Of course I have felt
-from the first that she would be divided from her
-brothers, because one never knows how early bad morals may
-be inculcated! Then her papa came, and Hampstead,—who in
-all this has encouraged his sister. The young man is his
-friend. After this who will say that any nobleman ought to
-call himself what they call a Liberal? Then we came home;
-and what do you think has happened? Hampstead has taken
-his sister to live with him at Hendon, next door, as you
-may say, to the Post Office clerk, where the young man has
-made himself thoroughly at home;—and Kingsbury has
-permitted it! Oh, Geraldine, that is the worst of it! Am I
-not justified in declaring that I have divorced them from
-my heart?</p>
-
-<p>You can hardly feel as I do, you, whose son fills so well
-that position which an eldest son ought to fill! Here am I
-with my darlings, not only under a shade, but with this
-disgrace before them which they will never be able
-altogether to get rid of. I can divorce Hampstead and his
-sister from my heart; but they will still be in some sort
-brother and sister to my poor boys. How am I to teach them
-to respect their elder brother, who I suppose must in
-course of time become Head of the House, when he is hand
-and glove with a dreadful young man such as that! Am I not
-justified in declaring that no communication shall be kept
-up between the two families? If she marries the man she
-will of course drop the name; but yet all the world will
-know because of the title. As for him, I am afraid that
-there is no hope;—although it is odd that the second son
-does so very often come to the title. If you look into it
-you will find that the second brother has almost a better
-chance than the elder,—although I am sure that nothing of
-the kind will ever happen to dear Hautboy. But he knows
-how to live in that state of life to which it has pleased
-God to call him! Do write to me at once, and tell me what
-I ought to do with a due regard to the position to which I
-have been called upon to fill in the world.</p>
-
-<p class="ind8">Your most affectionate sister,</p>
-
-<p class="ind12"><span class="smallcaps">Clara Kingsbury</span>.</p>
-
-<p class="noindent">P.S.—Do remember poor
-Mr. Greenwood if Lord Persiflage
-should know how to do something for a clergyman. He is
-getting old, and Kingsbury has never been able to do
-anything for him. I hope the Liberals never will be able
-to do anything for anybody. I don't think Mr. Greenwood
-would be fit for any duty, because he has been idle all
-his life, and is now fond of good living; but a deanery
-would just suit him.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p>After the interval of a fortnight Lady Kingsbury received a reply
-from her sister which the reader may as well see at once.<br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p class="jright">Castle Hautboy,<br />
-November 9th.</p>
-
-<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear
-Clara</span>,—</p>
-
-<p>I don't know that there is anything further to be done
-about Fanny. As for divorcing her from your heart, I don't
-suppose that it amounts to much. I advise you to keep on
-good terms with Hampstead, because if anything were to
-happen, it is always well for the Dowager to be friends
-with the heir. If Fanny will marry the man she must. Lady
-Di Peacocke married Mr. Billyboy, who was a clerk in one
-of the offices. They made him Assistant Secretary, and
-they now live in Portugal Street and do very well. I see
-Lady Diana about everywhere. Mr. Billyboy can't keep a
-carriage for her, but that of course is her look-out.</p>
-
-<p>As to what you say about second sons succeeding, don't
-think of it. It would get you into a bad frame of mind,
-and make you hate the very person upon whom you will
-probably have to depend for much of your comfort.</p>
-
-<p>I think you should take things easier, and, above all, do
-not trouble your husband. I am sure he could make himself
-very unpleasant if he were driven too far. Persiflage has
-no clerical patronage whatever, and would not interfere
-about Deans or Bishops for all the world. I suppose he
-could appoint a Chaplain to an Embassy, but your clergyman
-seems to be too old and too idle for that.</p>
-
-<p class="ind8">Your affectionate sister,</p>
-
-<p class="ind12"><span class="smallcaps">Geraldine
-Persiflage</span>.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p>This letter brought very little comfort to the distracted
-Marchioness. There was much in it so cold that it offended her
-deeply, and for a moment prompted her almost to divorce also Lady
-Persiflage from her heart. Lady Persiflage seemed to think that Fanny
-should be absolutely encouraged to marry the Post Office clerk,
-because at some past period some Lady Diana, who at the time was near
-fifty, had married a clerk also. It might be that a Lady Diana should
-have run away with a groom, but would that be a reason why so
-monstrous a crime should be repeated? And then in this letter there
-was so absolute an absence of all affectionate regard for her own
-children! She had spoken with great love of Lord Hautboy; but then
-Lord Hautboy was the acknowledged heir, whereas her own children were
-nobodies. In this there lay the sting. And then she felt herself to
-have been rebuked because she had hinted at the possibility of Lord
-Hampstead's departure for a better world. Lord Hampstead was mortal,
-as well as others. And why should not his death be contemplated,
-especially as it would confer so great a benefit on the world at
-large? Her sister's letter persuaded her of nothing. The divorce
-should remain as complete as ever. She would not condescend to think
-of any future advantages which might accrue to her from any intimacy
-with her stepson. Her dower had been regularly settled. Her duty was
-to her own children,—and secondly to her husband. If she could
-succeed in turning him against these two wicked elder children, then
-she would omit to do nothing which might render his life pleasant to
-him. Such were the resolutions which she formed on receipt of her
-sister's letter.</p>
-
-<p>About this time Lord Kingsbury found it necessary to say a few words
-to Mr. Greenwood. There had not of late been much expression of
-kindness from the Marquis to the clergyman. Since their return from
-Germany his lordship had been either taciturn or cross. Mr. Greenwood
-took this very much to heart. For though he was most anxious to
-assure to himself the friendship of the Marchioness he did not at all
-wish to neglect the Marquis. It was in truth on the Marquis that he
-depended for everything that he had in the world. The Marquis could
-send him out of the house to-morrow,—and if this house were closed
-to him, none other, as far as he knew, would be open to him except
-the Union. He had lived delicately all his life, and
-luxuriously,—but fruitlessly as regarded the gathering of any honey
-for future wants. Whatever small scraps of preferment might have come
-in his way had been rejected as having been joined with too much of
-labour and too little of emolument. He had gone on hoping that so
-great a man as the Marquis would be able to do something for
-him,—thinking that he might at any rate fasten his patron closely to
-him by bonds of affection. This had been in days before the coming of
-the present Marchioness. At first she had not created any special
-difficulty for him. She did not at once attempt to overthrow the
-settled politics of the family, and Mr. Greenwood had been allowed to
-be blandly liberal. But during the last year or two, great management
-had been necessary. By degrees he had found it essential to fall into
-the conservative views of her ladyship,—which extended simply to the
-idea that the cream of the earth should be allowed to be the cream of
-the earth. It is difficult in the same house to adhere to two
-political doctrines, because the holders of each will require support
-at all general meetings. Gradually the Marchioness had become
-exigeant, and the Marquis was becoming aware that he was being thrown
-over. A feeling of anger was growing up in his mind which he did not
-himself analyze. When he heard that the clergyman had taken upon
-himself to lecture Lady Frances,—for it was thus he read the few
-words which his son had spoken to him,—he carried his anger with him
-for a day or two, till at last he found an opportunity of explaining
-himself to the culprit.</p>
-
-<p>"Lady Frances will do very well where she is," said the Marquis, in
-answer to some expression of a wish as to his daughter's comfort.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, no doubt!"</p>
-
-<p>"I am not sure that I am fond of too much interference in such
-matters."</p>
-
-<p>"Have I interfered, my lord?"</p>
-
-<p>"I do not mean to find any special fault on this occasion."</p>
-
-<p>"I hope not, my lord."</p>
-
-<p>"But you did speak to Lady Frances when I think it might have been as
-well that you should have held your tongue."</p>
-
-<p>"I had been instructed to see that young man in London."</p>
-
-<p>"Exactly;—but not to say anything to Lady Frances."</p>
-
-<p>"I had known her ladyship so many years!"</p>
-
-<p>"Do not drive me to say that you had known her too long."</p>
-
-<p>Mr. Greenwood felt this to be very hard;—for what he had said to
-Lady Frances he had in truth said under instruction. That last speech
-as to having perhaps known the young lady too long seemed to contain
-a terrible threat. He was thus driven to fall back upon his
-instructions. "Her ladyship seemed to think that perhaps a word in
-<span class="nowrap">season—"</span></p>
-
-<p>The Marquis felt this to be cowardly, and was more inclined to be
-angry with his old friend than if he had stuck to that former plea of
-old friendship. "I will not have interference in this house, and
-there's an end of it. If I wish you to do anything for me I will tell
-you. That is all. If you please nothing more shall be said about it.
-The subject is disagreeable to me."</p>
-
-
-<div class="center">
-<p class="noindent">*<span class="ind2">*</span><span
-class="ind2">*</span><span class="ind2">*</span><span
-class="ind2">*</span><span class="ind2">*</span></p>
-</div>
-
-
-<p>"Has the Marquis said anything about Lady Frances since she went?"
-the Marchioness asked the clergyman the next morning. How was he to
-hold his balance between them if he was to be questioned by both
-sides in this way? "I suppose he has mentioned her?"</p>
-
-<p>"He just mentioned the name one day."</p>
-
-<p>"Well?"</p>
-
-<p>"I rather think that he does not wish to be interrogated about her
-ladyship."</p>
-
-<p>"I dare say not. Is he anxious to have her back again?"</p>
-
-<p>"That I cannot say, Lady Kingsbury. I should think he must be."</p>
-
-<p>"Of course I shall be desirous to ascertain the truth. He has been so
-unreasonable that I hardly know how to speak to him myself. I suppose
-he tells you!"</p>
-
-<p>"I rather think his lordship will decline to speak about her ladyship
-just at present."</p>
-
-<p>"Of course it is necessary that I should know. Now that she has
-chosen to take herself off I shall not choose to live under the same
-roof with her again. If Lord Kingsbury speaks to you on the subject
-you should make him understand that." Poor Mr. Greenwood felt that
-there were thorny paths before him, in which it might be very
-difficult to guard his feet from pricks. Then he had to consider if
-there were to be two sides in the house, strongly opposed to each
-other, with which would it be best for him to take a part? The houses
-of the Marquis, with all their comforts, were open for him; but the
-influence of Lord Persiflage was very great, whereas that of the
-Marquis was next to nothing.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c1-12" id="c1-12"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XII.</h3>
-<h4>CASTLE HAUTBOY.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>"You'd better ask the old Traffords down here for a few weeks.
-Hampstead won't shoot, but he can hunt with the Braeside harriers."</p>
-
-<p>This was the answer made by Lord Persiflage to his wife when he was
-told by her of that divorce which had taken place at Trafford Park,
-and of the departure of Lady Frances for Hendon. Hampstead and Lady
-Frances were the old Traffords. Lord Persiflage, too, was a
-Conservative, but his politics were of a very different order from
-those entertained by his sister-in-law. He was, above all, a man of
-the world. He had been our Ambassador at St. Petersburg, and was now
-a Member of the Cabinet. He liked the good things of office, but had
-no idea of quarrelling with a Radical because he was a Radical. He
-cared very little as to the opinions of his guests, if they could
-make themselves either pleasant or useful. He looked upon his
-sister-in-law as an old fool, and had no idea of quarrelling with
-Hampstead for her sake. If the girl persisted in making a bad match
-she must take the consequences. No great harm would come,—except to
-her. As to the evil done to his "order," that did not affect Lord
-Persiflage at all. He did not expect his order to endure for ever.
-All orders become worn out in time, and effete. He had no abhorrence
-for anybody; but he liked pleasant people; he liked to treat
-everything as a joke; and he liked the labours of his not unlaborious
-life to be minimised. Having given his orders about the old
-Traffords, as he called them in reference to the "darlings," he said
-nothing more on the subject. Lady Persiflage wrote a note to "Dear
-Fanny," conveying the invitation in three words, and received a reply
-to the effect that she and her brother would be at Castle Hautboy
-before the end of November. Hampstead would perhaps bring a couple of
-horses, but he would put them up at the livery stables at Penrith.</p>
-
-<p>"How do you do, Hampstead," said Persiflage when he first met his
-guest before dinner on the day of the arrival. "You haven't got rid
-of everything yet?"</p>
-
-<p>This question was supposed to refer to Lord Hampstead's revolutionary
-tendencies. "Not quite so thoroughly as we hope to do soon."</p>
-
-<p>"I always think it a great comfort that in our country the
-blackguards are so considerate. I must own that we do very little for
-them, and yet they never knock us over the head or shoot at us, as
-they do in Russia and Germany and France." Then he passed on, having
-said quite enough for one conversation.</p>
-
-<p>"So you've gone off to Hendon to live with your brother?" said Lady
-Persiflage to her niece.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes; indeed," said Lady Fanny, blushing at the implied allusion to
-her low-born lover which was contained in this question.</p>
-
-<p>But Lady Persiflage had no idea of saying a word about the lover, or
-of making herself in any way unpleasant. "I dare say it will be very
-comfortable for you both," she said; "but we thought you might be a
-little lonely till you got used to it, and therefore asked you to
-come down for a week or two. The house is full of people, and you
-will be sure to find some one that you know." Not a word was said at
-Castle Hautboy as to those terrible things which had occurred in the
-Trafford family.</p>
-
-<p>Young Vivian was there, half, as he said, for ornament, but partly
-for pleasure and partly for business. "He likes to have a private
-secretary with him," he said to Hampstead, "in order that people
-might think there is something to do. As a rule they never send
-anything down from the Foreign Office at this time of year. He always
-has a Foreign Minister or two in the house, or a few Secretaries of
-Legation, and that gives an air of business. Nothing would offend or
-surprise him so much as if one of them were to say a word about
-affairs. Nobody ever does, and therefore he is supposed to be the
-safest Foreign Minister that we've had in Downing Street since old
-<span class="nowrap">——'s</span> time."</p>
-
-<p>"Well, Hautboy." "Well, Hampstead." Thus the two heirs greeted each
-other. "You'll come and shoot to-morrow?" asked the young host.</p>
-
-<p>"I never shoot. I thought all the world knew that."</p>
-
-<p>"The best cock-shooting in all England," said Hautboy. "But we shan't
-come to that for the next month."</p>
-
-<p>"Cocks or hens, pheasants, grouse, or partridge, rabbits or hares,
-it's all one to me. I couldn't hit 'em if I would, and I wouldn't if
-I could."</p>
-
-<p>"There is a great deal in the couldn't," said Hautboy. "As for
-hunting, those Braeside fellows go out two or three times a week. But
-it's a wretched sort of affair. They hunt hares or foxes just as they
-come, and they're always climbing up a ravine or tumbling down a
-precipice."</p>
-
-<p>"I can climb and tumble as well as any one," said Hampstead. So that
-question as to the future amusement of the guest was settled.</p>
-
-<p>But the glory of the house of Hauteville,—Hauteville was the Earl's
-family name,—at present shone most brightly in the person of the
-eldest daughter, Lady Amaldina. Lady Amaldina, who was as beautiful
-in colour, shape, and proportion as wax could make a Venus, was
-engaged to marry the eldest son of the Duke of Merioneth. The Marquis
-of Llwddythlw was a young man about forty years of age, of great
-promise, who had never been known to do a foolish thing in his life,
-and his father was one of those half-dozen happy noblemen, each of
-whom is ordinarily reported to be the richest man in England. Lady
-Amaldina was not unnaturally proud of her high destiny, and as the
-alliance had already been advertised in all the newspapers, she was
-not unwilling to talk about it. Lady Frances was not exactly a
-cousin, but stood in the place of a cousin, and therefore was
-regarded as a good listener for all the details which had to be
-repeated. It might be that Lady Amaldina took special joy in having
-such a listener, because Lady Frances herself had placed her own
-hopes so low. That story as to the Post Office clerk was known to
-everybody at Castle Hautboy. Lady Persiflage ridiculed the idea of
-keeping such things secret. Having so much to be proud of in regard
-to her own children, she thought that there should be no such
-secrets. If Fanny Trafford did intend to marry the Post Office clerk
-it would be better that all the world should know it beforehand. Lady
-Amaldina knew it, and was delighted at having a confidante whose
-views and prospects in life were so different from her own. "Of
-course, dear, you have heard what is going to happen to me," she
-said, smiling.</p>
-
-<p>"I have heard of your engagement with the son of the Duke of
-Merioneth, the man with the terrible Welsh name."</p>
-
-<p>"When you once know how to pronounce it it is the prettiest word that
-poetry ever produced!" Then Lady Amaldina did pronounce her future
-name;—but nothing serviceable would be done for the reader if an
-attempt were made to write the sound which she produced. "I am not
-sure but what it was the name which first won my heart. I can sign it
-now quite easily without a mistake."</p>
-
-<p>"It won't be long, I suppose, before you will have to do so always?"</p>
-
-<p>"An age, my dear! The Duke's affairs are of such a nature,—and
-Llwddythlw is so constantly engaged in business, that I don't suppose
-it will take place for the next ten years. What with settlements, and
-entails, and Parliament, and the rest of it, I shall be an old woman
-before I am,—led to the hymeneal altar."</p>
-
-<p>"Ten years!" said Lady Fanny.</p>
-
-<p>"Well, say ten months, which seems to be just as long."</p>
-
-<p>"Isn't he in a hurry?"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, awfully; but what can he do, poor fellow? He is so placed that
-he cannot have his affairs arranged for him in half-an-hour, as other
-men can do. It is a great trouble having estates so large and
-interests so complicated! Now there is one thing I particularly want
-to ask you."</p>
-
-<p>"What is it?"</p>
-
-<p>"About being one of the bridesmaids."</p>
-
-<p>"One can hardly answer for ten years hence."</p>
-
-<p>"That is nonsense, of course. I am determined to have no girl who has
-not a title. It isn't that I care about that kind of thing in the
-least, but the Duke does. And then I think the list will sound more
-distinguished in the newspapers, if all the Christian names are given
-with the Lady before them. There are to be his three sisters, Lady
-Anne, Lady Antoinette, and Lady Anatolia;—then my two sisters, Lady
-Alphonsa and Lady Amelia. To be sure they are very young."</p>
-
-<p>"They may be old enough according to what you say."</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, indeed. And then there will be Lady Arabella Portroyal, and
-Lady Augusta Gelashires. I have got the list written out somewhere,
-and there are to be just twenty."</p>
-
-<p>"If the catalogue is finished there will hardly be room for me."</p>
-
-<p>"The Earl of Knocknacoppul's daughter has sent me word that she must
-refuse, because her own marriage will take place first. She would
-have put it off, as she is only going to marry an Irish baronet, and
-because she is dying to have her name down as one of the bevy, but he
-says that if she delays any longer he'll go on a shooting expedition
-to the Rocky Mountains, and then perhaps he might never come back. So
-there is a vacancy."</p>
-
-<p>"I hardly like to make a promise so long beforehand. Perhaps I might
-have a young man, and he might go off to the Rocky Mountains."</p>
-
-<p>"That's just what made me not put down your name at first. Of course
-you know we've heard about Mr. Roden?"</p>
-
-<p>"I didn't know," said Lady Frances, blushing.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh dear, yes. Everybody knows it. And I think it such a brave thing
-to do,—if you're really attached to him!"</p>
-
-<p>"I should never marry any man without being attached to him," said
-Lady Frances.</p>
-
-<p>"That's of course! But I mean romantically attached. I don't pretend
-to that kind of thing with Llwddythlw. I don't think it necessary in
-a marriage of this kind. He is a great deal older than I am, and is
-bald. I suppose Mr. Roden is very, very handsome?"</p>
-
-<p>"I have not thought much about that."</p>
-
-<p>"I should have considered that one would want it for a marriage of
-that kind. I don't know whether after all it isn't the best thing to
-do. Romance is so delicious!"</p>
-
-<p>"But then it's delicious to be a Duchess," said Lady Frances, with
-the slightest touch of irony.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, no doubt! One has to look at it all round, and then to form a
-judgment. It went a great way with papa, I know, Llwddythlw being
-such a good man of business. He has been in the Household, and the
-Queen will be sure to send a handsome present. I expect to have the
-grandest show of wedding presents that any girl has yet exhibited in
-England. Ever so many people have asked mamma already as to what I
-should like best. Mr. MacWhapple said out plain that he would go to a
-hundred and fifty pounds. He is a Scotch manufacturer, and has papa's
-interest in Wigtonshire. I suppose you don't intend to do anything
-very grand in that way."</p>
-
-<p>"I suppose not, as I don't know any Scotch manufacturers. But my
-marriage, if I ever am married, is a thing so much of the future that
-I haven't even begun to think of my dress yet."</p>
-
-<p>"I'll tell you a secret," said Lady Amaldina, whispering. "Mine is
-already made, and I've tried it on."</p>
-
-<p>"You might get ever so much stouter in ten years," said Lady Frances.</p>
-
-<p>"That of course was joking. But we did think the marriage would come
-off last June, and as we were in Paris in April the order was given.
-Don't you tell anybody about that."</p>
-
-<p>Then it was settled that the name of Lady Frances should be put down
-on the list of bridesmaids, but put down in a doubtful manner,—as is
-done with other things of great importance.</p>
-
-<p>A few days after Lord Hampstead's arrival a very great dinner-party
-was given at the Castle, at which all the county round was invited.
-Castle Hautboy is situated near Pooly Bridge, just in the county of
-Westmoreland, on an eminence, giving it a grand prospect over
-Ulleswater, which is generally considered to be one of the Cumberland
-Lakes. Therefore the gentry from the two counties were invited as far
-round as Penrith, Shap, Bampton, and Patterdale. The Earl's property
-in that neighbourhood was scattered about through the two counties,
-and was looked after by a steward, or manager, who lived himself at
-Penrith, and was supposed to be very efficacious in such duties. His
-name was Crocker; and not only was he invited to the dinner, but also
-his son, who happened at the time to be enjoying the month's holiday
-which was allowed to him by the authorities of the office in London
-to which he was attached.</p>
-
-<p>The reader may remember that a smart young man of this name sat at
-the same desk with George Roden at the General Post Office. Young
-Crocker was specially delighted with the honour done him on this
-occasion. He not only knew that his fellow clerk's friend, Lord
-Hampstead, was at the Castle, and his sister, Lady Frances, with him;
-but he also knew that George Roden was engaged to marry that noble
-lady! Had he heard this before he left London, he would probably have
-endeavoured to make some atonement for his insolence to Roden; for he
-was in truth filled with a strong admiration for the man who had
-before him the possibility of such high prospects. But the news had
-only reached him since he had been in the North. Now he thought that
-he might possibly find an opportunity of making known to Lord
-Hampstead his intimacy with Roden, and of possibly saying a
-word—just uttering a hint—as to that future event.</p>
-
-<p>It was long before he could find himself near enough to Lord
-Hampstead to address him. He had even refused to return home with his
-father, who did not like being very late on the road, saying that he
-had got a lift into town in another conveyance. This he did, with the
-prospect of having to walk six miles into Penrith in his dress boots,
-solely with the object of saying a few words to Roden's friend. At
-last he was successful.</p>
-
-<p>"We have had what I call an extremely pleasant evening, my lord." It
-was thus he commenced; and Hampstead, whose practice it was to be
-specially graceful to any one whom he chanced to meet but did not
-think to be a gentleman, replied very courteously that the evening
-had been pleasant.</p>
-
-<p>"Quite a thing to remember," continued Crocker.</p>
-
-<p>"Perhaps one remembers the unpleasant things the longest," said
-Hampstead, laughing.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, no, my lord, not that. I always forget the unpleasant. That's
-what I call philosophy." Then he broke away into the subject that was
-near his heart. "I wish our friend Roden had been here, my lord."</p>
-
-<p>"Is he a friend of yours?"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh dear, yes;—most intimate. We sit in the same room at the Post
-Office. And at the same desk,—as thick as thieves, as the saying is.
-We often have a crack about your lordship."</p>
-
-<p>"I have a great esteem for George Roden. He and I are really friends.
-I know no one for whom I have a higher regard." This he said with an
-earnest voice, thinking himself bound to express his friendship more
-loudly than he would have done had the friend been in his own rank of
-life.</p>
-
-<p>"That's just what I feel. Roden is a man that will rise."</p>
-
-<p>"I hope so."</p>
-
-<p>"He'll be sure to get something good before long. They'll make him a
-Surveyor, or Chief Clerk, or something of that kind. I'll back him to
-have £500 a year before any man in the office. There'll be a shindy
-about it, of course. There always is a shindy when a fellow is put up
-out of his turn. But he needn't care for that. They can laugh as win.
-Eh, my lord!"</p>
-
-<p>"He would be the last to wish an injustice to be done for his own
-good."</p>
-
-<p>"We've got to take that as it comes, my lord. I won't say but what I
-should like to go up at once to a senior class over other men's
-heads. There isn't a chance of that, because I'm independent, and the
-seniors don't like me. Old Jerningham is always down upon me just for
-that reason. You ask Roden, and he'll tell you the same thing,—my
-lord." Then came a momentary break in the conversation, and Lord
-Hampstead was seizing advantage of it to escape. But Crocker, who had
-taken enough wine to be bold, saw the attempt, and intercepted it. He
-was desirous of letting the lord know all that he knew. "Roden is a
-happy dog, my lord."</p>
-
-<p>"Happy, I hope, though not a dog," said Hampstead, trusting that he
-could retreat gracefully behind the joke.</p>
-
-<p>"Ha, ha, ha! The dog only meant what a lucky fellow he is. I have
-heard him speak in raptures of what is in store for him."</p>
-
-<p>"What!"</p>
-
-<p>"There's no happiness like married happiness; is there, my lord?"</p>
-
-<p>"Upon my word, I can't say. Good night to you."</p>
-
-<p>"I hope you will come and see me and Roden at the office some of
-these days."</p>
-
-<p>"Good night, good night!" Then the man did go. For a moment or two
-Lord Hampstead felt actually angry with his friend. Could it be that
-Roden should make so little of his sister's name as to talk about her
-to the Post Office clerks,—to so mean a fellow as this! And yet the
-man certainly knew the fact of the existing engagement. Hampstead
-thought it impossible that it should have travelled beyond the limits
-of his own family. It was natural that Roden should have told his
-mother; but unnatural,—so Hampstead thought,—that his friend should
-have made his sister a subject of conversation to any one else. It
-was horrible to him that a stranger such as that should have spoken
-to him about his sister at all. But surely it was not possible that
-Roden should have sinned after that fashion. He soon resolved that it
-was not possible. But how grievous a thing it was that a girl's name
-should be made so common in the mouths of men!</p>
-
-<p>After that he sauntered into the smoking-room, where were congregated
-the young men who were staying in the house. "That's a kind of thing
-that happens only once a year," said Hautboy, speaking to all the
-party; "but I cannot, for the life of me, see why it should happen at
-all."</p>
-
-<p>"Your governor finds that it succeeds in the county," said one.</p>
-
-<p>"He polishes off a whole heap at one go," said another.</p>
-
-<p>"It does help to keep a party together," said a third.</p>
-
-<p>"And enables a lot of people to talk of dining at Castle Hautboy
-without lying," said a fourth.</p>
-
-<p>"But why should a lot of people be enabled to say that they'd dined
-here?" asked Hautboy. "I like to see my friends at dinner. What did
-you think about it, Hampstead?"</p>
-
-<p>"It's all according to Hampstead's theories," said one.</p>
-
-<p>"Only he'd have had the tinkers and the tailors too," said another.</p>
-
-<p>"And wouldn't have had the ladies and gentlemen," said a third.</p>
-
-<p>"I would have had the tailors and tinkers," said Hampstead, "and I
-would have had the ladies and gentlemen, too, if I could have got
-them to meet the tailors and tinkers;—but I would not have had that
-young man who got me out into the hall just now."</p>
-
-<p>"Why,—that was Crocker, the Post Office clerk," said Hautboy. "Why
-shouldn't we have a Post Office clerk as well as some one else?
-Nevertheless, Crocker is a sad cad." In the mean time Crocker was
-walking home to Penrith in his dress boots.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c1-13" id="c1-13"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XIII.</h3>
-<h4>THE BRAESIDE HARRIERS.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>The Braeside Harriers can hardly be called a "crack" pack of hounds.
-Lord Hautboy had been right in saying that they were always
-scrambling through ravines, and that they hunted whatever they could
-find to hunt. Nevertheless, the men and the hounds were in earnest,
-and did accomplish a fair average of sport under difficult
-circumstances. No "Pegasus" or "Littlelegs," or "Pigskin," ever sent
-accounts of wondrous runs from Cumberland or Westmoreland to the
-sporting papers, in which the gentlemen who had asked the special
-Pigskin of the day to dinner were described as having been "in" at
-some "glorious finish" on their well-known horses Banker or
-Buff,—the horses named being generally those which the gentlemen
-wished to sell. The names of gorses and brooks had not become
-historic, as have those of Ranksborough and Whissendine. Trains were
-not run to suit this or the other meet. Gentlemen did not get out of
-fast drags with pretty little aprons tied around their waists, like
-girls in a country house coming down to breakfast. Not many perhaps
-wore pink coats, and none pink tops. One horse would suffice for one
-day's work. An old assistant huntsman in an old red coat, with one
-boy mounted on a ragged pony, served for an establishment. The whole
-thing was despicable in the eyes of men from the Quorn and
-Cottesmore. But there was some wonderful riding and much constant
-sport with the Braeside Harriers, and the country had given birth to
-certainly the best hunting song in the
-<span class="nowrap">language;—</span></p>
-
-
-<div class="center">
-<table class="sm" style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="3"><tr><td align="left">
-<p class="noindent">Do you ken John Peel with his coat so gay;<br />
-Do you ken John Peel at the break of day;<br />
-Do you ken John Peel when he's far, far away<br />
-<span class="ind2">With his hounds and his horn in the morning.</span></p>
-</td></tr></table>
-</div>
-
-
-<p class="noindent">Such as the
-Braeside Harriers were, Lord Hampstead determined to make
-the experiment, and on a certain morning had himself driven to
-Cronelloe Thorn, a favourite meet halfway between Penrith and
-Keswick.</p>
-
-<p>I hold that nothing is so likely to be permanently prejudicial to the
-interest of hunting in the British Isles as a certain flavour of
-tip-top fashion which has gradually enveloped it. There is a pretence
-of grandeur about that and, alas, about other sports also, which is,
-to my thinking, destructive of all sport itself. Men will not shoot
-unless game is made to appear before them in clouds. They will not
-fish unless the rivers be exquisite. To row is nothing unless you can
-be known as a national hero. Cricket requires appendages which are
-troublesome and costly, and by which the minds of economical fathers
-are astounded. To play a game of hockey in accordance with the times
-you must have a specially trained pony and a gaudy dress. Racquets
-have given place to tennis because tennis is costly. In all these
-cases the fashion of the game is much more cherished than the game
-itself. But in nothing is this feeling so predominant as in hunting.
-For the management of a pack, as packs are managed now, a huntsman
-needs must be a great man himself, and three mounted subordinates are
-necessary, as at any rate for two of these servants a second horse is
-required. A hunt is nothing in the world unless it goes out four
-times a week at least. A run is nothing unless the pace be that of a
-steeplechase. Whether there be or be not a fox before the hounds is
-of little consequence to the great body of riders. A bold huntsman
-who can make a dash across country from one covert to another, and
-who can so train his hounds that they shall run as though game were
-before them, is supposed to have provided good sport. If a fox can be
-killed in covert afterwards so much the better for those who like to
-talk of their doings. Though the hounds brought no fox with them, it
-is of no matter. When a fox does run according to his nature he is
-reviled as a useless brute, because he will not go straight across
-country. But the worst of all is the attention given by men to things
-altogether outside the sport. Their coats and waistcoats, their boots
-and breeches, their little strings and pretty scarfs, their saddles
-and bridles, their dandy knick-knacks, and, above all, their flasks,
-are more to many men than aught else in the day's proceedings. I have
-known girls who have thought that their first appearance in the
-ball-room, when all was fresh, unstained, and perfect from the
-milliner's hand, was the one moment of rapture for the evening. I
-have sometimes felt the same of young sportsmen at a Leicestershire
-or Northamptonshire meet. It is not that they will not ride when the
-occasion comes. They are always ready enough to break their bones.
-There is no greater mistake than to suppose that dandyism is
-antagonistic to pluck. The fault is that men train themselves to care
-for nothing that is not as costly as unlimited expenditure can make
-it. Thus it comes about that the real love of sport is crushed under
-a desire for fashion. A man will be almost ashamed to confess that he
-hunts in Essex or Sussex, because the proper thing is to go down to
-the Shires. Grass, no doubt, is better than ploughed land to ride
-upon; but, taking together the virtues and vices of all hunting
-counties, I doubt whether better sport is not to be found in what I
-will venture to call the haunts of the clodpoles, than among the
-palmy pastures of the well-breeched beauties of Leicestershire.</p>
-
-<p>Braeside Harriers though they were, a strong taste for foxes had
-lately grown up in the minds of men and in the noses of hounds. Blank
-days they did not know, because a hare would serve the turn if the
-nobler animal were not forthcoming; but ideas of preserving had
-sprung up; steps were taken to solace the minds of old women who had
-lost their geese; and the Braeside Harriers, though they had kept
-their name, were gradually losing their character. On this occasion
-the hounds were taken off to draw a covert instead of going to a
-so-ho, as regularly as though they were advertised among the
-fox-hounds in <i>The Times</i>. It was soon known that Lord Hampstead was
-Lord Hampstead, and he was welcomed by the field. What matter that he
-was a revolutionary Radical if he could ride to hounds? At any rate,
-he was the son of a Marquis, and was not left to that solitude which
-sometimes falls upon a man who appears suddenly as a stranger among
-strangers on a hunting morning. "I am glad to see you out, my lord,"
-said Mr. Amblethwaite, the Master. "It isn't often that we get
-recruits from Castle Hautboy."</p>
-
-<p>"They think a good deal of shooting there."</p>
-
-<p>"Yes; and they keep their horses in Northamptonshire. Lord Hautboy
-does his hunting there. The Earl, I think, never comes out now."</p>
-
-<p>"I dare say not. He has all the foreign nations to look after."</p>
-
-<p>"I suppose he has his hands pretty full," said Mr. Amblethwaite. "I
-know I have mine just at this time of the year. Where do you think
-these hounds ran their fox to last Friday? We found him outside of
-the Lowther Woods, near the village of Clifton. They took him
-straight over Shap Fell, and then turning sharp to the right, went
-all along Hawes Wall and over High Street into Troutbeck."</p>
-
-<p>"That's all among the mountains," said Hampstead.</p>
-
-<p>"Mountains! I should think so. I have to spend half my time among the
-mountains."</p>
-
-<p>"But you couldn't ride over High Street?"</p>
-
-<p>"No, we couldn't ride; not there. But we had to make our way round,
-some of us, and some of them went on foot. Dick never lost sight of
-the hounds the whole day." Dick was the boy who rode the ragged pony.
-"When we found 'em there he was with half the hounds around him, and
-the fox's brush stuck in his cap."</p>
-
-<p>"How did you get home that night?" asked Hampstead.</p>
-
-<p>"Home! I didn't get home at all. It was pitch dark before we got the
-rest of the hounds together. Some of them we didn't find till next
-day. I had to go and sleep at Bowness, and thought myself very lucky
-to get a bed. Then I had to ride home next day over Kirkstone Fell.
-That's what I call something like work for a man and horse.—There's
-a fox in there, my lord, do you hear them?" Then Mr. Amblethwaite
-bustled away to assist at the duty of getting the fox to break.</p>
-
-<p>"I'm glad to see that you're fond of this kind of thing, my lord,"
-said a voice in Hampstead's ear, which, though he had only heard it
-once, he well remembered. It was Crocker, the guest at the
-dinner-party,—Crocker, the Post Office clerk.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes," said Lord Hampstead, "I am very fond of this kind of thing.
-That fox has broken, I think, at the other side of the cover." Then
-he trotted off down a little lane between two loose-built walls, so
-narrow that there was no space for two men to ride abreast. His
-object at that moment was to escape Crocker rather than to look after
-the hounds.</p>
-
-<p>They were in a wild country, not exactly on a mountain side, but
-among hills which not far off grew into mountains, where cultivation
-of the rudest kind was just beginning to effect its domination over
-human nature. There was a long spinney rather than a wood stretching
-down a bottom, through which a brook ran. It would now cease, and
-then renew itself, so that the trees, though not absolutely
-continuous, were nearly so for the distance of half a mile. The
-ground on each side was rough with big stones, and steep in some
-places as they went down the hill. But still it was such that
-horsemen could gallop on it. The fox made his way along the whole
-length, and then traversing, so as to avoid the hounds, ran a ring up
-the hillside, and back into the spinney again. Among the horsemen
-many declared that the brute must be killed unless he would make up
-his mind for a fair start. Mr. Amblethwaite was very busy, hunting
-the hounds himself, and intent rather on killing the fox fairly than
-on the hopes of a run. Perhaps he was not desirous of sleeping out
-another night on the far side of Helvellyn. In this way the sportsmen
-galloped up and down the side of the wood till the feeling arose, as
-it does on such occasions, that it might be well for a man to stand
-still awhile and spare his horse, in regard to the future necessities
-of the day. Lord Hampstead did as others were doing, and in a moment
-Crocker was by his side. Crocker was riding an animal which his
-father was wont to drive about the country, but one well known in the
-annals of the Braeside Harriers. It was asserted of him that the
-fence was not made which he did not know how to creep over. Of
-jumping, such as jumping is supposed to be in the shires, he knew
-nothing. He was, too, a bad hand at galloping, but with a shambling,
-half cantering trot, which he had invented for himself, he could go
-along all day, not very quickly, but in such fashion as never to be
-left altogether behind. He was a flea-bitten horse, if my readers
-know what that is,—a flea-bitten roan, or white covered with small
-red spots. Horses of this colour are ugly to look at, but are very
-seldom bad animals. Such as he was, Crocker, who did not ride much
-when up in London, was very proud of him. Crocker was dressed in a
-green coat, which in a moment of extravagance he had had made for
-hunting, and in brown breeches, in which he delighted to display
-himself on all possible occasions. "My lord," he said, "you'd hardly
-think it, but I believe this horse to be the best hunter in
-Cumberland."</p>
-
-<p>"Is he, indeed? Some horse of course must be the best, and why not
-yours?"</p>
-
-<p>"There's nothing he can't do;—nothing. His jumping is mi—raculous,
-and as for pace, you'd be quite surprised.—They're at him again now.
-What an echo they do make among the hills!"</p>
-
-<p>Indeed they did. Every now and then the Master would just touch his
-horn, giving a short blast, just half a note, and then the sound
-would come back, first from this rock and then from the other, and
-the hounds as they heard it would open as though encouraged by the
-music of the hills, and then their voices would be carried round the
-valley, and come back again and again from the steep places, and they
-would become louder and louder as though delighted with the effect of
-their own efforts. Though there should be no hunting, the concert was
-enough to repay a man for his trouble in coming there. "Yes," said
-Lord Hampstead, his disgust at the man having been quenched for the
-moment by the charm of the music, "it is a wonderful spot for
-echoes."</p>
-
-<p>"It's what I call awfully nice. We don't have anything like that up
-at St. Martin's-le-Grand." Perhaps it may be necessary to explain
-that the Post Office in London stands in a spot bearing that poetic
-name.</p>
-
-<p>"I don't remember any echoes there," said Lord Hampstead.</p>
-
-<p>"No, indeed;—nor yet no hunting, nor yet no hounds; are there, my
-lord? All the same, it's not a bad sort of place!"</p>
-
-<p>"A very respectable public establishment!" said Lord Hampstead.</p>
-
-<p>"Just so, my lord; that's just what I always say. It ain't swell like
-Downing Street, but it's a deal more respectable than the Custom
-House."</p>
-
-<p>"Is it? I didn't know."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh yes. They all admit that. You ask Roden else." On hearing the
-name, Lord Hampstead began to move his horse, but Crocker was at his
-side and could not be shaken off. "Have you heard from him, my lord,
-since you have been down in these parts?"</p>
-
-<p>"Not a word."</p>
-
-<p>"I dare say he thinks more of writing to a correspondent of the
-fairer sex."</p>
-
-<p>This was unbearable. Though the fox had again turned and gone up the
-valley,—a movement which seemed to threaten his instant death, and
-to preclude any hope of a run from that spot,—Hampstead felt himself
-compelled to escape, if he could. In his anger he touched his horse
-with his spur and galloped away among the rocks, as though his object
-was to assist Mr. Amblethwaite in his almost frantic efforts. But
-Crocker cared nothing for the stones. Where the lord went, he went.
-Having made acquaintance with a lord, he was not going to waste the
-blessing which Providence had vouchsafed to him.</p>
-
-<p>"He'll never leave that place alive, my lord."</p>
-
-<p>"I dare say not." And again the persecuted nobleman rode
-on,—thinking that neither should Crocker, if he could have his will.</p>
-
-<p>"By the way, as we are talking of Roden—"</p>
-
-<p>"I haven't been talking about him at all." Crocker caught the tone of
-anger, and stared at his companion. "I'd rather not talk about him."</p>
-
-<p>"My lord! I hope there has been nothing like a quarrel. For the
-lady's sake, I hope there's no misunderstanding!"</p>
-
-<p>"Mr. Crocker," he said very slowly, "it isn't
-<span class="nowrap">customary—"</span></p>
-
-<p>At that moment the fox broke, the hounds were away, and Mr.
-Amblethwaite was seen rushing down the hill-side, as though
-determined on breaking his neck. Lord Hampstead rushed after him at a
-pace which, for a time, defied Mr. Crocker. He became thoroughly
-ashamed of himself in even attempting to make the man understand that
-he was sinning against good taste. He could not do so without some
-implied mention of his sister, and to allude to his sister in
-connection with such a man was a profanation. He could only escape
-from the brute. Was this a punishment which he was doomed to bear for
-being—as his stepmother was wont to say—untrue to his order?</p>
-
-<p>In the mean time the hounds went at a great pace down the hill. Some
-of the old stagers, who knew the country well, made a wide sweep
-round to the left, whence by lanes and tracks, which were known to
-them, they could make their way down to the road which leads along
-Ulleswater to Patterdale. In doing this they might probably not see
-the hounds again that day,—but such are the charms of hunting in a
-hilly country. They rode miles around, and though they did again see
-the hounds, they did not see the hunt. To have seen the hounds as
-they start, and to see them again as they are clustering round the
-huntsman after eating their fox, is a great deal to some men.</p>
-
-<p>On this occasion it was Hampstead's lot—and Crocker's—to do much
-more than that. Though they had started down a steep valley,—down
-the side rather of a gully,—they were not making their way out from
-among the hills into the low country. The fox soon went up
-again,—not back, but over an intervening spur of a mountain towards
-the lake. The riding seemed sometimes to Hampstead to be impossible.
-But Mr. Amblethwaite did it, and he stuck to Mr. Amblethwaite. It
-would have been all very well had not Crocker stuck to him. If the
-old roan would only tumble among the stones what an escape there
-would be! But the old roan was true to his character, and, to give
-every one his due, the Post Office clerk rode as well as the lord.
-There was nearly an hour and a-half of it before the hounds ran into
-their fox just as he was gaining an earth among the bushes and
-hollies with which Airey Force is surrounded. Then on the sloping
-meadow just above the waterfall, the John Peel of the hunt dragged
-out the fox from among the trees, and, having dismembered him
-artistically, gave him to the hungry hounds. Then it was that perhaps
-half-a-dozen diligent, but cautious, huntsmen came up, and heard all
-those details of the race which they were afterwards able to give, as
-on their own authority, to others who had been as cautious, but not
-so diligent, as themselves.</p>
-
-<p>"One of the best things I ever saw in this country," said Crocker,
-who had never seen a hound in any other country. At this moment he
-had ridden up alongside of Hampstead on the way back to Penrith. The
-Master and the hounds and Crocker must go all the way. Hampstead
-would turn off at Pooley Bridge. But still there were four miles,
-during which he would be subjected to his tormentor.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, indeed. A very good thing, as I was saying, Mr. Amblethwaite."</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c1-14" id="c1-14"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XIV.</h3>
-<h4>COMING HOME FROM HUNTING.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>Lord Hampstead had been discussing with Mr. Amblethwaite the
-difficult nature of hunting in such a county as Cumberland. The
-hounds were in the road before them with John Peel in the midst of
-them. Dick with the ragged pony was behind, looking after stragglers.
-Together with Lord Hampstead and the Master was a hard-riding, rough,
-weather-beaten half-gentleman, half-farmer, named Patterson, who
-lived a few miles beyond Penrith and was Amblethwaite's right hand in
-regard to hunting. Just as Crocker joined them the road had become
-narrow, and the young lord had fallen a little behind. Crocker had
-seized his opportunity;—but the lord also seized his, and thrust
-himself in between Mr. Patterson and the Master. "That's all true,"
-said the Master. "Of course we don't presume to do the thing as you
-swells do it down in the Shires. We haven't the money, and we haven't
-the country, and we haven't the foxes. But I don't know whether for
-hunting we don't see as much of it as you do."</p>
-
-<p>"Quite as much, if I may take to-day as a sample."</p>
-
-<p>"Very ordinary;—wasn't it, Amblethwaite?" asked Patterson, who was
-quite determined to make the most of his own good things.</p>
-
-<p>"It was not bad to-day. The hounds never left their scent after they
-found him. I think our hillsides carry the scent better than our
-grasses. If you want to ride, of course, it's rough. But if you like
-hunting, and don't mind a scramble, perhaps you may see it here as
-well as elsewhere."</p>
-
-<p>"Better, a deal, from all I hear tell," said Patterson. "Did you ever
-hear any music like that in Leicestershire, my lord?"</p>
-
-<p>"I don't know that ever I did," said Hampstead. "I enjoyed myself
-amazingly."</p>
-
-<p>"I hope you'll come again," said the Master, "and that often."</p>
-
-<p>"Certainly, if I remain here."</p>
-
-<p>"I knew his lordship would like it," said Crocker, crowding in on a
-spot where it was possible for four to ride abreast. "I think it was
-quite extraordinary to see how a stranger like his lordship got over
-our country."</p>
-
-<p>"Clever little 'orse his lordship's on," said Patterson.</p>
-
-<p>"It's the man more than the beast, I think," said Crocker, trying to
-flatter.</p>
-
-<p>"The best man in England," said Patterson, "can't ride to hounds
-without a tidy animal under him."</p>
-
-<p>"Nor yet can't the best horse in England stick to hounds without a
-good man on top of him," said the determined Crocker. Patterson
-grunted,—hating flattery, and remembering that the man flattered was
-a lord.</p>
-
-<p>Then the road became narrow again, and Hampstead fell a little
-behind. Crocker was alongside of him in a moment. There seemed to be
-something mean in running away from the man;—something at any rate
-absurd in seeming to run away from him. Hampstead was ashamed in
-allowing himself to be so much annoyed by such a cause. He had
-already snubbed the man, and the man might probably be now silent on
-the one subject which was so peculiarly offensive. "I suppose," said
-he, beginning a conversation which should show that he was willing to
-discuss any general matter with Mr. Crocker, "that the country north
-and west of Penrith is less hilly than this?"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, yes, my lord; a delightful country to ride over in some parts.
-Is Roden fond of following the hounds, my lord?"</p>
-
-<p>"I don't in the least know," said Hampstead, curtly. Then he made
-another attempt. "These hounds don't go as far north as Carlisle?"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, no, my lord; never more than eight or ten miles from Penrith.
-They've another pack up in that country; nothing like ours, but still
-they do show sport. I should have thought now Roden would have been
-just the man to ride to hounds,—if he got the opportunity."</p>
-
-<p>"I don't think he ever saw a hound in his life. I'm rather in a
-hurry, and I think I shall trot on."</p>
-
-<p>"I'm in a hurry myself," said Crocker, "and I shall be happy to show
-your lordship the way. It isn't above a quarter of a mile's
-difference to me going by Pooley Bridge instead of Dallmaine."</p>
-
-<p>"Pray don't do anything of the kind; I can find the road." Whereupon
-Hampstead shook hands cordially with the Master, bade Mr. Patterson
-good-bye with a kindly smile, and trotted on beyond the hounds as
-quickly as he could.</p>
-
-<p>But Crocker was not to be shaken off. The flea-bitten roan was as
-good at the end of a day as he was at the beginning, and trotted on
-gallantly. When they had gone some quarter of a mile Hampstead
-acknowledged to himself that it was beyond his power to shake off his
-foe. By that time Crocker had made good his position close alongside
-of the lord, with his horse's head even with that of the other.
-"There is a word, my lord, I want to say to you." This Crocker
-muttered somewhat piteously, so that Hampstead's heart was for the
-moment softened towards him. He checked his horse and prepared
-himself to listen. "I hope I haven't given any offence. I can assure
-you, my lord, I haven't intended it. I have so much respect for your
-lordship that I wouldn't do it for the world."</p>
-
-<p>What was he to do? He had been offended. He had intended to show that
-he was offended. And yet he did not like to declare as much openly.
-His object had been to stop the man from talking, and to do so if
-possible without making any reference himself to the subject in
-question. Were he now to declare himself offended he could hardly do
-so without making some allusion to his sister. But he had determined
-that he would make no such allusion. Now as the man appealed to him,
-asking as it were forgiveness for some fault of which he was not
-himself conscious, it was impossible to refrain from making him some
-answer. "All right," he said; "I'm sure you didn't mean anything. Let
-us drop it, and there will be an end of it."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, certainly;—and I'm sure I'm very much obliged to your lordship.
-But I don't quite know what it is that ought to be dropped. As I am
-so intimate with Roden, sitting at the same desk with him every day
-of my life, it did seem natural to speak to your lordship about him."</p>
-
-<p>This was true. As it had happened that Crocker, who as well as Roden
-was a Post Office Clerk, had appeared as a guest at Castle Hautboy,
-it had been natural that he should speak of his office companion to a
-man who was notoriously that companion's friend. Hampstead did not
-quite believe in the pretended intimacy, having heard Roden declare
-that he had not as yet formed any peculiar friendship at the Office.
-He had too felt, unconsciously, that such a one as Roden ought not to
-be intimate with such a one as Crocker. But there was no cause of
-offence in this. "It was natural," he said.</p>
-
-<p>"And then I was unhappy when I thought from what you said that there
-had been some quarrel."</p>
-
-<p>"There has been no quarrel," said Hampstead.</p>
-
-<p>"I am very glad indeed to hear that." He was beginning to touch again
-on a matter that should have been private. What was it to him whether
-or no there was a quarrel between Lord Hampstead and Roden. Hampstead
-therefore again rode on in silence.</p>
-
-<p>"I should have been so very sorry that anything should have occurred
-to interfere with our friend's brilliant prospects." Lord Hampstead
-looked about to see whether there was any spot at which he could make
-his escape by jumping over a fence. On the right hand there was the
-lake rippling up on to the edge of the road, and on the left was a
-high stone wall, without any vestige of an aperture through it as far
-as the eye could reach. He was already making the pace as fast as he
-could, and was aware that no escape could be effected in that manner.
-He shook his head, and bit the handle of his whip, and looked
-straight away before him through his horse's ears. "You cannot think
-how proud I've been that a gentleman sitting at the same desk with
-myself should have been so fortunate in his matrimonial prospects. I
-think it an honour to the Post Office all round."</p>
-
-<p>"Mr. Crocker," said Lord Hampstead, pulling up his horse suddenly,
-and standing still upon the spot, "if you will remain here for five
-minutes I will ride on; or if you will ride on I will remain here
-till you are out of sight. I must insist that one of these
-arrangements be made."</p>
-
-<p>"My lord!"</p>
-
-<p>"Which shall it be?"</p>
-
-<p>"Now I have offended you again."</p>
-
-<p>"Don't talk of offence, but just do as I bid you. I want to be
-alone."</p>
-
-<p>"Is it about the matrimonial alliance?" demanded Crocker almost in
-tears. Thereupon Lord Hampstead turned his horse round and trotted
-back towards the hounds and horsemen, whom he heard on the road
-behind him. Crocker paused a moment, trying to discover by the light
-of his own intellect what might have been the cause of this singular
-conduct on the part of the young nobleman, and then, having failed to
-throw any light on the matter, he rode on homewards, immersed in deep
-thought. Hampstead, when he found himself again with his late
-companions, asked some idle questions as to the hunting arrangements
-of next week. That they were idle he was quite aware, having resolved
-that he would not willingly put himself into any position in which it
-might be probable that he should again meet that objectionable young
-man. But he went on with his questions, listening or not listening to
-Mr. Amblethwaite's answers, till he parted company with his
-companions in the neighbourhood of Pooley Bridge. Then he rode alone
-to Hautboy Castle, with his mind much harassed by what had occurred.
-It seemed to him to have been almost proved that George Roden must
-have spoken to this man of his intended marriage. In all that the man
-had said he had suggested that the information had come direct from
-his fellow-clerk. He had seemed to declare,—Hampstead thought that
-he had declared,—that Roden had often discussed the marriage with
-him. If so, how base must have been his friend's conduct! How
-thoroughly must he have been mistaken in his friend's character! How
-egregiously wrong must his sister have been in her estimate of the
-man! For himself, as long as the question had been simply one of his
-own intimacy with a companion whose outside position in the world had
-been inferior to his own, he had been proud of what he had done, and
-had answered those who had remonstrated with him with a spirit
-showing that he despised their practices quite as much as they could
-ridicule his. He had explained to his father his own ideas of
-friendship, and had been eager in showing that George Roden's company
-was superior to most young men of his own position. There had been
-Hautboy, and Scatterdash, and Lord Plunge, and the young Earl of
-Longoolds, all of them elder sons, whom he described as young men
-without a serious thought in their heads. What was it to him how
-Roden got his bread, so long as he got it honestly? "The man's the
-man for a' that." Thus he had defended himself and been quite
-conscious that he was right. When Roden had suddenly fallen in love
-with his sister, and his sister had as suddenly fallen in love with
-Roden,—then he had begun to doubt. A thing which was in itself
-meritorious might become dangerous and objectionable by reason of
-other things which it would bring in its train. He felt for a time
-that associations which were good for himself might not be so good
-for his sister. There seemed to be a sanctity about her rank which
-did not attach to his own. He had thought that the Post Office clerk
-was as good as himself; but he could not assure himself that he was
-as good as the ladies of his family. Then he had begun to reason with
-himself on this subject, as he did on all. What was there different
-in a girl's nature that ought to make her fastidious as to society
-which he felt to be good enough for himself? In entertaining the
-feeling which had been strong within him as to that feminine
-sanctity, was he not giving way to one of those empty prejudices of
-the world, in opposition to which he had resolved to make a life-long
-fight? So he had reasoned with himself; but his reason, though it
-affected his conduct, did not reach his taste. It irked him to think
-there should be this marriage, though he was strong in his resolution
-to uphold his sister,—and, if necessary, to defend her. He had not
-given way as to the marriage. It had been settled between himself and
-his sister and his father that there should be no meeting of the
-lovers at Hendon Hall. He did hope that the engagement might die
-away, though he was determined to cling to her even though she clung
-to her lover. This was his state of mind, when this hideous young
-man, who seemed to have been created with the object of showing him
-how low a creature a Post Office clerk could be, came across him, and
-almost convinced him that that other Post Office clerk had been
-boasting among his official associates of the favours of the
-high-born lady who had unfortunately become attached to him! He would
-stick to his politics, to his Radical theories, to his old ideas
-about social matters generally; but he was almost tempted to declare
-to himself that women for the present ought to be regarded as exempt
-from those radical changes which would be good for men. For himself
-his "order" was a vanity and a delusion; but for his sister it must
-still be held as containing some bonds. In this frame of mind he
-determined that he would return to Hendon Hall almost immediately.
-Further hope of hunting with the Braeside Harriers there was none;
-and it was necessary for him to see Roden as soon as possible.</p>
-
-<p>That evening at the Castle Lady Amaldina got hold of him, and asked
-him his advice as to her future duties as a married woman. Lady
-Amaldina was very fond of little confidences as to her future life,
-and had as yet found no opportunity of demanding the sympathy of her
-cousin. Hampstead was not in truth her cousin, but they called each
-other cousins,—or were called so. None of the Hauteville family felt
-any of that aversion to the Radicalism of the heir to the marquisate
-which the Marchioness entertained. Lady Amaldina delighted to be Amy
-to Lord Hampstead, and was very anxious to ask him his advice as to
-Lord Llwddythlw.</p>
-
-<p>"Of course you know all about my marriage, Hampstead?" she said.</p>
-
-<p>"I don't know anything about it," Hampstead replied.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, Hampstead; how ill-natured!"</p>
-
-<p>"Nobody knows anything about it, because it hasn't taken place."</p>
-
-<p>"That is so like a Radical, to be so precise and rational. My
-engagement then?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes; I've heard a great deal about that. We've been talking about
-that for—how long shall I say?"</p>
-
-<p>"Don't be disagreeable. Of course such a man as Llwddythlw can't be
-married all in a hurry just like anybody else."</p>
-
-<p>"What a misfortune for him!"</p>
-
-<p>"Why should it be a misfortune?"</p>
-
-<p>"I should think it so if I were going to be married to you."</p>
-
-<p>"That's the prettiest thing I have ever heard you say. At any rate he
-has got to put up with it, and so have I. It is a bore, because
-people will talk about nothing else. What do you think of Llwddythlw
-as a public man?"</p>
-
-<p>"I haven't thought about it. I haven't any means of thinking. I am so
-completely a private man myself, that I know nothing of public men. I
-hope he's good at going to sleep."</p>
-
-<p>"Going to sleep?"</p>
-
-<p>"Otherwise it must be so dull, sitting so many hours in the House of
-Commons. But he's been at it a long time, and I dare say he's used to
-it."</p>
-
-<p>"Isn't it well that a man in his position should have a regard to his
-country?"</p>
-
-<p>"Every man ought to have a regard to his country;—but a stronger
-regard, if it be possible, to the world at large."</p>
-
-<p>Lady Amaldina stared at him, not knowing in the least what he meant.
-"You are so droll," she said. "You never, I think, think of the
-position you were born to fill."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh yes, I do. I'm a man, and I think a great deal about it."</p>
-
-<p>"But you've got to be Marquis of Kingsbury, and Llwddythlw has got to
-be Duke of Merioneth. He never forgets it for a moment."</p>
-
-<p>"What a nuisance for him,—and for you."</p>
-
-<p>"Why should it be a nuisance for me? Cannot a woman understand her
-duties as well as a man?"</p>
-
-<p>"Quite so, if she knows how to get a glimpse at them."</p>
-
-<p>"I do," said Lady Amaldina, earnestly. "I am always getting glimpses
-at them. I am quite aware of the functions which it will become me to
-perform when I am Llwddythlw's wife."</p>
-
-<p>"Mother of his children?"</p>
-
-<p>"I didn't mean that at all, Hampstead. That's all in the hands of the
-Almighty. But in becoming the future Duchess of
-<span class="nowrap">Merioneth—"</span></p>
-
-<p>"That's in the hands of the Almighty, too, isn't it?"</p>
-
-<p>"No; yes. Of course everything is in God's hands."</p>
-
-<p>"The children, the dukedom, and all the estates."</p>
-
-<p>"I never knew any one so provoking," she exclaimed.</p>
-
-<p>"One is at any rate as much as another."</p>
-
-<p>"You don't a bit understand me," she said. "Of course if I go and get
-married, I do get married."</p>
-
-<p>"And if you have children, you do have children. If you do,—and I
-hope you will,—I'm sure they'll be very pretty and well behaved.
-That will be your duty, and then you'll have to see that Llwddythlw
-has what he likes for dinner."</p>
-
-<p>"I shall do nothing of the kind."</p>
-
-<p>"Then he'll dine at the Club, or at the House of Commons. That's my
-idea of married life."</p>
-
-<p>"Nothing beyond that? No community of soul?"</p>
-
-<p>"Certainly not."</p>
-
-<p>"No!"</p>
-
-<p>"Because you believe in the Trinity, Llwddythlw won't go to heaven.
-If he were to take to gambling and drinking you wouldn't go to the
-other place."</p>
-
-<p>"How can you be so horrid."</p>
-
-<p>"That would be a community of souls,—as souls are understood. A
-community of interests I hope you will have, and, in order that you
-may, take care and look after his dinner." She could not make much
-more of her cousin in the way of confidence, but she did exact a
-promise from him, that he would be in attendance at her wedding.</p>
-
-<p>A few days afterwards he returned to Hendon Park, leaving his sister
-to remain for a fortnight longer at Castle Hautboy.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c1-15" id="c1-15"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XV.</h3>
-<h4>MARION FAY AND HER FATHER.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>"I saw him go in a full quarter of an hour since, and Marion Fay went
-in before. I feel quite sure that she knew that he was expected."
-Thus spoke Clara Demijohn to her mother.</p>
-
-<p>"How could she have known it," asked Mrs. Duffer, who was present in
-Mrs. Demijohn's parlour, where the two younger women were standing
-with their faces close to the window, with their gloves on and best
-bonnets, ready for church.</p>
-
-<p>"I am sure she did, because she had made herself smarter than ever
-with her new brown silk, and her new brown gloves, and her new brown
-hat,—sly little Quaker that she is. I can see when a girl has made
-herself up for some special occasion. She wouldn't have put on new
-gloves surely to go to church with Mrs. Roden."</p>
-
-<p>"If you stay staring there any longer you'll both be late," said Mrs.
-Demijohn.</p>
-
-<p>"Mrs. Roden hasn't gone yet," said Clara, lingering. It was Sunday
-morning, and the ladies at No. 10 were preparing for their devotions.
-Mrs. Demijohn herself never went to church, having some years since
-had a temporary attack of sciatica, which had provided her with a
-perpetual excuse for not leaving the house on a Sunday morning. She
-was always left at home with a volume of Blair's Sermons; but Clara,
-who was a clever girl, was well aware that more than half a page was
-never read. She was aware also that great progress was then made with
-the novel which happened to have last come into the house from the
-little circulating library round the corner. The ringing of the
-neighbouring church bell had come to its final tinkling, and Mrs.
-Duffer knew that she must start, or disgrace herself in the eyes of
-the pew-opener. "Come, my dear," she said; and away they went. As the
-door of No. 10 opened so did that of No. 11 opposite, and the four
-ladies, including Marion Fay, met in the road. "You have a visitor
-this morning," said Clara.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes;—a friend of my son's."</p>
-
-<p>"We know all about it," said Clara. "Don't you think he's a very
-fine-looking young man, Miss Fay?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, I do," said Marion. "He is certainly a handsome young man."</p>
-
-<p>"Beauty is but skin deep," said Mrs. Duffer.</p>
-
-<p>"But still it goes a long way," said Clara, "particularly with high
-birth and noble rank."</p>
-
-<p>"He is an excellent young man, as far as I know him," said Mrs.
-Roden, thinking that she was called upon to defend her son's friend.</p>
-
-<p>Hampstead had returned home on the Saturday, and had taken the
-earliest opportunity on the following Sunday morning to go over to
-his friend at Holloway. The distance was about six miles, and he had
-driven over, sending the vehicle back with the intention of walking
-home. He would get his friend to walk with him, and then should take
-place that conversation which he feared would become excessively
-unpleasant before it was finished. He was shown up to the
-drawing-room of No. 11, and there he found all alone a young woman
-whom he had never seen before. This was Marion Fay, the daughter of
-Zachary Fay, a Quaker, who lived at No. 17, Paradise Row. "I had
-thought Mrs. Roden was here," he said.</p>
-
-<p>"Mrs. Roden will be down directly. She is putting her bonnet on to go
-to church."</p>
-
-<p>"And Mr. Roden?" he asked. "He I suppose is not going to church with
-her?"</p>
-
-<p>"Ah, no; I wish he were. George Roden never goes to church."</p>
-
-<p>"Is he a friend of yours?"</p>
-
-<p>"For his mother's sake I was speaking;—but why not for his also? He
-is not specially my friend, but I wish well to all men. He is not at
-home at present, but I understood that he will be here shortly."</p>
-
-<p>"Do you always go to church?" he asked, grounding his question not on
-any impertinent curiosity as to her observance of her religious
-duties, but because he had thought from her dress she must certainly
-be a Quaker.</p>
-
-<p>"I do usually go to your church on a Sunday."</p>
-
-<p>"Nay," said he, "I have no right to claim it as my church. I fear you
-must regard me also as a heathen,—as you do George Roden."</p>
-
-<p>"I am sorry for that, sir. It cannot be good that any man should be a
-heathen when so much Christian teaching is abroad. But men I think
-allow themselves a freedom of thought from which women in their
-timidity are apt to shrink. If so it is surely good that we should be
-cowards?" Then the door opened, and Mrs. Roden came into the room.</p>
-
-<p>"George is gone," she said, "to call on a sick friend, but he will be
-back immediately. He got your letter yesterday evening, and he left
-word that I was to tell you that he would be back by eleven. Have you
-introduced yourself to my friend Miss Fay?"</p>
-
-<p>"I had not heard her name," he said smiling, "but we had introduced
-ourselves."</p>
-
-<p>"Marion Fay is my name," said the girl, "and yours, I suppose
-is—Lord Hampstead."</p>
-
-<p>"So now we may be supposed to know each other for ever after," he
-replied, laughing; "—only I fear, Mrs. Roden, that your friend will
-repudiate the acquaintance because I do not go to church."</p>
-
-<p>"I said not so, Lord Hampstead. The nearer we were to being
-friends,—if that were possible,—the more I should regret it." Then
-the two ladies started on their morning duty.</p>
-
-<p>Lord Hampstead when he was alone immediately decided that he would
-like to have Marion Fay for a friend, and not the less so because she
-went to church. He felt that she had been right in saying that
-audacity in speculation on religious subjects was not becoming a
-young woman. As it was unfitting that his sister Lady Frances should
-marry a Post Office clerk, so would it have been unbecoming that
-Marion Fay should have been what she herself called a heathen. Surely
-of all the women on whom his eyes had ever rested she was,—he would
-not say to himself the most lovely,—but certainly the best worth
-looking at. The close brown bonnet and the little cap, and the
-well-made brown silk dress, and the brown gloves on her little hands,
-together made, to his eyes, as pleasing a female attire as a girl
-could well wear. Could it have been by accident that the graces of
-her form were so excellently shown? It had to be supposed that she,
-as a Quaker, was indifferent to outside feminine garniture. It is the
-theory of a Quaker that she should be so, and in every article she
-had adhered closely to Quaker rule. As far as he could see there was
-not a ribbon about her. There was no variety of colour. Her
-head-dress was as simple and close as any that could have been worn
-by her grandmother. Hardly a margin of smooth hair appeared between
-her cap and her forehead. Her dress fitted close to her neck, and on
-her shoulders she wore a tight-fitting shawl. The purpose in her
-raiment had been Quaker all through. The exquisite grace must have
-come altogether by accident,—just because it had pleased nature to
-make her gracious! As to all this there might perhaps be room for
-doubt. Whether there had been design or not might possibly afford
-scope for consideration. But that the grace was there was a matter
-which required no consideration, and admitted of no doubt.</p>
-
-<p>As Marion Fay will have much to do with our story, it will be well
-that some further description should be given here of herself and of
-her condition in life. Zachary Fay, her father, with whom she lived,
-was a widower with no other living child. There had been many others,
-who had all died, as had also their mother. She had been a prey to
-consumption, but had lived long enough to know that she had
-bequeathed the fatal legacy to her offspring,—to all of them except
-to Marion, who, when her mother died, had seemed to be exempted from
-the terrible curse of the family. She had then been old enough to
-receive her mother's last instructions as to her father, who was then
-a broken-hearted man struggling with difficulty against the cruelty
-of Providence. Why should it have been that God should thus afflict
-him,—him who had no other pleasure in the world, no delights, but
-those which were afforded to him by the love of his wife and
-children? It was to be her duty to comfort him, to make up as best
-she might by her tenderness for all that he had lost and was losing.
-It was to be especially her duty to soften his heart in all worldly
-matters, and to turn him as far as possible to the love of heavenly
-things. It was now two years since her mother's death, and in all
-things she had endeavoured to perform the duties which her mother had
-exacted from her.</p>
-
-<p>But Zachary Fay was not a man whom it was easy to turn hither and
-thither. He was a stern, hard, just man, of whom it may probably be
-said that if a world were altogether composed of such, the condition
-of such a world would be much better than that of the world we
-know;—for generosity is less efficacious towards permanent good than
-justice, and tender speaking less enduring in its beneficial results
-than truth. His enemies, for he had enemies, said of him that he
-loved money. It was no doubt true; for he that does not love money
-must be an idiot. He was certainly a man who liked to have what was
-his own, who would have been irate with any one who had endeavoured
-to rob him of his own, or had hindered him in his just endeavour to
-increase his own. That which belonged to another he did not
-covet,—unless it might be in the way of earning it. Things had
-prospered with him, and he was—for his condition in life—a rich
-man. But his worldly prosperity had not for a moment succeeded in
-lessening the asperity of the blow which had fallen upon him. With
-all his sternness he was essentially a loving man. To earn money he
-would say—or perhaps more probably would only think—was the
-necessity imposed upon man by the Fall of Adam; but to have something
-warm at his heart, something that should be infinitely dearer to him
-than himself and all his possessions,—that was what had been left of
-Divine Essence in a man even after the Fall of Adam. Now the one
-living thing left for him to love was his daughter Marion.</p>
-
-<p>He was not a man whose wealth was of high order, or his employment of
-great moment, or he would not probably have been living at Holloway
-in Paradise Row. He was and had now been for many years senior clerk
-to Messrs. Pogson and Littlebird, Commission Agents, at the top of
-King's Court, Old Broad Street. By Messrs. Pogson and Littlebird he
-was trusted with everything, and had become so amalgamated with the
-firm as to have achieved in the City almost the credit of a merchant
-himself. There were some who thought that Zachary Fay must surely be
-a partner in the house, or he would not have been so well known or so
-much respected among merchants themselves. But in truth he was no
-more than senior clerk, with a salary amounting to four hundred a
-year. Nor, though he was anxious about his money, would he have
-dreamed of asking for any increase of his stipend. It was for Messrs.
-Pogson and Littlebird to say what his services were worth. He would
-not on any account have lessened his authority with them by becoming
-a suppliant for increased payment. But for many years he had spent
-much less than his income, and had known how to use his City
-experiences in turning his savings to the best account. Thus, as
-regarded Paradise Row and its neighbourhood, Zachary Fay was a rich
-man.</p>
-
-<p>He was now old, turned seventy, tall and thin, with long grey hair,
-with a slight stoop in his shoulders,—but otherwise hale as well as
-healthy. He went every day to his office, leaving his house with
-strict punctuality at half-past eight, and entering the door of the
-counting-house just as the clock struck nine. With equal accuracy he
-returned home at six, having dined in the middle of the day at an
-eating-house in the City. All this time was devoted to the interests
-of the firm, except for three hours on Thursday, during which he
-attended a meeting in a Quaker house of worship. On these occasions
-Marion always joined him, making a journey into the City for the
-purpose. She would fain have induced him also to accompany her on
-Sundays to the English Church. But to this he never would consent at
-her instance,—as he had refused to do so at the instance of his
-wife. He was he said a Quaker, and did not mean to be aught else than
-a Quaker. In truth, though he was very punctual at those Quaker
-meetings, he was not at heart a religious man. To go through certain
-formularies, Quaker though he was, was as sufficient to him as to
-many other votaries of Church ordinances. He had been brought up to
-attend Quaker meetings, and no doubt would continue to attend them as
-long as his strength might suffice; but it may be presumed of him
-without harsh judgment that the price of stocks was often present to
-his mind during those tedious hours in the meeting-house. In his
-language he always complied with the strict tenets of his sect,
-"thou-ing" and "thee-ing" all those whom he addressed; but he had
-assented to an omission in this matter on the part of his daughter,
-recognizing the fact that there could be no falsehood in using a mode
-of language common to all the world. "If a plural pronoun of ignoble
-sound," so he said, "were used commonly for the singular because the
-singular was too grand and authoritative for ordinary use, it was no
-doubt a pity that the language should be so injured; but there could
-be no untruth in such usage; and it was better that at any rate the
-young should adhere to the manner of speech which was common among
-those with whom they lived." Thus Marion was saved from the "thees"
-and the "thous," and escaped that touch of hypocrisy which seems to
-permeate the now antiquated speeches of Quakers. Zachary Fay in these
-latter years of his life was never known to laugh or to joke; but, if
-circumstances were favourable, he would sometimes fall into a quaint
-mode of conversation in which there was something of drollery and
-something also of sarcasm; but this was unfrequent, as Zachary was
-slow in making new friends, and never conversed after this fashion
-with the mere acquaintance of the hour.</p>
-
-<p>Of Marion Fay's appearance something has already been said; enough,
-perhaps,—not to impress any clear idea of her figure on the mind's
-eye of a reader, for that I regard as a feat beyond the power of any
-writer,—but to enable the reader to form a conception of his own.
-She was small of stature, it should be said, with limbs exquisitely
-made. It was not the brilliance of her eyes or the chiselled
-correctness of her features which had struck Hampstead so forcibly as
-a certain expression of earnest eloquence which pervaded her whole
-form. And there was a fleeting brightness of colour which went about
-her cheeks and forehead, and ran around her mouth, which gave to her
-when she was speaking a brilliance which was hardly to be expected
-from the ordinary lines of her countenance. Had you been asked, you
-would have said that she was a brunette,—till she had been worked to
-some excitement in talking. Then, I think, you would have hardly
-ventured to describe her complexion by any single word. Lord
-Hampstead, had he been asked what he thought about her, as he sat
-waiting for his friend, would have declared that some divinity of
-grace had been the peculiar gift which had attracted him. And yet
-that rapid change of colour had not passed unobserved, as she told
-him that she was sorry that he did not go to church.</p>
-
-<p>Marion Fay's life in Paradise Row would have been very lonely had she
-not become acquainted with Mrs. Roden before her mother's death. Now
-hardly a day passed but what she spent an hour with that lady. They
-were, indeed, fast friends,—so much so that Mrs. Vincent had also
-come to know Marion, and approving of the girl's religious tendencies
-had invited her to spend two or three days at Wimbledon. This was
-impossible, because Marion would never leave her father;—but she had
-once or twice gone over with Mrs. Roden, when she made her weekly
-call, and had certainly ingratiated herself with the austere lady.
-Other society she had none, nor did she seem to desire it. Clara
-Demijohn, seeing the intimacy which had been struck up between Marion
-and Mrs. Roden,—as to which she had her own little jealousies to
-endure,—was quite sure that Marion was setting her cap at the Post
-Office clerk, and had declared in confidence to Mrs. Duffer that the
-girl was doing it in the most brazen-faced manner. Clara had herself
-on more than one occasion contrived to throw herself in the clerk's
-way on his return homewards on dusky evenings,—perhaps intent only
-on knowing what might be the young man's intentions as to Marion Fay.
-The young man had been courteous to her, but she had declared to Mrs.
-Duffer that he was one of those stiff young men who don't care for
-ladies' society. "These are they," said Mrs. Duffer, "who marry the
-readiest and make the best husbands." "Oh;—she'll go on sticking to
-him till she don't leave a stone unturned," said Clara,—thereby
-implying that, as far as she was concerned, she did not think it
-worth her while to continue her attacks unless a young man would give
-way to her at once. George had been asked more than once to drink tea
-at No. 10, but had been asked in vain. Clara, therefore, had declared
-quite loudly that Marion had made an absolute prisoner of him,—had
-bound him hand and foot,—would not let him call his life his own.
-"She interrupts him constantly as he comes from the office," she said
-to Mrs. Duffer; "I call that downright unfeminine audacity." Yet she
-knew that Mrs. Duffer knew that she had intercepted the young man.
-Mrs. Duffer took it all in good part, knowing very well how necessary
-it is that a young woman should fight her own battle strenuously.</p>
-
-<p>In the mean time Marion Fay and George Roden were good friends. "He
-is engaged;—I must not say to whom," Mrs. Roden had said to her
-young friend. "It will, I fear, be a long, long, tedious affair. You
-must not speak of it."</p>
-
-<p>"If she be true to him, I hope he will be true to her," said Marion,
-with true feminine excitement.</p>
-
-<p>"I only fear that he will be too true."</p>
-
-<p>"No, no;—that cannot be. Even though he suffer let him be true. You
-may be sure I will not mention it,—to him, or to any one. I like him
-so well that I do hope he may not suffer much." From that time she
-found herself able to regard George Roden as a real friend, and to
-talk to him as though there need be no cause for dreading an
-intimacy. With an engaged man a girl may suffer herself to be
-intimate.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c1-16" id="c1-16"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XVI.</h3>
-<h4>THE WALK BACK TO HENDON.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>"I was here a little early," said Hampstead when his friend came in,
-"and I found your mother just going to church,—with a friend."</p>
-
-<p>"Marion Fay."</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, Miss Fay."</p>
-
-<p>"She is the daughter of a Quaker who lives a few doors off. But
-though she is a Quaker she goes to church as well. I envy the tone of
-mind of those who are able to find a comfort in pouring themselves
-out in gratitude to the great Unknown God."</p>
-
-<p>"I pour myself out in gratitude," said Hampstead; "but with me it is
-an affair of solitude."</p>
-
-<p>"I doubt whether you ever hold yourself for two hours in commune with
-heavenly power and heavenly influence. Something more than gratitude
-is necessary. You must conceive that there is a duty,—by the
-non-performance of which you would encounter peril. Then comes the
-feeling of safety which always follows the performance of a duty.
-That I never can achieve. What did you think of Marion Fay?"</p>
-
-<p>"She is a most lovely creature."</p>
-
-<p>"Very pretty, is she not; particularly when speaking?</p>
-
-<p>"I never care for female beauty that does not display itself in
-action,—either speaking, moving, laughing, or perhaps only
-frowning," said Hampstead enthusiastically. "I was talking the other
-day to a sort of cousin of mine who has a reputation of being a
-remarkably handsome young woman. She had ever so much to say to me,
-and when I was in company with her a page in buttons kept coming into
-the room. He was a round-faced, high-cheeked, ugly boy; but I thought
-him so much better-looking than my cousin, because he opened his
-mouth when he spoke, and showed his eagerness by his eyes."</p>
-
-<p>"Your cousin is complimented."</p>
-
-<p>"She has made her market, so it does not signify. The Greeks seem to
-me to have regarded form without expression. I doubt whether Phidias
-would have done much with your Miss Fay. To my eyes she is the
-perfection of loveliness."</p>
-
-<p>"She is not my Miss Fay. She is my mother's friend."</p>
-
-<p>"Your mother is lucky. A woman without vanity, without jealousy,
-without <span class="nowrap">envy—"</span></p>
-
-<p>"Where will you find one?"</p>
-
-<p>"Your mother. Such a woman as that can, I think, enjoy feminine
-loveliness almost as much as a man."</p>
-
-<p>"I have often heard my mother speak of Marion's good qualities, but
-not much of her loveliness. To me her great charm is her voice. She
-speaks musically."</p>
-
-<p>"As one can fancy Melpomene did. Does she come here often?"</p>
-
-<p>"Every day, I fancy;—but not generally when I am here. Not but what
-she and I are great friends. She will sometimes go with me into town
-on a Thursday morning, on her way to the meeting house."</p>
-
-<p>"Lucky fellow!" Roden shrugged his shoulders as though conscious that
-any luck of that kind must come to him from another quarter, if it
-came at all.</p>
-
-<p>"What does she talk about?"</p>
-
-<p>"Religion generally."</p>
-
-<p>"And you?"</p>
-
-<p>"Anything else, if she will allow me. She would wish to convert me. I
-am not at all anxious to convert her, really believing that she is
-very well as she is."</p>
-
-<p>"Yes," said Hampstead; "that is the worst of what we are apt to call
-advanced opinions. With all my self-assurance I never dare to tamper
-with the religious opinions of those who are younger or weaker than
-myself. I feel that they at any rate are safe if they are in earnest.
-No one, I think, has ever been put in danger by believing Christ to
-be a God."</p>
-
-<p>"They none of them know what they believe," said Roden; "nor do you
-or I. Men talk of belief as though it were a settled thing. It is so
-but with few; and that only with those who lack imagination. What
-sort of a time did you have down at Castle Hautboy?"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh,—I don't know,—pretty well. Everybody was very kind, and my
-sister likes it. The scenery is lovely. You can look up a long reach
-of Ulleswater from the Castle terrace, and there is Helvellyn in the
-distance. The house was full of people,—who despised me more than I
-did them."</p>
-
-<p>"Which is saying a great deal, perhaps."</p>
-
-<p>"There were some uncommon apes. One young lady, not very young, asked
-me what I meant to do with all the land in the world when I took it
-away from everybody. I told her that when it was all divided equally
-there would be a nice little estate even for all the daughters, and
-that in such circumstances all the sons would certainly get married.
-She acknowledged that such a result would be excellent, but she did
-not believe in it. A world in which the men should want to marry was
-beyond her comprehension. I went out hunting one day."</p>
-
-<p>"The hunting I should suppose was not very good."</p>
-
-<p>"But for one drawback it would have been very good indeed."</p>
-
-<p>"The mountains, I should have thought, would be one drawback, and the
-lakes another."</p>
-
-<p>"Not at all. I liked the mountains because of their echoes, and the
-lakes did not come in our way."</p>
-
-<p>"Where was the fault?"</p>
-
-<p>"There came a man."</p>
-
-<p>"Whom you disliked?"</p>
-
-<p>"Who was a bore."</p>
-
-<p>"Could you not shut him up?"</p>
-
-<p>"No; nor shake him off. I did at last do that, but it was by turning
-round and riding backwards when we were coming home. I had just
-invited him to ride on while I stood still,—but he wouldn't."</p>
-
-<p>"Did it come to that?"</p>
-
-<p>"Quite to that. I actually turned tail and ran away from him;—not as
-we ordinarily do in society when we sneak off under some pretence,
-leaving the pretender to think that he has made himself very
-pleasant; but with a full declaration of my opinion and intention."</p>
-
-<p>"Who was he?"</p>
-
-<p>That was the question. Hampstead had come there on purpose to say who
-the man was,—and to talk about the man with great freedom. And he
-was determined to do so. But he preferred not to begin that which he
-intended to be a severe accusation against his friend till they were
-walking together, and he did not wish to leave the house without
-saying a word further about Marion Fay. It was his intention to dine
-all alone at Hendon Hall. How much nicer it would be if he could dine
-in Paradise Row with Marion Fay! He knew it was Mrs. Roden's custom
-to dine early, after church, on Sundays, so that the two maidens who
-made up her establishment might go out,—either to church or to their
-lovers, or perhaps to both, as might best suit them. He had dined
-there once or twice already, eating the humble, but social, leg of
-mutton of Holloway, in preference to the varied, but solitary,
-banquet of Hendon. He was of opinion that really intimate
-acquaintance demanded the practice of social feeling. To know a man
-very well, and never to sit at table with him, was, according to his
-views of life, altogether unsatisfactory. Though the leg of mutton
-might be cold, and have no other accompaniment but the common
-ill-boiled potato, yet it would be better than any banquet prepared
-simply for the purpose of eating. He was gregarious, and now felt a
-longing, of which he was almost ashamed, to be admitted to the same
-pastures with Marion Fay. There was not, however, the slightest
-reason for supposing that Marion Fay would dine at No. 11, even were
-he asked to do so himself. Nothing, in fact, could be less probable,
-as Marion Fay never deserted her father. Nor did he like to give any
-hint to his friend that he was desirous of further immediate intimacy
-with Marion. There would be an absurdity in doing so which he did not
-dare to perpetrate. Only if he could have passed the morning in
-Paradise Row, and then have walked home with Roden in the dark
-evening, he could, he thought, have said what he had to say very
-conveniently.</p>
-
-<p>But it was impossible. He sat silent for some minute or two after
-Roden had asked the name of the bore of the hunting field, and then
-answered him by proposing that they should start together on their
-walk towards Hendon. "I am all ready; but you must tell me the name
-of this dreadful man."</p>
-
-<p>"As soon as we have started I will. I have come here on purpose to
-tell you."</p>
-
-<p>"To tell me the name of the man you ran away from in Cumberland?"</p>
-
-<p>"Exactly that;—come along." And so they started, more than an hour
-before the time at which Marion Fay would return from church. "The
-man who annoyed me so out hunting was an intimate friend of yours."</p>
-
-<p>"I have not an intimate friend in the world except yourself."</p>
-
-<p>"Not Marion Fay?"</p>
-
-<p>"I meant among men. I do not suppose that Marion Fay was out hunting
-in Cumberland."</p>
-
-<p>"I should not have ran away from her, I think, if she had. It was Mr.
-Crocker, of the General Post Office."</p>
-
-<p>"Crocker in Cumberland?"</p>
-
-<p>"Certainly he was in Cumberland,—unless some one personated him. I
-met him dining at Castle Hautboy, when he was kind enough to make
-himself known to me, and again out hunting,—when he did more than
-make himself known to me."</p>
-
-<p>"I am surprised."</p>
-
-<p>"Is he not away on leave?"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, yes;—he is away on leave. I do not doubt that it was he."</p>
-
-<p>"Why should he not be in Cumberland,—when, as it happens, his father
-is land-steward or something of that sort to my uncle Persiflage?"</p>
-
-<p>"Because I did not know that he had any connection with Cumberland.
-Why not Cumberland, or Westmoreland, or Northumberland, you may say?
-Why not?—or Yorkshire, or Lincolnshire, or Norfolk? I certainly did
-not suppose that a Post Office clerk out on his holidays would be
-found hunting in any county."</p>
-
-<p>"You have never heard of his flea-bitten horse?"</p>
-
-<p>"Not a word. I didn't know that he had ever sat upon a horse. And now
-will you let me know why you have called him my friend?"</p>
-
-<p>"Is he not so?"</p>
-
-<p>"By no means."</p>
-
-<p>"Does he not sit at the same desk with you?"</p>
-
-<p>"Certainly he does."</p>
-
-<p>"I think I should be friends with a man if I sat at the same desk
-with him."</p>
-
-<p>"With Crocker even?" asked Roden.</p>
-
-<p>"Well; he might be an exception."</p>
-
-<p>"But if an exception to you, why not also an exception to me? As it
-happens, Crocker has made himself disagreeable to me. Instead of
-being my friend, he is,—I will not say my enemy, because I should be
-making too much of him; but nearer to being so than any one I know.
-Now, what is the meaning of all this? Why did he trouble you
-especially down in Cumberland? Why do you call him my friend? And why
-do you wish to speak to me about him?"</p>
-
-<p>"He introduced himself to me, and told me that he was your special
-friend."</p>
-
-<p>"Then he lied."</p>
-
-<p>"I should not have cared about that;—but he did more."</p>
-
-<p>"What more did he do?"</p>
-
-<p>"I would have been courteous to him,—if only because he sat at the
-same desk with you;—<span class="nowrap">but—"</span></p>
-
-<p>"But what?"</p>
-
-<p>"There are things which are difficult to be told."</p>
-
-<p>"If they have to be told, they had better be told," said Roden,
-almost angrily.</p>
-
-<p>"Whether friend or not, he knew of—your engagement with my sister."</p>
-
-<p>"Impossible!"</p>
-
-<p>"He told me of it," said Lord Hampstead impetuously, his tongue now
-at length loosed. "Told me of it! He spoke of it again and again to
-my extreme disgust. Though the thing had been fixed as Fate, he
-should not have mentioned it."</p>
-
-<p>"Certainly not."</p>
-
-<p>"But he did nothing but tell me of your happiness, and good luck, and
-the rest of it. It was impossible to stop him, so that I had to ride
-away from him. I bade him be silent,—as plainly as I could without
-mentioning Fanny's name. But it was of no use."</p>
-
-<p>"How did he know it?"</p>
-
-<p>"You told him!"</p>
-
-<p>"I!"</p>
-
-<p>"So he said." This was not strictly the case. Crocker had so
-introduced the subject as to have avoided the palpable lie of
-declaring that the tidings had been absolutely given by Roden to
-himself. But he had not the less falsely intended to convey that
-impression to Hampstead, and had conveyed it. "He gave me to
-understand that you were speaking about it continually at your
-office." Roden turned round and looked at the other man, white with
-rage—as though he could not allow himself to utter a word. "It was
-as I tell you. He began it at the Castle, and afterwards continued it
-whenever he could get near me when hunting."</p>
-
-<p>"And you believed him?"</p>
-
-<p>"When he repeated his story so often what was I to do?"</p>
-
-<p>"Knock him off his horse."</p>
-
-<p>"And so be forced to speak of my sister to every one in the hunt and
-in the county? You do not feel how much is due to a girl's name."</p>
-
-<p>"I think I do. I think that of all men I am the most likely to feel
-what is due to the name of Lady Frances Trafford. Of course I never
-mentioned it to any one at the Post Office."</p>
-
-<p>"From whom had he heard it?"</p>
-
-<p>"How can I answer that? Probably through some of your own family. It
-has made its way through Lady Kingsbury to Castle Hautboy, and has
-then been talked about. I am not responsible for that."</p>
-
-<p>"Not for that certainly,—if it be so."</p>
-
-<p>"Nor because such a one as he has lied. You should not have believed
-it of me."</p>
-
-<p>"I was bound to ask you."</p>
-
-<p>"You were bound to tell me, but should not have asked me. There are
-things which do not require asking. What must I do with him?"</p>
-
-<p>"Nothing. Nothing can be done. You could not touch the subject
-without alluding to my sister. She is coming back to Hendon in
-another week."</p>
-
-<p>"She was there before, but I did not see her."</p>
-
-<p>"Of course you did not see her. How should you?"</p>
-
-<p>"Simply by going there."</p>
-
-<p>"She would not have seen you." There came a black frown over Roden's
-brow as he heard this. "It has been understood between my father and
-Fanny and myself that you should not come to Hendon while she is
-living with me."</p>
-
-<p>"Should not I have been a party to that agreement?"</p>
-
-<p>"Hardly, I think. This agreement must have been made whether you
-assented or not. On no other terms would my father have permitted her
-to come. It was most desirable that she should be separated from Lady
-Kingsbury."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, yes."</p>
-
-<p>"And therefore the agreement was advisable. I would not have had her
-on any other terms."</p>
-
-<p>"Why not?"</p>
-
-<p>"Because I think that such visitings would have been unwise. It is no
-use my blinking it to you. I do not believe that the marriage is
-practicable."</p>
-
-<p>"I do."</p>
-
-<p>"As I don't, of course I cannot be a party to throwing you together.
-Were you to persist in coming you would only force me to find a home
-for her elsewhere."</p>
-
-<p>"I have not disturbed you."</p>
-
-<p>"You have not. Now I want you to promise me that you will not. I have
-assured my father that it shall be so. Will you say that you will
-neither come to her at Hendon Hall, or write to her, while she is
-staying with me?" He paused on the road for an answer, but Roden
-walked on without making one, and Hampstead was forced to accompany
-him. "Will you promise me?"</p>
-
-<p>"I will not promise. I will do nothing which may possibly subject me
-to be called a liar. I have no wish to knock at any door at which I
-do not think myself to be welcome."</p>
-
-<p>"You know how welcome you would be at mine, but for her."</p>
-
-<p>"It might be that I should find myself forced to endeavour to see
-her, and I will therefore make no promise. A man should fetter
-himself by no assurances of that kind as to his conduct. If a man be
-a drunkard, it may be well that he should bind himself by a vow
-against drinking. But he who can rule his own conduct should promise
-nothing. Good-day now. I must be back to dinner with my mother."</p>
-
-<p>Then he took his leave somewhat abruptly, and returned. Hampstead
-went on to Hendon with his thoughts sometimes fixed on his sister,
-sometimes on Roden, whom he regarded as impracticable, sometimes on
-that horrid Crocker;—but more generally on Marion Fay, whom he
-resolved that he must see again, whatever might be the difficulties
-in his way.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c1-17" id="c1-17"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XVII.</h3>
-<h4>LORD HAMPSTEAD'S SCHEME.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>During the following week Hampstead went down to Gorse Hall, and
-hunted two or three days with various packs of hounds within his
-reach, declaring to himself that, after all, Leicestershire was
-better than Cumberland, because he was known there, and no one would
-dare to treat him as Crocker had done. Never before had his
-democratic spirit received such a shock,—or rather the remnant of
-that aristocratic spirit which he had striven to quell by the wisdom
-and humanity of democracy! That a stranger should have dared to talk
-to him about one of the ladies of his family! No man certainly would
-do so in Northamptonshire or Leicestershire. He could not quite
-explain to himself the difference in the localities, but he was quite
-sure that he was safe from anything of that kind at Gorse Hall.</p>
-
-<p>But he had other matters to think of as he galloped about the
-country. How might he best manage to see Marion Fay? His mind was set
-upon that;—or, perhaps, more dangerously still, his heart. Had he
-been asked before he would have said that there could have been
-nothing more easy than for such a one as he to make acquaintance with
-a young lady in Paradise Row. But now, when he came to look at it, he
-found that Marion Fay was environed with fortifications and a
-<i>chevaux-de-frise</i> of difficulties which were apparently impregnable.
-He could not call at No. 17, and simply ask for Miss Fay. To do so he
-must be a proficient in that impudence, the lack of which created so
-many difficulties for him. He thought of finding out the Quaker
-chapel in the City, and there sitting out the whole
-proceeding,—unless desired to leave the place,—with the Quixotic
-idea of returning to Holloway with her in an omnibus. As he looked at
-this project all round, he became sure that the joint journey in an
-omnibus would never be achieved. Then he imagined that Mrs. Roden
-might perhaps give him aid. But with what a face could such a one as
-he ask such a one as Mrs. Roden to assist him in such an enterprise?
-And yet, if anything were to be done, it must be done through Mrs.
-Roden,—or, at any rate, through Mrs. Roden's house. As to this too
-there was a new difficulty. He had not actually quarrelled with
-George Roden, but the two had parted on the road as though there were
-some hitch in the cordiality of their friendship. He had been rebuked
-for having believed what Crocker had told him. He did acknowledge to
-himself that he should not have believed it. Though Crocker's lies
-had been monstrous, he should rather have supposed him to be guilty
-even of lies so monstrous, than have suspected his friend of conduct
-that would certainly have been base. Even this added something to the
-difficulties by which Marion Fay was surrounded.</p>
-
-<p>Vivian was staying with him at Gorse Hall. "I shall go up to London
-to-morrow," he said, as the two of them were riding home after
-hunting on the Saturday,—the Saturday after the Sunday on which
-Hampstead had been in Paradise Row.</p>
-
-<p>"To-morrow is Sunday,—no day for travelling," said Vivian. "The
-Fitzwilliams are at Lilford Cross Roads on Monday,—draw back towards
-the kennels;—afternoon train up from Peterborough at 5.30;—branch
-from Oundle to meet it, 4.50—have your traps sent there. It's all
-arranged by Providence. On Monday evening I go to Gatcombe,—so that
-it will all fit."</p>
-
-<p>"You need not be disturbed. A solitary Sunday will enable you to
-write all your official correspondence for the fortnight."</p>
-
-<p>"That I should have done, even in your presence."</p>
-
-<p>"I must be at home on Monday morning. Give my love to them all at
-Lilford Cross Roads. I shall be down again before long if my sister
-can spare me;—or perhaps I may induce her to come and rough it here
-for a week or two." He was as good as his word, and travelled up to
-London, and thence across to Hendon Hall, on the Sunday.</p>
-
-<p>It might have been said that no young man could have had stronger
-inducements for clinging to his sport, or fewer reasons for
-abandoning it. His stables were full of horses; the weather was good;
-the hunting had been excellent; his friends were all around him; and
-he had nothing else to do. His sister intended to remain for yet
-another week at Castle Hautboy, and Hendon Hall of itself had
-certainly no special attractions at the end of November. But Marion
-Fay was on his mind, and he had arranged his scheme. His scheme, as
-far as he knew, would be as practicable on a Tuesday as on a Monday;
-but he was impatient, and for the nonce preferred Marion Fay, whom he
-probably would not find, to the foxes which would certainly be found
-in the neighbourhood of Lilford Cross Roads.</p>
-
-<p>It was not much of a scheme after all. He would go over to Paradise
-Row, and call on Mrs. Roden. He would then explain to her what had
-taken place between him and George, and leave some sort of apology
-for the offended Post Office clerk. Then he would ask them both to
-come over and dine with him on some day before his sister's return.
-In what way Marion Fay's name might be introduced, or how she might
-be brought into the arrangement, he must leave to the chapter of
-accidents. On the Monday he left home at about two o'clock, and
-making a roundabout journey <i>viâ</i> Baker Street, King's
-Cross, and Islington, went down to Holloway by an omnibus. He had
-become somewhat abashed and perplexed as to his visits to Paradise Row,
-having learned to entertain a notion that some of the people there
-looked at him. It was hard, he thought, that if he had a friend in
-that or any other street he should not be allowed to visit his friend
-without creating attention. He was not aware of the special existence
-of Mrs. Demijohn, or of Clara, or of Mrs. Duffer, nor did he know
-from what window exactly the eyes of curious inhabitants were fixed
-upon him. But he was conscious that an interest was taken in his
-comings and goings. As long as his acquaintance in the street was
-confined to the inhabitants of No. 11, this did not very much
-signify. Though the neighbours should become aware that he was
-intimate with Mrs. Roden or her son, he need not care much about
-that. But if he should succeed in adding Marion Fay to the number of
-his Holloway friends, then he thought inquisitive eyes might be an
-annoyance. It was on this account that he made his way down in an
-omnibus, and felt that there was something almost of hypocrisy in the
-soft, unpretending, and almost skulking manner in which he crept up
-Paradise Row, as though his walking there was really of no moment to
-any one. As he looked round after knocking at Mrs. Roden's door, he
-saw the figure of Clara Demijohn standing a little back from the
-parlour window of the house opposite.</p>
-
-<p>"Mrs. Roden is at home," said the maid, "but there are friends with
-her." Nevertheless she showed the young lord up to the drawing-room.
-There were friends indeed. It was Mrs. Vincent's day for coming, and
-she was in the room. That alone would not have been much, but with
-the two elder ladies was seated Marion Fay. So far at any rate
-Fortune had favoured him. But now there was a difficulty in
-explaining his purpose. He could not very well give his general
-invitation,—general at any rate as regarded Marion Fay,—before Mrs.
-Vincent.</p>
-
-<p>Of course there was an introduction. Mrs. Vincent, who had often
-heard Lord Hampstead's name, in spite of her general severity, was
-open to the allurements of nobility. She was glad to meet the young
-man, although she had strong reasons for believing that he was not a
-tower of strength on matters of Faith. Hampstead and Marion Fay shook
-hands as though they were old friends, and then the conversation
-naturally fell upon George Roden.</p>
-
-<p>"You didn't expect my son, I hope," said the mother.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, dear no! I had a message to leave for him, which will do just as
-well in a note."</p>
-
-<p>This was to some extent unfortunate, because it made both Mrs.
-Vincent and Marion feel that they were in the way.</p>
-
-<p>"I think I'll send Betsy down for the brougham," said the former. The
-brougham which brought Mrs. Vincent was always in the habit of
-retiring round the corner to the "Duchess of Edinburgh," where the
-driver had succeeded in creating for himself quite an intimacy.</p>
-
-<p>"Pray do not stir, madam," said Hampstead, for he had perceived from
-certain preparations made by Miss Fay that she would find it
-necessary to follow Mrs. Vincent out of the room. "I will write two
-words for Roden, and that will tell him all I have to say."</p>
-
-<p>Then the elder ladies went back to the matter they were discussing
-before Lord Hampstead had appeared. "I was asking this young lady,"
-said Mrs. Vincent, "to come with me for two or three days down to
-Brighton. It is absolutely the fact that she has never seen
-Brighton."</p>
-
-<p>As Mrs. Vincent went to Brighton twice annually, for a month at the
-beginning of the winter and then again for a fortnight in the spring,
-it seemed to her a wonderful thing that any one living, even at
-Holloway, should never have seen the place.</p>
-
-<p>"I think it would be a very good thing," said Mrs. Roden,—"if your
-father can spare you."</p>
-
-<p>"I never leave my father," said Marion.</p>
-
-<p>"Don't you think, my lord," said Mrs. Vincent, "that she looks as
-though she wanted a change?"</p>
-
-<p>Authorized by this, Lord Hampstead took the opportunity of gazing at
-Marion, and was convinced that the young lady wanted no change at
-all. There was certainly no room for improvement; but it occurred to
-him on the spur of the moment that he, too, might spend two or three
-days at Brighton, and that he might find his opportunities there
-easier than in Paradise Row. "Yes, indeed," he said, "a change is
-always good. I never like to stay long in one place myself."</p>
-
-<p>"Some people must stay in one place," said Marion with a smile.
-"Father has to go to his business, and would be very uncomfortable if
-there were no one to give him his meals and sit at table with him."</p>
-
-<p>"He could spare you for a day or two," said Mrs. Roden, who knew that
-it would be well for Marion that she should sometimes be out of
-London.</p>
-
-<p>"I am sure that he would not begrudge you a short recreation like
-that," said Mrs. Vincent.</p>
-
-<p>"He never begrudges me anything. We did go down to Cowes for a
-fortnight in April, though I am quite sure that papa himself would
-have preferred remaining at home all the time. He does not believe in
-the new-fangled idea of changing the air."</p>
-
-<p>"Doesn't he?" said Mrs. Vincent. "I do, I know. Where I live, at
-Wimbledon, may be said to be more country than town; but if I were to
-remain all the year without moving, I should become so low and out of
-sorts, that I veritably believe they would have to bury me before the
-first year was over."</p>
-
-<p>"Father says that when he was young it was only people of rank and
-fashion who went out of town regularly; and that folk lived as long
-then as they do now."</p>
-
-<p>"I think people get used to living and dying according to
-circumstances," said Hampstead. "Our ancestors did a great many
-things which we regard as quite fatal. They drank their water without
-filtering it, and ate salt meat all the winter through. They did very
-little in the washing way, and knew nothing of ventilation. Yet they
-contrived to live." Marion Fay, however, was obstinate, and declared
-her purpose of declining Mrs. Vincent's kind invitation. There was a
-good deal more said about it, because Hampstead managed to make
-various propositions. "He was very fond of the sea himself," he said,
-"and would take them all round, including Mrs. Vincent and Mrs.
-Roden, in his yacht, if not to Brighton, at any rate to Cowes."
-December was not exactly the time for yachting, and as Brighton could
-be reached in an hour by railway, he was driven to abandon that
-proposition, with a little laughter at his own absurdity.</p>
-
-<p>But it was all done with a gaiety and a kindness which quite won Mrs.
-Vincent's heart. She stayed considerably beyond her accustomed hour,
-to the advantage of the proprietor of the "Duchess of Edinburgh," and
-at last sent Betsy down to the corner in high good humour. "I
-declare, Lord Hampstead," she said, "I ought to charge you
-three-and-sixpence before I go. I shall have to break into another
-hour, because I have stayed talking to you. Pritchard never lets me
-off if I am not back punctually by four." Then she took her
-departure.</p>
-
-<p>"You needn't go, Marion," said Mrs. Roden,—"unless Lord Hampstead
-has something special to say to me." Lord Hampstead declared that he
-had nothing special to say, and Marion did not go.</p>
-
-<p>"But I have something special to say," said Hampstead, when the elder
-lady was quite gone, "but Miss Fay may know it just as well as
-yourself. As we were walking to Hendon on Sunday a matter came up as
-to which George and I did not agree."</p>
-
-<p>"There was no quarrel, I hope?" said the mother.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, dear, no;—but we weren't best pleased with each other.
-Therefore I want you both to come and dine with me one day this week.
-I shall be engaged on Saturday, but any day before that will do."
-Mrs. Roden put on a very serious look on receiving the proposition,
-having never before been invited to the house of her son's friend.
-Nor, for some years past, had she dined out with any acquaintance.
-And yet she could not think at the moment of any reason why she
-should not do so. "I was going to ask Miss Fay to come with you."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, quite impossible," said Marion. "It is very kind, my lord; but I
-never go out, do I, Mrs. Roden?"</p>
-
-<p>"That seems to me a reason why you should begin. Of course, I
-understand about your father. But I should be delighted to make his
-acquaintance, if you would bring him."</p>
-
-<p>"He rarely goes out, Lord Hampstead."</p>
-
-<p>"Then he will have less power to plead that he is engaged. What do
-you say, Mrs. Roden? It would give me the most unaffected pleasure.
-Like your father, Miss Fay, I, too, am unaccustomed to much going
-out, as you call it. I am as peculiar as he is. Let us acknowledge
-that we are all peculiar people, and that therefore there is the more
-reason why we should come together. Mrs. Roden, do not try to prevent
-an arrangement which will give me the greatest pleasure, and to which
-there cannot be any real objection. Why should not Mr. Fay make
-acquaintance with your son's friend? Which day would suit you best,
-Wednesday, Thursday, or Friday?"</p>
-
-<p>At last it was settled that at any rate George Roden should dine at
-Hendon Hall on the Friday,—he being absent during the
-discussion,—and that time must be taken as to any further acceptance
-of the invitation. Mrs. Roden was inclined to think that it had best
-be regarded as impossible. She thought that she had made up her mind
-never to dine out again. Then there came across her mind a
-remembrance that her son was engaged to marry this young man's
-sister, and that it might be for his welfare that she should give way
-to these overtures of friendship. When her thoughts had travelled so
-far as this, she might have felt sure that the invitation would at
-last be accepted.</p>
-
-<p>As to Marion Fay, the subject was allowed to drop without any further
-decision. She had said that it was impossible, and she said nothing
-more. That was the last dictum heard from her; but it was not
-repeated as would probably have been the case had she been quite sure
-that it was impossible. Mrs. Roden during the interview did not
-allude to that branch of the subject again. She was fluttered with
-what had already been said, a little angry with herself that she had
-so far yielded, a little perplexed at her own too evident confusion,
-a little frightened at Lord Hampstead's evident admiration of the
-girl. As to Marion, it must, of course, be left to her father,—as
-would the question as to the Quaker himself.</p>
-
-<p>"I had better be going," said Marion Fay, who was also confused.</p>
-
-<p>"So must I," said Hampstead. "I have to return round by London, and
-have ever so many things to do in Park Lane. The worst of having two
-or three houses is that one never knows where one's clothes are.
-Good-bye, Mrs. Roden. Mind, I depend upon you, and that I have set my
-heart upon it. You will let me walk with you as far as your door,
-Miss Fay?"</p>
-
-<p>"It is only three doors off," said Marion, "and in the other
-direction." Nevertheless he did go with her to the house, though it
-was only three doors off. "Tell your father, with my compliments," he
-said, "that George Roden can show you the way over. If you can get a
-cab to bring you across I will send you back in the waggonette. For
-the matter of that, there is no reason on earth why it should not be
-sent for you."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, no, my lord. That is, I do not think it possible that we should
-come."</p>
-
-<p>"Pray do, pray do, pray do," he said, as he took her hand when the
-door at No. 17 was opened. As he walked down the street he saw the
-figure still standing at the parlour window of No. 10.</p>
-
-<p>On the same evening Clara Demijohn was closeted with Mrs. Duffer at
-her lodgings at No. 15. "Standing in the street, squeezing her hand!"
-said Mrs. Duffer, as though the very hairs of her head were made to
-stand on end by the tidings,—the moral hairs, that is, of her moral
-head. Her head, in the flesh, was ornamented by a front which must
-have prevented the actual standing on end of any hair that was left
-to her.</p>
-
-<p>"I saw it! They came out together from No. 11 as loving as could be,
-and he walked up with her to their own house. Then he seized her hand
-and held it,—oh, for minutes!—in the street. There is nothing those
-Quaker girls won't allow themselves. They are so free with their
-Christian names, that, of course, they get into intimacies instantly.
-I never allow a young man to call me Clara without leave asked and
-given."</p>
-
-<p>"I should think not."</p>
-
-<p>"One can't be too particular about one's Christian name. They've been
-in there together, at No. 11, for two hours. What can that mean? Old
-Mrs. Vincent was there, but she went away."</p>
-
-<p>"I suppose she didn't like such doings."</p>
-
-<p>"What can a lord be doing in such a place as that," asked Clara,
-<span class="nowrap">"—coming</span> so often, you know?
-And one that has to be a Markiss, which
-is much more than a lord. One thing is quite certain. It can't mean
-that he is going to marry Marion Fay?" With this assurance Clara
-Demijohn comforted herself as best she might.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c1-18" id="c1-18"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XVIII.</h3>
-<h4>HOW THEY LIVED AT TRAFFORD PARK.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>There certainly was no justification for the ill-humour which Lady
-Kingsbury displayed to her husband because Hampstead and his sister
-had been invited down to Castle Hautboy. The Hautboy people were her
-own relations,—not her husband's. If Lady Persiflage had taken upon
-herself to think better of all the evil things done by the children
-of the first Marchioness, that was not the fault of the Marquis! But
-to her thinking this visit had been made in direct opposition to her
-wishes and her interests. Had it been possible she would have sent
-the naughty young lord and the naughty young lady altogether to
-Coventry,—as far as all aristocratic associations were concerned.
-This encouragement of them at Castle Hautboy was in direct
-contravention of her ideas. But poor Lord Kingsbury had had nothing
-to do with it. "They are not fit to go to such a house as Castle
-Hautboy," she said. The Marquis, who was sitting alone in his own
-morning room at Trafford, frowned angrily. But her ladyship, too, was
-very angry. "They have disgraced themselves, and Geraldine should not
-have received them."</p>
-
-<p>There were two causes for displeasure in this. In the first place the
-Marquis could not endure that such hard things should be said of his
-elder children. Then, by the very nature of the accusation made,
-there was a certain special honour paid to the Hauteville family
-which he did not think at all to be their due. On many occasions his
-wife had spoken as though her sister had married into a House of
-peculiar nobility,—because, forsooth, Lord Persiflage was in the
-Cabinet, and was supposed to have made a figure in politics. The
-Marquis was not at all disposed to regard the Earl as in any way
-bigger than was he himself. He could have paid all the Earl's
-debts,—which the Earl certainly could not do himself,—and never
-have felt it. The social gatherings at Castle Hautboy were much more
-numerous than any at Trafford, but the guests at Castle Hautboy were
-often people whom the Marquis would never have entertained. His wife
-pined for the social influence which her sister was supposed to
-possess, but he felt no sympathy with his wife in that respect.</p>
-
-<p>"I deny it," said the father, rising from his chair, and scowling at
-his wife as he stood leaning upon the table. "They have not disgraced
-themselves."</p>
-
-<p>"I say they have." Her ladyship made her assertion boldly, having
-come into the room prepared for battle, and determined if possible to
-be victor. "Has not Fanny disgraced herself in having engaged herself
-to a low fellow, the scum of the earth, without saying anything even
-to you about it?"</p>
-
-<p>"No!" shouted the Marquis, who was resolved to contradict his wife in
-anything she might say.</p>
-
-<p>"Then I know nothing of what becomes a young woman," continued the
-Marchioness. "And does not Hampstead associate with all manner of low
-people?"</p>
-
-<p>"No, never."</p>
-
-<p>"Is not this George Roden a low person? Does he ever live with young
-men or with ladies of his own rank?"</p>
-
-<p>"And yet you're angry with him because he goes to Castle Hautboy!
-Though, no doubt, he may meet people there quite unfit for society."</p>
-
-<p>"That is not true," said the Marchioness. "My brother-in-law
-entertains the best company in Europe."</p>
-
-<p>"He did do so when he had my son and my daughter under his roof."</p>
-
-<p>"Hampstead does not belong to a single club in London," said the
-step-mother.</p>
-
-<p>"So much the better," said the father, "as far as I know anything
-about the clubs. Hautboy lost fourteen hundred pounds the other day
-at the Pandemonium; and where did the money come from to save him
-from being expelled?"</p>
-
-<p>"That's a very old story," said the Marchioness, who knew that her
-husband and Hampstead between them had supplied the money to save the
-young lad from disgrace.</p>
-
-<p>"And yet you throw it in my teeth that Hampstead doesn't belong to
-any club! There isn't a club in London he couldn't get into
-to-morrow, if he were to put his name down."</p>
-
-<p>"I wish he'd try at the Carlton," said her ladyship, whose father and
-brother, and all her cousins, belonged to that aristocratic and
-exclusive political association.</p>
-
-<p>"I should disown him," said the still Liberal Marquis;—"that is to
-say, of course he'll do nothing of the kind. But to declare that a
-young man has disgraced himself because he doesn't care for club
-life, is absurd;—and coming from you as his stepmother is wicked."
-As he said this he bobbed his head at her, looking into her face as
-though he should say to her, "Now you have my true opinion about
-yourself." At this moment there came a gentle knock at the door, and
-Mr. Greenwood put in his head. "I am busy," said the Marquis very
-angrily. Then the unhappy chaplain retired abashed to his own rooms,
-which were also on the ground floor, beyond that in which his patron
-was now sitting.</p>
-
-<p>"My lord," said his wife, towering in her passion, "if you call me
-wicked in regard to your children, I will not continue to live under
-the same roof with you."</p>
-
-<p>"Then you may go away."</p>
-
-<p>"I have endeavoured to do my duty by your children, and a very hard
-time I've had of it. If you think that your daughter is now
-conducting herself with propriety, I can only wash my hands of her."</p>
-
-<p>"Wash your hands," he said.</p>
-
-<p>"Very well. Of course I must suffer deeply, because the shadow of the
-disgrace must fall more or less upon my own darlings."</p>
-
-<p>"Bother the darlings," said the Marquis.</p>
-
-<p>"They're your own children, my lord; your own children."</p>
-
-<p>"Of course they are. Why shouldn't they be my own children? They are
-doing very well, and will get quite as good treatment as younger
-brothers ought to have."</p>
-
-<p>"I don't believe you care for them the least in the world," said the
-Marchioness.</p>
-
-<p>"That is not true. You know I care for them."</p>
-
-<p>"You said 'bother the darlings' when I spoke of them." Here the poor
-mother sobbed, almost overcome by the contumely of the expression
-used towards her own offspring.</p>
-
-<p>"You drive a man to say anything. Now look here. I will not have
-Hampstead and Fanny abused in my presence. If there be anything wrong
-I must suffer more than you, because they are my children. You have
-made it impossible for her to live
-<span class="nowrap">here—"</span></p>
-
-<p>"I haven't made it impossible for her to live here. I have only done
-my duty by her. Ask Mr. Greenwood."</p>
-
-<p>"D—— Mr. Greenwood!" said the Marquis. He certainly did say the
-word at full length, as far as it can be said to have length, and
-with all the emphasis of which it was capable. He certainly did say
-it, though when the circumstance was afterwards not unfrequently
-thrown in his teeth, he would forget it and deny it. Her ladyship
-heard the word very plainly, and at once stalked out of the room,
-thereby showing that her feminine feelings had received a wrench
-which made it impossible for her any longer to endure the presence of
-such a foul-mouthed monster. Up to that moment she had been anything
-but the victor; but the vulgarity of the curse had restored to her
-much of her prestige, so that she was able to leave the battlefield
-as one retiring with all his forces in proper order. He had
-"bothered" his own children, and "damned" his own chaplain!</p>
-
-<p>The Marquis sat awhile thinking alone, and then pulled a string by
-which communication was made between his room and that in which the
-clergyman sat. It was not a vulgar bell, which would have been
-injurious to the reverence and dignity of a clerical friend, as
-savouring of a menial's task work, nor was it a pipe for oral
-communication, which is undignified, as requiring a man to stoop and
-put his mouth to it,—but an arrangement by which a light tap was
-made against the wall so that the inhabitant of the room might know
-that he was wanted without any process derogatory to his
-self-respect. The chaplain obeyed the summons, and, lightly knocking
-at the door, again stood before the lord. He found the Marquis
-standing upon the hearth-rug, by which, as he well knew, it was
-signified that he was not intended to sit down. "Mr. Greenwood," said
-the Marquis, in a tone of voice which was intended to be peculiarly
-mild, but which at the same time was felt to be menacing, "I do not
-mean at the present moment to have any conversation with you on the
-subject to which it is necessary that I should allude, and as I shall
-not ask for your presence for above a minute or two, I will not
-detain you by getting you to sit down. If I can induce you to listen
-to me without replying to me it will, I think, be better for both of
-us."</p>
-
-<p>"Certainly, my lord."</p>
-
-<p>"I will not have you speak to me respecting Lady Frances."</p>
-
-<p>"When have I done so?" asked the chaplain plaintively.</p>
-
-<p>"Nor will I have you speak to Lady Kingsbury about her
-step-daughter." Then he was silent, and seemed to imply, by what he
-had said before, that the clergyman should now leave the room. The
-first order given had been very simple. It was one which the Marquis
-certainly had a right to exact, and with which Mr. Greenwood felt
-that he would be bound to comply. But the other was altogether of a
-different nature. He was in the habit of constant conversation with
-Lady Kingsbury as to Lady Frances. Twice, three times, four times a
-day her ladyship, who in her present condition had no other
-confidant, would open out her sorrow to him on this terrible subject.
-Was he to tell her that he had been forbidden by his employer to
-continue this practice, or was he to continue it in opposition to the
-Marquis's wishes? He would have been willing enough to do as he was
-bidden, but that he saw that he would be driven to quarrel with the
-lord or the lady. The lord, no doubt, could turn him out of the
-house, but the lady could make the house too hot to hold him. The
-lord was a just man, though unreasonable, and would probably not turn
-him out without compensation; but the lady was a violent woman, who
-if she were angered would remember nothing of justice. Thinking of
-all this he stood distracted and vacillating before his patron. "I
-expect you," said the Marquis, "to comply with my wishes,—or to
-leave me."</p>
-
-<p>"To leave Trafford?" asked the poor man.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes; to leave Trafford; to do that or to comply with my wishes on a
-matter as to which my wishes are certainly entitled to consideration.
-Which is it to be, Mr. Greenwood?"</p>
-
-<p>"Of course, I will do as you bid me." Then the Marquis bowed
-graciously as he still stood with his back to the fire, and Mr.
-Greenwood left the room.</p>
-
-<p>Mr. Greenwood knew well that this was only the beginning of his
-troubles. When he made the promise he was quite sure that he would be
-unable to keep it. The only prospect open to him was that of breaking
-the promise and keeping the Marquis in ignorance of his doing so. It
-would be out of his power not to follow any lead in conversation
-which the Marchioness might give him. But it might be possible to
-make the Marchioness understand that her husband must be kept in the
-dark as to any confidence between them. For, in truth, many secrets
-were now discussed between them, as to which it was impossible that
-her ladyship should be got to hold her tongue. It had come to be
-received as a family doctrine between them that Lord Hampstead's
-removal to a better world was a thing devoutly to be wished. It is
-astonishing how quickly, though how gradually, ideas of such a nature
-will be developed when entertainment has once been given to them. The
-Devil makes himself at home with great rapidity when the hall door
-has been opened to him. A month or two back, before her ladyship went
-to Königsgraaf, she certainly would not have ventured to express a
-direct wish for the young man's death, however frequently her
-thoughts might have travelled in that direction. And certainly in
-those days, though they were yet not many weeks since, Mr. Greenwood
-would have been much shocked had any such suggestion been made to him
-as that which was now quite commonly entertained between them. The
-pity of it, the pity of it, the pity of it! It was thus the
-heart-broken mother put the matter, reconciling to herself her own
-wishes by that which she thought to be a duty to her own children. It
-was not that she and Mr. Greenwood had between them any scheme by
-which Lord Hampstead might cease to be in the way. Murder certainly
-had not come into their thoughts. But the pity of it; the pity of it!
-As Lord Hampstead was in all respects unfit for that high position
-which, if he lived, he would be called upon to fill, so was her boy,
-her Lord Frederic, made to adorn it by all good gifts. He was
-noble-looking, gracious, and aristocratic from the crown of his
-little head to the soles of his little feet. No more glorious heir to
-a title made happy the heart of any British mother,—if only he were
-the heir. And why should it be denied to her, a noble scion of the
-great House of Montressor, to be the mother of none but younger sons?
-The more her mind dwelt upon it, the more completely did the iniquity
-of her wishes fade out of sight, and her ambition appear to be no
-more than the natural anxiety of a mother for her child. Mr.
-Greenwood had no such excuses to offer to himself; but with him, too,
-the Devil having once made his entrance soon found himself
-comfortably at home. Of meditating Lord Hampstead's murder he
-declared to himself that he had no idea. His conscience was quite
-clear to him in that respect. What was it to him who might inherit
-the title and the property of the Traffords? He was simply discussing
-with a silly woman a circumstance which no words of theirs could do
-aught either to cause or to prevent. It soon seemed to him to be
-natural that she should wish it, and natural also that he should seem
-to sympathize with her who was his best friend. The Marquis, he was
-sure, was gradually dropping him. Where was he to look for
-maintenance, but to his own remaining friend? The Marquis would
-probably give him something were he dismissed;—but that something
-would go but a short way towards supporting him comfortably for the
-rest of his life. There was a certain living in the gift of the
-Marquis, the Rectory of Appleslocombe in Somersetshire, which would
-exactly suit Mr. Greenwood's needs. The incumbent was a very old man,
-now known to be bed-ridden. It was £800 a year. There would be ample
-for himself and for a curate. Mr. Greenwood had spoken to the Marquis
-on the subject;—but had been told, with some expression of civil
-regret, that he was considered to be too old for new duties. The
-Marchioness had talked to him frequently of Appleslocombe;—but what
-was the use of that? If the Marquis himself were to die, and then the
-Rector, there would be a chance for him,—on condition that Lord
-Hampstead were also out of the way. But Mr. Greenwood, as he thought
-of it, shook his head at the barren prospect. His sympathies no doubt
-were on the side of the lady. The Marquis was treating him ill. Lord
-Hampstead was a disgrace to his order. Lady Frances was worse even
-than her brother. It would be a good thing that Lord Frederic should
-be the heir. But all this had nothing to do with murder,—or even
-with meditation of murder. If the Lord should choose to take the
-young man it would be well; that was all.</p>
-
-<p>On the same afternoon, an hour or two after he had made his promise
-to the Marquis, Lady Kingsbury sent for him. She always did send for
-him to drink tea with her at five o'clock. It was so regular that the
-servant would simply announce that tea was ready in her ladyship's
-room up-stairs. "Have you seen his lordship to-day?" she asked.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes;—I have seen him."</p>
-
-<p>"Since he told you in that rude way to leave the room?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, he called me after that."</p>
-
-<p>"Well?"</p>
-
-<p>"He bade me not talk about Lady Frances."</p>
-
-<p>"I dare say not. He does not wish to hear her name spoken. I can
-understand that."</p>
-
-<p>"He does not wish me to mention her to you."</p>
-
-<p>"Not to me? Is my mouth to be stopped? I shall say respecting her
-whatever I think fit. I dare say, indeed!"</p>
-
-<p>"It was to my talking that he referred."</p>
-
-<p>"He cannot stop people's mouths. It is all nonsense. He should have
-kept her at Königsgraaf, and locked her up till she had changed her
-mind."</p>
-
-<p>"He wanted me to promise that I would not speak of her to your
-ladyship."</p>
-
-<p>"And what did you say?" He shrugged his shoulders, and drank his tea.
-She shook her head and bit her lips. She would not hold her tongue,
-be he ever so angry. "I almost wish that she would marry the man, so
-that the matter might be settled. I don't suppose he would ever
-mention her name then himself. Has she gone back to Hendon yet?"</p>
-
-<p>"I don't know, my lady."</p>
-
-<p>"This is his punishment for having run counter to his uncle's wishes
-and his uncle's principles. You cannot touch pitch and not be
-defiled." The pitch, as Mr. Greenwood very well understood, was the
-first Marchioness. "Did he say anything about Hampstead?"</p>
-
-<p>"Not a word."</p>
-
-<p>"I suppose we are not to talk about him either! Unfortunate young
-man! I wonder whether he feels himself how thoroughly he is
-destroying the family."</p>
-
-<p>"I should think he must."</p>
-
-<p>"Those sort of men are so selfish that they never think of any one
-else. It does not occur to him what Frederic might be if he were not
-in the way. Nothing annoys me so much as when he pretends to be fond
-of the children."</p>
-
-<p>"I suppose he won't come any more now."</p>
-
-<p>"Nothing will keep him away,—unless he were to die." Mr. Greenwood
-shook his head sadly. "They say he rides hard."</p>
-
-<p>"I don't know." There was something in the suggestion which at the
-moment made the clergyman almost monosyllabic.</p>
-
-<p>"Or his yacht might go down with him."</p>
-
-<p>"He never yachts at this time of the year," said the clergyman,
-feeling comfort in the security thus assured.</p>
-
-<p>"I suppose not. Bad weeds never get cut off. But yet it is
-astonishing how many elder sons have been—taken away, during the
-last quarter of a century."</p>
-
-<p>"A great many."</p>
-
-<p>"There never could have been one who could be better spared," said
-the stepmother.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes;—he might be spared."</p>
-
-<p>"If you only think of the advantage to the family! It will be ruined
-if he comes to the title. And my Fred would be such an honour to the
-name! There is nothing to be done, of course." That was the first
-word that had ever been spoken in that direction, and that word was
-allowed to pass without any reply having been made to it, though it
-had been uttered almost in a question.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c1-19" id="c1-19"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XIX.</h3>
-<h4>LADY AMALDINA'S LOVER.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>Trafford Park was in Shropshire. Llwddythlw, the Welsh seat of the
-Duke of Merioneth, was in the next county;—one of the seats that is,
-for the Duke had mansions in many counties. Here at this period of
-the year it suited Lord Llwddythlw to live,—not for any special
-gratification of his own, but because North Wales was supposed to
-require his presence. He looked to the Quarter Sessions, to the
-Roads, to the Lunatic Asylum, and to the Conservative Interests
-generally of that part of Great Britain. That he should spend
-Christmas at Llwddythlw was a thing of course. In January he went
-into Durham; February to Somersetshire. In this way he parcelled
-himself out about the kingdom, remaining in London of course from the
-first to the last of the Parliamentary Session. It was, we may say
-emphatically, a most useful life, but in which there was no
-recreation and very little excitement. It was not wonderful that he
-should be unable to find time to get married. As he could not get as
-far as Castle Hautboy,—partly, perhaps, because he did not
-especially like the omnium-gatherum mode of living which prevailed
-there,—it had been arranged that he should give up two days early in
-December to meet the lady of his love under her aunt's roof at
-Trafford Park. Lady Amaldina and he were both to arrive there on
-Wednesday, December 3rd, and remain till the Tuesday morning. There
-had not been any special term arranged as to the young lady's visit,
-as her time was not of much consequence; but it had been explained
-minutely that the lover must reach Denbigh by the 5.45 train, so as
-to be able to visit certain institutions in the town before a public
-dinner which was to be held in the Conservative interest at seven.
-Lord Llwddythlw had comfort in thinking that he could utilize his two
-days' idleness at Trafford in composing and studying the speech on
-the present state of affairs, which, though to be uttered at Denbigh,
-would, no doubt, appear in all the London newspapers on the following
-morning.</p>
-
-<p>As it was to be altogether a lover's meeting, no company was to be
-invited. Mr. Greenwood would, of course, be there. To make up
-something of a dinner-party, the Mayor of Shrewsbury was asked for
-the first evening, with his wife. The Mayor was a strong conservative
-politician, and Lord Llwddythlw would therefore be glad to meet him.
-For the next day's dinner the clergyman of the parish, with his wife
-and daughter, were secured. The chief drawback to these festive
-arrangements consisted in the fact that both Lady Amaldina and her
-lover arrived on the day of the bitter quarrel between the Marquis
-and his wife.</p>
-
-<p>Perhaps, however, the coming of guests is the best relief which can
-be afforded for the misery of such domestic feuds. After such words
-as had been spoken Lord and Lady Trafford could hardly have sat down
-comfortably to dinner, with no one between them but Mr. Greenwood. In
-such case there could not have been much conversation. But now the
-Marquis could come bustling into the drawing-room to welcome his
-wife's niece before dinner without any reference to the discomforts
-of the morning. Almost at the same moment Lord Llwddythlw made his
-appearance, having arrived at the latest possible moment, and having
-dressed himself in ten minutes. As there was no one present but the
-family, Lady Amaldina kissed her future husband,—as she might have
-kissed her grandfather,—and his lordship received the salutation as
-any stern, undemonstrative grandfather might have done. Then Mr.
-Greenwood entered, with the Mayor and his wife, and the party was
-complete. The Marquis took Lady Amaldina out to dinner and her lover
-sat next to her. The Mayor and his wife were on the other side of the
-table, and Mr. Greenwood was between them. The soup had not been
-handed round before Lord Llwddythlw was deep in a question as to the
-comparative merits of the Shropshire and Welsh Lunatic asylums. From
-that moment till the time at which the gentlemen went to the ladies
-in the drawing-room the conversation was altogether of a practical
-nature. As soon as the ladies had left the table roads and asylums
-gave way to general politics,—as to which the Marquis and Mr.
-Greenwood allowed the Conservatives to have pretty much their own
-way. In the drawing-room conversation became rather heavy, till, at a
-few minutes after ten, the Mayor, observing that he had a drive
-before him, retired for the night. The Marchioness with Lady Amaldina
-followed quickly; and within five minutes the Welsh lord, having
-muttered something as to the writing of letters, was within the
-seclusion of his own bedroom. Not a word of love had been spoken, but
-Lady Amaldina was satisfied. On her toilet-table she found a little
-parcel addressed to her by his lordship containing a locket with her
-monogram, "A. L.," in diamonds. The hour of midnight was long passed
-before his lordship had reduced to words the first half of those
-promises of constitutional safety which he intended to make to the
-Conservatives of Denbigh. Not much was seen of Lord Llwddythlw after
-breakfast on the following morning, so determined was he to do
-justice to the noble cause which he had in hand. After lunch a little
-expedition was arranged for the two lovers, and the busy politician
-allowed himself to be sent out for a short drive with no other
-companion than his future bride. Had he been quite intimate with her
-he would have given her the manuscript of his speech, and occupied
-himself by saying it to her as a lesson which he had learnt. As he
-could not do this he recapitulated to her all his engagements, as
-though excusing his own slowness as to matrimony, and declared that
-what with the property and what with Parliament, he never knew
-whether he was standing on his head or his heels. But when he paused
-he had done nothing towards naming a certain day, so that Lady
-Amaldina found herself obliged to take the matter into her own hands.
-"When then do you think it will be?" she asked. He put his hand up
-and rubbed his head under his hat as though the subject were very
-distressing to him. "I would not for worlds, you know, think that I
-was in your way," she said, with just a tone of reproach in her
-voice.</p>
-
-<p>He was in truth sincerely attached to her;—much more so than it was
-in the compass of her nature to be to him. If he could have had her
-for his wife without any trouble of bridal preparations, or of
-subsequent honeymooning, he would most willingly have begun from this
-moment. It was incumbent on him to be married, and he had quite made
-up his mind that this was the sort of wife that he required. But now
-he was sadly put about by that tone of reproach. "I wish to
-goodness," he said, "that I had been born a younger brother, or just
-anybody else than I am."</p>
-
-<p>"Why on earth should you wish that?"</p>
-
-<p>"Because I am so bothered. Of course, you don't understand it."</p>
-
-<p>"I do understand," said Amaldina;—"but there must, you know, be some
-end to all that. I suppose the Parliament and the Lunatic Asylums
-will go on just the same always."</p>
-
-<p>"No doubt,—no doubt."</p>
-
-<p>"If so, there is no reason why any day should ever be fixed. People
-are beginning to think that it must be off, because it has been
-talked of so long."</p>
-
-<p>"I hope it will never be off."</p>
-
-<p>"I know the Prince said the other day that he had expected—. But it
-does not signify what he expected." Lord Llwddythlw had also heard
-the story of what the Prince had said that he expected, and he
-scratched his head again with vexation. It had been reported that the
-Prince had declared that he had hoped to be asked to be godfather
-long ago. Lady Amaldina had probably heard some other version of the
-story. "What I mean is that everybody was surprised that it should be
-so long postponed, but that they now begin to think it is abandoned
-altogether."</p>
-
-<p>"Shall we say June next?" said the ecstatic lover. Lady Amaldina
-thought that June would do very well. "But there will be the Town's
-Education Improvement Bill," said his lordship, again scratching his
-head.</p>
-
-<p>"I thought all the towns had been educated long ago." He looked at
-her with feelings of a double sorrow;—sorrow that she should have
-known so little, sorrow that she should be treated so badly. "I think
-we will put it off altogether," she said angrily.</p>
-
-<p>"No, no, no," he exclaimed. "Would August do? I certainly have
-promised to be at Inverness to open the New Docks."</p>
-
-<p>"That's nonsense," she said. "What can the Docks want with you to
-open them?"</p>
-
-<p>"My father, you know," he said, "has a very great interest in the
-city. I think I'll get David to do it." Lord David was his brother,
-also a Member of Parliament, and a busy man, as were all the Powell
-family; but one who liked a little recreation among the moors when
-the fatigue of the House of Commons were over.</p>
-
-<p>"Of course he could do it," said Lady Amaldina. "He got himself
-married ten years ago."</p>
-
-<p>"I'll ask him, but he'll be very angry. He always says that he
-oughtn't to be made to do an elder brother's work."</p>
-
-<p>"Then I may tell mamma?" His lordship again rubbed his head, but did
-it this time in a manner that was conceived to signify assent. The
-lady pressed his arm gently, and the visit to Trafford, as far as she
-was concerned, was supposed to have been a success. She gave him
-another little squeeze as they got out of the carriage, and he went
-away sadly to learn the rest of his speech, thinking how sweet it
-might be "To do as others use; Play with the tangles of Neæra's hair,
-Or sport with Amaryllis in the shade."</p>
-
-<p>But there was a worse interruption for Lord Llwddythlw than this
-which he had now undergone. At about five, when he was making the
-peroration of his speech quite secure in his memory, a message came
-to him from the Marchioness, saying that she would be much obliged to
-him if he would give her five minutes in her own room. Perhaps he
-would be kind enough to drink a cup of tea with her. This message was
-brought by her ladyship's own maid, and could be regarded only as a
-command. But Lord Llwddythlw wanted no tea, cared not at all for Lady
-Kingsbury, and was very anxious as to his speech. He almost cursed
-the fidgety fretfulness of women as he slipped the manuscript into
-his letter-case, and followed the girl along the passages.</p>
-
-<p>"This is so kind of you," she said. He gave himself the usual rub of
-vexation as he bowed his head, but said nothing. She saw the state of
-his mind, but was determined to persevere. Though he was a man plain
-to look at, he was known to be the very pillar and support of his
-order. No man in England was so wedded to the Conservative cause,—to
-that cause which depends for its success on the maintenance of those
-social institutions by which Great Britain has become the first among
-the nations. No one believed as did Lord Llwddythlw in keeping the
-different classes in their own places,—each place requiring honour,
-truth, and industry. The Marchioness understood something of his
-character in that respect. Who therefore would be so ready to see the
-bitterness of her own injuries, to sympathize with her as to the
-unfitness of that son and daughter who had no blood relationship to
-herself, to perceive how infinitely better it would be for the
-"order" that her own little Lord Frederic should be allowed to
-succeed and to assist in keeping the institutions of Great Britain in
-their proper position? She had become absolutely dead to the fact
-that by any allusion to the probability of such a succession she was
-expressing a wish for the untimely death of one for whose welfare she
-was bound to be solicitous. She had lost, by constant dwelling on the
-subject, her power of seeing how the idea would strike the feelings
-of another person. Here was a man peculiarly blessed in the world, a
-man at the very top of his "order," one who would be closely
-connected with herself, and on whom at some future time she might be
-able to lean as on a strong staff. Therefore she determined to trust
-her sorrows into his ears.</p>
-
-<p>"Won't you have a cup of tea?"</p>
-
-<p>"I never take any at this time of the day."</p>
-
-<p>"Perhaps a cup of coffee?"</p>
-
-<p>"Nothing before dinner, thank you."</p>
-
-<p>"You were not at Castle Hautboy when Hampstead and his sister were
-there?"</p>
-
-<p>"I have not been at Castle Hautboy since the spring."</p>
-
-<p>"Did you not think it very odd that they should have been asked?"</p>
-
-<p>"No, indeed! Why odd?"</p>
-
-<p>"You know the story;—do you not? As one about to be so nearly
-connected with the family, you ought to know it. Lady Frances has
-made a most unfortunate engagement, to a young man altogether beneath
-her,—to a Post Office clerk!"</p>
-
-<p>"I did hear something of that."</p>
-
-<p>"She behaved shockingly here, and was then taken away by her brother.
-I have been forced to divorce myself from her altogether." Lord
-Llwddythlw rubbed his head; but on this occasion Lady Kingsbury
-misinterpreted the cause of his vexation. He was troubled at being
-made to listen to this story. She conceived that he was disgusted by
-the wickedness of Lady Frances. "After that I think my sister was
-very wrong to have her at Castle Hautboy. No countenance ought to be
-shown to a young woman who can behave so abominably." He could only
-rub his head. "Do you not think that such marriages are most
-injurious to the best interests of society?"</p>
-
-<p>"I certainly think that young ladies should marry in their own rank."</p>
-
-<p>"So much depends upon it,—does it not, Lord Llwddythlw? All the
-future blood of our head families! My own opinion is that nothing
-could be too severe for such conduct."</p>
-
-<p>"Will severity prevent it?"</p>
-
-<p>"Nothing else can. My own impression is that a father in such case
-should be allowed to confine his daughter. But then the Marquis is so
-weak."</p>
-
-<p>"The country would not stand it for a moment."</p>
-
-<p>"So much the worse for the country," said her ladyship, holding up
-her hands. "But the brother is if possible worse than the sister."</p>
-
-<p>"Hampstead?"</p>
-
-<p>"He utterly hates all idea of an aristocracy."</p>
-
-<p>"That is absurd."</p>
-
-<p>"Most absurd," said the Marchioness, feeling herself to be
-encouraged;—"most absurd, and abominable, and wicked. He is quite a
-revolutionist."</p>
-
-<p>"Not that, I think," said his lordship, who knew pretty well the
-nature of Hampstead's political feelings.</p>
-
-<p>"Indeed he is. Why, he encourages his sister! He would not mind her
-marrying a shoeblack if only he could debase his own family. Think
-what I must feel, I, with my darling boys!"</p>
-
-<p>"Is not he kind to them?"</p>
-
-<p>"I would prefer that he should never see them!"</p>
-
-<p>"I don't see that at all," said the angry lord.</p>
-
-<p>But she altogether misunderstood him. "When I think of what he is,
-and to what he will reduce the whole family should he live, I cannot
-bear to see him touch them. Think of the blood of the Traffords, of
-the blood of the Mountressors, of the blood of the
-Hautevilles;—think of your own blood, which is now to be connected
-with theirs, and that all this is to be defiled because this man
-chooses to bring about a disreputable, disgusting marriage with the
-expressed purpose of degrading us all."</p>
-
-<p>"I beg your pardon, Lady Kingsbury; I shall be in no way degraded."</p>
-
-<p>"Think of us; think of my children."</p>
-
-<p>"Nor will they. It may be a misfortune, but will be no degradation.
-Honour can only be impaired by that which is dishonourable. I wish
-that Lady Frances had given her heart elsewhere, but I feel sure that
-the name of her family is safe in her hands. As for Hampstead, he is
-a young man for whose convictions I have no sympathy,—but I am sure
-that he is a gentleman."</p>
-
-<p>"I would that he were dead," said Lady Kingsbury in her wrath.</p>
-
-<p>"Lady Kingsbury!"</p>
-
-<p>"I would that he were dead!"</p>
-
-<p>"I can only say," said Lord Llwddythlw, rising from his chair, "that
-you have made your confidence most unfortunately. Lord Hampstead is a
-young nobleman whom I should be proud to call my friend. A man's
-politics are his own. His honour, his integrity, and even his conduct
-belong in a measure to his family. I do not think that his father, or
-his brothers, or, if I may say so, his stepmother, will ever have
-occasion to blush for anything that he may do." With this he bowed to
-the Marchioness, and stalked out of the room with a grand manner,
-which those who saw him shuffling his feet in the House of Commons
-would hardly have thought belonged to him.</p>
-
-<p>The dinner on that day was very quiet, and Lady Kingsbury retired to
-bed earlier even than usual. The conversation at the dinner was dull,
-and turned mostly on Church subjects. Mr. Greenwood endeavoured to be
-sprightly, and the parson, and the parson's wife, and the parson's
-daughter were uncomfortable. Lord Llwddythlw was almost dumb. Lady
-Amaldina, having settled the one matter of interest to her, was
-simply contented. On the next morning her lover took his departure by
-an earlier train than he had intended. It was, he said, necessary
-that he should look into some matters at Denbigh before he made his
-speech. He contrived to get a compartment to himself, and there he
-practised his lesson till he felt that further practice would only
-confuse him.</p>
-
-<p>"You had Fanny at the Castle the other day," Lady Kingsbury said the
-next morning to her niece.</p>
-
-<p>"Mamma thought it would be good-natured to ask them both."</p>
-
-<p>"They did not deserve it. Their conduct has been such that I am
-forced to say that they deserve nothing from my family. Did she speak
-about this marriage of hers?"</p>
-
-<p>"She did mention it."</p>
-
-<p>"Well!"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, there was nothing. Of course there was much more to say about
-mine. She was saying that she would be glad to be a bridesmaid."</p>
-
-<p>"Pray don't have her."</p>
-
-<p>"Why not, aunt?"</p>
-
-<p>"I could not possibly be there if you did. I have been compelled to
-divorce her from my heart."</p>
-
-<p>"Poor Fanny!"</p>
-
-<p>"But she was not ashamed of what she is doing?"</p>
-
-<p>"I should say not. She is not one of those that are ever ashamed."</p>
-
-<p>"No, no. Nothing would make her ashamed. All ideas of propriety she
-has banished from her,—as though they didn't exist. I expect to hear
-that she disregards marriage altogether."</p>
-
-<p>"Aunt Clara!"</p>
-
-<p>"What can you expect from doctrines such as those which she and her
-brother share? Thank God, you have never been in the way of hearing
-of such things. It breaks my heart when I think of what my own
-darlings will be sure to hear some of these days,—should their
-half-brother and half-sister still be left alive. But, Amaldina, pray
-do not have her for one of your bridesmaids." Lady Amaldina,
-remembering that her cousin was very handsome, and also that there
-might be a difficulty in making up the twenty titled virgins, gave
-her aunt no promise.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c1-20" id="c1-20"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XX.</h3>
-<h4>THE SCHEME IS SUCCESSFUL.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>When the matter was mentioned to George Roden by his mother he could
-see no reason why she should not dine at Hendon Hall. He himself was
-glad to have an opportunity of getting over that roughness of feeling
-which had certainly existed between him and his friend when they
-parted with each other on the road. As to his mother, it would be
-well that she should so far return to the usages of the world as to
-dine at the house of her son's friend. "It is only going back to what
-you used to be," he said.</p>
-
-<p>"You know nothing of what I used to be," she replied, almost angrily.</p>
-
-<p>"I ask no questions, and have endeavoured so to train myself that I
-should care but little about it. But I knew it was so." Then after a
-pause he went back to the current of his thoughts. "Had my father
-been a prince I think that I should take no pride in it."</p>
-
-<p>"It is well to have been born a gentleman," she said.</p>
-
-<p>"It is well to be a gentleman, and if the good things which are
-generally attendant on high birth will help a man in reaching noble
-feelings and grand resolves, so it may be that to have been well born
-will be an assistance. But if a man derogates from his birth,—as so
-many do,—then it is a crime."</p>
-
-<p>"All that has to be taken for granted, George."</p>
-
-<p>"But it is not taken for granted. Though the man himself be knave,
-and fool, and coward, he is supposed to be ennobled because the blood
-of the Howards run in his veins. And worse again: though he has gifts
-of nobility beyond compare he can hardly dare to stand upright before
-lords and dukes because of his inferiority."</p>
-
-<p>"That is all going away."</p>
-
-<p>"Would that it could be made to go a little faster. It may be helped
-in its going. It may be that in these days the progress shall be
-accelerated. But you will let me write to Hampstead and say that you
-will come." She assented, and so that part of the little dinner-party
-was arranged.</p>
-
-<p>After that she herself contrived to see the Quaker one evening on his
-return home. "Yes," said Mr. Fay; "I have heard thy proposition from
-Marion. Why should the young lord desire such a one as I am to sit at
-his table?"</p>
-
-<p>"He is George's intimate friend."</p>
-
-<p>"That thy son should choose his friend well, I surely believe,
-because I see him to be a prudent and wise young man, who does not
-devote himself over-much to riotous amusements." George did
-occasionally go to a theatre, thereby offending the Quaker's
-judgment, justifying the "overmuch," and losing his claim to a full
-measure of praise. "Therefore I will not quarrel with him that he has
-chosen his friend from among the great ones of the earth. But like to
-like is a good motto. I fancy that the weary draught-horse, such as I
-am, should not stable himself with hunters and racers."</p>
-
-<p>"This young man affects the society of such as yourself and George,
-rather than that of others nobly born as himself."</p>
-
-<p>"I do not know that he shows his wisdom the more."</p>
-
-<p>"You should give him credit at any rate for good endeavours."</p>
-
-<p>"It is not for me to judge him one way or the other. Did he ask that
-Marion should also go to his house?"</p>
-
-<p>"Certainly. Why should not the child see something of the world that
-may amuse her?"</p>
-
-<p>"Little good can come to my Marion from such amusements, Mrs. Roden;
-but something, perhaps, of harm. Wilt thou say that such recreation
-must necessarily be of service to a girl born to perform the hard
-duties of a strict life?"</p>
-
-<p>"I would trust Marion in anything," said Mrs. Roden, eagerly.</p>
-
-<p>"So would I; so would I. She hath ever been a good girl."</p>
-
-<p>"But do you not distrust her if you shut her up, and are afraid to
-allow her even to sit at table in a strange house?"</p>
-
-<p>"I have never forbidden her to sit at thy table," said the Quaker.</p>
-
-<p>"And you should let her go specially as a kindness to me. For my
-son's sake I have promised to be there, and it would be a comfort to
-me to have another woman with me."</p>
-
-<p>"Then you will hardly need me," said Mr. Fay, not without a touch of
-jealousy.</p>
-
-<p>"He specially pressed his request that you would come. It is among
-such as you that he would wish to make himself known. Moreover, if
-Marion is to be there, you, I am sure, will choose to accompany her.
-Would you not wish to see how the child bears herself on such an
-occasion?"</p>
-
-<p>"On all occasions, at all places, at all hours, I would wish to have
-my child with me. There is nothing else left to me in all the world
-on which my eye can rest with pleasure. But I doubt whether it may be
-for her good." Then he took his departure, leaving the matter still
-undecided, speaking of it with words which seemed to imply that he
-must ultimately refuse, but impressing Mrs. Roden with a conviction
-that he would at last accept the invitation.</p>
-
-<p>"Doest thou wish it thyself?" he said to his daughter before retiring
-to rest that night.</p>
-
-<p>"If you will go, father, I should like it."</p>
-
-<p>"Why shouldst thou like it? What doest thou expect? Is it because the
-young man is a lord, and that there will be something of the gilded
-grandeur of the grand ones of the earth to be seen about his house
-and his table?"</p>
-
-<p>"It is not for that, father."</p>
-
-<p>"Or is it because he is young and comely, and can say soft things as
-such youths are wont to say, because he will smell sweetly of scents
-and lavender, because his hand will be soft to the touch, with rings
-on his fingers, and jewels perhaps on his bosom like a woman?"</p>
-
-<p>"No, father; it is not for that."</p>
-
-<p>"The delicacies which he will give thee to eat and to drink; the
-sweetmeats and rich food cannot be much to one nurtured as thou hast
-been."</p>
-
-<p>"Certainly not, father; they can be nothing to me.</p>
-
-<p>"Then why is it that thou wouldst go to his house?"</p>
-
-<p>"It is that I may hear you, father, speak among men."</p>
-
-<p>"Nay," said he, laughing, "thou mayst hear me better speak among men
-at King's Court in the City. There I can hold my own well enough, but
-with these young men over their wine, I shall have but little to say,
-I fancy. If thou hast nothing to gain but to hear thy old father
-talk, the time and money will be surely thrown away."</p>
-
-<p>"I would hear him talk, father."</p>
-
-<p>"The young lord?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes; the young lord. He is bright and clever, and, coming from
-another world than our world, can tell me things that I do not know."</p>
-
-<p>"Can he tell thee aught that is good?"</p>
-
-<p>"From what I hear of him from our friend he will tell me, I think,
-naught that is bad. You will be there to hear, and to arrest his
-words if they be evil. But I think him to be one from whose mouth no
-guile or folly will be heard."</p>
-
-<p>"Who art thou, my child, that thou shouldst be able to judge whether
-words of guile are likely to come from a young man's lips?" But this
-he said smiling and pressing her hand while he seemed to rebuke her.</p>
-
-<p>"Nay, father; I do not judge. I only say that I think it might be so.
-They are not surely all false and wicked. But if you wish it
-otherwise I will not utter another syllable to urge the request."</p>
-
-<p>"We will go, Marion. Thy friend urged that it is not good that thou
-shouldst always be shut up with me alone. And, though I may distrust
-the young lord as not knowing him, my confidence in thee is such that
-I think that nothing will ever shake it." And so it was settled that
-they should all go. He would send to a livery stable and hire a
-carriage for this unusual occasion. There should be no need for the
-young lord to send them home. Though he did not know, as he said,
-much of the ways of the outside world, it was hardly the custom for
-the host to supply carriages as well as viands. When he dined, as he
-did annually, with the elder Mr. Pogson, Mr. Pogson sent him home in
-no carriage. He would sit at the lord's table, but he would go and
-come as did other men.</p>
-
-<p>On the Friday named the two ladies and the two men arrived at Hendon
-Hall in something more than good time. Hampstead hopped and skipped
-about as though he were delighted as a boy might have been at their
-coming. It may be possible that there was something of guile even in
-this, and that he had calculated that he might thus best create
-quickly that intimacy with the Quaker and his daughter which he felt
-to be necessary for his full enjoyment of the evening. If the Quaker
-himself expected much of that gilding of which he had spoken he was
-certainly disappointed. The garniture of Hendon Hall had always been
-simple, and now had assumed less even of aristocratic finery than it
-used to show when prepared for the use of the Marchioness. "I'm glad
-you've come in time," said he, "because you can get comfortably warm
-before dinner." Then he fluttered about round Mrs. Roden, paying her
-attention much rather than Marion Fay,—still with some guile, as
-knowing that he might thus best prepare for the coming of future good
-things. "I suppose you found it awfully cold," he said.</p>
-
-<p>"I do not know that we were awed, my lord," said the Quaker. "But the
-winter has certainly set in with some severity."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, father!" said Marion, rebuking him.</p>
-
-<p>"Everything is awful now," said Hampstead, laughing. "Of course the
-word is absurd, but one gets in the way of using it because other
-people do."</p>
-
-<p>"Nay, my lord, I crave pardon if I seemed to criticize thy language.
-Being somewhat used to a sterner manner of speaking, I took the word
-in its stricter sense."</p>
-
-<p>"It is but slang from a girl's school, after all," said Roden.</p>
-
-<p>"Now, Master George, I am not going to bear correction from you,"
-said Hampstead, "though I put up with it from your elders. Miss Fay,
-when you were at school did they talk slang?"</p>
-
-<p>"Where I was at school, Lord Hampstead," Marion answered, "we were
-kept in strict leading-strings. Fancy, father, what Miss Watson would
-have said if we had used any word in a sense not used in a
-dictionary."</p>
-
-<p>"Miss Watson was a sensible woman, my dear, and understood well, and
-performed faithfully, the duties which she had undertaken. I do not
-know that as much can be said of all those who keep fashionable
-seminaries for young ladies at the West End."</p>
-
-<p>"Miss Watson had a red face, and a big cap, and spectacles;—had she
-not?" said Hampstead, appealing to Marion Fay.</p>
-
-<p>"Miss Watson," said Mrs. Roden, "whom I remember to have seen once
-when Marion was at school with her, was a very little woman, with
-bright eyes, who wore her own hair, and always looked as though she
-had come out of a bandbox."</p>
-
-<p>"She was absolutely true to her ideas of life, as a Quaker should
-be," said Mr. Fay, "and I only hope that Marion will follow her
-example. As to language, it is, I think, convenient that to a certain
-extent our mode of speech should consort with our mode of living. You
-would not expect to hear from a pulpit the phrases which belong to a
-racecourse, nor would the expressions which are decorous, perhaps, in
-aristocratic drawing-rooms befit the humble parlours of clerks and
-artisans."</p>
-
-<p>"I never will say that anything is awful again," said Lord Hampstead,
-as he gave his arm to Mrs. Roden, and took her in to dinner.</p>
-
-<p>"I hope he will not be angry with father," whispered Marion Fay to
-George Roden, as they walked across the hall together.</p>
-
-<p>"Not in the least. Nothing of that kind could anger him. If your
-father were to cringe or to flatter him then he would be disgusted."</p>
-
-<p>"Father would never do that," said Marion, with confidence.</p>
-
-<p>The dinner went off very pleasantly, Hampstead and Roden taking
-between them the weight of the conversation. The Quaker was perhaps a
-little frightened by the asperity of his own first remark, and ate
-his good things almost in silence. Marion was quite contented to
-listen, as she had told her father was her purpose; but it was
-perhaps to the young lord's words that she gave attention rather than
-to those of his friends. His voice was pleasant to her ears. There
-was a certain graciousness in his words, as to which she did not
-suppose that their softness was specially intended for her hearing.
-Who does not know the way in which a man may set himself at work to
-gain admission into a woman's heart without addressing hardly a word
-to herself? And who has not noted the sympathy with which the woman
-has unconsciously accepted the homage? That pressing of the hand,
-that squeezing of the arm, that glancing of the eyes, which are
-common among lovers, are generally the developed consequences of
-former indications which have had their full effect, even though they
-were hardly understood, and could not have been acknowledged, at the
-time. But Marion did, perhaps, feel that there was something of
-worship even in the way in which her host looked towards her with
-rapid glances from minute to minute, as though to see that if not
-with words, at any rate with thoughts, she was taking her share in
-the conversation which was certainly intended for her delight. The
-Quaker in the mean time ate his dinner very silently. He was
-conscious of having shown himself somewhat of a prig about that slang
-phrase, and was repenting himself. Mrs. Roden every now and then
-would put in a word in answer rather to her son than to the host, but
-she was aware of those electric sparks which, from Lord Hampstead's
-end of the wire, were being directed every moment against Marion
-Fay's heart.</p>
-
-<p>"Now just for the fashion of the thing you must sit here for a
-quarter of an hour, while we are supposed to be drinking our wine."
-This was said by Lord Hampstead when he took the two ladies into the
-drawing-room after dinner.</p>
-
-<p>"Don't hurry yourselves," said Mrs. Roden. "Marion and I are old
-friends, and will get on very well."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh yes," said Marion. "It will be pleasure enough to me just to sit
-here and look around me." Then Hampstead knelt down between them,
-pretending to doctor up the fire, which certainly required no
-doctoring. They were standing, one on one side and the other on the
-other, looking down upon him.</p>
-
-<p>"You are spoiling that fire, Lord Hampstead," said Mrs. Roden.</p>
-
-<p>"Coals were made to be poked. I feel sure of that. Do take the poker
-and give them one blow. That will make you at home in the house for
-ever, you know." Then he handed the implement to Marion. She could
-hardly do other than take it in her hand. She took it, blushed up to
-the roots of her hair, paused a moment, and then gave the one blow to
-the coals that had been required of her. "Thanks," said he, nodding
-at her as he still knelt at her feet and took the poker from her;
-"thanks. Now you are free of Hendon Hall for ever. I wouldn't have
-any one but a friend poke my fire." Upon that he got up and walked
-slowly out of the room.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, Mrs. Roden," said Marion, "I wish I hadn't done it."</p>
-
-<p>"It doesn't matter. It was only a joke."</p>
-
-<p>"Of course it was a joke! but I wish I hadn't done it. It seemed at
-the moment that I should look to be cross if I didn't do as he bade
-me. But when he had said that about being at home—! Oh, Mrs. Roden,
-I wish I had not done it."</p>
-
-<p>"He will know that it was nothing, my dear. He is good-humoured and
-playful, and likes the feeling of making us feel that we are not
-strangers." But Marion knew that Lord Hampstead would not take it as
-meaning nothing. Though she could see no more than his back as he
-walked out of the room, she knew that he was glowing with triumph.</p>
-
-<p>"Now, Mr. Fay, here is port if you like, but I recommend you to stick
-to the claret."</p>
-
-<p>"I have pretty well done all the sticking, my lord, of which I am
-competent," said the Quaker. "A little wine goes a long way with me,
-as I am not much used to it."</p>
-
-<p>"Wine maketh glad the heart of man," said Roden.</p>
-
-<p>"True enough, Mr. Roden. But I doubt whether it be good that a man's
-heart should be much gladdened. Gladness and sorrow counterbalance
-each other too surely. An even serenity is best fitted to human life,
-if it can be reached."</p>
-
-<p>"A level road without hills," said Hampstead. "They say that horses
-are soonest tired by such travelling."</p>
-
-<p>"They would hardly tell you so themselves if they could give their
-experience after a long day's journey." Then there was a pause, but
-Mr. Fay continued to speak. "My lord, I fear I misbehaved myself in
-reference to that word 'awful' which fell by chance from thy mouth."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, dear no; nothing of the kind."</p>
-
-<p>"I was bethinking me that I was among the young men in our court in
-Great Broad Street, who will indulge sometimes in a manner of
-language not befitting their occupation at the time, or perhaps their
-station in life. I am wont then to remind them that words during
-business hours should be used in their strict sense. But, my lord, if
-you will take a farm horse from his plough you cannot expect from him
-that he should prance upon the green."</p>
-
-<p>"It is because I think that there should be more mixing between what
-you call plough horses and animals used simply for play, that I have
-been so proud to make you welcome here. I hope it may not be by many
-the last time that you will act as a living dictionary for me. If you
-won't have any more wine we will go to them in the drawing-room."</p>
-
-<p>Mrs. Roden very soon declared it necessary that they should start
-back to Holloway. Hampstead himself did not attempt to delay them.
-The words that had absolutely passed between him and Marion had
-hardly been more than those which have been here set down, but yet he
-felt that he had accomplished not only with satisfaction but with
-some glory to himself the purpose for which he had specially invited
-his guests. His scheme had been carried out with perfect success.
-After the manner in which Marion had obeyed his behest about the
-fire, he was sure that he was justified in regarding her as a friend.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c1-21" id="c1-21"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XXI.</h3>
-<h4>WHAT THEY ALL THOUGHT AS THEY WENT HOME.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>Lord Hampstead had come to the door to help them into the carriage.
-"Lord Hampstead," said Mrs. Roden, "you will catch your death of
-cold. It is freezing, and you have nothing on your head."</p>
-
-<p>"I am quite indifferent about those things," he said, as for a moment
-he held Marion's hand while he helped her into the carriage.</p>
-
-<p>"Do go in," she whispered. Her lips as she spoke were close to his
-ear,—but that simply came from the position in which chance had
-placed her. Her hand was still in his,—but that, too, was the
-accident of the situation. But there is, I think, an involuntary
-tendency among women to make more than necessary use of assistance
-when the person tendering it has made himself really welcome. Marion
-had certainly no such intention. Had the idea come to her at the
-moment she would have shrank from his touch. It was only when his
-fingers were withdrawn, when the feeling of the warmth of this
-proximity had passed away, that she became aware that he had been so
-close to her, and that now they were separated.</p>
-
-<p>Then her father entered the carriage, and Roden.</p>
-
-<p>"Good-night, my lord," said the Quaker. "I have passed my evening
-very pleasantly. I doubt whether I may not feel the less disposed for
-my day's work to-morrow."</p>
-
-<p>"Not at all, Mr. Fay; not at all. You will be like a giant refreshed.
-There is nothing like a little friendly conversation for bracing up
-the mind. I hope it will not be long before you come and try it
-again." Then the carriage was driven off, and Lord Hampstead went in
-to warm himself before the fire which Marion Fay had poked.</p>
-
-<p>He had not intended to fall in love with her. Was there ever a young
-man who, when he first found a girl to be pleasant to him, has
-intended to fall in love with her? Girls will intend to fall in love,
-or, more frequently perhaps, to avoid it; but men in such matters
-rarely have a purpose. Lord Hampstead had found her, as he thought,
-to be an admirable specimen of excellence in that class of mankind
-which his convictions and theories induced him to extol. He thought
-that good could be done by mixing the racers and plough-horses,—and
-as regarded the present experiment, Marion Fay was a plough-horse. No
-doubt he would not have made this special attempt had she not pleased
-his eye, and his ear, and his senses generally. He certainly was not
-a philosopher to whom in his search after wisdom an old man such as
-Zachary Fay could make himself as acceptable as his daughter. It may
-be acknowledged of him that he was susceptible to female influences.
-But it had not at first occurred to him that it would be a good thing
-to fall in love with Marion Fay. Why should he not be on friendly
-terms with an excellent and lovely girl without loving her? Such had
-been his ideas after first meeting Marion at Mrs. Roden's house. Then
-he had determined that friends could not become friends without
-seeing each other, and he had concocted his scheme without being
-aware of the feelings which she had excited. The scheme had been
-carried out; he had had his dinner-party; Marion Fay had poked his
-fire; there had been one little pressure of the hand as he helped her
-into the carriage, one little whispered word, which had it not been
-whispered would have been as nothing; one moment of consciousness
-that his lips were close to her cheek; and then he returned to the
-warmth of his fire, quite conscious that he was in love.</p>
-
-<p>What was to come of it? When he had argued both with his sister and
-with Roden that their marriage would be unsuitable because of their
-difference in social position, and had justified his opinion by
-declaring it to be impossible that any two persons could, by their
-own doing, break through the conventions of the world without
-ultimate damage to themselves and to others, he had silently
-acknowledged to himself that he also was bound by the law which he
-was teaching. That such conventions should gradually cease to be,
-would be good; but no man is strong enough to make a new law for his
-own governing at the spur of the moment;—and certainly no woman. The
-existing distances between man and man were radically bad. This was
-the very gist of his doctrine; but the instant abolition of such
-distances had been proved by many experiments to be a vain dream, and
-the diminution of them must be gradual and slow. That such diminution
-would go on till the distances should ultimately disappear in some
-future millennium was to him a certainty. The distances were being
-diminished by the increasing wisdom and philanthropy of mankind. To
-him, born to high rank and great wealth, it had been given to do more
-perhaps than another. In surrendering there is more efficacy, as
-there is also more grace, than in seizing. What of his grandeur he
-might surrender without injury to others to whom he was bound, he
-would surrender. Of what exact nature or kind should be the woman
-whom it might please him to select as his wife, he had formed no
-accurate idea; but he would endeavour so to marry that he would make
-no step down in the world that might be offensive to his family, but
-would yet satisfy his own convictions by drawing himself somewhat
-away from aristocratic blood. His father had done the same when
-choosing his first wife, and the happiness of his choice would have
-been perfect had not death interfered. Actuated by such reasoning as
-this, he had endeavoured in a mild way to separate his sister from
-her lover, thinking that they who were in love should be bound by the
-arguments which seemed good to him who was not in love. But now he
-also was in love, and the arguments as they applied to himself fell
-into shreds and tatters as he sat gazing at his fire, holding the
-poker in his hand.</p>
-
-<p>Had there ever been anything more graceful than the mock violence
-with which she had pretended to strike heartily at the coals?—had
-there ever anything been more lovely than that mingled glance of
-doubt, of fear, and of friendliness with which she had looked into
-his face as she did it? She had quite understood his feeling when he
-made his little request. There had been heart enough in her, spirit
-enough, intelligence enough, to tell her at once the purport of his
-demand. Or rather she had not seen it all at once, but had only
-understood when her hand had gone too far to be withdrawn that
-something of love as well as friendship had been intended. Before
-long she should know how much of love had been intended! Whether his
-purpose was or was not compatible with the wisdom of his theory as to
-a gradual diminution of distances, his heart had gone too far now for
-any retracting. As he sat there he at once began to teach himself
-that the arguments he had used were only good in reference to
-high-born females, and that they need not necessarily affect himself.
-Whomever he might marry he would raise to his own rank. For his rank
-he did not care a straw himself. It was of the prejudices of others
-he was thinking when he assured himself that Marion would make as
-good a Countess and as good a Marchioness as any lady in the land. In
-regard to his sister it was otherwise. She must follow the rank of
-her husband. It might be that the sores which she would cause to many
-by becoming the wife of a Post Office clerk ought to be avoided. But
-there need be no sores in regard to his marriage with Marion Fay.</p>
-
-<p>His present reasoning was, no doubt, bad, but such as it was it was
-allowed to prevail absolutely. It did not even occur to him that he
-would make an attempt to enfranchise himself from Marion's charms.
-Whatever might occur, whatever details there might be which would
-require his attention in regard to his father or others of the
-family, everything must give way to his present passion. She had
-poked his fire, and she must be made to sit at his hearth for the
-remainder of their joint existence. She must be made to sit there if
-he could so plead his cause that his love should prevail with her. As
-to the Quaker father, he thought altogether well of him too,—an
-industrious, useful, intelligent man, of whose quaint manners and
-manly bearing he would not be ashamed in any society. She, too, was a
-Quaker, but that to him was little or nothing. He also had his
-religious convictions, but they were not of a nature to be affronted
-or shocked by those of any one who believed that the increasing
-civilization of the world had come from Christ's teaching. The
-simple, earnest purity of the girl's faith would be an attraction to
-him rather than otherwise. Indeed, there was nothing in his Marion,
-as he saw her, that was not conducive to feminine excellence.</p>
-
-<p>His Marion! How many words had he spoken to her? How many thoughts
-had he extracted from her? How many of her daily doings had he ever
-witnessed? But what did it matter? It is not the girl that the man
-loves, but the image which imagination has built up for him to fill
-the outside covering which has pleased his senses. He was quite as
-sure that the Ten Commandments were as safe in Marion's hands as
-though she were already a saint, canonized for the perfection of all
-virtues. He was quite ready to take that for granted; and having so
-convinced himself, was now only anxious as to the means by which he
-might make this priceless pearl his own.</p>
-
-<p>There must be some other scheme. He sat, thinking of this, cudgelling
-his brains for some contrivance by which he and Marion Fay might be
-brought together again with the least possible delay. His idea of a
-dinner-party had succeeded beyond all hope. But he could not have
-another dinner-party next week. Nor could he bring together the
-guests whom he had to-day entertained after his sister's return. He
-was bound not to admit George Roden to his house as long as she
-should be with him. Without George he could hardly hope that Mrs.
-Roden would come to him, and without Mrs. Roden how could he entice
-the Quaker and his daughter? His sister would be with him on the
-following day, and would, no doubt, be willing to assist him with
-Marion if it were possible. But the giving of such assistance on her
-part would tacitly demand assistance also from him in her
-difficulties. Such assistance, he knew, he could not give, having
-pledged himself to his father in regard to George Roden. He could at
-the present moment devise no other scheme than the very simple one of
-going to Mrs. Roden, and declaring his love for the girl.</p>
-
-
-<div class="center">
-<p class="noindent">*<span class="ind2">*</span><span
-class="ind2">*</span><span class="ind2">*</span><span
-class="ind2">*</span><span class="ind2">*</span></p>
-</div>
-
-
-<p>The four guests in the carriage were silent throughout their drive
-home. They all had thoughts of their own sufficient to occupy them.
-George Roden told himself that this, for a long day, must be his last
-visit to Hendon Hall. He knew that Lady Frances would arrive on the
-morrow, and that then his presence was forbidden. He had refused to
-make any promise as to his assured absence, not caring to subject
-himself to an absolute bond; but he was quite aware that he was bound
-in honour not to enter the house in which he could not be made
-welcome. He felt himself to be safe, with a great security. The girl
-whom he loved would certainly be true. He was not impatient, as was
-Hampstead. He did not trouble his mind with schemes which were to be
-brought to bear within the next few days. He could bide his time,
-comforting himself with his faith. But still a lover can hardly be
-satisfied with the world unless he can see some point in his heaven
-from which light may be expected to break through the clouds. He
-could not see the point from which the light might be expected.</p>
-
-<p>The Quaker was asking himself many questions. Had he done well to
-take his girl to this young nobleman's house? Had he done well to
-take himself there? It had been as it were a sudden disruption in the
-settled purposes of his life. What had he or his girl to do with
-lords? And yet he had been pleased. Courtesy always flatters, and
-flattery is always pleasant. A certain sense of softness had been
-grateful to him. There came upon him a painful question,—as there
-does on so many of us, when for a time we make a successful struggle
-against the world's allurements,—whether in abandoning the delights
-of life we do in truth get any compensation for them. Would it not
-after all be better to do as others use? Phœbus as he touches our
-trembling ear encourages us but with a faint voice. It had been very
-pleasant,—the soft chairs, the quiet attendance, the well-cooked
-dinner, the good wines, the bright glasses, the white linen,—and
-pleasanter than all that silvery tone of conversation to which he was
-so little accustomed either in King's Court or Paradise Row. Marion
-indeed was always gentle to him as a dove cooing; but he was aware of
-himself that he was not gentle in return. Stern truth, expressed
-shortly in strong language, was the staple of his conversation at
-home. He had declared to himself all through his life that stern
-truth and strong language were better for mankind than soft phrases.
-But in his own parlour in Paradise Row he had rarely seen his Marion
-bright as she had been at this lord's table. Was it good for his
-Marion that she should be encouraged to such brightness; and if so,
-had he been cruel to her to suffuse her entire life with a colour so
-dark as to admit of no light? Why had her beauty shone so brightly in
-the lord's presence? He too knew something of love, and had it always
-present to his mind that the time would come when his Marion's heart
-would be given to some stranger. He did not think, he would not
-think, that the stranger had now come;—but would it be well that his
-girl's future should be affected even as was his own? He argued the
-points much within himself, and told himself that it could not be
-well.</p>
-
-<p>Mrs. Roden had read it nearly all,—though she could not quite read
-the simple honesty of the young lord's purpose. The symptoms of love
-had been plain enough to her eyes, and she had soon told herself that
-she had done wrong in taking the girl to the young lord's house. She
-had seen that Hampstead had admired Marion, but she had not dreamed
-that it would be carried to such a length as this. But when he had
-knelt on the rug between them, leaning just a little towards the
-girl, and had looked up into the girl's face, smiling at his own
-little joke, but with his face full of love;—then she had known. And
-when Marion had whispered the one word, with her little fingers
-lingering within the young lord's touch, then she had known. It was
-not the young lord only who had given way to the softness of the
-moment. If evil had been done, she had done it; and it seemed as
-though evil had certainly been done. If much evil had been done, how
-could she forgive herself?</p>
-
-<p>And what were Marion's thoughts? Did she feel that an evil had been
-done, an evil for which there could never be a cure found? She would
-have so assured herself, had she as yet become aware of the full
-power and depth and mortal nature of the wound she had received. For
-such a wound, for such a hurt, there is but one cure, and of that she
-certainly would have entertained no hope. But, as it will sometimes
-be that a man shall in his flesh receive a fatal injury, of which he
-shall for awhile think that only some bruise has pained him, some
-scratch annoyed him; that a little time, with ointment and a
-plaister, will give him back his body as sound as ever; but then
-after a short space it becomes known to him that a deadly gangrene is
-affecting his very life; so will it be with a girl's heart. She did
-not yet,—not yet,—tell herself that half-a-dozen gentle words, that
-two or three soft glances, that a touch of a hand, the mere presence
-of a youth whose comeliness was endearing to the eye, had mastered
-and subdued all that there was of Marion Fay. But it was so. Not for
-a moment did her mind run away, as they were taken homewards, from
-the object of her unconscious idolatry. Had she behaved ill?—that
-was her regret! He had been so gracious;—that was her joy! Then
-there came a pang from the wound, though it was not as yet a pang as
-of death. What right had such a one as she to receive even an idle
-word of compliment from a man such as was Lord Hampstead? What could
-he be to her, or she to him? He had his high mission to complete, his
-great duties to perform, and doubtless would find some noble lady as
-a fit mother for his children. He had come across her path for a
-moment, and she could not but remember him for ever! There was
-something of an idea present to her that love would now be beyond her
-reach. But the pain necessarily attached to such an idea had not as
-yet reached her. There came something of a regret that fortune had
-placed her so utterly beyond his notice;—but she was sure of this,
-sure of this, that if the chance were offered to her, she would not
-mar his greatness by accepting the priceless boon of his love. But
-why,—why had he been so tender to her? Then she thought of what were
-the ways of men, and of what she had heard of them. It had been bad
-for her to go abroad thus with her poor foolish softness, with her
-girl's untried tenderness,—that thus she should be affected by the
-first chance smile that had been thrown to her by one of those petted
-darlings of Fortune! And then she was brought round to that same
-resolution which was at the moment forming itself in her father's
-mind;—that it would have been better for her had she not allowed
-herself to be taken to Hendon Hall. Then they were in Paradise Row,
-and were put down at their separate doors with but few words of
-farewell to each other.</p>
-
-<p>"They have just come home," said Clara Demijohn, rushing into her
-mother's bedroom. "You'll find it is quite true. They have been
-dining with the lord!"</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c1-22" id="c1-22"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XXII.</h3>
-<h4>AGAIN AT TRAFFORD.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>The meeting between Hampstead and his sister was affectionate and,
-upon the whole, satisfactory, though it was necessary that a few
-words should be spoken which could hardly be pleasant in themselves.
-"I had a dinner-party here last night," he said laughing, desirous of
-telling her something of George Roden,—and something also of Marion
-Fay.</p>
-
-<p>"Who were the guests?"</p>
-
-<p>"Roden was here." Then there was silence. She was glad that her lover
-had been one of the guests, but she was not as yet moved to say
-anything respecting him. "And his mother."</p>
-
-<p>"I am sure I shall like his mother," said Lady Frances.</p>
-
-<p>"I have mentioned it," continued her brother, speaking with unusual
-care, "because, in compliance with the agreement I made at Trafford,
-I cannot ask him here again at present."</p>
-
-<p>"I am sorry that I should be in your way, John."</p>
-
-<p>"You are not in my way, as I think you know. Let us say no more than
-that at present. Then I had a singular old Quaker, named Zachary Fay,
-an earnest, honest, but humble man, who blew me up instantly for
-talking slang."</p>
-
-<p>"Where did you pick him up?"</p>
-
-<p>"He comes out of the City," he said, not wishing to refer again to
-Paradise Row and the neighbourhood of the Rodens,—"and he brought
-his daughter."</p>
-
-<p>"A young lady?"</p>
-
-<p>"Certainly a young lady."</p>
-
-<p>"Ah, but young,—and beautiful?"</p>
-
-<p>"Young,—and beautiful."</p>
-
-<p>"Now you are laughing. I suppose she is some strong-minded, rather
-repulsive, middle-aged woman."</p>
-
-<p>"As to the strength of her mind, I have not seen enough to constitute
-myself a judge," said Hampstead, almost with a tone of offence. "Why
-you should imagine her to be repulsive because she is a Quaker, or
-why middle-aged, I do not understand. She is not repulsive to me."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, John, I am so sorry! Now I know that you have found some divine
-beauty."</p>
-
-<p>"We sometimes entertain angels unawares. I thought that I had done so
-when she took her departure."</p>
-
-<p>"Are you in earnest?"</p>
-
-<p>"I am quite in earnest as to the angel. Now I have to consult you as
-to a project." It may be remembered that Hampstead had spoken to his
-father as to the expediency of giving up his horses if he found that
-his means were not sufficient to keep up Hendon Hall, his yacht, and
-his hunting establishment in Northamptonshire. The Marquis, without
-saying a word to his son, had settled that matter, and Gorse Hall,
-with its stables, was continued. The proposition now made to Lady
-Frances was that she should go down with him and remain there for a
-week or two till she should find the place too dull. He had intended
-to fix an almost immediate day; but now he was debarred from this by
-his determination to see Marion yet once again before he took himself
-altogether beyond the reach of Holloway. The plan, therefore, though
-it was fixed as far as his own intention went and the assent of Lady
-Frances, was left undefined as to time. The more he thought of
-Holloway, and the difficulties of approaching Paradise Row, the more
-convinced he became that his only mode of approaching Marion must be
-through Mrs. Roden. He had taken two or three days to consider what
-would be the most appropriate manner of going through this operation,
-when on a sudden he was arrested by a letter from his father, begging
-his presence down at Trafford. The Marquis was ill, and was anxious
-to see his son. The letter in which the request was made was sad and
-plaintive throughout. He was hardly able to write, Lord Kingsbury
-said, because he was so unwell; but he had no one to write for him.
-Mr. Greenwood had made himself so disagreeable that he could no
-longer employ him for such purposes. "Your stepmother is causing me
-much vexation, which I do not think that I deserve from her." He then
-added that it would be necessary for him to have his lawyer down at
-Trafford, but that he wished to see Hampstead first in order that
-they might settle as to certain arrangements which were required in
-regard to the disposition of the property. There were some things
-which Hampstead could not fail to perceive from this letter. He was
-sure that his father was alarmed as to his own condition, or he would
-not have thought of sending for the lawyer to Trafford. He had
-hitherto always been glad to seize an opportunity of running up to
-London when any matter of business had seemed to justify the journey.
-Then it occurred to his son that his father had rarely or ever spoken
-or written to him of his "stepmother." In certain moods the Marquis
-had been wont to call his wife either the Marchioness or Lady
-Kingsbury. When in good humour he had generally spoken of her to his
-son as "your mother." The injurious though strictly legal name now
-given to her was a certain index of abiding wrath. But things must
-have been very bad with the Marquis at Trafford when he had utterly
-discarded the services of Mr. Greenwood,—services to which he had
-been used for a time to which the memory of his son did not go back.
-Hampstead of course obeyed his father's injunctions, and went down to
-Trafford instantly, leaving his sister alone at Hendon Hall. He found
-the Marquis not in bed indeed, but confined to his own sitting-room,
-and to a very small bed-chamber which had been fitted up for him
-close to it. Mr. Greenwood had been anxious to give up his own rooms
-as being more spacious; but the offer had been peremptorily and
-almost indignantly refused. The Marquis had been unwilling to accept
-anything like a courtesy from Mr. Greenwood. Should he make up his
-mind to turn Mr. Greenwood out of the house,—and he had almost made
-up his mind to do so,—then he could do what he pleased with Mr.
-Greenwood's rooms. But he wasn't going to accept the loan of chambers
-in his own house as a favour from Mr. Greenwood.</p>
-
-<p>Hampstead on arriving at the house saw the Marchioness for a moment
-before he went to his father. "I cannot tell how he is," said Lady
-Kingsbury, speaking in evident dudgeon. "He will hardly let me go
-near him. Doctor Spicer seems to think that we need not be alarmed.
-He shuts himself up in those gloomy rooms down-stairs. Of course it
-would be better for him to be off the ground floor, where he would
-have more light and air. But he has become so obstinate, that I do
-not know how to deal with him."</p>
-
-<p>"He has always liked to live in the room next to Mr. Greenwood's."</p>
-
-<p>"He has taken an absolute hatred to Mr. Greenwood. You had better not
-mention the poor old gentleman's name to him. Shut up as I am here, I
-have no one else to speak a word to, and for that reason, I suppose,
-he wishes to get rid of him. He is absolutely talking of sending the
-man away after having had him with him for nearly thirty years." In
-answer to all this Hampstead said almost nothing. He knew his
-stepmother, and was aware that he could do no service by telling her
-what he might find it to be his duty to say to his father as to Mr.
-Greenwood, or on any other subject. He did not hate his
-stepmother,—as she hated him. But he regarded her as one to whom it
-was quite useless to speak seriously as to the affairs of the family.
-He knew her to be prejudiced, ignorant, and falsely proud,—but he
-did not suppose her to be either wicked or cruel.</p>
-
-<p>His father began almost instantly about Mr. Greenwood, so that it
-would have been quite impossible for him to follow Lady Kingsbury's
-advice on that matter had he been ever so well minded. "Of course I'm
-ill," he said; "I suffer so much from sickness and dyspepsia that I
-can eat nothing. Doctor Spicer seems to think that I should get
-better if I did not worry myself; but there are so many things to
-worry me. The conduct of that man is abominable."</p>
-
-<p>"What man, sir?" asked Hampstead,—who knew, however, very well what
-was coming.</p>
-
-<p>"That clergyman," said Lord Kingsbury, pointing in the direction of
-Mr. Greenwood's room.</p>
-
-<p>"He does not come to you, sir, unless you send for him?"</p>
-
-<p>"I haven't seen him for the last five days, and I don't care if I
-never see him again."</p>
-
-<p>"How has he offended you, sir?"</p>
-
-<p>"I gave him my express injunctions that he should not speak of your
-sister either to me or the Marchioness. He gave me his solemn
-promise, and I know very well that they are talking about her every
-hour of the day."</p>
-
-<p>"Perhaps that is not his fault."</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, it is. A man needn't talk to a woman unless he likes. It is
-downright impudence on his part. Your stepmother comes to me every
-day, and never leaves me without abusing Fanny."</p>
-
-<p>"That is why I thought it better that Fanny should come to me."</p>
-
-<p>"And then, when I argue with her, she always tells me what Mr.
-Greenwood says about it. Who cares about Mr. Greenwood? What business
-has Mr. Greenwood to interfere in my family? He does not know how to
-behave himself, and he shall go."</p>
-
-<p>"He has been here a great many years, sir," said Hampstead, pleading
-for the old man.</p>
-
-<p>"Too many," said the Marquis. "When you've had a man about you so
-long as that, he is sure to take liberties."</p>
-
-<p>"You must provide for him, sir, if he goes."</p>
-
-<p>"I have thought of that. He must have something, of course. He has
-had three hundred a-year for the last ten years, and has had
-everything found for him down to his washing and his cab fares. For
-five-and-twenty years he has never paid for a bed or a meal out of
-his own pocket. What has he done with his money? He ought to be a
-rich man for his degree."</p>
-
-<p>"What a man does with his money is, I suppose, no concern to those
-who pay it. It is supposed to have been earned, and there is an end
-of it as far as they are concerned."</p>
-
-<p>"He shall have a thousand pounds," said the Marquis.</p>
-
-<p>"That would hardly be liberal. I would think twice before I dismissed
-him, sir."</p>
-
-<p>"I have thought a dozen times."</p>
-
-<p>"I would let him remain," said Hampstead, "if only because he's a
-comfort to Lady Kingsbury. What does it matter though he does talk of
-Fanny? Were he to go she would talk to somebody else who might be
-perhaps less fit to hear her, and he would, of course, talk to
-everybody."</p>
-
-<p>"Why has he not obeyed me?" demanded the Marquis, angrily. "It is I
-who have employed him. I have been his patron, and now he turns
-against me." Thus the Marquis went on till his strength would not
-suffice for any further talking. Hampstead found himself quite unable
-to bring him to any other subject on that day. He was sore with the
-injury done him in that he was not allowed to be the master in his
-own house.</p>
-
-<p>On the next morning Hampstead heard from Dr. Spicer that his father
-was in a state of health very far from satisfactory. The doctor
-recommended that he should be taken away from Trafford, and at last
-went so far as to say that his advice extended to separating his
-patient from Lady Kingsbury. "It is, of course, a very disagreeable
-subject," said the doctor, "for a medical man to meddle with; but, my
-lord, the truth is that Lady Kingsbury frets him. I don't, of course,
-care to hear what it is, but there is something wrong." Lord
-Hampstead, who knew very well what it was, did not attempt to
-contradict him. When, however, he spoke to his father of the
-expediency of change of air, the Marquis told him that he would
-rather die at Trafford than elsewhere.</p>
-
-<p>That his father was really thinking of his death was only too
-apparent from all that was said and done. As to those matters of
-business, they were soon settled between them. There was, at any
-rate, that comfort to the poor man that there was no probability of
-any difference between him and his heir as to the property or as to
-money. Half-an-hour settled all that. Then came the time which had
-been arranged for Hampstead's return to his sister. But before he
-went there were conversations between him and Mr. Greenwood, between
-him and his stepmother, and between him and his father, to which, for
-the sake of our story, it may be as well to refer.</p>
-
-<p>"I think your father is ill-treating me," said Mr. Greenwood. Mr.
-Greenwood had allowed himself to be talked into a thorough contempt
-and dislike for the young lord; so that he had almost brought himself
-to believe in those predictions as to the young lord's death in which
-Lady Kingsbury was always indulging. As a consequence of this, he now
-spoke in a voice very different from those obsequious tones which he
-had before been accustomed to use when he had regarded Lord Hampstead
-as his young patron.</p>
-
-<p>"I am sure my father would never do that," said Hampstead, angrily.</p>
-
-<p>"It looks very like it. I have devoted all the best of my life to his
-service, and he now talks of dismissing me as though I were no better
-than a servant."</p>
-
-<p>"Whatever he does, he will, I am sure, have adequate cause for
-doing."</p>
-
-<p>"I have done nothing but my duty. It is out of the question that a
-man in my position should submit to orders as to what he is to talk
-about and what not. It is natural that Lady Kingsbury should come to
-me in her troubles."</p>
-
-<p>"If you will take my advice," said Lord Hampstead, in that tone of
-voice which always produces in the mind of the listener a
-determination that the special advice offered shall not be taken,
-"you will comply with my father's wishes while it suits you to live
-in his house. If you cannot do that, it would become you, I think, to
-leave it." In every word of this there was a rebuke; and Mr.
-Greenwood, who did not like being rebuked, remembered it.</p>
-
-<p>"Of course I am nobody in this house now," said the Marchioness in
-her last interview with her stepson. It is of no use to argue with an
-angry woman, and in answer to this Hampstead made some gentle murmur
-which was intended neither to assent or to dispute the proposition
-made to him. "Because I ventured to disapprove of Mr. Roden as a
-husband for your sister I have been shut up here, and not allowed to
-speak to any one."</p>
-
-<p>"Fanny has left the house, so that she may no longer cause you
-annoyance by her presence."</p>
-
-<p>"She has left the house in order that she may be near the abominable
-lover with whom you have furnished her."</p>
-
-<p>"This is not true," said Hampstead, who was moved beyond his control
-by the double falseness of the accusation.</p>
-
-<p>"Of course you can be insolent to me, and tell me that I speak
-falsehoods. It is part of your new creed that you should be neither
-respectful to a parent, nor civil to a lady."</p>
-
-<p>"I beg your pardon, Lady Kingsbury,"—he had never called her Lady
-Kingsbury before,—"if I have been disrespectful or uncivil, but your
-statements were very hard to bear. Fanny's engagement with Mr. Roden
-has not even received my sanction. Much less was it arranged or
-encouraged by me. She has not gone to Hendon Hall to be near Mr.
-Roden, with whom she had undertaken to hold no communication as long
-as she remains there with me. Both for my own sake and for hers I am
-bound to repudiate the accusation." Then he went without further
-adieu, leaving with her a conviction that she had been treated with
-the greatest contumely by her husband's rebellious heir.</p>
-
-<p>Nothing could be sadder than the last words which the Marquis spoke
-to his son. "I don't suppose, Hampstead, that we shall ever meet
-again in this world."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, father!"</p>
-
-<p>"I don't think Mr. Spicer knows how bad I am."</p>
-
-<p>"Will you have Sir James down from London?"</p>
-
-<p>"No Sir James can do me any good, I fear. It is ill ministering to a
-mind diseased."</p>
-
-<p>"Why, sir, should you have a mind diseased? With few men can things
-be said to be more prosperous than with you. Surely this affair of
-Fanny's is not of such a nature as to make you feel that all things
-are bitter round you."</p>
-
-<p>"It is not that."</p>
-
-<p>"What then? I hope I have not been a cause of grief to you?"</p>
-
-<p>"No, my boy;—no. It irks me sometimes to think that I should have
-trained you to ideas which you have taken up too violently. But it is
-not that."</p>
-
-<p>"My mother—?"</p>
-
-<p>"She has set her heart against me,—against you and Fanny. I feel
-that a division has been made between my two families. Why should my
-daughter be expelled from my own house? Why should I not be able to
-have you here, except as an enemy in the camp? Why am I to have that
-man take up arms against me, whom I have fed in idleness all his
-life?"</p>
-
-<p>"I would not let him trouble my thoughts."</p>
-
-<p>"When you are old and weak you will find it hard to banish thoughts
-that trouble you. As to going, where am I to go to?"</p>
-
-<p>"Come to Hendon."</p>
-
-<p>"And leave her here with him, so that all the world shall say that I
-am running away from my own wife? Hendon is your house now, and this
-is mine;—and here I must stay till my time has come."</p>
-
-<p>This was very sad, not as indicating the state of his father's
-health, as to which he was more disposed to take the doctor's opinion
-than that of the patient, but as showing the infirmity of his
-father's mind. He had been aware of a certain weakness in his
-father's character,—a desire not so much for ruling as for seeming
-to rule all that were around him. The Marquis had wished to be
-thought a despot even when he had delighted in submitting himself to
-the stronger mind of his first wife. Now he felt the chains that were
-imposed upon him, so that they galled him when he could not throw
-them off. All this was very sad to Hampstead; but it did not make him
-think that his father's health had in truth been seriously affected.</p>
-
-<p> </p>
-
-<h5>END OF VOL. I.</h5>
-
-<p> </p>
-<hr class="narrow" />
-<p><a name="v2" id="v2"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<p> </p>
-
-<h1 class="title">MARION FAY.</h1>
-
-<h3>A Novel.</h3>
-<p> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h4>BY</h4>
-
-<h2>ANTHONY TROLLOPE,</h2>
-
-<h4>AUTHOR OF<br />
-<br />
-"FRAMLEY PARSONAGE," "ORLEY FARM," "THE WAY WE<br />
-<br />
-LIVE NOW," ETC., ETC.</h4>
-<p> </p>
-<p> </p>
-
-<h3><i>IN THREE VOLUMES.</i></h3>
-
-<h2>VOL. II.</h2>
-<p> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<p> </p>
-
-<h4>London:<br />
-CHAPMAN & HALL, <span class="smallcaps">Limited</span>,
-11, HENRIETTA ST.<br />
-1882.</h4>
-
-<h5><i>[All Rights reserved.]</i></h5>
-
-<p> </p>
-<hr class="narrow" />
-<p> </p>
-
-<h5>Bungay:</h5>
-
-<h6>CLAY AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS.</h6>
-
-<p> </p>
-<hr class="narrow" />
-<p> </p>
-<p> </p>
-
-<h3>CONTENTS OF VOLUME II.<br /> </h3>
-
-<div class="center">
-<table class="sm" style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="3">
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">I. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-1" >THE IRREPRESSIBLE CROCKER.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">II. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-2" >MRS. RODEN'S ELOQUENCE.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">III. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-3" >MARION'S VIEWS ABOUT MARRIAGE.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">IV. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-4" >LORD HAMPSTEAD IS IMPATIENT.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">V. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-5" >THE QUAKER'S ELOQUENCE.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">VI. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-6" >MARION'S OBSTINACY.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">VII. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-7" >MRS. DEMIJOHN'S PARTY.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">VIII. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-8" >NEW YEAR'S DAY.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">IX. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-9" >MISS DEMIJOHN'S INGENUITY.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">X. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-10" >KING'S COURT, OLD BROAD STREET.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XI. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-11" >MR. GREENWOOD BECOMES AMBITIOUS.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XII. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-12" >LIKE THE POOR CAT I' THE ADAGE.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XIII. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-13" >LADY FRANCES SEES HER LOVER.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XIV. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-14" >MR. GREENWOOD'S FEELINGS.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XV. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-15" >"THAT WOULD BE DISAGREEABLE."</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XVI. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-16" >"I DO."</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XVII. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-17" >AT GORSE HALL.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XVIII. </td><td align="left"><a href="#c2-18" >POOR WALKER.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XIX. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-19" >FALSE TIDINGS.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XX. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-20" >NEVER, NEVER, TO COME AGAIN.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XXI. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-21" >DI CRINOLA.</a></td></tr>
-</table>
-</div>
-
-<p> </p>
-<hr class="narrow" />
-
-<p><a name="c2-1" id="c2-1"></a> </p>
-<h1>MARION FAY.</h1>
-<p> </p>
-<hr class="narrow" />
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER I.</h3>
-<h4>THE IRREPRESSIBLE CROCKER.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>Hampstead remained nearly a fortnight down at Trafford, returning to
-Hendon only a few days before Christmas. Crocker, the Post Office
-clerk, came back to his duties at the same time, but, as was the
-custom with him, stole a day more than belonged to him, and thus
-incurred the frowns of Mr. Jerningham and the heavy wrath of the
-great Æolus. The Æoluses of the Civil Service are necessarily much
-exercised in their minds by such irregularities. To them personally
-it matters not at all whether one or another young man may be
-neglectful. It may be known to such a one that a Crocker may be
-missed from his seat without any great injury,—possibly with no
-injury at all,—to the Queen's service. There are Crockers whom it
-would be better to pay for their absence than their presence. This
-Æolus thought it was so with this Crocker. Then why not dismiss
-Crocker, and thus save the waste of public money? But there is a
-necessity,—almost a necessity,—that the Crockers of the world
-should live. They have mothers, or perhaps even wives, with backs to
-be clothed and stomachs to be fed, or perhaps with hearts to be
-broken. There is, at any rate, a dislike to proceed to the ultimate
-resort of what may be called the capital punishment of the Civil
-Service. To threaten, to frown, to scold, to make a young man's life
-a burden to him, are all within the compass of an official Æolus. You
-would think occasionally that such a one was resolved to turn half
-the clerks in his office out into the streets,—so loud are the
-threats. In regard to individuals he often is resolved to do so at
-the very next fault. But when the time comes his heart misgives him.
-Even an Æolus is subject to mercy, and at last his conscience becomes
-so callous to his first imperative duty of protecting the public
-service, that it grows to be a settled thing with him, that though a
-man's life is to be made a burden to him, the man is not to be
-actually dismissed. But there are men to whom you cannot make their
-life a burden,—men upon whom no frowns, no scoldings, no threats
-operate at all; and men unfortunately sharp enough to perceive what
-is that ultimate decision to which their Æolus had been brought. Such
-a one was our Crocker, who cared very little for the blusterings. On
-this occasion he had remained away for the sake of having an
-additional day with the Braeside Harriers, and when he pleaded a
-bilious headache no one believed him for an instant. It was in vain
-for Æolus to tell him that a man subject to health so precarious was
-altogether unfitted for the Civil Service. Crocker had known
-beforehand exactly what was going to be said to him, and had
-discounted it at its exact worth. Even in the presence of Mr.
-Jerningham he spoke openly of the day's hunting, knowing that Mr.
-Jerningham would prefer his own ease to the trouble of renewed
-complaint. "If you would sit at your desk now that you have come
-back, and go on with your docketing, instead of making everybody else
-idle, it would be a great deal better," said Mr. Jerningham.</p>
-
-<p>"Then my horse took the wall in a fly, and old Amblethwaite crept
-over afterwards," continued Crocker, standing with his back to the
-fire, utterly disregarding Mr. Jerningham's admonitions.</p>
-
-<p>On his first entrance into the room Crocker had shaken hands with Mr.
-Jerningham, then with Bobbin and Geraghty, and at last he came to
-Roden, with whom he would willingly have struck up terms of
-affectionate friendship had it been possible for him to do so. He had
-resolved that it should be so, but when the moment came his courage a
-little failed him. He had made himself very offensive to Roden at
-their last interview, and could see at a glance that Roden remembered
-it. As far as his own feelings were concerned such "tiffs," as he
-called them, went for nothing. He had, indeed, no feelings, and was
-accustomed to say that he liked the system of give and take,—meaning
-that he liked being impudent to others, and did not care how impudent
-others might be to him. This toughness and insolence are as sharp as
-needles to others who do not possess the same gifts. Roden had
-learned to detest the presence of the young man, to be sore when he
-was even spoken to, and yet did not know how to put him down. You may
-have a fierce bull shut up. You may muzzle a dog that will bite. You
-may shoot a horse that you cannot cure of biting and tearing. But you
-cannot bring yourself to spend a morning in hunting a bug or killing
-a flea. Crocker had made himself a serious annoyance even to Lord
-Hampstead, though their presence together had only been for a very
-short time. But Roden had to pass his life at the same desk with the
-odious companion. Absolutely to cut him, to let it be known all
-through the office that they two did not speak, was to make too much
-of the matter. But yet it was essentially necessary for his peace
-that some step should be taken to save himself from the man's
-insolence. On the present occasion he nodded his head to Crocker,
-being careful not to lay the pen down from his fingers. "Ain't you
-going to give us your hand, old fellow?" said Crocker, putting on his
-best show of courage.</p>
-
-<p>"I don't know that I am," said Roden. "Perhaps some of these days you
-may learn to make yourself less disagreeable."</p>
-
-<p>"I'm sure I've always meant to be very friendly, especially with
-you," said Crocker; "but it is so hard to get what one says taken in
-the proper sense."</p>
-
-<p>After this not a word was spoken between the two all the morning.
-This happened on a Saturday,—Saturday, the 20th of December, on
-which day Hampstead was to return to his own house. Punctually at one
-Crocker left his desk, and with a comic bow of mock courtesy to Mr.
-Jerningham, stuck his hat on the side of his head, and left the
-office. His mind, as he took himself home to his lodgings, was full
-of Roden's demeanour towards him. Since he had become assured that
-his brother clerk was engaged to marry Lady Frances Trafford, he was
-quite determined to cultivate an enduring and affectionate
-friendship. But what steps should he take to recover the ground which
-he had lost? It occurred to him now that while he was in Cumberland
-he had established quite an intimacy with Lord Hampstead, and he
-thought that it would be well to use Lord Hampstead's acknowledged
-good-nature for recovering the ground which he had lost with his
-brother clerk.</p>
-
-
-<div class="center">
-<p class="noindent">*<span class="ind2">*</span><span
-class="ind2">*</span><span class="ind2">*</span><span
-class="ind2">*</span><span class="ind2">*</span></p>
-</div>
-
-
-<p>At about three o'clock that afternoon, when Lady Frances was
-beginning to think that the time of her brother's arrival was near at
-hand, the servant came into the drawing-room, and told her that a
-gentleman had called, and was desirous of seeing her. "What
-gentleman?" asked Lady Frances. "Has he sent his name?"</p>
-
-<p>"No, my lady; but he says,—he says that he is a clerk from the Post
-Office." Lady Frances was at the moment so dismayed that she did not
-know what answer to give. There could be but one Post Office clerk
-who should be anxious to see her, and she had felt from the tone of
-the servant's voice that he had known that it was her lover who had
-called. Everybody knew that the Post Office clerk was her lover. Some
-immediate answer was necessary. She quite understood the pledge that
-her brother had made on her behalf; and, though she had not herself
-made any actual promise, she felt that she was bound not to receive
-George Roden. But yet she could not bring herself to turn him away
-from the door, and so to let the servant suppose that she was ashamed
-to see him to whom she had given the promise of her hand. "You had
-better show the gentleman in," she said at last, with a voice that
-almost trembled. A moment afterwards the door was opened, and Mr.
-Crocker entered the room!</p>
-
-<p>She had endeavoured in the minute which had been allowed her to study
-the manner in which she should receive her lover. As she heard the
-approaching footsteps, she prepared herself. She had just risen from
-her seat, nearly risen, when the strange man appeared. It has to be
-acknowledged that she was grievously disappointed, although she had
-told herself that Roden ought not to have come to her. What woman is
-there will not forgive her lover for coming, even though he certainly
-should not have come? What woman is there will fail to receive a
-stranger with hard looks when a stranger shall appear to her instead
-of an expected lover? "Sir?" she said, standing as he walked up the
-room and made a low bow to her as he took his position before her.</p>
-
-<p>Crocker was dressed up to the eyes, and wore yellow kid gloves. "Lady
-Frances," he said, "I am Mr. Crocker, Mr. Samuel Crocker, of the
-General Post Office. You may not perhaps have heard of me from my
-friend, Mr. Roden?"</p>
-
-<p>"No, indeed, sir."</p>
-
-<p>"You might have done so, as we sit in the same room and at the same
-desk. Or you may remember meeting me at dinner at your uncle's castle
-in Cumberland."</p>
-
-<p>"Is anything,—anything the matter with Mr. Roden?"</p>
-
-<p>"Not in the least, my lady. I had the pleasure of leaving him in very
-good health about two hours since. There is nothing at all to
-occasion your ladyship the slightest uneasiness." A dark frown came
-across her brow as she heard the man talk thus freely of her interest
-in George Roden's condition. She no doubt had betrayed her own secret
-as far as there was a secret; but she was not on that account the
-less angry because he had forced her to do so.</p>
-
-<p>"Has Mr. Roden sent you as a messenger?" she asked.</p>
-
-<p>"No, my lady; no. That would not be at all probable. I am sure he
-would very much rather come with any message of his own." At this he
-sniggered most offensively. "I called with a hope of seeing your
-brother, Lord Hampstead, with whom I may take the liberty of saying
-that I have a slight acquaintance."</p>
-
-<p>"Lord Hampstead is not at home."</p>
-
-<p>"So the servant told me. Then it occurred to me that as I had come
-all the way down from London for a certain purpose, to ask a little
-favour from his lordship, and as I was not fortunate enough to find
-his lordship at home, I might ask the same from your ladyship."</p>
-
-<p>"There can be nothing that I can do for you, sir."</p>
-
-<p>"You can do it, my lady, much better than any one else in the world.
-You can be more powerful in this matter even than his lordship."</p>
-
-<p>"What can it be?" asked Lady Frances.</p>
-
-<p>"If your ladyship will allow me I will sit down, as the story I have
-to tell is somewhat particular." It was impossible to refuse him the
-use of a chair, and she could therefore only bow as he seated
-himself. "I and George Roden, my lady, have known each other
-intimately for these ever so many years." Again she bowed her head.
-"And I may say that we used to be quite pals. When two men sit at the
-same desk together they ought to be thick as thieves. See what a cat
-and dog life it is else! Don't you think so, my lady?"</p>
-
-<p>"I know nothing of office life. As I don't think that I can help you,
-perhaps you wouldn't mind—going away?"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, my lady, you must hear me to the end, because you are just the
-person who can help me. Of course as you two are situated he would do
-anything you were to bid him. Now he has taken it into his head to be
-very huffy with me."</p>
-
-<p>"Indeed I can do nothing in the matter," she said, in a tone of deep
-distress.</p>
-
-<p>"If you would only just tell him that I have never meant to offend
-him! I am sure I don't know what it is that has come up. It may be
-that I said a word in joke about Lord Hampstead, only that there
-really could not have been anything in that. Nobody could have a more
-profound respect for his lordship's qualities than I have, and I may
-say the same for your ladyship most sincerely. I have always thought
-it a great feather in Roden's cap that he should be so closely
-connected,—more than closely, I may say,—with your noble family."</p>
-
-<p>What on earth was she to do with a man who would go on talking to
-her, making at every moment insolent allusions to the most cherished
-secret of her heart! "I must beg you to go away and leave me, sir,"
-she said. "My brother will be here almost immediately."</p>
-
-<p>This had escaped from her with a vain idea that the man would receive
-it as a threat,—that he would think probably that her brother would
-turn him out of the house for his insolence. In this she was
-altogether mistaken. He had no idea that he was insolent. "Then
-perhaps you will allow me to wait for his lordship," he said.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh dear, no! He may come or he may not. You really cannot wait. You
-ought not to have come at all."</p>
-
-<p>"But for the sake of peace, my lady! One word from your fair lips—."
-Lady Frances could endure it no longer. She got up from her seat and
-walked out of the room, leaving Mr. Crocker planted in his chair. In
-the hall she found one of the servants, whom she told to "take that
-man to the front door at once." The servant did as he was bid, and
-Crocker was ushered out of the house without any feeling on his part
-that he had misbehaved himself.</p>
-
-<p>Crocker had hardly got beyond the grounds when Hampstead did in truth
-return. The first words spoken between him and his sister of course
-referred to their father's health. "He is unhappy rather than ill,"
-said Hampstead.</p>
-
-<p>"Is it about me?" she asked.</p>
-
-<p>"No; not at all about you in the first instance."</p>
-
-<p>"What does that mean?"</p>
-
-<p>"It is not because of you; but from what others say about you."</p>
-
-<p>"Mamma?" she asked.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes; and Mr. Greenwood."</p>
-
-<p>"Does he interfere?"</p>
-
-<p>"I am afraid he does;—not directly with my father, but through her
-ladyship, who daily tells my father what the stupid old man says.
-Lady Kingsbury is most irrational and harassing. I have always
-thought her to be silly, but now I cannot keep myself from feeling
-that she misbehaves herself grievously. She does everything she can
-to add to his annoyance."</p>
-
-<p>"That is very bad."</p>
-
-<p>"It is bad. He can turn Mr. Greenwood out of the house if Mr.
-Greenwood becomes unbearable. But he cannot turn his wife out."</p>
-
-<p>"Could he not come here?"</p>
-
-<p>"I am afraid not,—without bringing her too. She has taken it into
-her stupid head that you and I are disgracing the family. As for me,
-she seems to think that I am actually robbing her own boys of their
-rights. I would do anything for them, or even for her, if I could
-comfort her; but she is determined to look upon us as enemies. My
-father says that it will worry him into his grave."</p>
-
-<p>"Poor papa!"</p>
-
-<p>"We can run away, but he can not. I became very angry when I was
-there, both with her ladyship and that pestilential old clergyman,
-and told them both pretty much what I thought. I have the comfort of
-knowing that I have two bitter enemies in the house."</p>
-
-<p>"Can they hurt you?"</p>
-
-<p>"Not in the least,—except in this, that they can teach those little
-boys to regard me as an enemy. I would fain have had my brothers left
-to me. Mr. Greenwood, and I must now say her ladyship also, are
-nothing to me."</p>
-
-<p>It was not till after dinner that the story was told about Crocker.
-"Think what I must have felt when I was told that a clerk from the
-Post Office wanted to see me!"</p>
-
-<p>"And then that brute Crocker was shown in?" asked Hampstead.</p>
-
-<p>"Do you really know him?"</p>
-
-<p>"Know him! I should rather think so. Don't you remember him at Castle
-Hautboy?"</p>
-
-<p>"Not in the least. But he told me that he had been there."</p>
-
-<p>"He never would leave me. He absolutely drove me out of the country
-because he would follow me about when we were hunting. He insulted me
-so grievously that I had to turn tail and run away from him. What did
-he want of me?"</p>
-
-<p>"To intercede for him with George Roden."</p>
-
-<p>"He is an abominable man, irrepressible, so thick-skinned that you
-cannot possibly get at him so as to hurt him. It is of no use telling
-him to keep his distance, for he does not in the least know what you
-mean. I do not doubt that he has left the house with a conviction
-that he has gained a sincere friend in you."</p>
-
-
-<div class="center">
-<p class="noindent">*<span class="ind2">*</span><span
-class="ind2">*</span><span class="ind2">*</span><span
-class="ind2">*</span><span class="ind2">*</span></p>
-</div>
-
-
-<p>It was now more than a fortnight since Marion Fay had dined at
-Hendon, and Hampstead felt that unless he could succeed in carrying
-on the attack which he had commenced, any little beginning of a
-friendship which he had made with the Quaker would be obliterated by
-the length of time. If she thought about him at all, she must think
-that he was very indifferent to let so long a time pass by without
-any struggle on his part to see her again. There had been no word of
-love spoken. He had been sure of that. But still there had been
-something of affectionate intercourse which she could not have failed
-to recognize. What must she think of him if he allowed that to pass
-away without any renewal, without an attempt at carrying it further?
-When she had bade him go in out of the cold there had been something
-in her voice which had made him feel that she was in truth anxious
-for him. Now more than a fortnight had gone, and there had been no
-renewal! "Fanny," he said, "how would it be if we were to ask those
-Quakers to dine here on Christmas Day?"</p>
-
-<p>"It would be odd, wouldn't it, as they are strangers, and dined here
-so lately?"</p>
-
-<p>"People like that do not stand on ceremony at all. I don't see why
-they shouldn't come. I could say that you want to make their
-acquaintance."</p>
-
-<p>"Would you ask them alone?"</p>
-
-<p>In that he felt that the great difficulty lay. The Fays would hardly
-come without Mrs. Roden, and the Rodens could not be asked. "One
-doesn't always ask the same people to meet each other."</p>
-
-<p>"It would be very odd, and I don't think they'd come," said Lady
-Frances, gravely. Then after a pause she went on. "I fear, John, that
-there is more in it than mere dinner company."</p>
-
-<p>"Certainly there is," he said boldly;—"much more in it."</p>
-
-<p>"You are not in love with the Quaker's daughter?"</p>
-
-<p>"I rather think I am. When I have seen her three or four times more,
-I shall be able to find out. You may be sure of this, that I mean to
-see her three or four times more, and at any rate one of the times
-must be before I go down to Gorse Hall." Then of course she knew the
-whole truth. He did, however, give up the idea as to the Christmas
-dinner-party, having arrived at the belief, after turning the matter
-over in his mind, that Zachary Fay would not bring his daughter again
-so soon.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c2-2" id="c2-2"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER II.</h3>
-<h4>MRS. RODEN'S ELOQUENCE.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>On Sunday Hampstead was nervous and fidgety. He had at one time
-thought that it would be the very day for him to go to Holloway. He
-would be sure to find Mrs. Roden at home after church, and then, if
-he could carry things to the necessary length, he might also see
-Zachary Fay. But on consideration it appeared to him that Sunday
-would not suit his purpose. George Roden would be there, and would be
-sadly in the way. And the Quaker himself would be in the way, as it
-would be necessary that he should have some preliminary interview
-with Marion before anything could be serviceably said to her father.
-He was driven, therefore, to postpone his visit. Nor would Monday do,
-as he knew enough of the manners of Paradise Row to be aware that on
-Monday Mrs. Vincent would certainly be there. It would be his object,
-if things could be made to go pleasantly, first to see Mrs. Roden for
-a few minutes, and then to spend as much of the afternoon as might be
-possible with Marion Fay. He therefore fixed on the Tuesday for his
-purpose, and having telegraphed about the country for his horses,
-groom, and other appurtenances, he went down to Leighton on the
-Monday, and consoled himself with a day's hunting with the
-staghounds.</p>
-
-<p>On his return his sister spoke to him very seriously as to her own
-affairs. "Is not this almost silly, John, about Mr. Roden not coming
-here?"</p>
-
-<p>"Not silly at all, according to my ideas."</p>
-
-<p>"All the world knows that we are engaged. The very servants have
-heard of it. That horrid young man who came from the Post Office was
-aware of it."</p>
-
-<p>"What has all that to do with it?"</p>
-
-<p>"If it has been made public in that way, what can be the object of
-keeping us apart? Mamma no doubt told her sister, and Lady Persiflage
-has published it everywhere. Her daughter is going to marry a duke,
-and it has crowned her triumph to let it be known that I am going to
-marry only a Post Office clerk. I don't begrudge her that in the
-least. But as they have talked about it so much, they ought, at any
-rate, to let me have my Post Office clerk."</p>
-
-<p>"I have nothing to say about it one way or the other," said
-Hampstead. "I say nothing about it, at any rate now."</p>
-
-<p>"What do you mean by that, John?"</p>
-
-<p>"When I saw how miserable you were at Trafford I did my best to bring
-you away. But I could only bring you here on an express stipulation
-that you should not meet George Roden while you were in my house. If
-you can get my father's consent to your meeting him, then that part
-of the contract will be over."</p>
-
-<p>"I don't think I made any promise."</p>
-
-<p>"I understand it so."</p>
-
-<p>"I said nothing to papa on the subject,—and I do not remember that I
-made any promise to you. I am sure I did not."</p>
-
-<p>"I promised for you." To this she was silent. "Are you going to ask
-him to come here?"</p>
-
-<p>"Certainly not. But if he did come, how could I refuse to see him? I
-thought that he was here on Saturday, and I told Richard to admit
-him. I could not send him away from the door."</p>
-
-<p>"I do not think he will come unless he is asked," said Hampstead.
-Then the conversation was over.</p>
-
-<p>On the following day, at two o'clock, Lord Hampstead again started
-for Holloway. On this occasion he drove over, and left his trap and
-servant at the "Duchess of Edinburgh." He was so well known in the
-neighbourhood now as hardly to be able to hope to enter on the
-domains of Paradise Row without being recognized. He felt that it was
-hard that his motions should be watched, telling himself that it was
-one of the evils belonging to an hereditary nobility; but he must
-accept this mischief as he did others, and he walked up the street
-trying to look as though he didn't know that his motions were being
-watched first from Number Fifteen as he passed it, and then from
-Number Ten opposite, as he stood at Mrs. Roden's door.</p>
-
-<p>Mrs. Roden was at home, and received him, of course, with her most
-gracious smile; but her heart sank within her as she saw him, for she
-felt sure that he had come in pursuit of Marion Fay. "It is very kind
-of you to call," she said. "I had heard from George that you had gone
-down into the country since we had the pleasure of dining with you."</p>
-
-<p>"Yes; my father has been unwell, and I had to stay with him a few
-days or I should have been here sooner. You got home all of you quite
-well?"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, yes."</p>
-
-<p>"Miss Fay did not catch cold?"</p>
-
-<p>"Not at all;—though I fear she is hardly strong."</p>
-
-<p>"She is not ill, I hope?"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, no; not that. But she lives here very quietly, and I doubt
-whether the excitement of going out is good for her."</p>
-
-<p>"There was not much excitement at Hendon Hall, I think," he said,
-laughing.</p>
-
-<p>"Not for you, but for her perhaps. In appreciating our own condition
-we are so apt to forget what is the condition of others! To Marion
-Fay it was a strange event to have to dine at your house,—and
-strange also to receive little courtesies such as yours. It is hard
-for you to conceive how strongly the nature of such a girl may be
-effected by novelties. I have almost regretted, Lord Hampstead, that
-I should have consented to take her there."</p>
-
-<p>"Has she said anything?"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, no; there was nothing for her to say. You are not to suppose
-that any harm has been done."</p>
-
-<p>"What harm could have been done?" he asked. Of what nature was the
-harm of which Mrs. Roden was speaking? Could it be that Marion had
-made any sign of altered feelings; had declared in any way her liking
-or disliking; had given outward testimony of thoughts which would
-have been pleasant to him,—or perhaps unpleasant,—had he known
-them?</p>
-
-<p>"No harm, of course," said Mrs. Roden;—"only to a nature such as
-hers all excitement is evil."</p>
-
-<p>"I cannot believe that," he said, after a pause. "Now and then in the
-lives of all of us there must come moments of excitement which cannot
-be all evil. What would Marion say if I were to tell her that I loved
-her?"</p>
-
-<p>"I hope you will not do that, my lord."</p>
-
-<p>"Why should you hope so? What right have you to hope so? If I do love
-her, is it not proper that I should tell her?"</p>
-
-<p>"But it would not be proper that you should love her."</p>
-
-<p>"There, Mrs. Roden, I take the liberty of declaring that you are
-altogether in the wrong, and that you speak without due
-consideration."</p>
-
-<p>"Do I, my lord?"</p>
-
-<p>"I think so. Why am I not to be allowed the ordinary privilege of a
-man,—that of declaring my passion to a woman when I meet one who
-seems in all things to fulfil the image of perfection which I have
-formed for myself,—when I see a girl that I fancy I can love?"</p>
-
-<p>"Ah, there is the worst! It is only a fancy."</p>
-
-<p>"I will not be accused in that way without defending myself. Let it
-be fancy or what not, I love Marion Fay, and I have come here to tell
-her so. If I can make any impression on her I shall come again and
-tell her father so. I am here now because I think that you can help
-me. If you will not, I shall go on without your help."</p>
-
-<p>"What can I do?"</p>
-
-<p>"Go to her with me now, at once. You say that excitement is bad for
-her. The excitement will be less if you will come with me to her
-house."</p>
-
-<p>Then there was a long pause in the conversation, during which Mrs.
-Roden was endeavouring to determine what might be her duty at this
-moment. She certainly did not think that it would be well that Lord
-Hampstead, the eldest son of the Marquis of Kingsbury, should marry
-Marion Fay. She was quite sure that she had all the world with her
-there. Were any one to know that she had assisted in arranging such a
-marriage, that any one would certainly condemn her. That would
-assuredly be the case, not only with the young lord's family, not
-only with others of the young lord's order, but with all the educated
-world of Great Britain. How could it be that such a one as Marion Fay
-should be a fitting wife for such a one as Lord Hampstead? Marion Fay
-had undoubtedly great gifts of her own. She was beautiful,
-intelligent, sweet-minded, and possessed of natural delicacy,—so
-much so that to Mrs. Roden herself she had become as dear almost as a
-daughter; but it was impossible that she should have either the
-education or the manners fit for the wife of a great English peer.
-Though her manners might be good and her education excellent, they
-were not those required for that special position. And then there was
-cause for other fears. Marion's mother and brothers and sisters had
-all died young. The girl herself had hitherto seemed to escape the
-scourge under which they perished. But occasionally there would rise
-to her cheeks a bright colour, which for the moment would cause Mrs.
-Roden's heart to sink within her. Occasionally there would be heard
-from her not a cough, but that little preparation for coughing which
-has become so painfully familiar to the ears of those whose fate it
-has been to see their beloved ones gradually fade from presumed
-health. She had already found herself constrained to say a word or
-two to the old Quaker, not telling him that she feared any coming
-evil, but hinting that change of air would certainly be beneficial to
-such a one as Marion. Acting under this impulse, he had taken her
-during the inclemency of the past spring to the Isle of Wight. She
-was minded gradually to go on with this counsel, so as if possible to
-induce the father to send his girl out of London for some
-considerable portion of the year. If this were so, how could she
-possibly encourage Lord Hampstead in his desire to make Marion his
-wife?</p>
-
-<p>And then, as to the girl herself, could it be for her happiness that
-she should be thus lifted into a strange world, a world that would be
-hard and ungracious to her, and in which it might be only too
-probable that the young lord should see her defects when it would be
-too late for either of them to remedy the evil that had been done?
-She had thought something of all this before, having recognized the
-possibility of such a step as this after what she had seen at Hendon
-Hall. She had told herself that it would be well at any rate to
-discourage any such idea in Marion's heart, and had spoken jokingly
-of the gallantry of men of rank. Marion had smiled sweetly as she had
-listened to her friend's words, and had at once said that such
-manners were at any rate pretty and becoming in one so placed as Lord
-Hampstead. There had been something in this to make Mrs. Roden almost
-fear that her words had been taken as intending too much,—that
-Marion had accepted them as a caution against danger. Not for worlds
-would she have induced the girl to think that any danger was
-apprehended. But now the danger had come, and it behoved Mrs. Roden
-if possible to prevent the evil. "Will you come across with me now?"
-said Hampstead, having sat silent in his chair while these thoughts
-were passing through the lady's mind.</p>
-
-<p>"I think not, my lord."</p>
-
-<p>"Why not, Mrs. Roden? Will it not be better than that I should go
-alone?"</p>
-
-<p>"I hope you will not go at all."</p>
-
-<p>"I shall go,—certainly. I consider myself bound by all laws of
-honesty to tell her what she has done to me. She can then judge what
-may be best for herself."</p>
-
-<p>"Do not go at any rate to-day, Lord Hampstead. Let me beg at least as
-much as that of you. Consider the importance of the step you will be
-taking."</p>
-
-<p>"I have thought of it," said he.</p>
-
-<p>"Marion is as good as gold."</p>
-
-<p>"I know she is."</p>
-
-<p>"Marion, I say, is as good as gold; but is it likely that any girl
-should remain untouched and undazzled by such an offer as you can
-make her?"</p>
-
-<p>"Touched I hope she may be. As for dazzled,—I do not believe in it
-in the least. There are eyes which no false lights can dazzle."</p>
-
-<p>"But if she were touched, as would no doubt be the case," said Mrs.
-Roden, "could it be well that you with such duties before you should
-marry the daughter of Zachary Fay? Listen to me a moment," she
-continued, as he attempted to interrupt her. "I know what you would
-say, and I sympathize with much of it; but it cannot be well for
-society that classes should be mixed together suddenly and roughly."</p>
-
-<p>"What roughness would there be?" he asked.</p>
-
-<p>"As lords and ladies are at present, as dukes are, and duchesses, and
-such like, there would be a roughness to them in having Marion Fay
-presented to them as one of themselves. Lords have married low-born
-girls, I know, and the wives have been contented with a position
-which has almost been denied to them, or only grudgingly accorded. I
-have known something of that, my lord, and have felt—at any rate I
-have seen—its bitterness. Marion Fay would fade and sink to nothing
-if she were subjected to such contumely. To be Marion Fay is enough
-for her. To be your wife, and not to be thought fit to be your wife,
-would not be half enough."</p>
-
-<p>"She shall be thought fit."</p>
-
-<p>"You can make her Lady Hampstead, and demand that she shall be
-received at Court. You can deck her with diamonds, and cause her to
-be seated high in honour according to your own rank. But could you
-induce your father's wife to smile on her?" In answer to this he was
-dumb. "Do you think she would be contented if your father's wife were
-to frown on her?"</p>
-
-<p>"My father's wife is not everybody."</p>
-
-<p>"She would necessarily be much to your wife. Take a week, my lord, or
-a month, and think upon it. She expects nothing from you yet, and it
-is still in your power to save her from unhappiness."</p>
-
-<p>"I would make her happy, Mrs. Roden."</p>
-
-<p>"Think about it;—think about it."</p>
-
-<p>"And I would make myself happy also. You count my feelings as being
-nothing in the matter."</p>
-
-<p>"Nothing as compared with hers. You see how plainly I deal with you.
-Let me say that for a time your heart will be sore;—that you do in
-truth love this girl so as to feel that she is necessary to your
-happiness. Do you not know that if she were placed beyond your reach
-you would recover from that sting? The duties of the world would
-still be open to you. Being a man, you would still have before you
-many years for recovery before your youth had departed from you. Of
-course you would find some other woman, and be happy with her. For
-her, if she came to shipwreck in this venture, there would be no
-other chance."</p>
-
-<p>"I would make this chance enough for her."</p>
-
-<p>"So you think; but if you will look abroad you will see that the
-perils to her happiness which I have attempted to describe are not
-vain. I can say no more, my lord, but can only beg that you will take
-some little time to think of it before you put the thing out of your
-own reach. If she had once accepted your love I know that you would
-never go back."</p>
-
-<p>"Never."</p>
-
-<p>"Therefore think again while there is time." He slowly dragged
-himself up from his chair, and left her almost without a word at
-parting. She had persuaded him—to take another week. It was not that
-he doubted in the least his own purpose, but he did not know how to
-gainsay her as to this small request. In that frame of mind which is
-common to young men when they do not get all that they want, angry,
-disappointed, and foiled, he went down-stairs, and opened the front
-door,—and there on the very steps he met Marion Fay.</p>
-
-<p>"Marion," he said, pouring all the tenderness of his heart into his
-voice.</p>
-
-<p>"My lord?"</p>
-
-<p>"Come in, Marion,—for one moment." Then she followed him into the
-little passage, and there they stood. "I had come over to ask you how
-you are after our little party."</p>
-
-<p>"I am quite well;—and you?"</p>
-
-<p>"I have been away with my father, or I should have come sooner."</p>
-
-<p>"Nay;—it was not necessary that you should trouble yourself."</p>
-
-<p>"It is necessary;—it is necessary; or I should be troubled very
-much. I am troubled." She stood there looking down on the ground as
-though she were biding her time, but she did not speak to him. "She
-would not come with me," he said, pointing up the stairs on which
-Mrs. Roden was now standing. "She has told me that it is bad that I
-should come; but I will come one day soon." He was almost beside
-himself with love as he was speaking. The girl was so completely
-after his own heart as he stood there close to her, filled with her
-influences, that he was unable to restrain himself.</p>
-
-<p>"Come up, Marion dear," said Mrs. Roden, speaking from the landing.
-"It is hardly fair to keep Lord Hampstead standing in the passage."</p>
-
-<p>"It is most unfair," said Marion. "Good day, my lord."</p>
-
-<p>"I will stand here till you come down to me, unless you will speak to
-me again. I will not be turned out while you are here. Marion, you
-are all the world to me. I love you with my whole, whole heart. I had
-come here, dear, to tell you so;—but she has delayed me. She made me
-promise that I would not come again for a week, as though weeks or
-years could change me? Say one word to me, Marion. One word shall
-suffice now, and then I will go. Marion, can you love me?"</p>
-
-<p>"Come to me, Marion, come to me," said Mrs. Roden. "Do not answer him
-now."</p>
-
-<p>"No," said Marion, looking up, and laying her hand gently on the
-sleeve of his coat. "I will not answer him now. It is too sudden. I
-must think of words to answer such a speech. Lord Hampstead, I will
-go to her now."</p>
-
-<p>"But I shall hear from you."</p>
-
-<p>"You shall come to me again, and I will tell you."</p>
-
-<p>"To-morrow?"</p>
-
-<p>"Nay; but give me a day or two. On Friday I will be ready with my
-answer."</p>
-
-<p>"You will give me your hand, Marion." She gave it to him, and he
-covered it with kisses. "Only have this in your mind, fixed as fate,
-that no man ever loved a woman more truly than I love you. No man was
-ever more determined to carry out his purpose. I am in your hands.
-Think if you cannot dare to trust yourself into mine." Then he left
-her, and went back to the "Duchess of Edinburgh," not thinking much
-of the eyes which might be looking at him.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c2-3" id="c2-3"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER III.</h3>
-<h4>MARION'S VIEWS ABOUT MARRIAGE.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>When Lord Hampstead shut the door behind him, Marion went slowly up
-the stairs to Mrs. Roden, who had returned to her drawing-room. When
-she entered, her friend was standing near the door, with anxiety
-plainly written on her face,—with almost more than anxiety. She took
-Marion by the hand and, kissing her, led her to the sofa. "I would
-have stopped him if I could," she said.</p>
-
-<p>"Why should you have stopped him?"</p>
-
-<p>"Such things should be considered more."</p>
-
-<p>"He had made it too late for considering to be of service. I knew, I
-almost knew, that he would come."</p>
-
-<p>"You did?"</p>
-
-<p>"I can tell myself now that I did, though I could not say it even to
-myself before." There was a smile on her face as she spoke, and,
-though her colour was heightened, there was none of that peculiar
-flush which Mrs. Roden so greatly feared to see. Nor was there any
-special excitement in her manner. There was no look either of awe or
-of triumph. She seemed to take it as a matter of course, quite as
-much at least as any Lady Amaldina could have done, who might have
-been justified by her position in expecting that some young noble
-eldest son would fling himself at her feet.</p>
-
-<p>"And are you ready with your answer?" Marion turned her eyes towards
-her friend, but made no immediate reply. "My darling girl,—for you
-in truth are very dear to me,—much thought should be given to such
-an appeal as that before any answer is made."</p>
-
-<p>"I have thought."</p>
-
-<p>"And are you ready?"</p>
-
-<p>"I think so. Dear Mrs. Roden, do not look at me like that. If I do
-not say more to tell you immediately it is because I am not perhaps
-quite sure;—not sure, at any rate, of the reasons I may have to
-give. I will come to you to-morrow, and then I will tell you."</p>
-
-<p>There was room then at any rate for hope! If the girl had not quite
-resolved to grasp at the high destiny offered to her, it was still
-her friend's duty to say something that might influence her.</p>
-
-<p>"Marion, dear!"</p>
-
-<p>"Say all that you think, Mrs. Roden. Surely you know that I know that
-whatever may come from you will come in love. I have no mother, and
-to whom can I go better than to you to fill a mother's place?"</p>
-
-<p>"Dear Marion, it is thus I feel towards you. What I would say to you
-I would say to my own child. There are great differences in the ranks
-of men."</p>
-
-<p>"I have felt that."</p>
-
-<p>"And though I do in my honest belief think that the best and
-honestest of God's creatures are not always to be found among
-so-called nobles, yet I think that a certain great respect should be
-paid to those whom chance has raised to high places."</p>
-
-<p>"Do I not respect him?"</p>
-
-<p>"I hope so. But perhaps you may not show it best by loving him."</p>
-
-<p>"As to that, it is a matter in which one can, perhaps, hardly control
-oneself. If asked for love it will come from you like water from a
-fountain. Unless it be so, then it cannot come at all."</p>
-
-<p>"That surely is a dangerous doctrine for a young woman."</p>
-
-<p>"Young women, I think, are compassed by many dangers," said Marion;
-"and I know but one way of meeting them."</p>
-
-<p>"What way is that, dear?"</p>
-
-<p>"I will tell you, if I can find how to tell it, to-morrow."</p>
-
-<p>"There is one point, Marion, on which I feel myself bound to warn
-you, as I endeavoured also to warn him. To him my words seemed to
-have availed nothing; but you, I think, are more reasonable. Unequal
-marriages never make happy either the one side or the other."</p>
-
-<p>"I hope I may do nothing to make him unhappy."</p>
-
-<p>"Unhappy for a moment you must make him;—for a month, perhaps, or
-for a year; though it were for years, what would that be to his whole
-life?"</p>
-
-<p>"For years?" said Marion. "No, not for years. Would it be more than
-for days, do you think?"</p>
-
-<p>"I cannot tell what may be the nature of the young man's heart;—nor
-can you. But as to that, it cannot be your duty to take much thought.
-Of his lasting welfare you are bound to think."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, yes; of that certainly;—of that above all things."</p>
-
-<p>"I mean as to this world. Of what may come afterwards to one so
-little known we here can hardly dare to speak,—or even to think. But
-a girl, when she has been asked to marry a man, is bound to think of
-his welfare in this life."</p>
-
-<p>"I cannot but think of his eternal welfare also," said Marion.</p>
-
-<p>"Unequal marriages are always unhappy," said Mrs. Roden, repeating
-her great argument.</p>
-
-<p>"Always?"</p>
-
-<p>"I fear so. Could you be happy if his great friends, his father, and
-his stepmother, and all those high-born lords and ladies who are
-connected with him,—could you be happy if they frowned on you?"</p>
-
-<p>"What would their frowns be to me? If he smiled I should be happy. If
-the world were light and bright to him, it would certainly be light
-and bright to me."</p>
-
-<p>"I thought so once, Marion. I argued with myself once just as you are
-arguing now."</p>
-
-<p>"Nay, Mrs. Roden, I am hardly arguing."</p>
-
-<p>"It was just so that I spoke to myself, saying that the joy which I
-took in a man's love would certainly be enough for my happiness. But
-oh, alas! I fell to the ground. I will tell you now more of myself
-than I have told any one for many a year, more even than I have told
-George. I will tell you because I know that I can trust your faith."</p>
-
-<p>"Yes; you can trust me," said Marion.</p>
-
-<p>"I also married greatly; greatly, as the world's honours are
-concerned. In mere rank I stood as a girl higher perhaps than you do
-now. But I was lifted out of my own degree, and in accepting the name
-which my husband gave me I assured myself that I would do honour to
-it, at any rate by my conduct. I did it no dishonour;—but my
-marriage was most unfortunate."</p>
-
-<p>"Was he good?" asked Marion.</p>
-
-<p>"He was weak. Are you sure that Lord Hampstead is strong? He was
-fickle-hearted. Can you be sure that Lord Hampstead will be constant
-amidst the charms of others whose manners will be more like his own
-than yours can be?"</p>
-
-<p>"I think he would be constant," said Marion.</p>
-
-<p>"Because you are ready to worship him who has condescended to step
-down from his high pedestal and worship you. Is it not so?"</p>
-
-<p>"It may be that it is so," said Marion.</p>
-
-<p>"Ah, yes, my child. It may be that it is so. And then, think of what
-may follow,—not only for him, but for you also; not only for you,
-but for him also. Broken hearts, crushed ambitions, hopes all dead,
-personal dislikes, and perhaps hatred."</p>
-
-<p>"Not hatred; not hatred."</p>
-
-<p>"I lived to be hated;—and why not another?" Then she was silent, and
-Marion rising from her seat kissed her, and went away to her home.</p>
-
-<p>She had very much to think of. Though she had declared that she had
-almost expected this offer from her lover, still it could not be that
-the Quaker girl, the daughter of Zachary Fay, Messrs. Pogson and
-Littlebird's clerk, should not be astounded by having such an offer
-from such a suitor as Lord Hampstead. But in truth the glory of the
-thing was not very much to her. It was something, no doubt. It must
-be something to a girl to find that her own personal charms have
-sufficed to lure down from his lofty perch the topmost bird of them
-all. That Marion was open to some such weakness may be acknowledged
-of her. But of the coronet, of the diamonds, of the lofty title, and
-high seats, of the castle, and the parks, and well-arranged
-equipages, of the rich dresses, of the obsequious servants, and
-fawning world that would be gathered around her, it may be said that
-she thought not at all. She had in her short life seen one man who
-had pleased her ear and her eye, and had touched her heart; and that
-one man had instantly declared himself to be all her own. That made
-her bosom glow with some feeling of triumph!</p>
-
-<p>That same evening she abruptly told the whole story to her father.
-"Father," she said, "Lord Hampstead was here to-day."</p>
-
-<p>"Here, in this house?"</p>
-
-<p>"Not in this house. But I met him at our friend's, whom I went to
-see, as is my custom almost daily."</p>
-
-<p>"I am glad he came not here," said the Quaker.</p>
-
-<p>"Why should you be glad?" To this the Quaker made no answer.</p>
-
-<p>"His purpose was to have come here. It was to see me that he came."</p>
-
-<p>"To see thee?"</p>
-
-<p>"Father, the young lord has asked me to be his wife."</p>
-
-<p>"Asked thee to be his wife!"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, indeed. Have you not often heard that young men may be
-infatuated? It has chanced that I have been the Cinderella for his
-eyes."</p>
-
-<p>"But thou art no princess, child."</p>
-
-<p>"And, therefore, am unfit to mate with this prince. I could not
-answer him at once, father. It was too sudden for me to find the
-words. And the place was hardly fitting. But I have found them now."</p>
-
-<p>"What words, my child?"</p>
-
-<p>"I will tell him with all respect and deference,—nay, I will tell
-him with some love, for I do love him,—that it will become him to
-look for his wife elsewhere."</p>
-
-<p>"Marion," said the Quaker, who was somewhat moved by those things
-which had altogether failed with the girl herself; "Marion, must it
-be so?"</p>
-
-<p>"Father, it must certainly be so."</p>
-
-<p>"And yet thou lovest him?"</p>
-
-<p>"Though I were dying for his love it must be so."</p>
-
-<p>"Why, my child, why? As far as I saw the young man he is good and
-gracious, of great promise, and like to be true-hearted."</p>
-
-<p>"Good, and gracious, and true-hearted! Oh, yes! And would you have it
-that I should bring such a one as that to sorrow,—perhaps to
-disgrace?"</p>
-
-<p>"Why to sorrow? Why to disgrace? Wouldst thou be more likely to
-disgrace a husband than one of those painted Jezebels who know no
-worship but that of their faded beauty? Thou hast not answered him,
-Marion?"</p>
-
-<p>"No, father. He is to come on Friday for my answer."</p>
-
-<p>"Think of it yet again, my child. Three days are no time for
-considering a matter of such moment. Bid him leave you for ten days
-further."</p>
-
-<p>"I am ready now," said Marion.</p>
-
-<p>"And yet thou lovest him! That is not true to nature, Marion. I would
-not bid thee take a man's hand because he is rich and great if thou
-couldst not give him thy heart in return. I would not have thee break
-any law of God or man for the glitter of gold or tinsel of rank. But
-the good things of this world, if they be come by honestly, are good.
-And the love of an honest man, if thou lovest him thyself in return,
-is not of the less worth because he stands high in wealth and in
-honour."</p>
-
-<p>"Shall I think nothing of him, father?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yea, verily; it will be thy duty to think of him, almost exclusively
-of him,—when thou shalt be his wife."</p>
-
-<p>"Then, father, shall I never think of him."</p>
-
-<p>"Wilt thou pay no heed to my words, so as to crave from him further
-time for thought?"</p>
-
-<p>"Not a moment. Father, you must not be angry with your child for
-this. My own feelings tell me true. My own heart, and my own heart
-alone, can dictate to me what I shall say to him. There are
-<span class="nowrap">reasons—"</span></p>
-
-<p>"What reasons?"</p>
-
-<p>"There are reasons why my mother's daughter should not marry this
-man." Then there came a cloud across his brow, and he looked at her
-as though almost overcome by his anger. It seemed as though he strove
-to speak; but he sat for a while in silence. Then rising from his
-chair he left the room, and did not see her again that night.</p>
-
-<p>This was on a Tuesday; on the Wednesday he did not speak to her on
-the subject. The Thursday was Christmas Day, and she went to church
-with Mrs. Roden. Nor did he on that day allude to the matter; but on
-the evening she made to him a little request. "To-morrow, father, is
-a holiday, is it not, in the City?"</p>
-
-<p>"So they tell me. I hate such tom-fooleries. When I was young a man
-might be allowed to earn his bread on all lawful days of the week.
-Now he is expected to spend the wages he cannot earn in drinking and
-shows."</p>
-
-<p>"Father, you must leave me here alone after our dinner. He will come
-for his answer."</p>
-
-<p>"And you will give it?"</p>
-
-<p>"Certainly, father, certainly. Do not question me further, for it
-must be as I told you." Then he left her as he had done before; but
-he did not urge her with any repetition of his request.</p>
-
-<p>This was what occurred between Marion and her father; but on the
-Wednesday she had gone to Mrs. Roden as she had promised, and there
-explained her purpose more fully than she had before been able to do.
-"I have come, you see," she said, smiling. "I might have told you all
-at once, for I have changed nothing of my mind since first he spoke
-to me all so suddenly in the passage down-stairs."</p>
-
-<p>"Are you so sure of yourself?"</p>
-
-<p>"Quite sure;—quite sure. Do you think I would hurt him?"</p>
-
-<p>"No, no. You would not, I know, do so willingly."</p>
-
-<p>"And yet I must hurt him a little. I hope it will hurt him just a
-little." Mrs. Roden stared at her. "Oh, if I could make him
-understand it all! If I could bid him be a man, so that it should
-wound him only for a short time."</p>
-
-<p>"What wound!"</p>
-
-<p>"Did you think that I could take him, I, the daughter of a City
-clerk, to go and sit in his halls, and shame him before all the
-world, because he had thought fit to make me his wife? Never!"</p>
-
-<p>"Marion, Marion!"</p>
-
-<p>"Because he has made a mistake which has honoured me, shall I mistake
-also, so as to dishonour him? Because he has not seen the distance,
-shall I be blind to it? He would have given himself up for me. Shall
-I not be able to make a sacrifice? To such a one as I am to sacrifice
-myself is all that I can do in the world."</p>
-
-<p>"Is it such a sacrifice?"</p>
-
-<p>"Could it be that I should not love him? When such a one comes,
-casting his pearls about, throwing sweet odours through the air,
-whispering words which are soft-sounding as music in the heavens,
-whispering them to me, casting them at me, turning on me the laughing
-glances of his young eyes, how could I help to love him? Do you
-remember when for a moment he knelt almost at my feet, and told me
-that I was his friend, and spoke to me of his hearth? Did you think
-that that did not move me?"</p>
-
-<p>"So soon, my child;—so soon?"</p>
-
-<p>"In a moment. Is it not so that it is done always?"</p>
-
-<p>"Hearts are harder than that, Marion."</p>
-
-<p>"Mine, I think, was so soft just then that the half of his sweet
-things would have ravished it from my bosom. But I feel for myself
-that there are two parts in me. Though the one can melt away, and
-pass altogether from my control, can gush like water that runs out
-and cannot be checked, the other has something in it of hard
-substance which can stand against blows, even from him."</p>
-
-<p>"What is that something, Marion?"</p>
-
-<p>"Nay, I cannot name it. I think it be another heart, of finer
-substance, or it may be it is woman's pride, which will suffer all
-things rather than hurt the one it loves. I know myself. No words
-from him,—no desire to see his joy, as he would be joyful, if I told
-him that I could give him all he asks,—no longing for all his love
-could do for me, shall move me one tittle. He shall tell himself to
-his dying day that the Quaker girl, because she loved him, was true
-to his interests."</p>
-
-<p>"My child;—my child!" said Mrs. Roden, taking Marion in her arms.</p>
-
-<p>"Do you think that I do not know,—that I have forgotten? Was it
-nothing to me to see my—mother die, and her little ones? Do I not
-know that I am not, as others are, free to wed, not a lord like that,
-but even one of my own standing? Mrs. Roden, if I can live till my
-poor father shall have gone before me, so that he may not be left
-alone when the weakness of age shall have come upon him,—then,—then
-I shall be satisfied to follow them. No dream of loving had ever
-crossed my mind. He has come, and without my mind, the dream has been
-dreamed. I think that my lot will be happier so, than if I had passed
-away without any feeling such as that I have now. Perhaps he will not
-marry till I am gone."</p>
-
-<p>"Would that hurt you so sorely?"</p>
-
-<p>"It ought not. It shall not. It will be well that he should marry,
-and I will not wish to cause him evil. He will have gone away, and I
-shall hardly know of it. Perhaps they will not tell me." Mrs. Roden
-could only embrace her, sobbing, wiping her eyes with piteousness.
-"But I will not begrudge aught of the sacrifice," she continued.
-"There is nothing, I think, sweeter than to deny oneself all things
-for love. What are our lessons for but to teach us that? Shall I not
-do unto him as it would be well for me that some such girl should do
-for my sake if I were such as he?"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, Marion, you have got the better part."</p>
-
-<p>"And yet,—and yet—. I would that he should feel a little because he
-cannot have the toy that has pleased his eye. What was it that he saw
-in me, do you think?" As she asked the question she cheered up
-wonderfully.</p>
-
-<p>"The beauty of your brow and eyes,—the softness of your woman's
-voice."</p>
-
-<p>"Nay, but I think it was my Quaker dress. His eye, perhaps, likes
-things all of a colour. I had, too, new gloves and a new frock when
-he saw me. How well I remember his coming,—how he would glance round
-at me till I hardly knew whether I was glad that he should observe me
-so much,—or offended at his persistence. I think that I was glad,
-though I told myself that he should not have glanced at me so often.
-And then, when he asked us to go down to his house I did long,—I did
-long,—to win father's consent to the journey. Had he not
-<span class="nowrap">gone—"</span></p>
-
-<p>"Do not think of it, Marion."</p>
-
-<p>"That I will not promise;—but I will not talk of it. Now, dear Mrs.
-Roden, let all then be as though it had never been. I do not mean to
-mope, or to neglect my work, because a young lord has crossed my path
-and told me that he loves me. I must send him from me, and then I
-will be just as I have been always." Having made this promise she
-went away, leaving Mrs. Roden much more flurried by the interview
-than was she herself. When the Friday came, holiday as it was, the
-Quaker took himself off to the City after dinner, without another
-word as to his daughter's lover.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c2-4" id="c2-4"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER IV.</h3>
-<h4>LORD HAMPSTEAD IS IMPATIENT.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>Hampstead, when he was sent away from Paradise Row, and bade to wait
-till Friday for an answer, was disappointed, almost cross, and
-unreasonable in his feelings towards Mrs. Roden. To Mrs. Roden
-altogether he attributed it that Marion had deferred her reply.
-Whether the delay thus enjoined told well or ill for his hopes he
-could not bring himself to determine. As he drove himself home his
-mind was swayed now in one direction and now in the other. Unless she
-loved him somewhat, unless she thought it possible that she should
-love him, she would hardly have asked for time to think of it all.
-And yet, had she really have loved him, why should she have asked for
-time? He had done for her all that a man could do for a girl, and if
-she loved him she should not have tormented him by foolish
-delays,—by coying her love!</p>
-
-<p>It should be said on his behalf that he attributed to himself no
-preponderance of excellence, either on the score of his money or his
-rank. He was able so to honour the girl as to think of her that such
-things would go for nothing with her. It was not that he had put his
-coronet at her feet, but his heart. It was of that he thought when he
-reminded himself of all that he had done for her, and told himself
-angrily that she should not have tormented him. He was as arrogant
-and impatient of disappointment as any young lord of them all,—but
-it was not, however, because he was a lord that he thought that
-Marion's heart was due to him.</p>
-
-<p>"I have been over to Holloway," he said to his sister, almost as soon
-as he had returned.</p>
-
-<p>Out of the full heart the mouth speaks. "Have you seen George?" asked
-Lady Frances.</p>
-
-<p>"No; I did not go to see him. He, of course, would be at his office
-during the day. I went about my own business."</p>
-
-<p>"You need not be so savage with me, John. What was your own business
-at Holloway?"</p>
-
-<p>"I went to ask Marion Fay to be my wife."</p>
-
-<p>"You did?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes; I did. Why should I not? It seems the fashion for us all now to
-marry just those we fancy best."</p>
-
-<p>"And why not? Have I gainsaid you? If this Quaker's daughter be good
-and honest, and fair to look
-<span class="nowrap">at—"</span></p>
-
-<p>"That she is fair to look at I can say certainly. That she is good I
-believe thoroughly. That she is honest, at any rate to me, I cannot
-say as yet."</p>
-
-<p>"Not honest?"</p>
-
-<p>"She will not steal or pick a pocket, if you mean that."</p>
-
-<p>"What is it, John? Why do you speak of her in this way?"</p>
-
-<p>"Because I have chosen to tell you. Having made up my mind to do this
-thing, I would not keep it secret as though I were ashamed of it. How
-can I say that she is honest till she has answered me honestly?"</p>
-
-<p>"What answer has she made you?" she asked.</p>
-
-<p>"None;—as yet! She has told me to come again another day."</p>
-
-<p>"I like her better for that."</p>
-
-<p>"Why should you like her better? Just because you're a woman, and
-think that shilly-shallying and pretending not to know your own mind,
-and keeping a fellow in suspense, is becoming. I am not going to
-change my mind about Marion; but I do think that mock hesitation is
-unnecessary, and in some degree dishonest."</p>
-
-<p>"Must it necessarily be mock hesitation? Ought she not to be sure of
-herself that she can love you?"</p>
-
-<p>"Certainly; or that she should not love me. I am not such a puppy as
-to suppose that she is to throw herself into my arms just because I
-ask her. But I think that she must have known something of herself so
-as to have been able to tell me either to hope or not to hope. She
-was as calm as a Minister in the House of Commons answering a
-question; and she told me to wait till Friday just as those fellows
-do when they have to find out from the clerks in the office what it
-is they ought to say."</p>
-
-<p>"You will go again on Friday?" she asked.</p>
-
-<p>"Of course I must. It is not likely that she should come to me. And
-then if she says that she'd rather not, I must come home once more
-with my tail between my legs."</p>
-
-<p>"I do not think she will say that."</p>
-
-<p>"How can you tell?"</p>
-
-<p>"It is the nature of a girl, I think," said Lady Frances, "to doubt a
-little when she thinks that she can love, but not to doubt at all
-when she feels that she cannot. She may be persuaded afterwards to
-change her mind, but at first she is certain enough."</p>
-
-<p>"I call that shilly-shally."</p>
-
-<p>"Not at all. The girl I'm speaking of is honest throughout. And Miss
-Fay will have been honest should she accept you now. It is not often
-that such a one as you, John, can ask a girl in vain."</p>
-
-<p>"That is mean," he said, angrily. "That is imputing falseness, and
-greed, and dishonour to the girl I love. If she has liked some fellow
-clerk in her father's office better than she likes me, shall she
-accept me merely because I am my father's son?"</p>
-
-<p>"It was not that of which I was thinking. A man may have personal
-gifts which will certainly prevail with a girl young and unsullied by
-the world, as I suppose is your Marion Fay."</p>
-
-<p>"Bosh," he said, laughing. "As far as personal gifts are concerned,
-one fellow is pretty nearly the same as another. A girl has to be
-good-looking. A man has got to have something to buy bread and cheese
-with. After that it is all a mere matter of liking and
-disliking—unless, indeed, people are dishonest, which they very
-often are."</p>
-
-<p>Up to this period of his life Lord Hampstead had never met any girl
-whom he had thought it desirable to make his wife. It was now two
-years since the present Marchioness had endeavoured to arrange an
-alliance between him and her own niece, Lady Amaldina Hauteville.
-This, though but two years had passed since, seemed to him to have
-occurred at a distant period of his life. Very much had occurred to
-him during those two years. His political creed had been strengthened
-by the convictions of others, especially by those of George Roden,
-till it had included those advanced opinions which have been
-described. He had annoyed, and then dismayed, his father by his
-continued refusal to go into Parliament. He had taken to himself ways
-of living of his own, which gave to him the manners and appearance of
-more advanced age. At that period, two years since, his stepmother
-still conceived high hopes of him, even though he would occasionally
-utter in her presence opinions which seemed to be terrible. He was
-then not of age, and there would be time enough for a woman of her
-tact and intellect to cure all those follies. The best way of curing
-them, she thought, would be by arranging a marriage between the heir
-to the Marquisate and the daughter of so distinguished a conservative
-Peer as her brother-in-law, Lord Persiflage. Having this high object
-in view, she opened the matter with diplomatic caution to her sister.
-Lady Persiflage had at that moment begun to regard Lord Llwddythlw as
-a possible son-in-law, but was alive to the fact that Lord Hampstead
-possessed some superior advantages. It was possible that her girl
-should really love such a one as Lord Hampstead,—hardly possible
-that there should be anything romantic in a marriage with the heir of
-the Duke of Merioneth. As far as wealth and rank went there was
-enough in both competitors. She whispered therefore to her girl the
-name of the younger aspirant,—aspirant as he might be hoped to
-be,—and the girl was not opposed to the idea. Only let there be no
-falling to the ground between two stools; no starving for want of
-fodder between two bundles of hay! Lord Llwddythlw had already begun
-to give symptoms. No doubt he was bald; no doubt he was pre-occupied
-with Parliament and the county. There was no doubt that his wife
-would have to encounter that touch of ridicule which a young girl
-incurs when she marries a man altogether removed beyond the world of
-romance. But dukes are scarce, and the man of business was known to
-be a man of high honour. There would be no gambling, no difficulties,
-no possible question of a want of money. And then his politics were
-the grandest known in England,—those of an old Tory willing always
-to work for his party without desiring any of those rewards which the
-"party" wishes to divide among as select a number as possible. What
-Lord Hampstead might turn out to be, there was as yet no knowing. He
-had already declared himself to be a Radical. He was fond of hunting,
-and it was quite on the cards that he should take to Newmarket. Then,
-too, his father might live for five-and-twenty years, whereas the
-Duke of Merioneth was already nearly eighty. But Hampstead was as
-beautiful as a young Phœbus, and the pair would instantly become
-famous if only from their good looks alone. The chance was given to
-Lady Amaldina, but only given on the understanding that she must make
-very quick work of her time.</p>
-
-<p>Hampstead was coaxed down to Castle Hautboy for a month in September,
-with an idea that the young lovers might be as romantic as they
-pleased among the Lakes. Some little romance there was; but at the
-end of the first week Amaldina wisely told her mother that the thing
-wouldn't do. She would always be glad to regard Lord Hampstead as a
-cousin, but as to anything else, there must be an end of it. "I shall
-some day give up my title and abandon the property to Freddy. I shall
-then go to the United States, and do the best I can there to earn my
-own bread." This little speech, made by the proposed lover to the
-girl he was expected to marry, opened Lady Amaldina's eyes to the
-danger of her situation. Lord Llwddythlw was induced to spend two
-days in the following month at Castle Hautboy, and then the
-arrangements for the Welsh alliance were completed.</p>
-
-<p>From that time forth a feeling of ill-will on the part of Lady
-Kingsbury towards her stepson had grown and become strong from month
-to month. She had not at first conceived any idea that her Lord
-Frederic ought to come to the throne. That had come gradually when
-she perceived, or thought that she perceived, that Hampstead would
-hardly make a marriage properly aristocratic. Hitherto no tidings of
-any proposed marriage had reached her ears. She lived at last in
-daily fear, as any marriage would be the almost sure forerunner of a
-little Lord Highgate. If something might happen,—something which she
-had taught herself to regard as beneficent and fitting rather than
-fatal,—something which might ensure to her little Lord Frederic
-those prospects which he had almost a right to expect, then in spite
-of all her sufferings Heaven would have done something for her for
-which she might be thankful. "What will her ladyship say when she
-hears of my maid Marion?" said Hampstead to his sister on the
-Christmas Day before his further visit to Holloway.</p>
-
-<p>"Will it matter much?" asked Lady Frances.</p>
-
-<p>"I think my feelings towards her are softer than yours. She is silly,
-arrogant, harsh, and insolent to my father, and altogether
-unprincipled in her expectations and ambitions."</p>
-
-<p>"What a character you give her," said his sister.</p>
-
-<p>"But nevertheless I feel for her to such an extent that I almost
-think I ought to abolish myself."</p>
-
-<p>"I cannot say that I feel for her."</p>
-
-<p>"It is all for her son that she wants it; and I agree with her in
-thinking that Freddy will be better fitted than I am for the position
-in question. I am determined to marry Marion if I can get her; but
-all the Traffords, unless it be yourself, will be broken-hearted at
-such a marriage. If once I have a son of my own the matter will be
-hopeless. If I were to call myself Snooks, and refused to take a
-shilling from the property, I should do them no good. Marion's boy
-would be just as much in their way as I am."</p>
-
-<p>"What a way of looking at it."</p>
-
-<p>"How my stepmother will hate her! A Quaker's daughter! A clerk at
-Pogson and Littlebird's! Living at Paradise Row! Can't you see her!
-Is it not hard upon her that we should both go to Paradise Row?" Lady
-Frances could not keep herself from laughing. "You can't do her any
-permanent injury, because you are only a girl; but I think she will
-poison me. It will end in her getting Mr. Greenwood to give me some
-broth."</p>
-
-<p>"John, you are too terrible."</p>
-
-<p>"If I could be on the jury afterwards, I would certainly acquit them
-both on the ground of extreme provocation."</p>
-
-<p>Early on the following morning he was in a fidget, having fixed no
-hour for his visit to Holloway. It was not likely that she should be
-out or engaged, but he determined not to go till after lunch. All
-employment was out of the question, and he was rather a trouble to
-his sister; but in the course of the morning there came a letter
-which did for a while occupy his thoughts. The envelope was addressed
-in a hand he did not know, and was absurdly addressed to the</p>
-
-
-<div class="center">
-<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0"><tr><td>
-<p class="noindent">"<span class="smallcaps">Right Honourable,</span><br />
-<span class="ind4"><span class="smallcaps">The Lord Hampstead</span>."</span></p>
-</td></tr></table>
-</div>
-
-
-<p>"I wonder who this ass is," said he, tearing it open. The ass was
-Samuel Crocker, and the letter was as
-<span class="nowrap">follows;—</span><br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p class="jright">Heathcote Street,<br />
-Mecklenburg Square,<br />
-Christmas Day, 18—.</p>
-
-<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear
-Lord Hampstead</span>,</p>
-
-<p>I hope I may be excused for addressing your lordship in
-this familiar manner. I take occasion of this happy day to
-write to your lordship on a message of peace. Since I had
-the honour of meeting you at your noble uncle's mansion,
-Castle Hautboy, I have considered it one of the greatest
-delights of my life to be able to boast of your
-acquaintance. You will not, I am sure, forget that we have
-been fellow sportsmen, and that we rode together on that
-celebrated run when we killed our fox in the field just
-over Airey Force. I shall never forget the occasion, or
-how well your lordship went over our rough country. To my
-mind there is no bond of union so strong as that of sport.</p>
-
-
-<div class="center">
-<table class="sm" style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0"><tr><td>
-<p class="noindent">"Up strikes little Davy with his musical horn."</p>
-</td></tr></table>
-</div>
-
-
-<p>I am sure you will remember that, my lord, and the
-beautiful song to which it belongs. I remember, too, how,
-as we were riding home after the run, your lordship was
-talking all the way about our mutual friend, George Roden.</p>
-
-<p>He is a man for whom I have a most sincere regard, both as
-being an excellent public servant, and as a friend of your
-lordship's. It is quite a pleasure to see the way in which
-he devotes himself to the service,—as I do also. When you
-have taken the Queen's shilling you ought to earn it.
-Those are my principles, my lord. We have a couple of
-young fellows there whose only object it is to get through
-the day and eat their lunches. I always tell them that
-official hours ain't their own. I suppose they'll
-understand me some day.</p>
-
-<p>But as I was saying to your lordship about George Roden,
-there has something come up which I don't quite
-understand, which seems to have turned him against me.
-Nothing has ever given me so much pleasure as when I heard
-of his prospects as to a certain matter—which your
-lordship will know what I mean. Nothing could be more
-flattering than the way I've wished him joy ever so many
-times. So I do also your lordship and her ladyship,
-because he is a most respectable young man, though his
-station in life isn't so high as some people's. But a
-clerk in H. M. S. has always been taken for a gentleman
-which I am proud to think is my position as well as his.</p>
-
-<p>But, as I was saying to your lordship, something seems to
-have gone against him as to our mutual friendship. He sits
-there opposite and won't speak a word to me, except just
-to answer a question, and that hardly civil. He is as
-sweet as sugar to those fellows who ain't at the same desk
-with him as I am,—or I should think it was his future
-prospects were making him upsetting. Couldn't your
-lordship do something to make things up between us
-again,—especially on this festive occasion? I'm sure your
-lordship will remember how pleasant we were together at
-Castle Hautboy, and at the hunt, and especially as we were
-riding home together on that day. I did take the liberty
-of calling at Hendon Hall, when her ladyship was kind
-enough to see me. Of course there was a delicacy in
-speaking to her ladyship about Mr. Roden, which nobody
-could understand better than I do; but I think she made me
-something of a promise that she would say a word when a
-proper time might come.</p>
-
-<p>It could only have been a joke of mine; and I do joke
-sometimes, as your lordship may have observed. But I
-shouldn't think Roden would be the man to be mortally
-offended by anything of that sort. Anyway, I will leave
-the matter in your lordship's hands, merely remarking
-that,—as your lordship may remember,—"Blessed are the
-peace-makers, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven."</p>
-
-<p class="noindent"><span class="ind4">I have the honour to be,</span><br />
-<span class="ind6">My dear Lord Hampstead,</span><br />
-<span class="ind8">Your lordship's most obedient,</span><br />
-<span class="ind10">Very humble servant,</span></p>
-
-<p class="ind12"><span class="smallcaps">Samuel Crocker</span>.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p>Fretful and impatient as he was on that morning, it was impossible
-for Hampstead not to laugh at this letter. He showed it to his
-sister, who, in spite of her annoyance, was constrained to laugh
-also. "I shall tell George to take him to his bosom at once," said
-he.</p>
-
-<p>"Why should George be bothered with him?"</p>
-
-<p>"Because George can't help himself. They sit at the same desk
-together, as Crocker has not forgotten to tell me a dozen times. When
-a man perseveres in this way, and is thick-skinned enough to bear all
-rebuffs, there is nothing he will not accomplish. I have no doubt he
-will be riding my horses in Leicestershire before the season is
-over." An answer, however, was written to him in the following
-<span class="nowrap">words;—</span><br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dear Mr. Crocker</span>,</p>
-
-<p>I am afraid I cannot interfere with Mr. Roden, who doesn't
-like to be dictated to in such matters.</p>
-
-<p class="ind12">Yours truly,</p>
-
-<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">Hampstead</span>.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p>"There," said he; "I do not think he can take that letter as a mark
-of friendship."</p>
-
-<p>In this way the morning was passed till the time came for the start
-to Holloway. Lady Frances, standing at the hall door as he got into
-his trap, saw that the fashion of his face was unusually serious.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c2-5" id="c2-5"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER V.</h3>
-<h4>THE QUAKER'S ELOQUENCE.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>When the Friday morning came in Paradise Row both father and
-daughter, at No. 17, were full of thought as they came down to
-breakfast. To each of them it was a day laden with importance. The
-father's mind had been full of the matter ever since the news had
-been told to him. He had received Marion's positive assurance that
-such a marriage was altogether impossible with something of
-impatience till she had used that argument as to her own health,
-which was so powerful with her. On hearing that he had said nothing,
-but had gone away. Nor had he spoken a word on the subject since. But
-his mind had been full of it. He had lost his wife,—and all his
-little ones, as she had said; but he had declared to himself with
-strong confidence that this child was to be spared to him. He was a
-man whose confidence was unbounded in things as to which he had
-resolved. It was as though he had determined, in spite of Fate, in
-spite of God, that his Marion should live. And she had grown up under
-his eyes, if not robust, by no means a weak creature. She did her
-work about the house, and never complained. In his eyes she was very
-beautiful; but he saw nothing in her colour which was not to him a
-sign of health. He told himself that it was nothing that she, having
-seen so many die in her own family, should condemn herself; but for
-himself he repudiated the idea, and declared to himself that she
-should not become an early victim. So thinking, he exercised his mind
-constantly during those few days in considering whether there was any
-adequate cause for the refusal which Marion had determined to give
-this man.</p>
-
-<p>He, in truth, was terribly anxious that this grand stroke of fortune
-should be acknowledged and accepted. He wanted nothing from the young
-lord himself,—except, perhaps, that he might be the young lord's
-father-in-law. But he did want it all, long for it all, pant for it
-all, on behalf of his girl. If all these good things came in his
-girl's way because of her beauty, her grace, and her merit, why
-should they not be accepted? Others not only accepted these things
-for their daughters, but hunted for them, cheated for them, did all
-mean things in searching for them,—and had their tricks and their
-lies regarded by the world quite as a matter of course,—because it
-was natural that parents should be anxious for their children. He had
-not hunted. He had not cheated. The thing had come in his girl's way.
-The man had found her to be the most lovely, the most attractive, the
-most loveable among all whom he had seen. And was this glory to be
-thrown away because she had filled her mind with false fears? Though
-she were to die, must not the man take his chance with her, as do
-other husbands in marrying other wives?</p>
-
-<p>He had been thinking of this, and of nothing but this, during the
-days which had intervened since Lord Hampstead had been in Paradise
-Row. He had not said a word to his daughter,—had indeed not dared to
-say a word to her, so abhorrent to him was the idea of discussing
-with her the probabilities of her own living or dying. And he was
-doubtful, too, whether any words coming from him at the present might
-not strengthen her in her resolution. If the man really loved her he
-might prevail. His words would be stronger to overcome her than any
-that could be spoken by her father. And then, too, if he really loved
-her, the one repulse would not send him back for ever. It might,
-perhaps, be better that any arguments from her father should be
-postponed till she should have heard her lover's arguments. But his
-mind was so filled with the whole matter that he could not bring
-himself to assure himself certainly that his decision was the best.
-Though he was one who rarely needed counsel from others, on this
-occasion he did need it, and now it was his purpose to ask counsel of
-Mrs. Roden before the moment should have come which might be fatal to
-his hopes.</p>
-
-<p>As this was the day immediately following Christmas, there was no
-business for him in the City. In order that the weary holiday might
-be quicker consumed, they breakfasted at No. 17 an hour later than
-was usual. After breakfast he got through the morning as well as he
-could with his newspaper, and some record of stocks and prices which
-he had brought with him from the City. So he remained, fretful, doing
-nothing, pretending to read, but with his mind fixed upon the one
-subject, till it was twelve o'clock, at which hour he had determined
-to make his visit. At half-past one they were to dine, each of them
-having calculated, without, however, a word having been spoken, that
-Lord Hampstead would certainly not come till the ceremony of dinner
-would be over. Though the matter was so vitally important to both of
-them, not a word concerning it was spoken.</p>
-
-<p>At twelve o'clock he took up his hat, and walked out. "You will be
-back punctually for dinner, father?" she asked. He made his promise
-simply by nodding his head, and then left the room. Five minutes
-afterwards he was closeted with Mrs. Roden in her drawing-room.
-Having conceived the difficulty of leading up to the subject
-gradually, he broke into it at once. "Marion has told thee that this
-young man will be here to-day?" She simply assented. "Hast thou
-advised her as to what she should say?"</p>
-
-<p>"She has not seemed to want advice."</p>
-
-<p>"How should a girl not want advice in so great a matter?"</p>
-
-<p>"How, indeed? But yet she has needed none."</p>
-
-<p>"Has she told thee," he asked, "what it is in her mind to do?"</p>
-
-<p>"I think so."</p>
-
-<p>"Has she said that she would refuse the man?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes; that certainly was her purpose."</p>
-
-<p>"And given the reasons?" he said, almost trembling as he asked the
-question.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, she gave her reasons."</p>
-
-<p>"And didst thou agree with her?" Before she could reply to this Mrs.
-Roden felt herself compelled to pause. When she thought of that one
-strongest reason, fully as she agreed with it, she was unable to tell
-the father of the girl that she did so. She sat looking at him,
-wanting words with which she might express her full concurrence with
-Marion without plunging a dagger into the other's heart. "Then thou
-didst agree with her?" There was something terrible in the intensity
-and slowness of the words as he repeated the question.</p>
-
-<p>"On the whole I did," she said. "I think that unequal marriages are
-rarely happy."</p>
-
-<p>"That was all?" he asked. Then when she was again silent, he made the
-demand which was so important to him. "Did she say aught of her
-health in discussing all this with thee?"</p>
-
-<p>"She did, Mr. Fay."</p>
-
-<p>"And thou?"</p>
-
-<p>"It was a subject, my friend, on which I could not speak to her. All
-that was said came from her. Her mind was so fully made up, as I have
-said before, no advice from me could avail anything. With some people
-it is easy to see that whether you agree with them or differ from
-them it is impossible to turn them."</p>
-
-<p>"But to me thou canst say whether thou hast agreed with her. Yes; I
-know well that the subject is one difficult to talk of in a father's
-hearing. But there are things which should be talked of, though the
-heart should break." After another pause he continued; "Is there,
-thinkest thou, sufficient cause in the girl's health to bid her sever
-herself from these delights of life and customary habits which the
-Lord has intended for His creatures?" At every separate question he
-paused, but when she was silent he went on with other questions. "Is
-there that in her looks, is there that in her present condition of
-life, which make it needful for thee, her friend, or for me, her
-father, to treat her as though she were already condemned by the hand
-of the Lord to an early grave?" Then, again, looking almost fiercely
-into her face, he went on with his examination, "That is what thou
-art doing."</p>
-
-<p>"Not I;—not I."</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, thou, my friend; thou, with all thy woman's softness in thy
-heart! It is what I shall do, unless I bring myself to tell her that
-her fears are vain. To me she has said that that is her reason. It is
-not that she cannot love the man. Has she not said as much to thee?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes; truly."</p>
-
-<p>"And art thou not assenting to it unless thou tell'st her that her
-fancies are not only vain, but wrong? Though thou hast not spoken the
-word, has not thy silence assented as fully as words could do? Answer
-me at any rate to that."</p>
-
-<p>"It is so," she said.</p>
-
-<p>"Is it then necessary to condemn her? Art thou justified in thine own
-thoughts in bidding her regard herself as one doomed?" Again there
-was a pause. What was she to say? "Thou art aware that in our poor
-household she does all that the strictest economy would demand from
-an active mother of a family? She is never idle. If she suffers I do
-not see it. She takes her food, if not with strong appetite, yet
-regularly. She is upright, and walks with no languor. No doctor comes
-near her. If like others she requires change of air and scene, what
-can give her such chance as this marriage? Hast thou not heard that
-for girls of feeble health marriage itself will strengthen them? Is
-she such that thou as her friend must bid her know that she must
-perish like a blighted flower? Must I bid her to hem and stitch her
-own winding-sheet? It comes to that if no word be said to her to turn
-her from this belief. She has seen them all die,—one after
-another,—one after another, till the idea of death, of death for
-herself as well as for them, has gotten hold of her. And yet it will
-be the case that one in a family shall escape. I have asked among
-those who know, and I have found that it is so. The Lord does not
-strike them all, always. But if she thinks that she is stricken then
-she will fall. If she goes forth to meet Death on the path, Death
-will come half way to encounter her. Dost thou believe of me that it
-is because the man is a noble lord that I desire this marriage?"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh no, Mr. Fay."</p>
-
-<p>"He will take my child away from me. She will then be but little to
-me. What want I with lords, who for the few days of active life that
-are left to me would not change my City stool for any seat that any
-lord can give me? But I shall know that she has had her chance in the
-world, and has not been unnecessarily doomed—to an early grave!"</p>
-
-<p>"What would you have me do?"</p>
-
-<p>"Go to her, and tell her that she should look forward, with trust in
-God, to such a state of health as He may vouchsafe to give her. Her
-thoughts are mostly with her God. Bid her not shorten His mercies.
-Bid her not to tell herself that she can examine His purposes. Bid
-her do in this as her nature bids her, and, if she can love this man,
-give herself into his arms and leave the rest to the Lord."</p>
-
-<p>"But he will be there at once."</p>
-
-<p>"If he be there, what harm? Thou canst go when he comes to the door.
-I shall go to her now, and we shall dine together, and then at once I
-will leave her. When you see me pass the window then thou canst take
-thine occasion." So saying, without waiting for a promise, he left
-her and went back to his own house.</p>
-
-<p>And Marion's heart had been full of many thoughts that morning,—some
-of them so trifling in their object, that she herself would wonder at
-herself because that they should occupy her. How should she be
-dressed to receive her lover? In what words first should she speak to
-him,—and in what sort? Should she let any sign of love escape from
-her? Her resolution as to her great purpose was so fixed that there
-was no need for further thought on that matter. It was on the little
-things that she was intent. How far might she indulge herself in
-allowing some tenderness to escape her? How best might she save him
-from any great pain, and yet show him that she was proud that he had
-loved her? In what dress she might receive him, in that would she sit
-at table with her father. It was Christmas time, and the occasion
-would justify whatever of feminine smartness her wardrobe possessed.
-As she brought out from its recess the rich silk frock, still all but
-new, in which he had first seen her, she told herself that she would
-probably have worn it for her father's sake, had no lover been
-coming. On the day before, the Christmas Day, she had worn it at
-church. And the shoes with the pretty buckles, and the sober but yet
-handsome morsel of lace which was made for her throat,—and which she
-had not been ashamed to wear at that memorable dinner,—they were all
-brought out. It was Christmas, and her father's presence would surely
-have justified them all! And would she not wish to leave in her
-lover's eyes the memory of whatever prettiness she might have
-possessed? They were all produced. But when the moment came for
-arraying herself they were all restored to their homes. She would be
-the simple Quaker girl as she was to be found there on Monday, on
-Tuesday, and on Wednesday. It would be better that he should know how
-little there was for him to lose.</p>
-
-<p>Zachary Fay ate his dinner almost without a word. She, though she
-smiled on him and tried to look contented, found it almost impossible
-to speak. She uttered some little phrases which she intended to be
-peculiar to the period of the year; but she felt that her father's
-mind was intent on what was coming, and she discontinued her efforts.
-She found it hardly possible to guess at the frame of his mind, so
-silent had he been since first he had yielded to her when she assured
-him of her purpose. But she had assured him, and he could not doubt
-her purpose. If he were unhappy for the moment it was needful that he
-should be unhappy. There could be no change, and therefore it was
-well that he should be silent. He had hardly swallowed his dinner
-when he rose from his chair, and, bringing in his hat from the
-passage, spoke a word to her before he departed. "I am going into the
-City, Marion," he said. "I know it is well that I should be absent
-this afternoon. I shall return to tea. God bless thee, my child."</p>
-
-<p>Marion, rising from her chair, kissed his lips and cheeks, and
-accompanied him to the door. "It will be all well, my father," she
-said; "it will be all well, and your child will be happy."</p>
-
-<p>About half-an-hour afterwards there came a knock at the door, and
-Marion for a moment thought that her lover was already there. But it
-was Mrs. Roden who came up to her in the drawing-room. "Am I in the
-way, Marion?" she asked. "I will be gone in a minute; but perhaps I
-can say a word first."</p>
-
-<p>"Why should you be in the way?"</p>
-
-<p>"He is coming."</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, I suppose so. He said that he would come. But what if he come?
-You and he are old friends."</p>
-
-<p>"I would not be here to interrupt him. I will escape when we hear the
-knock. Oh, Marion!"</p>
-
-<p>"What is it, Mrs. Roden? You are sad, and something troubles you?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, indeed. There is something which troubles me sorely. This lover
-of yours?"</p>
-
-<p>"It is fixed, dear friend; fixed as fate. It does not trouble me. It
-shall not trouble me. Why should it be a trouble? Suppose I had never
-seen him!"</p>
-
-<p>"But you have seen him, my child."</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, indeed; and whether that be for good or evil, either to him or
-to me, it must be accepted. Nothing now can alter that. But I think,
-indeed, that it is a blessing. It will be something to me to remember
-that such a one as he has loved me. And for
-<span class="nowrap">him—"</span></p>
-
-<p>"I would speak now of you, Marion."</p>
-
-<p>"I am contented."</p>
-
-<p>"It may be, Marion, that in this concerning your health you should be
-altogether wrong."</p>
-
-<p>"How wrong?"</p>
-
-<p>"What right have you or I to say that the Lord has determined to
-shorten your days."</p>
-
-<p>"Who has said so?"</p>
-
-<p>"It is on that theory that you are acting."</p>
-
-<p>"No;—not on that; not on that alone. Were I as strong as are other
-girls,—as the very strongest,—I would do the same. Has my father
-been with you?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, he has."</p>
-
-<p>"My poor father! But it is of no avail. It would be wrong, and I will
-not do it. If I am to die, I must die. If I am to live, let me live.
-I shall not die certainly because I have resolved to send this fine
-lover away. However weak Marion Fay may be, she is strong enough not
-to pine for that."</p>
-
-<p>"If there be no need?"</p>
-
-<p>"No need? What was it you said of unequal marriages? What was the
-story that you told me of your own? If I love this man, of whom am I
-to think the most? Could it be possible that I should be to him what
-a wife ought to be to her husband? Could I stand nobly on his
-hearth-rug, and make his great guests welcome? Should I be such a one
-that every day he should bless the kind fortune which had given him
-such a woman to help him to rule his house? How could I go from the
-littleness of these chambers to walk through his halls without
-showing that I knew myself to be an intruder? And yet I should be so
-proud that I should resent the looks of all who told me by their
-faces that I was so. He has done wrong in allowing himself to love
-me. He has done wrong in yielding to his passion, and telling me of
-his love. I will be wiser and nobler than he. If the Lord will help
-me, if my Saviour will be on my side, I will not do wrong. I did not
-think that you, Mrs. Roden, would turn against me."</p>
-
-<p>"Turn against thee, Marion? I to turn against thee!"</p>
-
-<p>"You should strengthen me."</p>
-
-<p>"It seems to me that you want no strength from others. It is for your
-poor father that I would say a word."</p>
-
-<p>"I would not have father believe that my health has aught to do with
-it. You know,—you know what right I have to think that I am fit to
-marry and to hope to be the mother of children. It needs not that he
-should know. Let it suffice for him to be told that I am not equal to
-this greatness. A word escaped me in speaking to him, and I repent
-myself that I so spoke to him. But tell him,—and tell him
-truly,—that were my days fixed here for the next fifty years, were I
-sure of the rudest health, I would not carry my birth, my manners, my
-habits into that young lord's house. How long would it be, Mrs.
-Roden, before he saw some little trick that would displease him? Some
-word would be wrongly spoken, some garment would be ill-folded, some
-awkward movement would tell the tale,—and then he would feel that he
-had done wrong to marry the Quaker's daughter. All the virtues under
-the sun cannot bolster up love so as to stand the battery of one
-touch of disgust. Tell my father that, and tell him that I have done
-well. Then you can tell him also, that, if God shall so choose it, I
-shall live a strong old maid for many years, to think night and day
-of his goodness to me,—of his great love."</p>
-
-<p>Mrs. Roden, as she had come across from her own house, had known that
-her mission would fail. To persuade another against one's own belief
-is difficult in any case, but to persuade Marion Fay on such a matter
-as this was a task beyond the eloquence of man or woman. She had made
-up her mind that she must fail utterly when the knock came at the
-door. She took the girl in her arms and kissed her without further
-attempt. She would not even bid her think of it once again, as might
-have been so easy at parting. "I will go into your room while he
-passes," she said. As she did so Lord Hampstead's voice was heard at
-the door.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c2-6" id="c2-6"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER VI.</h3>
-<h4>MARION'S OBSTINACY.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>Lord Hampstead drove himself very fast from Hendon Hall to the
-"Duchess of Edinburgh" at Holloway, and then, jumping out of his
-trap, left it without saying a word to his servant, and walked
-quickly up Paradise Row till he came to No. 17. There, without
-pausing a moment, he knocked sharply at the door. Going on such a
-business as this, he did not care who saw him. There was an idea
-present to him that he would be doing honour to Marion Fay if he made
-it known to all the world of Holloway that he had come there to ask
-her to be his wife. It was this feeling which had made him declare
-his purpose to his sister, and which restrained him from any
-concealment as to his going and coming.</p>
-
-<p>Marion was standing alone in the middle of the room, with her two
-hands clasped together, but with a smile on her face. She had
-considered much as to this moment, determining even the very words
-that she would use. The words probably were forgotten, but the
-purpose was all there. He had resolved upon nothing, had considered
-nothing,—except that she should be made to understand that, because
-of his exceeding love, he required her to come to him as his wife.
-"Marion," he said, "Marion, you know why I am here!" And he advanced
-to her, as though he would at once have taken her in his arms.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, my lord, I know."</p>
-
-<p>"You know that I love you. I think, surely, that never love was
-stronger than mine. If you can love me say but the one word, and you
-will make me absolutely happy. To have you for my wife is all that
-the world can give me now. Why do you go from me? Is it to tell me
-that you cannot love me, Marion? Do not say that, or I think my heart
-will break."</p>
-
-<p>She could not say that, but as he paused for her answer it was
-necessary that she should say something. And the first word spoken
-must tell the whole truth, even though it might be that the word must
-be repeated often before he could be got to believe that it was an
-earnest word. "My lord," she began.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, I do hate that form of address. My name is John. Because of
-certain conventional arrangements the outside people call me Lord
-Hampstead."</p>
-
-<p>"It is because I can be to you no more than one of the outside people
-that I call you—my lord."</p>
-
-<p>"Marion!"</p>
-
-<p>"Only one of the outside people;—no more, though my gratitude to
-you, my appreciation, my friendship for you may be ever so strong. My
-father's daughter must be just one of the outside people to Lord
-Hampstead,—and no more."</p>
-
-<p>"Why so? Why do you say it? Why do you torment me? Why do you banish
-me at once, and tell me that I must go home a wretched, miserable
-man? Why?—why?—why?</p>
-
-<p>"Because, my lord—"</p>
-
-<p>"I can give a reason,—a good reason,—a reason which I cannot
-oppose, though it must be fatal to me unless I can remove it; a
-reason to which I must succumb if necessary, but to which, Marion, I
-will not succumb at once. If you say that you cannot love me that
-will be a reason."</p>
-
-<p>If it were necessary that she should tell him a lie, she must do so.
-It would have been pleasant if she could have made him understand
-that she would be content to love him on condition that he would be
-content to leave her. That she should continue to love him, and that
-he should cease to love her,—unless, perhaps, just a little,—that
-had been a scheme for the future which had recommended itself to her.
-There should be a something left which should give a romance to her
-life, but which should leave him free in all things. It had been a
-dream, in which she had much trusted, but which, while she listened
-to the violence of his words, she acknowledged to herself to be
-almost impossible. She must tell the lie;—but at the moment it
-seemed to her that there might be a middle course. "I dare not love
-you," she said.</p>
-
-<p>"Dare not love me, Marion? Who hinders you? Who tells you that you
-may not? Is it your father?"</p>
-
-<p>"No, my lord, no."</p>
-
-<p>"It is Mrs. Roden."</p>
-
-<p>"No, my lord. This is a matter in which I could obey no friend, no
-father. I have had to ask myself, and I have told myself that I do
-not dare to love above my station in life."</p>
-
-<p>"I am to have that bugbear again between me and my happiness?"</p>
-
-<p>"Between that and your immediate wishes;—yes. Is it not so in all
-things? If I,—even I,—had set my heart upon some one below me,
-would not you, as my friend, have bade me conquer the feeling?"</p>
-
-<p>"I have set my heart on one whom in the things of the world I regard
-as my equal,—in all other things as infinitely my superior."</p>
-
-<p>"The compliment is very sweet to me, but I have trained myself to
-resist sweetness. It may not be, Lord Hampstead. It may not be. You
-do not know as yet how obstinate such a girl as I may become when she
-has to think of another's welfare,—and a little, perhaps, of her
-own."</p>
-
-<p>"Are you afraid of me?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes."</p>
-
-<p>"That I should not love you?"</p>
-
-<p>"Even of that. When you should come to see in me that which is not
-lovable you would cease to love me. You would be good to me because
-your nature is good; kind to me because your nature is kind. You
-would not ill-treat me because you are gentle, noble, and forgiving.
-But that would not suffice for me. I should see it in your eye,
-despite yourself,—and hear it in your voice, even though you tried
-to hide it by occasional softness. I should eat my own heart when I
-came to see that you despised your Quaker wife."</p>
-
-<p>"All that is nonsense, Marion."</p>
-
-<p>"My lord!"</p>
-
-<p>"Say the word at once if it has to be said,—so that I may know what
-it is that I have to contend with. For you my heart is so full of
-love that it seems to be impossible that I should live without you.
-If there could be any sympathy I should at once be happy. If there be
-none, say so."</p>
-
-<p>"There is none."</p>
-
-<p>"No spark of sympathy in you for me,—for one who loves you so
-truly?" When the question was put to her in that guise she could not
-quite tell so monstrous a lie as would be needed for an answer fit
-for her purpose. "This is a matter, Marion, in which a man has a
-right to demand an answer,—to demand a true answer."</p>
-
-<p>"Lord Hampstead, it may be that you should perplex me sorely. It may
-be that you should drive me away from you, and to beg you never to
-trouble me any further. It may be that you should force me to remain
-dumb before you, because that I cannot reply to you in proper words.
-But you will never alter my purpose. If you think well of Marion Fay,
-take her word when she gives it you. I can never become your
-lordship's wife."</p>
-
-<p>"Never?"</p>
-
-<p>"Never! Certainly never!"</p>
-
-<p>"Have you told me why;—all the reason why?"</p>
-
-<p>"I have told you enough, Lord Hampstead."</p>
-
-<p>"By heavens, no! You have not answered me the one question that I
-have asked you. You have not given me the only reason which I would
-take,—even for a while. Can you love me, Marion?"</p>
-
-<p>"If you loved me you would spare me," she said. Then feeling that
-such words utterly betrayed her, she recovered herself, and went to
-work with what best eloquence was at her command to cheat him out of
-the direct answer which he required. "I think," she said, "you do not
-understand the workings of a girl's heart in such a matter. She does
-not dare to ask herself about her love, when she knows that loving
-would avail her nothing. For what purpose should I inquire into
-myself when the object of such inquiry has already been obtained? Why
-should I trouble myself to know whether this thing would be a gain to
-me or not, when I am well aware that I can never have the gain?"</p>
-
-<p>"Marion, I think you love me." She looked at him and tried to
-smile,—tried to utter some half-joking word; and then as she felt
-that she could no longer repress her tears, she turned her face from
-him, and made no attempt at a reply. "Marion," he said again, "I
-think that you love me."</p>
-
-<p>"If you loved me, my lord, you would not torture me." She had seated
-herself now on the sofa, turning her face away from him over her
-shoulder so that she might in some degree hide her tears. He sat
-himself at her side, and for a moment or two got possession of her
-hand.</p>
-
-<p>"Marion," he said, pleading his case with all the strength of words
-which was at his command, "you know, do you not, that no moment of
-life can be of more importance to me than this?"</p>
-
-<p>"Is it so, my lord?"</p>
-
-<p>"None can be so important. I am striving to get her for my companion
-in life, who to me is the sweetest of all human beings. To touch you
-as I do now is a joy to me, even though you have made my heart so
-sad." At the moment she struggled to get her hand away from him, but
-the struggle was not at first successful. "You answer me with
-arguments which are to me of no avail at all. They are, to my
-thinking, simply a repetition of prejudices to which I have been all
-my life opposed. You will not be angry because I say so?"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, no, my lord," she said; "not angry. I am not angry, but indeed
-you must not hold me." With that she extricated her hand, which he
-allowed to pass from his grasp as he continued his address to her.</p>
-
-<p>"As to all that, I have my opinion and you have yours. Can it be
-right that you should hold to your own and sacrifice me who have
-thought so much of what it is I want myself,—if in truth you love
-me? Let your opinion stand against mine, and neutralize it. Let mine
-stand against yours, and in that we shall be equal. Then after that
-let love be lord of all. If you love me, Marion, I think that I have
-a right to demand that you shall be my wife."</p>
-
-<p>There was something in this which she did not know how to
-answer;—but she did know, she was quite sure, that no word of his,
-no tenderness either on his part or on her own, would induce her to
-yield an inch. It was her duty to sacrifice herself for him,—for
-reasons which were quite apparent to herself,—and she would do it.
-The fortress of her inner purpose was safe, although he had succeeded
-in breaking down the bulwark by which it had been her purpose to
-guard it. He had claimed her love, and she had not been strong enough
-to deny the claim. Let the bulwark go. She was bad at lying. Let her
-lie as she might, he had wit enough to see through it. She would not
-take the trouble to deny her love should he persist in saying that it
-had been accorded to him. But surely she might succeed at last in
-making him understand that, whether she loved him or no, she would
-not marry him. "I certainly shall never be your wife," she said.</p>
-
-<p>"And that is all?"</p>
-
-<p>"What more, my lord?"</p>
-
-<p>"You can let me go, and never wish me to return?"</p>
-
-<p>"I can, my lord. Your return would only be a trouble to you, and a
-pain to me. Another time do not turn your eyes too often on a young
-woman because her face may chance to please you. It is well that you
-should marry. Go and seek a wife, with judgment, among your own
-people. When you have done that, then you may return and tell Marion
-Fay that you have done well by following her advice."</p>
-
-<p>"I will come again, and again, and again, and I will tell Marion Fay
-that her counsels are unnatural and impossible. I will teach her to
-know that the man who loves her can seek no other wife;—that no
-other mode of living is possible to him than one in which he and
-Marion Fay shall be joined together. I think I shall persuade her at
-last that such is the case. I think she will come to know that all
-her cold prudence and worldly would-be wisdom can be of no avail to
-separate those who love each other. I think that when she finds that
-her lover so loves her that he cannot live without her, she will
-abandon those fears as to his future fickleness, and trust herself to
-one of whose truth she will have assured herself." Then he took her
-hand, and kneeling at her knee, he kissed it before she was powerful
-enough to withdraw it. And so he left her, without another word, and
-mounting on his vehicle, drove himself home without having exchanged
-a single word at Holloway with any one save Marion Fay.</p>
-
-<p>She, when she was left alone, threw herself at full length on the
-sofa and burst into an ecstacy of tears. Trust herself to him! Yes,
-indeed. She would trust herself to him entirely, only in order that
-she might have the joy, for one hour, of confessing her love to him
-openly, let the consequences to herself afterwards be what they
-might! As to that future injury to her pride of which she had spoken
-both to her father and also to her friend,—of which she had said so
-much to herself in discussing this matter with her own heart—as to
-that he had convinced her. It did not become her in any way to think
-of herself in this matter. He certainly would be able to twist her as
-he would if she could stand upon no surer rock than her fears for her
-own happiness. One kiss from him would be payment for it all. But all
-his love, all his sweetness, all his truth, all his eloquence should
-avail nothing with her towards overcoming that spirit of
-self-sacrifice by which she was dominated. Though he should extort
-from her all her secret, that would be her strength. Though she
-should have to tell him of her failing health,—her certainly failing
-health,—though even that should be necessary, she certainly would
-not be won from her purpose. It might be sweet, she thought, to make
-him in all respects her friend of friends; to tell him everything; to
-keep no fear, no doubt, no aspiration a secret from him. "Love you,
-oh my dearest, thou very pearl of my heart, love you indeed! Oh, yes.
-Do you not know that not even for an instant could I hide my love?
-Are you not aware, did you not see at the moment, that when you first
-knelt at my feet, my heart had flown to you without an effort on my
-part to arrest it? But now, my beloved one, now we understand each
-other. Now there need be no reproaches between us. Now there need be
-no speaking of distrust. I am all yours,—only it is not fit, as you
-know, dearest, that the poor Quaker girl should become your wife. Now
-that we both understand that, why should we be sad? Why should we
-mourn?" Why should she not succeed in bringing things to such a pass
-as this; and if so, why should life be unhappy either to him or to
-her?</p>
-
-<p>Thus she was thinking of it till she had almost brought herself to a
-state of bliss, when her father returned to her. "Father," she said,
-getting up and embracing his arm as he stood, "it is all over."</p>
-
-<p>"What is over?" asked the Quaker.</p>
-
-<p>"He has been here."</p>
-
-<p>"Well, Marion; and what has he said?"</p>
-
-<p>"What he said it is hardly for me to tell you. What I said,—I would
-you could know it all without my repeating a word of it."</p>
-
-<p>"Has he gone away contented?"</p>
-
-<p>"Nay, not that, father. I hardly expected that. I hardly hoped for
-that. Had he been quite contented perhaps I might not have been so."</p>
-
-<p>"Why should you not have both been made happy?" asked the father.</p>
-
-<p>"It may be that we shall be so. It may be that he shall understand."</p>
-
-<p>"Thou hast not taken his offer then?"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, no! No, father, no. I can never accept his offer. If that be in
-your mind put it forth. You shall never see your Marion the wife of
-any man, whether of that young lord or of another more fitted to her.
-No one ever shall be allowed to speak to me as he has spoken."</p>
-
-<p>"Why dost thou make thyself different from other girls?" he said,
-angrily.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, father, father!"</p>
-
-<p>"It is romance and false sentiment, than which nothing is more odious
-to me. There is no reason why thou shouldst be different from others.
-The Lord has not marked thee out as different from other girls,
-either in His pleasure or His displeasure. It is wrong for thee to
-think it of thyself." She looked up piteously into his face, but said
-not a word. "It is thy duty to take thyself from His hands as He has
-made thee; and to give way to no vain ecstatic terrors. If, as I
-gather from thy words, this young man be dear to thee, and if, as I
-gather from this second coming of his, thou art dear to him, then I
-as thy father tell thee that thy duty calls thee to him. It is not
-that he is a lord."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, no, father."</p>
-
-<p>"It is not, I say, that he is a lord, or that he is rich, or that he
-is comely to the eyes, that I would have thee go to him as his wife.
-It is because thou and he love each other, as it is the ordinance of
-the Lord Almighty that men and women should do. Marriage is
-honourable, and I, thy father, would fain see thee married. I believe
-the young man to be good and true. I could give thee to him, lord
-though he be, with a trusting heart, and think that in so disposing
-of my child I had done well for her. Think of this, Marion, if it be
-not already too late." All this he had said standing, so that he was
-able to leave the room without the ceremony of rising from his chair.
-Without giving her a moment for reply, having his hand on the lock of
-the door as he uttered the last words of his counsel to her, he
-marched off, leaving her alone.</p>
-
-<p>It may be doubted whether at the moment she could have found words
-for reply, so full was her heart with the feelings that were crowded
-there. But she was well aware that all her father's words could go
-for nothing. Of only one thing was she sure,—that no counsel, no
-eloquence, no love would ever induce her to become the wife of Lord
-Hampstead.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c2-7" id="c2-7"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER VII.</h3>
-<h4>MRS. DEMIJOHN'S PARTY.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p>Mrs. Demijohn presents her compliments to Mr. Crocker, and
-begs the honour of his company to tea at nine o'clock on
-Wednesday, 31st of December, to see the New Year in.</p>
-
-<p class="noindent">R.I.V.P.<span class="ind12">(Do come, C. D.)</span></p>
-
-<p class="noindent"><span class="ind12">10, Paradise Row, Holloway.</span><br />
-29th December, 18—.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p>This note was delivered to Crocker on his arrival at his office on
-the morning of Saturday, the 27th.</p>
-
-<p>It must be explained that Crocker had lately made the acquaintance of
-Miss Clara Demijohn without any very formal introduction. Crocker,
-with that determination which marked his character, in pursuit of the
-one present purport of his mind to effect a friendly reconciliation
-with George Roden, had taken himself down to Holloway, and had called
-at No. 11, thinking that he might induce his friend's mother to act
-on his behalf in a matter appertaining to peace and charity. Mrs.
-Roden had unhappily been from home, but he had had the good fortune
-to encounter Miss Demijohn. Perhaps it was that she had seen him
-going in and out of the house, and had associated him with the great
-mystery of the young nobleman; perhaps she had been simply attracted
-by the easy air with which he cocked his hat and swung his
-gloves;—or, perhaps it was simply chance. But so it was that in the
-gloom of the evening she met him just round the corner opposite to
-the "Duchess of Edinburgh," and the happy acquaintance was commenced.
-No doubt, as in all such cases, it was the gentleman who spoke first.
-Let us, at any rate, hope so for the sake of Paradise Row generally.
-Be that as it may, before many minutes were over she had explained to
-him that Mrs. Roden had gone out in a cab soon after dinner, and that
-probably something was up at Wimbledon, as Mrs. Roden never went
-anywhere else, and this was not the day of the week on which her
-visits to Mrs. Vincent were generally made. Crocker, who was
-simplicity itself, soon gave her various details as to his own
-character and position in life. He, too, was a clerk in the Post
-Office, and was George Roden's particular friend. "Oh, yes; he knew
-all about Lord Hampstead, and was, he might say, intimately
-acquainted with his lordship. He had been in the habit of meeting his
-lordship at Castle Hautboy, the seat of his friend, Lord Persiflage,
-and had often ridden with his lordship in the hunting-field. He knew
-all about Lady Frances and the engagement, and had had the pleasure
-of making the acquaintance of her ladyship. He had been corresponding
-lately with Lord Hampstead on the subject. No;—he had not as yet
-heard anything of Marion Fay, the Quaker's daughter. Then Clara had
-something to say on her side. She quite understood that if she
-expected to be communicated with, she also must communicate; and
-moreover, young Mr. Crocker was by his age, appearance, and sex, just
-such a one as prompted her to be communicative without loss of
-self-respect. What was the good of telling things to Mrs. Duffer, who
-was only an old widow without any friends, and with very small means
-of existence? She had communicated her secrets to Mrs. Duffer simply
-from want of a better pair of ears into which she could pour them.
-But here was one in telling secrets to whom she could take delight,
-and who had secrets of his own to give in return. It is not to be
-supposed that the friendship which arose grew from the incidents of
-one meeting only. On that first evening Crocker could not leave the
-fair one without making arrangements for a further interview, and so
-the matter grew. The intimacy between them was already of three days'
-standing when the letter of invitation above given reached Crocker's
-hands. To tell the very truth, the proposed party was made up chiefly
-for Crocker's sake. What is the good of having a young man if you
-cannot show him to your friends?</p>
-
-<p>"Crocker!" said Mrs. Demijohn to her niece; "where did you pick up
-Crocker?"</p>
-
-<p>"What questions you do ask, aunt! Pick him up, indeed!"</p>
-
-<p>"So you have—; picked him up, as you're always a doing with young
-men. Only you never know how to keep 'em when you've got 'em."</p>
-
-<p>"I declare, aunt, your vulgarity is unbearable."</p>
-
-<p>"I'm not going to have any Crocker in my house," said the old woman,
-"unless I know where he comes from. Perhaps he's a counter-skipper.
-He may be a ticket-of-leave man for all you know."</p>
-
-<p>"Aunt Jemima, you're so provoking that I sometimes think I shall have
-to leave you."</p>
-
-<p>"Where will you go to, my dear?"</p>
-
-<p>To this question, which had often been asked before, Clara thought it
-unnecessary to make any answer; but returned at once to the inquiries
-which were not unnaturally made by the lady who stood to her in the
-place of a mother. "Mr. Crocker, Aunt Jemima, is a clerk in the Post
-Office, who sits at the same desk with George Roden, and is
-intimately acquainted both with Lord Hampstead and with Lady Frances
-Trafford. He used to be George Roden's bosom friend; but there has
-lately been some little tiff between the young men, which would be so
-pleasant if we could make it up. You have got to a speaking
-acquaintance with Mrs. Roden, and perhaps if you will ask them
-they'll come. I am sure Marion Fay will come, because you always get
-your money from Pogson and Littlebird. I wish I had the cheek to ask
-Lord Hampstead." Having heard all this, the old lady consented to
-receive our sporting friend from the Post Office, and also assented
-to the other invitations, which were given.</p>
-
-<p>Crocker, of course, sent his compliments, and expressed the great
-pleasure he would have in "seeing the New Year in" in company with
-Mrs. Demijohn. As the old lady was much afflicted with rheumatism,
-the proposition as coming from her would have been indiscreet had she
-not known that her niece on such occasions was well able to act as
-her deputy. Mrs. Roden also promised to come, and with difficulty
-persuaded her son that it would be gracious on his part to be so far
-civil to his neighbours. Had he known that Crocker also would be
-there he certainly would not have yielded; but Crocker, when at the
-office, kept the secret of his engagement to himself. The Quaker also
-and Marion Fay were to be there. Mr. Fay and Mrs. Demijohn had long
-known each other in regard to matters of business, and he, for the
-sake of Messrs. Pogson and Littlebird's firm, could not refuse to
-drink a cup of tea at their client's house. A junior clerk from the
-same counting-house, one Daniel Tribbledale by name, with whom Clara
-had made acquaintance at King's Court some two years since, was also
-to be of the party. Mr. Tribbledale had at one time, among all
-Clara's young men, been the favourite. But circumstances had occurred
-which had somewhat lessened her goodwill towards him. Mr. Littlebird
-had quarrelled with him, and he had been refused promotion. It was
-generally supposed at the present time in the neighbourhood of Old
-Broad Street that Daniel Tribbledale was languishing for the love of
-Clara Demijohn. Mrs. Duffer, of course, was to be there, and so the
-list of friends for the festive occasion was completed.</p>
-
-<p>Mrs. Duffer was the first to come. Her aid, indeed, was required for
-the cutting up of the cakes and arrangements of the cups and saucers.
-The Quaker and his daughter were next, appearing exactly at nine
-o'clock,—to do which he protested to be the best sign of good
-manners that could be shown. "If they want me at ten, why do they ask
-me at nine?" demanded the Quaker. Marion was forced to give way,
-though she was by no means anxious to spend a long evening in company
-with Mrs. Demijohn. As to that seeing of the New Year in, it was
-quite out of the question for the Quaker or for his daughter. The
-company altogether came early. The only touch of fashion evinced on
-this occasion was shown by Mr. Crocker. The Rodens, with Mr.
-Tribbledale at their heels, appeared not long after Mr. Fay, and then
-the demolition of the Sally Lunns was commenced. "I declare I think
-he means to deceive us," whispered Clara to her friend, Mrs. Duffer,
-when all the good tea had been consumed before the young man
-appeared. "I don't suppose he cares much for tea," said Mrs. Duffer;
-"they don't now-a-days." "It isn't just for the tea that a man is
-expected to come," said Clara, indignantly. It was now nearly ten,
-and she could not but feel that the evening was going heavily.
-Tribbledale had said one tender word to her; but she had snubbed him,
-expecting Crocker to be there almost at once, and he had retired
-silent into a corner. George Roden had altogether declined to make
-himself agreeable—to her; but as he was an engaged man, and engaged
-to a lady of rank, much could not be expected of him. Mrs. Roden and
-the Quaker and Mrs. Demijohn did manage to keep up something of
-conversation. Roden from time to time said a few words to Marion.
-Clara, who was repenting herself of her hardness to young
-Tribbledale, was forced to put up with Mrs. Duffer. When suddenly
-there came a thundering knock at the door, and Mr. Crocker was
-announced by the maid, who had been duly instructed beforehand as to
-all peculiarities in the names of the guests.</p>
-
-<p>There was a little stir, as there always is when a solitary guest
-comes in much after the appointed time. Of course there was
-rebuke,—suppressed rebuke from Mrs. Demijohn, mild rebuke from Mrs.
-Duffer, a very outburst of rebuke from Clara. But Crocker was up to
-the occasion. "Upon my word, ladies, I had no help for it. I was
-dining with a few friends in the City, and I couldn't get away
-earlier. If my own ideas of happiness had been consulted I should
-have been here an hour ago. Ah, Roden, how are you? Though I know you
-live in the same street, I didn't think of meeting you." Roden gave
-him a nod, but did not vouchsafe him a word. "How's his lordship? I
-told you, didn't I, that I had heard from him the other day?" Crocker
-had mentioned more than once at his office the fact that he had
-received a letter from Lord Hampstead.</p>
-
-<p>"I don't often see him, and very rarely hear from him," said Roden,
-without turning away from Marion to whom he was at the moment
-speaking.</p>
-
-<p>"If all our young noblemen were like Hampstead," said Crocker, who
-had told the truth in declaring that he had been dining, "England
-would be a very different sort of place from what it is. The most
-affable young lord that ever sat in the House of Peers." Then he
-turned himself towards Marion Fay, at whose identity he made a guess.
-He was anxious at once to claim her as a mutual friend, as connected
-with himself by her connection with the lord in question. But as he
-could find no immediate excuse for introducing himself, he only
-winked at her.</p>
-
-<p>"Are you acquainted with Mr. Tribbledale, Mr. Crocker?" asked Clara.</p>
-
-<p>"Never had the pleasure as yet," said Crocker. Then the introduction
-was effected. "In the Civil Service?" asked Crocker. Tribbledale
-blushed, and of necessity repudiated the honour. "I thought, perhaps,
-you were in the Customs. You have something of the H.M.S. cut about
-you." Tribbledale acknowledged the compliment with a bow. "I think
-the Service is the best thing a man can do with himself," continued
-Crocker.</p>
-
-<p>"It is genteel," said Mrs. Duffer.</p>
-
-<p>"And the hours so pleasant," said Clara. "Bank clerks have always to
-be there by nine."</p>
-
-<p>"Is a young man to be afraid of that?" asked the Quaker, indignantly.
-"Ten till four, with one hour for the newspapers and another for
-lunch. See the consequence. I never knew a young man yet from a
-public office who understood the meaning of a day's work."</p>
-
-<p>"I think that is a little hard," said Roden. "If a man really works,
-six hours continuously is as much as he can do with any good to his
-employers or himself."</p>
-
-<p>"Well done, Roden," said Crocker. "Stick up for Her Majesty's shop."
-Roden turned himself more round than before, and continued to address
-himself to Marion.</p>
-
-<p>"Our employers wouldn't think much of us," said the Quaker, "if we
-didn't do better for them than that in private offices. I say that
-the Civil Service destroys a young man, and teaches him to think that
-the bread of idleness is sweet. As far as I can see, nothing is so
-destructive of individual energy as what is called public money. If
-Daniel Tribbledale would bestir himself he might do very well in the
-world without envying any young man his seat either at the Custom
-House or the Post Office." Mr. Fay had spoken so seriously that they
-all declined to carry that subject further. Mrs. Demijohn and Mrs.
-Duffer murmured their agreement, thinking it civil to do so, as the
-Quaker was a guest. Tribbledale sat silent in his corner, awestruck
-at the idea of having given rise to the conversation. Crocker winked
-at Mrs. Demijohn, and thrust his hands into his pockets as much as to
-say that he could get the better of the Quaker altogether if he chose
-to exercise his powers of wit and argument.</p>
-
-<p>Soon after this Mr. Fay rose to take his daughter away. "But," said
-Clara, with affected indignation, "you are to see the Old Year out
-and the New Year in."</p>
-
-<p>"I have seen enough of the one," said Mr. Fay, "and shall see enough
-of the other if I live to be as near its close as I am to its birth."</p>
-
-<p>"But there are refreshments coming up," said Mrs. Demijohn.</p>
-
-<p>"I have refreshed myself sufficiently with thy tea, madam. I rarely
-take anything stronger before retiring to my rest. Come, Marion, thou
-requirest to be at no form of welcoming the New Year. Thou, too, wilt
-be better in thy bed, as thy duties call upon thee to be early." So
-saying, the Quaker bowed formally to each person present, and took
-his daughter out with him under his arm. Mrs. Roden and her son
-escaped almost at the same moment, and Mrs. Demijohn, having waited
-to take what she called just a thimbleful of hot toddy, went also to
-her rest.</p>
-
-<p>"Here's a pretty way of seeing the New Year in," said Clara,
-laughing.</p>
-
-<p>"We are quite enough of us for the purpose," said Crocker, "unless we
-also are expected to go away." But as he spoke he mixed a tumbler of
-brandy and water, which he divided among two smaller glasses, handing
-them to the two ladies present.</p>
-
-<p>"I declare," said Mrs. Duffer, "I never do anything of the
-kind,—almost never."</p>
-
-<p>"On such an occasion as this everybody does it," said Crocker.</p>
-
-<p>"I hope Mr. Tribbledale will join us," said Clara. Then the bashful
-clerk came out of his corner, and seating himself at the table
-prepared to do as he was bid. He made his toddy very weak, not
-because he disliked brandy, but guided by an innate spirit of modesty
-which prevented him always from going more than halfway when he was
-in company.</p>
-
-<p>Then the evening became very pleasant. "You are quite sure that he is
-really engaged to her ladyship?" asked Clara.</p>
-
-<p>"I wish I were as certainly engaged to you," replied the polite
-Crocker.</p>
-
-<p>"What nonsense you do talk, Mr. Crocker;—and before other people
-too. But you think he is?"</p>
-
-<p>"I am sure of it. Both Hampstead and she have told me so much
-themselves out of their own mouths."</p>
-
-<p>"My!" exclaimed Mrs. Duffer.</p>
-
-<p>"And here's her brother engaged to Marion Fay," said Clara. Crocker
-declared that as to this he was by no means so well assured. Lord
-Hampstead in spite of their intimacy had told him nothing about it.
-"But it is so, Mr. Crocker, as sure as ever you are sitting there. He
-has been coming here after her over and over again, and was closeted
-with her only last Friday for hours. It was a holiday, but that sly
-old Quaker went out of the way, so as to leave them together. That
-Mrs. Roden, though she's as stiff as buckram, knows all about it. To
-the best of my belief she got it all up. Marion Fay is with her every
-day. It's my belief there's something we don't understand yet. She's
-got a hold of them young people, and means to do just what she likes
-with 'em." Crocker, however, could not agree to this. He had heard of
-Lord Hampstead's peculiar politics, and was assured that the young
-lord was only carrying out his peculiar principles in selecting
-Marion Fay for himself and devoting his sister to George Roden.</p>
-
-<p>"Not that I like that kind of thing, if you ask me," said Crocker.
-"I'm very fond of Hampstead, and I've always found Lady Frances to be
-a pleasant and affable lady. I've no cause to speak other than civil
-of both of them. But when a man has been born a lord, and a lady a
-lady—. A lady of that kind, Miss Demijohn."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, exactly;—titled you mean, Mr. Crocker?"</p>
-
-<p>"Quite high among the nobs, you know. Hampstead will be a Marquis
-some of these days, which is next to a Duke."</p>
-
-<p>"And do you know him,—yourself?" asked Tribbledale with a voice of
-awe.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, yes," said Crocker.</p>
-
-<p>"To speak to him when you see him?"</p>
-
-<p>"I had a long correspondence with him about a week ago about a matter
-which interested both of us very much."</p>
-
-<p>"And how does he address you?" asked Clara,—also with something of
-awe.</p>
-
-<p>"'Dear Crocker;'—just that. I always say 'My dear Lord Hampstead,'
-in return. I look upon 'Dear Hampstead,' as a little vulgar, you
-know, and I always think that one ought to be particular in these
-matters. But, as I was saying, when it comes to marriage, people
-ought to be true to themselves. Now if I was a Marquis,—I don't know
-what I mightn't do if I saw you, you know, Clara." "Clara" pouted,
-but did not appear to have been offended either by the compliment or
-by the familiarity. "But under any other circumstances less forcible
-I would stick to my order."</p>
-
-<p>"So would I," said Mrs. Duffer. "Marquises ought to marry marquises,
-and dukes dukes."</p>
-
-<p>"There it is!" said Clara, "and now we must drink its health, and I
-hope we may be all married to them we like best before it comes round
-again." This had reference to the little clock on the mantelpiece,
-the hands of which had just crept round to twelve o'clock.</p>
-
-<p>"I wish we might," said Crocker, "and have a baby in the cradle too."</p>
-
-<p>"Go away," said Clara.</p>
-
-<p>"That would be quick," said Mrs. Duffer. "What do you say, Mr.
-Tribbledale?"</p>
-
-<p>"Where my heart's fixed," said Tribbledale, who was just becoming
-warm with the brandy-and-water, "there ain't no hope for this year,
-nor yet for the one after." Whereupon Crocker remarked that "care
-killed a cat."</p>
-
-<p>"You just put on your coat and hat, and take me across to my
-lodgings. See if I don't give you a chance," said Mrs. Duffer, who
-was also becoming somewhat merry under the influences of the moment.
-But she knew that it was her duty to do something for her young
-hostess, and, true woman as she was, thought that this was the best
-way of doing it. Tribbledale did as he was bid, though he was obliged
-thus to leave his lady-love and her new admirer together. "Do you
-really mean it?" said Clara, when she and Crocker were alone.</p>
-
-<p>"Of course I do,—honest," said Crocker.</p>
-
-<p>"Then you may," said Clara, turning her face to him.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c2-8" id="c2-8"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER VIII.</h3>
-<h4>NEW YEAR'S DAY.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>Crocker had by no means as yet got through his evening. Having dined
-with his friends in the City, and "drank tea" with the lady of his
-love, he was disposed to proceed, if not to pleasanter delights, at
-any rate to those which might be more hilarious. Every Londoner, from
-Holloway up to Gower Street, in which he lived, would be seeing the
-New Year in,—and beyond Gower Street down in Holborn, and from
-thence all across to the Strand, especially in the neighbourhood of
-Covent Garden and the theatres, there would be a whole world of happy
-revellers engaged in the same way. On such a night as this there
-could certainly be no need of going to bed soon after twelve for such
-a one as Samuel Crocker. In Paradise Row he again encountered
-Tribbledale, and suggested to that young man that they should first
-have a glass of something at the "Duchess" and then proceed to more
-exalted realms in a hansom. "I did think of walking there this fine
-starlight night," said Tribbledale, mindful of the small stipend at
-which his services were at present valued by Pogson and Littlebird.
-But Crocker soon got the better of all this. "I'll stand Sammy for
-this occasion," said he. "The New Year comes in only once in twelve
-months." Then Tribbledale went into "The Duchess," and after that was
-as indifferent, while his money lasted him, as was Crocker himself.
-"I've loved that girl for three years," said Tribbledale, as soon as
-they had left "The Duchess" and were again in the open air.</p>
-
-<p>It was a beautiful night, and Crocker thought that they might as well
-walk a little way. It was pleasant under the bright stars to hear of
-the love adventures of his new friend, especially as he himself was
-now the happy hero. "For three years?" he asked.</p>
-
-<p>"Indeed I have, Crocker." That glass of hot whiskey-and-water, though
-it enhanced the melancholy tenderness of the young man, robbed him of
-his bashfulness, and loosened the strings of his tongue. "For three
-years! And there was a time when she worshipped the very stool on
-which I sat at the office. I don't like to boast."</p>
-
-<p>"You have to be short, sharp, and decisive if you mean to get a girl
-like that to travel with you."</p>
-
-<p>"I should have taken the ball at the hop, Crocker; that's what I
-ought to have done. But I see it all now. She's as fickle as she is
-fair;—fickler, perhaps, if anything."</p>
-
-<p>"Come, Tribbledale; I ain't going to let you abuse her, you know."</p>
-
-<p>"I don't want to abuse her. God knows I love her too well in spite of
-all. It's your turn now. I can see that. There's a great many of them
-have had their turns."</p>
-
-<p>"Were there now?" asked Crocker anxiously.</p>
-
-<p>"There was Pollocky;—him at the Highbury Gas Works. He came after
-me. It was because of him she dropped me."</p>
-
-<p>"Was that going on for a marriage?"</p>
-
-<p>"Right ahead, I used to think. Pollocky is a widower with five
-children."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh Lord!"</p>
-
-<p>"But he's the head of all the gas, and has four hundred a year. It
-wasn't love as carried her on with him. I could see that. She
-wouldn't go and meet him anywhere about the City, as she did me. I
-suppose Pollocky is fifty, if he's a day."</p>
-
-<p>"And she dropped him also?"</p>
-
-<p>"Or else it was he." On receipt of this information Crocker whistled.
-"It was something about money," continued Tribbledale. "The old woman
-wouldn't part."</p>
-
-<p>"There is money I suppose?"</p>
-
-<p>"The old woman has a lot."</p>
-
-<p>"And isn't the niece to have it?" asked Crocker.</p>
-
-<p>"No doubt she will; because there never was a pair more loving. But
-the old lady will keep it herself as long as she is here." Then there
-entered an idea into Crocker's head that if he could manage to make
-Clara his own, he might have power enough to manage the aunt as well
-as the niece. They had a little more whiskey-and-water at the Angel
-at Islington before they got into the cab which was to take them down
-to the Paphian Music-Hall, and after that Tribbledale passed from the
-realm of partial fact to that of perfect poetry. "He would never," he
-said, "abandon Clara Demijohn, though he should live to an age beyond
-that of any known patriarch. He quite knew all that there was against
-him. Crocker he thought might probably prevail. He rather hoped that
-Crocker might prevail;—for why should not so good a fellow be made
-happy, seeing how utterly impossible it was that he, Daniel
-Tribbledale, should ever reach that perfect bliss in dreaming of
-which he passed his miserable existence. But as to one thing he had
-quite made up his mind. The day that saw Clara Demijohn a bride would
-most undoubtedly be the last of his existence."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, no, damme; you won't," said Crocker turning round upon him in
-the cab.</p>
-
-<p>"I shall!" said Tribbledale with emphasis. "And I've made up my mind
-how to do it too. They've caged up the Monument, and you're so looked
-after on the Duke of York's, that there isn't a chance. But there's
-nothing to prevent you from taking a header at the Whispering Gallery
-of Saint Paul's. You'd be more talked of that way, and the vergers
-would be sure to show the stains made on the stones below. 'It was
-here young Tribbledale fell,—a clerk at Pogson and Littlebird's, who
-dashed out his brains for love on the very day as Clara Demijohn got
-herself married.' I'm of that disposition, Crocker, as I'd do
-anything for love;—anything." Crocker was obliged to reply that he
-trusted he might never be the cause of such a fatal attempt at glory;
-but he went on to explain that in the pursuit of love a man could not
-in any degree give way to friendship. Even though numberless lovers
-might fall from the Whispering Gallery in a confused heap of mangled
-bodies, he must still tread the path which was open to him. These
-were his principles, and he could not abandon them even for the sake
-of Tribbledale. "Nor would I have you," shouted Tribbledale, leaning
-out over the door of the cab. "I would not delay you not for a day,
-not for an hour. Were to-morrow to be your bridal morning it would
-find me prepared. My only request to you is that a boy might be
-called Daniel after me. You might tell her it was an uncle or
-grandfather. She would never think that in her own child was
-perpetuated a monument of poor Daniel Tribbledale." Crocker, as he
-jumped out of the cab with a light step in front of the Paphian Hall,
-promised that in this particular he would attend to the wishes of his
-friend.</p>
-
-<p>The performances at the Paphian Hall on that festive occasion need
-not be described here with accuracy. The New Year had been seen well
-in with music, dancing, and wine. The seeing of it in was continued
-yet for an hour, till an indulgent policeman was forced to interfere.
-It is believed that on the final ejection of our two friends, the
-forlorn lover, kept steady, no doubt, by the weight of his woe, did
-find his way home to his own lodgings. The exultant Crocker was less
-fortunate, and passed his night without the accommodation of sheets
-and blankets somewhere in the neighbourhood of Bow Street. The fact
-is important to us, as it threatened to have considerable effect upon
-our friend's position at his office. Having been locked up in a cell
-during the night, and kept in durance till he was brought on the
-following morning before a magistrate, he could not well be in his
-room at ten o'clock. Indeed when he did escape from the hands of the
-Philistines, at about two in the day, sick, unwashed and unfed, he
-thought it better to remain away altogether for that day. The great
-sin of total absence would be better than making an appearance before
-Mr. Jerningham in his present tell-tale condition. He well knew his
-own strength and his own weakness. All power of repartee would be
-gone from him for the day. Mr. Jerningham would domineer over him,
-and Æolus, should the violent god be pleased to send for him, would
-at once annihilate him. So he sneaked home to Gower Street, took a
-hair of the dog that bit him, and then got the old woman who looked
-after him to make him some tea and to fry a bit of bacon for him. In
-this ignominious way he passed New Year's Day,—at least so much of
-it as was left to him after the occurrences which have been
-described.</p>
-
-<p>But on the next morning the great weight of his troubles fell upon
-him heavily. In his very heart of hearts he was afraid of Æolus. In
-spite of his "brummagem" courage the wrath of the violent god was
-tremendous to him. He knew what it was to stand with his hand on the
-lock of the door and tremble before he dared to enter the room. There
-was something in the frown of the god which was terrible to him.
-There was something worse in the god's smile. He remembered how he
-had once been unable to move himself out of the room when the god had
-told him that he need not remain at the office, but might go home and
-amuse himself just as he pleased. Nothing crushes a young man so much
-as an assurance that his presence can be dispensed with without loss
-to any one. Though Crocker had often felt the mercies of Æolus, and
-had told himself again and again that the god never did in truth lift
-up his hand for final irrevocable punishment, still he trembled as he
-anticipated the dread encounter.</p>
-
-<p>When the morning came, and while he was yet in his bed, he struggled
-to bethink himself of some strategy by which he might evade the evil
-hour. Could he have been sent for suddenly into Cumberland? But in
-this case he would of course have telegraphed to the Post Office on
-the preceding day. Could he have been taken ill with a fit,—so as to
-make his absence absolutely necessary, say for an entire week? He
-well knew that they had a doctor at the Post Office, a crafty,
-far-seeing, obdurate man, who would be with him at once and would
-show him no mercy. He had tried these schemes all round, and had
-found that there were none left with which Æolus was not better
-acquainted than was he himself. There was nothing for it but to go
-and bear the brunt.</p>
-
-<p>Exactly at ten o'clock he entered the room, hung his hat up on the
-accustomed peg, and took his seat on the accustomed chair before any
-one spoke a word to him. Roden on the opposite seat took no notice of
-him. "Bedad, he's here anyhow this morning," whispered Geraghty to
-Bobbin, very audibly. "Mr. Crocker," said Mr. Jerningham, "you were
-absent throughout the entire day yesterday. Have you any account to
-give of yourself?" There was certainly falsehood implied in this
-question, as Mr. Jerningham knew very well what had become of
-Crocker. Crocker's misadventure at the police office had found its
-way into the newspapers, and had been discussed by Æolus with Mr.
-Jerningham. I am afraid that Mr. Jerningham must have intended to
-tempt the culprit into some false excuse.</p>
-
-<p>"I was horribly ill," said Crocker, without stopping the pen with
-which he was making entries in the big book before him. This no doubt
-was true, and so far the trap had been avoided.</p>
-
-<p>"What made you ill, Mr. Crocker?"</p>
-
-<p>"Headache."</p>
-
-<p>"It seems to me, Mr. Crocker, you're more subject to such attacks as
-these than any young man in the office."</p>
-
-<p>"I always was as a baby," said Crocker, resuming something of his
-courage. Could it be possible that Æolus should not have heard of the
-day's absence?</p>
-
-<p>"There is ill-health of so aggravated a nature," said Mr. Jerningham,
-"as to make the sufferer altogether unfit for the Civil Service."</p>
-
-<p>"I'm happy to say I'm growing out of them gradually," said Crocker.
-Then Geraghty got up from his chair and whispered the whole truth
-into the sufferer's ears. "It was all in the <i>Pall Mall</i> yesterday,
-and Æolus knew it before he went away." A sick qualm came upon the
-poor fellow as though it were a repetition of yesterday's sufferings.
-But still it was necessary that he should say something. "New Year's
-Day comes only once a year, I suppose."</p>
-
-<p>"It was only a few weeks since that you remained a day behind your
-time when you were on leave. But Sir Boreas has taken the matter up,
-and I have nothing to say to it. No doubt Sir Boreas will send for
-you." Sir Boreas Bodkin was that great Civil servant in the General
-Post Office whom men were wont to call Æolus.</p>
-
-<p>It was a wretched morning for poor Crocker. He was not sent for till
-one o'clock, just at the moment when he was going to eat his lunch!
-That horrid sickness, the combined result of the dinner in the City,
-of Mrs. Demijohn's brandy, and of the many whiskies which followed,
-still clung to him. The mutton-chop and porter which he had promised
-himself would have relieved him; but now he was obliged to appear
-before the god in all his weakness. Without a word he followed a
-messenger who had summoned him, with his tail only too visibly
-between his legs. Æolus was writing a note when he was ushered into
-the room, and did not condescend to arrest himself in the progress
-merely because Crocker was present. Æolus well knew the effect on a
-sinner of having to stand silent and all alone in the presence of an
-offended deity.</p>
-
-<p>"So, Mr. Crocker," said Æolus at last, looking up from his completed
-work; "no doubt you saw the Old Year out on Wednesday night." The
-jokes of the god were infinitely worse to bear than his most furious
-blasts. "Like some other great men," continued Æolus, "you have
-contrived to have your festivities chronicled in the newspapers."
-Crocker found it impossible to utter a word. "You have probably seen
-the <i>Pall Mall</i> of yesterday, and the <i>Standard</i> of
-this morning?"</p>
-
-<p>"I haven't looked at the newspaper, sir, since—"</p>
-
-<p>"Since the festive occasion," suggested Æolus.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, Sir Boreas—"</p>
-
-<p>"Well, Mr. Crocker; what is it that you have to say for yourself?"</p>
-
-<p>"I did dine with a few friends."</p>
-
-<p>"And kept it up tolerably late, I should think."</p>
-
-<p>"And then afterwards went to a tea-party," said Crocker.</p>
-
-<p>"A tea-party!"</p>
-
-<p>"It was not all tea," said Crocker, with a whine.</p>
-
-<p>"I should think not. There was a good deal besides tea, I should
-say." Then the god left off to smile, and the blasts began to blow.
-"Now, Mr. Crocker, I should like to know what you think of yourself.
-After having read the accounts of your appearance before the
-magistrate in two newspapers, I suppose I may take it for granted
-that you were abominably drunk out in the streets on Wednesday
-night." It is very hard for a young man to have to admit under any
-circumstances that he has been abominably drunk out in the
-streets;—so that Crocker stood dumb before his accuser. "I choose to
-have an answer, sir. I must either have your own acknowledgment, or
-must have an official account from the police magistrate."</p>
-
-<p>"I had taken something, sir."</p>
-
-<p>"Were you drunk? If you will not answer me you had better go, and I
-shall know how to deal with you." Crocker thought that he had perhaps
-better go and leave the god to deal with him. He remained quite
-silent. "Your personal habits would be nothing to me, sir," continued
-Æolus, "if you were able to do your work and did not bring disgrace
-on the department. But you neglect the office. You are unable to do
-your work. And you do bring disgrace on the department. How long is
-it since you remained away a day before?"</p>
-
-<p>"I was detained down in Cumberland for one day, after my leave of
-absence."</p>
-
-<p>"Detained in Cumberland! I never tell a gentleman, Mr. Crocker, that
-I do not believe him,—never. If it comes to that with a gentleman,
-he must go." This was hard to bear; but yet Crocker was aware that he
-had told a fib on that occasion in reference to the day's hunting.
-Then Sir Boreas took up his pen and again had recourse to his paper,
-as though the interview was over. Crocker remained standing, not
-quite knowing what he was expected to do. "It's of no use your
-remaining there," said Sir Boreas. Whereupon Crocker retired, and,
-with his tail still between his legs, returned to his own desk. Soon
-afterwards Mr. Jerningham was sent for, and came back with an
-intimation that Mr. Crocker's services were no longer required, at
-any rate for that day. When the matter had been properly represented
-to the Postmaster-General, a letter would be written to him. The
-impression made on the minds of Bobbin and Geraghty was that poor
-Crocker would certainly be dismissed on this occasion. Roden, too,
-thought that it was now over with the unfortunate young man, as far
-as the Queen's service was concerned, and could not abstain from
-shaking hands with the unhappy wretch as he bade them all a
-melancholy good-bye. "Good afternoon," said Mr. Jerningham to him
-severely, not condescending to shake hands with him at all.</p>
-
-<p>But Mr. Jerningham heard the last words which the god had spoken on
-the subject, and was not therefore called upon to be specially
-soft-hearted. "I never saw a poor devil look so sick in my life,"
-Æolus had said.</p>
-
-<p>"He must have been very bad, Sir Boreas."</p>
-
-<p>Æolus was fond of a good dinner himself, and had a sympathy for
-convivial offences. Indeed for all offences he had a sympathy. No man
-less prone to punish ever lived. But what is a man to do with
-inveterate offenders? Æolus would tear his hair sometimes in dismay
-because he knew that he was retaining in the service men whom he
-would have been bound to get rid of had he done his duty. "You had
-better tell him to go home," said Æolus,—"for to-day, you know."</p>
-
-<p>"And what then, Sir Boreas?"</p>
-
-<p>"I suppose he'll sleep it off by to-morrow. Have a letter written to
-him,—to frighten him, you know. After all, New Year's Day only does
-come once a year." Mr. Jerningham, having thus received instructions,
-went back to his room and dismissed Crocker in the way we have seen.
-As soon as Crocker's back was turned Roden was desired to write the
-letter.<br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Sir</span>,</p>
-
-<p>Your conduct in absenting yourself without leave from the
-office yesterday is of such a nature as to make it
-necessary for me to inform you, that should it be repeated
-I shall have no alternative but to bring your name under
-the serious consideration of my Lord the
-Postmaster-General.</p>
-
-<p class="noindent"><span class="ind10">I am, sir,</span><br />
-<span class="ind12">Your obedient servant,</span></p>
-
-<p class="ind12">(Signed) <span class="smallcaps">Boreas
-Bodkin</span>.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p>In the same envelope was a short note from one of his
-brother clerks.<br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dear Crocker</span>,</p>
-
-<p>You had better be here sharp at ten to-morrow. Mr.
-Jerningham bids me tell you.</p>
-
-<p class="ind12">Yours truly,</p>
-
-<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">Bart. Bobbin</span>.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p>Thus Crocker got through his troubles on this occasion.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c2-9" id="c2-9"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER IX.</h3>
-<h4>MISS DEMIJOHN'S INGENUITY.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>On the day on which Crocker was going through his purgatory at the
-Post Office, a letter reached Lady Kingsbury at Trafford Park, which
-added much to the troubles and annoyances felt by different members
-of the family there. It was an anonymous letter, and the reader,—who
-in regard to such mysteries should never be kept a moment in
-ignorance,—may as well be told at once that the letter was written
-by that enterprising young lady, Miss Demijohn. The letter was
-written on New Year's Day, after the party,—perhaps in consequence
-of the party, as the rash doings of some of the younger members of
-the Trafford family were made specially obvious to Miss Demijohn by
-what was said on that occasion. The letter ran as follows:<br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My Lady
-Marchioness</span>—</p>
-
-<p>I conceive it to be my duty as a well-wisher of the family
-to inform you that your stepson, Lord Hampstead, has
-become entangled in what I think to be a dangerous way
-with a young woman living in a neighbouring street to
-this.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p class="noindent">The "neighbouring" street
-was of course a stroke of cunning on the
-part of Miss Demijohn.<br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p class="noindent">She lives at No. 17,
-Paradise Row, Holloway, and her name
-is Marion Fay. She is daughter to an old Quaker, who is
-clerk to Pogson and Littlebird, King's Court, Great Broad
-Street, and isn't of course in any position to entertain
-such hopes as these. He may have a little money saved, but
-what's that to the likes of your ladyship and his lordship
-the Marquis? Some think she is pretty. I don't. Now I
-don't like such cunning ways. Of what I tell your ladyship
-there isn't any manner of doubt. His lordship was there
-for hours the other day, and the girl is going about as
-proud as a peacock.</p>
-
-<p>It's what I call a regular Paradise Row conspiracy, and
-though the Quaker has lent himself to it, he ain't at the
-bottom. Next door but two to the Fays there is a Mrs.
-Roden living, who has got a son, a stuck-up fellow and a
-clerk in the Post Office. I believe there isn't a bit of
-doubt but he has been and got himself engaged to another
-of your ladyship's noble family. As to that, all Holloway
-is talking of it. I don't believe there is a 'bus driver
-up and down the road as doesn't know it. It's my belief
-that Mrs. Roden is the doing of it all! She has taken
-Marion Fay by the hand just as though she were her own,
-and now she has got the young lord and the young lady
-right into her mashes. If none of 'em isn't married yet it
-won't be long so unless somebody interferes. If you don't
-believe me do you send to the 'Duchess of Edinburgh' at
-the corner, and you'll find that they know all about it.</p>
-
-<p>Now, my Lady Marchioness, I've thought it my duty to tell
-you all this because I don't like to see a noble family
-put upon. There isn't nothing for me to get out of it
-myself. But I do it just as one of the family's
-well-wishers. Therefore I sign myself your very
-respectful,</p>
-
-<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">A
-Well-Wisher</span>.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p>The young lady had told her story completely as far as her object was
-concerned, which was simply that of making mischief. But the business
-of anonymous letter-writing was one not new to her hand. It is easy,
-and offers considerable excitement to the minds of those whose time
-hangs heavy on their hands.</p>
-
-<p>The Marchioness, though she would probably have declared beforehand
-that anonymous letters were of all things the most contemptible,
-nevertheless read this more than once with a great deal of care. And
-she believed it altogether. As to Lady Frances, of course she knew
-the allegations to be true. Seeing that the writer was so well
-acquainted with the facts as to Lady Frances, why should she be less
-well-informed in reference to Lord Hampstead? Such a marriage as this
-with the Quaker girl was exactly the sort of match which Hampstead
-would be pleased to make. Then she was especially annoyed by the
-publicity of the whole affair. That Holloway and the drivers of the
-omnibuses, and the "Duchess of Edinburgh" should know all the secrets
-of her husband's family,—should be able to discuss the disgrace to
-which "her own darlings" would be subjected, was terrible to her. But
-perhaps the sting that went sharpest to her heart was that which came
-from the fact that Lord Hampstead was about to be married at all. Let
-the wife be a Quaker or what not, let her be as low as any woman that
-could be found within the sound of Bow Bells, still, if the marriage
-ceremony were once pronounced over them, that woman's son would
-become Lord Highgate, and would be heir to all the wealth and all the
-titles of the Marquis of Kingsbury,—to the absolute exclusion of the
-eldest-born of her own darlings.</p>
-
-<p>She had had her hopes in the impracticability of Lord Hampstead. Such
-men as that, she had told herself, were likely to keep themselves
-altogether free of marriage. He would not improbably, she thought,
-entertain some abominable but not unlucky idea that marriage in
-itself was an absurdity. At any rate, there was hope as long as he
-could be kept unmarried. Were he to marry and then have a son, even
-though he broke his neck out hunting next day, no good would come of
-it. In this condition of mind she thought it well to show the letter
-to Mr. Greenwood before she read it to her husband. Lord Kingsbury
-was still very ill,—so ill as to have given rise to much
-apprehension; but still it would be necessary to discuss this letter
-with him, ill as he might be. Only it should be first discussed with
-Mr. Greenwood.</p>
-
-<p>Mr. Greenwood's face became flatter, and his jaw longer, and his eyes
-more like gooseberries as he read the letter. He had gradually
-trained himself to say and to hear all manner of evil things about
-Lady Frances in the presence of the Marchioness. He had too
-accustomed himself to speak of Lord Hampstead as a great obstacle
-which it would be well if the Lord would think proper to take out of
-the way. He had also so far followed the lead of his patroness as to
-be deep if not loud in his denunciations of the folly of the Marquis.
-The Marquis had sent him word that he had better look out for a new
-home, and without naming an especial day for his dismissal, had given
-him to understand that it would not be convenient to receive him
-again in the house in Park Lane. But the Marquis had been ill when he
-had thus expressed his displeasure,—and was now worse. It might be
-that the Marquis himself would never again visit Park Lane. As no
-positive limit had been fixed for Mr. Greenwood's departure from
-Trafford Park, there he remained,—and there he intended to remain
-for the present. As he folded up the letter carefully after reading
-it slowly, he only shook his head.</p>
-
-<p>"Is it true, I wonder?" asked the Marchioness.</p>
-
-<p>"There is no reason why it should not be."</p>
-
-<p>"That's just what I say to myself. We know it is true about Fanny. Of
-course there's that Mr. Roden, and the Mrs. Roden. When the writer
-knows so much, there is reason to believe the rest."</p>
-
-<p>"A great many people do tell a great many lies," said Mr. Greenwood.</p>
-
-<p>"I suppose there is such a person as this Quaker,—and that there is
-such a girl?"</p>
-
-<p>"Quite likely."</p>
-
-<p>"If so, why shouldn't Hampstead fall in love with her? Of course he's
-always going to the street because of his friend Roden."</p>
-
-<p>"Not a doubt, Lady Kingsbury."</p>
-
-<p>"What ought we to do?" To this question Mr. Greenwood was not
-prepared with an immediate answer. If Lord Hampstead chose to get
-himself married to a Quaker's daughter, how could it be helped? "His
-father would hardly have any influence over him now." Mr. Greenwood
-shook his head. "And yet he must be told." Mr. Greenwood nodded his
-head. "Perhaps something might be done about the property."</p>
-
-<p>"He wouldn't care two straws about settlements," said Mr. Greenwood.</p>
-
-<p>"He doesn't care about anything he ought to. If I were to write and
-ask him, would he tell the truth about this marriage?"</p>
-
-<p>"He wouldn't tell the truth about anything," said Mr. Greenwood.</p>
-
-<p>The Marchioness passed this by, though she knew it at the moment to
-be calumny. But she was not unwilling to hear calumny against Lord
-Hampstead. "There used to be ways," she said, "in which a marriage of
-that kind could be put on one side afterwards."</p>
-
-<p>"You must put it on one side before, now-a-days, if you mean to do it
-at all," said the clergyman.</p>
-
-<p>"But how?—how?"</p>
-
-<p>"If he could be got out of the way."</p>
-
-<p>"How out of the way?"</p>
-
-<p>"Well;—that's what I don't know. Suppose he could be made to go out
-yachting, and she be married to somebody else when he's at sea!" Lady
-Kingsbury felt that her friend was but little good at a stratagem.
-But she felt also that she was not very good herself. She could wish;
-but wishing in such matters is very vain. She had right on her side.
-She was quite confident as to that. There could be no doubt but that
-"gods and men" would desire to see her little Lord Frederic succeed
-to the Marquisate rather than this infidel Republican. If this
-wretched Radical could be kept from marrying there would evidently be
-room for hope, because there was the fact,—proved by the
-incontestable evidence of Burke's Peerage,—that younger sons did so
-often succeed. But if another heir were to be born, then, as far as
-she was aware, Burke's Peerage promised her nothing. "It's a pity he
-shouldn't break his neck out hunting," said Mr. Greenwood.</p>
-
-<p>"Even that wouldn't be much if he were to be married first," said the
-Marchioness.</p>
-
-<p>Every day she went to her husband for half-an-hour before her lunch,
-at which time the nurse who attended him during the day was
-accustomed to go to her dinner. He had had a physician down from
-London since his son had visited him, and the physician had told the
-Marchioness that though there was not apparently any immediate
-danger, still the symptoms were such as almost to preclude a hope of
-ultimate recovery. When this opinion had been pronounced there had
-arisen between the Marchioness and the chaplain a discussion as to
-whether Lord Hampstead should be once again summoned. The Marquis
-himself had expressed no such wish. A bulletin of a certain fashion
-had been sent three or four times a week to Hendon Hall purporting to
-express the doctor's opinion of the health of their noble patient;
-but the bulletin had not been scrupulously true. Neither of the two
-conspirators had wished to have Lord Hampstead at Trafford Park. Lady
-Kingsbury was anxious to make the separation complete between her own
-darlings and their brother, and Mr. Greenwood remembered, down to
-every tittle of a word and tone, the insolence of the rebuke which he
-had received from the heir. But if Lord Kingsbury were really to be
-dying, then they would hardly dare to keep his son in ignorance.</p>
-
-<p>"I've got something I'd better show you," she said, as she seated
-herself by her husband's sofa. Then she proceeded to read to him the
-letter, without telling him as she did so that it was anonymous. When
-he had heard the first paragraph he demanded to know the name of the
-writer. "I'd better read it all first," said the Marchioness. And she
-did read it all to the end, closing it, however, without mentioning
-the final "Well-Wisher." "Of course it's anonymous," she said, as she
-held the letter in her hand.</p>
-
-<p>"Then I don't believe a word of it," said the Marquis.</p>
-
-<p>"Very likely not; but yet it sounds true."</p>
-
-<p>"I don't think it sounds true at all. Why should it be true? There is
-nothing so wicked as anonymous letters."</p>
-
-<p>"If it isn't true about Hampstead it's true at any rate of Fanny.
-That man comes from Holloway, and Paradise Row and the 'Duchess of
-Edinburgh.' Where Fanny goes for her lover, Hampstead is likely to
-follow. 'Birds of a feather flock together.'"</p>
-
-<p>"I won't have you speak of my children in that way," said the sick
-lord.</p>
-
-<p>"What can I do? Is it not true about Fanny? If you wish it, I will
-write to Hampstead and ask him all about it." In order to escape from
-the misery of the moment he assented to this proposition. The letter
-being anonymous had to his thinking been disgraceful and therefore he
-had disbelieved it. And having induced himself to disbelieve the
-statements made, he had been drawn into expressing,—or at any rate
-to acknowledging by his silence,—a conviction that such a marriage
-as that proposed with Marion Fay would be very base. Her ladyship
-felt therefore that if Lord Hampstead could be got to acknowledge the
-engagement, something would have been done towards establishing a
-quarrel between the father and the son.</p>
-
-<p>"Has that man gone yet?" he asked as his wife rose to leave the room.</p>
-
-<p>"Has what man gone?"</p>
-
-<p>"Mr. Greenwood."</p>
-
-<p>"Gone? How should he have gone? It has never been expected that he
-should go by this time. I don't see why he should go at all. He was
-told that you would not again require his services up in London. As
-far as I know, that is all that has been said about going." The poor
-man turned himself on his sofa angrily, but did not at the moment
-give any further instructions as to the chaplain's departure.</p>
-
-<p>"He wants to know why you have not gone," Lady Kingsbury said to the
-clergyman that afternoon.</p>
-
-<p>"Where am I to go to?" whined the unfortunate one. "Does he mean to
-say that I am to be turned out into the road at a moment's notice
-because I can't approve of what Lady Frances is doing? I haven't had
-any orders as to going. If I am to go I suppose he will make some
-arrangement first." Lady Kingsbury said what she could to comfort
-him, and explained that there was no necessity for his immediate
-departure. Perhaps the Marquis might not think of it again for
-another week or two; and there was no knowing in what condition they
-might find themselves.</p>
-
-<p>Her ladyship's letter to her stepson was as follows; and by return of
-post her stepson's answer
-<span class="nowrap">came;—</span><br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear
-Hampstead</span>,—</p>
-
-<p>Tidings have reached your father that you have engaged
-yourself to marry a girl, the daughter of a Quaker named
-Fay, living at No. 17, Paradise Row. He, the Quaker, is
-represented as being a clerk in a counting-house in the
-City. Of the girl your father has heard nothing, but can
-only imagine that she should be such as her position would
-make probable. He desires me to ask you whether there is
-any truth in the statement. You will observe that I
-express no opinion myself whether it be true or false,
-whether proper or improper. After your conduct the other
-day I should not think of interfering myself; but your
-father wishes me to ask for his information.</p>
-
-<p class="ind12">Yours truly,</p>
-
-<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">Clara
-Kingsbury</span>.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p>Hampstead's answer was very short, but quite sufficient for the
-<span class="nowrap">purpose;—</span><br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear
-Lady Kingsbury</span>,</p>
-
-<p>I am not engaged to marry Miss Fay,—as yet. I think that
-I may be some day soon.</p>
-
-<p class="ind12">Yours affectionately,</p>
-
-<p class="ind18"><span class="smallcaps">Hampstead</span>.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p>By the same post he wrote a letter to his father, and that shall also
-be shown to the reader.<br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear
-Father</span>,—</p>
-
-<p>I have received a letter from Lady Kingsbury, asking me as
-to a report of an engagement between me and a young lady
-named Marion Fay. I am sorry that her writing should be
-evidence that you are hardly yet strong enough to write
-yourself. I trust that it may not long be so.</p>
-
-<p>Would you wish to see me again at Trafford? I do not like
-to go there without the expression of a wish from you; but
-I hold myself in readiness to start whenever you may
-desire it. I had hoped from the last accounts that you
-were becoming stronger.</p>
-
-<p>I do not know how you may have heard anything of Marion
-Fay. Had I engaged myself to her, or to any other young
-lady, I should have told you at once. I do not know
-whether a young man is supposed to declare his own
-failures in such matters, when he has failed,—even to his
-father. But, as I am ashamed of nothing in the matter, I
-will avow that I have asked the young lady to be my wife,
-but she has as yet declined. I shall ask her again, and
-still hope to succeed.</p>
-
-<p>She is the daughter of a Mr. Fay who, as Lady Kingsbury
-says, is a Quaker, and is a clerk in a house in the City.
-As he is in all respects a good man, standing high for
-probity and honour among those who know him, I cannot
-think that there is any drawback. She, I think, has all
-the qualities which I would wish to find in the woman whom
-I might hope to make my wife. They live at No. 17,
-Paradise Row, Holloway. Lady Kingsbury, indeed, is right
-in all her details.</p>
-
-<p>Pray let me have a line, if not from yourself, at any rate
-dictated by you, to say how you are.</p>
-
-<p class="ind12">Your affectionate son,</p>
-
-<p class="ind18"><span class="smallcaps">Hampstead</span>.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p>It was impossible to keep the letter from Lady Kingsbury. It thus
-became a recognized fact by the Marquis, by the Marchioness, and by
-Mr. Greenwood, that Hampstead was going to marry the Quaker's
-daughter. As to that pretence of a refusal, it went for nothing, even
-with the father. Was it probable that a Quaker's daughter, the
-daughter of a merchant's clerk out of the City, should refuse to
-become a Marchioness? The sick man was obliged to express anger,
-having been already made to treat the report as incredible because of
-the disgrace which would accompany it, if true. Had he been left to
-himself he would have endeavoured to think as little about it as
-possible. Not to quarrel with his two eldest children was the wish
-that was now strongest at his heart. But his wife recalled the matter
-to him at each of the two daily visits which she made. "What can I
-do?" he was driven to ask on the third morning.</p>
-
-<p>"Mr. Greenwood suggests—," began his wife, not intending to irritate
-him, having really forgotten at the moment that no suggestion coming
-from Mr. Greenwood could be welcome to him.</p>
-
-<p>"D—— Mr. Greenwood," he shouted, lifting himself up erect from the
-pillows on his sofa. The Marchioness was in truth so startled by the
-violence of his movement, and by the rage expressed on his haggard
-face, that she jumped from her chair with unexpected surprise. "I
-desire," said the Marquis, "that that man shall leave the house by
-the end of this month."</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c2-10" id="c2-10"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER X.</h3>
-<h4>KING'S COURT, OLD BROAD STREET<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>Hampstead received the letter from Lady Kingsbury, and answered it on
-Saturday, the 3rd of January, having at that time taken no active
-steps in regard to Marion Fay after the rejection of his suit on the
-day following Christmas. Eight days had thus elapsed, and he had done
-nothing. He had done nothing, though there was not an hour in the day
-in which he was not confirming his own resolve to do something by
-which he might make Marion Fay his own. He felt that he could hardly
-go to the girl again immediately after the expression of her
-resolution. At first he thought that he would write to her, and did
-sit down to the table for that purpose; but as he strove to produce
-words which might move her, he told himself that the words which he
-might speak would be better. Then he rode half way to Holloway, with
-the object of asking aid from Mrs. Roden; but he returned without
-completing his purpose, telling himself that any such aid, even if it
-could be obtained, would avail him nothing. In such a contest, if a
-man cannot succeed by his own doing, surely he will not do so by the
-assistance of any one else; and thus he was in doubt.</p>
-
-<p>After having written to Lady Kingsbury and his father he reflected
-that, in his father's state of health, he ought to go again to
-Trafford Park. If it were only for a day or for an hour he ought to
-see his father. He knew that he was not wanted by his stepmother. He
-knew also that no desire to see him had reached him from the Marquis.
-He was afraid that the Marquis himself did not wish to see him. It
-was almost impossible for him to take his sister to the house unless
-an especial demand for her attendance was made; and he could not very
-well leave her alone for any lengthened period. Nevertheless he
-determined to make a rapid run into Shropshire, with the intention of
-returning the following day, unless he found the state of his
-father's health so bad as to make it expedient that he should remain.
-He intended to hunt on the Monday and the Tuesday, travelling from
-London to Leighton and back. But he would leave London by the night
-mail train from Paddington on Wednesday evening so as to reach
-Trafford Park House on the following morning between four and five.
-It was a journey which he had often made before in the same manner,
-and to which the servants at Trafford were well accustomed. Even at
-that time in the morning he would walk to the Park from the station,
-which was four miles distant, leaving his luggage, if he had any, to
-be sent for on the following morning; but he would usually travel
-without luggage, having all things necessary for his use in his own
-room at Trafford.</p>
-
-<p>It had hitherto been his custom to acquaint his sister with his
-manœuvres on these occasions, having never been free in his
-correspondence with his stepmother. He had written or telegraphed to
-Lady Frances, and she had quite understood that his instructions,
-whatever they might be, were to be obeyed. But Lady Frances was no
-longer a resident at Trafford Park, and he therefore telegraphed to
-the old butler, who had been a servant in the family from a period
-previous to his own birth. This telegram he sent on the Monday, as
-follows;—"Shall be at Trafford Thursday morning, 4.30 A.M. Will walk
-over. Let Dick be up. Have room ready. Tell my father." He fixed
-Wednesday night for his journey, having made up his mind to devote a
-portion of the Wednesday morning to the business which he had on hand
-in reference to Marion Fay.</p>
-
-<p>It was not the proper thing, he thought, to go to a girl's father for
-permission to ask the girl to be his wife, before the girl had
-herself assented; but the circumstances in this case were peculiar.
-It had seemed to him that Marion's only reason for rejecting him was
-based on disparity in their social condition,—which to his thinking
-was the worst reason that could be given. It might be that the reason
-had sprung from some absurd idea originating with the Quaker father;
-or it might be that the Quaker father would altogether disapprove of
-any such reason. At any rate he would be glad to know whether the old
-man was for him or against him. And with the object of ascertaining
-this, he determined that he would pay a visit to the office in King's
-Court on the Wednesday morning. He could not endure the thought of
-leaving London,—it might be for much more than the one day
-intended,—without making some effort in regard to the object which
-was nearest his heart.</p>
-
-<p>Early in the day he walked into Messrs. Pogson and Littlebird's
-office, and saw Mr. Tribbledale seated on a high stool behind a huge
-desk, which nearly filled up the whole place. He was rather struck by
-the smallness and meanness of Messrs. Pogson and Littlebird's
-premises, which, from a certain nobility belonging to the Quaker's
-appearance, he would have thought to be spacious and important. It is
-impossible not to connect ideas after this fashion. Pogson and
-Littlebird themselves carried in their own names no flavour of
-commercial grandeur. Had they been only known to Hampstead by their
-name, any small mercantile retreat at the top of the meanest alley in
-the City might have sufficed for them. But there was something in the
-demeanour of Zachary Fay which seemed to give promise of one of those
-palaces of trade which are now being erected in every street and lane
-devoted in the City to business. Nothing could be less palatial than
-Pogson and Littlebird's counting-house. Hampstead had entered it from
-a little court, which it seemed to share with one other equally
-unimportant tenement opposite to it, by a narrow low passage. Here he
-saw two doors only, through one of which he passed, as it was open,
-having noticed that the word "Private" was written on the other. Here
-he found himself face to face with Tribbledale and with a little boy
-who sat at Tribbledale's right hand on a stool equally high. Of these
-two, as far as he could see, consisted the establishment of Messrs.
-Pogson and Littlebird. "Could I see Mr. Fay?" asked Hampstead.</p>
-
-<p>"Business?" suggested Tribbledale.</p>
-
-<p>"Not exactly. That is to say, my business is private."</p>
-
-<p>Then there appeared a face looking at him over a screen about five
-feet and a-half high, which divided off from the small apartment a
-much smaller apartment, having, as Hampstead now regarded it, the
-appearance of a cage. In this cage, small as it was, there was a
-desk, and there were two chairs; and here Zachary Fay carried on the
-business of his life, and transacted most of those affairs
-appertaining to Messrs. Pogson and Littlebird which could be
-performed in an office. Messrs. Pogson and Littlebird themselves,
-though they had a room of their own, to which that door marked
-"Private" belonged, were generally supposed to be walking on 'Change
-as British merchants should do, or making purchases of whole ships'
-cargos in the Docks, or discounting bills, the least of which would
-probably represent £10,000. The face which looked over the barrier of
-the cage at Lord Hampstead was of course that of Zachary Fay. "Lord
-Hampstead!" he said, with surprise.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, Mr. Fay, how do you do? I have something I want to say to you.
-Could you spare me five minutes?"</p>
-
-<p>The Quaker opened the door of the cage and asked Lord Hampstead to
-walk in. Tribbledale, who had heard and recognized the name, stared
-hard at the young nobleman,—at his friend Crocker's noble friend, at
-the lord of whom it had been asserted positively that he was engaged
-to marry Mr. Fay's daughter. The boy, too, having heard that the
-visitor was a lord, stared also. Hampstead did as he was bid, but
-remembering that the inhabitant of the cage had at once heard what
-had been said in the office, felt that it would be impossible for him
-to carry on his conversation about Marion without other protection
-from the ears of the world. "It is a little private what I have to
-say," remarked Hampstead.</p>
-
-<p>The Quaker looked towards the private room. "Old Mr. Pogson is
-there," whispered Tribbledale. "I heard him come in a quarter of an
-hour ago."</p>
-
-<p>"Perhaps thou wouldst not mind walking up and down the yard," said
-the Quaker. Hampstead of course walked out, but on looking about him
-found that the court was very small for the communication which he
-had to make. Space would be required, so that he might not be
-troubled by turning when he was in the midst of his eloquence.
-Half-a-dozen steps would carry him the whole length of King's Court;
-and who could tell his love-story in a walk limited to six steps?</p>
-
-<p>"Perhaps we might go out into the street?" he suggested.</p>
-
-<p>"Certainly, my lord," said the Quaker. "Tribbledale, should any one
-call before I return, and be unable to wait for five minutes, I shall
-be found outside the court, not above fifty yards either to the right
-or to the left." Hampstead, thus limited to a course not exceeding a
-hundred yards in one of the most crowded thoroughfares of the City,
-began the execution of his difficult task.</p>
-
-<p>"Mr. Fay," he said, "are you aware of what has passed between me and
-your daughter Marion?"</p>
-
-<p>"Hardly, my lord."</p>
-
-<p>"Has she told you nothing of it?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yea, my lord; she has in truth told me much. She has told me no
-doubt all that it behoves a father to hear from a daughter in such
-circumstances. I live on such terms with my Marion that there are not
-many secrets kept by either of us from the other."</p>
-
-<p>"Then you do know?"</p>
-
-<p>"I know that your lordship tendered to her your hand,—honestly,
-nobly, and truly, as I take it."</p>
-
-<p>"With perfect honesty and perfect truth most certainly."</p>
-
-<p>"And I know also that she declined the honour thus offered her."</p>
-
-<p>"She did."</p>
-
-<p>"Is this you, Zachary? How are you this morning?" This came from a
-stout, short, red-faced man, who stopped them, standing in the middle
-of the pavement.</p>
-
-<p>"Well, I thank thee, Mr. Gruby. At this moment I am particularly
-engaged. That is Jonathan Gruby," said the Quaker to his companion as
-soon as the stout man had walked on; "one of the busiest men in the
-City. You have heard probably of Gruby and Inderwald."</p>
-
-<p>Hampstead had never heard of Gruby and Inderwald, and wished that the
-stout man had been minding his business at that moment. "But as to
-Miss Fay," he said, endeavouring to continue to tell his love-story.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, as to Marion. I hardly do know what passed between you two, not
-having heard the reasons she gave thee."</p>
-
-<p>"No reasons at all;—nothing worth speaking of between persons who
-know anything of the world."</p>
-
-<p>"Did she tell thee that she did not love thee, my lord?—because that
-to my thinking would be reason enough."</p>
-
-<p>"Nothing of the kind. I don't mean to boast, but I don't see why she
-should not like me well enough."</p>
-
-<p>"Nor in sooth do I either."</p>
-
-<p>"What, Zachary; you walking about at this busy time of the day?"</p>
-
-<p>"I am walking about, Sir Thomas. It is not customary with me, but I
-am walking about." Then he turned on his heel, moved almost to
-dudgeon by the interruption, and walked the other way. "Sir Thomas
-Bolster, my lord; a very busy sort of gentleman, but one who has done
-well in the world.—Nor in sooth do I either; but this is a matter in
-which a young maiden must decide for herself. I shall not bid her not
-to love thee, but I cannot bid her to do so."</p>
-
-<p>"It isn't that, Mr. Fay. Of course I have no right to pretend to any
-regard from her. But as to that there has been no question."</p>
-
-<p>"What did she say to thee?"</p>
-
-<p>"Some trash about rank."</p>
-
-<p>"Nay, my lord, it is not trash. I cannot hear thee speak so of thine
-own order without contradiction."</p>
-
-<p>"Am I to be like a king in the old days, who was forced to marry any
-ugly old princess that might be found for him, even though she were
-odious to him? I will have nothing to do with rank on such terms. I
-claim the right to please myself, as do other men, and I come to you
-as father to the young lady to ask from you your assistance in
-winning her to be my wife." At this moment up came Tribbledale
-running from the office.</p>
-
-<p>"There is Cooke there," said Tribbledale, with much emphasis in his
-voice, as though Cooke's was a very serious affair; "from Pollock and
-Austen's."</p>
-
-<p>"Is not Mr. Pogson within?"</p>
-
-<p>"He went out just after you. Cooke says that it's most important that
-he should see some one immediately."</p>
-
-<p>"Tell him that he must wait yet five minutes longer," said Zachary
-Fay, frowning. Tribbledale, awestruck as he bethought himself how
-great were the affairs of Pollock and Austen, retreated back
-hurriedly to the court.</p>
-
-<p>"You know what I mean, Mr. Fay," continued Lord Hampstead.</p>
-
-<p>"I know well what thou meanest, my lord. I think I know what thou
-meanest. Thou meanest to offer to my girl not only high rank and
-great wealth, but, which should be of infinitely more value to her,
-the heart and the hand of an honest man. I believe thee to be an
-honest man, my lord."</p>
-
-<p>"In this matter, Mr. Fay, at any rate, I am."</p>
-
-<p>"In all matters as I believe; and how should I, being such a one as I
-am, not be willing to give my girl to such a suitor as thee? And what
-is it now?" he shrieked in his anger, as the little boy off the high
-stool came rushing to him.</p>
-
-<p>"Mr. Pogson has just come back, Mr. Fay, and he says that he can't
-find those letters from Pollock and Austen anywhere about the place.
-He wants them immediately, because he can't tell the prices named
-without seeing them."</p>
-
-<p>"Lord Hampstead," said the Quaker, almost white with rage, "I must
-pray thee to excuse me for five minutes." Hampstead promised that he
-would confine himself to the same uninteresting plot of ground till
-the Quaker should return to him, and then reflected that there were
-certain reasons upon which he had not calculated against falling in
-love with the daughter of a City clerk.</p>
-
-<p>"We will go a little further afield," said the Quaker, when he
-returned, "so that we may not be troubled again by those imbeciles in
-the court. It is little, however, that I have to say to thee further.
-Thou hast my leave."</p>
-
-<p>"I am glad of that."</p>
-
-<p>"And all my sympathies. But, my lord, I suppose I had better tell the
-truth."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, certainly."</p>
-
-<p>"My girl fears that her health may fail her."</p>
-
-<p>"Her health!"</p>
-
-<p>"It is that as I think. She has not said so to me openly; but I think
-it is that. Her mother died early,—and her brothers and her sisters.
-It is a sad tale, my lord."</p>
-
-<p>"But need that hinder her?"</p>
-
-<p>"I think not, my lord. But it must be for thee to judge. As far as I
-know she is as fit to become a man's wife as are other girls. Her
-health has not failed her. She is not robust, but she does her work
-in looking after my household, such as it is, well and punctually. I
-think that her mind is pervaded with vain terrors. Now I have told
-thee all, placing full confidence in thee as in an honest man. There
-is my house. Thou art welcome to go there if it seemeth thee good,
-and to deal with Marion in this matter as thy love and thy judgment
-may direct thee." Having said this he returned hurriedly to King's
-Court as though he feared that Tribbledale or the boy might again
-find him out.</p>
-
-<p>So far Hampstead had succeeded; but he was much troubled in his mind
-by what he had heard as to Marion's health. Not that it occurred to
-him for a moment that such a marriage as he contemplated would be
-undesirable because his Marion might become ill. He was too
-thoroughly in love to entertain such an idea. Nor is it one which can
-find ready entrance into the mind of a young man who sees a girl
-blooming with the freshness and beauty of youth. It would have seemed
-to him, had he thought about it at all, that Marion's health was
-perfect. But he was afraid of her obstinacy, and he felt that this
-objection might be more binding on her than that which she put
-forward in reference to his rank. He went back, therefore, to Hendon
-Hall only half-satisfied,—sometimes elated, but sometimes depressed.
-He would, however, go and discuss the matter with her at full length
-as soon as he should have returned from Shropshire. He would remain
-there only for one day,—though it might be necessary for him to
-repeat the journey almost immediately,—so that no time might be lost
-in using his eloquence upon Marion. After what had passed between him
-and the Quaker, he thought that he was almost justified in assuring
-himself that the girl did in truth love him.</p>
-
-<p>"Give my father my kindest love," said Lady Frances, as her brother
-was about to start for the train.</p>
-
-<p>"Of course I will."</p>
-
-<p>"And tell him that I will start at a moment's notice whenever he may
-wish to see me."</p>
-
-<p>"In such case of course I should take you."</p>
-
-<p>"And be courteous to her if you can."</p>
-
-<p>"I doubt whether she will allow me. If she abuses you or insults me I
-must answer her."</p>
-
-<p>"I wouldn't."</p>
-
-<p>"You would be more ready than I am. One cannot but answer her because
-she expects to hear something said in return. I shall keep out of her
-way as much as possible. I shall have my breakfast brought to me in
-my own room to-morrow, and shall then remain with my father as much
-as possible. If I leave him at all I shall get a walk. There will
-only be the dinner. As to one thing I have quite made up my mind.
-Nothing shall drive me into having any words with Mr.
-Greenwood;—unless, indeed, my father were to ask me to speak to
-him."</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c2-11" id="c2-11"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XI.</h3>
-<h4>MR. GREENWOOD BECOMES AMBITIOUS.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>Mr. Greenwood was still anxious as to the health of the Rector of
-Appleslocombe. There might be even yet a hope for him; but his
-chance, he thought, would be better with the present
-Marquis—ill-disposed towards him as the Marquis was—than with the
-heir. The Marquis was weary of him, and anxious to get rid of
-him,—was acting very meanly to him, as Mr. Greenwood thought, having
-offered him £1000 as a final payment for a whole life's attention.
-The Marquis, who had ever been a liberal man, had now, perhaps on his
-death-bed, become unjust, harsh, and cruel. But he was weak and
-forgetful, and might possibly be willing to save his money and get
-rid of the nuisance of the whole affair by surrendering the living.
-This was Mr. Greenwood's reading of the circumstances as they at
-present existed. But the Marquis could not dispose of the living
-while the Rector was still alive; nor could he even promise it, to
-any good effect, without his son's assent. That Lord Hampstead would
-neither himself so bestow his patronage or allow it to be so
-bestowed, Mr. Greenwood was very sure. There had been that between
-him and Lord Hampstead which convinced him that the young man was
-more hostile to him even than the father. The Marquis, as Mr.
-Greenwood thought, had insulted him of late;—but Lord Hampstead,
-young as he was, had also been insolent; and what was worse, he had
-insulted Lord Hampstead. There had been something in the young lord's
-eye which had assured him of the young lord's contempt as well as
-dislike. If anything could be done about the living it must be done
-by the Marquis. The Marquis was very ill; but it was still probable
-that the old rector should die first. He had been given to understand
-that the old rector could hardly live many weeks.</p>
-
-<p>Mr. Greenwood understood but little of the young lord's character.
-The Marquis, no doubt, he knew well, having lived with him for many
-years. When he supposed his patron to be fretful and irascible
-because of his infirmities, but to be by nature forgiving,
-unreasonable, and weak, he drew an easy portrait, which was like the
-person portrayed. But in attributing revenge, or harshness, or pride
-of power to Lord Hampstead he was altogether wrong. As regarded
-Appleslocombe and other parishes, the patronage of which would some
-day belong to him, Lord Hampstead had long since made up his mind
-that he would have nothing to do with them, feeling himself unfit to
-appoint clergymen to ministrations in a Church to which he did not
-consider himself to belong. All that he would leave to the Bishop,
-thinking that the Bishop must know more about it than himself. Was
-his father, however, to make any request to him with reference to
-Appleslocombe especially, he would no doubt regard the living as
-bestowed before his father's death. But of all this Mr. Greenwood
-could understand nothing. He felt, however, that as the Marquis had
-given him cause for anger, so had the young lord given him cause for
-hatred as well as anger.</p>
-
-<p>Daily, almost hourly, these matters were discussed between Lady
-Kingsbury and the chaplain. There had come to be strong sympathy
-between them as far as sympathy can exist where the feelings are much
-stronger on the one side than on the other. The mother of the
-"darlings" had allowed herself to inveigh very bitterly against her
-husband's children by his former marriage, and at first had been
-received only half way by her confidential friend. But of late her
-confidential friend had become more animated and more bitter than
-herself, and had almost startled her by the boldness of his
-denunciations. She in her passion had allowed herself more than once
-to express a wish that her stepson—were dead. She had hardly in
-truth meant as much as she implied,—or meaning it had hardly thought
-of what she meant. But the chaplain taking the words from her lips,
-had repeated them till she was almost terrified by their iniquity and
-horror. He had no darlings to justify him! No great injury had been
-done to him by an unkind fortune! Great as were the sin of Lord
-Hampstead and his sister, they could bring no disgrace upon him! And
-yet there was a settled purpose of hatred in his words which
-frightened her, though she could not bring herself to oppose them.
-She in her rage had declared that it would be well that Lord
-Hampstead should break his neck out hunting or go down in his yacht
-at sea; and she had been gratified to find that her friend had
-sanctioned her ill-wishes. But when Mr. Greenwood spoke as though
-something might possibly be done to further those wishes, then she
-almost repented herself.</p>
-
-<p>She had been induced to say that if any power should come to her of
-bestowing the living of Appleslocombe she would bestow it on Mr.
-Greenwood. Were Lord Hampstead to die before the Marquis, and were
-the Marquis to die before the old rector, such power would belong to
-her during the minority of her eldest son. There had, therefore, been
-some meaning in the promise; and the clergyman had referred to it
-more than once or twice. "It is most improbable, you know, Mr.
-Greenwood," she had said very seriously. He had replied as seriously
-that such improbabilities were of frequent occurrence. "If it should
-happen I will do so," she had answered. But after that she had never
-of her own accord referred to the probability of Lord Hampstead's
-death.</p>
-
-<p>From day to day there grew upon her a feeling that she had subjected
-herself to domination, almost to tyranny from Mr. Greenwood. The man
-whom she had known intimately during her entire married life now
-appeared to assume different proportions and almost a different
-character. He would still stand before her with his flabby hands
-hanging listlessly by his side, and with eyes apparently full of
-hesitation, and would seem to tremble as though he feared the effect
-of his own words; but still the words that fell from him were felt to
-be bonds from which she could not escape. When he looked at her from
-his lack-lustre eyes, fixing them upon her for minutes together, till
-the minutes seemed to be hours, she became afraid. She did not
-confess to herself that she had fallen into his power; nor did she
-realize the fact that it was so; but without realizing it she was
-dominated, so that she also began to think that it would be well that
-the chaplain should be made to leave Trafford Park. He, however,
-continued to discuss with her all family matters as though his
-services were indispensable to her; and she was unable to answer him
-in such a way as to reject his confidences.</p>
-
-<p>The telegram reached the butler as to Hampstead's coming on the
-Monday, and was, of course, communicated at once to Lord Kingsbury.
-The Marquis, who was now confined to his bed, expressed himself as
-greatly gratified, and himself told the news to his wife. She,
-however, had already heard it, as had also the chaplain. It quickly
-went through the whole household, in which among the servants there
-existed an opinion that Lord Hampstead ought to have been again sent
-for some days since. The Doctor had hinted as much to the
-Marchioness, and had said so plainly to the butler. Mr. Greenwood had
-expressed to her ladyship his belief that the Marquis had no desire
-to see his son, and that the son certainly had no wish to pay another
-visit to Trafford. "He cares more about the Quaker's daughter than
-anything else," he had said,—"about her and his hunting. He and his
-sister consider themselves as separated from the whole of the family.
-I should leave them alone if I were you." Then she had said a faint
-word to her husband, and had extracted from him something that was
-supposed to be the expression of a wish that Lord Hampstead should
-not be disturbed. Now Lord Hampstead was coming without any
-invitation.</p>
-
-<p>"Going to walk over, is he, in the middle of the night?" said Mr.
-Greenwood, preparing to discuss the matter with the Marchioness.
-There was something of scorn in his voice, as though he were taking
-upon himself to laugh at Lord Hampstead for having chosen this way of
-reaching his father's house.</p>
-
-<p>"He often does that," said the Marchioness.</p>
-
-<p>"It's an odd way of coming into a sick house,—to disturb it in the
-middle of the night." Mr. Greenwood, as he spoke, stood looking at
-her ladyship severely.</p>
-
-<p>"How am I to help it? I don't suppose anybody will be disturbed at
-all. He'll come round to the side door, and one of the servants will
-be up to let him in. He always does things differently from anybody
-else."</p>
-
-<p>"One would have thought that when his father was
-<span class="nowrap">dying—"</span></p>
-
-<p>"Don't say that, Mr. Greenwood. There's nothing to make you say that.
-The Marquis is very ill, but nobody has said that he's so bad as
-that." Mr. Greenwood shook his head, but did not move from the
-position in which he was standing. "I suppose that on this occasion
-Hampstead is doing what is right."</p>
-
-<p>"I doubt whether he ever does what is right. I am only thinking that
-if anything should happen to the Marquis, how very bad it would be
-for you and the young lords."</p>
-
-<p>"Won't you sit down, Mr. Greenwood?" said the Marchioness, to whom
-the presence of the standing chaplain had become almost intolerable.</p>
-
-<p>The man sat down,—not comfortably in his chair, but hardly more than
-on the edge of it, so as still to have that air of restraint which
-had annoyed his companion. "As I was saying, if anything should
-happen to my lord it would be very sad for your ladyship and for Lord
-Frederick, and Lord Augustus, and Lord Gregory."</p>
-
-<p>"We are all in the hands of God," said her ladyship, piously.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes;—we are all in the hands of God. But it is the Lord's intention
-that we should all look out for ourselves, and do the best we can to
-avoid injustice, and cruelty, and,—and—robbery."</p>
-
-<p>"I do not think there will be any robbery, Mr. Greenwood."</p>
-
-<p>"Would it not be robbery if you and their little lordships should be
-turned at once out of this house?"</p>
-
-<p>"It would be his own;—Lord Hampstead's,—of course. I should have
-Slocombe Abbey in Somersetshire. As far as a house goes, I should
-like it better than this. Of course it is much smaller;—but what
-comfort do I ever have out of a house like this?"</p>
-
-<p>"That's true enough. But why?"</p>
-
-<p>"There is no good in talking about it, Mr. Greenwood."</p>
-
-<p>"I cannot help talking about it. It is because Lady Frances has
-broken up the family by allowing herself to be engaged to a young man
-beneath her own station in life." Here he shook his head, as he
-always did when he spoke of Lady Frances. "As for Lord Hampstead, I
-look upon it as a national misfortune that he should outlive his
-father."</p>
-
-<p>"What can we do?"</p>
-
-<p>"Well, my lady; it is hard to say. What will my feelings be, should
-anything happen to the Marquis, and should I be left to the tender
-mercies of his eldest son? I should have no claim upon Lord Hampstead
-for a shilling. As he is an infidel, of course he would not want a
-chaplain. Indeed I could not reconcile it to my conscience to remain
-with him. I should be cast out penniless, having devoted all my life,
-as I may say, to his lordship's service."</p>
-
-<p>"He has offered you a thousand pounds."</p>
-
-<p>"A thousand pounds, for the labours of a whole life! And what
-assurance shall I have of that? I don't suppose he has ever dreamed
-of putting it into his will. And if he has, what will a thousand
-pounds do for me? You can go to Slocombe Abbey. But the rectory,
-which was as good as promised, will be closed against me." The
-Marchioness knew that this was a falsehood, but did not dare to tell
-him so. The living had been talked about between them till it was
-assumed that he had a right to it. "If the young man were out of the
-way," he continued, "there would be some chance for me."</p>
-
-<p>"I cannot put him out of the way," said the Marchioness.</p>
-
-<p>"And some chance for Lord Frederic and his brothers."</p>
-
-<p>"You need not tell me of that, Mr. Greenwood."</p>
-
-<p>"But one has to look the truth in the face. It is for your sake that
-I have been anxious,—rather than my own. You must own that." She
-would not own anything of the kind. "I suppose there was no doubt
-about the first marriage?"</p>
-
-<p>"None at all," said the Marchioness, terrified.</p>
-
-<p>"Though it was thought very odd at the time. It ought to be looked
-to, I think. No stone ought to be left unturned."</p>
-
-<p>"There is nothing to be hoped for in that direction, Mr. Greenwood."</p>
-
-<p>"It ought to be looked to;—that's all. Only think what it will be if
-he marries, and has a son before anything is—is settled."</p>
-
-<p>To this Lady Kingsbury made no answer; and after a pause Mr.
-Greenwood turned to his own grievances. "I shall make bold," he said,
-"to see the Marquis once again before Lord Hampstead comes down. He
-cannot but acknowledge that I have a great right to be anxious. I do
-not suppose that any promise would be sacred in his son's eyes, but I
-must do the best I can." To this her ladyship would make no answer,
-and they parted, not in the best humour with each other.</p>
-
-<p>That was on the Monday. On the Tuesday Mr. Greenwood, having asked to
-be allowed an interview, crept slowly into the sick man's room. "I
-hope your lordship find yourself better this morning?" The sick man
-turned in his bed, and only made some feeble grunt in reply. "I hear
-that Lord Hampstead is coming down to-morrow, my lord."</p>
-
-<p>"Why should he not come?" There must have been something in the tone
-of Mr. Greenwood's voice which had grated against the sick man's
-ears, or he would not have answered so sulkily.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, no, my lord. I did not mean to say that there was any reason why
-his lordship should not come. Perhaps it might have been better had
-he come earlier."</p>
-
-<p>"It wouldn't have been at all better."</p>
-
-<p>"I only just meant to make the remark, my lord; there was nothing in
-it."</p>
-
-<p>"Nothing at all," said the sick man. "Was there anything else you
-wished to say, Mr. Greenwood?"</p>
-
-<p>The nurse all this time was sitting in the room, which the chaplain
-felt to be uncomfortable. "Could we be alone for a few minutes, my
-lord?" he asked.</p>
-
-<p>"I don't think we could," said the sick man.</p>
-
-<p>"There are a few points which are of so much importance to me, Lord
-Kingsbury."</p>
-
-<p>"I ain't well enough to talk business, and I won't do it. Mr. Roberts
-will be here to-morrow, and you can see him."</p>
-
-<p>Mr. Roberts was a man of business, or agent to the property, who
-lived at Shrewsbury, and whom Mr. Greenwood especially disliked. Mr.
-Greenwood being a clergyman was, of course, supposed to be a
-gentleman, and regarded Mr. Roberts as being much beneath himself. It
-was not customary for Mr. Roberts to dine at the house, and he was
-therefore regarded by the chaplain as being hardly more than an upper
-servant. It was therefore very grievous to him to be told that he
-must discuss his own private affairs and make his renewed request as
-to the living through Mr. Roberts. It was evidently intended that he
-should have no opportunity of discussing his private affairs.
-Whatever the Marquis might offer him he must take; and that, as far
-as he could see, without any power of redress on his side. If Mr.
-Roberts were to offer him a thousand pounds, he could only accept the
-cheque and depart with it from Trafford Park, shaking off from his
-feet the dust which such ingratitude would forbid him to carry with
-him.</p>
-
-<p>He was in the habit of walking daily for an hour before sunset,
-moving very slowly up and down the driest of the roads near the
-house, generally with his hands clasped behind his back, believing
-that in doing so he was consulting his health, and maintaining that
-bodily vigour which might be necessary to him for the performance of
-the parochial duties at Appleslocombe. Now when he had left the
-bed-room of the Marquis he went out of the front door, and proceeded
-on his walk at a somewhat quicker pace than usual. He was full of
-wrath, and his passion gave some alacrity to his movements. He was of
-course incensed against the Marquis; but his anger burnt hottest
-against Lord Hampstead. In this he was altogether unreasonable, for
-Lord Hampstead had said nothing and done nothing that could injure
-his position. Lord Hampstead disliked him and, perhaps, despised him,
-but had been anxious that the Marquis should be liberal in the mode
-of severing a connection which had lasted so long. But to Mr.
-Greenwood himself it was manifest that all his troubles came from the
-iniquities of his patron's two elder children; and he remembered at
-every moment that Lord Hampstead had insulted him when they were both
-together. He was certainly not a man to forgive an enemy, or to lose
-any opportunity for revenge which might come in his way.</p>
-
-<p>Certainly it would be good if the young man could be got to break his
-neck out hunting;—or good if the yacht could be made to founder, or
-go to pieces on a rock, or come to any other fatal maritime
-misfortune. But these were accidents which he personally could have
-no power to produce. Such wishing was infantine, and fit only for a
-weak woman, such as the Marchioness. If anything were to be done it
-must be done by some great endeavour; and the endeavour must come
-from himself. Then he reflected how far the Marchioness would
-certainly be in his power, if both the Marquis and his eldest son
-were dead. He did believe that he had obtained great influence over
-her. That she should rebel against him was of course on the cards.
-But he was aware that within the last month, since the date, indeed,
-at which the Marquis had threatened to turn him out of the house, he
-had made considerable progress in imposing himself upon her as a
-master. He gave himself in this respect much more credit than was in
-truth due to him. Lady Kingsbury, though she had learnt to fear him,
-had not so subjected herself to his influence as not to be able to
-throw him off should a time come at which it might be essential to
-her comfort to do so. But he had misread the symptoms, and had
-misread also the fretfulness of her impatience. He now assured
-himself that if anything could be done he might rely entirely on her
-support. After all that she had said to him, it would be impossible
-that she should throw him over. Thinking of all this, and thinking
-also how expedient it was that something should be done, he returned
-to the house when he had taken the exact amount of exercise which he
-supposed necessary for his health.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c2-12" id="c2-12"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XII.</h3>
-<h4>LIKE THE POOR CAT I' THE ADAGE.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>Wishing will do nothing. If a man has sufficient cause for action he
-should act. "Letting I dare not wait upon I would, Like the poor cat
-i' the adage," never can produce results. Cherries will not fall into
-your mouth without picking. "If it were done, when 'tis done then
-'twere well it were done quickly." If grapes hang too high what is
-the use of thinking of them? Nevertheless,—"Where there's a will
-there's a way." But certainly no way will be found amidst
-difficulties, unless a man set himself to work seriously to look for
-it. With such self-given admonitions, counsels, and tags of old
-quotations as these, Mr. Greenwood went to work with himself on
-Monday night, and came to a conclusion that if anything were to be
-done it must be done at once.</p>
-
-<p>Then came the question—what was the thing to be done, and what at
-once meant? When a thing has to be done which requires a special
-summoning of resolution, it is too often something which ought not to
-be done. To virtuous deeds, if they recommend themselves to us at
-all, we can generally make up our minds more easily. It was
-pleasanter to Mr. Greenwood to think of the thing as something in the
-future, as something which might possibly get itself done for him by
-accident, than as an act the doing of which must fall into his own
-hands. Then came the "cat i' the adage," and the "when 'tis done then
-'twere well," and the rest of it. Thursday morning, between four and
-five o' clock, when it would be pitch dark, with neither star nor
-moon in the heavens, when Lord Hampstead would certainly be alone in
-a certain spot, unattended and easily assailable;—would Thursday
-morning be the fittest time for any such deed as that which he had
-now in truth began to contemplate?</p>
-
-<p>When the thing presented itself to him in this new form, he recoiled
-from it. It cannot be said that Mr. Greenwood was a man of any strong
-religious feelings. He had been ordained early in life to a curacy,
-having probably followed, in choosing his profession, the bent given
-to him by his family connections, and had thus from circumstances
-fallen into the household of his present patron's uncle. From that to
-this he had never performed a service in a church, and his domestic
-services as chaplain had very soon become nothing.</p>
-
-<p>The old Lord Kingsbury had died very soon afterwards, and Mr.
-Greenwood's services had been continued rather as private secretary
-and librarian than as domestic chaplain. He had been crafty, willing,
-and, though anxious, he had been able to conceal his anxiety in that
-respect, and ready to obey when he found it necessary. In this manner
-he had come to his present condition of life, and had but few of the
-manners or feelings of a clergyman about him. He was quite willing to
-take a living if it should come in his way,—but to take it with a
-purpose that the duties should be chiefly performed by a curate. He
-was not a religious man; but when he came to look the matter in the
-face, not on that account could he regard himself as a possible
-murderer without terrible doubts.</p>
-
-<p>As he thought of it his first and prevailing fear did not come from
-the ignominious punishment which is attached to, and which generally
-attends, the crime. He has been described as a man flabby in
-appearance, as one who seemed to tremble in his shoes when called
-upon for any special words, as one who might be supposed to be devoid
-of strong physical daring. But the true character of the man was
-opposed to his outward bearing. Courage is a virtue of too high a
-nature to be included among his gifts; but he had that command of his
-own nerves, that free action of blood round his heart, that personal
-audacity coming from self-confidence, which is often taken to
-represent courage. Given the fact that he wanted an enemy out of the
-way, he could go to work to prepare to put him out of the way without
-exaggerated dread of the consequences as far as this world is
-concerned. He trusted much in himself, and thought it possible that
-he could so look through all the concomitant incidents of such an act
-as that he contemplated without allowing one to escape him which
-might lead to detection. He could so look at the matter, he thought,
-as to be sure whether this or the other plot might or might not be
-safe. It might be that no safe plot were possible, and that the
-attempt must therefore be abandoned. These, at any rate, were not the
-dangers which made him creep about in dismay at his own intentions.</p>
-
-<p>There were other dangers of which he could not shake off the dread.
-Whether he had any clear hope as to eternal bliss in another life, it
-may be doubted. He probably drove from his mind thoughts on the
-subject, not caring to investigate his own belief. It is the practice
-of many to have their minds utterly callous in that respect. To
-suppose that such men think this or think the other as to future
-rewards and punishments is to give them credit for a condition of
-mind to which they have never risen. Such a one was probably Mr.
-Greenwood; but nevertheless he feared something when this idea
-respecting Lord Hampstead presented itself to him. It was as is some
-boggy-bo to a child, some half-belief in a spectre to a nervous
-woman, some dread of undefined evil to an imaginative but melancholy
-man. He did not think that by meditating such a deed, by hardening
-his heart to the necessary resolution, by steeling himself up to its
-perpetration, he would bring himself into a condition unfitted for a
-life of bliss. His thoughts did not take any such direction. But
-though there might be no punishment in this world,—even though there
-were to be no other world in which punishment could come,—still
-something of evil would surely fall upon him. The convictions of the
-world since the days of Cain have all gone in that direction. It was
-thus that he allowed himself to be cowed, and to be made to declare
-to himself again and again that the project must be abandoned.</p>
-
-<p>But "the cat i' the adage" succeeded so far on the Tuesday in getting
-the better of his scruples, that he absolutely did form a plot. He
-did not as yet quite see his way to that security which would be
-indispensable;—but he did form a plot. Then came the bitter
-reflection that what he would do would be done for the benefit of
-others rather than his own. What would Lord Frederic know of his
-benefactor when he should come to the throne—as in such case he
-would do—as Marquis of Kingsbury? Lord Frederic would give him no
-thanks, even were he to know it,—which of course could never be the
-case. And why had not that woman assisted him,—she who had
-instigated him to the doing of the deed? "For Banquo's issue have I
-filed my mind," he said to himself over and over again, not, however,
-in truth thinking of the deed with any of the true remorse to which
-Macbeth was a prey. The "filing of his mind" only occurred to him
-because the words were otherwise apt. Would she even be grateful when
-she should tell herself,—as she surely would do,—that the deed had
-been done by the partner of her confidences?</p>
-
-<p>When he thought of the reward which was to come to him in payment of
-the intended deed something like a feeling of true conscience did
-arise within him. Might it not be the case that even he, callous as
-he was to most things, should find himself unable to go down to
-Appleslocombe and read himself in, as the phrase goes, as rector and
-pastor of the parish? He thought of this as he lay in his bed, and
-acknowledged to himself that his own audacity would probably be
-insufficient to carry him through such a struggle. But still on the
-morning when he rose he had not altogether rejected the idea. The
-young man had scorned him and had insulted him, and was hateful to
-him. But still why should he be the Macbeth, seeing that the Lady
-Macbeth of the occasion was untrue to him? In all this he was unaware
-how very little his Lady Macbeth had really meant when she had
-allowed herself in his presence to express wishes as to her stepson's
-death.</p>
-
-<p>He thought he saw his plan. The weapon was there ready to his
-hand;—a weapon which he had not bought, which could not be traced to
-him, which would certainly be fatal if used with the assurance of
-which he was confident. And there would be ample time for retreat.
-But still as he arranged it all in his mind he regarded it all not as
-a thing fixed, but as a thing which was barely possible. It was thus
-that it might be done, had the Lady Macbeth of the occasion really
-shown herself competent to such a task. Why should he trouble himself
-on such a matter? Why should he file his mind for Banquo's issue? Yet
-he looked at the pistol and at the window as he prepared to go up to
-her ladyship's room before lunch on the Wednesday morning. It
-certainly could be done, he said to himself, telling himself at the
-same time that all that had been passing in his own mind was no more
-than a vague speculation. A man is apt to speculate on things which
-have no reality to him, till they become real.</p>
-
-<p>He had assumed the practice of going to her ladyship's sitting-room
-up-stairs without a special summons, latterly to her ladyship's great
-disgust. When her quarrel had first become strong with Lady Frances
-she had no doubt received comfort from his support. But now she had
-become weary of him, and had sometimes been almost dismayed by the
-words he spoke to her. At half-past twelve punctually she went down
-to her husband's room, and it was now customary with the chaplain to
-visit her before she did so. She had more than once almost resolved
-to tell him that she preferred to be left alone during the morning.
-But she had not as yet assumed the courage to do this. She was aware
-that words had fallen from her in her anger which it was possible he
-might use against her, were she to subject herself to his
-displeasure. "Lord Hampstead will be here at half-past four—what you
-may call the middle of the night—to-morrow morning, Lady Kingsbury,"
-said he, repeating an assertion which he had already made to her two
-or three times. As he did so he stood in the middle of the room,
-looking down upon her with a gaze under which she had often suffered,
-but which she did not in the least understand.</p>
-
-<p>"Of course I know he's coming."</p>
-
-<p>"Don't you think it a very improper time, with a sick man in the
-house?"</p>
-
-<p>"He won't disturb his father."</p>
-
-<p>"I don't know. There will be the opening and the shutting of the
-door, and the servant will be going about the passages, and there
-will be the bringing in of the luggage."</p>
-
-<p>"He won't have any luggage." Mr. Greenwood had been aware of this;
-but it might be well that he should affect ignorance.</p>
-
-<p>"It is like everything else that he does," he said, being anxious to
-induce the stepmother to speak ill of her stepson. But the bent of
-her mind had been turned. She was not conscious of the cause which
-had produced the change, but she was determined to speak no further
-evil of her stepchildren before Mr. Greenwood. "I suppose there is
-nothing to be done?" said Mr. Greenwood.</p>
-
-<p>"What should there be to be done? If you do remain here I wish you
-would sit down, Mr. Greenwood. You oppress me by standing up in that
-way in the middle of the room."</p>
-
-<p>"I do not wonder that you should be oppressed," he said, seating
-himself, as was his wont, on the edge of a chair. "I am oppressed, I
-know. No one ever says a word to comfort me. What am I to do if
-anything should happen?"</p>
-
-<p>"Mr. Greenwood, what is the use of all this?"</p>
-
-<p>"What would you think, Lady Kingsbury, if you had to live all the
-rest of your life on an income arising from a thousand pounds?"</p>
-
-<p>"It isn't my fault. What's the good of your coming to me with all
-that? I have had nothing to do with the arrangement which Lord
-Kingsbury has made with you. You know very well that I do not dare
-even to mention your name to him, lest he should order that you
-should be turned out of the house."</p>
-
-<p>"Turned out of the house!" he said, jumping off his chair on to his
-legs with an alacrity which was quite unusual to him. "Turned out of
-the house?—as if I were a dog! No man alive would stand such
-language."</p>
-
-<p>"You know very well that I've always stood your friend," said the
-Marchioness, alarmed by the man's impetuosity.</p>
-
-<p>"And you tell me that I'm to be turned out of the house."</p>
-
-<p>"I only say that it would be better not to mention your name to him.
-I must go now, because he will be waiting for me."</p>
-
-<p>"He doesn't care a straw for you; not a straw."</p>
-
-<p>"Mr. Greenwood!"</p>
-
-<p>"He cares only for his son and daughter;—for the son and daughter of
-his first wife; for those two ignoble young persons who, as you have
-said so often, are altogether unworthy of their name."</p>
-
-<p>"Mr. Greenwood, I cannot admit this."</p>
-
-<p>"Have you not said it over and over again? Have you not declared how
-good a thing it would be that Lord Hampstead should die? You cannot
-go back from all that, Lady Kingsbury."</p>
-
-<p>"I must go now, Mr. Greenwood," she said, shuffling out of the room.
-He had altogether frightened her, and, as she went down-stairs, she
-determined that at whatever cost she must save herself from further
-private conversation with the chaplain.</p>
-
-<p>Mr. Greenwood, when he was thus left alone, did not at once leave the
-room. He had reseated himself, and there he remained still gazing as
-though there had been some one for him to gaze at, and still seated
-on the edge of his chair as though there were some one to see the
-affected humility of his position. But in truth the gazing and the
-manner of sitting had become so customary to him that they were
-assumed without thought. His mind was now full of the injury done to
-him by the Marchioness. She had made him her confidant; she had
-poured her secret thoughts into his ears; she had done her best to
-inspire him with her hatred and her desires;—and now, when she had
-almost taught him to be the minister of her wishes, she turned upon
-him, and upbraided him and deserted him! Of course when he had
-sympathized with her as to her ill-used darlings he had expected her
-to sympathize with him as to the hardships inflicted upon him. But
-she cared nothing for his hardships, and was anxious to repudiate the
-memory of all the hard words which she had spoken as to her husband's
-children. It should not be so! She should not escape from him in this
-manner! When confidences have been made, the persons making them must
-abide the consequences. When a partnership has been formed, neither
-partner has a right to retreat at once, leaving the burden of all
-debts upon the other. Had not all these thoughts, and plottings,
-which had been so heavy on his mind since that telegram had come,
-which had been so heavy on his soul, been her doing? Had not the idea
-come from her? Had there not been an unspoken understanding between
-them that in consequence of certain mutual troubles and mutual
-aspirations there should be a plan of action arranged between them?
-Now she was deserting him! Well;—he thought that he could so
-contrive things that she should not do so with impunity. Having
-considered all this he got up from his chair and slowly walked down
-to his own room.</p>
-
-<p>He lunched by himself, and then sat himself down with a novel, as was
-his wont at that hour of the day. There could be no man more punctual
-in all his daily avocations than Mr. Greenwood. After lunch there
-always came the novel; but there was seldom much of it read. He would
-generally go to sleep, and would remain so, enjoying perfect
-tranquillity for the best part of an hour. Then he would go out for
-his constitutional walk, after which he would again take up the novel
-till the time came for her ladyship's tea. On this occasion he did
-not read at all, but neither did he at once sleep. There had been
-that on his mind which, even though it had not been perfected,
-banished sleep from him for some minutes. There was no need of any
-further conversation as to safety or danger. The deed, whether it
-would or could not have been done in the manner he had premeditated,
-certainly would not be done now. Certainly not now would he file his
-mind for Banquo's issue. But after half-an-hour of silent meditation
-he did sleep.</p>
-
-<p>When he arose and went out for a walk he felt that his heart was
-light within him. He had done nothing by which he had compromised
-himself. He had bound himself to no deed. As he walked up and down
-the road he assured himself that he had never really thought of doing
-it. He had only speculated as to the probability,—which is so common
-for men to do as to performances which they had no thought of
-attempting. There was a great burden gone from him. Had he desired to
-get rid of Lord Hampstead, it was in that way that he would have done
-it;—and he would so have done it that he would never have been
-suspected of the deed. He had never intended more than that. As he
-returned to the house he assured himself that he had never intended
-anything more. And yet there was a great burden gone from him.</p>
-
-<p>At five o'clock a message was brought to him that her ladyship,
-finding herself to be rather unwell, begged to be excused from asking
-him up to tea. The message was brought by the butler himself, with a
-suggestion that he should have tea in his own room. "I think I will,
-Harris," he said, "just take a cup. By-the-bye, Harris, have you seen
-my lord to-day?" Harris declared that he had seen his lordship, in a
-tone of voice which implied that he at any rate had not been banished
-from my lord's presence. "And how do you find him?" Harris thought
-that the Marquis was a little more like himself to-day than he had
-been for the last three days. "That's right. I am very glad to hear
-that. Lord Hampstead's coming to-morrow will be a great comfort to
-him."</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, indeed," said Harris, who was quite on Lord Hampstead's side in
-the family quarrels. He had not been pleased with the idea of the
-Roden marriage, which certainly was unfortunate for the daughter of a
-Marquis; but he was by no means inclined to take part against the
-heir to the family honours.</p>
-
-<p>"I wish he were coming at a little more reasonable hour in the day,"
-said Mr. Greenwood with a smile. But Harris thought that the time of
-the day would do very well. It was the kind of thing which his
-lordship very often did, and Harris did not see any harm in it. This
-Harris said with his hand on the lock of the door, showing that he
-was not anxious for a prolonged conversation with the chaplain.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c2-13" id="c2-13"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XIII.</h3>
-<h4>LADY FRANCES SEES HER LOVER.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>On the Monday in that week,—Monday, the 5th of January, on which day
-Hampstead had been hunting and meditating the attack which he
-subsequently made on Zachary Fay, in King's Court,—Mrs. Vincent had
-paid a somewhat unusually long visit in Paradise Row. As the visit
-was always made on Monday, neither had Clara Demijohn or Mrs. Duffer
-been very much surprised; but still it had been observed that the
-brougham had been left at the "Duchess of Edinburgh" for an hour
-beyond the usual time, and a few remarks were made. "She is so
-punctual about her time generally," Clara had said. But Mrs. Duffer
-remarked that as she had exceeded the hour usually devoted to her
-friend's company she had probably found it quite as well to stay
-another. "They don't make half-hours in any of those yards, you
-know," said Mrs. Duffer. And so the matter had been allowed to pass
-as having been sufficiently explained.</p>
-
-<p>But there had in truth been more than that in Mrs. Vincent's
-prolonged visit to her cousin. There had been much to be discussed,
-and the discussion led to a proposition made that evening by Mrs.
-Roden to her son by which the latter was much surprised. She was
-desirous of starting almost immediately for Italy, and was anxious
-that he should accompany her. If it were to be so he was quite alive
-to the expediency of going with her. "But what is it, mother?" he
-asked, when she had requested his attendance without giving the cause
-which rendered the journey necessary. Then she paused as though
-considering whether she would comply with his request, and tell him
-that whole secret of his life which she had hitherto concealed from
-him. "Of course, I will not press you," he said, "if you think that
-you cannot trust me."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, George, that is unkind."</p>
-
-<p>"What else am I to say? Is it possible that I should start suddenly
-upon such a journey, or that I should see you doing so, without
-asking the reason why? Or can I suppose if you do not tell me, but
-that there is some reason why you should not trust me?"</p>
-
-<p>"You know I trust you. No mother ever trusted a son more implicitly.
-You ought to know that. It is not a matter of trusting. There may be
-secrets to which a person shall be so pledged that she cannot tell
-them to her dearest friend. If I had made a promise would you not
-have me keep it?"</p>
-
-<p>"Promises such as that should not be exacted, and should not be
-made."</p>
-
-<p>"But if they have been exacted and have been made? Do as I ask you
-now, and it is probable that everything will be clear to you before
-we return, or at any rate as clear to you as it is to me." After
-this, with a certain spirit of reticence which was peculiar with him,
-he made up his mind to do as his mother would have him without asking
-further questions. He set himself to work immediately to make the
-necessary arrangements for his journey with as much apparent
-satisfaction as though it were to be done on his own behalf. It was
-decided that they would start on the next Friday, travel through
-France and by the tunnel of the Mont Cenis to Turin, and thence on to
-Milan. Of what further there was to befall them he knew nothing at
-this period.</p>
-
-<p>It was necessary in the first place that he should get leave of
-absence from Sir Boreas, as to which he professed himself to be in
-much doubt, because he had already enjoyed the usual leave of absence
-allowed by the rules of the office. But on this matter he found Æolus
-to be very complaisant. "What, Italy?" said Sir Boreas. "Very nice
-when you get there, I should say, but a bad time of year for
-travelling. Sudden business, eh?—To go with your mother! It is bad
-for a lady to go alone. How long? You don't know? Well! come back as
-soon as you can; that's all. You couldn't take Crocker with you,
-could you?" For at this time Crocker had already got into further
-trouble in regard to imperfections of handwriting. He had been
-promised absolution as to some complaint made against him on
-condition that he could read a page of his own manuscript. But he had
-altogether failed in the attempt. Roden didn't think that he could
-carry Crocker to Italy, but arranged his own affair without that
-impediment.</p>
-
-<p>But there was another matter which must be arranged also. It was now
-six weeks since he had walked with Lord Hampstead half-way back from
-Holloway to Hendon, and had been desired by his friend not to visit
-Lady Frances while she was staying at Hendon Hall. The reader may
-remember that he had absolutely refused to make any promise, and that
-there had consequently been some sharp words spoken between the two
-friends. There might, he had then said, arise an occasion on which he
-should find it impossible not to endeavour to see the girl he loved.
-But hitherto, though he had refused to submit himself to the demand
-made upon him, he had complied with its spirit. At this moment, as it
-seemed to him, a period had come in which it was essential to him
-that he should visit her. There had been no correspondence between
-them since those Königsgraaf days in consequence of the resolutions
-which she herself had made. Now, as he often told himself, they were
-as completely separated as though each had determined never again to
-communicate with the other. Months had gone by since a word had
-passed between them. He was a man, patient, retentive, and by nature
-capable of enduring such a trouble without loud complaint; but he did
-remember from day to day how near they were to each other, and he did
-not fail to remind himself that he could hardly expect to find
-constancy in her unless he took some means of proving to her that he
-was constant himself. Thinking of all this, he determined that he
-would do his best to see her before he started for Italy. Should he
-fail to be received at Hendon Hall then he would write. But he would
-go to the house and make his attempt.</p>
-
-<p>On Thursday morning, the day on which Hampstead arrived at Trafford
-Park, he went down from London, and knocking at the door asked at
-once for Lady Frances. Lady Frances was at home and alone;—alone
-altogether, having no companion with her in the house during her
-brother's absence. The servant who opened the door, the same who had
-admitted poor Crocker and had understood how much his young mistress
-had been dismayed when the Post Office clerk had been announced, was
-unwilling at once to show this other Post Office clerk into the
-house, although he probably understood well the difference between
-the two comers. "I'll go and see," he said, leaving George Roden to
-sit or stand in the hall as he liked best. Then the man, with a
-sagacity which certainly did him credit, made a roundabout journey
-through the house, so that the lover stationed in the hall might not
-know that his mistress was to be reached merely by the opening of a
-single door. "A gentleman in the hall?" said Lady Frances.</p>
-
-<p>"Mr. Roden, my lady," said the man.</p>
-
-<p>"Show him in," said Lady Frances, allowing herself just a moment for
-consideration,—a moment so short that she trusted that no hesitation
-had been visible. And yet she had doubted much. She had been very
-clear in explaining to her brother that she had made no promise. She
-had never pledged herself to any one that she would deny herself to
-her lover should he come to see her. She would not admit to herself
-that even her brother, even her father, had a right to demand from
-her such a pledge. But she knew what were her brother's wishes on
-this matter, and what were the reasons for them. She knew also how
-much she owed to him. But she too had suffered from that long
-silence. She had considered that a lover whom she never saw, and from
-whom she never heard, was almost as bad as no lover at all. She had
-beaten her feathers against her cage, as she thought of this cruel
-separation. She had told herself of the short distance which
-separated Hendon from Holloway. She perhaps had reflected that had
-the man been as true to her as was she to him, he would not have
-allowed himself to be deterred by the injunctions either of father or
-brother. Now, at any rate, when her lover was at the door, she could
-not turn him away. It had all to be thought of, but it was thought of
-so quickly that the order for her lover's admittance was given almost
-without a pause which could have been felt. Then, in half a minute,
-her lover was in the room with her.</p>
-
-<p>Need the chronicler of such scenes declare that they were in each
-other's arms before a word was spoken between them? The first word
-that was spoken came from her. "Oh, George, how long it has been!"</p>
-
-<p>"It has been long to me."</p>
-
-<p>"But at last you have come?"</p>
-
-<p>"Did you expect me sooner? Had you not agreed with Hampstead and your
-father that I was not to come?"</p>
-
-<p>"Never mind. You are here now. Poor papa, you know, is very ill.
-Perhaps I may have to go down there. John is there now."</p>
-
-<p>"Is he so ill as that?"</p>
-
-<p>"John went last night. We do not quite know how ill he is. He does
-not write, and we doubt whether we get at the truth. I was very
-nearly going with him; and then, sir, you would not have seen me—at
-all."</p>
-
-<p>"Another month, another six months, another year, would have made no
-difference in my assurance of your truth to me."</p>
-
-<p>"That is a very pretty speech for you to make."</p>
-
-<p>"Nor I think in yours for me."</p>
-
-<p>"I am bound, of course, to be just as pretty as you are. But why have
-you come now? You shouldn't have come when John had left me all
-alone."</p>
-
-<p>"I did not know that you were here alone."</p>
-
-<p>"Or you would not have come, perhaps? But you should not have come.
-Why did you not ask before you came?"</p>
-
-<p>"Because I should have been refused. It would have been refused;
-would it not?"</p>
-
-<p>"Certainly it would."</p>
-
-<p>"But as I wish to see you specially—"</p>
-
-<p>"Why specially? I have wanted to see you always. Every day has been a
-special want. It should have been so with you also had you been as
-true as I am. There should have been no special times."</p>
-
-<p>"But I am going—"</p>
-
-<p>"Going! Where are you going? Not for always! You are leaving
-Holloway, you mean, or the Post Office." Then he explained to her
-that as far as he knew the journey would not be for long. He was not
-leaving his office, but had permission to absent himself for a time,
-so that he might travel with his mother as far as Milan. "Nay," said
-he, laughing, "why I am to do so I do not in the least know. My
-mother has some great Italian mystery of which she has never yet
-revealed to me any of the circumstances. All I know is that I was
-born in Italy."</p>
-
-<p>"You an Italian?"</p>
-
-<p>"I did not say that. There is an old saying that you need not be a
-horse because you were born in a stable. Nor do I quite know that I
-was born in Italy, though I feel sure of it. Of my father I have
-never known anything,—except that he was certainly a bad husband to
-my mother. There are circumstances which do make me almost sure that
-I was born in Italy; but as my mother has been unwilling to talk to
-me of my earliest days, I have never chosen to ask her. Now I shall
-perhaps know it all."</p>
-
-<p>Of what else passed between them the reader need learn no details. To
-her the day was one of exceeding joy. A lover in China, or waging
-wars in Zululand or elsewhere among the distant regions, is a
-misfortune. A lover ought to be at hand, ready at the moment, to be
-kissed or scolded, to wait upon you, or, so much sweeter still, to be
-waited upon, just as the occasion may serve. But the lover in China
-is better than one in the next street or the next parish,—or only a
-few miles off by railway,—whom you may not see. The heart recognizes
-the necessity occasioned by distance with a sweet softness of tender
-regrets, but is hardened by mutiny, or crushed by despair in
-reference to stern parents or unsuitable pecuniary circumstances.
-Lady Frances had been enduring the sternness of parents, and had been
-unhappy. Now there had come a break. She had seen what he was like,
-and had heard his voice, and been reassured by his vows, and had
-enjoyed the longed-for opportunity of repeating her own. "Nothing,
-nothing, nothing can change me!" How was he to be sure of that while
-she had no opportunity of telling him that it was so? "No
-time;—nothing that papa can say, nothing that John can do, will have
-any effect. As to Lady Kingsbury, of course you know that she has
-thrown me off altogether." It was nothing to him, he said, who might
-have thrown her off. Having her promise, he could bide his time. Not
-but that he was impatient; but that he knew that when so much was to
-be given to him at last, it behoved him to endure all things rather
-than to be faint of heart. And so they parted.</p>
-
-<p>She, however, in spite of her joy, had a troubled spirit when he was
-gone. She had declared to her brother that she was bound by no
-promise as to seeing or not seeing her lover, but yet she was aware
-how much she owed to him, and that, though she had not promised, he
-had made a promise on her behalf, to her father. But for that promise
-she would never have been allowed to be at Hendon Hall. His brother
-had made all his arrangements so as to provide for her a home in
-which she might be free from the annoyances inflicted upon her by her
-stepmother; but had done so almost with a provision that she should
-not see George Roden. She certainly had done nothing herself to
-infringe that stipulation; but George Roden had come, and she had
-seen him. She might have refused him admittance, no doubt; but then
-again she thought that it would have been impossible to do so. How
-could she have told the man to deny her, thus professing her
-indifference for him in regard to whom she had so often declared that
-she was anxious that all the world should know that they were engaged
-to marry each other? It would have been impossible for her not to see
-him; and yet she felt that she had been treacherous to her brother,
-to whom she owed so much!</p>
-
-<p>One thing seemed to her to be absolutely necessary. She must write at
-once and tell him what had occurred. Thinking of this she sat down
-and wrote so that she might despatch her letter by that post;—and
-what she wrote is here given.<br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My Dear
-John</span>—</p>
-
-<p>I shall be so anxious to get news from Trafford, and to
-hear how you found papa. I cannot but think that were he
-very ill somebody would have let us know the truth. Though
-Mr. Greenwood is cross-grained and impertinent, he would
-hardly have kept us in the dark.</p>
-
-<p>Now I have a piece of news to tell you which I hope will
-not make you very angry. It was not my doing, and I do not
-know how I could have helped it. Your friend, George
-Roden, called to-day and asked to see me. Of course I
-could have refused. He was in the hall when Richard
-announced him, and I suppose I could have sent out word to
-say that I was not at home. But I think you will feel that
-that was in truth impossible. How is one to tell a lie to
-a man when one feels towards him as I do about George? Or
-how could I even let the servants think that I would treat
-him so badly? Of course every one knows about it. I want
-every one to know about it, so that it may be understood
-that I am not in the least ashamed of what I mean to do.</p>
-
-<p>And when you hear why he came I do not think that you can
-be angry even with him. He has been called upon, for some
-reason, to go at once with his mother to Italy. They start
-for Milan to-morrow, and he does not at all know when he
-may return. He had to get leave at the Post Office, but
-that Sir Boreas whom he talks about seems to have been
-very good-natured about giving it. He asked him whether he
-would not take Mr. Crocker with him to Italy; but that of
-course was a joke. I suppose they do not like Mr. Crocker
-at the Post Office any better than you do. Why Mrs. Roden
-should have to go he does not understand. All he knows is
-that there is some Italian secret which he will hear all
-about before he comes home.</p>
-
-<p>Now I really do think that you cannot be surprised that he
-should have come to see me when he is going to take such a
-journey as that. What should I have thought if I had heard
-that he had gone without saying a word to me about it?
-Don't you think that that would have been most unnatural?
-I should have almost broken my heart when I heard that he
-had started.</p>
-
-<p>I do hope, therefore, that you will not be angry with
-either of us. But yet I feel that I may have brought you
-into trouble with papa. I do not care in the least for
-Lady Kingsbury, who has no right to interfere in the
-matter at all. After her conduct everything I think is
-over between us. But I shall be indeed sorry if papa is
-vexed; and shall feel it very much if he says anything to
-you after all your great kindness to me.</p>
-
-<p class="ind12">Your affectionate sister,</p>
-
-<p class="ind18"><span class="smallcaps">Fanny</span>.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p>"I have done one other thing to-day," said George Roden, when he was
-explaining to his mother on Thursday evening all the preparations he
-had made for their journey.</p>
-
-<p>"What other thing?" she asked, guessing accurately, however, the
-nature of the thing of which he was about to speak.</p>
-
-<p>"I have seen Lady Frances Trafford."</p>
-
-<p>"I thought it probable that you might endeavour to do so."</p>
-
-<p>"I have done more than endeavour on this occasion. I went down to
-Hendon Hall, and was shown into the drawing-room. I am sorry for
-Hampstead's sake, but it was impossible for me not to do so."</p>
-
-<p>"Why sorry for his sake?" she asked.</p>
-
-<p>"Because he had pledged himself to his father that I should not do
-so. He clearly had no right to make such a pledge. I could not bind
-myself to an assurance by keeping which I might seem to show myself
-to be indifferent. A girl may bind herself by such a promise, but
-hardly a man. Had I made the promise I almost think I must have
-broken it. I did not make it, and therefore I have no sin to confess.
-But I fear I shall have done him a mischief with his father."</p>
-
-<p>"And what did she say, George?"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh; just the old story, mother, I suppose. What she said was what I
-knew just as well before I went there. But yet it was necessary that
-I should hear what she had to say;—and as necessary I think that she
-should hear me."</p>
-
-<p>"Quite as necessary, I am sure," said his mother kissing his
-forehead.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c2-14" id="c2-14"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XIV.</h3>
-<h4>MR. GREENWOOD'S FEELINGS.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>On that Wednesday night Mr. Greenwood did not sleep much. It may be
-doubted whether he once closed his eyes in slumber. He had indeed
-been saved from the performance of an act which now seemed to him to
-be so terrible that he could hardly believe that he had in truth
-contemplated it; but yet he knew,—he knew that it for some hours had
-been the purpose of his mind to do it! He struggled to make himself
-believe that it had in truth been no more than a speculation, that
-there had been no formed purpose, that he had only amused himself by
-considering how he could do such a deed without detection, if the
-deed were to be done. He had simply been thinking over the blunders
-of others, the blindness of men who had so bungled in their business
-as to have left easy traces for the eyes and intelligence of the
-world outside, and had been assuring himself how much better he could
-manage if the necessity of such an operation were to come upon him.
-That was all. No doubt he hated Lord Hampstead,—and had cause to do
-so. It was thus that he argued with himself. But his hatred had
-surely not carried him to the intention of murder!</p>
-
-<p>There could have been no question of real murder; for why should he
-have troubled himself either with the danger or with the load which
-it would certainly have imposed on his conscience? Much as he hated
-Lord Hampstead, it was no business of his. It was that Lady Macbeth
-up-stairs, the mother of the darlings, who had really thought of
-murder. It was she who had spoken openly of her great desire that
-Lord Hampstead should cease to live. Had there been any real question
-of murder it would have been for her to meditate, for her to think,
-for her to plot;—surely not for him! Certainly, certainly he had
-contemplated no such deed as that, with the object of obtaining for
-the comfort of his old age the enjoyment of the living of
-Appleslocombe! He told himself now that had he in truth committed
-such a crime, had he carried out the plot which had formed itself in
-his brain only as a matter of speculation, though he might not have
-been detected, yet he would have been suspected; and suspicion would
-have been as destructive to his hopes as detection. Of course all
-that had been clear enough to him throughout his machinations; and
-therefore how could he really have intended it? He had not intended
-it. It had only been one of those castles in the air which the old
-build as well as the young,—which are no more than the "airy
-fabrics" of the brain!</p>
-
-<p>It was thus he struggled to drive from his mind and from his eyes the
-phantom of the terrible deed. But that he did not succeed was made
-evident to himself by the hot clammy drops of sweat which came out
-upon his brow, by his wakefulness throughout the livelong night, by
-the carefulness with which his ears watched for the sound of the
-young man's coming, as though it were necessary that he should be
-made assured that the murder had in truth not been done. Before that
-hour had come he found himself to be shaking even in his bed; to be
-drawing the clothes around him to dispel the icy cold, though the
-sweat still stood upon his brow; to be hiding his eyes under the
-bed-clothes in order that he might not see something which seemed to
-be visible to him through the utmost darkness of the chamber. At any
-rate he had done nothing! Let his thoughts have been what they might,
-he had soiled neither his hands nor his conscience. Though everything
-that he had ever done or ever thought were known, he was free from
-all actual crime. She had talked of death and thought of murder. He
-had only echoed her words and her thoughts, meaning nothing,—as a
-man is bound to do to a woman. Why then could he not sleep? Why
-should he be hot and shiver with cold by turns? Why should horrid
-phantoms perplex him in the dark? He was sure he had never meant it.
-What must be the agony of those who do mean, of those who do execute,
-if such punishment as this were awarded to one who had done no more
-than build a horrid castle in the air? Did she sleep;—he
-wondered,—she who had certainly done more than build a castle in the
-air; she who had wished and longed, and had a reason for her wishing
-and her longing?</p>
-
-<p>At last he heard a footfall on the road, which passed but some few
-yards distant from his window, a quick, cheery, almost running
-footfall, a step full of youth and life, sounding crisp on the hard
-frozen ground; and he knew that the young man whom he hated had come.
-Though he had never thought of murdering him,—as he told
-himself,—yet he hated him. And then his thoughts, although in
-opposition to his own wishes,—which were intent upon sleep, if sleep
-would only come to him,—ran away to the building of other castles.
-How would it have been now, now at this moment, if that plan, which
-he had never really intended to carry out, which had only been a
-speculation, had been a true plan and been truly executed? How would
-it have been with them all now at Trafford Park? The Marchioness
-would have been at any rate altogether satisfied;—but what comfort
-would there have been in that to him? Lord Frederic would have been
-the heir to a grand title and to vast estates;—but how would he have
-been the better for that? The old lord who was lying there so sick in
-the next room might probably have sunk into his grave with a broken
-heart. The Marquis had of late been harsh to him; but there did come
-to him an idea at the present moment that he had for thirty years
-eaten the sick man's bread. And the young man would have been sent
-without a moment's notice to meet his final doom! Of what nature that
-might have been, the wretched man lying there did not dare even to
-make a picture in his imagination. It was a matter which he had
-sedulously and successfully dismissed from all his thoughts. It was
-of the body lying out there in the cold, not of the journey which the
-winged soul might make, that he unwillingly drew a picture to
-himself. He conceived how he himself, in the prosecution of the plan
-which he had formed, would have been forced to have awakened the
-house, and to tell of the deed, and to assist in carrying the body to
-what resting-place might have been found for it. There he would have
-had to enact a part of which he had, a few hours since, told himself
-that he would be capable, but in attempting which he was now sure
-that he would have succumbed to the difficulties of the struggle. Who
-would have broken the news to the father? Who would have attempted to
-speak the first word of vain consolation? Who would have flown to the
-lady's door up-stairs and have informed her that death was in the
-house—and have given her to understand that the eldest of her
-darlings was the heir? It would have been for him to do it all; for
-him with a spirit weighed down to the ground by that terrible burden
-with which the doing of such a deed would have loaded it. He would
-certainly have revealed himself in the struggle!</p>
-
-<p>But why should he allow his mind to be perplexed with such thoughts?
-No such deed had been done. There had been no murder. The young man
-was there now in the house, light-hearted after his walk; full of
-life and youthful energy. Why should he be troubled with such waking
-dreams as these? Must it be so with him always, for the rest of his
-life, only because he had considered how a thing might best be done?
-He heard a footstep in a distant passage, and a door closed, and then
-again all was silent. Was there not cause to him for joy in the young
-man's presence? If his speculations had been wicked, was there not
-time to turn for repentance,—for repentance, though there was so
-little for which repentance were needed? Nevertheless the night was
-to him so long, and the misery connected with the Trafford name so
-great, that he told himself that he would quit the place as soon as
-possible. He would take whatever money were offered to him and go.
-How would it have been with him had he really done the deed, when he
-found himself unable to sleep in the house in which he would not
-quite admit to himself that he had even contemplated it?</p>
-
-<p>On the next morning his breakfast was brought to him in his own room,
-and he inquired from the servant after Lord Hampstead and his
-purposes. The servant thought that his lordship meant to remain on
-that day and the next. So he had heard Harris, the butler, say. His
-lordship was to see his father at eleven o'clock that morning. The
-household bulletin respecting the Marquis had that morning been
-rather more favourable than usual. The Marchioness had not yet been
-seen. The doctor would probably be there by twelve. This was the news
-which Mr. Greenwood got from the servant who waited upon him. Could
-he not escape from the house during the period that the young lord
-would be there, without seeing the young lord? The young lord was
-hateful to him—more hateful than ever. He would, if possible, get
-himself carried into Shrewsbury, and remain there on some excuse of
-visiting a friend till the young lord should have returned to London.
-He could not tell himself why, but he felt that the sight of the
-young lord would be oppressive to him.</p>
-
-<p>But in this he was prevented by an intimation that was given to him
-early in the day, before he had made preparations for his going, that
-Lord Hampstead wished to see him, and would wait upon him in his own
-room. The Marquis had expressed himself grateful to his son for
-coming, but did not wish to detain him at Trafford. "Of course it is
-very dull for you, and I think I am better."</p>
-
-<p>"I am so glad of that;—but if you think that I am of any comfort to
-you I shall be delighted to stay. I suppose Fanny would come down if
-I remain here."</p>
-
-<p>Then the Marquis shook his head. Fanny, he thought, had better be
-away. "The Marchioness and Fanny would not be happy in the house
-together,—unless, indeed, she has given up that young man."
-Hampstead could not say that she had given up the young man. "I do
-hope she never sees him," said the Marquis. Then his son assured him
-that the two had never met since Fanny had gone to Hendon Hall. And
-he was rash enough to assure his father that there would be no such
-meeting while his sister was his guest. At that moment George Roden
-was standing in the drawing-room at Hendon Hall with Lady Frances in
-his arms.</p>
-
-<p>After that there arose a conversation between the father and son as
-to Mr. Greenwood. The Marquis was very desirous that the man who had
-become so objectionable to him should quit the house. "The truth is,"
-said the Marquis, "that it is he who makes all the mischief between
-me and your stepmother. It is he that makes me ill. I have no comfort
-while he is here, making plots against me." If they two had only
-known the plot which had been made! Hampstead thought it reasonable
-that the man should be sent away, if only because his presence was
-disagreeable. Why should a man be kept in the house simply to produce
-annoyance? But there must be the question of compensation. He did not
-think that £1000 was sufficient. Then the Marquis was unusually
-difficult of persuasion in regard to money. Hampstead thought that an
-annuity of £300 a year should be settled on the poor clergyman. The
-Marquis would not hear of it. The man had not performed even the
-slight duties which had been required of him. The books had not even
-been catalogued. To bribe a man, such as that, by £300 a year for
-making himself disagreeable would be intolerable. The Marquis had
-never promised him anything. He ought to have saved his money. At
-last the father and son came to terms, and Hampstead sent to prepare
-a meeting with the chaplain.</p>
-
-<p>Mr. Greenwood was standing in the middle of the room when Lord
-Hampstead entered it, rubbing his fat hands together. Hampstead saw
-no difference in the man since their last meeting, but there was a
-difference. Mr. Greenwood's manner was at first more submissive, as
-though he were afraid of his visitor; but before the interview was
-over he had recovered his audacity. "My father has wished me to see
-you," said Hampstead. Mr. Greenwood went on rubbing his hands, still
-standing in the middle of the room. "He seems to think it better that
-you should leave him."</p>
-
-<p>"I don't know why he should think it better;—but, of course, I will
-go if he bids me." Mr. Greenwood had quite made up his mind that it
-would be better for him also that he should go.</p>
-
-<p>"There will be no good in going into that. I think we might as well
-sit down, Mr. Greenwood." They did sit down, the chaplain as usual
-perching himself on the edge of a chair. "You have been here a great
-many years."</p>
-
-<p>"A great many, Lord Hampstead;—nearly all my life;—before you were
-born, Lord Hampstead." Then, as he sat gazing, there came before his
-eyes the phantom of Lord Hampstead being carried into the house as a
-corpse while he himself was struggling beneath a portion of the
-weight.</p>
-
-<p>"Just so; and though the Marquis cannot admit that there is any claim
-upon <span class="nowrap">him—"</span></p>
-
-<p>"No claim, Lord Hampstead!"</p>
-
-<p>"Certainly no claim. Yet he is quite willing to do something in
-acknowledgment of the long connection. His lordship thinks that an
-annuity of £200 a <span class="nowrap">year—."</span>
-Mr. Greenwood shook his head, as though he
-would say that that certainly would not satisfy him. Hampstead had
-been eager to secure the full £300 for the wretched, useless man, but
-the Marquis had declared that he would not burden the estate with a
-charge so unnecessarily large. "I say," continued Hampstead,
-frowning, "that his lordship has desired me to say that you shall
-receive during your life an annuity of £200." It certainly was the
-fact that Lord Hampstead could frown when he was displeased, and that
-at such moments he would assume a look of aristocratic impatience
-which was at variance with his professed political theories. Mr.
-Greenwood again shook his head. "I do not think that I need say
-anything farther," continued the young lord. "That is my father's
-decision. He presumes that you would prefer the annuity to the
-immediate payment of a thousand pounds." Here the shaking of the head
-became more violent. "I have only in addition to ask you when it will
-suit you to leave Trafford Park." Lord Hampstead, when he had left
-his father, had determined to use his blandest manner in
-communicating these tidings to the chaplain. But Mr. Greenwood was
-odious to him. The way in which the man stood on the floor and rubbed
-his hands together, and sat on the edge of his chair, and shook his
-head without speaking a word, were disgusting to him. If the man had
-declared boldly his own view of what was due to him, Hampstead would
-have endeavoured to be gracious to him. As it was he was anything but
-gracious, as he asked the chaplain to name the day on which he would
-be prepared to leave the house.</p>
-
-<p>"You mean to say that I am to be—turned out."</p>
-
-<p>"It is some months since you were told that my father no longer
-required your services."</p>
-
-<p>"I am to be turned out,—like a dog,—after thirty years!"</p>
-
-<p>"I cannot contradict you when you say so, but I must ask you to name
-a day. It is not as though the suggestion were now made to you for
-the first time." Mr. Greenwood got up from the edge of the chair, and
-again stood in the middle of the room. Lord Hampstead felt himself
-constrained also to stand. "Have you any answer to make to me?"</p>
-
-<p>"No; I have not," said the chaplain.</p>
-
-<p>"You mean that you have not fixed upon a day?"</p>
-
-<p>"I shan't go with £200 a year," said the chaplain. "It's
-unreasonable; it's brutal!"</p>
-
-<p>"Brutal!" shouted Lord Hampstead.</p>
-
-<p>"I shan't stir till I've seen the Marquis himself. It's out of the
-question that he should turn me out in this way. How am I to live
-upon £200 a year? I always understood that I was to have
-Appleslocombe."</p>
-
-<p>"No such promise was ever made to you," said Lord Hampstead, very
-angrily. "No hint of such a thing has ever been made except by
-yourself."</p>
-
-<p>"I always understood it," said Mr. Greenwood. "And I shall not leave
-this till I've had an opportunity of discussing the matter with the
-Marquis himself. I don't think the Marquis would ever have treated me
-in this way,—only for you, Lord Hampstead."</p>
-
-<p>This was intolerable. What was he to do with the abominable man? It
-would be very disagreeable, the task of turning him out while the
-Marquis was still so ill, and yet it was not to be endured that such
-a man should be allowed to hold his position in the house in
-opposition to the will of the owner. It was, he felt, beneath him to
-defend himself against the charge made—or even to defend his father.
-"If you will not name a day, I must," said the young lord. The man
-remained immovable on his seat except that he continued to rub his
-hands. "As I can get no answer I shall have to instruct Mr. Roberts
-that you cannot be allowed to remain here after the last day of the
-month. If you have any feeling left to you you will not impose upon
-us so unpleasant a duty while my father is ill." With this he left
-the room, while Mr. Greenwood was still standing and rubbing his
-hands.</p>
-
-<p>Two hundred pounds a year! He had better go and take it. He was quite
-aware of that. But how was he to live upon £200,—he who had been
-bedded and boarded all his life at the expense of another man, and
-had also spent £300? But at the moment this was not the thought
-uppermost in his mind. Would it not have been better that he should
-have carried out that project of his? Only that he had been merciful,
-this young lord would not have been able to scorn him and ill-treat
-him as he had done. There were no phantoms now. Now he thought that
-he could have carried his share of the corpse into the house without
-flinching.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c2-15" id="c2-15"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XV.</h3>
-<h4>"THAT WOULD BE DISAGREEABLE."<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>Things at Trafford on that day and on the next were very
-uncomfortable. No house could possibly be more so. There were four
-persons who, in the natural course of things, would have lived
-together, not one of whom would sit down to table with any other. The
-condition of the Marquis, of course, made it impossible that he
-should do so. He was confined to his room, in which he would not
-admit Mr. Greenwood to come near him, and where his wife's short
-visits did not seem to give him much satisfaction. Even with his son
-he was hardly at his ease, seeming to prefer the society of the
-nurse, with occasional visits from the doctor and Mr. Roberts. The
-Marchioness confined herself to her own room, in which it was her
-intention to prevent the inroads of Mr. Greenwood as far as it might
-be possible. That she should be able to exclude him altogether was
-more than she could hope, but much, she thought, could be done by the
-dint of headaches, and by a resolution never to take her food
-down-stairs. Lord Hampstead had declared his purpose to Harris, as
-well as to his father, never again to sit down to table with Mr.
-Greenwood. "Where does he dine?" he asked the butler. "Generally in
-the family dining-room, my lord," said Harris. "Then give me my
-dinner in the breakfast parlour." "Yes, my lord," said the butler,
-who at once resolved to regard Mr. Greenwood as an enemy of the
-family. In this manner Mr. Greenwood gave no trouble, as he had his
-meat sent to him in his own sitting-room. But all this made the house
-very uncomfortable.</p>
-
-<p>In the afternoon Mr. Roberts came over from Shrewsbury, and saw Lord
-Hampstead. "I knew he would make himself disagreeable, my lord," said
-Mr. Roberts.</p>
-
-<p>"How did you know it?"</p>
-
-<p>"Things creep out. He had made himself disagreeable to his lordship
-for some months past; and then we heard that he was talking of
-Appleslocombe as though he were certain to be sent there."</p>
-
-<p>"My father never thought of it."</p>
-
-<p>"I didn't think he did. Mr. Greenwood is the idlest human being that
-ever lived, and how could he have performed the duties of a parish?"</p>
-
-<p>"He asked my father once, and my father flatly refused him."</p>
-
-<p>"Perhaps her ladyship—," suggested Mr. Roberts, with some
-hesitation.</p>
-
-<p>"At any rate he is not to have Appleslocombe, and he must be made to
-go. How is it to be done?" Mr. Roberts raised his eyebrows. "I
-suppose there must be some means of turning an objectionable resident
-out of a house."</p>
-
-<p>"The police, of course, could carry him out—with a magistrate's
-order. He would have to be treated like any other vagrant."</p>
-
-<p>"That would be disagreeable."</p>
-
-<p>"Very disagreeable, my lord," said Mr. Roberts. "My lord should be
-saved from that if possible."</p>
-
-<p>"How if we gave him nothing to eat?" said Lord Hampstead.</p>
-
-<p>"That would be possible; but it would be troublesome. What if he
-resolved to remain and be starved? It would be seeing which would
-hold out the longer. I don't think my lord would have the heart to
-keep him twenty-four hours without food. We must try and save my lord
-from what is disagreeable as much as we can." Lord Hampstead was in
-accord as to this, but did not quite see his way how to effect it.
-There were still, however, more than three weeks to run before the
-day fixed for the chaplain's exit, and Mr. Roberts suggested that it
-might in that time be fully brought home to the man that his £200 a
-year would depend on his going. "Perhaps you'd better leave him to
-me, my lord," said Mr. Roberts; "and I shall deal with him better
-when you're not here."</p>
-
-<p>When the time came for afternoon tea Mr. Greenwood, perceiving that
-no invitation came to him from the Marchioness, sent a note up to her
-asking for the favour of an interview. "He had a few words to say,
-and would be much obliged to her if she would allow him to come to
-her." On receiving this she pondered for some time before she could
-make up her mind as to what answer she should give. She would have
-been most anxious to do as she had already heard that Lord Hampstead
-had done, and decline to meet him at all. She could not analyze her
-own feelings about the man, but had come during the last few days to
-hold him in horror. It was as though something of the spirit of the
-murderer had shown itself to her in her eyes. She had talked glibly,
-wickedly, horribly of the death of the man who had seemed to stand in
-her way. She had certainly wished for it. She had taught herself to
-think, by some ultra-feminine lack of logic, that she had really been
-injured in that her own eldest boy had not been born heir to his
-father's titles. She had found it necessary to have some recipient
-for her griefs. Her own sister, Lady Persiflage, had given her no
-comfort, and then she had sought for and had received encouragement
-from her husband's chaplain. But in talking of Lord Hampstead's death
-she had formed no plan. She had only declared in strong language that
-if, by the hand of Providence, such a thing should be done, it would
-be to her a happy chance. She had spoken out where another more
-prudent than she would perhaps only have wished. But this man had
-taken up her words with an apparently serious purpose which had
-frightened her; and then, as though he had been the recipient of some
-guilty secret, he had laid aside the respect which had been usual to
-him, and had assumed a familiarity of co-partnership which had
-annoyed and perplexed her. She did not quite understand it all, but
-was conscious of a strong desire to be rid of him. But she did not
-dare quite as yet to let him know that such was her purpose, and she
-therefore sent her maid down to him with a message. "Mr. Greenwood
-wants to see me," she said to the woman. "Will you tell him with my
-compliments that I am not very well, and that I must beg him not to
-stay long."</p>
-
-<p>"Lord Hampstead has been a' quarrelling with Mr. Greenwood, my
-lady,—this very morning," said the maid.</p>
-
-<p>"Quarrelling, Walker?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, my lady. There has been ever so much about it. My lord says as
-he won't sit down to dinner with Mr. Greenwood on no account, and Mr.
-Roberts has been here, all about it. He's to be turned away."</p>
-
-<p>"Who is to be turned away?"</p>
-
-<p>"Mr. Greenwood, my lady. Lord Hampstead has been about it all the
-morning. It's for that my lord the Marquis has sent for him, and
-nobody's to speak to him till he's packed up everything, and taken
-himself right away out of the house."</p>
-
-<p>"Who has told you all that, Walker?" Walker, however, would not
-betray her informant. She answered that it was being talked of by
-everybody down-stairs, and she repeated it now only because she
-thought it proper that "my lady" should be informed of what was going
-on. "My lady" was not sorry to have received the information even
-from her maid, as it might assist her in her conversation with the
-chaplain.</p>
-
-<p>On this occasion Mr. Greenwood sat down without being asked. "I am
-sorry to hear that you are so unwell, Lady Kingsbury."</p>
-
-<p>"I have got one of my usual headaches;—only it's rather worse than
-usual."</p>
-
-<p>"I have something to say which I am sure you will not be surprised
-that I should wish to tell you. I have been grossly insulted by Lord
-Hampstead."</p>
-
-<p>"What can I do?"</p>
-
-<p>"Well;—something ought to be done."</p>
-
-<p>"I cannot make myself answerable for Lord Hampstead, Mr. Greenwood."</p>
-
-<p>"No; of course not. He is a young man for whom no one would make
-himself answerable. He is head-strong, violent, and most uncourteous.
-He has told me very rudely that I must leave the house by the end of
-the month."</p>
-
-<p>"I suppose the Marquis had told him."</p>
-
-<p>"I don't believe it. Of course the Marquis is ill, and I could bear
-much from him. But I won't put up with it from Lord Hampstead."</p>
-
-<p>"What can I do?"</p>
-
-<p>"Well;—after what has passed between us, Lady
-<span class="nowrap">Kingsbury,—"</span> He
-paused, and looked at her as he made this appeal. She compressed her
-lips and collected herself, and prepared for the fight which she felt
-was coming. He saw it all, and prepared himself also. "After what has
-passed between us, Lady Kingsbury," he said, repeating his words, "I
-think you ought to be on my side."</p>
-
-<p>"I don't think anything of the kind. I don't know what you mean about
-sides. If the Marquis says you're to go, I can't keep you."</p>
-
-<p>"I'll tell you what I've done, Lady Kingsbury. I have refused to stir
-out of this house till I've been allowed to discuss the matter with
-his lordship; and I think you ought to give me your countenance. I'm
-sure I've always been true to you. When you have unburdened your
-troubles to my ears I have always been sympathetic. When you have
-told me what a trouble this young man has been to you, have not I
-always,—always,—always taken your part against him?" He almost
-longed to tell her that he had formed a plan for ridding her
-altogether of the obnoxious young man; but he could not find the
-words in which to do this. "Of course I have felt that I might depend
-upon you for assistance and countenance in this house."</p>
-
-<p>"Mr. Greenwood," she said, "I really cannot talk to you about these
-things. My head is aching very badly, and I must ask you to go."</p>
-
-<p>"And that is to be all?"</p>
-
-<p>"Don't you hear me tell you that I cannot interfere?" Still he kept
-that horrid position of his upon the chair, staring at her with his
-large, open, lustreless eyes. "Mr. Greenwood, I must ask you to leave
-me. As a gentleman you must comply with my request."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh," he said; "very well! Then I am to know that after thirty years'
-faithful service all the family has turned against me. I shall take
-<span class="nowrap">care—"</span> But he paused,
-remembering that were he to speak a word too
-much, he might put in jeopardy the annuity which had been promised
-him; and at last he left the room.</p>
-
-<p>Of Mr. Greenwood no one saw anything more that day, nor did Lord
-Hampstead encounter him again before he returned to London. Hampstead
-had arranged to stay at Trafford during the following day, and then
-to return to London, again using the night mail train. But on the
-next morning a new trouble fell upon him. He received his sister's
-letter, and learned that George Roden had been with her at Hendon
-Hall. He had certainly pledged himself that there should be no such
-meeting, and had foolishly renewed this pledge only yesterday. When
-he read the letter he was vexed, chiefly with himself. The arguments
-which she had used as to Roden's coming, and also those by which she
-had excused herself for receiving him, did seem to him to be
-reasonable. When the man was going on such a journey it was natural
-that he should wish to see the girl he loved; and natural that she
-should wish to see him. And he was well aware that neither of them
-had pledged themselves. It was he only who had given a pledge, and
-that as to the conduct of others who had refused to support him in
-it. Now his pledge had been broken, and he felt himself called upon
-to tell his father of what had occurred. "After all that I told you
-yesterday," he said, "George Roden and Fanny have met each other."
-Then he attempted to make the best excuse he could for this breach of
-the promise which he had made.</p>
-
-<p>"What's the good?" said the Marquis. "They can't marry each other. I
-wouldn't give her a shilling if she were to do such a thing without
-my sanction." Hampstead knew very well that, in spite of this, his
-father had made by his will ample provision for his sister, and that
-it was very improbable that any alteration in this respect would be
-made, let his sister's disobedience be what it might. But the Marquis
-seemed hardly to be so much affected as he had expected by these
-tidings. "Whatever you do," said the Marquis, "don't let her ladyship
-know it. She would be sure to come down to me and say it was all my
-fault; and then she would tell me what Mr. Greenwood thought about
-it." The poor man did not know how little likely it was that she
-would ever again throw Mr. Greenwood in his teeth.</p>
-
-<p>Lord Hampstead had not as yet even seen his stepmother, but had
-thought it no more than decent to send her word that he would wait
-upon her before he left the house. All domestic troubles he knew to
-be bad. For his stepmother's sake, and for that of his sister and
-little brothers, he would avoid as far as might be possible any open
-rupture. He therefore went to the Marchioness before he ate his
-dinner. "My father is much better," he said; but his stepmother only
-shook her head, so that there was before him the task of recommencing
-the conversation. "Dr. Spicer says so."</p>
-
-<p>"I am not sure that Mr. Spicer knows much about it."</p>
-
-<p>"He thinks so himself."</p>
-
-<p>"He never tells me what he thinks. He hardly tells me anything."</p>
-
-<p>"He is not strong enough for much talking."</p>
-
-<p>"He will talk to Mr. Roberts by the hour together. So I hear that I
-am to congratulate you." This she said in a tone which was clearly
-intended to signify both condemnation and ridicule.</p>
-
-<p>"I am not aware of it," said Hampstead with a smile.</p>
-
-<p>"I suppose it is true about the Quaker lady?"</p>
-
-<p>"I can hardly tell you, not knowing what you may have heard. There
-can be no room for congratulation, as the lady has not accepted the
-offer I have made her." The Marchioness laughed incredulously,—with
-a little affected laugh in which the incredulity was sincere.—"I can
-only tell you that it is so."</p>
-
-<p>"No doubt you will try again?"</p>
-
-<p>"No doubt."</p>
-
-<p>"Young ladies in such circumstances are not apt to persevere in their
-severity. Perhaps it may be supposed that she will give way at last."</p>
-
-<p>"I cannot take upon myself to answer that, Lady Kingsbury. The matter
-is one on which I am not particularly anxious to talk. Only as you
-asked me I thought it best just to tell you the facts."</p>
-
-<p>"I am sure I am ever so much obliged to you. The young lady's father
-<span class="nowrap">is—"</span></p>
-
-<p>"The young lady's father is a clerk in a merchant's office in the
-City."</p>
-
-<p>"So I understand,—and a Quaker?"</p>
-
-<p>"And a Quaker."</p>
-
-<p>"And I believe he lives at Holloway."</p>
-
-<p>"Just so."</p>
-
-<p>"In the same street with that young man whom Fanny has—has chosen to
-pick up."</p>
-
-<p>"Marion Fay and her father live at No. 17, Paradise Row, Holloway;
-and Mrs. Roden and George Roden live at No. 11."</p>
-
-<p>"Exactly. We may understand, therefore, how you became acquainted
-with Miss Fay."</p>
-
-<p>"I don't think you can. But if you wish to know I will tell you that
-I first saw Miss Fay at Mrs. Roden's house."</p>
-
-<p>"I suppose so."</p>
-
-<p>Hampstead had begun this interview with perfect good humour; but
-there had gradually been growing upon him that tone of defiance which
-her little speeches to him had naturally produced. Scorn would always
-produce scorn in him, as would ridicule and satire produce the same
-in return. "I do not know why you should have supposed so, but such
-was the fact. Neither had George Roden or my sister anything to do
-with it. Miss Fay is a friend of Mrs. Roden, and Mrs. Roden
-introduced me to the young lady."</p>
-
-<p>"I am sure we are all very much obliged to her."</p>
-
-<p>"I am, at any rate,—or shall be if I succeed at last."</p>
-
-<p>"Poor fellow! It will be very piteous if you too are thwarted in
-love."</p>
-
-<p>"I'll say good-bye, my lady," said he, getting up to leave her.</p>
-
-<p>"You have told me nothing of Fanny."</p>
-
-<p>"I do not know that I have anything to tell."</p>
-
-<p>"Perhaps she also will be jilted."</p>
-
-<p>"I should hardly think so."</p>
-
-<p>"Because, as you tell me, she is not allowed to see him." There was a
-thorough disbelief expressed in this which annoyed him. It was as
-though she had expressed her opinion that the lovers were encouraged
-to meet daily in spite of the pledge which had been given. And then
-the pledge had been broken; and there would be a positive lie on his
-part if he were now to leave her with the idea that they had not met.
-"You must find it hard to keep them apart, as they are so near."</p>
-
-<p>"I have found it too hard, at any rate."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, you have?"</p>
-
-<p>"They did meet yesterday."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, they did. Directly your back was turned?"</p>
-
-<p>"He was going abroad, and he came; and she has written to tell me of
-it. I say nothing of myself, Lady Kingsbury; but I do not think you
-can understand how true she can be,—and he also."</p>
-
-<p>"That is your idea of truth."</p>
-
-<p>"That is my idea of truth, Lady Kingsbury; which, as I said before, I
-am afraid I cannot explain to you. I have never meant to deceive you;
-nor have they."</p>
-
-<p>"I thought a promise was a promise," she said. Then he left her,
-condescending to make no further reply. On that night he went back to
-London, with a sad feeling at his heart that his journey down to
-Trafford had done no good to any one. He had, however, escaped a
-danger of which he had known nothing.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c2-16" id="c2-16"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XVI.</h3>
-<h4>"I DO."<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>Lord Hampstead did not reach his house till nearly six on the
-following morning, and, having been travelling two nights out of
-three, allowed himself the indulgence of having his breakfast in bed.
-While he was so engaged his sister came to him, very penitent for her
-fault, but ready to defend herself should he be too severe to her.
-"Of course I am very sorry because of what you had said. But I don't
-know how I am to help myself. It would have looked so very strange."</p>
-
-<p>"It was unfortunate—that's all."</p>
-
-<p>"Was it so very unfortunate, John?"</p>
-
-<p>"Of course I had to tell them down there."</p>
-
-<p>"Was papa angry?"</p>
-
-<p>"He only said that if you chose to make such a fool of yourself, he
-would do nothing for you—in the way of money."</p>
-
-<p>"George does not think of that in the least."</p>
-
-<p>"People must eat, you know."</p>
-
-<p>"Ah; that would make no difference either to him or to me. We must
-wait, that's all. I do not think it would make me unhappy to wait
-till I died, if he only were content to wait also. But was papa so
-very angry?"</p>
-
-<p>"He wasn't so very angry,—only angry. I was obliged to tell him; but
-I said as little to him as possible because he is ill. Somebody else
-made herself disagreeable."</p>
-
-<p>"Did you tell her?"</p>
-
-<p>"I was determined to tell her;—so that she should not turn round
-upon me afterwards and say that I had deceived her. I had made a
-promise to my father."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, John, I am so sorry."</p>
-
-<p>"There is no use in crying after spilt milk. A promise to my father
-she would of course take as a promise to her, and it would have been
-flung in my face."</p>
-
-<p>"She will do so now."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, yes;—but I can fight the battle better, having told her
-everything."</p>
-
-<p>"Was she disagreeable?"</p>
-
-<p>"Abominable! She mixed you up with Marion Fay, and really showed more
-readiness than I gave her credit for in what she said. Of course she
-got the better of me. She could call me a liar and a fool to my face,
-and I could not retaliate. But there's a row in the house which makes
-everything wretched there."</p>
-
-<p>"Another row?"</p>
-
-<p>"You are forgotten in this new row,—and so am I. George Roden and
-Marion Fay are nothing in comparison with poor Mr. Greenwood. He has
-been committing horrible offences, and is to be turned out. He swears
-he won't go, and my father is determined he shall. Mr. Roberts has
-been called in, and there is a question whether Harris shall not put
-him on gradually diminished rations till he be starved into
-surrender. He's to have £200 a year if he goes, but he says that it
-is not enough for him."</p>
-
-<p>"Would it be much?"</p>
-
-<p>"Considering that he likes to have everything of the very best I do
-not think it would. He would probably have to go to prison or else
-hang himself."</p>
-
-<p>"Won't it be rather hard upon him?"</p>
-
-<p>"I think it will. I don't know what it is that makes the governor so
-hard to him. I begged and prayed for another hundred a year as though
-he were the dearest friend I had in the world; but I couldn't turn
-the governor an inch. I don't think I ever disliked any one so much
-in the world as I do Mr. Greenwood."</p>
-
-<p>"Not Mr. Crocker?" she asked.</p>
-
-<p>"Poor Crocker! I love Crocker, in comparison. There is a delightful
-pachydermatousness about Crocker which is almost heroic. But I hate
-Mr. Greenwood, if it be in my nature to hate any one. It is not only
-that he insults me, but he looks at me as though he would take me by
-the throat and strangle me if he could. But still I will add the
-other hundred a year out of my own pocket, because I think he is
-being treated hardly. Only I must do it on the sly."</p>
-
-<p>"But Lady Kingsbury is still fond of him?"</p>
-
-<p>"I rather think not. I fancy he has made himself too free with her,
-and has offended her. However, there he is shut up all alone, and
-swearing that he won't stir out of the house till something better is
-done for him."</p>
-
-<p>There were two matters now on Lord Hampstead's mind to which he gave
-his attention, the latter of which, however, was much the more
-prominent in his thoughts. He was anxious to take his sister down to
-Gorse Hall, and there remain for the rest of the hunting season,
-making such short runs up to Holloway as he might from time to time
-find to be necessary. No man can have a string of hunters idle
-through the winter without feeling himself to be guilty of an
-unpardonable waste of property. A customer at an eating-house will
-sometimes be seen to devour the last fragments of what has been
-brought to him, because he does not like to abandon that for which he
-must pay. So it is with the man who hunts. It is not perhaps that he
-wants to hunt. There are other employments in life which would at the
-moment be more to his taste. It is his conscience which prompts
-him,—the feeling that he cannot forgive himself for intolerable
-extravagance if he does not use the articles with which he has
-provided himself. You can neglect your billiard-table, your books, or
-even your wine-cellar,—because they eat nothing. But your horses
-soon eat their heads off their own shoulders if you pass weeks
-without getting on their backs. Hampstead had endeavoured to mitigate
-for himself this feeling of improvidence by running up and down to
-Aylesbury; but the saving in this respect was not sufficient for his
-conscience, and he was therefore determined to balance the
-expenditure of the year by a regular performance of his duties at
-Gorse Hall. But the other matter was still more important to him. He
-must see Marion Fay before he went into Northamptonshire, and then he
-would learn how soon he might run up with the prospect of seeing her
-again. The distance of Gorse Hall and the duty of hunting would admit
-of certain visits to Holloway. "I think I shall go to Gorse Hall
-to-morrow," he said to his sister as soon as he had come down from
-his room.</p>
-
-<p>"All right; I shall be ready. Hendon Hall or Gorse Hall,—or any
-other Hall, will be the same to me now." Whereby she probably
-intended to signify that as George Roden was on his way to Italy all
-parts of England were indifferent to her.</p>
-
-<p>"But I am not quite certain," said he.</p>
-
-<p>"What makes the doubt?"</p>
-
-<p>"Holloway, you know, has not been altogether deserted. The sun no
-doubt has set in Paradise Row, but the moon remains." At this she
-could only laugh, while he prepared himself for his excursion to
-Holloway.</p>
-
-<p>He had received the Quaker's permission to push his suit with Marion,
-but he did not flatter himself that this would avail him much. He
-felt that there was a strength in Marion which, as it would have made
-her strong against her father had she given away her heart without
-his sanction, so would it be but little moved by any permission
-coming from him. And there was present to the lover's mind a feeling
-of fear which had been generated by the Quaker's words as to Marion's
-health. Till he had heard something of that story of the mother and
-her little ones, it had not occurred to him that the girl herself was
-wanting in any gift of physical well-being. She was beautiful in his
-eyes, and he had thought of nothing further. Now an idea had been put
-into his head which, though he could hardly realize it, was most
-painful to him. He had puzzled himself before. Her manner to him had
-been so soft, so tender, so almost loving, that he could not but
-hope, could hardly not think, that she loved him. That, loving him,
-she should persist in refusing him because of her condition of life,
-seemed to him to be unnatural. He had, at any rate, been confident
-that, were there nothing else, he could overcome that objection. Her
-heart, if it were really given to him, would not be able to support
-itself in its opposition to him upon such a ground of severance as
-that. He thought that he could talk her out of so absurd an argument.
-But in that other argument there might be something that she would
-cling to with persistency.</p>
-
-<p>But the Quaker himself had declared that there was nothing in it. "As
-far as I know," the Quaker had said, "she is as fit to become a man's
-wife as any other girl." He surely must have known had there been any
-real cause. Girls are so apt to take fancies into their heads, and
-then will sometimes become so obstinate in their fancies! In this way
-Hampstead discussed the matter with himself, and had been discussing
-it ever since he had walked up and down Broad Street with the Quaker.
-But if she pleaded her health, he had what her own father had said to
-use as an argument with which to convince her. If she spoke again of
-his rank, he thought that on that matter his love might be strong
-enough as an argument against her,—or perhaps her own.</p>
-
-<p>He found no trouble in making his way into her presence. She had
-heard of his visit to King's Court, and knew that he would come. She
-had three things which she had to tell him, and she would tell them
-all very plainly if all should be necessary. The first was that love
-must have nothing to do in this matter,—but only duty. The second,
-which she feared to be somewhat weak,—which she almost thought would
-not of itself have been strong enough,—was that objection as to her
-condition in life which she had urged to him before. She declared to
-herself that it would be strong enough both for him, and for her, if
-they would only guide themselves by prudence. But the third,—that
-should be a rock to her if it were necessary; a cruel rock on which
-she must be shipwrecked, but against which his bark should surely not
-be dashed to atoms. If he would not leave her in peace without it she
-would tell him that she was fit to be no man's wife.</p>
-
-<p>If it came to that, then she must confess her own love. She
-acknowledged to herself that it must be so. There could not be
-between them the tenderness necessary for the telling of such a tale
-without love, without acknowledged love. It would be better that it
-should not be so. If he would go and leave her to dream of
-him,—there might be a satisfaction even in that to sustain her
-during what was left to her of life. She would struggle that it
-should be so. But if his love were too strong, then must he know it
-all. She had learned from her father something of what had passed at
-that interview in the City, and was therefore ready to receive her
-lover when he came. "Marion," he said, "you expected me to come to
-you again?"</p>
-
-<p>"Certainly I did."</p>
-
-<p>"Of course I have come. I have had to go to my father, or I should
-have been here sooner. You know that I shall come again and again
-till you will say a word to me that shall comfort me."</p>
-
-<p>"I knew that you would come again, because you were with father in
-the City."</p>
-
-<p>"I went to ask his leave,—and I got it."</p>
-
-<p>"It was hardly necessary for you, my lord, to take that trouble."</p>
-
-<p>"But I thought it was. When a man wishes to take a girl away from her
-own home, and make her the mistress of his, it is customary that he
-shall ask for her father's permission."</p>
-
-<p>"It would have been so, had you looked higher,—as you should have
-done."</p>
-
-<p>"It was so in regard to any girl that I should wish to make my wife.
-Whatever respect a man can pay to any woman, that is due to my
-Marion." She looked at him, and with the glance of her eye went all
-the love of her heart. How could she say those words to him, full of
-reason and prudence and wisdom, if he spoke to her like this? "Answer
-me honestly. Do you not know that if you were the daughter of the
-proudest lord living in England you would not be held by me as
-deserving other usage than that which I think to be your privilege
-now?"</p>
-
-<p>"I only meant that father could not but feel that you were honouring
-him."</p>
-
-<p>"I will not speak of honour as between him and me or between me and
-you. With me and your father honesty was concerned. He has believed
-me, and has accepted me as his son-in-law. With us, Marion, with us
-two, all alone as we are here together, all in all to each other as I
-hope we are to be, only love can be brought in question. Marion,
-Marion!" Then he threw himself on his knees before her, and embraced
-her as she was sitting.</p>
-
-<p>"No, my lord; no; it must not be." But now he had both her hands in
-his, and was looking into her face. Now was the time to speak of
-duty,—and to speak with some strength, if what she might say was to
-have any avail.</p>
-
-<p>"It shall not be so, my lord." Then she did regain her hands, and
-struggled up from the sofa on to her feet. "I, too, believe in your
-honesty. I am sure of it, as I am of my own. But you do not
-understand me. Think of me as though I were your sister."</p>
-
-<p>"As my sister?"</p>
-
-<p>"What would you have your sister do if a man came to her then, whom
-she knew that she could never marry? Would you have her submit to his
-embrace because she knew him to be honest?"</p>
-
-<p>"Not unless she loved him."</p>
-
-<p>"It would have nothing to do with it, Lord Hampstead."</p>
-
-<p>"Nothing, Marion!"</p>
-
-<p>"Nothing, my lord. You will think that I am giving myself airs if I
-speak of my duty."</p>
-
-<p>"Your father has allowed me to come."</p>
-
-<p>"I owe him duty, no doubt. Had he bade me never to see you, I hope
-that that would have sufficed. But there are other duties than
-that,—a duty even higher than that."</p>
-
-<p>"What duty, Marion?"</p>
-
-<p>"That which I owe to you. If I had promised to be your
-<span class="nowrap">wife—"</span></p>
-
-<p>"Do promise it."</p>
-
-<p>"Had I so promised, should I not then have been bound to think first
-of your happiness?"</p>
-
-<p>"You would have accomplished it, at any rate."</p>
-
-<p>"Though I cannot be your wife I do not owe it you the less to think
-of it,—seeing all that you are willing to do for me,—and I will
-think of it. I am grateful to you."</p>
-
-<p>"Do you love me?"</p>
-
-<p>"Let me speak, Lord Hampstead. It is not civil in you to interrupt me
-in that way. I am thoroughly grateful, and I will not show my
-gratitude by doing that which I know would ruin you."</p>
-
-<p>"Do you love me?"</p>
-
-<p>"Not if I loved you with all my heart,—" and she spread out her arms
-as though to assure herself how she did love him with all her very
-soul,—"would I for that be brought even to think of doing the thing
-that you ask me."</p>
-
-<p>"Marion!"</p>
-
-<p>"No,—no. We are utterly unfit for each other." She had made her
-first declaration as to duty, and now she was going on as to that
-second profession which she intended should be, if possible, the
-last. "You are as high as blood and wealth and great friends can make
-you. I am nothing. You have called me a lady."</p>
-
-<p>"If God ever made one, you are she."</p>
-
-<p>"He has made me better. He has made me a woman. But others would not
-call me a lady. I cannot talk as they do, sit as they do, act as they
-do,—even think as they do. I know myself, and I will not presume to
-make myself the wife of such a man as you." As she said this there
-came a flush across her face, and a fire in her eye, and, as though
-conquered by her own emotion, she sank again upon the sofa.</p>
-
-<p>"Do you love me, Marion?"</p>
-
-<p>"I do," she said, standing once more erect upon her feet. "There
-shall be no shadow of a lie between us. I do love you, Lord
-Hampstead. I will have nothing to make me blush in my own esteem when
-I think of you. How should it be other than that a girl such as I
-should love such a one as you when you ask me with words so sweet!"</p>
-
-<p>"Then, Marion, you shall be my own."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, yes, I must now be yours,—while I am alive. You have so far
-conquered me." As he attempted to take her in his arms she retreated
-from him; but so gently that her very gentleness repressed him. "If
-never loving another is to be yours,—if to pray for you night and
-day as the dearest one of all, is to be yours,—if to remind myself
-every hour that all my thoughts are due to you, if to think of you so
-that I may console myself with knowing that one so high and so good
-has condescended to regard me,—if that is to be yours,—then I am
-yours; then shall I surely be yours while I live. But it must be only
-with my thoughts, only with my prayers, only with all my heart."</p>
-
-<p>"Marion, Marion!" Now again he was on his knees before her, but
-hardly touching her.</p>
-
-<p>"It is your fault, Lord Hampstead," she said, trying to smile. "All
-this is your doing, because you would not let a poor girl say simply
-what she had to say."</p>
-
-<p>"Nothing of it shall be true,—except that you love me. That is all
-that I can remember. That I will repeat to you daily till you have
-put your hand in mine, and call yourself my wife."</p>
-
-<p>"That I will never do," she exclaimed, once again standing. "As God
-hears me now I will never say it. It would be wrong,—and I will
-never say it." In thus protesting she put forth her little hands
-clenched fast, and then came again the flush across her brow, and her
-eyes for a moment seemed to wander, and then, failing in strength to
-carry her through it all, she fell back senseless on the sofa.</p>
-
-<p>Lord Hampstead, finding that he alone could do nothing to aid her,
-was forced to ring the bell, and to give her over to the care of the
-woman, who did not cease to pray him to depart. "I can't do nothing,
-my lord, while you stand over her that way."</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c2-17" id="c2-17"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XVII.</h3>
-<h4>AT GORSE HALL.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>Hampstead, when he was turned out into Paradise Row, walked once or
-twice up the street, thinking what he might best do next, regardless
-of the eyes at No. 10 and No. 15;—knowing that No. 11 was absent,
-where alone he could have found assistance had the inhabitant been
-there. As far as he could remember he had never seen a woman faint
-before. The way in which she had fallen through from his arms on to
-the sofa when he had tried to sustain her, had been dreadful to him;
-and almost more dreadful the idea that the stout old woman with whom
-he had left her should be more powerful than he to help her. He
-walked once or twice up and down, thinking what he had best now do,
-while Clara Demijohn was lost in wonder as to what could have
-happened at No. 17. It was quite intelligible to her that the lover
-should come in the father's absence and be entertained,—for a whole
-afternoon if it might be so; though she was scandalized by the
-audacity of the girl who had required no screen of darkness under the
-protection of which her lover's presence might be hidden from the
-inquiries of neighbours. All that, however, would have been
-intelligible. There is so much honour in having a lord to court one
-that perhaps it is well to have him seen. But why was the lord
-walking up and down the street with that demented air?</p>
-
-<p>It was now four o'clock, and Hampstead had heard the Quaker say that
-he never left his office till five. It would take him nearly an hour
-to come down in an omnibus from the City. Nevertheless Hampstead
-could not go till he had spoken to Marion's father. There was the
-"Duchess of Edinburgh," and he could no doubt find shelter there. But
-to get through two hours at the "Duchess of Edinburgh" would, he
-thought, be beyond his powers. To consume the time with walking might
-be better. He started off, therefore, and tramped along the road till
-he came nearly to Finchley, and then back again. It was dark as he
-returned, and he fancied that he could wait about without being
-perceived. "There he is again," said Clara, who had in the mean time
-gone over to Mrs. Duffer. "What can it all mean?"</p>
-
-<p>"It's my belief he's quarrelled with her," said Mrs. Duffer.</p>
-
-<p>"Then he'd never wander about the place in that way. There's old
-Zachary just come round the corner. Now we shall see what he does."</p>
-
-<p>"Fainted, has she?" said Zachary, as they walked together up to the
-house. "I never knew my girl do that before. Some of them can faint
-just as they please; but that's not the way with Marion." Hampstead
-protested that there had been no affectation on this occasion; that
-Marion had been so ill as to frighten him, and that, though he had
-gone out of the house at the woman's bidding, he had found it
-impossible to leave the neighbourhood till he should have learnt
-something as to her condition. "Thou shalt hear all I can tell thee,
-my friend," said the Quaker, as they entered the house together.</p>
-
-<p>Hampstead was shown into the little parlour, while the Quaker went up
-to inquire after the state of his daughter. "No; thou canst not well
-see her," said he, returning, "as she has taken herself to her bed.
-That she should have been excited by what passed between you is no
-more than natural. I cannot tell thee now when thou mayst come again;
-but I will write thee word from my office to-morrow." Upon this Lord
-Hampstead would have promised to call himself at King's Court on the
-next day, had not the Quaker declared himself in favour of writing
-rather than of speaking. The post, he said, was very punctual; and on
-the next evening his lordship would certainly receive tidings as to
-Marion.</p>
-
-<p>"Of course I cannot say what we can do about Gorse Hall till I hear
-from Mr. Fay," said Hampstead to his sister when he reached home.
-"Everything must depend on Marion Fay." That his sister should have
-packed all her things in vain seemed to him to be nothing while
-Marion's health was in question; but when the Quaker's letter arrived
-the matter was at once settled. They would start for Gorse Hall on
-the following day, the Quaker's letter having been as
-<span class="nowrap">follows;—</span><br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My
-Lord</span>,—</p>
-
-<p>I trust I may be justified in telling thee that there is
-not much to ail my girl. She was up to-day, and about the
-house before I left her, and assured me with many
-protestations that I need not take any special steps for
-her comfort or recovery. Nor indeed could I see in her
-face anything which could cause me to do so. Of course I
-mentioned thy name to her, and it was natural that the
-colour should come and go over her cheeks as I did so. I
-think she partly told me what had passed between you two,
-but only in part. As to the future, when I spoke of it,
-she told me that there was no need of any arrangement, as
-everything had been said that needed speech. But I guess
-that such is not thy reading of the matter; and that after
-what has passed between thee and me I am bound to offer to
-thee an opportunity of seeing her again shouldst thou wish
-to do so. But this must not be at once. It will certainly
-be better for her and, may be, for thee also that she
-should rest awhile before she be again asked to see thee.
-I would suggest, therefore, that thou shouldst leave her
-to her own thoughts for some weeks to come. If thou
-will'st write to me and name a day some time early in
-March I will endeavour to bring her round so far as to see
-thee when thou comest.</p>
-
-<p class="noindent"><span class="ind10">I am, my lord,</span><br />
-<span class="ind12">Thy very faithful friend,</span></p>
-
-<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">Zachary
-Fay</span>.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p>It cannot be said that Lord Hampstead was by any means satisfied with
-the arrangement which had been made for him, but he was forced to
-acknowledge to himself that he could not do better than accede to it.
-He could of course write to the Quaker, and write also to Marion; but
-he could not well show himself in Paradise Row before the time fixed,
-unless unexpected circumstances should arise. He did send three
-loving words to Marion—"his own, own, dearest Marion," and sent them
-under cover to her father, to whom he wrote, saying that he would be
-guided by the Quaker's counsels. "I will write to you on the first of
-March," he said, "but I do trust that if in the mean time anything
-should happen,—if, for instance, Marion should be ill,—you will
-tell me at once as being one as much concerned in her health as you
-are yourself."</p>
-
-<p>He was nervous and ill-at-ease, but not thoroughly unhappy. She had
-told him how dear he was to her, and he would not have been a man had
-he not been gratified. And there had been no word of objection raised
-on any matter beyond that one absurd objection as to which he thought
-himself entitled to demand that his wishes should be allowed to
-prevail. She had been very determined; how absolutely determined he
-was not probably himself aware. She had, however, made him understand
-that her conviction was very strong. But this had been as to a point
-on which he did not doubt that he was right, and as to which her own
-father was altogether on his side. After hearing the strong
-protestation of her affection he could not think that she would be
-finally obdurate when the reasons for her obduracy were so utterly
-valueless. But still there were vague fears about her health. Why had
-she fainted and fallen through his arms? Whence had come that
-peculiar brightness of complexion which would have charmed him had it
-not frightened him? A dim dread of something that was not
-intelligible to him pervaded him, and robbed him of a portion of the
-triumph which had come to him from her avowal.</p>
-
-
-<div class="center">
-<p class="noindent">*<span class="ind2">*</span><span
-class="ind2">*</span><span class="ind2">*</span><span
-class="ind2">*</span><span class="ind2">*</span></p>
-</div>
-
-
-<p>As the days went on at Gorse Hall his triumph became stronger than
-his fears, and the time did not pass unpleasantly with him. Young
-Lord Hautboy came to hunt with him, bringing his sister Lady
-Amaldina, and after a few days Vivian found them. The conduct of Lady
-Frances in reference to George Roden was no doubt very much blamed,
-but the disgrace did not loom so large in the eyes of Lady Persiflage
-as in those of her sister the Marchioness. Amaldina was, therefore,
-suffered to amuse herself, even as the guest of her wicked
-friend;—even though the host were himself nearly equally wicked. It
-suited young Hautboy very well to have free stables for his horses,
-and occasionally an extra mount when his own two steeds were
-insufficient for the necessary amount of hunting to be performed.
-Vivian, who had the liberal allowance of a private secretary to a
-Cabinet Minister to fall back upon, had three horses of his own. So
-that among them they got a great deal of hunting,—in which Lady
-Amaldina would have taken a conspicuous part had not Lord Llwddythlw
-entertained strong opinions as to the expediency of ladies riding to
-hounds. "He is so absurdly strict, you know," she said to Lady
-Frances.</p>
-
-<p>"I think he is quite right," said the other. "I don't believe in
-girls trying to do all the things that men do."</p>
-
-<p>"But what is the difference in jumping just over a hedge or two? I
-call it downright tyranny. Would you do anything Mr. Roden told you?"</p>
-
-<p>"Anything on earth,—except jump over the hedges. But our temptations
-are not likely to be in that way."</p>
-
-<p>"I think it very hard because I almost never see Llwddythlw."</p>
-
-<p>"But you will when you are married."</p>
-
-<p>"I don't believe I shall;—unless I go and look at him from behind
-the grating in the House of Commons. You know we have settled upon
-August."</p>
-
-<p>"I had not heard it."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh yes. I nailed him at last. But then I had to get David. You don't
-know David?"</p>
-
-<p>"No special modern David."</p>
-
-<p>"Our David is not very modern. He is Lord David Powell, and my
-brother that is to be. I had to persuade him to do something instead
-of his brother, and I had to swear that we couldn't ever be married
-unless he would consent. I suppose Mr. Roden could get married any
-day he pleased." Nevertheless Lady Amaldina was better than nobody to
-make the hours pass when the men are away hunting.</p>
-
-<p>But at last there came a grand day, on which the man of business was
-to come out hunting himself. Lord Llwddythlw had come into the
-neighbourhood, and was determined to have a day's pleasure. Gorse
-Hall was full, and Hautboy, though his sister was very eager in
-beseeching him, refused to give way to his future magnificent
-brother-in-law. "Do him all the good in the world," said Hautboy, "to
-put up at the pot-house. He'll find out all about whiskey and beer
-and gin, and know exactly how many beds the landlady makes up." Lord
-Llwddythlw, therefore, slept at a neighbouring hotel, and no doubt
-did turn his spare moments to some profit.</p>
-
-<p>Lord Llwddythlw was a man who had always horses, though he very
-rarely hunted; who had guns, though he never fired them; and
-fishing-rods, though nobody knew where they were. He kept up a great
-establishment, regretting nothing in regard to it except the
-necessity of being sometimes present at the festivities for which it
-was used. On the present occasion he had been enticed into
-Northamptonshire no doubt with the purpose of laying some first
-bricks, or opening some completed institution, or eating some
-dinner,—on any one of which occasions he would be able to tell the
-neighbours something as to the constitution of their country. Then
-the presence of his lady-love seemed to make this a fitting occasion
-for, perhaps, the one day's sport of the year. He came to Gorse Hall
-to breakfast, and then rode to the meet along with the open carriage
-in which the two ladies were sitting. "Llwddythlw," said his
-lady-love, "I do hope you mean to ride."</p>
-
-<p>"Being on horseback, Amy, I shall have no other alternative."</p>
-
-<p>Lady Amaldina turned round to her friend, as though to ask whether
-she had ever seen such an absurd creature in her life. "You know what
-I mean by riding, Llwddythlw," she said.</p>
-
-<p>"I suppose I do. You want me to break my neck."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, heavens! Indeed I don't."</p>
-
-<p>"Or, perhaps, only to see me in a ditch."</p>
-
-<p>"I can't have that pleasure," she said, "because you won't allow me
-to hunt."</p>
-
-<p>"I have taken upon myself no such liberty as even to ask you not to
-do so. I have only suggested that tumbling into ditches, however
-salutary it may be for middle-aged gentlemen like myself, is not a
-becoming amusement for young ladies."</p>
-
-<p>"Llwddythlw," said Hautboy, coming up to his future brother-in-law,
-"that's a tidy animal of yours."</p>
-
-<p>"I don't quite know what tidy means as applied to a horse, my boy;
-but if it's complimentary, I am much obliged to you."</p>
-
-<p>"It means that I should like to have the riding of him for the rest
-of the season."</p>
-
-<p>"But what shall I do for myself if you take my tidy horse?"</p>
-
-<p>"You'll be up in Parliament, or down at Quarter Sessions, or doing
-your duty somewhere like a Briton."</p>
-
-<p>"I hope I may do my duty not the less because I intend to keep the
-tidy horse myself. When I am quite sure that I shall not want him any
-more, then I'll let you know."</p>
-
-<p>There was the usual trotting about from covert to covert, and the
-usual absence of foxes. The misery of sportsmen on these days is
-sometimes so great that we wonder that any man, having experienced
-the bitterness of hunting disappointment, should ever go out again.
-On such occasions the huntsman is declared among private friends to
-be of no use whatever. The master is an absolute muff. All honour as
-to preserving has been banished from the country. The gamekeepers
-destroy the foxes. The owners of coverts encourage them. "Things have
-come to such a pass," says Walker to Watson, "that I mean to give it
-up. There's no good keeping horses for this sort of thing." All this
-is very sad, and the only consolation comes from the evident delight
-of those who take pleasure in trotting about without having to incur
-the labour and peril of riding to hounds.</p>
-
-<p>At two o'clock on this day the ladies went home, having been driven
-about as long as the coachmen had thought it good for their horses.
-The men of course went on, knowing that they could not in honour
-liberate themselves from the toil of the day till the last covert
-shall have been drawn at half-past three o'clock. It is certainly
-true as to hunting that there are so many hours in which the spirit
-is vexed by a sense of failure, that the joy when it does come should
-be very great to compensate the evils endured. It is not simply that
-foxes will not dwell in every spinney, or break as soon as found, or
-always run when they do break. These are the minor pangs. But when
-the fox is found, and will break, and does run, when the scent
-suffices, and the hounds do their duty, when the best country which
-the Shires afford is open to you, when your best horse is under you,
-when your nerves are even somewhat above the usual mark,—even then
-there is so much of failure! You are on the wrong side of the wood,
-and getting a bad start are never with them for a yard; or your
-horse, good as he is, won't have that bit of water; or you lose your
-stirrup-leather, or your way; or you don't see the hounds turn, and
-you go astray with others as blind as yourself; or, perhaps, when
-there comes the run of the season, on that very day you have taken a
-liberty with your chosen employment, and have lain in bed. Look back
-upon your hunting lives, brother sportsmen, and think how few and how
-far between the perfect days have been.</p>
-
-<p>In spite of all that was gone this was one of those perfect days to
-those who had the pleasure afterwards of remembering it. "Taking it
-all in all, I think that Lord Llwddythlw had the best of it from
-first to last," said Vivian, when they were again talking of it in
-the drawing-room after they had come in from their wine.</p>
-
-<p>"To think that you should be such a hero!" said Lady Amaldina, much
-gratified. "I didn't believe you would take so much trouble about
-such a thing."</p>
-
-<p>"It was what Hautboy called the tidiness of the horse."</p>
-
-<p>"By George, yes; I wish you'd lend him to me. I got my brute in
-between two rails, and it took me half-an-hour to smash a way
-through. I never saw anything of it after that." Poor Hautboy almost
-cried as he gave this account of his own misfortune.</p>
-
-<p>"You were the only fellow I saw try them after Crasher," said Vivian.
-"Crasher came on his head, and I should think he must be there still.
-I don't know where Hampstead got through."</p>
-
-<p>"I never know where I've been," said Hampstead, who had, in truth,
-led the way over the double rails which had so confounded Crasher and
-had so perplexed Hautboy. But when a man is too forward to be seen,
-he is always supposed to be somewhere behind.</p>
-
-<p>Then there was an opinion expressed by Walker that Tolleyboy, the
-huntsman, had on that special occasion stuck very well to his hounds,
-to which Watson gave his cordial assent. Walker and Watson had both
-been asked to dinner, and during the day had been heard to express to
-each other all that adverse criticism as to the affairs of the hunt
-in general which appeared a few lines back. Walker and Watson were
-very good fellows, popular in the hunt, and of all men the most
-unlikely to give it up.</p>
-
-<p>When that run was talked about afterwards, as it often was, it was
-always admitted that Lord Llwddythlw had been the hero of the day.
-But no one ever heard him talk of it. Such a trifle was altogether
-beneath his notice.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c2-18" id="c2-18"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XVIII.</h3>
-<h4>POOR WALKER.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>That famous run took place towards the end of February, at which time
-Hampstead was counting all the hours till he should again be allowed
-to show himself in Paradise Row. He had in the mean time written one
-little letter to the Quaker's
-<span class="nowrap">daughter;—</span><br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dearest
-Marion</span>,—I only write because I cannot keep myself
-quiet without telling you how well I love you. Pray do not
-believe that because I am away I think of you less. I am
-to see you, I hope, on Monday, the 2nd of March. If you
-would write me but one word to say that you will be glad
-to see me!</p>
-
-<p class="ind12">Always your own,</p>
-
-<p class="ind18">H.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p>She showed this to her father, and the sly old Quaker told her that
-it would not be courteous in her not to send some word of reply. As
-the young lord, he said, had been permitted by him, her father, to
-pay his addresses to her, so much was due to him. Why should his girl
-lose this grand match? Why should his daughter not become a happy and
-a glorious wife, seeing that her beauty and her grace had entirely
-won this young lord's heart? "<span class="smallcaps">My Lord</span>,"
-she wrote back to him,—"I
-shall be happy to see you when you come, whatever day may suit you.
-But, alas! I can only say what I have said.—Yet I am thine,
-<span class="smallcaps">Marion</span>."
-She had intended not to be tender, and yet she had thought herself
-bound to tell him that all that she had said before was true.</p>
-
-<p>It was after this that Lord Llwddythlw distinguished himself, so much
-so that Walker and Watson did nothing but talk about him all the next
-day. "It's those quiet fellows that make the best finish after all!"
-said Walker, who had managed to get altogether to the bottom of his
-horse during the run, and had hardly seen the end of it quite as a
-man wishes to see it.</p>
-
-<p>The day but one after this, the last Friday in February, was to be
-the last of Hampstead's hunting, at any rate until after his proposed
-visit to Holloway. He, and Lady Frances with him, intended to return
-to London on the next day, and then, as far as he was concerned, the
-future loomed before him as a great doubt. Had Marion been the
-highest lady in the land, and had he from his position and rank been
-hardly entitled to ask for her love, he could not have been more
-anxious, more thoughtful, or occasionally more down-hearted. But this
-latter feeling would give way to joy when he remembered the words
-with which she had declared her love. No assurance could have been
-more perfect, or more devoted. She had coyed him nothing as far as
-words are concerned, and he never for a moment doubted but that her
-full words had come from a full heart. "But alas! I can only say what
-I have said." That of course had been intended to remove all hope.
-But if she loved him as she said she did, would he not be able to
-teach her that everything should be made to give way to love? It was
-thus that his mind was filled, as day after day he prepared himself
-for his hunting, and day after day did his best in keeping to the
-hounds.</p>
-
-<p>Then came that last day in February as to which all those around him
-expressed themselves to be full of hope. Gimberley Green was
-certainly the most popular meet in the country, and at Gimberley
-Green the hounds were to meet on this occasion. It was known that men
-were coming from the Pytchley and the Cottesmore, so that everybody
-was supposed to be anxious to do his best. Hautboy was very much on
-the alert, and had succeeded in borrowing for the occasion
-Hampstead's best horse. Even Vivian, who was not given to much
-outward enthusiasm, had had consultations with his groom as to which
-of two he had better ride first. Sometimes there does come a day on
-which rivalry seems to be especially keen, when a sense of striving
-to excel and going ahead of others seems to instigate minds which are
-not always ambitious. Watson and Walker were on this occasion very
-much exercised, and had in the sweet confidences of close friendship
-agreed with themselves that certain heroes who were coming from one
-of the neighbouring hunts should not be allowed to carry off the
-honours of the day.</p>
-
-<p>On this occasion they both breakfasted at Gorse Hall, which was not
-uncommon with them, as the hotel,—or pot-house, as Hautboy called
-it,—was hardly more than a hundred yards distant. Walker was
-peculiarly exuberant, and had not been long in the house before he
-confided to Hautboy in a whisper their joint intention that "those
-fellows" were not to be allowed to have it all their own way.
-"Suppose you don't find after all, Mr. Walker," said Lady Amaldina,
-as the gentlemen got up from breakfast, and loaded themselves with
-sandwiches, cigar-cases, and sherry-flasks.</p>
-
-<p>"I won't believe anything so horrible," said Walker.</p>
-
-<p>"I should cut the concern," said Watson, "and take to stagging in
-Surrey." This was supposed to be the bitterest piece of satire that
-could be uttered in regard to the halcyon country in which their
-operations were carried on.</p>
-
-<p>"Tolleyboy will see to that," said Walker. "We haven't had a blank
-yet, and I don't think he'll disgrace himself on such a day as this."
-Then they all started, in great glee, on their hacks, their hunters
-having been already sent on to Gimberley Green.</p>
-
-<p>The main part of the story of that day's sport, as far as we're
-concerned with it, got itself told so early in the day that readers
-need not be kept long waiting for the details. Tolleyboy soon
-relieved these imperious riders from all dangers as to a blank. At
-the first covert drawn a fox was found immediately, and without any
-of those delays, so perplexing to some and so comforting to others,
-made away for some distant home of his own. It is, perhaps, on such
-occasions as these that riders are subjected to the worst perils of
-the hunting field. There comes a sudden rush, when men have not
-cooled themselves down by the process of riding here and there and
-going through the usual preliminary prefaces to a run. They are
-collected in crowds, and the horses are more impatient even than
-their riders. No one on that occasion could have been more impatient
-than Walker,—unless it was the steed upon which Walker was mounted.
-There was a crowd of men standing in a lane at the corner of the
-covert,—of men who had only that moment reached the spot,—when at
-about thirty yards from them a fox crossed the lane, and two or three
-leading hounds close at his brush. One or two of the strangers from
-the enemy's country occupied a position close to, or rather in the
-very entrance of, a little hunting gate which led out of the lane
-into the field opposite. Between the lane and the field there was a
-fence which was not "rideable!" As is the custom with lanes, the
-roadway had been so cut down that there was a bank altogether
-precipitous about three feet high, and on that a hedge of trees and
-stakes and roots which had also been cut almost into the consistency
-of a wall. The gate was the only place,—into which these enemies had
-thrust themselves, and in the possession of which they did not choose
-to hurry themselves, asserting as they kept their places that it
-would be well to give the fox a minute. The assertion in the
-interests of hunting might have been true. A sportsman who could at
-such a moment have kept his blood perfectly cool, might have
-remembered his duties well enough to have abstained from pressing
-into the field in order that the fox might have his fair chance.
-Hampstead, however, who was next to the enemies, was not that cool
-hero, and bade the strangers move on, not failing to thrust his horse
-against their horses. Next to him, and a little to the left, was the
-unfortunate Walker. To his patriotic spirit it was intolerable that
-any stranger should be in that field before one of their own hunt.
-What he himself attempted, what he wished to do, or whether any clear
-intention was formed in his mind, no one ever knew. But to the
-astonishment of all who saw it the horse got himself half-turned
-round towards the fence, and attempted to take it in a stand. The
-eager animal did get himself up amidst the thick wood on the top of
-the bank, and then fell headlong over, having entangled his feet
-among the boughs. Had his rider sat loosely he would probably have
-got clear of his horse. But as it was they came down together, and
-unfortunately the horse was uppermost. Just as it happened Lord
-Hampstead made his way through the gate, and was the first who
-dismounted to give assistance to his friend. In two or three minutes
-there was a crowd round, with a doctor in the midst of it, and a
-rumour was going about that the man had been killed. In the mean time
-the enemies were riding well to the hounds, with Tolleyboy but a few
-yards behind them, Tolleyboy having judiciously remembered a spot at
-which he could make his way out of the covert into field without
-either passing through the gate or over the fence.</p>
-
-<p>The reader may as well know at once that Walker was not killed. He
-was not killed, though he was so crushed and mauled with broken ribs
-and collar-bone, so knocked out of breath and stunned and mangled and
-squeezed, so pummelled and pounded and generally misused, that he did
-not come to himself for many hours, and could never after remember
-anything of that day's performances after eating his breakfast at
-Gorse Hall. It was a week before tidings went through the Shires that
-he was likely to live at all, and even then it was asserted that he
-had been so altogether smashed that he would never again use any of
-his limbs. On the morning after the hunt his widowed mother and only
-sister were down with him at the hotel, and there they remained till
-they were able to carry him away to his own house. "Won't I?" was
-almost the first intelligible word he said when his mother suggested
-to him, her only son, that now at least he would promise to abandon
-that desperate amusement, and would never go hunting any more. It may
-be said in praise of British surgery generally that Walker was out
-again on the first of the following November.</p>
-
-<p>But Walker with his misfortunes and his heroism and his recovery
-would have been nothing to us had it been known from the first to all
-the field that Walker had been the victim. The accident happened
-between eleven and twelve,—probably not much before twelve. But the
-tidings of it were sent up by telegraph from some neighbouring
-station to London in time to be inserted in one of the afternoon
-newspapers of that day; and the tidings as sent informed the public
-that Lord Hampstead while hunting that morning had fallen with his
-horse at the corner of Gimberly Green, that the animal had fallen on
-him,—and that he had been crushed to death. Had the false
-information been given in regard to Walker it might probably have
-excited so little attention that the world would have known nothing
-about it till it learned that the poor fellow had not been killed.
-But, having been given as to a young nobleman, everybody had heard of
-it before dinner-time that evening. Lord Persiflage knew it in the
-House of Lords, and Lord Llwddythlw had heard it in the House of
-Commons. There was not a club which had not declared poor Hampstead
-to be an excellent fellow, although he was a little mad. The
-Montressors had already congratulated themselves on the good fortune
-of little Lord Frederic; and the speedy death of the Marquis was
-prophesied, as men and women were quite sure that he would not be
-able in his present condition to bear the loss of his eldest son. The
-news was telegraphed down to Trafford Park by the family
-lawyer,—with an intimation, however, that, as the accident had been
-so recent, no absolute credence should yet be given as to its fatal
-result. "Bad fall probably," said the lawyer in his telegram, "but I
-don't believe the rest. Will send again when I hear the truth." At
-nine o'clock that evening the truth was known in London, and before
-midnight the poor Marquis had been relieved from his terrible
-affliction. But for three hours it had been supposed at Trafford Park
-that Lord Frederic had become the heir to his father's title and his
-father's property.</p>
-
-<p>Close inquiry was afterwards made as to the person by whom this false
-intelligence had been sent to the newspaper, but nothing certain was
-ever asserted respecting it. That a general rumour had prevailed for
-a time among many who were out that Lord Hampstead had been the
-victim, was found to have been the case. He had been congratulated by
-scores of men who had heard that he had fallen. When Tolleyboy was
-breaking up the fox, and wondering why so few men had ridden through
-the hunt with him, he was told that Lord Hampstead had been killed,
-and had dropped his bloody knife out of his hands. But no one would
-own as to having sent the telegram. Suspicion attached itself to an
-attorney from Kettering who had been seen in the early part of the
-day, but it could not be traced home to him. Official inquiry was
-made; but as it was not known who sent the message, or to what
-address, or from what post town, or even the wording of the message,
-official information was not forthcoming. It is probable that Sir
-Boreas at the Post Office did not think it proper to tell everybody
-all that he knew. It was admitted that a great injury had been done
-to the poor Marquis, but it was argued on the other side that the
-injury had been quickly removed.</p>
-
-<p>There had, however, been three or four hours at Trafford Park, during
-which feelings had been excited which afterwards gave rise to bitter
-disappointment. The message had come to Mr. Greenwood, of whose
-estrangement from the family the London solicitor had not been as yet
-made aware. He had been forced to send the tidings into the sick
-man's room by Harris, the butler, but he had himself carried it up to
-the Marchioness. "I am obliged to come," he said, as though
-apologizing when she looked at him with angry eyes because of his
-intrusion. "There has been an accident." He was standing, as he
-always stood, with his hands hanging down by his side. But there was
-a painful look in his eyes more than she had usually read there.</p>
-
-<p>"What accident—what accident, Mr. Greenwood? Why do you not tell
-me?" Her heart ran away at once to the little beds in which her
-darlings were already lying in the next room.</p>
-
-<p>"It is a telegram from London."</p>
-
-<p>From London—a telegram! Then her boys were safe. "Why do you not
-tell me instead of standing there?"</p>
-
-<p>"Lord Hampstead—"</p>
-
-<p>"Lord Hampstead! What has he done? Is he married?"</p>
-
-<p>"He will never be married." Then she shook in every limb, and
-clenched her hands, and stood with open mouth, not daring to question
-him. "He has had a fall, Lady Kingsbury."</p>
-
-<p>"A fall!"</p>
-
-<p>"The horse has crushed him."</p>
-
-<p>"Crushed him!"</p>
-
-<p>"I used to say it would be so, you know. And now it has come to
-pass."</p>
-
-<p>"Is he—?"</p>
-
-<p>"Dead? Yes, Lady Kingsbury, he is—dead." Then he gave her the
-telegram to read. She struggled to read it, but the words were too
-vague; or her eyes too dim. "Harris has gone in with the tidings. I
-had better read the telegram, I suppose, but I thought you'd like to
-see it. I told you how it would be, Lady Kingsbury; and now it has
-come to pass." He stood standing a minute or two longer, but as she
-sat hiding her face, and unable to speak, he left the room without
-absolutely asking her to thank him for his news.</p>
-
-<p>As soon as he was gone she crept slowly into the room in which her
-three boys were sleeping. A door from her own chamber opened into it,
-and then another into that in which one of the nurses slept. She
-leaned over them and kissed them all; but she knelt at that on which
-Lord Frederic lay, and woke him with her warm embraces. "Oh, mamma,
-don't," said the boy. Then he shook himself, and sat up in his bed.
-"Mamma, when is Jack coming?" he said. Let her train them as she
-would, they would always ask for Jack. "Go to sleep, my darling, my
-darling, my darling!" she said, kissing him again and again.
-"Trafford," she said, whispering to herself, as she went back to her
-own room, trying the sound of the title he would have to use. It had
-been all arranged in her own mind how it was to be, if such a thing
-should happen.</p>
-
-<p>"Go down," she said to her maid soon afterwards, "and ask Mrs.
-Crawley whether his Lordship would wish to see me." Mrs. Crawley was
-the nurse. But the maid brought back word that "My Lord" did not wish
-to see "My Lady." For three hours he lay stupefied in his sorrow; and
-for three hours she sat alone, almost in the dark. We may doubt
-whether it was all triumph. Her darling had got what she believed to
-be his due; but the memory that she had longed for it,—almost prayed
-for it,—must have dulled her joy.</p>
-
-<p>There was no such regret with Mr. Greenwood. It seemed to him that
-Fortune, Fate, Providence, or what not, had only done its duty. He
-believed that he had in truth foreseen and foretold the death of the
-pernicious young man. But would the young man's death be now of any
-service to him? Was it not too late? Had they not all quarrelled with
-him? Nevertheless he had been avenged.</p>
-
-<p>So it was at Trafford Park for three hours. Then there came a postboy
-galloping on horseback, and the truth was known. Lady Kingsbury went
-again to her children, but this time she did not kiss them. A gleam
-of glory had come there and had passed away;—but yet there was
-something of relief.</p>
-
-<p>Why had he allowed himself to be so cowed on that morning? That was
-Mr. Greenwood's thought.</p>
-
-<p>The poor Marquis fell into a slumber almost immediately, and on the
-next morning had almost forgotten that the first telegram had come.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c2-19" id="c2-19"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XIX.</h3>
-<h4>FALSE TIDINGS.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>But there was another household which the false tidings of Lord
-Hampstead's death reached that same night. The feelings excited at
-Trafford had been very keen,—parental agony, maternal hope,
-disappointment, and revenge; but in that other household there was
-suffering quite as great. Mr. Fay himself did not devote much time
-during the day either to the morning or the evening newspapers. Had
-he been alone at Messrs. Pogson and Littlebird's he would have heard
-nothing of the false tidings. But sitting in his inner room, Mr.
-Pogson read the third edition of the <i>Evening Advertiser</i>, and then
-saw the statement, given with many details. "We," said the statement,
-"have sent over to the office of our contemporary, and have
-corroborated the facts." Then the story was repeated. Pushing his way
-through a gate at Gimberley Green, Lord Hampstead's horse had tumbled
-down, and all the field had ridden over him. He had been picked up
-dead, and his body had been carried home to Gorse Hall. Now Lord
-Hampstead's name had become familiar in King's Court. Tribbledale had
-told how the young lord had become enamoured of Zachary Fay's
-daughter, and was ready to marry her at a moment's notice. The tale
-had been repeated to old Littlebird by young Littlebird, and at last
-even to Mr. Pogson himself. There had been, of course, much doubt in
-King's Court as to the very improbable story. But some inquiries had
-been made, and there was now a general belief in its truth. When Mr.
-Pogson read the account of the sad tragedy he paused a moment to
-think what he would do, then opened his door and called for Zachary
-Fay. They who had known the Quaker long always called him Zachary, or
-Friend Zachary, or Zachary Fay. "My friend," said Mr. Pogson, "have
-you read this yet?" and he handed him the paper.</p>
-
-<p>"I never have much time for the newspaper till I get home at night,"
-said the clerk, taking the sheet that was offered him.</p>
-
-<p>"You had better read it, perhaps, as I have heard your name
-mentioned, I know not how properly, with that of the young lord."
-Then the Quaker, bringing his spectacles down from his forehead over
-his eyes, slowly read the paragraph. As he did so Mr. Pogson looked
-at him carefully. But the Quaker showed very little emotion by his
-face. "Does it concern you, Zachary?"</p>
-
-<p>"I know the young man, Mr. Pogson. Though he be much out of my own
-rank, circumstances have brought him to my notice. I shall be grieved
-if this be true. With thy permission, Mr. Pogson, I will lock up my
-desk and return home at once." To this Mr. Pogson of course assented,
-recommending the Quaker to put the newspaper into his pocket.</p>
-
-<p>Zachary Fay, as he walked to the spot where he was wont to find the
-omnibus, considered much as to what he might best do when he reached
-home. Should he tell the sad tidings to his girl, or should he leave
-her to hear it when further time should have confirmed the truth. To
-Zachary himself it seemed too probable that it should be true.
-Hunting to him, in his absolute ignorance of what hunting meant,
-seemed to be an occupation so full of danger that the wonder was that
-the hunting world had not already been exterminated. And then there
-was present to him a feeling, as there is to so many of us, that the
-grand thing which Fortune seemed to offer him was too good to be
-true. It could hardly be that he should live to see his daughter the
-mother of a future British peer! He had tried to school himself not
-to wish it, telling himself that such wishes were vain, and such
-longings wicked; he had said much to himself as to the dangers of
-rank and titles and wealth for those who were not born to them. He
-had said something also of that family tragedy which had robbed his
-own life of most of its joys, and which seemed to have laid so heavy
-a burden on his girl's spirit. Going backwards and forwards morning
-and evening to his work, he had endeavoured to make his own heart
-acknowledge that the marriage was not desirable; but he had
-failed;—and had endeavoured to reconcile the failure to his
-conscience by telling himself falsely that he as a father had been
-anxious only for the welfare of his child. Now he felt the blow
-terribly on her account, feeling sure that his girl's heart had been
-given to the young man; but he felt it also on his own. It might be,
-nevertheless, that the report would prove untrue. Had the matter been
-one in which he was not himself so deeply interested, he would
-certainly have believed it to be untrue, he being a man by his nature
-not prone to easy belief. It would, however, be wiser, he said to
-himself as he left the omnibus at the "Duchess of Edinburgh," to say
-nothing as yet to Marion. Then he put the paper carefully into his
-breast coat pocket, and considered how he might best hide his
-feelings as to the sad news. But all this was in vain. The story had
-already found its way down to Paradise Row. Mrs. Demijohn was as
-greedy of news as her neighbours, and would generally send round the
-corner for a halfpenny evening journal. On this occasion she did so,
-and within two minutes of the time in which the paper had been put
-into her hands exclaimed to her niece almost with ecstasy, "Clara,
-what do you think? That young lord who comes here to see Marion Fay
-has gone and got himself killed out hunting."</p>
-
-<p>"Lord Hampstead!" shouted Clara. "Got himself killed! Laws, aunt, I
-can't believe it!" In her tone, also, there was something almost of
-exultation. The glory that had been supposed to be awaiting Marion
-Fay was almost too much for the endurance of any neighbour. Since it
-had become an ascertained fact that Lord Hampstead had admired the
-girl, Marion's popularity in the Row had certainly decreased. Mrs.
-Duffer believed her no longer to be handsome; Clara had always
-thought her to be pert; Mrs. Demijohn had expressed her opinion that
-the man was an idiot; and the landlady at the "Duchess of Edinburgh"
-had wittily asserted that "young marquises were not to be caught with
-chaff." There was no doubt a sense of relief in Clara Demijohn's mind
-when she heard that this special young marquis had been trampled to
-death in the hunting field, and carried home a corpse.</p>
-
-<p>"I must go and tell the poor girl," said Clara, immediately.</p>
-
-<p>"Leave it alone," said the old woman. "There will be plenty to tell
-her, let alone you." But such occasions occur so rarely that it does
-not do not to take advantage of them. In ordinary life events are so
-unfrequent, and when they do arrive they give such a flavour of salt
-to hours which are generally tedious, that sudden misfortunes come as
-godsends,—almost even when they happen to ourselves. Even a funeral
-gives a tasteful break to the monotony of our usual occupations, and
-small-pox in the next street is a gratifying excitement. Clara soon
-got possession of the newspaper, and with it in her hand ran across
-the street to No. 17. Miss Fay was at Home, and in a minute or two
-came down to Miss Demijohn in the parlour.</p>
-
-<p>It was only during the minute or two that Clara began to think how
-she should break the tidings to her friend, or in any way to realize
-the fact that the "tidings" would require breaking. She had rushed
-across the street with the important paper in her hand, proud of the
-fact that she had something great to tell. But during that minute or
-two it did occur to her that a choice of words was needed for such an
-occasion. "Oh, Miss Fay," she said, "have you heard?"</p>
-
-<p>"Heard what?" asked Marion.</p>
-
-<p>"I do not know how to tell you, it is so terrible! I have only just
-seen it in the newspaper, and have thought it best to run over and
-let you know."</p>
-
-<p>"Has anything happened to my father?" asked the girl.</p>
-
-<p>"It isn't your father. This is almost more dreadful, because he is so
-young." Then that bright pink hue spread itself over Marion's face;
-but she stood speechless with her features almost hardened by the
-resolution which she had already formed within her not to betray the
-feelings of her heart before this other girl. The news, let it be
-what it might, must be of him! There was no one else "so young," of
-whom it was probable that this young woman would speak to her after
-this fashion. She stood silent, motionless, conveying nothing of her
-feelings by her face,—unless one might have read something from the
-deep flush of her complexion. "I don't know how to say it," said
-Clara Demijohn. "There; you had better take the paper and read for
-yourself. It's in the last column but one near the bottom. 'Fatal
-Accident in the Field!' You'll see it."</p>
-
-<p>Marion took the paper, and read the words through without faltering
-or moving a limb. Why would not the cruel young woman go and leave
-her to her sorrow? Why did she stand there looking at her, as though
-desirous to probe to the bottom the sad secret of her bosom? She kept
-her eyes still fixed upon the paper, not knowing where else to turn
-them,—for she would not look into her tormentor's face for pity.
-"Ain't it sad?" said Clara Demijohn.</p>
-
-<p>Then there came a deep sigh. "Sad," she said, repeating the word;
-"sad! Yes, it's sad. I think, if you don't mind, I'll ask you to
-leave me now. Oh, yes; there's the newspaper."</p>
-
-<p>"Perhaps you'd like to keep it for your father." Here Marion shook
-her head. "Then I'll take it back to aunt. She's hardly looked at it
-yet. When she came to the paragraph, of course, she read it out; and
-I wouldn't let her have any peace till she gave it me to bring over."</p>
-
-<p>"I wish you'd leave me," said Marion Fay.</p>
-
-<p>Then with a look of mingled surprise and anger she left the room, and
-returned across the street to No. 10. "She doesn't seem to me to care
-a straw about it," said the niece to her aunt; "but she got up just
-as highty tighty as usual and asked me to go away."</p>
-
-<p>When the Quaker came to the door, and opened it with his latch-key,
-Marion was in the passage ready to receive him. Till she had heard
-the sound of the lock she had not moved from the room, hardly from
-the position, in which the other girl had left her. She had sunk into
-a chair which had been ready for her, and there she had remained
-thinking over it. "Father," she said, laying her hand upon his arm as
-she went to meet him, and looking up into his face;—"father?"</p>
-
-<p>"My child!"</p>
-
-<p>"Have you heard any tidings in the City?"</p>
-
-<p>"Have you heard any, Marion?"</p>
-
-<p>"Is it true then?" she said, seizing both his arms as though to
-support her.</p>
-
-<p>"Who knows? Who can say that it be true till further tidings shall
-come? Come in, Marion. It is not well that we should discuss it
-here."</p>
-
-<p>"Is it true? Oh, father;—oh, father; it will kill me."</p>
-
-<p>"Nay, Marion, not that. After all, the lad was little more than a
-stranger to thee."</p>
-
-<p>"A stranger?"</p>
-
-<p>"How many weeks is it since first thou saw'st him? And how often? But
-two or three times. I am sorry for him;—if it be true; if it be
-true! I liked him well."</p>
-
-<p>"But I have loved him."</p>
-
-<p>"Nay, Marion, nay; thou shouldst moderate thyself."</p>
-
-<p>"I will not moderate myself." Then she disengaged herself from his
-arm. "I loved him,—with all my heart, and all my strength; nay, with
-my whole soul. If it be so as that paper says, then I must die too.
-Oh, father, is it true, think you?"</p>
-
-<p>He paused a while before he answered, examining himself what it might
-be best that he should say as to her welfare. As for himself, he
-hardly knew what he believed. These papers were always in search of
-paragraphs, and would put in the false and true alike,—the false
-perhaps the sooner, so as to please the taste of their readers. But
-if it were true, then how bad would it be to give her false hopes!
-"There need be no ground to despair," he said, "till we shall hear
-again in the morning."</p>
-
-<p>"I know he is dead."</p>
-
-<p>"Not so, Marion. Thou canst know nothing. If thou wilt bear thyself
-like a strong-hearted girl, as thou art, I will do this for thee. I
-will go across to the young lord's house at Hendon at once, and
-inquire there as to his safety. They will surely know if aught of ill
-has happened to their master."</p>
-
-<p>So it was done. The poor old man, after his long day's labour,
-without waiting for his evening meal, taking only a crust with him in
-his pocket, got into a cab on that cold November evening, and had
-himself driven by suburban streets and lanes to Hendon Hall. Here the
-servants were much surprised and startled by the inquiries made. They
-had heard nothing. Lord Hampstead and his sister were expected home
-on the following day. Dinner was to be prepared for them, and fires
-had already been lighted in the rooms. "Dead!" "Killed out hunting!"
-"Trodden to death in the field!" Not a word of it had reached Hendon
-Hall. Nevertheless the housekeeper, when the paragraph was shown to
-her, believed every word of it. And the servants believed it. Thus
-the poor Quaker returned home with but very little comfort.</p>
-
-<p>Marion's condition during that night was very sad, though she
-struggled to bear up against her sorrow in compliance with her
-father's instructions. There was almost nothing said as she sat by
-him while he ate his supper. On the next morning, too, she rose to
-give him his breakfast, having fallen asleep through weariness a
-hundred times during the night, to wake again within a minute or two
-to the full sense of her sorrow. "Shall I know soon?" she said as he
-left the house.</p>
-
-<p>"Surely some one will know," he said; "and I will send thee word."</p>
-
-<p>But as he left the house the real facts had already been made known
-at the "Duchess of Edinburgh." One of the morning papers had a full,
-circumstantial, and fairly true account of the whole matter. "It was
-not his lordship at all," said the good-natured landlady, coming out
-to him as he passed the door.</p>
-
-<p>"Not Lord Hampstead?"</p>
-
-<p>"Not at all."</p>
-
-<p>"He was not killed?"</p>
-
-<p>"It wasn't him as was hurt, Mr. Fay. It was another of them young
-men—one Mr. Walker; only son of Watson, Walker, and Warren. And
-whether he be dead or alive nobody knows; but they do say there
-wasn't a whole bone left in his body. It's all here, and I was
-a-going to bring it you. I suppose Miss Fay did take it badly?"</p>
-
-<p>"I knew the young man," said the Quaker, hurrying back to his own
-house with the paper,—anxious if possible not to declare to the
-neighbourhood that the young lord was in truth a suitor for his
-daughter's hand. "And I thank thee, Mrs. Grimley, for thy care. The
-suddenness of it all frightened my poor girl."</p>
-
-<p>"That'll comfort her up," said Mrs. Grimley cheerily. "From all we
-hear, Mr. Fay, she do have reason to be anxious for this young lord.
-I hope he'll be spared to her, Mr. Fay, and show himself a true man."</p>
-
-<p>Then the Quaker returned with his news,—which was accepted by him
-and by them all as trustworthy. "Now my girl will be happy again?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, father."</p>
-
-<p>"But my child has told the truth to her old father at last."</p>
-
-<p>"Had I told you any untruth?"</p>
-
-<p>"No, indeed, Marion."</p>
-
-<p>"I said that I am not fit to be his wife, and I am not. Nothing is
-changed in all that. But when I heard that he was—. But, father, we
-will not talk of it now. How good you have been to me, I shall never
-forget,—and how tender!"</p>
-
-<p>"Who should be soft-hearted if not a father?"</p>
-
-<p>"They are not all like you. But you have been always good and gentle
-to your girl. How good and how gentle we cannot always see;—can we?
-But I have seen it now, father."</p>
-
-<p>As he went into the City, about an hour after his proper time, he
-allowed his heart to rejoice at the future prospects of his girl. He
-did now believe that there would be a marriage between her and her
-noble lover. She had declared her love to him,—to him, her father,
-and after that she would surely do as they would have her. Something
-had reached even his ears of the coyness of girls, and it was not
-displeasing to him that his girl had not been at once ready to give
-herself with her easy promise to her lover. How strong she had
-looked, even in the midst of her sufferings, on the previous evening!
-That she should be weaker this morning, less able to restrain her
-tears, more prone to tremble as he spoke to her, was but natural. The
-shock of the grief will often come after the sorrow is over. He knew
-that, and told himself that there need be nothing,—need not at least
-be much,—to fear.</p>
-
-<p>But it was not so with Marion as she lay all the morning convulsed
-almost with the violence of her emotions. Her own weakness was
-palpable to herself, as she struggled to regain her breath, struggled
-to repress her sobs, struggled to move about the house, and be as
-might be any other girl. "Better just lie thee down till thy father
-return, and leave me to bustle through the work," said the old Quaker
-woman who had lived with them through all their troubles. Then Marion
-yielded, and laid herself on the bed till the hour had come in which
-her father might be expected.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c2-20" id="c2-20"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XX.</h3>
-<h4>NEVER, NEVER, TO COME AGAIN.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>The trouble to Hampstead occasioned by the accident was considerable,
-as was also for the first twenty-four hours his anxiety and that of
-his sister as to the young man's fate. He got back to Gorse Hall
-early in the day, as there was no more hunting after the killing of
-that first fox. There had been a consultation as to the young man,
-and it had been held to be best to have him taken to the inn at which
-he had been living, as there would be room there for any of his
-friends who might come to look after him. But during the whole of
-that day inquiries were made at Gorse Hall after Lord Hampstead
-himself, so general had been the belief that he was the victim. From
-all the towns around, from Peterborough, Oundle, Stilton, and
-Thrapstone, there came mounted messengers, with expressions of hope
-and condolence as to the young lord's broken bones.</p>
-
-<p>And then the condition of their poor neighbour was so critical that
-they found it to be impossible to leave Gorse Hall on the next day,
-as they had intended. He had become intimate with them, and had
-breakfasted at Gorse Hall on that very morning. In one way Hampstead
-felt that he was responsible, as, had he not been in the way, poor
-Walker's horse would have been next to the gate, and would not have
-attempted the impossible jump. They were compelled to put off the
-journey till the Monday. "Will go by the 9.30 train," said Hampstead
-in his telegram, who, in spite of poor Walker's mangled body, was
-still determined to see Marion on that day. On the Saturday morning
-it became known to him and his sister that the false report had been
-in the London newspapers, and then they had found themselves
-compelled to send telegrams to every one who knew them, to the
-Marquis, and to the lawyer in London, to Mr. Roberts, and to the
-housekeeper at Hendon Hall. Telegrams were also sent by Lady Amaldina
-to Lady Persiflage, and especially to Lord Llwddythlw. Vivian sent
-others to the Civil Service generally. Hautboy was very eager to let
-everybody know the truth at the Pandemonium. Never before had so many
-telegrams been sent from the little office at Gimberley. But there
-was one for which Hampstead demanded priority, writing it himself,
-and himself giving it into the hands of the despatching young lady,
-the daughter of the Gimberley grocer, who no doubt understood the
-occasion perfectly.<br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<div class="center">
-<p class="noindent">To Marion Fay, 17, Paradise Row, Holloway.</p>
-</div>
-<p>It was not I who was hurt. Shall be at No. 17 by three on
-Monday.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p>"I wonder whether they heard it down at Trafford," said Lady Amaldina
-to Lady Frances. On this subject they were informed before the day
-was over, as a long message came from Mr. Roberts in compliance with
-the instructions from the Marquis. "Because if they did what a
-terrible disappointment my aunt will have to bear."</p>
-
-<p>"Do not say anything so horrible," said Lady Frances.</p>
-
-<p>"I always look upon Aunt Clara as though she were not quite in her
-right senses about her own children. She thinks a great injury is
-done her because her son is not the heir. Now for a moment she will
-have believed that it was so." This, however, was a view of the
-matter which Lady Frances found herself unable to discuss.</p>
-
-<p>"He's going to get well after all," said Hautboy that evening, just
-before dinner. He had been running over to the inn every hour to ask
-after the condition of poor Walker. At first the tidings had been
-gloomy enough. The doctor had only been able to say that he needn't
-die because of his broken bones. Then late in the afternoon there
-arrived a surgeon from London who gave something of a stronger hope.
-The young man's consciousness had come back to him, and he had
-expressed an appreciation for brandy and water. It was this fact
-which had seemed so promising to young Lord Hautboy. On the Saturday
-there came Mrs. Walker and Miss Walker, and before the Sunday evening
-it was told how the patient had signified his intention of hunting
-again on the first possible opportunity. "I always knew he was a
-brick," said Hautboy, as he repeated the story, "because he always
-would ride at everything."</p>
-
-<p>"I don't think he'll ever ride again at the fence just out of
-Gimberley Wood," said Lord Hampstead. They were all able to start on
-the Monday morning without serious concern, as the accounts from the
-injured man's bed-room were still satisfactory. That he had broken
-three ribs, a collar-bone, and an arm seemed to be accounted as
-nothing. Nor was there much made of the scalp wound on his head,
-which had come from a kick the horse gave him in the struggle. As his
-brains were still there, that did not much matter. His cheek had been
-cut open by a stake on which he fell, but the scar, it was thought,
-would only add to his glories. It was the pressure of the horse which
-had fallen across his body which the doctors feared. But Hautboy very
-rightly argued that there couldn't be much danger, seeing that he had
-recovered his taste for brandy and water. "If it wasn't for that,"
-said Hautboy, "I don't think I'd have gone away and left him."</p>
-
-<p>Lord Hampstead found, when he reached home on the Monday morning,
-that his troubles were not yet over. The housekeeper came out and
-wept, almost with her arms round his neck. The groom, and the
-footman, and the gardener, even the cowboy himself, flocked about
-him, telling stories of the terrible condition in which they had been
-left after the coming of the Quaker on the Friday evening. "I didn't
-never think I'd ever see my lord again," said the cook solemnly. "I
-didn't a'most hope it," said the housemaid, "after hearing the Quaker
-gentleman read it all out of the newspaper." Lord Hampstead shook
-hands with them all, and laughed at the misfortune of the false
-telegram, and endeavoured to be well pleased with everything, but it
-occurred to him to think what must have been the condition of Mr.
-Fay's house that night, when he had come across from Holloway through
-the darkness and rain to find out for his girl what might be the
-truth or falsehood of the report which had reached him.</p>
-
-<p>At 3.0 punctually he was in Paradise Row. Perhaps it was not
-unnatural that even then his advent should create emotion. As he
-turned down from the main road the very potboy from "The Duchess"
-rushed up to him, and congratulated him on his escape. "I have had
-nothing to escape," said Lord Hampstead trying to pass on. But Mrs.
-Grimley saw him, and came out to him. "Oh, my lord, we are so
-thankful;—indeed, we are."</p>
-
-<p>"You are very good, ma'am," said the lord.</p>
-
-<p>"And now, Lord 'Ampstead, mind and be true to that dear young lady
-who was well-nigh heart-broke when she heard as it were you who was
-smashed up."</p>
-
-<p>He was hurrying on finding it impossible to make any reply to this,
-when Miss Demijohn, seeing that Mrs. Grimley had been bold enough to
-address the noble visitor to their humble street, remembering how
-much she had personally done in the matter, having her mind full of
-the important fact that she had been the first to give information on
-the subject to the Row generally, thinking that no such appropriate
-occasion as this would ever again occur for making personal
-acquaintance with the lord, rushed out from her own house, and seized
-the young man's hand before he was able to defend himself. "My lord,"
-she said, "my lord, we were all so depressed when we heard of it."</p>
-
-<p>"Were you, indeed?"</p>
-
-<p>"All the Row was depressed, my lord. But I was the first who knew it.
-It was I who communicated the sad tidings to Miss Fay. It was,
-indeed, my lord. I saw it in the <i>Evening Tell-Tale</i>, and went across
-with the paper at once."</p>
-
-<p>"That was very good of you."</p>
-
-<p>"Thank'ee, my lord. And, therefore, seeing you and knowing you,—for
-we all know you now in Paradise
-<span class="nowrap">Row—"</span></p>
-
-<p>"Do you now?"</p>
-
-<p>"Every one of us, my lord. Therefore I thought I'd just make bold to
-come out and introduce myself. Here's Mrs. Duffer. I hope you'll let
-me introduce you to Mrs. Duffer of No. 15. Mrs. Duffer, Lord
-Hampstead. And oh, my lord, it will be such an honour to the Row if
-anything of that kind should happen."</p>
-
-<p>Lord Hampstead, having with his best grace gone through the ceremony
-of shaking hands with Mrs. Duffer, who had come up to him and Clara
-just at the step of the Quaker's house, was at last allowed to knock
-at the door. Miss Fay would be with him in a minute, said the old
-woman as she showed him into the sitting-room up-stairs.</p>
-
-<p>Marion, as soon as she heard the knock, ran for a moment to her own
-bed-room. Was it not much to her that he was with her again, not only
-alive, but uninjured, that she should again hear his voice, and see
-the light of his countenance, and become aware once more of a certain
-almost heavenly glory which seemed to surround her when she was in
-his presence? She was aware that on such occasions she felt herself
-to be lifted out of her ordinary prosaic life, and to be for a time
-floating, as it were, in some upper air; among the clouds,
-indeed;—alas, yes; but among clouds which were silver-lined; in a
-heaven which could never be her own, but in which she could dwell,
-though it were but for an hour or two, in ecstasy,—if only he would
-allow her to do so without troubling her with further prayer. Then
-there came across her a thought that if only she could so begin this
-interview with him that it might seem to be an occasion of special
-joy,—as though it were a thanksgiving because he had come back to
-her safe,—she might, at any rate for this day, avoid words from him
-which might drive her again to refuse his great request. He already
-knew that she loved him, must know of what value to her must be his
-life, must understand how this had come at first a terrible,
-crushing, killing sorrow, and then a relief which by the excess of
-its joy must have been almost too much for her. Could she not let all
-that be a thing acknowledged between them, which might be spoken of
-as between dearest friends, without any allusion for the present to
-that request which could never be granted?</p>
-
-<p>But he, as he waited there a minute or two, was minded to make quite
-another use of the interview. He was burning to take her in his arms
-as his own, to press his lips to hers and know that she returned his
-caress, to have the one word spoken which would alone suffice to
-satisfy the dominating spirit of the man within him. Had she acceded
-to his request, then his demand would have been that she should at
-once become his wife, and he would not have rested at peace till he
-had reduced her months to weeks. He desired to have it all his own
-way. He had drawn her into his presence as soon almost as he had seen
-her. He had forced upon her his love. He had driven her to give him
-her heart, and to acknowledge that it was so. Of course he must go on
-with his triumph over her. She must be his altogether, from the crown
-of her head to the soles of her feet,—and that without delay. His
-hunting and his yacht, his politics and his friendships, were nothing
-to him without Marion Fay. When she came into the room, his heart was
-in sympathy with her, but by no means his mind.</p>
-
-<p>"My lord," she said, letting her hand lie willingly between the
-pressure of his two, "you may guess what we suffered when we heard
-the report, and how we felt when we learnt the truth."</p>
-
-<p>"You got my telegram? I sent it as soon as I began to understand how
-foolish the people had been."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh yes, my lord. It was so good of you!"</p>
-
-<p>"Marion, will you do something for me?"</p>
-
-<p>"What shall I do, my lord?"</p>
-
-<p>"Don't call me, 'my lord.'"</p>
-
-<p>"But it is proper."</p>
-
-<p>"It is most improper, and abominable, and unnatural."</p>
-
-<p>"Lord Hampstead!"</p>
-
-<p>"I hate it. You and I can understand each other, at any rate."</p>
-
-<p>"I hope so."</p>
-
-<p>"I hate it from everybody. I can't tell the servants not to do it.
-They wouldn't understand me. But from you! It seems always as though
-you were laughing at me."</p>
-
-<p>"Laugh at you!"</p>
-
-<p>"You may if you like it. What is it you may not do with me? If it
-were really a joke, if you were quizzing, I shouldn't mind it." He
-held her hand the whole time, and she did not attempt to withdraw it.
-What did her hand signify? If she could only so manage with him on
-that day that he should be satisfied to be happy, and not trouble her
-with any request. "Marion," he said, drawing her towards him.</p>
-
-<p>"Sit down, my lord. Well. I won't. You shan't be called my lord
-to-day, because I am so happy to see you;—because you have had so
-great an escape."</p>
-
-<p>"But I didn't have any escape."</p>
-
-<p>If only she could keep him in this way! If he would only talk to her
-about anything but his passion! "It seemed to me so, of course.
-Father was broken-hearted about it. He was as bad as I. Think of
-father going down without his tea to Hendon Hall, and driving the
-poor people there all out of their wits."</p>
-
-<p>"Everybody was out of his wits."</p>
-
-<p>"I was," she said, bobbing her head at him. She was just so far from
-him, she thought, as to be safe from any impetuous movement. "And
-Hannah was nearly as bad." Hannah was the old woman. "You may imagine
-we had a wretched night of it."</p>
-
-<p>"And all about nothing," said he, falling into her mood in the
-moment. "But think of poor Walker."</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, indeed! I suppose he has friends, too, who loved him, as—as
-some people love you. But he is not going to die?"</p>
-
-<p>"I hope not. Who is that young woman opposite who rushed out to me in
-the street? She says she brought you the news first."</p>
-
-<p>"Miss Demijohn."</p>
-
-<p>"Is she a friend of yours?"</p>
-
-<p>"No," said Marion, blushing as she spoke the word very firmly.</p>
-
-<p>"I am rather glad of that, because I didn't fall in love with her.
-She introduced me to ever so many of the neighbours. The landlady of
-the public-house was one, I think."</p>
-
-<p>"I am afraid they have offended you among them."</p>
-
-<p>"Not in the least. I never take offence except when I think people
-mean it. But now, Marion, say one word to me."</p>
-
-<p>"I have said many words. Have I not said nice words?"</p>
-
-<p>"Every word out of your mouth is like music to me. But there is one
-word which I am dying to hear."</p>
-
-<p>"What word?" she said. She knew that she should not have asked the
-question, but it was so necessary for her to put off the evil if it
-were only for a moment.</p>
-
-<p>"It is whatever word you may choose to use when you speak to me as my
-wife. My mother used to call me John; the children call me Jack; my
-friends call me Hampstead. Invent something sweet for yourself. I
-always call you Marion because I love the sound so dearly."</p>
-
-<p>"Every one calls me Marion."</p>
-
-<p>"No! I never did so till I had told myself that, if possible, you
-should be my own. Do you remember when you poked the fire for me at
-Hendon Hall?"</p>
-
-<p>"I do;—I do. It was wrong of me; was it not;—when I hardly knew
-you?"</p>
-
-<p>"It was beyond measure good of you; but I did not dare to call you
-Marion then, though I knew your name as well as I do now, Marion! I
-have it here, written all round my heart." What could she say to a
-man who spoke to her after this fashion? It was as though an angel
-from heaven were courting her! If only she could have gone on
-listening so that nothing further should come of it! "Find some name
-for me, and tell me that it shall be written round your heart."</p>
-
-<p>"Indeed it is. You know it is, Lord Hampstead."</p>
-
-<p>"But what name?"</p>
-
-<p>"Your friend;—your friend of friends."</p>
-
-<p>"It will not do. It is cold."</p>
-
-<p>"Then it is untrue to her from whom it comes. Do you think that my
-friendship is cold for you?"</p>
-
-<p>She had turned towards him, and was sitting before him with her face
-looking into his, with her hands clasped as though in assurance of
-her truth;—when suddenly he had her in his arms and had pressed his
-lips to hers. In a moment she was standing in the middle of the room.
-Though he was strong, her strength was sufficient for her. "My lord!"
-she exclaimed.</p>
-
-<p>"Ah, you are angry with me?"</p>
-
-<p>"My lord, my lord,—I did not think you would treat me like that."</p>
-
-<p>"But, Marion; do you not love me?"</p>
-
-<p>"Have I not told you that I do? Have I not been true and honest to
-you? Do you not know it all?" But in truth he did not know it all.
-"And now I must bid you never, never to come again."</p>
-
-<p>"But I shall come. I will come. I will come always. You will not
-cease to love me?"</p>
-
-<p>"No;—not that—I cannot do that. But you must not come. You have
-done that which makes me ashamed of myself." At that moment the door
-was opened, and Mrs. Roden came into the room.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c2-21" id="c2-21"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XXI.</h3>
-<h4>DI CRINOLA.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>The reader must submit to have himself carried back some weeks,—to
-those days early in January, when Mrs. Roden called upon her son to
-accompany her to Italy. Indeed, he must be carried back a long way
-beyond that; but the time during which he need be so detained shall
-be short. A few pages will suffice to tell so much of the early life
-of this lady as will be necessary to account for her residence in
-Paradise Row.</p>
-
-<p>Mary Roden, the lady whom we have known as Mrs. Roden, was left an
-orphan at the age of fifteen, her mother having died when she was
-little more than an infant. Her father was an Irish clergyman with no
-means of his own but what he secured from a small living; but his
-wife had inherited money amounting to about eight thousand pounds,
-and this had descended to Mary when her father died. The girl was
-then taken in charge by a cousin of her own, a lady ten years her
-senior who had lately married, and whom we have since met as Mrs.
-Vincent, living at Wimbledon. Mr. Vincent had been well connected and
-well-to-do in the world, and till he died the household in which Mary
-Roden had been brought up had been luxurious as well as comfortable.
-Nor did Mr. Vincent die till after his wife's cousin had found a
-husband for herself. Soon afterwards he was gathered to his fathers,
-leaving to his widow a comfortable, but not more than a comfortable,
-income.</p>
-
-<p>The year before his death he and his wife had gone into Italy, rather
-on account of his health than for pleasure, and had then settled
-themselves at Verona for a winter,—a winter which eventually
-stretched itself into nearly a year, at the close of which Mr.
-Vincent died. But before that event took place Mary Roden had become
-a wife.</p>
-
-<p>At Verona, at first at the house of her own cousin,—which was of
-course her own home,—and afterwards in the society of the place to
-which the Vincents had been made welcome,—Mary met a young man who
-was known to all the world as the Duca di Crinola. No young man more
-beautiful to look at, more charming in manners, more ready in
-conversation, was then known in those parts of Italy than this young
-nobleman. In addition to these good gifts, he was supposed to have in
-his veins the very best blood in all Europe. It was declared on his
-behalf that he was related to the Bourbons and to the Hapsburgh
-family. Indeed there was very little of the best blood which Europe
-had produced in the last dozen centuries of which some small
-proportion was not running in his veins. He was too the eldest son of
-his father, who, though he possessed the most magnificent palace in
-Verona, had another equally magnificent in Venice, in which it suited
-him to live with his Duchessa. As the old nobleman did not come often
-to Verona, and as the young nobleman never went to Venice, the father
-and son did not see much of each other, an arrangement which was
-supposed to have its own comforts, as the young man was not disturbed
-in the possession of his hotel, and as the old man was reported in
-Verona generally to be arbitrary, hot-tempered, and tyrannical. It
-was therefore said of the young Duke by his friends that he was
-nearly as well off as though he had no father at all.</p>
-
-<p>But there were other things in the history of the young Duke which,
-as they became known to the Vincents, did not seem to be altogether
-so charming. Though of all the palaces in Verona that in which he
-lived was by far the most beautiful to look at from the outside, it
-was not supposed to be furnished in a manner conformable to its
-external appearance. It was, indeed, declared that the rooms were for
-the most part bare; and the young Duke never gave the lie to these
-assertions by throwing them open to his friends. It was said of him
-also that his income was so small and so precarious that it amounted
-almost to nothing, that the cross old Duke at Venice never allowed
-him a shilling, and that he had done everything in his power to
-destroy the hopes of a future inheritance. Nevertheless, he was
-beautiful to look at in regard to his outward attire, and could
-hardly have been better dressed had he been able to pay his tailor
-and shirt-maker quarterly. And he was a man of great accomplishments,
-who could talk various languages, who could paint, and model, and
-write sonnets, and dance to perfection. And he could talk of virtue,
-and in some sort seem to believe in it,—though he would sometimes
-confess of himself that Nature had not endowed him with the strength
-necessary for the performance of all the good things which he so
-thoroughly appreciated.</p>
-
-<p>Such as he was he entirely gained the affection of Mary Roden. It is
-unnecessary here to tell the efforts that were made by Mrs. Vincent
-to prevent the marriage. Had she been less austere she might,
-perhaps, have prevailed with the girl. But as she began by pointing
-out to her cousin the horror of giving herself, who had been born and
-bred a Protestant, to a Roman Catholic,—and also of bestowing her
-English money upon an Italian,—all that she said was without effect.
-The state of Mr. Vincent's health made it impossible for them to
-move, or Mary might perhaps have been carried back to England. When
-she was told that the man was poor, she declared that there was so
-much the more reason why her money should be given to relieve the
-wants of the man she loved. It ended in their being married, and all
-that Mr. Vincent was able to accomplish was to see that the marriage
-ceremony should be performed after the fashion both of the Church of
-England and of the Church of Rome. Mary at the time was more than
-twenty-one, and was thus able, with all the romance of girlhood, to
-pour her eight thousand pounds into the open hands of her
-thrice-noble and thrice-beautiful lover.</p>
-
-<p>The Duchino with his young Duchessina went their way rejoicing, and
-left poor Mr. Vincent to die at Verona. Twelve months afterwards the
-widow had settled herself at the house at Wimbledon, from which she
-had in latter years paid her weekly visits to Paradise Row, and
-tidings had come from the young wife which were not altogether
-satisfactory. The news, indeed, which declared that a young little
-Duke had been born to her was accompanied by expressions of joy which
-the other surrounding incidents of her life were not permitted at the
-moment altogether to embitter. Her baby, her well-born beautiful
-baby, was for a few months allowed to be a joy to her, even though
-things were otherwise very sorrowful. But things were very sorrowful.
-The old Duke and the old Duchess would not acknowledge her. Then she
-learned that the quarrel between the father and son had been carried
-to such a pitch that no hope of reconciliation remained. Whatever was
-left of family property was gone as far as any inheritance on the
-part of the elder son was concerned. He had himself assisted in
-making over to a second brother all right that he possessed in the
-property belonging to the family. Then tidings of horror accumulated
-itself upon her and her baby. Then came tidings that her husband had
-been already married when he first met her,—which tidings did not
-reach her till he had left her alone, somewhere up among the Lakes,
-for an intended absence of three days. After that day she never saw
-him again. The next she heard of him was from Italy, from whence he
-wrote to her to tell her that she was an angel, and that he, devil as
-he was, was not fit to appear in her presence. Other things had
-occurred during the fifteen months in which they had lived together
-to make her believe at any rate the truth of this last statement. It
-was not that she ceased to love him, but that she knew that he was
-not fit to be loved. When a woman is bad a man can generally get quit
-of her from his heartstrings;—but a woman has no such remedy. She
-can continue to love the dishonoured one without dishonour to
-herself,—and does so.</p>
-
-<p>Among other misfortunes was the loss of all her money. There she was,
-in the little villa on the side of the lake, with no income,—and
-with statements floating about her that she had not, and never had
-had, a husband. It might well be that after that she should caution
-Marion Fay as to the imprudence of an exalted marriage. But there
-came to her assistance, if not friendship and love, in the midst of
-her misfortunes. Her brother-in-law,—if she had a husband or a
-brother-in-law,—came to her from the old Duke with terms of
-surrender; and there came also a man of business, a lawyer, from
-Venice, to make good the terms if they should be accepted. Though
-money was very scarce with the family, or the power of raising money,
-still such was the feeling of the old nobleman in her misfortunes
-that the entire sum which had been given up to his eldest son should
-be restored to trustees for her use and for the benefit of her baby,
-on condition that she should leave Italy, and consent to drop the
-title of the Di Crinola family. As to that question of a former
-marriage, the old lawyer declared that he was unable to give any
-certain information. The reprobate had no doubt gone through some
-form of a ceremony with a girl of low birth at Venice. It very
-probably was not a marriage. The young Duchino, the brother, declared
-his belief that there had been no such marriage. But she, should she
-cling to the name, could not make her title good to it without
-obtaining proofs which they had not been able to find. No doubt she
-could call herself Duchess. Had she means at command she might
-probably cause herself to be received as such. But no property would
-thus be affected,—nor would it rob him, the younger son, of his
-right to call himself also by the title. The offer made to her was
-not ungenerous. The family owed her nothing, but were willing to
-sacrifice nearly half of all they had with the object of restoring to
-her the money of which the profligate had robbed her,—which he had
-been enabled to take from her by her own folly and credulity. In this
-terrible emergency of her life, Mrs. Vincent sent over to her a
-solicitor from London, between whom and the Italian man of business a
-bargain was struck. The young wife undertook to drop her husband's
-name, and to drop it also on behalf of her boy. Then the eight
-thousand pounds was repaid, and Mrs. Roden, as she afterwards called
-herself, went back to Wimbledon and to England with her baby.</p>
-
-<p>So far the life of George Roden's mother had been most unfortunate.
-After that, for a period of sixteen years time went with her, if not
-altogether happily, at least quietly and comfortably. Then there came
-a subject of disruption. George Roden took upon himself to have
-opinions of his own; and would not hold his peace in the presence of
-Mrs. Vincent, to whom those opinions were most unacceptable. And they
-were the more unacceptable because the mother's tone of mind had
-always taken something of the bent which appeared so strongly
-afterwards in her son. George at any rate could not be induced to be
-silent; nor,—which was worse,—could he after reaching his twentieth
-year be made to go to church with that regularity which was necessary
-for the elder lady's peace of mind. He at this time had achieved for
-himself a place in the office ruled over by our friend Sir Boreas,
-and had in this way become so much of a man as to be entitled to
-judge for himself. In this way there had been no quarrel between Mrs.
-Vincent and Mrs. Roden, but there had come a condition of things in
-which it had been thought expedient that they should live apart. Mrs.
-Roden had therefore taken for herself a house in Paradise Row, and
-those weekly inter-visitings had been commenced between her and her
-cousin.</p>
-
-<p>Such had been the story of Mrs. Roden's life, till tidings were
-received in England that her husband was dead. The information had
-been sent to Mrs. Vincent by the younger son of the late old Duke,
-who was now a nobleman well known in the political life of his own
-country. He had stated that, to the best of his belief, his brother's
-first union had not been a legal marriage. He thought it right, he
-had said, to make this statement, and to say that as far as he was
-concerned he was willing to withdraw that compact upon which his
-father had insisted. If his sister-in-law wished to call herself by
-the name and title of Di Crinola, she might do so. Or if the young
-man of whom he spoke as his nephew wished to be known as Duca di
-Crinola he would raise no objection. But it must be remembered that
-he had nothing to offer to his relative but the barren tender of the
-name. He himself had succeeded to but very little, and that which he
-possessed had not been taken from his brother.</p>
-
-<p>Then there were sundry meetings between Mrs. Vincent and Mrs. Roden,
-at which it was decided that Mrs. Roden should go to Italy with her
-son. Her brother-in-law had been courteous to her, and had offered to
-receive her if she would come. Should she wish to use the name of Di
-Crinola, he had promised that she should be called by it in his
-house; so that the world around might know that she was recognized by
-him and his wife and children. She determined that she would at any
-rate make the journey, and that she would take her son with her.</p>
-
-<p>George Roden had hitherto learnt nothing of his father or his family.
-In the many consultations held between his mother and Mrs. Vincent it
-had been decided that it would be better to keep him in the dark. Why
-fill his young imagination with the glory of a great title in order
-that he might learn at last, as might too probably be the case, that
-he had no right to the name,—no right to consider himself even to be
-his father's son? She, by her folly,—so she herself
-acknowledged,—had done all that was possible to annihilate herself
-as a woman. There was no name which she could give to her son as
-certainly as her own. This, which had been hers before she had been
-allured into a mock marriage, would at any rate not be disputed. And
-thus he had been kept in ignorance of his mother's story. Of course
-he had asked. It was no more than natural that he should ask. But
-when told that it was for his mother's comfort that he should ask no
-more, he had assented with that reticence which was peculiar to him.
-Then chance had thrown him into friendship with the young English
-nobleman, and the love of Lady Frances Trafford had followed.</p>
-
-<p>His mother, when he consented to accompany her, had almost promised
-him that all mysteries should be cleared up between them before their
-return. In the train, before they reached Paris, a question was asked
-and an answer given which served to tell much of the truth. As they
-came down to breakfast that morning, early in the dark January
-morning, he observed that his mother was dressed in deep mourning. It
-had always been her custom to wear black raiment. He could not
-remember that he had ever seen on her a coloured dress, or even a
-bright ribbon. And she was not now dressed quite as is a widow
-immediately on the death of her husband. It was now a quarter of a
-century since she had seen the man who had so ill-used her. According
-to the account which she had received, it was twelve months at least
-since he had died in one of the Grecian islands. The full weeds of a
-mourning widow would ill have befitted her condition of mind, or her
-immediate purpose. But yet there was a speciality of blackness in her
-garments which told him that she had dressed herself with a purpose
-as of mourning. "Mother," he said to her in the train, "you are in
-mourning,—as for a friend?" Then when she paused he asked again,
-"May I not be told for whom it is done? Am I not right in saying that
-it is so?"</p>
-
-<p>"It is so, George."</p>
-
-<p>"For whom then?"</p>
-
-<p>They two were alone in the carriage, and why should his question not
-be answered now? But it had come to pass that there was a horror to
-her in mentioning the name of his father to him. "George," she said,
-"it is more than twenty-five years since I saw your father."</p>
-
-<p>"Is he dead—only now?"</p>
-
-<p>"It is only now,—only the other day,—that I have heard of his
-death."</p>
-
-<p>"Why should not I also be in black?"</p>
-
-<p>"I had not thought of it. But you never saw him since he had you in
-his arms as a baby. You cannot mourn for him in heart."</p>
-
-<p>"Do you?"</p>
-
-<p>"It is hard to say for what we mourn sometimes. Of course I loved him
-once. There is still present to me a memory of what I loved,—of the
-man who won my heart by such gifts as belonged to him; and for that I
-mourn. He was beautiful and clever, and he charmed me. It is hard to
-say sometimes for what we mourn."</p>
-
-<p>"Was he a foreigner, mother?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, George. He was an Italian. You shall know it all soon now. But
-do not you mourn. To you no memories are left. Were it not for the
-necessity of the present moment, no idea of a father should ever be
-presented to you." She vouchsafed to tell him no more at that moment,
-and he pressed her with no further questions.</p>
-
-<p> </p>
-
-<h5>END OF VOL. II.</h5>
-
-<hr class="narrow" />
-<h6>BUNGAY: PRINTED BY CLAY AND TAYLOR.</h6>
-<hr class="narrow" />
-<p><a name="v3" id="v3"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<p> </p>
-
-<h1 class="title">MARION FAY.</h1>
-
-<h3>A Novel.</h3>
-<p> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h4>BY</h4>
-
-<h2>ANTHONY TROLLOPE,</h2>
-
-<h4>AUTHOR OF<br />
-<br />
-"FRAMLEY PARSONAGE," "ORLEY FARM," "THE WAY WE<br />
-<br />
-LIVE NOW," ETC., ETC.</h4>
-<p> </p>
-<p> </p>
-
-<h3><i>IN THREE VOLUMES.</i></h3>
-
-<h2>VOL. III.</h2>
-<p> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<p> </p>
-
-<h4>London:<br />
-CHAPMAN & HALL, <span class="smallcaps">Limited</span>,
-11, HENRIETTA ST.<br />
-1882.</h4>
-
-<h5><i>[All Rights reserved.]</i></h5>
-
-<p> </p>
-<hr class="narrow" />
-<p> </p>
-
-<h5>Bungay:</h5>
-
-<h6>CLAY AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS.</h6>
-
-<p> </p>
-<hr class="narrow" />
-<p> </p>
-<p> </p>
-
-<h3>CONTENTS OF VOLUME III.<br /> </h3>
-
-<div class="center">
-<table class="sm" style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="3">
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">I. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-1" >"I WILL COME BACK AS I WENT."</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">II. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-2" >TRUE TIDINGS.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">III. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-3" >ALL THE WORLD KNOWS IT.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">IV. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-4" >"IT SHALL BE DONE."</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">V. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-5" >MARION WILL CERTAINLY HAVE HER WAY.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">VI. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-6" >"BUT HE IS;—HE IS."</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">VII. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-7" >THE GREAT QUESTION.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">VIII. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-8" >"I CANNOT COMPEL HER."</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">IX. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-9" >IN PARK LANE.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">X. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-10" >AFTER ALL HE ISN'T.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XI. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-11" >"OF COURSE THERE WAS A BITTERNESS."</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XII. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-12" >LORD HAMPSTEAD AGAIN WITH MRS. RODEN.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XIII. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-13" >LORD HAMPSTEAD AGAIN WITH MARION.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XIV. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-14" >CROCKER'S DISTRESS.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XV. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-15" >"DISMISSAL. B. B."</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XVI. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-16" >PEGWELL BAY.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XVII. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-17" >LADY AMALDINA'S WEDDING.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XVIII. </td><td align="left"><a href="#c3-18" >CROCKER'S TALE.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XIX. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-19" >"MY MARION."</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XX. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-20" >MR. GREENWOOD'S LAST BATTLE.</a></td></tr>
-<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XXI. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-21" >THE REGISTRAR OF STATE RECORDS.</a></td></tr>
-</table>
-</div>
-
-<p> </p>
-<hr class="narrow" />
-
-<p><a name="c3-1" id="c3-1"></a> </p>
-<h1>MARION FAY.</h1>
-<p> </p>
-<hr class="narrow" />
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER I.</h3>
-<h4>"I WILL COME BACK AS I WENT."<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>While Lord Hampstead's party were at Gorse Hall, some weeks before
-poor Walker's accident, there came a letter from George Roden to Lady
-Frances, and she, when she reached Hendon Hall, found a second. Both
-these letters, or parts of them, shall be here given, as they will
-tell all that need be added to what is already known of the story of
-the man, and will explain to the reader the cause and manner of
-action which he adopted.<br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p class="jright">Rome,<br />
-January 30th, 18—.</p>
-
-<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dearest
-Fanny</span>,—</p>
-
-<p>I wonder whether it will seem as odd to you to receive a
-letter from me written at Rome as it is to me to write it.
-Our letters hitherto have been very few in number, and
-have only declared that in spite of obstacles we shall
-always love each other. I have never before had anything
-in truth to tell you; but now I have so much that I do not
-know how to begin or how to go on with it. But it must be
-written, as there is much that will interest you as my
-dearest friend, and much also that will concern yourself
-should you ever become my wife. It may be that a point
-will arise as to which you and your friends,—your father,
-for instance, and your brother,—will feel yourselves
-entitled to have a voice in deciding. It may be quite
-possible that your judgment, or, at any rate, that of your
-friends, may differ from my own. Should it be so I cannot
-say that I shall be prepared to yield; but I will, at any
-rate, enable you to submit the case to them with all
-fairness.</p>
-
-<p>I have told you more than once how little I have known of
-my own family,—that I have known indeed nothing. My
-mother has seemed to me to be perversely determined not to
-tell me all that which I will acknowledge I have thought
-that I ought to know. But with equal perversity I have
-refrained from asking questions on a subject of which I
-think I should have been told everything without
-questioning. And I am a man not curious by nature as to
-the past. I am more anxious as to what I may do myself
-than as to what others of my family may have done before
-me.</p>
-
-<p>When, however, my mother asked me to go with her to Italy,
-it was manifest that her journey had reference to her
-former life. I knew from circumstances which could not be
-hidden from me,—from her knowledge, for instance, of
-Italian, and from some relics which remained to her of her
-former life,—that she had lived for some period in this
-country. As my place of birth had never been mentioned to
-me, I could not but guess that I had been born in Italy,
-and when I found that I was going there I felt certain
-that I must learn some portion of the story of which I had
-been kept in ignorance. Now I have learnt it all as far as
-my poor mother knows it herself; and as it will concern
-you to know it too, I must endeavour to explain to you all
-the details. Dearest Fanny, I do trust that when you have
-heard them you will think neither worse of me on that
-account,—nor better. It is as to the latter that I am
-really in fear. I wish to believe that no chance attribute
-could make me stand higher in your esteem than I have come
-to stand already by my own personal character.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p>Then he told her,—not, perhaps, quite so fully as the reader has
-heard it told in the last chapter,—the story of his mother's
-marriage and of his own birth. Before they had reached Rome, where
-the Duca di Crinola at present lived, and where he was at present a
-member of the Italian Cabinet, the mother had told her son all that
-she knew, having throughout the telling of the story unconsciously
-manifested to him her own desire to remain in obscurity, and to bear
-the name which had been hers for five-and-twenty years; but at the
-same time so to manage that he should return to England bearing the
-title to which by his birth she believed him to be entitled. When in
-discussing this he explained to her that it would be still necessary
-for him to earn his bread as a clerk in the Post Office in spite of
-his high-sounding nobility, and explained to her the absurdity of his
-sitting in Mr. Jerningham's room at the desk with young Crocker, and
-calling himself at the same time the Duca di Crinola, she in her
-arguments exhibited a weakness which he had hardly expected from her.
-She spoke vaguely, but with an assurance of personal hope, of Lady
-Frances, of Lord Hampstead, of the Marquis of Kingsbury, and of Lord
-Persiflage,—as though by the means of these noble personages the
-Duca di Crinola might be able to live in idleness. Of all this Roden
-could say nothing in this first letter to Lady Frances. But it was to
-this that he alluded when he hoped that she would not think better of
-him because of the news which he sent her.</p>
-
-<p>"At present," he wrote, continuing his letter after the telling of
-the story,<br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p class="noindent">we are staying
-with my uncle, as I presume I am entitled
-to call him. He is very gracious, as also are his wife and
-the young ladies who are my cousins; but I think that he
-is as anxious as I am that there should be no acknowledged
-branch of the family senior to his own. He is Duca di
-Crinola to all Italy, and will remain so whether I assume
-the title or not. Were I to take the name, and to remain
-in Italy,—which is altogether impossible,—I should be
-nobody. He who has made for himself a great position, and
-apparently has ample means, would not in truth be
-affected. But I am sure that he would not wish it. He is
-actuated by a sense of honesty, but he certainly has no
-desire to be incommoded by relatives who would, as regards
-the family, claim to be superior to himself. My dearest
-mother wishes to behave well to him, wishes to sacrifice
-herself; but is, I fear, above all things, anxious to
-procure for her son the name and title which his father
-bore.</p>
-
-<p>As for myself, you will, I think, already have perceived
-that it is my desire to remain as I was when last I saw
-you, and to be as ever</p>
-
-<p class="ind10">Yours, most affectionately,</p>
-
-<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">George
-Roden</span>.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p>Lady Frances was, as may be imagined, much startled at the receipt of
-this letter;—startled, and also pleased. Though she had always
-declared to herself that she was in every respect satisfied with her
-lover from the Post Office, though she had been sure that she had
-never wanted him to be other than he was, still, when she heard of
-that fine-sounding name, there did for a moment come upon her an idea
-that, for his sake, it might be well that he should have the
-possession of all that his birth had done for him. But when she came
-to understand the meaning of his words, as she did on the second or
-third reading of his letter,—when she discovered what he meant by
-saying that he hoped she would not think better of him by reason of
-what he was telling her, when she understood the purport of the
-manner in which he signed his name, she resolved that in every
-respect she would think as he thought and act as he wished her to
-act. Whatever might be the name which he might be pleased to give
-her, with that would she be contented, nor would she be led by any
-one belonging to her to ask him to change his purpose.</p>
-
-<p>For two days she kept the letter by her unanswered, and without
-speaking of it to anybody. Then she showed it to her brother,
-exacting from him a promise that he should not speak of it to any one
-without her permission. "It is George's secret," she said, "and I am
-sure you will see that I have no right to disclose it. I tell you
-because he would do so if he were here." Her brother was willing
-enough to make the promise, which would of course be in force only
-till he and Roden should see each other; but he could not be brought
-to agree with his sister as to his friend's view of the position.</p>
-
-<p>"He may have what fancies he pleases about titles," he said, "as may
-I; but I do not think that he would be justified in repudiating his
-father's name. I feel it a burden and an absurdity to be born to be
-an earl and a marquis, but I have to put up with it; and, though my
-reason and political feeling on the matter tell me that it is a
-burden and an absurdity, yet the burden is easily borne, and the
-absurdity does not annoy me much. There is a gratification in being
-honoured by those around you, though your conscience may be twinged
-that you yourself have done nothing to deserve it. It will be so with
-him if he takes his position here as an Italian nobleman."</p>
-
-<p>"But he would still have to be a clerk in the Post Office."</p>
-
-<p>"Probably not."</p>
-
-<p>"But how would he live?" asked Lady Frances.</p>
-
-<p>"The governor, you would find, would look upon him in a much more
-favourable light than he does at present."</p>
-
-<p>"That would be most unreasonable."</p>
-
-<p>"Not at all. It is not unreasonable that a Marquis of Kingsbury
-should be unwilling to give his daughter to George Roden, a clerk in
-the Post Office,—but that he should be willing to give her to a Duca
-di Crinola."</p>
-
-<p>"What has that to do with earning money?"</p>
-
-<p>"The Governor would probably find an income in one case, and not in
-the other. I do not quite say that it ought to be so, but it is not
-unreasonable that it should be so." Then Lady Frances said a great
-deal as to that pride in her lover which would not allow him to
-accept such a position as that which was now suggested.</p>
-
-<p>There was a long discussion on the subject. Her brother explained to
-her how common it was for noblemen of high birth to live on means
-provided by their wives' fortunes, and how uncommon it was that men
-born to high titles should consent to serve as clerks in a public
-office. But his common sense had no effect upon his sister, who ended
-the conversation by exacting from him a renewed assurance of secrecy.
-"I won't say a word till he comes," said Hampstead; "but you may be
-sure that a story like that will be all over London before he does
-come."</p>
-
-<p>Lady Frances of course answered her lover's letter; but of what she
-said it is only necessary that the reader should know that she
-promised that in all things she would be entirely guided by his
-wishes.</p>
-
-<p>Then came his second letter to her, dated on the day on which poor
-Walker had nearly been crushed to death. "I am so glad that you agree
-with me," he wrote.<br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p class="noindent">Since my last
-letter to you everything here has been
-decided as far as I can decide it,—or, indeed, as far as
-any of us can do so. There can, I think, be no doubt as to
-the legality of my mother's marriage. My uncle is of the
-same opinion, and points out to me that were I to claim my
-father's name no one would attempt to dispute it. He alone
-could do so,—or rather would be the person to do so if it
-were done. He would make no such attempt, and would
-himself present me to the King here as the Duca di Crinola
-if I chose to remain and to accept the position. But I
-certainly will not do so. I should in the first place be
-obliged to give up my nationality. I could not live in
-England bearing an Italian title, except as an Italian. I
-do not know that as an Italian I should be forced to give
-up my place in the Post Office. Foreigners, I believe, are
-employed in the Civil Service. But there would be an
-absurdity in it which to me would be specially annoying. I
-could not live under such a weight of ridicule. Nor could
-I live in any position in which some meagre income might
-be found for me because of my nobility. No such income
-would be forthcoming here. I can imagine that your father
-might make a provision for a poor son-in-law with a grand
-title. He ought not to do so, according to my ideas, but
-it might be possible that he should find himself persuaded
-to such weakness. But I could not accept it. I should not
-be above taking money with my wife, if it happened to come
-in my way, provided that I were earning an income myself
-to the best of my ability. For her sake I should do what
-might be best for her. But not even for your sake,—if you
-wished it, as I know you do not,—could I consent to hang
-about the world in idleness as an Italian duke without a
-shilling of my own. Therefore, my darling, I purpose to
-come back as I went,</p>
-
-<p class="ind12">Your own,</p>
-
-<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">George Roden</span>.</p>
-
-<div class="ind8">
-<p class="noindent">Clerk in the Post Office, and entitled to consider myself
-as being on "H.M.S." when at work from ten till four.<br /> </p>
-</div>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p>This letter reached Lady Frances at Hendon Hall on the return of
-herself and her brother from Gorse Hall. But before that time the
-prophecy uttered by Lord Hampstead as to the story being all over
-London had already been in part fulfilled. Vivian during their
-hunting weeks at Gorse Hall had been running continually up and down
-from London, where his work as private secretary to the Secretary of
-State had been, of course, most constant and important. He had,
-nevertheless, managed to have three days a week in Northamptonshire,
-explaining to his friends in London that he did it by sitting up all
-night in the country, to his friends in the country that he sat up
-all night in town. There are some achievements which are never done
-in the presence of those who hear of them. Catching salmon is one,
-and working all night is another. Vivian, however, managed to do what
-was required of him, and to enjoy his hunting at the same time.</p>
-
-<p>On his arrival at Gorse Hall the day before the famous accident he
-had a budget of news of which he was very full, but of which he at
-first spoke only to Hampstead. He could not, at any rate, speak of it
-in the presence of Lady Frances. "You have heard this, haven't you,
-about George Roden?" he asked, as soon as he could get Lord Hampstead
-to himself.</p>
-
-<p>"Heard what about George Roden?" asked the other, who, of course, had
-heard it all.</p>
-
-<p>"The Italian title."</p>
-
-<p>"What about an Italian title?"</p>
-
-<p>"But have you heard it?"</p>
-
-<p>"I have heard something. What have you heard?"</p>
-
-<p>"George Roden is in Italy."</p>
-
-<p>"Unless he has left it. He has been there, no doubt."</p>
-
-<p>"And his mother." Hampstead nodded his head. "I suppose you do know
-all about it?"</p>
-
-<p>"I want to know what you know. What I have heard has come to me as a
-secret. Your story can probably be divulged."</p>
-
-<p>"I don't know that. We are apt to be pretty close as to what we hear
-at the Foreign Office. But this didn't come as specially private.
-I've had a letter from Muscati, a very good fellow in the Foreign
-Office there, who had in some way heard your name as connected with
-Roden."</p>
-
-<p>"That is very likely."</p>
-
-<p>"And your sister's," said Vivian in a whisper.</p>
-
-<p>"That is likely too. Men talk about anything now-a-days."</p>
-
-<p>"Lord Persiflage has heard direct from Italy. He is interested, of
-course, as being brother-in-law to Lady Kingsbury."</p>
-
-<p>"But what have they heard?"</p>
-
-<p>"It seems that Roden isn't an Englishman at all."</p>
-
-<p>"That will be as he likes, I take it. He has lived here as an
-Englishman for five-and-twenty years."</p>
-
-<p>"But of course he'll prefer to be an Italian," said Vivian. "It turns
-out that he is heir to one of the oldest titles in Italy. You have
-heard of the Ducas di Crinola?"</p>
-
-<p>"I have heard of them now."</p>
-
-<p>"One of them is Minister of Education in the present Cabinet, and is
-likely to be the Premier. But he isn't the head of the family, and he
-isn't really the Duca di Crinola. He is called so, of course. But he
-isn't the head of the family. George Roden is the real Duca di
-Crinola. I thought there must be something special about the man when
-your sister took such a fancy to him."</p>
-
-<p>"I always thought there was something special about him," said
-Hampstead; "otherwise I should hardly have liked him so well."</p>
-
-<p>"So did I. He always seemed to be,—to me,—just one of ourselves,
-you know. A fellow doesn't come out like that unless he's somebody.
-You Radicals may say what you please, but silk purses don't get made
-out of sow's ears. Nobody stands up for blood less than I do; but, by
-George, it always shows itself. You wouldn't think Crocker was heir
-to a dukedom."</p>
-
-<p>"Upon my word, I don't know. I have a great respect for Crocker."</p>
-
-<p>"And now what's to be done?" asked Vivian.</p>
-
-<p>"How done?"</p>
-
-<p>"About Di Crinola? Lord Persiflage says that he can't remain in the
-Post Office."</p>
-
-<p>"Why not?"</p>
-
-<p>"I'm afraid he doesn't come in for much?"</p>
-
-<p>"Not a shilling."</p>
-
-<p>"Lord Persiflage thinks that something should be done for him. But it
-is so hard. It should be done in Italy, you know. I should think that
-they might make him extra Secretary of Legation, so as to leave him
-here. But then they have such a small salary!" As the story of George
-Roden's birth was thus known to all the Foreign Office, it was
-probable that Hampstead's prophecy would be altogether fulfilled.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c3-2" id="c3-2"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER II.</h3>
-<h4>TRUE TIDINGS.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>The Foreign Office, from top to bottom, was very much moved on the
-occasion,—and not without cause. The title of Di Crinola was quite
-historic, and had existed for centuries. No Duca di Crinola,—at any
-rate, no respectable Duca di Crinola,—could be in England even as a
-temporary visitant without being considered as entitled to some
-consideration from the Foreign Office. The existing duke of that
-name, who had lately been best known, was at present a member of the
-Italian Ministry. Had he come he would have been entitled to great
-consideration. But he, as now appeared, was not the real Duca di
-Crinola. The real duke was an Englishman,—or an Anglicized Italian,
-or an Italianized Englishman. No one in the Foreign Office, not even
-the most ancient pundit there, quite knew what he was. It was clear
-that the Foreign Office must take some notice of the young nobleman.
-But in all this was not contained more than half of the real reasons
-for peculiar consideration. This Anglicized Italian Duca was known to
-be engaged to the daughter of an English Marquis, to a lady who, if
-not niece, was next door to being niece to the Secretary of State for
-Foreign Affairs himself! Many years must have passed since an
-individual had sprung into notice so interesting in many different
-ways to all the body of the Foreign Office!</p>
-
-<p>And this personage was a clerk in the Post Office! There had no doubt
-been a feeling in the Foreign Office, if not of actual disgrace, at
-any rate of mingled shame and regret, that a niece of their Secretary
-of State should have engaged herself to one so low. Had he been in
-the Foreign Office himself something might have been made of
-him;—but a Clerk in the Post Office! The thing had been whispered
-about and talked over, till there had come up an idea that Lady
-Frances should be sent away on some compulsory foreign mission, so as
-to be out of the pernicious young man's reach. But now it turned out
-suddenly that the young man was the Duca di Crinola, and it was
-evident to all of them that Lady Frances Trafford was justified in
-her choice.</p>
-
-<p>But what was to be done with the Duca? Rumours reached the Foreign
-Office that the infatuated young nobleman intended to adhere to his
-most unaristocratic position. The absurdity of a clerk of the third
-class in one of the branches of the Post Office, with a salary of a
-hundred and seventy a year, and sitting in the same room with
-Crockers and Bobbins while he would have to be called by everybody
-the Duca di Crinola, was apparent to the mind of the lowest Foreign
-Office official. It couldn't be so, they said to each other.
-Something must be done. If Government pay were necessary to him,
-could he not be transformed by a leap into the Elysium of their own
-department, where he might serve with some especial name invented for
-the occasion? Then there arose questions which no man could answer.
-Were he to be introduced into this new-fangled office proposed for
-him, would he come in as an Englishman or an Italian; and if as an
-Englishman, was it in accordance with received rules of etiquette
-that he should be called Duca di Crinola? Would it be possible in so
-special a case to get special permission from the Crown; or if not,
-could he be appointed to the Foreign Office as a foreigner? The
-special permission, though it was surrounded by so many difficulties,
-yet seemed to be easier and less monstrous than this latter
-suggestion. They understood that though he could not well be
-dismissed from the office which he already held, it might be
-difficult to appoint a foreign nobleman to the performance of duties
-which certainly required more than ordinary British tendencies. In
-this way the mind of the Foreign Office was moved, and the coming of
-the young duke was awaited with considerable anxiety.</p>
-
-<p>The news went beyond the Foreign Office. Whether it was that the
-Secretary of State himself told the story to the ladies of his
-household, or that it reached them through private secretaries, it
-was certainly the case that Lady Persiflage was enabled to write a
-very interesting letter to her sister, and that Lady Amaldina took
-the occasion of congratulating her cousin and of informing her lover.</p>
-
-<p>Lady Kingsbury, when she received the news, was still engaged in
-pointing out to her husband the iniquity of his elder children in
-having admitted the visit of Mr. Roden to Hendon Hall. This, she
-persisted in saying, had been done in direct opposition to most
-solemn promises made by all the parties concerned. The Marquis at the
-time had recovered somewhat of his strength, in consequence, as was
-said among the household, of the removal of Mr. Greenwood into
-Shrewsbury. And the Marchioness took advantage of this improved
-condition on the part of her husband to make him sensible of the
-abominable iniquity of which the young persons had been guilty. The
-visit had occurred two months since, but the iniquity to Lady
-Kingsbury's thinking still demanded express condemnation and, if
-possible, punishment. "A direct and premeditated falsehood on the
-part of them all!" said Lady Kingsbury, standing over her husband,
-who was recumbent on the sofa in his own room.</p>
-
-<p>"No; it wasn't," said the Marquis, who found it easier to deny the
-whole charge than to attempt in his weakness to divide the guilt.</p>
-
-<p>"My dear! When she was allowed to go to Hendon Hall, was it not done
-on a sacred pledge that she should not see that horrid man? Did not
-Hampstead repeat the promise to my own ears?"</p>
-
-<p>"How could he help his coming? I wish you wouldn't trouble me about
-it any more."</p>
-
-<p>"Then I suppose that she is to have your leave to marry the man
-whenever she chooses!"</p>
-
-<p>Then he roused himself with whatever strength he possessed, and
-begged her to leave him. With much indignation she stalked out of the
-room, and going to her apartments found the following letter, which
-had just arrived from her
-<span class="nowrap">sister;—</span><br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My Dear
-Clara</span>,—</p>
-
-<p>As you are down in the country, I suppose the news about
-Fanny's "young man" has not yet reached you.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p>Fanny's young man! Had Fanny been the housemaid, it was thus that
-they might have spoken of her lover. Could it be that "Fanny and her
-young man" had already got themselves married? Lady Kingsbury, when
-she read this, almost let the letter drop from her hand, so much was
-she disgusted by the manner in which her sister spoke of this most
-unfortunate affair.<br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p>I heard something of it only yesterday, and the rest of
-the details to-day. As it has come through the Foreign
-Office you may be quite sure that it is true, though it is
-so wonderful. The young man is not George Roden at all,
-nor is he an Englishman. He is an Italian, and his proper
-name and title is Duca di Crinola.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p class="noindent">Again Lady Kingsbury
-allowed the letter almost to drop; but on this
-occasion with feelings of a very different nature. What! not George
-Roden! Not a miserable clerk in the English Post Office! Duca di
-Crinola;—a title of which she thought that she remembered to have
-heard as belonging to some peculiarly ancient family! It was not to
-be believed. And yet it came from her sister, who was usually correct
-in all such matters;—and came also from the Foreign Office, which
-she regarded as the one really trustworthy source of information as
-to foreign matters of an aristocratic nature. "Duca di Crinola!" she
-said to herself, as she went on with the reading of her letter.<br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p>There is a long story of the marriage of his mother which
-I do not quite understand as yet, but it is not necessary
-to the facts of the case. The young man has been
-recognized in his own country as entitled to all the
-honours of his family, and must be received so by us.
-Persiflage says that he will be ready to present him at
-Court on his return as Duca di Crinola, and will ask him
-at once to dine in Belgrave Square. It is a most romantic
-story, but must be regarded by you and me as being very
-fortunate, as dear Fanny had certainly set her heart upon
-marrying the man. I am told that he inherits nothing but
-the bare title. Some foreign noblemen are, you know, very
-poor; and in this case the father,
-who was a "<span class="u">mauvais
-sujet</span>," contrived to destroy whatever rights of property
-he had. Lord Kingsbury probably will be able to do
-something for him. Perhaps he may succeed in getting
-official employment suited to his rank. At any rate we
-must all of us make the best of him for Fanny's sake. It
-will be better to have a Duca di Crinola among us, even
-though he should not have a shilling, than a Post Office
-clerk with two or three hundred a year.</p>
-
-<p>I asked Persiflage to write to Lord Kingsbury; but he
-tells me that I must do it all, because he is so busy.
-Were my brother-in-law well enough I think he should come
-up to town to make inquiry himself and to see the young
-man. If he cannot do so, he had better get Hampstead to
-take him down to Trafford. Hampstead and this young
-Duchino are luckily bosom friends. It tells well for
-Hampstead that, after all, he did not go so low for his
-associates as you thought he did. Amaldina intends to
-write to Fanny to congratulate her.</p>
-
-<p class="ind8">Your affectionate sister,</p>
-
-<p class="ind12"><span class="smallcaps">Geraldine
-Persiflage</span>.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p>Duca di Crinola! She could not quite believe it;—and yet she did
-believe it. Nor could she be quite sure as to herself whether she was
-happy in believing it or the reverse. It had been terrible to her to
-think that she should have to endure the name of being stepmother to
-a clerk in the Post Office. It would not be at all terrible to her to
-be stepmother to a Duca di Crinola, even though the stepson would
-have no property of his own. That little misfortune would, as far as
-the feelings of society went, be swallowed up amidst the attributes
-of rank. Nothing would sound better than Duchessa or Duchessina! And,
-moreover, it would be all true! This was no paltry title which might
-be false, or might have been picked up, any how, the other day. All
-the world would know that the Italian Duke was the lineal
-representative of a magnificent family to whom this identical rank
-had belonged for many years. There were strong reasons for taking the
-young Duke and the young Duchess to her heart at once.</p>
-
-<p>But then there were other reasons why she should not wish it to be
-true. In the first place she hated them both. Let the man be Duca di
-Crinola as much as he might, he would still have been a Post Office
-clerk, and Lady Frances would have admitted his courtship having
-believed him at the time to have been no more than a Post Office
-clerk. The sin would have been not the less abominable in the choice
-of her lover, although it might be expedient that the sin should be
-forgiven. And then the girl had insulted her, and there had been that
-between them which would prevent the possibility of future love; and
-would it not be hard upon her darlings if it should become necessary
-to carve out from the family property a permanent income for this
-Italian nobleman, and for a generation of Italian noblemen to come;
-and then what a triumph would this be for Hampstead, who, of all
-human beings, was the most distasteful to her.</p>
-
-<p>But upon the whole she thought it would be best to accept the Duca.
-She must, indeed, accept him. Nothing that she could do would restore
-the young man to his humble desk and humble name. Nor would the
-Marquis be actuated by any prayer of hers in reference to the carving
-of the property. It would be better for her to accept the young Duke
-and the young Duchess, and make the best of them. If only the story
-should at last be shown to be true!</p>
-
-<p>The duty was imposed on her of communicating the story to the
-Marquis; but before she did so she was surprised by a visit from Mr.
-Greenwood. Mr. Roberts had used no more than the violence of
-argument, and Mr. Greenwood had been induced to take himself to
-Shrewsbury on the day named for his departure. If he went he would
-have £200 a year from the Marquis,—and £100 would be added by Lord
-Hampstead, of which the Marquis need not know anything. Unless he
-went on the day fixed that £100 would not be added. A good deal was
-said on either side, but he went. The Marquis had refused to see him.
-The Marchioness had bade him adieu in a most formal manner,—in a
-manner quite unbecoming those familiar suggestions which, he thought,
-had been made to him as to a specially desirable event. But he had
-gone, and as he went he told himself that circumstances might yet
-occur in the family which might be of use to him. He, too, had heard
-the great family news,—perhaps through some under-satellite of the
-Foreign Office, and he came with the idea that he would be the first
-to make it known at Trafford Park.</p>
-
-<p>He would have asked for the Marquis, but he knew that the Marquis
-would not receive him. Lady Kingsbury consented to see him, and he
-was ushered up to the room to which he had so often made his way
-without any asking. "I hope you are well, Mr. Greenwood," she said.
-"Are you still staying in the neighbourhood?" It was, however, well
-known at Trafford that he was at Shrewsbury.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, Lady Kingsbury. I have not gone from the neighbourhood. I
-thought that perhaps you might want to see me again."</p>
-
-<p>"I don't know that we need trouble you, Mr. Greenwood."</p>
-
-<p>"I have come with some news respecting the family." As he said this
-he managed to assume the old look, and stood as though he had never
-moved from the place since he had last been in the room.</p>
-
-<p>"Do sit down, Mr. Greenwood. What news?"</p>
-
-<p>"Mr. George Roden, the clerk in the Post Office—"</p>
-
-<p>But she was not going to have the tidings repeated to her by him, so
-as to give him any claim to gratitude for having brought them. "You
-mean the Duca di Crinola!"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh," exclaimed Mr. Greenwood.</p>
-
-<p>"I have heard all that, Mr. Greenwood."</p>
-
-<p>"That the Post Office clerk is an Italian nobleman?"</p>
-
-<p>"It suited the Italian nobleman for a time to be a Post Office clerk.
-That is what you mean."</p>
-
-<p>"And Lady Frances is to be allowed—"</p>
-
-<p>"Mr. Greenwood, I must ask you not to discuss Lady Frances here."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh! Not to discuss her ladyship!"</p>
-
-<p>"Surely you must be aware how angry the Marquis has been about it."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh!" He had not seated himself, nor divested himself of that
-inquisitorial appearance which was so distasteful to her. "We used to
-discuss Lady Frances sometimes, Lady Kingsbury."</p>
-
-<p>"I will not discuss her now. Let that be enough, Mr. Greenwood."</p>
-
-<p>"Nor yet Lord Hampstead."</p>
-
-<p>"Nor yet Lord Hampstead. I think it very wrong of you to come after
-all that took place. If the Marquis knew
-<span class="nowrap">it—"</span></p>
-
-<p>Oh! If the Marquis knew it! If the Marquis knew all, and if other
-people knew all! If it were known how often her ladyship had spoken,
-and how loud, as to the wished-for removal to a better world of his
-lordship's eldest son! But he could not dare to speak it out. And yet
-it was cruel on him! He had for some days felt her ladyship to be
-under his thumb, and now it seemed that she had escaped from him.
-"Oh! very well, Lady Kingsbury. Perhaps I had better go,—just for
-the present." And he went.</p>
-
-<p>This served, at least, for corroboration. She did not dare to keep
-the secret long from her husband, and therefore, in the course of the
-evening, went down with her sister's letter in her hand. "What!" said
-the Marquis, when the story had been read to him. "What! Duca di
-Crinola."</p>
-
-<p>"There can't be a doubt about it, my dear."</p>
-
-<p>"And he a clerk in the Post Office?"</p>
-
-<p>"He isn't a clerk in the Post Office now."</p>
-
-<p>"I don't quite see what he will be then. It appears that he has
-inherited nothing."</p>
-
-<p>"My sister says nothing."</p>
-
-<p>"Then what's the good of his title. There is nothing so pernicious in
-the world as a pauper aristocracy. A clerk in the Post Office is
-entitled to have a wife, but a poor nobleman should at any rate let
-his poverty die with himself."</p>
-
-<p>This was a view of the case which had not hitherto presented itself
-to Lady Kingsbury. When she suggested to him that the young nobleman
-should be asked down to Trafford, he did not seem to see that it was
-at all necessary. It would be much better that Fanny should come
-back. The young nobleman would, he supposed, live in his own
-country;—unless, indeed, the whole tale was a cock-and-bull story
-made up by Persiflage at the Foreign Office. It was just the sort of
-thing, he said, that Persiflage would do. He had said not a word as
-to carving an income out of the property for the young noble couple
-when she left him.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c3-3" id="c3-3"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER III.</h3>
-<h4>ALL THE WORLD KNOWS IT.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>The story was in truth all over London and half over England by the
-time that Lady Frances had returned to Hendon Hall. Though Vivian had
-made a Foreign Office secret of the affair at Gorse Hall,
-nevertheless it had been so commonly talked about during the last
-Sunday there, that Hautboy had told it all to poor Walker and to the
-Walker ladies. "By Jove, fancy!" Hautboy had said, "to go at once
-from a Post Office clerk to a duke! It's like some of those stories
-where a man goes to bed as a beggar and gets up as a prince. I wonder
-whether he likes it." Hampstead had of course discussed the matter
-very freely with his sister, still expressing an opinion that a man
-could not do other than take his father's name and his father's
-title. Lady Frances having thus become used to the subject was not
-surprised to find the following letter from her friend Lady Amaldina
-when she reached her
-<span class="nowrap">home:—</span><br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dearest
-Fanny</span>,—</p>
-
-<p>I am indeed <span class="u">delighted</span> to
-be able to congratulate you on
-the wonderful and <span class="u">most
-romantic</span> story which has just
-been made known to us. I was never one of those who blamed
-you <span class="u">very much</span> because you
-had given your affections to a
-man <span class="u">so much below</span> you
-in rank. Nevertheless, we all
-could not but feel that it was a pity that he should be
-<span class="u">a Post Office clerk!</span> Now,
-indeed, you have reason to be
-proud! I have already read up the subject, and I find that
-the Ducas di Crinola are supposed to have
-<span class="u">the very best
-blood</span> in Europe. There can be no doubt that one of the
-family married a <span class="u">Bourbon</span> before they
-came to the French
-throne. I could send you all the details, only I do not
-doubt that you have found it out for yourself already.
-Another married <span class="u">a second cousin of that
-Maximilian who
-married Mary of Burgundy</span>. One of the ladies of the family
-is supposed to have been the wife of the younger brother
-of one of the Guises, though it isn't
-<span class="u">quite</span> certain
-whether they were ever married. But that little blot, my
-dear, will hardly affect
-<span class="u">you</span> now. Taking the name
-altogether, I don't think there is anything higher in all
-Europe. Papa says that the Di Crinolas have always been
-doing something in Italy in the way of politics, or
-rebellion, or fighting. So it isn't as though they were
-all washed out and no longer of any account, like some of
-those we read of in history. Therefore I
-<span class="u">do</span> think that you
-must be a <span class="u">very happy girl</span>.</p>
-
-<p>I do feel <span class="u">so completely
-snuffed out</span>, because, after all,
-the title of Merioneth was only conferred in the time of
-<span class="u">Charles the Second</span>. And though
-there <span class="u">was</span> a Lord
-Llwddythlw before that, even he was only created by
-<span class="u">James
-the First</span>. The Powells no doubt are a very old Welsh
-family, and it is supposed that there was some
-relationship between them and the Tudors. But what is that
-to be compared to the <span class="u">mediæval
-honours</span> of the <span class="u">great
-House of Di Crinola?</span></p>
-
-<p>Papa seems to think that he will not have
-<span class="u">much</span> fortune.
-I am one of those who do not think that a large income is
-at all to be compared to good birth in the way of giving
-<span class="u">real position</span> in the
-world. Of course the Duke's estates
-are supposed to be <span class="u">enormous</span>, and
-Llwddythlw, <span class="u">even as an
-eldest son</span>, is a rich man; but as far as I can see there
-is nothing but trouble comes from it. If he has anything
-to do with a provincial town in the way of
-<span class="u">rents</span> he is
-expected to lay the <span class="u">first brick</span>
-of every church and
-institute about the place. If anything has to be
-<span class="u">opened</span>
-he has to <span class="u">open</span> it; and
-he is never allowed to eat his
-dinner without having to make <span class="u">two
-or three speeches
-before and afterwards</span>. That's what I call
-a <span class="u">great bore</span>.
-As far as I can see you will be always able to have your
-duke with you, because he will have no abominable public
-duties to look after.</p>
-
-<p>I suppose something will have to be
-<span class="u">done</span> as to an
-<span class="u">income</span>. Llwddythlw
-seems to think that he ought to get
-into Parliament. At least that is what he said to papa the
-other day; for I have not seen him myself for ever so
-long. He calls in the Square every Sunday just as we have
-done lunch, and never remains <span class="u">above
-two minutes</span>. Last
-Sunday we had not heard of this
-<span class="u">glorious</span> news; but papa
-did see him one day at the House, and that was what he
-said. I don't see how he is to get into the House
-<span class="u">if he
-is an Italian Duke</span>, and I don't know
-<span class="u">what</span> he'd get by
-going there. Papa says that he might be employed in some
-<span class="u">diplomatic</span> position
-by his own Government; but I should
-think that the Marquis could do <span class="u">something
-for him</span> as he
-has <span class="u">so much</span> at his
-own disposition. Every acre of the
-Merioneth property is settled upon,—well,—whoever may
-happen to be the next heir. There will sure to be an
-income. There always is. Papa says that the young dukes
-are always as well off, at any rate, as the young ravens.</p>
-
-<p>But, as I said before, what does all this signify in
-comparison with <span class="smallcaps">Blood</span>.
-It does make your
-position, my dear, <span class="u">quite
-another thing</span> from what we had
-expected. You would have kept your title no doubt; but
-<span class="u">where</span> would <span class="u">he</span>
-have been?</p>
-
-<p>I wonder whether you will be married now before August. I
-suppose not, because it doesn't seem to be quite certain
-when that <span class="u">wicked papa</span>
-of his died; but I do hope that
-you won't. A day at last has been fixed for us;—the 20th
-of August, when, as I told you before, Lord David is to
-run away <span class="u">instantly</span>
-after the ceremony so as to travel
-all night and <span class="u">open something</span>
-the next morning at
-<span class="u">Aberdeen</span>. I mention it now,
-because you will be <span class="u">by far</span>
-the most <span class="u">remarkable</span> of
-all my bevy of twenty. Of course
-your name will have been in the papers before that as
-<span class="u">the</span> future
-Italian <span class="u">Duchess</span>. That I own will be to me a
-just cause of pride. I think I have got my bevy all fixed
-at last, and I do <span class="u">hope</span>
-that none of them will get
-married before <span class="u">my</span> day. That has
-happened <span class="u">so often</span> as
-to be quite <span class="u">heart-breaking</span>.
-I shall cry if I find that
-<span class="u">you</span> are to be married
-<span class="u">first</span>.</p>
-
-<p class="noindent"><span class="ind4">Believe me to be</span><br />
-<span class="ind6">Your most affectionate friend and cousin,</span></p>
-
-<p class="ind18"><span class="smallcaps">Amaldina</span>.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p>She wrote also to her future husband on the same
-<span class="nowrap">subject;—</span><br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dearest
-Llwddythlw</span>,—</p>
-
-<p>It was very <span class="u">good</span>
-of you to come last Sunday, but I wish
-you hadn't gone away just because the Graiseburys were
-there. They would not have <span class="u">eaten</span>
-you, though he is a Liberal.</p>
-
-<p>I have written to Fanny Trafford to congratulate her;
-because you know it is after all better than being a mere
-<span class="u">Post Office clerk</span>.
-That was terrible;—so bad that one
-hardly knew how to mention her name in society! When
-people talked about it, I really
-<span class="u">did feel</span> that I blushed
-all over. One can mention her name now because people are
-not <span class="u">supposed</span>
-to know that he has got nothing.
-Nevertheless, it is very dreadful. <span class="u">What
-on earth are they
-to live on?</span> I have told her about the young ravens. It
-was papa who said that when he first heard of this Di
-Crinola affair. I suppose a girl
-<span class="u">ought to trust in
-Providence</span> when she marries a man without a shilling.
-That was what papa meant.</p>
-
-<p>Papa says that you said that he ought to go into
-Parliament. But what would he <span class="u">get</span>
-by that? Perhaps as he
-is in the Post Office they might make him
-<span class="u">Postmaster-General</span>.
-Only papa says that if he were to go
-into Parliament, then he could not call himself Duca di
-Crinola. Altogether it seems to be
-<span class="u">very sad</span>,—though not
-<span class="u">quite</span> so sad as before.
-It is true that one of the Di
-Crinolas married a <span class="u">Bourbon</span>,
-and that others of them have
-married ever so many <span class="u">royalties</span>.
-I think there ought to
-be a law for giving such people something to live upon
-<span class="u">out of the taxes</span>. How are they
-to be <span class="u">expected</span> to live
-upon nothing? I asked papa whether he couldn't get it
-done; but he said it would be a
-<span class="u">money bill</span>, and that
-<span class="u">you</span> ought to take it up. Pray
-don't, for fear it should
-take you <span class="u">all August</span>.
-I know you wouldn't have a scruple
-about putting off your own little affair, if anything of
-that kind <span class="u">were</span> to come in the
-way. <span class="u">I believe you'd like
-it.</span></p>
-
-<p><span class="u">Do</span> stop a little longer when
-you come on Sunday. I have
-<span class="u">ever so many</span> things
-to say to you. And if you can think
-of anything to be done for those <span class="u">poor</span>
-Di Crinolas,
-anything that won't take up <span class="u">all</span>
-August,—pray do it.</p>
-
-<p class="ind15">Your own,</p>
-
-<p class="ind18"><span class="smallcaps">Amy</span>.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p>One more letter shall be given; the answer, namely, to the above from
-the lover to his future
-<span class="nowrap">bride;—</span><br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dear Amy</span>,—</p>
-
-<p>I'll be at the Square on Sunday by three. I will walk out
-if you like, but it is always raining. I have to meet five
-or six conservative members later on in the afternoon as
-to the best thing to be done as to Mr. Green's Bill for
-lighting London by electricity. It would suit everybody;
-but some of our party, I am afraid, would go with them,
-and the Government is very shilly-shally. I have been
-going into the figures, and it has taken me all the week.
-Otherwise I would have been to see you.</p>
-
-<p>This Di Crinola affair is quite a romance. I did not mean
-that he ought to go into the House by way of getting an
-income. If he takes up the title of course he could not do
-so. If he takes it, he must regard himself as an Italian.
-I should think him quite as respectable, earning his bread
-as a clerk in a public office. They tell me he's a
-high-spirited fellow. If he is, that is what he will do.</p>
-
-<p class="ind10">Yours affectionately,</p>
-
-<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">Llwddythlw</span>.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p>When Lord Persiflage spoke of the matter to Baron d'Ossi, the Italian
-Minister in London, the Baron quite acknowledged the position of the
-young Duca, and seemed to think that very little could be wanting to
-the making of the young man's fortune. "Ah, yes, your Excellency,"
-said the Baron. "He has no great estates. Here in England you all
-have great estates. It is very nice to have great estates. But he has
-an uncle who is a great man in Rome. And he will have a wife whose
-uncle is a very great man in London. What more should he want?" Then
-the Baron bowed to the Minister of State, and the Minister of State
-bowed to the Baron.</p>
-
-<p>But the surprise expressed and the consternation felt at the Post
-Office almost exceeded the feelings excited at the Foreign Office or
-among Lady Fanny's family and friends. Dukes and Ministers, Barons
-and Princes, are terms familiar to the frequenters of the Foreign
-Office. Ambassadors, Secretaries, and diplomatic noblemen generally,
-are necessarily common in the mouths of all the officials. But at the
-Post Office such titles still carried with them something of awe. The
-very fact that a man whom they had seen should be a Duke was
-tremendous to the minds of Bobbin and Geraghty; and when it became
-known to them that a fellow workman in their own room, one who had in
-truth been no more than themselves, would henceforth be called by so
-august a title, it was as though the heavens and the earth were
-coming together. It affected Crocker in such a way that there was for
-a time a doubt whether his senses were not temporarily leaving
-him,—so that confinement would become necessary. Of course the
-matter had found its way into the newspapers. It became known at the
-office on the last day of February,—two days before the return of
-the Rodens to London.</p>
-
-<p>"Have you heard it, Mr. Jerningham?" said Crocker, rushing into the
-room that morning. He was only ten minutes after the proper time,
-having put himself to the expense of a cab in his impetuous desire to
-be the first to convey the great news to his fellow clerks. But he
-had been forestalled in his own room by the energy of Geraghty. The
-condition of mind created in Mr. Jerningham's bosom by the story told
-by Geraghty was of such a nature that he was unable to notice
-Crocker's sin in reference to the ten minutes.</p>
-
-<p>"Dchuca di Crinola!" shouted Geraghty in his broadest brogue as
-Crocker came in; determined not to be done out of the honour fairly
-achieved by him.</p>
-
-<p>"By Jove, yes! A Duke," said Crocker. "A Duke! My own especial
-friend! Hampstead will be nowhere; nowhere; nowhere! Duca di Crinola!
-Isn't it beautiful? By George, I can't believe it. Can you, Mr.
-Jerningham?"</p>
-
-<p>"I don't know what to believe," said Mr. Jerningham. "Only he was
-always a most steady, well-behaved young man, and the office will
-have a great loss of him."</p>
-
-<p>"I suppose the Duke won't come and see us ever," said Bobbin. "I
-should like to shake hands with him once again."</p>
-
-<p>"Shake hands with him," said Crocker. "I'm sure he won't drop out
-like that;—my own peculiar friend! I don't think I ever was so fond
-of anybody as George Ro—, the Duca di Crinola of course I mean. By
-George! haven't I sat at the same table with him for the last two
-years! Why, it was only a night or two before he started on this
-remarkable tour that I spent an evening with him in private society
-at Holloway!" Then he got up and walked about the room impetuously,
-clapping his hands, altogether carried away by the warmth of his
-feelings.</p>
-
-<p>"I think you might as well sit down to your desk, Mr. Crocker," said
-Mr. Jerningham.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, come, bother, Mr. Jerningham!"</p>
-
-<p>"I will not be spoken to in that way, Mr. Crocker."</p>
-
-<p>"Upon my word, I didn't mean anything, sir. But when one has heard
-such news as this, how is it possible that one should compose
-oneself? It's a sort of thing that never happened before,—that one's
-own particular friend should turn out to be the Duca di Crinola. Did
-anybody ever read anything like it in a novel? Wouldn't it act well?
-Can't I see the first meeting between myself and the Duke at the
-Haymarket! 'Duke,' I should say—'Duke, I congratulate you on having
-come to your august family title, to which no one living could do so
-much honour as yourself.' Bancroft should do me. Bancroft would do me
-to the life, and the piece should be called the <i>Duke's Friend</i>. I
-suppose we shall call him Duke here in England, and Duca if we happen
-to be in Italy together; eh, Mr. Jerningham?"</p>
-
-<p>"You had better sit down, Mr. Crocker, and try to do your work."</p>
-
-<p>"I can't;—upon my word I can't. The emotion is too much for me. I
-couldn't do it if Æolus were here himself. By the way, I wonder
-whether Sir Boreas has heard the news." Then he rushed off, and
-absolutely made his way into the room of the great potentate.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, Mr. Crocker," said Sir Boreas, "I have heard it. I read the
-newspapers, no doubt, as well as you do."</p>
-
-<p>"But it's true, Sir Boreas?"</p>
-
-<p>"I heard it spoken of two or three days ago, Mr. Crocker, and I
-believe it to be true."</p>
-
-<p>"He was my friend, Sir Boreas; my particular friend. Isn't it a
-wonderful thing,—that one's particular friend should turn out to be
-Duca di Crinola! And he didn't know a word of it himself. I feel
-quite sure that he didn't know a word of it."</p>
-
-<p>"I really can't say, Mr. Crocker; but as you have now expressed your
-wonder, perhaps you had better go back to your room and do your
-work."</p>
-
-<p>"He pretends he knew it three days ago!" said Crocker, as he returned
-to his room. "I don't believe a word of it. He'd have written to me
-had it been known so long ago as that. I suppose he had too many
-things to think of, or he would have written to me."</p>
-
-<p>"Go aisy, Crocker," said Geraghty.</p>
-
-<p>"What do you mean by that? It's just the thing he would have done."</p>
-
-<p>"I don't believe he ever wrote to you in his life," said Bobbin.</p>
-
-<p>"You don't know anything about it. We were here together two years
-before you came into the office. Mr. Jerningham knows that we were
-always friends. Good heavens! Duca di Crinola! I tell you what it is,
-Mr. Jerningham. If it were ever so, I couldn't do anything to-day.
-You must let me go. There are mutual friends of ours to whom it is
-quite essential that I should talk it over." Then he took his hat and
-marched off to Holloway, and would have told the news to Miss Clara
-Demijohn had he succeeded in finding that young lady at home. Clara
-was at that moment discussing with Mrs. Duffer the wonderful fact
-that Mr. Walker and not Lord Hampstead had been kicked and trodden to
-pieces at Gimberley Green.</p>
-
-<p>But even Æolus, great as he was, expressed himself with some surprise
-that afternoon to Mr. Jerningham as to the singular fortune which had
-befallen George Roden. "I believe it to be quite true, Mr.
-Jerningham. These wonderful things do happen sometimes."</p>
-
-<p>"He won't stay with us, Sir Boreas, I suppose?"</p>
-
-<p>"Not if he is Duca di Crinola. I don't think we could get on with a
-real duke. I don't know how it will turn out. If he chooses to remain
-an Englishman he can't take the title. If he chooses to take the
-title he must be an Italian, then he'll have nothing to live on. My
-belief is we shan't see him any more. I wish it had been Crocker with
-all my heart."</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c3-4" id="c3-4"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER IV.</h3>
-<h4>"IT SHALL BE DONE."<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>Lord Hampstead has been left standing for a long time in Marion Fay's
-sitting-room after the perpetration of his great offence, and Mrs.
-Roden has been standing there also, having come to the house almost
-immediately after her return home from her Italian journey.
-Hampstead, of course, knew most of the details of the Di Crinola
-romance, but Marion had as yet heard nothing of it. There had been so
-much for him to say to her during the interview which had been so
-wretchedly interrupted by his violence that he had found no time to
-mention to her the name either of Roden or of Di Crinola.</p>
-
-<p>"You have done that which makes me ashamed of myself." These had been
-Marion's last words as Mrs. Roden entered the room. "I didn't know
-Lord Hampstead was here," said Mrs. Roden.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, Mrs. Roden, I'm so glad you are come," exclaimed Marion. This of
-course was taken by the lady as a kindly expression of joy that she
-should have returned from her journey; whereas to Hampstead it
-conveyed an idea that Marion was congratulating herself that
-protection had come to her from further violence on his part. Poor
-Marion herself hardly knew her own meaning,—hardly had any. She
-could not even tell herself that she was angry with her lover. It was
-probable that the very ecstacy of his love added fuel to hers. If a
-lover so placed as were this lover,—a lover who had come to her
-asking her to be his wife, and who had been received with the warmest
-assurance of her own affection for him,—if he were not justified in
-taking her in his arms and kissing her, when might a lover do so? The
-ways of the world were known to her well enough to make her feel that
-it was so, even in that moment of her perturbation. Angry with him!
-How could she be angry with him? He had asked her, and she had
-declared to him that she was not angry. Nevertheless she had been
-quite in earnest when she had said that now,—after the thing that he
-had done,—he must "never, never come to her again."</p>
-
-<p>She was not angry with him, but with herself she was angry. At the
-moment, when she was in his arms, she bethought herself how
-impossible had been the conditions she had imposed upon him. That he
-should be assured of her love, and yet not allowed to approach her as
-a lover! That he should be allowed to come there in order that she
-might be delighted in looking at him, in hearing his voice, in
-knowing and feeling that she was dear to him; but that he should be
-kept at arm's length because she had determined that she should not
-become his wife! That they should love each other dearly; but each
-with a different idea of love! It was her fault that he should be
-there in her presence at all. She had told herself that it was her
-duty to sacrifice herself, but she had only half carried out her
-duty. Should she not have kept her love to herself,—so that he might
-have left her, as he certainly would have done had she behaved to him
-coldly, and as her duty had required of her. She had longed for some
-sweetness which would be sweet to her though only a vain
-encouragement to him. She had painted for her own eyes a foolish
-picture, had dreamed a silly dream. She had fancied that for the
-little of life that was left to her she might have been allowed the
-delight of loving, and had been vain enough to think that her lover
-might be true to her and yet not suffer himself! Her sacrifice had
-been altogether imperfect. With herself she was angry,—not with him.
-Angry with him, whose very footfall was music to her ears! Angry with
-him, whose smile to her was as a light specially sent from heaven for
-her behoof! Angry with him, the very energy of whose passion thrilled
-her with a sense of intoxicating joy! Angry with him because she had
-been enabled for once,—only for once,—to feel the glory of her
-life, to be encircled in the warmth of his arms, to become conscious
-of the majesty of his strength! No,—she was not angry. But he must
-be made to understand,—he must be taught to acknowledge,—that he
-must never, never come to her again. The mind can conceive a joy so
-exquisite that for the enjoyment of it, though it may last but for a
-moment, the tranquillity, even the happiness, of years may be given
-in exchange. It must be so with her. It had been her own doing, and
-if the exchange were a bad one, she must put up with the bargain. He
-must never come again. Then Mrs. Roden had entered the room, and she
-was forced to utter whatever word of welcome might first come to her
-tongue.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes," said Hampstead, trying to smile, as though nothing had
-happened which called for special seriousness of manner, "I am here.
-I am here, and hope to be here often and often till I shall have
-succeeded in taking our Marion to another home."</p>
-
-<p>"No," said Marion faintly, uttering her little protest ever so
-gently.</p>
-
-<p>"You are very constant, my lord," said Mrs. Roden.</p>
-
-<p>"I suppose a man is constant to what he really loves best. But what a
-history you have brought back with you, Mrs. Roden! I do not know
-whether I am to call you Mrs. Roden."</p>
-
-<p>"Certainly, my lord, you are to call me so."</p>
-
-<p>"What does it mean?" asked Marion.</p>
-
-<p>"You have not heard," he said. "I have not been here time enough to
-tell her all this, Mrs. Roden."</p>
-
-<p>"You know it then, Lord Hampstead?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, I know it;—though Roden has not condescended to write me a
-line. What are we to call him?" To this Mrs. Roden made no answer on
-the spur of the moment. "Of course he has written to Fanny, and all
-the world knows it. It seems to have reached the Foreign Office
-first, and to have been sent down from thence to my people at
-Trafford. I suppose there isn't a club in London at which it has not
-been repeated a hundred times that George Roden is not George Roden."</p>
-
-<p>"Not George Roden?" asked Marion.</p>
-
-<p>"No, dearest. You will show yourself terribly ignorant if you call
-him so."</p>
-
-<p>"What is he then, my lord?"</p>
-
-<p>"Marion!"</p>
-
-<p>"I beg your pardon. I will not do it again this time. But what is
-he?"</p>
-
-<p>"He is the Duca di Crinola."</p>
-
-<p>"Duke!" said Marion.</p>
-
-<p>"That's what he is, Marion."</p>
-
-<p>"Have they made him that over there?"</p>
-
-<p>"Somebody made one of his ancestors that ever so many hundred years
-ago, when the Traffords were—; well, I don't know what the Traffords
-were doing then;—fighting somewhere, I suppose, for whatever they
-could get. He means to take the title, I suppose?"</p>
-
-<p>"He says not, my lord."</p>
-
-<p>"He should do so."</p>
-
-<p>"I think so too, Lord Hampstead. He is obstinate, you know; but,
-perhaps, he may consent to listen to some friend here. You will tell
-him."</p>
-
-<p>"He had better ask others better able than I am to explain all the
-ins and outs of his position. He had better go to the Foreign Office
-and see my uncle. Where is he now?"</p>
-
-<p>"He has gone to the Post Office. We reached home about noon, and he
-went at once. It was late yesterday when we reached Folkestone, and
-he let me stay there for the night."</p>
-
-<p>"Has he always signed the old name?" asked Hampstead.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh yes. I think he will not give it up."</p>
-
-<p>"Nor his office?"</p>
-
-<p>"Nor his office. As he says himself, what else will he have to live
-on?"</p>
-
-<p>"My father might do something." Mrs. Roden shook her head. "My sister
-will have money, though it may probably be insufficient to furnish
-such an income as they will want."</p>
-
-<p>"He would never live in idleness upon her money, my lord. Indeed I
-think I may say that he has quite resolved to drop the title as idle
-lumber. You perhaps know that he is not easily persuaded."</p>
-
-<p>"The most obstinate fellow I ever knew in my life," said Hampstead,
-laughing. "And he has talked my sister over to his own views." Then
-he turned suddenly round to Marion, and asked her a question. "Shall
-I go now, dearest?" he said.</p>
-
-<p>She had already told him to go,—to go, and never to return to her.
-But the question was put to her in such a manner that were she simply
-to assent to his going, she would, by doing so, assent also to his
-returning. For the sake of her duty to him, in order that she might
-carry out that self-sacrifice in the performance of which she would
-now be so resolute, it was necessary that he should in truth be made
-to understand that he was not to come back to her. But how was this
-to be done while Mrs. Roden was present with them? Had he not been
-there then she could have asked her friend to help her in her great
-resolution. But before the two she could say nothing of that which it
-was in her heart to say to both of them. "If it pleases you, my
-lord," she said.</p>
-
-<p>"I will not be 'my lord.' Here is Roden, who is a real duke, and
-whose ancestors have been dukes since long before Noah, and he is
-allowed to be called just what he pleases, and I am to have no voice
-in it with my own particular and dearest friends! Nevertheless I will
-go, and if I don't come to-day, or the day after, I will write you
-the prettiest little love-letter I can invent."</p>
-
-<p>"Don't," she said;—oh so weakly, so vainly;—in a manner so utterly
-void of that intense meaning which she was anxious to throw into her
-words. She was conscious of her own weakness, and acknowledged to
-herself that there must be another interview, or at any rate a letter
-written on each side, before he could be made to understand her own
-purpose. If it must be done by a letter, how great would be the
-struggle to her in explaining herself. But perhaps even that might be
-easier than the task of telling him all that she would have to tell,
-while he was standing by, impetuous, impatient, perhaps almost
-violent, assuring her of his love, and attempting to retain her by
-the pressure of his hand.</p>
-
-<p>"But I shall," he said, as he held her now for a moment. "I am not
-quite sure whether I may not have to go to Trafford; and if so there
-shall be the love-letter. I feel conscious, Mrs. Roden, of being
-incapable of writing a proper love-letter. 'Dearest Marion, I am
-yours, and you are mine. Always believe me ever thine.' I don't know
-how to go beyond that. When a man is married, and can write about the
-children, or the leg of mutton, or what's to be done with his
-hunters, then I dare say it becomes easy. Good-bye dearest. Good-bye,
-Mrs. Roden. I wish I could keep on calling you Duchess in revenge for
-all the 'my lordings.'" Then he left them.</p>
-
-<p>There was a feeling in the mind of both of them that he had conducted
-himself just as a man would do who was in a high good-humour at
-having been permanently accepted by the girl to whom he had offered
-his hand. Marion Fay knew that it was not so;—knew that it never
-could be so. Mrs. Roden knew that it had not been so when she had
-left home, now nearly two months since; and knew also that Marion had
-pledged herself that it should not be so. The young lord then had
-been too strong with his love. A feeling of regret came over her as
-she remembered that the reasons against such a marriage were still as
-strong as ever. But yet how natural that it should be so! Was it
-possible that such a lover as Lord Hampstead should not succeed in
-his love if he were constant to it himself? Sorrow must come of
-it,—perhaps a tragedy so bitter that she could hardly bring herself
-to think of it. And Marion had been so firm in her resolve that it
-should not be so. But yet it was natural, and she could not bring
-herself to express to the girl either anger or disappointment. "Is it
-to be?" she said, putting on her sweetest smile.</p>
-
-<p>"No!" said Marion, standing up suddenly,—by no means smiling as she
-spoke! "It is not to be. Why do you look at me like that, Mrs. Roden?
-Did I not tell you before you went that it should never be so?"</p>
-
-<p>"But he treats you as though he were engaged to you?"</p>
-
-<p>"How can I help it? What can I do to prevent it? When I bid him go,
-he still comes back again, and when I tell him that I can never be
-his wife he will not believe me. He knows that I love him."</p>
-
-<p>"You have told him that?"</p>
-
-<p>"Told him! He wanted no telling. Of course he knew it. Love him! Oh,
-Mrs. Roden, if I could die for him, and so have done with it! And yet
-I would not wish to leave my dear father. What am I to do, Mrs.
-Roden?"</p>
-
-<p>"But it seemed to me just now that you were so happy with him."</p>
-
-<p>"I am never happy with him;—but yet I am as though I were in
-heaven."</p>
-
-<p>"Marion!"</p>
-
-<p>"I am never happy. I know that it cannot be, that it will not be, as
-he would have it. I know that I am letting him waste his sweetness
-all in vain. There should be some one else, oh, so different from me!
-There should be one like himself, beautiful, strong in health, with
-hot eager blood in her veins, with a grand name, with grand eyes and
-a broad brow and a noble figure, one who, in taking his name, will
-give him as much as she takes—one, above all, who will not pine and
-fade before his eyes, and trouble him during her short life with
-sickness and doctors and all the fading hopes of a hopeless invalid.
-And yet I let him come, and I have told him how dearly I love him. He
-comes and he sees it in my eyes. And then it is so glorious, to be
-loved as he loves. Oh, Mrs. Roden, he kissed me." That to Mrs. Roden
-did not seem to be extraordinary; but, not knowing what to say to it
-at the moment, she also kissed the girl. "Then I told him that he
-must go, and never come back to me again."</p>
-
-<p>"Were you angry with him?"</p>
-
-<p>"Angry with him! With myself I was angry. I had given him the right
-to do it. How could I be angry with him? And what does it
-matter;—except for his sake? If he could only understand! If he
-would only know that I am in earnest when I speak to him! But I am
-weak in everything except one thing. He will never make me say that I
-will be his wife."</p>
-
-<p>"My Marion! Dear Marion!"</p>
-
-<p>"But father wishes it."</p>
-
-<p>"Wishes you to become his wife?"</p>
-
-<p>"He wishes it. Why should I not be like any other girl, he says. How
-can I tell him? How can I say that I am not like to other girls
-because of my darling, my own dearest mother? And yet he does not
-know it. He does not see it, though he has seen so much. He will not
-see it till I am there, on my bed, unable to come to him when he
-wants me."</p>
-
-<p>"There is nothing now to show him or me that you may not live to be
-old as he is."</p>
-
-<p>"I shall not live to be old. You know that I shall not live to be
-more than young. Have any of them lived? For my father,—for my dear
-father,—he must find it out for himself. I have sometimes thought
-that even yet I might last his time—that I might be with him to the
-end. It might be so,—only that all this tortures me."</p>
-
-<p>"Shall I tell him;—shall I tell Lord Hampstead?"</p>
-
-<p>"He must at any rate be told. He is not bound to me as my father is.
-For him there need be no great sorrow." At this Mrs. Roden shook her
-head. "Must it be so?"</p>
-
-<p>"If he is banished from your presence he will not bear it lightly."</p>
-
-<p>"Will a young man love me like that;—a young man who has so much in
-the world to occupy him? He has his ship, and his hounds, and his
-friends, and his great wealth. It is only girls, I think, who love
-like that."</p>
-
-<p>"He must bear his sorrow as others do."</p>
-
-<p>"But it shall be made as light as I can make it,—shall it not? I
-should have done this before. I should have done it sooner. Had he
-been made to go away at once, then he would not have suffered. Why
-would he not go when I told him? Why would he not believe me when I
-spoke to him? I should have heard all his words and never have
-answered him even with a smile. I should not have trembled when he
-told me that I was there, at his hearth, as a friend. But who thought
-then, Mrs. Roden, that this young nobleman would have really cared
-for the Quaker girl?"</p>
-
-<p>"I saw it, Marion."</p>
-
-<p>"Could you see just by looking at him that he was so different from
-others? Are his truth, and his loving heart, and his high honour, and
-his pure honesty, all written in his eyes,—to you as they are to me?
-But, Mrs. Roden, there shall be an end of it! Though it may kill
-me,—though it may for a little time half-break his heart,—it shall
-be done! Oh, that his dear heart should be half-broken for me! I will
-think of it, Mrs. Roden, to-night. If writing may do it, perhaps I
-may write. Or, perhaps, I may say a word that he will at least
-understand. If not you shall tell him. But, Mrs. Roden, it shall be
-done!"</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c3-5" id="c3-5"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER V.</h3>
-<h4>MARION WILL CERTAINLY HAVE HER WAY.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>On the day but one following there came a letter to Marion from
-Hampstead,—the love-letter which he had promised
-<span class="nowrap">her;—</span><br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dear
-Marion</span>—</p>
-
-<p>It is as I supposed. This affair about Roden has stirred
-them up down at Trafford amazingly. My father wants me to
-go to him. You know all about my sister. I suppose she
-will have her way now. I think the girls always do have
-their way. She will be left alone, and I have told her to
-go and see you as soon as I have gone. You should tell her
-that she ought to make him call himself by his father's
-proper name.</p>
-
-<p>In my case, dearest, it is not the girl that is to have
-her own way. It's the young man that is to do just as he
-pleases. My girl, my own one, my love, my treasure, think
-of it all, and ask yourself whether it is in your heart to
-refuse to bid me be happy. Were it not for all that you
-have said yourself I should not be vain enough to be happy
-at this moment, as I am. But you have told me that you
-love me. Ask your father, and he will tell you that, as it
-is so, it is your duty to promise to be my wife.</p>
-
-<p>I may be away for a day or two,—perhaps for a week. Write
-to me at Trafford,—Trafford Park, Shrewsbury,—and say
-that it shall be so. I sometimes think that you do not
-understand how absolutely my heart is set upon you,—so
-that no pleasures are pleasant to me, no employments
-useful, except in so far as I can make them so by thinking
-of your love.</p>
-
-<p class="noindent"><span class="ind10">Dearest, dearest Marion,</span><br />
-<span class="ind12">Your own,</span></p>
-
-<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">Hampstead</span>.</p>
-
-<p class="noindent">Remember there
-must not be a word about a lord inside the
-envelope. It is very bad to me when it comes from Mrs.
-Roden, or from a friend such as she is; but it simply
-excruciates me from you. It seems to imply that you are
-determined to regard me as a stranger.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p>She read the letter a dozen times, pressing it to her lips and to her
-bosom. She might do that at least. He would never know how she
-treated this only letter that she ever had received from him, the
-only letter that she would receive. These caresses were only such as
-those which came from her heart, to relieve her solitude. It might be
-absurd in her to think of the words he had spoken, and to kiss the
-lines which he had written. Were she now on her deathbed that would
-be permitted to her. Wherever she might lay her head till the last
-day should come that letter should be always within her reach. "My
-girl, my own one, my love, my treasure!" How long would it last with
-him? Was it not her duty to hope that the words were silly words,
-written as young men do write, having no eagerness of purpose,—just
-playing with the toy of the moment? Could it be that she should wish
-them to be true, knowing, as she did, that his girl, his love, his
-treasure, as he called her, could never be given up to him? And yet
-she did believe them to be true, knew them to be true, and took an
-exceeding joy in the assurance. It was as though the beauty and
-excellence of their truth atoned to her for all else that was
-troublous to her in the condition of her life. She had not lived in
-vain. Her life now could never be a vain and empty space of time, as
-it had been consecrated and ennobled and blessed by such a love as
-this. And yet she must make the suffering to him as light as
-possible. Though there might be an ecstasy of joy to her in knowing
-that she was loved, there could be nothing akin to that in him. He
-wanted his treasure, and she could only tell him that he might never
-have it. "Think of it all, and ask yourself whether it is in your
-heart to refuse to bid me be happy." It was in her heart to do it.
-Though it might break her heart she would do it. It was the one thing
-to do which was her paramount duty. "You have told me that you love
-me." Truly she had told him so, and certainly she would never recall
-her words. If he ever thought of her in future years when she should
-long have been at her rest,—and she thought that now and again he
-would think of her, even when that noble bride should be sitting at
-his table,—he should always remember that she had given him her
-whole heart. He had bade her write to him at Trafford. She would obey
-him at once in that; but she would tell him that she could not obey
-him in aught else. "Tell me that it shall be so," he had said to her
-with his sweet, imperious, manly words. There had been something of
-command about him always, which had helped to make him so perfect in
-her eyes. "You do not understand," he said, "how absolutely my heart
-is set upon you." Did he understand, she wondered, how absolutely her
-heart had been set upon him? "No pleasures are pleasant to me, no
-employment useful, unless I can make them so by thinking of your
-love!" It was right that he as a man,—and such a man,—should have
-pleasures and employments, and it was sweet to her to be told that
-they could be gilded by the remembrance of her smiles. But for her,
-from the moment in which she had known him, there could be no
-pleasure but to think of him, no serious employment but to resolve
-how best she might do her duty to him.</p>
-
-<p>It was not till the next morning that she took up her pen to begin
-her all-important letter. Though her resolution had been so firmly
-made, yet there had been much need for thinking before she could sit
-down to form the sentences. For a while she had told herself that it
-would be well first to consult her father; but before her father had
-returned to her she had remembered that nothing which he could say
-would induce her in the least to alter her purpose. His wishes had
-been made known to her; but he had failed altogether to understand
-the nature of the duty she had imposed upon herself. Thus she let
-that day pass by, although she knew that the writing of the letter
-would be an affair of much time to her. She could not take her sheet
-of paper, and scribble off warm words of love as he had done. To ask,
-or to give, in a matter of love must surely, she thought, be easy
-enough. But to have given and then to refuse—that was the
-difficulty. There was so much to say of moment both to herself and to
-him, or rather so much to signify, that it was not at one sitting, or
-with a single copy, that this letter could be written. He must be
-assured, no doubt, of her love; but he must be made to
-understand,—quite to understand, that her love could be of no avail
-to him. And how was she to obey him as to her mode of addressing him?
-"It simply excruciates me from you," he had said, thus debarring her
-from that only appellation which would certainly be the easiest, and
-which seemed to her the only one becoming. At last the letter, when
-written, ran as <span class="nowrap">follows;—</span><br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p>How I am to begin my letter I do not know, as you have
-forbidden me to use the only words which would come
-naturally. But I love you too well to displease you in so
-small a matter. My poor letter must therefore go to you
-without any such beginning as is usual. Indeed, I love you
-with all my heart. I told you that before, and I will not
-shame myself by saying that it was untrue. But I told you
-also before that I could not be your wife. Dearest love, I
-can only say again what I said before. Dearly as I love
-you I cannot become your wife. You bid me to think of it
-all, and to ask myself whether it is in my heart to refuse
-to bid you to be happy. It is not in my heart to let you
-do that which certainly would make you unhappy.</p>
-
-<p>There are two reasons for this. Of the first, though it is
-quite sufficient, I know that you will make nothing. When
-I tell you that you ought not to choose such a one as me
-for your wife because my manners of life have not fitted
-me for such a position, then you sometimes laugh at me,
-and sometimes are half angry,—with that fine way you have
-of commanding those that are about you. But not the less
-am I sure that I am right. I do believe that of all human
-beings poor Marion Fay is the dearest to you. When you
-tell me of your love and your treasure I do not for a
-moment doubt that it is all true. And were I to be your
-wife, your honour and your honesty would force you to be
-good to me. But when you found that I was not as are other
-grand ladies, then I think you would be disappointed. I
-should know it by every line of your dear face, and when I
-saw it there I should be broken-hearted.</p>
-
-<p>But this is not all. If there were nothing further, I
-think I should give way because I am only a weak girl; and
-your words, my own, own love, would get the better of me.
-But there is another thing. It is hard for me to tell, and
-why should you be troubled with it? But I think if I tell
-it you out and out, so as to make you understand the
-truth, then you will be convinced. Mrs. Roden could tell
-you the same. My dear, dear father could tell you also;
-only that he will not allow himself to believe, because of
-his love for the only child that remains to him. My mother
-died; and all my brothers and sisters have died. And I
-also shall die young.</p>
-
-<p>Is not that enough? I know that it will be enough. Knowing
-that it will be enough, may I not speak out to you, and
-tell you all my heart? Will you not let me do so, as
-though it had been understood between us, that though we
-can never be more to each other than we are, yet we may be
-allowed to love each other? Oh, my dearest, my only
-dearest, just for this once I have found the words in
-which I may address you. I cannot comfort you as I can
-myself, because you are a man, and cannot find comfort in
-sadness and disappointment, as a girl may do. A man thinks
-that he should win for himself all that he wants. For a
-girl, I think it is sufficient for her to feel that, as
-far as she herself is concerned, that would have been
-given to her which she most desires, had not Fortune been
-unkind. You, dearest, cannot have what you want, because
-you have come to poor Marion Fay with all the glory and
-sweetness of your love. You must suffer for a while. I,
-who would so willingly give my life to serve you, must
-tell you that it will be so. But as you are a man, pluck
-up your heart, and tell yourself that it shall only be for
-a time. The shorter the better, and the stronger you will
-show yourself in overcoming the evil that oppresses you.
-And remember this. Should Marion Fay live to know that you
-had brought a bride home to your house, as it will be your
-duty to do, it will be a comfort to her to feel that the
-evil she has done has been cured.</p>
-
-<p class="ind18"><span class="smallcaps">Marion</span>.</p>
-
-<p class="noindent">I cannot tell
-you how proud I should be to see your sister
-if she will condescend to come and see me. Or would it not
-be better that I should go over to Hendon Hall? I could
-manage it without trouble. Do not you write about it, but
-ask her to send me one word.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p>Such was the letter when it was at last finished and despatched. As
-soon as it was gone,—dropped irrevocably by her own hand into the
-pillar letter-box which stood at the corner opposite to the
-public-house,—she told her father what she had done. "And why?" he
-said crossly. "I do not understand thee. Thou art flighty and fickle,
-and knowest not thy own mind."</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, father; I have known my own mind always in this matter. It was
-not fitting."</p>
-
-<p>"If he thinks it fitting, why shouldst thou object?"</p>
-
-<p>"I am not fit, father, to be the wife of a great nobleman. Nor can I
-trust my own health." This she said with a courage and firmness which
-seemed to silence him,—looking at him as though by her looks she
-forbade him to urge the matter further. Then she put her arms round
-him and kissed him. "Will it not be better, father, that you and I
-shall remain together till the last?"</p>
-
-<p>"Nothing can be better for me that will not also be best for thee."</p>
-
-<p>"For me it will be best. Father, let it be so, and let this young man
-be no more thought of between us." In that she asked more than could
-be granted to her; but for some days Lord Hampstead's name was not
-mentioned between them.</p>
-
-<p>Two days afterwards Lady Frances came to her. "Let me look at you,"
-said Marion, when the other girl had taken her in her arms and kissed
-her. "I like to look at you, to see whether you are like him. To my
-eyes he is so beautiful."</p>
-
-<p>"More so than I am."</p>
-
-<p>"You are a—lady, and he is a man. But you are like him, and very
-beautiful. You, too, have a lover, living close to us?"</p>
-
-<p>"Well, yes. I suppose I must own it."</p>
-
-<p>"Why should you not own it? It is good to be loved and to love. And
-he has become a great nobleman,—like your brother."</p>
-
-<p>"No, Marion; he is not that.—May I call you Marion?"</p>
-
-<p>"Why not? He called me Marion almost at once."</p>
-
-<p>"Did he so?"</p>
-
-<p>"Just as though it were a thing of course. But I noticed it. It was
-not when he bade me poke the fire, but the next time. Did he tell you
-about the fire?"</p>
-
-<p>"No, indeed."</p>
-
-<p>"A man does not tell of such things, I think; but a girl remembers
-them. It is so good of you to come. You know—do you not?"</p>
-
-<p>"Know what?"</p>
-
-<p>"That I,—and your brother,—have settled everything at last?" The
-smile of pleasant good humour passed away from the face of Lady
-Frances, but at the moment she made no reply. "It is well that you
-should know. He knows now, I am sure. After what I said in my letter
-he will not contradict me again." Lady Frances shook her head. "I
-have told him that while I live he of all the world must be dearest
-to me. But that will be all."</p>
-
-<p>"Why should you—not live?"</p>
-
-<p>"Lady Frances—"</p>
-
-<p>"Nay, call me Fanny."</p>
-
-<p>"You shall be Fanny if you will let me tell you. Oh! I do so wish
-that you would understand it all, and make me tell you nothing
-further. But you must know,—you must know that it cannot be as your
-brother has wished. If it were only less known,—if he would consent
-and you would consent,—then I think that I could be happy. What is
-it after all,—the few years that we may have to live here? Shall we
-not meet again, and shall we not love each other then?"</p>
-
-<p>"I hope so."</p>
-
-<p>"If you can really hope it, then why should we not be happy? But how
-could I hope it if, with my eyes open, I were to bring a great
-misfortune upon him? If I did him an evil here, could I hope that he
-would love me in Heaven, when he would know all the secrets of my
-heart? But if he shall say to himself that I denied myself,—for his
-sake; that I refused to be taken into his arms because it would be
-bad for him, then, though there may be some one dearer, then shall
-not I also be dear to him?" The other girl could only cling to her
-and embrace her. "When he shall have strong boys round his
-hearth,—the hearth he spoke of as though it were almost mine,—and
-little girls with pink cheeks and bonny brows, and shall know, as he
-will then, what I might have done for him, will he not pray for me,
-and tell me in his prayers that when we shall meet hereafter I shall
-still be dear to him? And when she knows it all, she who shall lie on
-his breast, shall I not be dear also to her?"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, my sister!"</p>
-
-<p>"He will tell her. I think he will tell her,—because of his truth,
-his honour, and his manliness."</p>
-
-<p>Lady Frances, before she left the house, had been made to understand
-that her brother could not have his way in the matter which was so
-near his heart, and that the Quaker's daughter would certainly have
-hers.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c3-6" id="c3-6"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER VI.</h3>
-<h4>"BUT HE IS;—HE IS."<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>George Roden had come to a decision as to his title, and had told
-every one concerned that he meant to be as he always had
-been,—George Roden, a clerk in the Post Office. When spoken to, on
-this side and the other, as to the propriety,—or rather
-impropriety,—of his decision, he had smiled for the most part, and
-had said but little, but had been very confident in himself. To none
-of the arguments used against him would he yield in the least. As to
-his mother's name, he said, no one had doubted, and no one would
-doubt it for a moment. His mother's name had been settled by herself,
-and she had borne it for a quarter of a century. She had not herself
-thought of changing it. For her to blaze out into the world as a
-Duchess,—it would be contrary to her feelings, to her taste, and to
-her comfort! She would have no means of maintaining the title,—and
-would be reduced to the necessity of still living in Paradise Row,
-with the simple addition of an absurd nickname. As to that, no
-question had been raised. It was only for him that she required the
-new appellation.</p>
-
-<p>As for herself, the whole thing had been settled at once by her own
-good judgment.</p>
-
-<p>As for himself, he said, the arguments were still stronger against
-the absurd use of the grand title. It was imperative on him to earn
-his bread, and his only means of doing so was by doing his work as a
-clerk in the Post Office. Everybody admitted that it would not be
-becoming that a Duke should be a clerk in the Post Office. It would
-be so unbecoming, he declared, that he doubted whether any man could
-be found brave enough to go through the world with such a fool's cap
-on his head. At any rate he had no such courage. Moreover, no
-Englishman, as he had been told, could at his own will and pleasure
-call himself by a foreign title. It was his pleasure to be an
-Englishman. He had always been an Englishman. As an inhabitant of
-Holloway he had voted for two Radical members for the Borough of
-Islington. He would not stultify his own proceedings, and declare
-that everything which he had done was wrong. It was thus that he
-argued the matter; and, as it seemed, no one could take upon himself
-to prove that he was an Italian, or to prove that he was a Duke.</p>
-
-<p>But, though he seemed to be, if not logical, at any rate rational,
-the world generally did not agree with him. Wherever he was
-encountered there seemed to be an opinion that he ought to assume
-whatever name and whatever rights belonged to his father. Even at the
-Post Office the world was against him.</p>
-
-<p>"I don't quite know why you couldn't do it," said Sir Boreas, when
-Roden put it to him whether it would be practicable that a young man
-calling himself Duca di Crinola should take his place as a clerk in
-Mr. Jerningham's room. It may be remembered that Sir Boreas had
-himself expressed some difficulty in the matter. He had told Mr.
-Jerningham that he did not think that they could get on very well
-with a real Duke among them. It was thus that the matter had at first
-struck him. But he was a brave man, and, when he came to look at it
-all round, he did not see that there would be any impossibility. It
-would be a nine days' wonder, no doubt. But the man would be there
-just the same,—the Post Office clerk inside the Duke. The work would
-be done, and after a little time even he would become used to having
-a Duke among his subordinates. As to whether the Duke were a
-foreigner or an Englishman,—that, he declared, would not matter in
-the least, as far as the Post Office was concerned. "I really don't
-see why you shouldn't try it," said Sir Boreas.</p>
-
-<p>"The absurdity would be so great that it would crush me, sir. I
-shouldn't be worth my salt," said Roden.</p>
-
-<p>"That's a kind of thing that wears itself out very quickly. You would
-feel odd at first,—and so would the other men, and the messengers. I
-should feel a little odd when I asked some one to send the Duca di
-Crinola to me, for we are not in the habit of sending for Dukes. But
-there is nothing that you can't get used to. If your father had been
-a Prince I don't think I should break down under it after the first
-month."</p>
-
-<p>"What good would it do me, Sir Boreas?"</p>
-
-<p>"I think it would do you good. It is difficult to explain the
-good,—particularly to a man who is so violently opposed as you to
-all ideas of rank. <span class="nowrap">But—."</span></p>
-
-<p>"You mean that I should get promoted quicker because of my title?"</p>
-
-<p>"I think it probable that the Civil Service generally would find
-itself able to do something more for a good officer with a high name
-than for a good officer without one."</p>
-
-<p>"Then, Sir Boreas, the Civil Service ought to be ashamed of itself."</p>
-
-<p>"Perhaps so;—but such would be the fact. Somebody would interfere to
-prevent the anomaly of the Duca di Crinola sitting at the same table
-with Mr. Crocker. I will not dispute it with you,—whether it ought
-to be so;—but, if it be probable, there is no reason why you should
-not take advantage of your good fortune, if you have capacity and
-courage enough to act up to it. Of course what we all want in life is
-success. If a chance comes in your way I don't see why you should
-fling it away." This was the wisdom of Sir Boreas; but Roden would
-not take advantage of it. He thanked the great man for his kindness
-and sympathy, but declined to reconsider his decision.</p>
-
-<p>In the outer office,—in the room, for instance, in which Mr.
-Jerningham sat with Crocker and Bobbin and Geraghty, the feeling was
-very much stronger in favour of the title, and was expressed in
-stronger language. Crocker could not contain himself when he heard
-that there was a doubt upon the subject. On Roden's first arrival at
-the office Crocker almost flung himself into his friend's arms, with
-just a single exclamation. "Duca, Duca, Duca!" he had said, and had
-then fallen back into his own seat overcome by his emotions. Roden
-had passed this by without remark. It was very distasteful to him,
-and disgusting. He would fain have been able to sit down at his own
-desk, and go on with his own work, without any special notice of the
-occasion, other than the ordinary greeting occasioned by his return.
-It was distressing to him that anything should have been known about
-his father and his father's title. But that it should be known was
-natural. The world had heard of it. The world had put it into the
-newspapers, and the world had talked about it. Of course Mr.
-Jerningham also would talk of it, and the two younger clerks,—and
-Crocker. Crocker would of course talk of it louder than any one else.
-That was to be expected. A certain amount of misconduct was to be
-expected from Crocker, and must be forgiven. Therefore he passed over
-the ecstatic and almost hysterical repetition of the title which his
-father had borne, hoping that Crocker might be overcome by the
-effort, and be tranquil. But Crocker was not so easily overcome. He
-did sit for a moment or two on his seat with his mouth open; but he
-was only preparing himself for his great demonstration.</p>
-
-<p>"We are very glad to see you again,—sir," said Mr. Jerningham; not
-at first quite knowing how it would become him to address his
-fellow-clerk.</p>
-
-<p>"Thank you, Mr. Jerningham. I have got back again safe."</p>
-
-<p>"I am sure we are all delighted to hear—what we have heard," said
-Mr. Jerningham cautiously.</p>
-
-<p>"By George, yes," said Bobbin. "I suppose it's true; isn't it? Such a
-beautiful name!"</p>
-
-<p>"There are so many things are true, and so many are false, that I
-don't quite know how to answer you," said Roden.</p>
-
-<p>"But you are—?" asked Geraghty; and then he stopped, not quite
-daring to trust himself with the grand title.</p>
-
-<p>"No;—that's just what I'm not," replied the other.</p>
-
-<p>"But he is," shouted Crocker, jumping from his seat. "He is! He is!
-It's quite true. He is Duca di Crinola. Of course we'll call him so,
-Mr. Jerningham;—eh?"</p>
-
-<p>"I am sure I don't know," said Mr. Jerningham with great caution.</p>
-
-<p>"You'll allow me to know my own name," said Roden.</p>
-
-<p>"No! no!" continued Crocker. "It's all very well for your modesty,
-but it's a kind of thing which your friends can't stand. We are quite
-sure that you're the Duca." There was something in the Italian title
-which was peculiarly soothing to Crocker's ears. "A man has to be
-called by what he is, not by what he chooses. If the Duke of
-Middlesex called himself Mr. Smith, he'd be Duke all the
-same;—wouldn't he, Mr. Jerningham? All the world would call him
-Duke. So it must be with you. I wouldn't call your Grace Mr.
-<span class="nowrap">——;</span>
-you know what I mean, but I won't pronounce it ever again;—not for
-ever so much." Roden's brow became very black as he found himself
-subjected to the effects of the man's folly. "I call upon the whole
-office," continued Crocker, "for the sake of its own honour, to give
-our dear and highly-esteemed friend his proper name on all occasions.
-Here's to the health of the Duca di Crinola!" Just at that moment
-Crocker's lunch had been brought in, consisting of bread and cheese
-and a pint of stout. The pewter pot was put to his mouth and the
-toast was drank to the honour and glory of the drinker's noble friend
-with no feeling of intended ridicule. It was a grand thing to Crocker
-to have been brought into contact with a man possessed of so noble a
-title. In his heart of hearts he reverenced "The Duca." He would
-willingly have stayed there till six or seven o'clock and have done
-all the Duca's work for him,—because the Duca was a Duca. He would
-not have done it satisfactorily, because it was not in his nature to
-do any work well, but he would have done it as well as he did his
-own. He hated work; but he would have sooner worked all night than
-see a Duca do it,—so great was his reverence for the aristocracy
-generally.</p>
-
-<p>"Mr. Crocker," said Mr. Jerningham severely, "you are making yourself
-a nuisance. You generally do."</p>
-
-<p>"A nuisance!"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes; a nuisance. When you see that a gentleman doesn't wish a thing,
-you oughtn't to do it."</p>
-
-<p>"But when a man's name is his name!"</p>
-
-<p>"Never mind. When he doesn't wish it, you oughtn't to do it!"</p>
-
-<p>"If it's a man's own real name!"</p>
-
-<p>"Never mind," said Mr. Jerningham.</p>
-
-<p>"If it shoots a gintleman to be incognito, why isn't he to do as he
-plaises?" asked Geraghty.</p>
-
-<p>"If the Duke of Middlesex did call himself Mr. Smith," said Bobbin,
-"any gentleman that was a gentleman would fall in with his views."
-Crocker, not conquered, but for the moment silenced, seated himself
-in a dudgeon at his desk. It might do very well for poor fellows,
-weak creatures like Jerningham, Bobbin, and Geraghty, thus to be done
-out of their prey;—but he would not be cheated in that way. The Duca
-di Crinola should be Duca di Crinola as far as he, Crocker, could
-make his voice heard; and all that heard him should know that the
-Duca was his own old peculiar friend.</p>
-
-<p>In Paradise Row the world was decidedly against Roden; and not only
-were the Demijohns and Duffers against him, but also his own mother
-and her friend Mrs. Vincent. On the first Monday after Mrs. Roden's
-return Mrs. Vincent came to the Row as usual,—on this occasion to
-welcome her cousin, and to hear all the news of the family as it had
-been at last brought back from Italy. There was a great deal to be
-told. Many things had been brought to light which had had their
-commencement in Mrs. Vincent's days. There was something of the
-continuation of a mild triumph for her in every word that was spoken.
-She had been against the Di Crinola marriage, when it had been first
-discussed more than a quarter of a century ago. She had never
-believed in the Duca di Crinola, and her want of faith had been
-altogether justified. She did not, after all those years, bear hardly
-on her friend,—but there was still that well-known tone of gentle
-censure and of gentle self-applause. "I told you so," said the elder
-crow to the younger crow. When does the old crow cease to remind the
-younger crow that it was so? "A sad, sad story," said Mrs. Vincent,
-shaking her head.</p>
-
-<p>"All our stories I suppose have much in them that is sad. I have got
-my son, and no mother can have more reason to be proud of a son."
-Mrs. Vincent shook her head. "I say it is so," repeated the mother;
-"and having such a son, I will not admit that it has all been sad."</p>
-
-<p>"I wish he were more ready to perform his religious duties," said
-Mrs. Vincent.</p>
-
-<p>"We cannot all agree about everything. I do not know that that need
-be brought up now."</p>
-
-<p>"It is a matter that should be brought up every hour and every day,
-Mary,—if the bringing of it up is to do any good."</p>
-
-<p>But it was not on this matter that Mrs. Roden now wished to get
-assistance from her cousin;—certainly not with any present view
-towards the amelioration of her son's religious faith. That might
-come afterwards perhaps. But it was her present object to induce her
-cousin to agree with her, that her son should permit himself to be
-called by his father's title. "But you think he should take his
-father's name?" she asked. Mrs. Vincent shook her head and tried to
-look wise. The question was one on which her feelings were very much
-divided. It was of course proper that the son should be called by his
-father's name. All the proprieties of the world, as known to Mrs.
-Vincent, declared that it should be so. She was a woman, too, who by
-no means despised rank, and who considered that much reverence was
-due to those who were privileged to carry titles. Dukes and lords
-were certainly very great in her estimation, and even the humblest
-knight was respected by her, as having been in some degree lifted
-above the community by the will of his Sovereign. And though she was
-always in some degree hostile to George Roden, because of the
-liberties he took in regard to certain religious matters, yet she was
-good enough and kind enough to wish well to her own cousin. Had there
-been a question in regard to an English title she certainly would not
-have shaken her head. But as to this outlandish Italian title, she
-had her doubts. It did not seem to her to be right that an Englishman
-should be called a Duca. If it had been Baron, or even Count, the
-name would have been less offensive. And then to her mind hereditary
-titles, as she had known them, had been recommended by hereditary
-possessions. There was something to her almost irreligious in the
-idea of a Duke without an acre. She could therefore only again shake
-her head. "He has as much right to it," continued Mrs. Roden, "as has
-the eldest son of the greatest peer in England."</p>
-
-<p>"I dare say he has, my dear, but—."</p>
-
-<p>"But what?"</p>
-
-<p>"I dare say you're right, only—; only it's not just like an English
-peer, you know."</p>
-
-<p>"The privilege of succession is the same."</p>
-
-<p>"He never could sit in the House of Lords, my dear."</p>
-
-<p>"Of course not. He would assume only what is his own. Why should he
-be ashamed to take an Italian title any more than his friend Lord
-Hampstead is to take an English one? It is not as though it would
-prevent his living here. Many foreign noblemen live in England."</p>
-
-<p>"I suppose he could live here," said Mrs. Vincent as though she were
-making a great admission. "I don't think that there would be any law
-to turn him out of the country."</p>
-
-<p>"Nor out of the Post Office, if he chooses to remain there," said
-Mrs. Roden.</p>
-
-<p>"I don't know how that may be."</p>
-
-<p>"Even if they did, I should prefer that it should be so. According to
-my thinking, no man should fling away a privilege that is his own, or
-should be ashamed of assuming a nobility that belongs to him. If not
-for his own sake, he should do it for the sake of his children. He at
-any rate has nothing to be ashamed of in the name. It belonged to his
-father and to his grandfather, and to his ancestors through many
-generations. Think how men fight for a title in this country; how
-they struggle for it when there is a doubt as to who may properly
-have inherited it! Here there is no doubt. Here there need be no
-struggle." Convinced by the weight of this argument Mrs. Vincent gave
-in her adhesion, and at last expressed an opinion that her cousin
-should at once call himself by his father's name.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c3-7" id="c3-7"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER VII.</h3>
-<h4>THE GREAT QUESTION.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>Neither were the arguments of Mrs. Roden nor the adhesion of Mrs.
-Vincent of any power in persuading George Roden. He answered his
-mother gently, kindly, but very firmly. Had anything, he said, been
-necessary to strengthen his own feeling, it would have been found in
-his mother's determination to keep his old name. "Surely, mother, if
-I may say so without disrespect, what is sauce for the goose is sauce
-for the gander." At this the mother smiled, kissing her son to show
-that the argument had been taken in good part. "In this matter," he
-continued, "we certainly are in a boat together. If I am a Duke you
-would be a Duchess. If I am doomed to make an ape of myself at the
-Post Office, you must be equally ridiculous in Paradise Row,—unless
-you are prepared to go back to Italy and live your life there."</p>
-
-<p>"And you?"</p>
-
-<p>"I could not live there. How could I earn my bread there? How could I
-pass my days so as to be in any degree useful? What could be more
-mean? My uncle, though he has been civil, and to a certain degree
-generous, would be specially anxious not to see me in public life.
-You and I together would have just means enough for existence. I
-should be doomed to walk about the streets of some third-rate Italian
-town, and call myself by my grand name. Would a life like that
-satisfy your ambition on my behalf?" Then she thought of the girl who
-was in love with him, of the friends whom he had made for himself, of
-the character which belonged to him, and she was driven to confess
-that, by whatever name he might be called, he must continue to live
-an Englishman's life, and to live in England. Nevertheless, she told
-herself that the title would not be abolished, because it might be in
-abeyance. She might, she thought, still live to hear her son called
-by the name of which she herself had been proud till she had become
-thoroughly ashamed of the husband who had given it to her.</p>
-
-<p>But there were others besides Crocker and Mrs. Vincent, and his
-mother and Sir Boreas, who were much interested by George Roden's
-condition. Mrs. Roden returned home on the 2nd of March, and, as may
-be remembered, the tidings respecting her son had reached England
-before she came. By the end of the month many persons were much
-exercised as to the young man's future name, and some people of high
-rank had not only discussed the subject at great length, but had
-written numerous letters concerning it. It was manifest to Lady
-Persiflage that no further attempt should now be made to throw
-obstacles in the way of Lady Frances and her lover. Lady Persiflage
-had never believed in the obstacles from the first. "Of course
-they'll marry," she had said to her one daughter, who was now almost
-as good as married herself, and equally trustworthy. "When a girl is
-determined like that, of course nothing will stop her. My sister
-shouldn't have let her meet the young man at first." But this had
-been said before the young man had turned out to be an Italian Duke.
-Since the news had come Lady Persiflage had been very eager in
-recommending her sister to discontinue the opposition. "Make the most
-of him," she had said in one of her letters. "It is all that can be
-done now. It is a fine name, and though Italian titles do not count
-like ours, yet, when they are as good as this, they go for a good
-deal. There are real records of the Di Crinola family, and there is
-no manner of doubt but that he is the head of them. Take him by the
-hand, and have him down at Trafford if Kingsbury is well enough. They
-tell me he is quite presentable, with a good figure and all that;—by
-no means a young man who will stand shivering in a room because he
-doesn't know how to utter a word. Had he been like that Fanny would
-never have set her heart upon him. Persiflage has been talking about
-him, and he says that something will be sure to turn up if he is
-brought forward properly, and is not ashamed of his family name.
-Persiflage will do whatever he can, but that can only be if you will
-open your arms to him." Lady Kingsbury did feel that she was called
-upon to undergo a terrible revulsion of sentiment. Opening her arms
-to the Duca di Crinola might be possible to her. But how was she to
-open her arms to Lady Frances Trafford? The man whom she had seen but
-once might appear before her with his new title as a young nobleman
-of whose antecedents she was not bound to remember anything. She
-might seem to regard him as a new arrival, a noble suitor for her
-stepdaughter's hand, of whom she had not before heard. But how was
-she to receive Fanny Trafford, the girl whom she had locked up at
-Königsgraaf, whose letters she had stopped as they came from the Post
-Office? Nevertheless she consented,—as far at least as her sister
-was concerned. "I shall never like Fanny," she had said, "because she
-is so sly." Girls are always called sly by their friends who want to
-abuse them. "But of course I will have them both here, as you think
-it will be best. What they are to live upon Heaven only knows. But of
-course that will be no concern of mine."</p>
-
-<p>As a first result of this Lady Persiflage asked George Roden down to
-Castle Hautboy for the Easter holidays. There was a difficulty about
-this. How was he to be addressed? Hampstead was consulted, and he,
-though he was not much in heart just then for the arrangement of such
-a matter, advised that for the present his friend's old name should
-be used. Lady Persiflage therefore wrote to—George Roden, Esq., at
-the General Post Office. In this letter it was signified that Lord
-Persiflage was very anxious to make the acquaintance of—Mr. Roden.
-Lady Persiflage was also very anxious. Lady Persiflage explained that
-she was aware of,—Well! Lady Frances Trafford was to be at Castle
-Hautboy, and that she thought might act as an inducement to—Mr.
-Roden. The letter was very cleverly managed.</p>
-
-<p>Though it never once mentioned the grand title it made allusions
-which implied that the real rank of the Post Office clerk was well
-known to every one at Castle Hautboy. And though nothing of course
-was said as to any possible relations between Lord Persiflage as a
-member of the British Cabinet and the clerk's uncle as a member of
-the Italian Cabinet, nevertheless as to this also there were
-allusions which were intelligible. This letter was altogether very
-gracious,—such a one as few young men would be able to resist coming
-from such a person as Lady Persiflage. But the special offer which
-prevailed with our Post Office clerk was no doubt the promise of the
-presence of Fanny Trafford. In all the rest, gracious as the words
-were, there was nothing but trouble for him. It was clear enough to
-him that Lady Persiflage was on the same side as Crocker. Lady
-Persiflage would no doubt prefer a Duca di Crinola to a Post Office
-clerk for Lady Frances. And he could see also that the Secretary of
-State for Foreign Affairs was on the same side. The Secretary of
-State would not have expressed a special desire to see him, the Post
-Office clerk, at Castle Hautboy, and have, as it were, welcomed him
-to the possession of his brother-in-law's daughter, had nothing been
-told of the Duca di Crinola. He heard as much from Lord Hampstead,
-who advised him to go to Castle Hautboy, and make himself acquainted
-with Fanny's family friends. It was all manifest. And as it was all
-being done in opposition to his own firm resolution, he would not
-have gone,—but that the temptation was too great for him. Fanny
-Trafford would be there,—and he was quite open to the charm of the
-offer which was almost being made to him of Lady Fanny's hand. He
-arranged the matter at the office, and wrote to Lady Persiflage
-accepting the invitation.</p>
-
-<p>"So you're going to Castle Hautboy?" said Crocker to him. Crocker was
-in torments at the time. He had been made to understand that he would
-be doing quite wrong in calling the Duca "Your Grace." Roden, if a
-Duke at all, could be only an Italian Duke—and not on that account
-"Your Grace." This had been explained by Bobbin, and had disturbed
-him. The title "Duca" was still open to him; but he feared Roden's
-wrath if he should use it too freely.</p>
-
-<p>"How do you know?" asked Roden.</p>
-
-<p>"I have been there myself, you know;—and am in the habit of hearing
-from Castle Hautboy." His father was agent on the property, and of
-course he heard tidings, if not from his father, at any rate from his
-sisters.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes; I am going to Castle Hautboy."</p>
-
-<p>"Hampstead will be there probably. I met Hampstead there. A man in
-Lord Persiflage's position will, of course, be delighted to welcome
-the—the—Duca di Crinola." He shrank as though he feared that Roden
-would strike him—but he uttered the words.</p>
-
-<p>"Of course, if you choose to annoy me, I cannot well help myself,"
-said Roden as he left the room.</p>
-
-<p>On his first arrival at the Castle things were allowed to go quietly
-with him. Every one called him "Mr. Roden." Lady Persiflage received
-him very graciously. Lady Frances was in the house, and her name was
-mentioned to him with the whispered intimacy which on such occasions
-indicates the triumph of the man's position. She made no allusion
-either to his rank or to his office, but treated him just as she
-might have done any other suitor,—which was exactly what he wanted.
-Lord Llwddythlw had come down for his Easter holidays of two days,
-and was very civil to him. Lady Amaldina was delighted to make his
-acquaintance, and within three minutes was calling upon him to
-promise that he would not get himself married before August in
-consideration for her bevy. "If I was to lose Fanny now," she said,
-"I really think I should give it up altogether." Then before dinner
-he was allowed to find himself alone with Fanny, and for the first
-time in his life felt that his engagement was an acknowledged thing.</p>
-
-<p>All this was made very pleasant to him by the occasional use of his
-proper name. He had been almost ashamed of himself because of the
-embarrassment which his supposed title had occasioned him. He felt
-that he had thought of the matter more than it was worth. The
-annoyances of Crocker had been abominable to him. It was not likely
-that he should encounter a second Crocker, but still he dreaded he
-hardly knew what. It certainly was not probable that these people at
-Castle Hautboy should call him by a name he had never used without
-consulting him. But still he had dreaded something, and was gratified
-that the trouble seemed to pass by him easily. Lady Persiflage and
-Lady Amaldina had both used his legitimate name, and Lord Llwddythlw
-had called him nothing at all. If he could only be allowed to go away
-just as he had come, without an allusion from any one to the Di
-Crinola family, then he should think that the people at Castle
-Hautboy were very well-bred. But he feared that this was almost too
-much to hope. He did not see Lord Persiflage till a moment before
-dinner, when he specially remarked that he was introduced as Mr.
-Roden. "Very glad to see you, Mr. Roden. I hope you're fond of
-scenery. We're supposed to have the finest view in England from the
-top of the tower. I have no doubt my daughter will show it you. I
-can't say that I ever saw it myself. Beautiful scenery is all very
-well when you are travelling, but nobody ever cares for it at home."
-Thus Lord Persiflage had done his courtesy to the stranger, and the
-conversation became general, as though the stranger were a stranger
-no longer. When Roden found that he was allowed to give his arm to
-Lady Frances, and go out and eat his dinner quietly and comfortably
-without any reference to the peculiarity of his position, he thought
-that perhaps no further troubles were in store for him.</p>
-
-<p>The whole of the next day was devoted to the charms of love and
-scenery. The spring weather was delightful, and Roden was allowed to
-ramble about where he pleased with Lady Frances. Every one about the
-place regarded him as an accepted and recognized lover. As he had
-never been in truth accepted by one of the family except by the girl
-herself;—as the Marquis had not condescended even to see him when he
-had come, but had sent Mr. Greenwood to reject him scornfully; as the
-Marchioness had treated him as below contempt; as even his own friend
-Lord Hampstead had declared that the difficulties would be
-insuperable, this sudden cessation of all impediments did seem to be
-delightfully miraculous. Assent on the part of Lord and Lady
-Persiflage would, he understood, be quite as serviceable as that of
-Lord and Lady Kingsbury. Something had occurred which, in the eyes of
-all the family, had lifted him up as it were out of the gutter and
-placed him on a grand pedestal. There could be no doubt as to this
-something. It was all done because he was supposed to be an Italian
-nobleman. And yet he was not an Italian nobleman; nor would he allow
-any one to call him so, as far as it might be in his power to prevent
-it.</p>
-
-<p>His visit was limited to two entire days. One was passed amidst all
-the sweets of love-making. With the pleasures of that no allusions
-were allowed to interfere. On the following morning he found himself
-alone with Lord Persiflage after breakfast. "Delighted to have had
-you down here, you know," began his lordship. To this Roden simply
-bowed. "I haven't the pleasure of knowing your uncle personally, but
-there isn't a man in Europe for whom I have a higher respect." Again
-Roden bowed. "I've heard all about this romance of yours from D'Ossi.
-You know D'Ossi?" Roden declared that he had not the honour of
-knowing the Italian Minister. "Ah; well, you must know D'Ossi, of
-course. I won't say whether he's your countryman or not, but you must
-know him. He is your uncle's particular friend."</p>
-
-<p>"It's only by accident that I know my uncle, or even learnt that he
-was my uncle."</p>
-
-<p>"Just so. But the accident has taken place, and the result
-fortunately remains. Of course you must take your own name."</p>
-
-<p>"I shall keep the name I have, Lord Persiflage."</p>
-
-<p>"You will find it to be quite impossible. The Queen will not allow
-it." Upon hearing this Roden opened his eyes; but the Secretary of
-State for Foreign Affairs looked him full in the face as though to
-assure him that, though he had never heard of such a thing before,
-such, in fact, was the truth. "Of course there will be difficulties.
-I'm not prepared at the present moment to advise how this should be
-done. Perhaps you had better wait till Her Majesty has signified her
-pleasure to receive you as the Duca di Crinola. When she has done so
-you will have no alternative."</p>
-
-<p>"No alternative as to what I may call myself?"</p>
-
-<p>"None in the least, I should say. I am thinking now in a great
-measure as to the welfare of my own relative, Lady Frances. Something
-will have to be done. I don't quite see my way as yet; but something,
-no doubt, will be done. The Duca di Crinola will, I have no doubt,
-find fitting employment." Then a little bell was rung, and Vivian,
-the private secretary, came into the room. Vivian and Roden knew each
-other, and a few pleasant words were spoken; but Roden found himself
-obliged to take his departure without making any further protests in
-regard to Her Majesty's assumed wishes.</p>
-
-<p>About five o'clock that evening he was invited into a little
-sitting-room belonging to Lady Persiflage up-stairs. "Haven't I been
-very good to you?" she said, laughing.</p>
-
-<p>"Very good, indeed. Nothing could be so good as inviting me down here
-to Castle Hautboy."</p>
-
-<p>"That was done for Fanny's sake. But have I said one word to you
-about your terrible name?"</p>
-
-<p>"No, indeed; and now, Lady Persiflage, pray go on and be good to the
-end."</p>
-
-<p>"Yes," she said, "I will be good to the end,—before all the people
-down-stairs. I haven't said a word of it even to Fanny. Fanny is an
-angel."</p>
-
-<p>"According to my thinking."</p>
-
-<p>"That's of course. But even an angel likes to have her proper rank.
-You mustn't allow yourself to suppose that even Fanny Trafford is
-indifferent to titles. There are things that a man may expect a girl
-to do for him, but there are things which cannot be expected, let her
-be ever so much in love. Fanny Trafford has got to become Duchess of
-Crinola."</p>
-
-<p>"I am afraid that that is more than I can do for her."</p>
-
-<p>"My dear Mr. Roden, it must be done. I cannot let you go away from
-here without making you understand that, as a man engaged to be
-married, you cannot drop your title. Did you intend to remain single,
-I cannot say how far your peculiar notions might enable you to
-prevail; but as you mean to marry, she, too, will have rights. I put
-it to you whether it would be honest on your part to ask her to
-abandon the rank which she will be entitled to expect from you. Just
-you think of it, Mr. Roden. And now I won't trouble you any more upon
-the subject."</p>
-
-<p>Not a word more was said on the subject at Castle Hautboy, and on the
-next day he returned to the Post Office.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c3-8" id="c3-8"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER VIII.</h3>
-<h4>"I CANNOT COMPEL HER."<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>About the middle of April Lord and Lady Kingsbury came up to London.
-From day to day and week to week he had declared that he would never
-again be able to move out of his room; and had gone on making up his
-mind to die immediately, till people around him began to think that
-he was not going to die at all. He was, however, at last persuaded
-that he might at any rate as well die in London as at Trafford, and,
-therefore, allowed himself to be carried up to Park Lane. The
-condition of his own health was, of course, given to him for the
-reason of this movement. At this peculiar period of the year, it
-would be better for him, they said, to be near his London doctor. No
-doubt the Marquis believed that it was so. When a man is ill nothing
-is so important to him as his own illness. But it may be a question
-whether the anxiety felt by the Marchioness as to other affairs of
-the family generally had not an effect with her in inducing her to
-persuade her husband. The Marquis had given a modified assent to his
-daughter's marriage; and she, in a manner still more modified, had
-withdrawn her opposition. Permission had been given to Fanny to marry
-the Duca di Crinola. This had been given without any reference to
-money, but had certainly implied a promise of a certain amount of
-income from the bride's father. How else would it be possible that
-they should live? The letter had been written to Lady Frances by her
-stepmother at the dictation of the Marquis. But the words absolutely
-dictated had not perhaps been religiously followed. The father had
-intended to be soft and affectionate, merely expressing his
-gratification that his girl's lover should turn out to be the Duca di
-Crinola. Out of this the Marchioness had made a stipulation. The
-lover should be received as a lover, on condition that he bore the
-name and title. Lady Persiflage had told her sister that as a matter
-of course the name would be taken. "A man always takes his father's
-name as a matter of course," Lady Persiflage had said. She believed
-that the man's absurd notions would be overcome by continual social
-pressure. Whether the social pressure would or would not prevail, the
-man would certainly marry the girl. There could, therefore, be no
-better course than that of trusting to social pressure. Lady
-Persiflage was quite clear as to her course. But the Marchioness,
-though yielding to her sister in much, still thought that a bargain
-should be made. It had been suggested that she should invite "the
-young man" down to Trafford. Roden was usually called "the young man"
-at present in these family conclaves. She had thought that it would
-be better to see him up in London. Lady Frances would come to them in
-Park Lane, and then the young man should be invited. The Marchioness
-would send her compliments to the "Duca di Crinola." Nothing on earth
-should induce her to write the name of Roden,—unless it might
-happily come to pass that the engagement should be broken.</p>
-
-<p>Hampstead at this time was still living at Hendon. His sister
-remained with him till the Marchioness came up to town about the
-middle of April, but no one else except George Roden saw much of him.
-Since Roden's return from Italy his visits to Hendon Hall had been
-tacitly permitted. The Kingsbury and Persiflage world had taken upon
-itself to presume that the young man was the Duca di Crinola, and, so
-presuming, had in truth withdrawn all impediments. Lady Frances had
-written to her father in answer to the letter which had reached her
-from the Marchioness in his name, and had declared that Mr. Roden was
-Mr. Roden, and would remain Mr. Roden. She had explained his reasons
-at great length, but had probably made them anything but intelligible
-to her father. He, however, had simply concealed the letter when he
-had half-read it. He would not incur the further trouble of
-explaining this to his wife, and had allowed the matter to go on,
-although the stipulation made was absolutely repudiated by the
-parties who were to have been bound by it.</p>
-
-<p>For Roden and Lady Frances this was no doubt very pleasant. Even Lady
-Amaldina Hauteville with her bevy was not more thoroughly engaged to
-her aristocratic lover than was Lady Frances to this precarious
-Italian nobleman. But the brother in these days was by no means as
-happy as his sister. There had been a terrible scene between him and
-Lady Frances after his return from Trafford. He came back with
-Marion's letter in his pocket,—with every word contained in it clear
-in his memory; but still, still doubting as to the necessity of
-obeying Marion's orders. She had declared, with whatever force of
-words she had known how to use, that the marriage which he proposed
-to himself was impossible. She had told him so more than once before,
-and the telling had availed nothing. Her first assertion that she
-could not become his wife had hardly served to moderate in the least
-the joy which he had felt from the assurances of her affections. It
-had meant nothing to him. When she had spoken to him simply of their
-differences of rank he had thrown the arguments under his feet, and
-had trampled upon them with his masterful imperious determination.
-His whole life and energy were devoted to the crushing of arguments
-used towards him by those who were daily telling him that he was
-severed from other men by the peculiarities of his rank. He certainly
-would not be severed from this one woman whom he loved by any such
-peculiarity. Fortifying his heart by these reflections, he had
-declared to himself that the timid doubtings of the girl should go
-for nothing. As she loved him he would of course be strong enough to
-conquer all such doubtings. He would take her up in his arms and
-carry her away, and simply tell her that she had got to do it. He had
-a conviction that a girl when once she had confessed that she loved a
-man, belonged to the man, and was bound to obey him. To watch over
-her, to worship her, to hover round her, so that no wind should be
-allowed to blow too strongly on her, to teach her that she was the
-one treasure in the world that could be of real value to him,—but at
-the same time to make a property of her, so that she should be
-altogether his own,—that had been his idea of the bond which should
-unite him and Marion Fay together. As she took a joy in his love it
-could not be but that she would come to his call at last.</p>
-
-<p>She too had perceived something of this,—so much, that it had become
-necessary to her to tell him the whole truth. Those minor reasons,
-though even they should have been strong enough, were not, she found,
-powerful with him. She tried it, and acknowledged to herself that she
-failed. The man was too wilful for her guidance,—too strong for the
-arguments by which she had hoped to control him. Then it had been
-necessary to tell him all the truth. This she had done at last with
-very few words. "My mother died; and all my brothers and sisters have
-died. And I also shall die young." Very simple, this had been; but,
-ah, powerful as it was simple! In it there had been a hard assertion
-of facts too strong even for his masterful nature. He could not say,
-even to himself, that it was not so,—that it should not be so. It
-might be that she might be spared where others had not been spared.
-That risk, of course, he was prepared to run. Without turning it much
-in his thoughts, without venturing to think of the results or to make
-a calculation, he was prepared to tell her that she too must leave
-all that in the hand of God, and run her chance as do all human
-mortal beings. He certainly would so argue the matter with her. But
-he could not tell her that there was no ground for fear. He could not
-say that though her mother had died, and though her little brothers
-and sisters had died, there was yet no cause for fear. And he felt
-that should she persist in her resolution there would be a potency
-about her which it might well be that he should fail to dominate. If
-we can live, let us live together; and if we must die, let us
-die,—as nearly together as may be. That we should come together is
-the one thing absolutely essential; and then let us make our way
-through our troubles as best we may under the hands of Fate. This was
-what he would now say to her. But he knew that he could not say it
-with that bright look and those imperious tones which had heretofore
-almost prevailed with her. Not replying to Marion's letter by any
-written answer, but resolving that the words which would be necessary
-might best be spoken, he came back to Hendon. Oh how softly they
-should be spoken! With his arm round her waist he would tell her that
-still it should be for better or for worse. "I will say nothing of
-what may happen except this;—that whatever may befall us we will
-take it and bear it together." With such words whispered into her
-ear, would he endeavour to make her understand that though it might
-all be true, still would her duty be the same.</p>
-
-<p>But when he reached his house, intending to go on almost at once to
-Holloway, he was stopped by a note from the Quaker.</p>
-
-<p>"My dear young friend," said the note from the Quaker,<br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p class="noindent">I am desired by
-Marion to tell thee that we have thought
-it better that she should go for a few weeks to the
-seaside. I have taken her to Pegwell Bay, whence I can run
-up daily to my work in the City. After that thou last saw
-her she was somewhat unwell,—not ill, indeed, but
-flurried, as was natural, by the interview. And I have
-taken her down to the seaside in compliance with medical
-advice. She bids me, however, to tell thee that there is
-no cause for alarm. It will, however, be better, for a
-time at least, that she should not be called upon to
-encounter the excitement of meeting thee.</p>
-
-<p class="ind10">Thy very faithful friend,</p>
-
-<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">Zachary Fay</span>.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p>This made him nervous, and for the moment almost wretched. It was his
-desire at first to rush off to Pegwell Bay and learn for himself what
-might be the truth of her condition. But on consideration he felt
-that he did not dare to do so in opposition to the Quaker's
-injunction. His arrival there among the strangers of the little
-watering-place would of course flurry her. He was obliged to abandon
-that idea, and content himself with a resolve to see the Quaker in
-the City on the next morning. But the words spoken to him afterwards
-by his sister were heavier to bear than the Quaker's letter. "Dear
-John," she had said, "you must give it up."</p>
-
-<p>"I will never give it up," he had answered. And as he spoke there
-came across his brows an angry look of determination.</p>
-
-<p>"Dear John!"</p>
-
-<p>"What right have you to tell me to give it up? What would you say to
-me if I were to declare that George Roden should be given up?"</p>
-
-<p>"If there were the same cause!"</p>
-
-<p>"What do you know of any cause?"</p>
-
-<p>"Dear, dearest brother."</p>
-
-<p>"You are taking a part against me. You can be obstinate. I am not
-more likely to give a thing up than you are yourself."</p>
-
-<p>"It is her health."</p>
-
-<p>"Is she the first young woman that was ever married without being as
-strong as a milkmaid? Why should you take upon yourself to condemn
-her?"</p>
-
-<p>"It is not I. It is Marion herself. You told me to go to her, and of
-course she spoke to me."</p>
-
-<p>He paused a moment, and then in a hoarse, low voice asked a question.
-"What did she say to you when you spoke to her?"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, John!—I doubt I can hardly tell you what she said. But you know
-what she said. Did she not write and tell you that because of her
-health it cannot be as you would have it."</p>
-
-<p>"And would you have me yield, because for my sake she is afraid? If
-George Roden were not strong would you throw him over and go away?"</p>
-
-<p>"It is a hard matter to discuss, John."</p>
-
-<p>"But it has to be discussed. It has at any rate to be thought of. I
-don't think that a woman has a right to take the matter into her own
-hands, and say that as a certainty God Almighty has condemned her to
-an early death. These things must be left to Providence, or Chance,
-or Fate, as you may call it."</p>
-
-<p>"But if she has her own convictions—?"</p>
-
-<p>"She must not be left to her own convictions. It is just that. She
-must not be allowed to sacrifice herself to a fantastic idea."</p>
-
-<p>"You will never prevail with her," said his sister, taking him by the
-arm, and looking up piteously into his face.</p>
-
-<p>"I shall not prevail? Do you say that certainly I shall not prevail?"
-She was still holding his arm, and still looking up into his face,
-and now she answered him by slightly shaking her head. "Why should
-you speak so positively?"</p>
-
-<p>"She could say things to me which she could hardly say to you."</p>
-
-<p>"What was it then?"</p>
-
-<p>"She could say things to me which I can hardly repeat to you. Oh,
-John, believe me,—believe me. It must be abandoned. Marion Fay will
-never be your wife." He shook himself free from her hand, and frowned
-sternly at her. "Do you think I would not have her for my sister, if
-it were possible? Do you not believe that I too can love her? Who can
-help loving her?"</p>
-
-<p>He knew, of course, that as the shoe pinched him it could not pinch
-her. What were any other love or any other sadness as compared to his
-love or to his sadness? It was to him as though the sun were suddenly
-taken out of his heaven, as though the light of day were destroyed
-for ever from before his eyes,—or rather as though a threat were
-being made that the sun should be taken from his heaven and the light
-from his eyes,—a threat under which it might be necessary that he
-should succumb. "Marion, Marion, Marion," he said to himself again
-and again, walking up and down between the lodge and the hall door.
-Whether well or ill, whether living or dying, she surely must be his!
-"Marion!" And then he was ashamed of himself, as he felt rather than
-heard that he had absolutely shouted her name aloud.</p>
-
-<p>On the following day he was with the Quaker in London, walking up and
-down Old Broad Street in front of the entrance leading up to Pogson
-and Littlebird's. "My dear friend," said the Quaker, "I do not say
-that it shall never be so. It is in the hands of the Almighty."
-Hampstead shook his head impatiently. "You do not doubt the power of
-the Almighty to watch over His creatures?"</p>
-
-<p>"I think that if a man wants a thing he must work for it."</p>
-
-<p>The Quaker looked him hard in the face. "In the ordinary needs of
-life, my young lord, the maxim is a good one."</p>
-
-<p>"It is good for everything. You tell me of the Almighty. Will the
-Almighty give me the girl I love if I sit still and hold my peace?
-Must I not work for that as for anything else?"</p>
-
-<p>"What can I do, Lord Hampstead?"</p>
-
-<p>"Agree with me that it will be better for her to run her chance. Say
-as I do that it cannot be right that she should condemn herself. If
-you,—you her father,—will bid her, then she will do it."</p>
-
-<p>"I do not know."</p>
-
-<p>"You can try with her;—if you think it right. You are her father."</p>
-
-<p>"Yes,—I am her father."</p>
-
-<p>"And she is obedient to you. You do not think that she should—? Eh?"</p>
-
-<p>"How am I to say? What am I to say else than that it is in God's
-hands? I am an old man who have suffered much. All have been taken
-from me;—all but she. How can I think of thy trouble when my own is
-so heavy?"</p>
-
-<p>"It is of her that we should think."</p>
-
-<p>"I cannot comfort her; I cannot control her. I will not even attempt
-to persuade her. She is all that I have. If I did think for a moment
-that I should like to see my child become the wife of one so high as
-thou art, that folly has been crushed out of me. To have my child
-alive would be enough for me now, let alone titles, and high places,
-and noble palaces."</p>
-
-<p>"Who has thought of them?"</p>
-
-<p>"I did. Not she,—my angel; my white one!" Hampstead shook his head
-and clenched his fist, shaking it, in utter disregard of the passers
-by, as the hot, fast tears streamed down his face. Could it be
-necessary that her name should be mentioned even in connection with
-feelings such as those which the Quaker owned.</p>
-
-<p>"Thou and I, my lord," continued Zachary Fay, "are in sore trouble
-about this maiden. I believe that thy love is, as mine, true, honest,
-and thorough. For her sake I wish I could give her to thee,—because
-of thy truth and honesty; not because of thy wealth and titles. But
-she is not mine to give. She is her own,—and will bestow her hand or
-refuse to do so as her own sense of what is best for thee may direct
-her. I will say no word to persuade her one way or the other." So
-speaking the Quaker strode quickly up the gateway, and Lord Hampstead
-was left to make his way back out of the City as best he might.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c3-9" id="c3-9"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER IX.</h3>
-<h4>IN PARK LANE.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>On Monday, the 20th of April, Lady Frances returned to her father's
-roof. The winter had certainly not been a happy time for her. Early
-in the autumn she had been taken off to the German castle in great
-disgrace because of her plebeian lover, and had, ever since, been
-living under so dark a cloud, as to have been considered unfit for
-the companionship of those little darlings, the young lords, her
-half-brothers. She had had her way no doubt, never having for a
-moment wavered in her constancy to the Post Office clerk; but she had
-been assured incessantly by all her friends that her marriage with
-the man was impossible, and had no doubt suffered under the
-conviction that her friends were hostile to her. Now she might be
-happy. Now she was to be taken back to her father's house. Now she
-was to keep her lover, and not be held to have been disgraced at all.
-No doubt in this there was great triumph.</p>
-
-<p>But her triumph had been due altogether to an accident;—to what her
-father graciously called a romance, while her stepmother described it
-less civilly as a "marvellous coincidence, for which she ought to
-thank her stars on her bended knees." The accident,—or coincidence
-or romance as it might be called,—was, of course, her lover's title.
-Of this she was by no means proud, and would not at all thank her
-stars for it on her bended knees. Though she was happy in her lover's
-presence, her happiness was clouded by the feeling that she was
-imposing upon her father. She had been allowed to ask her lover to
-dine at Kingsbury House because her lover was supposed to be the Duca
-di Crinola. But the invitation had been sent under an envelope
-addressed to George Roden, Esq., General Post Office. No one had yet
-ventured to inscribe the Duke's name and title on the back of a
-letter. The Marchioness was assured by her sister that it would all
-come right, and had, therefore, submitted to have the young man asked
-to come and eat his dinner under the same roof with her darlings. But
-she did not quite trust her sister, and felt that after all it might
-become her imperative duty to gather her children together in her
-bosom, and fly with them from contact with the Post Office
-clerk,—the Post Office clerk who would not become a Duke. The
-Marquis himself was only anxious that everything should be made to be
-easy. He had, while at Trafford, been so tormented by Mr. Greenwood
-and his wife that he longed for nothing so much as a reconciliation
-with his daughter. He was told on very good authority,—on the
-authority of no less a person than the Secretary of State,—that this
-young man was the Duca di Crinola. There had been a romance, a very
-interesting romance; but the fact remained. The Post Office clerk was
-no longer George Roden, and would, he was assured, soon cease to be a
-Post Office clerk. The young man was in truth an Italian nobleman of
-the highest order, and as such was entitled to marry the daughter of
-an English nobleman. If it should turn out that he had been
-misinformed, that would not be his fault.</p>
-
-<p>So it was when George Roden came to dine at Kingsbury House. He
-himself at this moment was not altogether happy. The last words which
-Lady Persiflage had said to him at Castle Hautboy had disturbed him.
-"Would it be honest on your part," Lady Persiflage had asked him, "to
-ask her to abandon the rank which she will be entitled to expect from
-you?" He had not put the matter to himself in that light before. Lady
-Frances was entitled to as much consideration in the matter as was
-himself. The rank would be as much hers as his. And yet he couldn't
-do it. Not even for her sake could he walk into the Post Office and
-call himself the Duca di Crinola. Not even for her sake could he
-consent to live an idle, useless life as an Italian nobleman. Love
-was very strong with him, but with it there was a sense of duty and
-manliness which would make it impossible for him to submit himself to
-such thraldom. In doing it he would have to throw over all the strong
-convictions of his life. And yet he was about to sit as a guest at
-Lord Kingsbury's table, because Lord Kingsbury would believe him to
-be an Italian nobleman. He was not, therefore, altogether happy when
-he knocked at the Marquis's door.</p>
-
-<p>Hampstead had refused to join the party. He was not at present in a
-condition to join any social gathering. But, omitting him, a family
-party had been collected. Lord and Lady Persiflage were there, with
-Lady Amaldina and her betrothed. The Persiflages had taken the matter
-up very strongly, so that they may have been said to have become
-George Roden's special patrons or protectors. Lord Persiflage, who
-was seldom much in earnest about anything, had determined that the
-Duca di Crinola should be recognized, and was supposed already to
-have spoken a word on the subject in a very high quarter indeed.
-Vivian, the Private Secretary, was there. The poor Marquis himself
-was considered unable to come down into the dining-room, but did
-receive his proposed son-in-law up-stairs. They had not met since the
-unfortunate visit made by the Post Office clerk to Hendon Hall, when
-no one had as yet dreamed of his iniquity; nor had the Marchioness
-seen him since the terrible sound of that feminine Christian name had
-wounded her ears. The other persons assembled had in a measure become
-intimate with him. Lord Llwddythlw had walked round Castle Hautboy
-and discussed with him the statistics of telegraphy. Lady Amaldina
-had been confidential with him as to her own wedding. Both Lord and
-Lady Persiflage had given him in a very friendly manner their ideas
-as to his name and position. Vivian and he had become intimate
-personal friends. They could, all of them, accept him with open arms
-when he was shown into the drawing-room, except Lady Kingsbury
-herself. "No; I am not very well just at present," said the Marquis
-from his recumbent position as he languidly stretched out his hand.
-"You won't see me down at dinner. God knows whether anybody will ever
-see me down at dinner again."</p>
-
-<p>"Not see you down at dinner!" said Lord Persiflage. "In another month
-you will be talking treason in Pall Mall as you have done all your
-life."</p>
-
-<p>"I wish you had made Hampstead come with you, Mr.—" But the Marquis
-stopped himself, having been instructed that he was not on any
-account to call the young man Mr. Roden. "He was here this morning,
-but seemed to be in great trouble about something. He ought to come
-and take his place at the bottom of the table, seeing how ill I
-am;—but he won't."</p>
-
-<p>Lady Kingsbury waited until her husband had done his grumbling before
-she attempted the disagreeable task which was before her. It was very
-disagreeable. She was a bad hypocrite. There are women who have a
-special gift of hiding their dislikings from the objects of them,
-when occasion requires. They can smile and be soft, with bitter
-enmity in their hearts, to suit the circumstances of the moment. And
-as they do so, their faces will overcome their hearts, and their
-enmity will give way to their smiles. They will become almost
-friendly because they look friendly. They will cease to hate because
-hatred is no longer convenient. But the Marchioness was too rigid and
-too sincere for this. She could command neither her features nor her
-feelings. It was evident from the moment the young man entered the
-room, that she would be unable to greet him even with common
-courtesy. She hated him, and she had told every one there that she
-hated him. "How do you do?" she said, just touching his hand as soon
-as he was released from her husband's couch. She, too, had been
-specially warned by her sister that she must not call the young man
-by any name. If she could have addressed him by his title, her manner
-might perhaps have been less austere.</p>
-
-<p>"I am much obliged to you by allowing me to come here," said Roden,
-looking her full in the face, and making his little speech in such a
-manner as to be audible to all the room. It was as though he had
-declared aloud his intention of accepting this permission as
-conveying much more than a mere invitation to dinner. Her face became
-harder and more austere than ever. Then finding that she had nothing
-more to say to him she seated herself and held her peace.</p>
-
-<p>Only that Lady Persiflage was very unlike her sister, the moment
-would have been awkward for them all. Poor Fanny, who was sitting
-with her hand within her father's, could not find a word to say on
-the occasion. Lord Persiflage, turning round upon his heel, made a
-grimace to his Private Secretary. Llwddythlw would willingly have
-said something pleasant on the occasion had he been sufficiently
-ready. As it was he stood still, with his hands in his trousers
-pockets and his eyes fixed on the wall opposite. According to his
-idea the Marchioness was misbehaving herself. "Dear Aunt Clara," said
-Lady Amaldina, trying to say something that might dissipate the
-horror of the moment, "have you heard that old Sir Gregory Tollbar is
-to marry Letitia Tarbarrel at last?" But it was Lady Persiflage who
-really came to the rescue. "Of course we're all very glad to see
-you," she said. "You'll find that if you'll be nice to us, we'll all
-be as nice as possible to you. Won't we, Lord Llwddythlw?"</p>
-
-<p>"As far as I am concerned," said the busy Member of Parliament, "I
-shall be delighted to make the acquaintance of Mr. Roden." A slight
-frown, a shade of regret, passed over the face of Lady Persiflage as
-she heard the name. A darker and bitterer cloud settled itself on
-Lady Kingsbury's brow. Lord Kingsbury rolled himself uneasily on his
-couch. Lady Amaldina slightly pinched her lover's arm. Lord
-Persiflage was almost heard to whistle. Vivian tried to look as if it
-didn't signify. "I am very much obliged to you for your courtesy,
-Lord Llwddythlw," said George Roden. To have called him by his name
-was the greatest favour that could have been done to him at that
-moment. Then the door was opened and dinner announced.</p>
-
-<p>"Time and the hour run through the roughest day." In this way that
-dinner at Kingsbury House did come to an end at last. There was a
-weight of ill-humour about Lady Kingsbury on this special occasion
-against which even Lady Persiflage found it impossible to prevail.
-Roden, whose courage rose to the occasion, did make a gallant effort
-to talk to Lady Frances, who sat next to him. But the circumstances
-were hard upon him. Everybody else in the room was closely connected
-with everybody else. Had he been graciously accepted by the mistress
-of the house, he could have fallen readily enough into the intimacies
-which would then have been opened to him. But as it was he was forced
-to struggle against the stream, and so to struggle as to seem not to
-struggle. At last, however, time and the hour had done its work, and
-the ladies went up to the drawing-room.</p>
-
-<p>"Lord Llwddythlw called him Mr. Roden!" This was said by the
-Marchioness in a tone of bitter reproach as soon as the drawing-room
-door was closed.</p>
-
-<p>"I was so sorry," said Lady Amaldina.</p>
-
-<p>"It does not signify in the least," said Lady Persiflage. "It cannot
-be expected that a man should drop his old name and take a new one
-all in a moment."</p>
-
-<p>"He will never drop his old name and take the new one," said Lady
-Frances.</p>
-
-<p>"There now," said the Marchioness. "What do you think of that,
-Geraldine?"</p>
-
-<p>"My dear Fanny," said Lady Persiflage, without a touch of ill-nature
-in her tone, "how can you tell what a young man will do?"</p>
-
-<p>"I don't think it right to deceive Mamma," said Fanny. "I know him
-well enough to be quite sure that he will not take the title, as he
-has no property to support it. He has talked it over with me again
-and again, and I agree with him altogether."</p>
-
-<p>"Upon my word, Fanny, I didn't think that you would be so foolish,"
-said her aunt. "This is a kind of thing in which a girl should not
-interfere at all. It must be arranged between the young man's uncle
-in Italy, and—and the proper authorities here. It must depend very
-much <span class="nowrap">upon—."</span>
-Here Lady Persiflage reduced her words to the very
-lowest whisper. "Your uncle has told me all about it, and of course
-he must know better than any one else. It's a kind of thing that must
-be settled for a man by,—by—by those who know how to settle it. A
-man can't be this or that just as he pleases."</p>
-
-<p>"Of course not," said Lady Amaldina.</p>
-
-<p>"A man has to take the name, my dear, which he inherits. I could not
-call myself Mrs. Jones any more than Mrs. Jones can call herself Lady
-Persiflage. If he is the Duca di Crinola he must be the Duca di
-Crinola."</p>
-
-<p>"But he won't be Duca di Crinola," said Lady Frances.</p>
-
-<p>"There now!" said the Marchioness.</p>
-
-<p>"If you will only let the matter be settled by those who understand
-it, and not talk about it just at present, it would be so much
-better."</p>
-
-<p>"You heard what Lord Llwddythlw called him," said the Marchioness.</p>
-
-<p>"Llwddythlw always was an oaf," said Amaldina.</p>
-
-<p>"He meant to be gracious," said Fanny; "and I am much obliged to
-him."</p>
-
-<p>"And as to what you were saying, Fanny, as to having nothing to
-support the title, a foreign title in that way is not like one here
-at home. Here it must be supported."</p>
-
-<p>"He would never consent to be burdened with a great name without any
-means," said Fanny.</p>
-
-<p>"There are cases in which a great name will help a man to get means.
-Whatever he calls himself, I suppose he will have to live, and
-maintain a wife."</p>
-
-<p>"He has his salary as a clerk in the Post Office," said Fanny very
-boldly. Amaldina shook her head sadly. The Marchioness clasped her
-hands together and raised her eyes to the ceiling with a look of
-supplication. Were not her darlings to be preserved from such
-contamination?</p>
-
-<p>"He can do better than that, my dear," exclaimed Lady Persiflage;
-"and, if you are to be his wife, I am sure that you will not stand in
-the way of his promotion. His own Government and ours between them
-will be able to do something for him as Duca di Crinola, whereas
-nothing could be done for George Roden."</p>
-
-<p>"The English Government is his Government," said Fanny indignantly.</p>
-
-<p>"One would almost suppose that you want to destroy all his
-prospects," said Lady Persiflage, who was at last hardly able to
-restrain her anger.</p>
-
-<p>"I believe she does," said the Marchioness.</p>
-
-<p>In the mean time the conversation was carried on below stairs, if
-with less vigour, yet perhaps with more judgment. Lord Persiflage
-spoke of Roden's Italian uncle as a man possessing intellectual gifts
-and political importance of the highest order. Roden could not deny
-that the Italian Cabinet Minister was his uncle, and was thus driven
-to acknowledge the family, and almost to acknowledge the country.
-"From what I hear," said Lord Persiflage, "I suppose you would not
-wish to reside permanently in Italy, as an Italian?"</p>
-
-<p>"Certainly not," said Roden.</p>
-
-<p>"There is no reason why you should. I can imagine that you should
-have become too confirmed an Englishman to take kindly to Italian
-public life as a career. You could hardly do so except as a follower
-of your uncle, which perhaps would not suit you."</p>
-
-<p>"It would be impossible."</p>
-
-<p>"Just so. D'Ossi was saying to me this morning that he thought as
-much. But there is no reason why a career should not be open to you
-here as well as there;—not political perhaps, but official."</p>
-
-<p>"It is the only career that at present is open to me."</p>
-
-<p>"There might be difficulty about Parliament certainly. My advice to
-you is not to be in a hurry to decide upon anything for a month or
-two. You will find that things will shake down into their places."
-Not a word was said about the name or title. When the gentlemen went
-up-stairs there had been no brilliancy of conversation, but neither
-were there any positive difficulties to be incurred. Not a word
-further was said in reference to "George Roden" or to the "Duca di
-Crinola."</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c3-10" id="c3-10"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER X.</h3>
-<h4>AFTER ALL HE ISN'T.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>Six weeks passed by, and nothing special had yet been done to arrange
-George Roden's affairs for him in the manner suggested by Lady
-Persiflage. "It's a kind of thing that must be settled for a man by,
-by, by—those who know how to settle it." That had been her counsel
-when she was advocating delay. No doubt "things" often do arrange
-themselves better than men or women can arrange them. Objections
-which were at first very strong gradually fade away. Ideas which were
-out of the question become possible. Time quickly renders words and
-names and even days habitual to us. In this Lady Persiflage had not
-been unwise. It was quite probable that a young man should become
-used to a grand name quicker than he had himself expected. But
-nothing had as yet been done in the right direction when the 1st of
-June had come.</p>
-
-<p>Attempts had been made towards increasing the young man's
-self-importance, of which he himself had been hardly aware. Lord
-Persiflage had seen Sir Boreas Bodkin, and Vivian had seen the
-private secretary of the Postmaster-General. As the first result of
-these interviews our clerk was put to sit in a room by himself, and
-called upon to manage some separate branch of business in which he
-was free from contact with the Crockers and Bobbins of the
-Department. It might, it was thought, be possible to call a man a
-Duke who sat in a separate room, even though he were still a clerk.
-But, as Sir Boreas had observed, there were places to be given away,
-Secretaryships, Inspectorships, Surveyorships, and suchlike, into one
-of which the Duke, if he would consent to be a Duke, might be
-installed before long. The primary measure of putting him into a room
-by himself had already been carried out. Then a step was taken, of
-which George Roden had ground to complain. There was a certain Club
-in London called the Foreigners, made up half of Englishmen and half
-of men of other nations, which was supposed to stand very high in the
-world of fashion. Nearly every member was possessed of either grand
-titles before his name, or of grand letters after it. Something was
-said by Vivian to George Roden as to this club. But no actual
-suggestion was made, and certainly no assent was given. Nevertheless
-the name of the Duca di Crinola was put down in the Candidate Book,
-as proposed by Baron d'Ossi and seconded by Lord Persiflage. There it
-was, so that all the world would declare that the young "Duca" was
-the "Duca." Otherwise the name would not have been inserted there by
-the Italian Minister and British Secretary of State. Whereas George
-Roden himself knew nothing about it. In this way attempts were made
-to carry out that line of action which Lady Persiflage had
-recommended.</p>
-
-<p>Letters, too, were delivered to Roden, addressed to the Duca di
-Crinola, both at Holloway and at the Post Office. No doubt he refused
-them when they came. No doubt they generally consisted of tradesmen's
-circulars, and were probably occasioned by manœuvres of which Lady
-Persiflage herself was guilty. But they had the effect of spreading
-abroad the fact that George Roden was George Roden no longer, but was
-the Duca di Crinola. "There's letters coming for the Duker every
-day," said the landlady of the Duchess to Mrs. Duffer of Paradise
-Row. "I see them myself. I shan't stand on any p's and q's. I shall
-call him Duker to his face." Paradise Row determined generally to
-call him Duker to his face, and did so frequently, to his great
-annoyance.</p>
-
-<p>Even his mother began to think that his refusal would be in vain. "I
-don't see how you're to stand out against it, George. Of course if it
-wasn't so you'd have to stand out against it; but as it is the
-<span class="nowrap">fact—"</span></p>
-
-<p>"It is no more a fact with me than with you," he said angrily.</p>
-
-<p>"Nobody dreams of giving me a title. If all the world agrees, you
-will have to yield."</p>
-
-<p>Sir Boreas was as urgent. He had always been very friendly with the
-young clerk, and had now become particularly intimate with him. "Of
-course, my dear fellow," he said, "I shall be guided entirely by
-yourself."</p>
-
-<p>"Thank you, sir."</p>
-
-<p>"If you tell me you're George Roden, George Roden you'll be to me.
-But I think you're wrong. And I think moreover that the good sense of
-the world will prevail against you. As far as I understand anything
-of the theory of titles, this title belongs to you. The world never
-insists on calling a man a Lord or a Count for nothing. There's too
-much jealousy for that. But when a thing is so, people choose that it
-shall be so."</p>
-
-<p>All this troubled him, though it did not shake his convictions. But
-it made him think again and again of what Lady Persiflage had said to
-him down at Castle Hautboy. "Will it be honest on your part to ask
-her to abandon the rank which she will be entitled to expect from
-you?" If all the world conspired to tell him that he was entitled to
-take this name, then the girl whom he intended to marry would
-certainly be justified in claiming it. It undoubtedly was the fact
-that titles such as these were dear to men,—and specially dear to
-women. As to this girl, who was so true to him, was he justified in
-supposing that she would be different from others, simply because she
-was true to him? He had asked her to come down as it were from the
-high pedestal of her own rank, and to submit herself to his lowly
-lot. She had consented, and there never had been to him a moment of
-remorse in thinking that he was about to injure her. But as Chance
-had brought it about in this way, as Fortune had seemed determined to
-give back to her that of which he would have deprived her, was it
-right that he should stand in the way of Fortune? Would it be honest
-on his part to ask her to abandon these fine names which Chance was
-putting in her way?</p>
-
-<p>That it might be so, should he be pleased to accept what was offered
-to him, did become manifest to him. It was within his power to call
-himself and to have himself called by this new name. It was not only
-the party of the Crockers. Others now were urgent in persuading him.
-The matter had become so far customary to him as to make him feel
-that if he would simply put the name on his card, and cause it to be
-inserted in the Directories, and write a line to the officials saying
-that for the future he would wish to be so designated, the thing
-would be done. He had met Baron D'Ossi, and the Baron had
-acknowledged that an Englishman could not be converted into an
-Italian Duke without his own consent,—but had used very strong
-arguments to show that in this case the Englishman ought to give his
-consent. The Baron had expressed his own opinion that the Signorina
-would be very much ill-used indeed if she were not allowed to take
-her place among the Duchessinas. His own personal feelings were in no
-degree mitigated. To be a Post Office clerk, living at Holloway, with
-a few hundreds a-year to spend,—and yet to be known all over the
-world as the claimant of a magnificently grand title! It seemed as
-though a cruel fate had determined to crush him with a terrible
-punishment because of his specially democratic views! That he of all
-the world should be selected to be a Duke in opposition to his own
-wishes! How often had he been heard to declare that all hereditary
-titles were, of their very nature, absurd! And yet he was to be
-forced to become a penniless hereditary Duke!</p>
-
-<p>Nevertheless he would not rob her whom he hoped to make his wife of
-that which would of right belong to her. "Fanny," he said to her one
-day, "you cannot conceive how many people are troubling me about this
-title."</p>
-
-<p>"I know they are troubling me. But I would not mind any of
-them;—only for papa."</p>
-
-<p>"Is he very anxious about it?"</p>
-
-<p>"I am afraid he is."</p>
-
-<p>"Have I ever told you what your aunt said to me just before I left
-Castle Hautboy?"</p>
-
-<p>"Lady Persiflage, you mean. She is not my aunt, you know."</p>
-
-<p>"She is more anxious than your father, and certainly uses the only
-strong argument I have heard."</p>
-
-<p>"Has she persuaded you?"</p>
-
-<p>"I cannot say that; but she has done something towards persuading me.
-She has made me half think that it may be my duty."</p>
-
-<p>"Then I suppose you will take the name," she said.</p>
-
-<p>"It shall depend entirely upon you. And yet I ought not to ask you. I
-ought to do as these people bid me without even troubling you for an
-expression of your wish. I do believe that when you become my wife,
-you will have as complete a right to the title as has Lady Kingsbury
-to hers. Shall it be so?"</p>
-
-<p>"No," she said.</p>
-
-<p>"It shall not?"</p>
-
-<p>"Certainly, no; if it be left to me."</p>
-
-<p>"Why do you answer in that way when all your friends desire it?"</p>
-
-<p>"Because I believe that there is one friend who does not desire it.
-If you can say that you wish it on your own account, of course I will
-yield. Otherwise all that my friends may say on the matter can have
-no effect on me. When I accepted the offer which you made me, I gave
-up all idea of rank. I had my reasons, which I thought to be strong
-enough. At any rate I did so, and now because of this accident I will
-not be weak enough to go back. As to what Lady Persiflage says about
-me, do not believe a word of it. You certainly will not make me happy
-by bestowing on me a name which you do not wish me to bear, and which
-will be distasteful to yourself."</p>
-
-<p>After this there was no longer any hesitation on Roden's part, though
-his friends, including Lord Persiflage, the Baron, Sir Boreas, and
-Crocker, were as active in their endeavours as ever. For some days he
-had doubted, but now he doubted no longer. They might address to him
-what letters they would, they might call him by what nickname they
-pleased, they might write him down in what book they chose, he would
-still keep the name of George Roden, as she had protested that she
-was satisfied with it.</p>
-
-<p>It was through Sir Boreas that he learnt that his name had been
-written down in the club Candidate Book as "Duca di Crinola." Sir
-Boreas was not a member of the club, but had heard what had been
-done, probably at some club of which he was a member. "I am glad to
-hear that you are coming up at the Foreigners," said Æolus.</p>
-
-<p>"But I am not."</p>
-
-<p>"I was told last night that Baron D'Ossi had put your name down as
-Duca di Crinola." Then Roden discovered the whole truth,—how the
-Baron had proposed him and the Foreign Secretary had seconded him,
-without even going through the ceremony of asking him. "Upon my word
-I understood that you wished it," Vivian said to him. Upon this the
-following note was written to the Foreign Secretary.<br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p>Mr. Roden presents his compliments to Lord Persiflage, and
-begs to explain that there has been a misunderstanding
-about the Foreigners' Club. Mr. Roden feels very much the
-honour that has been done him, and is much obliged to Lord
-Persiflage; but as he feels himself not entitled to the
-honour of belonging to the club, he will be glad that his
-name should be taken off. Mr. Roden takes the opportunity
-of assuring Lord Persiflage that he does not and never
-will claim the name which he understands to have been
-inscribed in the club books.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p>"He's a confounded ass," said Lord Persiflage to the Baron as he did
-as he was bid at the club. The Baron shrugged his shoulders, as
-though acknowledging that his young fellow-nobleman certainly was an
-ass. "There are men, Baron, whom you can't help, let you struggle
-ever so much. This man has had stuff enough in him to win for himself
-a very pretty girl with a good fortune and high rank, and yet he is
-such a fool that he won't let me put him altogether on his legs when
-the opportunity comes!"</p>
-
-<p>Not long after this Roden called at the house in Park Lane, and asked
-to see the Marquis. As he passed through the hall he met Mr.
-Greenwood coming very slowly down the stairs. The last time he had
-met the gentleman had been in that very house when the gentleman had
-received him on behalf of the Marquis. The Marquis had not
-condescended to see him, but had deputed his chaplain to give him
-whatever ignominious answer might be necessary to his audacious
-demand for the hand of Lady Frances. On that occasion Mr. Greenwood
-had been very imperious. Mr. Greenwood had taken upon himself almost
-the manners of the master of the house. Mr. Greenwood had crowed as
-though the dunghill had been his own. George Roden even then had not
-been abashed, having been able to remember through the interview that
-the young lady was on his side; but he had certainly been severely
-treated. He had wondered at the moment that such a man as Lord
-Kingsbury should confide so much of his family matters to such a man
-as Mr. Greenwood. Since then he had heard something of Mr.
-Greenwood's latter history from Lady Frances. Lady Frances had joined
-with her brother in disliking Mr. Greenwood, and all that Hampstead
-had said to her had been passed on to her lover. Since that last
-interview the position of the two men had been changed. The chaplain
-had been turned out of the establishment, and George Roden had been
-almost accepted into it as a son-in-law. As they met on the foot of
-the staircase, it was necessary that there should be some greeting.
-The Post Office clerk bowed very graciously, but Mr. Greenwood barely
-acknowledged the salutation. "There," said he to himself, as he
-passed on, "that's the young man that's done all the mischief. It's
-because such as he are allowed to make their way in among noblemen
-and gentlemen that England is going to the dogs." Nevertheless, when
-Mr. Greenwood had first consented to be an inmate of the present Lord
-Kingsbury's house, Lord Kingsbury had, in spite of his Order,
-entertained very liberal views.</p>
-
-<p>The Marquis was not in a good humour when Roden was shown into his
-room. He had been troubled by his late chaplain, and he was not able
-to bear such troubles easily. Mr. Greenwood had said words to him
-which had vexed him sorely, and these words had in part referred to
-his daughter and his daughter's lover. "No, I'm not very well," he
-said in answer to Roden's inquiries. "I don't think I ever shall be
-better. What is it about now?"</p>
-
-<p>"I have come, my lord," said Roden, "because I do not like to be here
-in your house under a false pretence."</p>
-
-<p>"A false pretence? What false pretence? I hate false pretences."</p>
-
-<p>"So do I."</p>
-
-<p>"What do you mean by a false pretence now?"</p>
-
-<p>"I fear that they have told you, Lord Kingsbury, that should you give
-me your daughter as my wife, you will give her to the Duca di
-Crinola." The Marquis, who was sitting in his arm-chair, shook his
-head from side to side, and moved his hands uneasily, but made no
-immediate reply. "I cannot quite tell, my lord, what your own ideas
-are, because we have never discussed the subject."</p>
-
-<p>"I don't want to discuss it just at present," said the Marquis.</p>
-
-<p>"But it is right that you should know that I do not claim the title,
-and never shall claim it. Others have done so on my behalf, but with
-no authority from me. I have no means to support the rank in the
-country to which it belongs; nor as an Englishman am I entitled to
-assume it here."</p>
-
-<p>"I don't know that you're an Englishman," said the Marquis. "People
-tell me that you're an Italian."</p>
-
-<p>"I have been brought up as an Englishman, and have lived as one for
-five-and-twenty years. I think it would be difficult now to rob me of
-my rights. Nobody, I fancy, will try. I am, and shall be, George
-Roden, as I always have been. I should not, of course, trouble you
-with the matter were it not that I am a suitor for your daughter's
-hand. Am I right in supposing that I have been accepted here by you
-in that light?" This was a question which the Marquis was not
-prepared to answer at the moment. No doubt the young man had been
-accepted. Lady Frances had been allowed to go down to Castle Hautboy
-to meet him as her lover. All the family had been collected to
-welcome him at the London mansion. The newspapers had been full of
-mysterious paragraphs in which the future happy bridegroom was
-sometimes spoken of as an Italian Duke and sometimes as an English
-Post Office clerk. "Of course he must marry her now," the Marquis had
-said to his wife, with much anger. "It's all your sister's doings,"
-he had said to her again. He had in a soft moment given his
-affectionate blessing to his daughter in special reference to her
-engagement. He knew that he couldn't go back from it now, and had it
-been possible, would have been most unwilling to give his wife such a
-triumph. But yet he was not prepared to accept the Post Office clerk
-simply as a Post Office clerk. "I am sorry to trouble you at this
-moment, Lord Kingsbury, if you are not well."</p>
-
-<p>"I ain't well at all. I am very far from well. If you don't mind I'd
-rather not talk about it just at present. When I can see Hampstead,
-then, perhaps, things can be settled." As there was nothing further
-to be said George Roden took his leave.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c3-11" id="c3-11"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XI.</h3>
-<h4>"OF COURSE THERE WAS A BITTERNESS."<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>It was not surprising that Lord Kingsbury should have been unhappy
-when Roden was shown up into his room, as Mr. Greenwood had been with
-him. Mr. Greenwood had called on the previous day, and had been
-refused admittance. He had then sent in an appeal, asking so
-piteously for an interview that the Marquis had been unable to
-repudiate it. Mr. Greenwood knew enough of letter-writing to be able
-to be effective on such an occasion. He had, he said, lived under the
-same roof with the Marquis for a quarter of a century. Though the
-positions of the two men in the world were so different they had
-lived together as friends. The Marquis throughout that long period
-had frequently condescended to ask the advice of his chaplain, and
-not unfrequently to follow it. After all this could he refuse to
-grant the favour of a last interview? He had found himself unable to
-refuse the favour. The interview had taken place, and consequently
-the Marquis had been very unhappy when George Roden was shown up into
-his room.</p>
-
-<p>The Rector of Appleslocombe was dead. The interview was commenced by
-a communication to that effect from Mr. Greenwood. The Marquis of
-course knew the fact,—had indeed already given the living away,—had
-not delayed a minute in giving it away because of some fear which
-still pressed upon him in reference to Mr. Greenwood. Nor did Mr.
-Greenwood expect to get the living,—or perhaps desire it. But he
-wished to have a grievance, and to be in possession of a subject on
-which he could begin to make his complaint. "You must have known, Mr.
-Greenwood, that I never intended it for you," said the Marquis. Mr.
-Greenwood, seated on the edge of his chair and rubbing his two hands
-together, declared that he had entertained hopes in that direction.
-"I don't know why you should, then. I never told you so. I never
-thought of it for a moment. I always meant to put a young man into
-it;—comparatively young." Mr. Greenwood shook his head and still
-rubbed his hands. "I don't know that I can do anything more for you."</p>
-
-<p>"It isn't much that you have done, certainly, Lord Kingsbury."</p>
-
-<p>"I have done as much as I intend to do," said the Marquis, rousing
-himself angrily. "I have explained all that by Mr. Roberts."</p>
-
-<p>"Two hundred a year after a quarter of a century!" Mr. Greenwood had
-in truth been put into possession of three hundred a year; but as one
-hundred of this came from Lord Hampstead it was not necessary to
-mention the little addition.</p>
-
-<p>"It is very wrong,—your pressing your way in here and talking to me
-about it at all."</p>
-
-<p>"After having expected the living for so many years!"</p>
-
-<p>"You had no right to expect it. I didn't promise it. I never thought
-of it for a moment. When you asked me I told you that it was out of
-the question. I never heard of such impertinence in all my life. I
-must ask you to go away and leave me, Mr. Greenwood." But Mr.
-Greenwood was not disposed to go away just yet. He had come there for
-a purpose, and he intended to go on with it. He was clearly resolved
-not to be frightened by the Marquis. He got up from his chair and
-stood looking at the Marquis, still rubbing his hands, till the sick
-man was almost frightened by the persistency of his silence. "What is
-it, Mr. Greenwood, that makes you stand thus? Do you not hear me tell
-you that I have got nothing more to say to you?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, my lord; I hear what you say."</p>
-
-<p>"Then why don't you go away? I won't have you stand there staring
-like that." He still shook his head. "Why do you stand there and
-shake your head?"</p>
-
-<p>"It must be told, my lord."</p>
-
-<p>"What must be told?"</p>
-
-<p>"The Marchioness!"</p>
-
-<p>"What do you mean, sir? What have you got to say?"</p>
-
-<p>"Would you wish to send for her ladyship?"</p>
-
-<p>"No; I wouldn't. I won't send for her ladyship at all. What has her
-ladyship got to do with it?"</p>
-
-<p>"She promised."</p>
-
-<p>"Promised what?"</p>
-
-<p>"Promised the living! She undertook that I should have Appleslocombe
-the moment it became vacant."</p>
-
-<p>"I don't believe a word of it."</p>
-
-<p>"She did. I don't think that her ladyship will deny it." It might
-have been so, certainly; and had there been no chance of truth in the
-statement he would hardly have been so ready to send for Lady
-Kingsbury. But had she done so the promise would amount to nothing.
-Though he was sick and wretched and weak, and in some matters afraid
-of his wife, there had been no moment of his life in which he would
-have given way to her on such a subject as this. "She promised it
-me,—for a purpose."</p>
-
-<p>"A purpose!"</p>
-
-<p>"For a purpose, my lord."</p>
-
-<p>"What purpose?" Mr. Greenwood went on staring and shaking his head
-and rubbing his hands, till the Marquis, awestruck and almost
-frightened, put out his hand towards the bell. But he thought of it
-again. He remembered himself that he had nothing to fear. If the man
-had anything to say about the Marchioness it might perhaps be better
-said without the presence of servants. "If you mean to say anything,
-say it. If not,—go. If you do neither one nor the other very
-quickly, I shall have you turned out of the house."</p>
-
-<p>"Turned out of the house?"</p>
-
-<p>"Certainly. If you have any threat to make, you had better make it in
-writing. You can write to my lawyers, or to me, or to Lord Hampstead,
-or to Mr. Roberts."</p>
-
-<p>"It isn't a threat. It is only a statement. She promised it me,—for
-a purpose."</p>
-
-<p>"I don't know what you mean by a purpose, Mr. Greenwood. I don't
-believe Lady Kingsbury made any such promise; but if she did it
-wasn't hers to promise. I don't believe it; but had she promised I
-should not be bound by it."</p>
-
-<p>"Not if you have not given it away?"</p>
-
-<p>"I have given it away, Mr. Greenwood."</p>
-
-<p>"Then I must suggest—"</p>
-
-<p>"Suggest what!"</p>
-
-<p>"Compensation, my lord. It will only be fair. You ask her ladyship.
-Her ladyship cannot intend that I should be turned out of your
-lordship's house with only two hundred a year, after what has passed
-between me and her ladyship."</p>
-
-<p>"What passed?" said the Marquis, absolutely rousing himself so as to
-stand erect before the other man.</p>
-
-<p>"I had rather, my lord, you should hear it from her ladyship."</p>
-
-<p>"What passed?"</p>
-
-<p>"There was all that about Lady Frances."</p>
-
-<p>"What about Lady Frances?"</p>
-
-<p>"Of course I was employed to do all that I could to prevent the
-marriage. You employed me yourself, my lord. It was you sent me down
-to see the young man, and explain to him how impertinent he was. It
-isn't my fault, Lord Kingsbury, if things have got themselves changed
-since then."</p>
-
-<p>"You think you ought to make a demand upon me because as my Chaplain
-you were asked to see a gentleman who called here on a delicate
-matter?"</p>
-
-<p>"It isn't that I am thinking about. If it had been only that I should
-have said nothing. You asked me what it was about, and I was obliged
-to remind you of one thing. What took place between me and her
-ladyship was, of course, much more particular; but it all began with
-your lordship. If you hadn't commissioned me I don't suppose her
-ladyship would ever have spoken to me about Lady Frances."</p>
-
-<p>"What is it all? Sit down;—won't you?—and tell it all like a man if
-you have got anything to tell." The Marquis, fatigued with his
-exertion, was forced to go back to his chair. Mr. Greenwood also sat
-down,—but whether or no like a man may be doubted. "Remember this,
-Mr. Greenwood, it does not become a gentleman to repeat what has been
-said to him in confidence,—especially not to repeat it to him or to
-them from whom it was intended to be kept secret. And it does not
-become a Christian to endeavour to make ill-blood between a husband
-and his wife. Now, if you have got anything to say, say it." Mr.
-Greenwood shook his head. "If you have got nothing to say, go away. I
-tell you fairly that I don't want to have you here. You have begun
-something like a threat, and if you choose to go on with it, you may.
-I am not afraid to hear you, but you must say it or go."</p>
-
-<p>Mr. Greenwood again shook his head. "I suppose you won't deny that
-her ladyship honoured me with a very close confidence."</p>
-
-<p>"I don't know anything about it."</p>
-
-<p>"Your lordship didn't know that her ladyship down at Trafford used to
-be talking to me pretty freely about Lord Hampstead and Lady
-Frances?"</p>
-
-<p>"If you have got anything to say, say it," screamed the Marquis.</p>
-
-<p>"Of course his lordship and her ladyship are not her ladyship's own
-children."</p>
-
-<p>"What has that got to do with it?"</p>
-
-<p>"Of course there was a bitterness."</p>
-
-<p>"What is that to you? I will hear nothing from you about Lady
-Kingsbury, unless you have to tell me of some claim to be made upon
-her. If there has been money promised you, and she acknowledges it,
-it shall be paid. Has there been any such promise?"</p>
-
-<p>Mr. Greenwood found it very difficult,—nay, quite impossible,—to
-say in accurate language that which he was desirous of explaining by
-dark hints. There had, he thought, been something of a compact
-between himself and the Marchioness. The Marchioness had desired
-something which she ought not to have desired, and had called upon
-the Chaplain for more than his sympathy. The Chaplain had been
-willing to give her more than his sympathy,—had at one time been
-almost willing to give her very much more. He might possibly, as he
-now felt, have misinterpreted her wishes. But he had certainly heard
-from her language so strong, in reference to her husband's children,
-that he had been justified in considering that it was intended to be
-secret. As a consequence of this he had been compelled to choose
-between the Marquis and the Marchioness. By becoming the confidential
-friend of the one he had necessarily become the enemy of the other.
-Then, as a further consequence, he was turned out of the house,—and,
-as he declared to himself, utterly ruined. Now in this there had
-certainly been much hardship, and who was to compensate him if not
-the Marquis?</p>
-
-<p>There certainly had been some talk about Appleslocombe during those
-moments of hot passion in which Lady Kingsbury had allowed herself to
-say such evil things of Lady Frances and Lord Hampstead. Whether any
-absolute promise had been given she would probably not now remember.
-There certainly had been a moment in which she had thought that her
-husband's life might possibly pass away before that of the old
-rector; and reference may have been made to the fact that had her own
-darling been the heir, the gift of the living would then have fallen
-into her own hands. Mr. Greenwood had probably thought more of some
-possible compensation for the living than of the living itself. He
-had no doubt endeavoured to frighten her ladyship into thinking that
-some mysterious debt was due to him, if not for services actually
-rendered, at any rate for extraordinary confidences. But before he
-had forced upon her the acknowledgment of the debt, he was turned out
-of the house! Now this he felt to be hard.</p>
-
-<p>What were two hundred a-year as a pension for a gentleman after such
-a life-long service? Was it to be endured that he should have
-listened for so many years to all the abominable politics of the
-Marquis, and to the anger and disappointment of the Marchioness, that
-he should have been so closely connected, and for so many years, with
-luxury, wealth, and rank, and then arrive at so poor an evening of
-his day? As he thought of this he felt the more ashamed of his
-misfortune, because he believed himself to be in all respects a
-stronger man than the Marquis. He had flattered himself that he could
-lead the Marquis, and had thought that he had been fairly successful
-in doing so. His life had been idle, luxurious, and full of comfort.
-The Marquis had allowed him to do pretty well what he pleased until
-in an evil hour he had taken the side of the Marchioness in a family
-quarrel. Then the Marquis, though weak in health,—almost to his
-death,—had suddenly become strong in purpose, and had turned him
-abruptly out of the house with a miserable stipend hardly fit for
-more than a butler! Could it be that he should put up with such
-usage, and allow the Marquis to escape unscathed out of his hand?</p>
-
-<p>In this condition of mind, he had determined that he owed it to
-himself to do or say something that should frighten his lordship into
-a more generous final arrangement. There had been, he said to himself
-again and again, such a confidence with a lady of so high a rank,
-that the owner of it ought not to be allowed to languish upon two or
-even upon three hundred a-year. If the whole thing could really be
-explained to the Marquis, the Marquis would probably see it himself.
-And to all this was to be added the fact that no harm had been done.
-The Marchioness owed him very much for having wished to assist her in
-getting rid of an heir that was disagreeable to her. The Marquis owed
-him more for not having done it. And they both owed him very much in
-that he had never said a word of it all to anybody else. He had
-thought that he might be clever enough to make the Marquis understand
-something of this without actually explaining it. That some
-mysterious promise had been made, and that, as the promise could not
-be kept, some compensation should be awarded,—this was what he had
-desired to bring home to the mind of the Marquis. He had betrayed no
-confidence. He intended to betray none. He was very anxious that the
-Marquis should be aware, that as he, Mr. Greenwood, was a gentleman,
-all confidences would be safe in his hands; but then the Marquis
-ought to do his part of the business, and not turn his confidential
-Chaplain out of the house after a quarter of a century with a
-beggarly annuity of two hundred a-year!</p>
-
-<p>But the Marquis seemed to have acquired unusual strength of
-character; and Mr. Greenwood found that words were very difficult to
-be found. He had declared that there had been "a bitterness," and
-beyond that he could not go. It was impossible to hint that her
-ladyship had wished to have Lord Hampstead—removed. The horrid
-thoughts of a few days had become so vague to himself that he doubted
-whether there had been any real intention as to the young lord's
-removal even in his own mind. There was nothing more that he could
-say than this,—that during the period of this close intimacy her
-ladyship had promised to him the living of Appleslocombe, and that,
-as that promise could not be kept, some compensation should be made
-to him. "Was any sum of money named?" asked the Marquis.</p>
-
-<p>"Nothing of the kind. Her ladyship thought that I ought to have the
-living."</p>
-
-<p>"You can't have it; and there's an end of it."</p>
-
-<p>"And you think that nothing should be done for me?"</p>
-
-<p>"I think that nothing should be done for you more than has been
-done."</p>
-
-<p>"Very well. I am not going to tell secrets that have been intrusted
-to me as a gentleman, even though I am so badly used by those who
-have confided them to me. Her ladyship is safe with me. Because I
-sympathized with her ladyship your lordship turned me out of the
-house."</p>
-
-<p>"No; I didn't."</p>
-
-<p>"Should I have been treated like this had I not taken her ladyship's
-part? I am too noble to betray a secret, or, no doubt, I could compel
-your lordship to behave to me in a very different manner. Yes, my
-lord, I am quite ready to go now. I have made my appeal, and I have
-made it in vain. I have no wish to call upon her ladyship. As a
-gentleman I am bound to give her ladyship no unnecessary trouble."</p>
-
-<p>While this last speech was going on a servant had come into the room,
-and had told the Marquis that the "Duca di Crinola" was desirous of
-seeing him. The servants in the establishment were of course anxious
-to recognize Lady Frances' lover as an Italian Duke. The Marquis
-would probably have made some excuse for not receiving the lover at
-this moment, had he not felt that he might in this way best insure
-the immediate retreat of Mr. Greenwood. Mr. Greenwood went, and Roden
-was summoned to Lord Kingsbury's presence; but the meeting took place
-under circumstances which naturally made the Marquis incapable of
-entering at the moment with much spirit on the great "Duca" question.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c3-12" id="c3-12"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XII.</h3>
-<h4>LORD HAMPSTEAD AGAIN WITH MRS. RODEN.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>Weeks had passed by since Lord Hampstead had walked up and down Broad
-Street with Mr. Fay,—weeks which were to him a period of terrible
-woe. His passion for Marion had so seized upon him, that it had in
-all respects changed his life. The sorrow of her alleged ill-health
-had fallen upon him before the hunting had been over, but from that
-moment he had altogether forgotten his horses. The time had now come
-in which he was wont to be on board his yacht, but of his yacht he
-took no notice whatever. "I can tell you nothing about it as yet," he
-said in the only line which he wrote to his skipper in answer to
-piteous applications made to him. None of those who were near and
-dear to him knew how he passed his time. His sister left him and went
-up to the house in London, and he felt that her going was a relief to
-him. He would not even admit his friend Roden to come to him in his
-trouble. He spent his days all alone at Hendon, occasionally going
-across to Holloway in order that he might talk of his sorrow to Mrs.
-Roden. Midsummer had come upon him before he again saw the Quaker.
-Marion's father had left a feeling almost of hostility in his mind in
-consequence of that conversation in Broad Street. "I no longer want
-anything on your behalf," the Quaker had seemed to say. "I care
-nothing now for your name, or your happiness. I am anxious only for
-my child, and as I am told that it will be better that you should not
-see her, you must stay away." That the father should be anxious for
-his daughter was natural enough. Lord Hampstead could not quarrel
-with Zachary Fay. But he taught himself to think that their interests
-were at variance with each other. As for Marion, whether she were ill
-or whether she were well, he would have had her altogether to
-himself.</p>
-
-<p>Gradually there had come upon him the conviction that there was a
-real barrier existing between himself and the thing that he desired.
-To Marion's own words, while they had been spoken only to himself, he
-had given no absolute credit. He had been able to declare to her that
-her fears were vain, and that whether she were weak or whether she
-were strong, it was her duty to come to him. When they two had been
-together his arguments and assurances had convinced at any rate
-himself. The love which he had seen in her eyes and had heard from
-her lips had been so sweet to him, that their savour had overcome
-whatever strength her words possessed. But these protestations, these
-assurances that no marriage could be possible, when they reached him
-second-hand, as they had done through his sister and through the
-Quaker, almost crushed him. He did not dare to tell them that he
-would fain marry the girl though she were dying,—that he would
-accept any chance or no chance, if he might only be allowed to hold
-her in his arms, and tell her that she was all his own. There had
-come a blow, he would say to himself, again and again, as he walked
-about the grounds at Hendon, there had come a blow, a fatal blow, a
-blow from which there could be no recovery,—but, still, it should,
-it ought, to be borne together. He would not admit to himself that
-because of this verdict there ought to be a separation between them
-two. It might be that the verdict had been uttered by a Judge against
-whom there could be no appeal; but even the Judge should not be
-allowed to say that Marion Fay was not his own. Let her come and die
-in his arms if she must die. Let her come and have what of life there
-might be left to her, warmed and comforted and perhaps extended by
-his love. It seemed to him to be certainly a fact, that because of
-his great love, and of hers, she did already belong to him; and yet
-he was told that he might not see her;—that it would be better that
-she should not be disturbed by his presence,—as though he were no
-more than a stranger to her. Every day he almost resolved to
-disregard them, and go down to the little cottage in which she was
-living. But then he remembered the warnings which were given to him,
-and was aware that he had in truth no right to intrude upon the
-Quaker's household. It is not to be supposed that during this time he
-had no intercourse with Marion. At first there came to be a few
-lines, written perhaps once a week from her, in answer to many lines
-written by him; but by degrees the feeling of awe which at first
-attached itself to the act of writing to him wore off, and she did
-not let a day pass without sending him some little record of herself
-and her doings. It had come to be quite understood by the Quaker that
-Marion was to do exactly as she pleased with her lover. No one
-dreamed of hinting to her that this correspondence was improper or
-injurious. Had she herself expressed a wish to see him, neither would
-the Quaker nor Mrs. Roden have made strong objection. To whatever
-might have been her wish or her decision they would have acceded. It
-was by her word that the marriage had been declared to be impossible.
-It was in obedience to her that he was to keep aloof. She had failed
-to prevail with her own soft words, and had therefore been driven to
-use the authority of others.</p>
-
-<p>But at this period, though she did become weaker and weaker from day
-to day, and though the doctor's attendance was constant at the
-cottage, Marion herself was hardly unhappy. She grieved indeed for
-his grief; but, only for that, there would have been triumph and joy
-to her rather than grief. The daily writing of these little notes was
-a privilege to her and a happiness, of which she had hitherto known
-nothing. To have a lover, and such a lover, was a delight to her, a
-delight to which there was now hardly any drawback, as there was
-nothing now of which she need be afraid. To have him with her as
-other girls may have their lovers, she knew was impossible to her.
-But to read his words, and to write loving words to him, to talk to
-him of his future life, and bid him think of her, his poor Marion,
-without allowing his great manly heart to be filled too full with
-vain memories, was in truth happiness to her. "Why should you want to
-come?" she said. "It is infinitely better that you should not come.
-We understand it all now, and acknowledge what it is that the Lord
-has done for us. It would not have been good for me to be your wife.
-It would not have been good for you to have become my husband. But it
-will I think be good for me to have loved you; and if you will learn
-to think of it as I do, it will not have been bad for you. It has
-given a beauty to my life," she said, "which makes me feel that I
-ought to be contented to die early. If I could have had a choice I
-would have chosen it so."</p>
-
-<p>But these teachings from her had no effect whatever upon him. It was
-her idea that she would pass away, and that there would remain with
-him no more than a fair sweet shade which would have but little
-effect upon his future life beyond that of creating for him
-occasionally a gentle melancholy. It could not be, she thought, that
-for a man such as he,—for one so powerful and so great,—such a
-memory should cause a lasting sorrow. But with him, to his thinking,
-to his feeling, the lasting biting sorrow was there already. There
-could be no other love, no other marriage, no other Marion. He had
-heard that his stepmother was anxious for her boy. The way should be
-open for the child. It did seem to him that a life, long continued,
-would be impossible to him when Marion should have been taken away
-from him.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh yes;—he's there again," said Miss Demijohn to her aunt. "He
-comes mostly on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. What he can be
-coming about is more than I can guess. Crocker says it's all true
-love. Crocker says that the Duca
-<span class="nowrap">says—"</span></p>
-
-<p>"Bother the Duca," exclaimed the old woman. "I don't believe that
-Crocker and George Roden ever exchange a word together."</p>
-
-<p>"Why shouldn't they exchange words, and they fast friends of five
-years' standing? Crocker says as Lord Hampstead is to be at Lady
-Amaldina's wedding in August. His lordship has promised. And Crocker
-<span class="nowrap">thinks—"</span></p>
-
-<p>"I don't believe very much about Crocker, my young woman. You had
-better look to yourself, or, perhaps, you'll find when you have got
-yourself married that Crocker has not got a roof to cover you."</p>
-
-<p>Lord Hampstead had walked over to Paradise Row, and was seated with
-Mrs. Roden when this little squabble was going on. "You don't think
-that I ought to let things remain as they are," he said to Mrs.
-Roden. To all such questions Mrs. Roden found it very difficult to
-make any reply. She did in truth think that they ought to be allowed
-to remain as they were,—or rather that some severance should be made
-more decided even than that which now existed. Putting aside her own
-ideas, she was quite sure that Marion would not consent to a
-marriage. And, as it was so, and must be so, it was better, she
-thought, that the young people should see no more of each other. This
-writing of daily letters,—what good could it do to either of them?
-To her indeed, to Marion, with her fixed purpose, and settled
-religious convictions, and almost certain fate, little evil might be
-done. But to Lord Hampstead the result would be, and was, terribly
-pernicious. He was sacrificing himself, not only as Mrs. Roden
-thought for the present moment, but for many years perhaps,—perhaps
-for his future life,—to a hopeless passion. A cloud was falling upon
-him which might too probably darken his whole career. From the day on
-which she had unfortunately taken Marion to Hendon Hall, she had
-never ceased to regret the acquaintance which she had caused. To her
-thinking the whole affair had been unfortunate. Between people so
-divided there should have been no intimacy, and yet this intimacy had
-been due to her. "It is impossible that I should not see her,"
-continued Lord Hampstead. "I will see her."</p>
-
-<p>"If you would see her, and then make up your mind to part with
-her,—that I think would be good."</p>
-
-<p>"To see her, and say farewell to her for ever?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, my lord."</p>
-
-<p>"Certainly not. That I will never do. If it should come to pass that
-she must go from me for ever, I would have her in my arms to the very
-last!"</p>
-
-<p>"At such a moment, my lord, those whom nature has given to her for
-her <span class="nowrap">friends—"</span></p>
-
-<p>"Has not nature given me too for her friend? Can any friend love her
-more truly than I do? Those should be with us when we die to whom our
-life is of most importance. Is there any one to whom her life can be
-half as much as it is to me? The husband is the dearest to his wife.
-When I look upon her as going from me for ever, then may I not say
-that she is the same to me as my wife."</p>
-
-<p>"Why—why,—why?"</p>
-
-<p>"I know what you mean, Mrs. Roden. What is the use of asking 'why'
-when the thing is done? Could I make it so now, as though I had never
-seen her? Could I if I would? Would I if I could? What is the good of
-thinking of antecedents which are impossible? She has become my
-treasure. Whether past and fleeting, or likely to last me for my
-life, she is my treasure. Can I make a change because you ask
-why,—and why,—and why? Why did I ever come here? Why did I know
-your son? Why have I got a something here within me which kills me
-when I think that I shall be separated from her, and yet crowns me
-with glory when I feel that she has loved me. If she must leave me, I
-have to bear it. What I shall do, where I shall go, whether I shall
-stand or fall, I do not pretend to say. A man does not know, himself,
-of what stuff he is made, till he has been tried. But whatever may be
-my lot, it cannot be altered by any care or custody now. She is my
-own, and I will not be separated from her. If she were dead, I should
-know that she was gone. She would have left me, and I could not help
-myself. As yet she is living, and may live, and I will be with her. I
-must go to her there, or she must come here to me. If he will permit
-it I will take some home for myself close to hers. What will it
-matter now, though every one should know it? Let them all know it.
-Should she live she will become mine. If she must go,—what will the
-world know but that I have lost her who was to have been my wife?"</p>
-
-<p>Even Mrs. Roden had not the heart to tell him that he had seen Marion
-for the last time. It would have been useless to tell him so, for he
-would not have obeyed the behest contained in such an assertion.
-Ideas of prudence and ideas of health had restrained him
-hitherto,—but he had been restrained only for a time. No one had
-dared suggest to him that he should never again see his Marion. "I
-suppose that we must ask Mr. Fay," she replied. She was herself more
-powerful than the Quaker, as she was well aware; but it had become
-necessary to her to say something.</p>
-
-<p>"Mr. Fay has less to say to it even than I have," said Hampstead. "My
-belief is that Marion herself is the only one among us who is strong.
-If it were not that she is determined, he would yield and you would
-yield."</p>
-
-<p>"Who can know as she knows?" said Mrs. Roden. "Which among us is so
-likely to be guided by what is right? Which is so pure, and honest,
-and loving? Her conscience tells her what is best."</p>
-
-<p>"I am not sure of that," said he. "Her conscience may fill her as
-well as another with fears that are unnecessary. I cannot think that
-a girl should be encouraged by those around her to doom herself after
-this fashion. Who has a right to say that God has determined that she
-shall die early?" Mrs. Roden shook her head. "I am not going to teach
-others what religion demands, but to me it seems that we should leave
-these things in God's hands. That she may doubt as to herself may be
-natural enough, but others should not have encouraged her."</p>
-
-<p>"You mean me, my lord?"</p>
-
-<p>"You must not be angry with me, Mrs. Roden. The matter to me is so
-vital that I have to say what I think about it. It does seem to me
-that I am kept away from her, whereas, by all the ties which can bind
-a man and a woman together, I ought to be with her. Forms and
-ceremonies seem to sink to nothing, when I think of all she is to me,
-and remember that I am told that she is soon to be taken away from
-me."</p>
-
-<p>"How would it be if she had a mother?"</p>
-
-<p>"Why should her mother refuse my love for her daughter? But she has
-no mother. She has a father who has accepted me. I do believe that
-had the matter been left wholly to him, Marion would now be my wife."</p>
-
-<p>"I was away, my lord, in Italy."</p>
-
-<p>"I will not be so harsh to such a friend as you, as to say that I
-wish you had remained there; but I feel,—I cannot but
-<span class="nowrap">feel—"</span></p>
-
-<p>"My lord, I think the truth is that you hardly know how strong in
-such a matter as this our Marion herself can be. Neither have I nor
-has her father prevailed upon her. I can go back now, and tell you
-without breach of confidence all that passed between her and me. When
-first your name was discussed between us; when first I saw that you
-seemed to make much of <span class="nowrap">her—"</span></p>
-
-<p>"Make much of her!" exclaimed Hampstead, angrily.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes; make much of her! When first I thought that you were becoming
-fond of her."</p>
-
-<p>"You speak as though there had been some idle dallying. Did I not
-worship her? Did I not pour out my whole heart into her lap from the
-first moment in which I saw her? Did I hide it even from you? Was
-there any pretence, any falsehood?"</p>
-
-<p>"No, indeed."</p>
-
-<p>"Do not say that I made much of her. The phrase is vile. When she
-told me that she loved me, she made much of me."</p>
-
-<p>"When first you showed us that you loved her," she continued, "I
-feared that it would not be for good."</p>
-
-<p>"Why should it not be for good?"</p>
-
-<p>"I will not speak of that now, but I thought so. I thought so, and I
-told my thoughts to Marion."</p>
-
-<p>"You did?"</p>
-
-<p>"I did;—and I think that in doing so, I did no more than my duty to
-a motherless girl. Of the reasons which I gave to her I will say
-nothing now. Her reasons were so much stronger, that mine were
-altogether unavailing. Her resolutions were built on so firm a rock,
-that they needed no persuasions of mine to strengthen them. I had
-ever known Marion to be pure, unselfish, and almost perfect. But I
-had never before seen how high she could rise, how certainly she
-could soar above all weakness and temptation. To her there was never
-a moment of doubt. She knew from the very first that it could not be
-so."</p>
-
-<p>"It shall be so," he said, jumping up from his chair, and flinging up
-his arms.</p>
-
-<p>"It was not I who persuaded her, or her father. Even you cannot
-persuade her. Having convinced herself that were she to marry you,
-she would injure you, not all her own passionate love will induce her
-to accept the infinite delight of yielding to you. What may be best
-for you;—that is present to her mind, and nothing else. On that her
-heart is fixed, and so clear is her judgment respecting it, that she
-will not allow the words of any other to operate on her for a moment.
-Marion Fay, Lord Hampstead, is infinitely too great to have been
-persuaded in any degree by me."</p>
-
-
-<div class="center">
-<p class="noindent">*<span class="ind2">*</span><span
-class="ind2">*</span><span class="ind2">*</span><span
-class="ind2">*</span><span class="ind2">*</span></p>
-</div>
-
-
-<p>Nevertheless Mrs. Roden did allow herself to say that in her opinion
-the lover should be allowed to see his mistress. She herself would go
-to Pegwell Bay, and endeavour to bring Marion back to Holloway. That
-Lord Hampstead should himself go down and spend his long hours at the
-little seaside place did not seem to her to be fitting. But she
-promised that she would do her best to arrange at any rate another
-meeting in Paradise Row.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c3-13" id="c3-13"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XIII.</h3>
-<h4>LORD HAMPSTEAD AGAIN WITH MARION.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>The Quaker had become as weak as water in his daughter's hands. To
-whatever she might have desired he would have given his assent. He
-went daily up from Pegwell Bay to Pogson and Littlebird's, but even
-then he was an altered man. It had been said there for a few days
-that his daughter was to become the wife of the eldest son of the
-Marquis of Kingsbury, and then it had been said that there could be
-no such marriage—because of Marion's health. The glory while it
-lasted he had borne meekly, but with a certain anxious satisfaction.
-The pride of his life had been in Marion, and this young lord's
-choice had justified his pride. But the glory had been very fleeting.
-And now it was understood through all Pogson and Littlebird's that
-their senior clerk had been crushed, not by the loss of his noble
-son-in-law, but by the cause which produced the loss. Under these
-circumstances poor Zachary Fay had hardly any will of his own, except
-to do that which his daughter suggested to him. When she told him
-that she would wish to go up to London for a few days, he assented as
-a matter of course. And when she explained that she wished to do so
-in order that she might see Lord Hampstead, he only shook his head
-sadly, and was silent.</p>
-
-<p>"Of course I will come as you wish it," Marion had said in her letter
-to her lover. "What would I not do that you wish,—except when you
-wish things that you know you ought not? Mrs. Roden says that I am to
-go up to be lectured. You mustn't be very hard upon me. I don't think
-you ought to ask me to do things which you know,—which you know that
-I cannot do. Oh, my lover! oh, my love! would that it were all over,
-and that you were free!"</p>
-
-<p>In answer to this, and to other letters of the kind, he wrote to her
-long argumentative epistles, in which he strove to repress the
-assurances of his love, in order that he might convince her the
-better by the strength of his reasoning. He spoke to her of the will
-of God, and of the wickedness of which she would be guilty if she
-took upon herself to foretell the doings of Providence. He said much
-of the actual bond by which they had tied themselves together in
-declaring their mutual love. He endeavoured to explain to her that
-she could not be justified in settling such a question for herself
-without reference to the opinion of those who must know the world
-better than she did. Had the words of a short ceremony been spoken,
-she would have been bound to obey him as her husband. Was she not
-equally bound now, already, to acknowledge his superiority,—and if
-not by him, was it not her manifest duty to be guided by her father?
-Then at the end of four carefully-written, well-stuffed pages, there
-would come two or three words of burning love. "My Marion, my self,
-my very heart!" It need hardly be said that as the well-stuffed pages
-went for nothing with Marion,—had not the least effect towards
-convincing her, so were the few words the very food on which she
-lived. There was no absurdity in the language of love that was not to
-her a gem so brilliant that it deserved to be garnered in the very
-treasure house of her memory! All those long useless sermons were
-preserved because they had been made rich and rare by the expression
-of his passion.</p>
-
-<p>She understood him, and valued him at the proper rate, and measured
-him correctly in everything. He was so true, she knew him to be so
-true, that even his superlatives could not be other than true! But as
-for his reasoning, she knew that that came also from his passion. She
-could not argue the matter out with him, but he was wrong in it all.
-She was not bound to listen to any other voice but that of her own
-conscience. She was bound not to subject him to the sorrows which
-would attend him were he to become her husband. She could not tell
-how weak or how strong might be his nature in bearing the burden of
-the grief which would certainly fall upon him at her death. She had
-heard, and had in part seen, that time does always mitigate the
-weight of that burden. Perhaps it might be best that she should go at
-once, so that no prolonged period of his future career should be
-injured by his waiting. She had begun to think that he would be
-unable to look for another wife while she lived. By degrees there
-came upon her the full conviction of the steadfastness, nay, of the
-stubbornness, of his heart. She had been told that men were not
-usually like that. When first he had become sweet to her, she had not
-thought that he would have been like that. Was it not almost
-unmanly,—or rather was it not womanly? And yet he,—strong and
-masterful as he was,—could he have aught of a woman's weakness about
-him? Could she have dreamed that it would be so from the first, she
-thought that from the very first she could have abstained.</p>
-
-<p>"Of course I shall be at home on Tuesday at two. Am I not at home
-every day at all hours? Mrs. Roden shall not be there as you do not
-wish it, though Mrs. Roden has always been your friend. Of course I
-shall be alone. Papa is always in the City. Good to you! Of course I
-shall be good to you! How can I be bad to the one being that I love
-better than all the world? I am always thinking of you; but I do wish
-that you would not think so much of me. A man should not think so
-much of a girl,—only just at his spare moments. I did not think that
-it would be like that when I told you that you might love me."</p>
-
-<p>All that Tuesday morning, before he left home, he was not only
-thinking of her, but trying to marshal in order what arguments he
-might use,—so as to convince her at last. He did not at all
-understand how utterly fruitless his arguments had been with her.
-When Mrs. Roden had told him of Marion's strength he had only in part
-believed her. In all matters concerning the moment Marion was weak
-and womanly before him. When he told her that this or the other thing
-was proper and becoming, she took it as Gospel because it came from
-him. There was something of the old awe even when she looked up into
-his face. Because he was a great nobleman, and because she was the
-Quaker's daughter, there was still, in spite of their perfect love,
-something of superiority, something of inferiority of position. It
-was natural that he should command,—natural that she should obey.
-How could it be then that she should not at last obey him in this
-great thing which was so necessary to him? And yet hitherto he had
-never gone near to prevailing with her. Of course he marshalled all
-his arguments.</p>
-
-<p>Gentle and timid as she was, she had made up her mind to everything,
-even down to the very greeting with which she would receive him. His
-first warm kiss had shocked her. She had thought of it since, and had
-told herself that no harm could come to her from such tokens of
-affection,—that it would be unnatural were she to refuse it to him.
-Let it pass by as an incident that should mean nothing. To hang upon
-his neck and to feel and to know that she was his very own,—that
-might not be given to her. To hear his words of love and to answer
-him with words as warm,—that could be allowed to her. As for the
-rest, it would be better that she should let it so pass by that there
-need be as little of contention as possible on a matter so trivial.</p>
-
-<p>When he came into the room he took her at once, passive and
-unresisting, into his arms. "Marion," he said. "Marion! Do you say
-that you are ill? You are as bright as a rose."</p>
-
-<p>"Rose leaves soon fall. But we will not talk about that. Why go to
-such a subject?"</p>
-
-<p>"It cannot be helped." He still held her by the waist, and now again
-he kissed her. There was something in her passive submission which
-made him think at the moment that she had at last determined to yield
-to him altogether. "Marion, Marion," he said, still holding her in
-his embrace, "you will be persuaded by me? You will be mine now?"</p>
-
-<p>Gradually,—very gently,—she contrived to extricate herself. There
-must be no more of it, or his passion would become too strong for
-her. "Sit down, dearest," she said. "You flurry me by all this. It is
-not good that I should be flurried."</p>
-
-<p>"I will be quiet, tame, motionless, if you will only say the one word
-to me. Make me understand that we are not to be parted, and I will
-ask for nothing else."</p>
-
-<p>"Parted! No, I do not think that we shall be parted."</p>
-
-<p>"Say that the day shall come when we may really be joined together;
-<span class="nowrap">when—"</span></p>
-
-<p>"No, dear; no; I cannot say that. I cannot alter anything that I have
-said before. I cannot make things other than they are. Here we are,
-we two, loving each other with all our hearts, and yet it may not be.
-My dear, dear lord!" She had never even yet learned another name for
-him than this. "Sometimes I ask myself whether it has been my fault."
-She was now sitting, and he was standing over her, but still holding
-her by the hand.</p>
-
-<p>"There has been no fault. Why should either have been in fault?"</p>
-
-<p>"When there is so great a misfortune there must generally have been a
-fault. But I do not think there has been any here. Do not
-misunderstand me, dear. The misfortune is not with me. I do not know
-that the Lord could have sent me a greater blessing than to have been
-loved by you,—were it not that your trouble, your grief, your
-complainings rob me of my joy."</p>
-
-<p>"Then do not rob me," he said.</p>
-
-<p>"Out of two evils you must choose the least. You have heard of that,
-have you not?"</p>
-
-<p>"There need be no evil;—no such evil as this." Then he dropped her
-hand, and stood apart from her while he listened to her, or else
-walked up and down the room, throwing at her now and again a quick
-angry word, as she went on striving to make clear to him the ideas as
-they came to her mind.</p>
-
-<p>"I do not know how I could have done otherwise," she said, "when you
-would make it so certain to me that you loved me. I suppose it might
-have been possible for me to go away, and not to say a word in
-answer."</p>
-
-<p>"That is nonsense,—sheer nonsense," he said.</p>
-
-<p>"I could not tell you an untruth. I tried it once, but the words
-would not come at my bidding. Had I not spoken them, you would read
-the truth in my eyes. What then could I have done? And yet there was
-not a moment in which I have not known that it must be as it is."</p>
-
-<p>"It need not be; it need not be. It should not be."</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, dear, it must be. As it is so why not let us have the sweet of
-it as far as it will go? Can you not take a joy in thinking that you
-have given an inexpressible brightness to your poor Marion's days;
-that you have thrown over her a heavenly light which would be all
-glorious to her if she did not see that you were covered by a cloud?
-If I thought that you could hold up your head with manly strength,
-and accept this little gift of my love, just for what it is
-worth,—just for what it is worth,—then I think I could be happy to
-the end."</p>
-
-<p>"What would you have me do? Can a man love and not love?"</p>
-
-<p>"I almost think he can. I almost think that men do. I would not have
-you not love me. I would not lose my light and my glory altogether.
-But I would have your love to be of such a nature that it should not
-conquer you. I would have you remember your name and your
-<span class="nowrap">family—"</span></p>
-
-<p>"I care nothing for my name. As far as I am concerned, my name is
-gone."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, my lord!"</p>
-
-<p>"You have determined that my name shall go no further."</p>
-
-<p>"That is unmanly, Lord Hampstead. Because a poor weak girl such as I
-am cannot do all that you wish, are you to throw away your strength
-and your youth, and all the high hopes which ought to be before you?
-Would you say that it were well in another if you heard that he had
-thrown up everything, surrendered all his duties, because of his love
-for some girl infinitely beneath him in the world's esteem?"</p>
-
-<p>"There is no question of above and beneath. I will not have it. As to
-that, at any rate we are on a par."</p>
-
-<p>"A man and a girl can never be on a par. You have a great career, and
-you declare that it shall go for nothing because I cannot be your
-wife."</p>
-
-<p>"Can I help myself if I am broken-hearted? You can help me."</p>
-
-<p>"No, Lord Hampstead; it is there that you are wrong. It is there that
-you must allow me to say that I have the clearer knowledge. With an
-effort on your part the thing may be done."</p>
-
-<p>"What effort? What effort? Can I teach myself to forget that I have
-ever seen you?"</p>
-
-<p>"No, indeed; you cannot forget. But you may resolve that, remembering
-me, you should remember me only for what I am worth. You should not
-buy your memories at too high a price."</p>
-
-<p>"What is it that you would have me do?"</p>
-
-<p>"I would have you seek another wife."</p>
-
-<p>"Marion!"</p>
-
-<p>"I would have you seek another wife. If not instantly, I would have
-you instantly resolve to do so."</p>
-
-<p>"It would not hurt you to feel that I loved another?"</p>
-
-<p>"I think not. I have tried myself, and now I think that it would not
-hurt me. There was a time in which I owned to myself that it would be
-very bitter, and then I told myself, that I hoped,—that I hoped that
-you would wait. But now, I have acknowledged to myself the vanity and
-selfishness of such a wish. If I really love you am I not bound to
-want what may be best for you?"</p>
-
-<p>"You think that possible?" he said, standing over her, and looking
-down upon her. "Judging from your own heart do you think that you
-could do that if outward circumstances made it convenient?"</p>
-
-<p>"No, no, no."</p>
-
-<p>"Why should you suppose me to be harder-hearted than yourself, more
-callous, more like a beast of the fields?"</p>
-
-<p>"More like a man is what I would have you."</p>
-
-<p>"I have listened to you, Marion, and now you may listen to me. Your
-distinctions as to men and women are all vain. There are those, men
-and women both, who can love and do love, and there are those who
-neither do nor can. Whether it be for good or evil,—we can, you and
-I, and we do. It would be impossible to think of giving yourself to
-another?"</p>
-
-<p>"That is certainly true."</p>
-
-<p>"It is the same with me,—and will ever be so. Whether you live or
-die, I can have no other wife than Marion Fay. As to that I have a
-right to expect that you shall believe me. Whether I have a wife or
-not you must decide."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, dearest, do not kill me."</p>
-
-<p>"It has to be so. If you can be firm so can I. As to my name and my
-family, it matters nothing. Could I be allowed to look forward and
-think that you would sit at my hearth, and that some child that
-should be my child should lie in your arms, then I could look forward
-to what you call a career. Not that he might be the last of a hundred
-Traffords, not that he might be an Earl or a Marquis like his
-forefathers, not that he might some day live to be a wealthy peer,
-would I have it so,—but because he would be yours and mine." Now she
-got up, and threw her arms around him, and stood leaning on him as he
-spoke. "I can look forward to that and think of a career. If that
-cannot be, the rest of it must provide for itself. There are others
-who can look after the Traffords,—and who will do so whether it be
-necessary or not. To have gone a little out of the beaten path, to
-have escaped some of the traditional absurdities, would have been
-something to me. To have let the world see how noble a Countess I
-could find for it—that would have satisfied me. And I had succeeded.
-I had found one that would really have graced the name. If it is not
-to be so,—why then let the name and family go on in the old beaten
-track. I shall not make another venture. I have made my choice, and
-it is to come to this."</p>
-
-<p>"You must wait, dear;—you must wait. I had not thought it would be
-like this; but you must wait."</p>
-
-<p>"What God may have in store for me, who can tell. You have told me
-your mind, Marion; and now I trust that you will understand mine. I
-do not accept your decision, but you will accept mine. Think of it
-all, and when you see me again in a day or two, then see whether you
-will not be able to join your lot to mine and make the best of it."
-Upon this he kissed her again, and left her without another word.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c3-14" id="c3-14"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XIV.</h3>
-<h4>CROCKER'S DISTRESS.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>When Midsummer came Paradise Row was alive with various interests.
-There was no one there who did not know something of the sad story of
-Marion Fay and her love. It was impossible that such a one as Lord
-Hampstead should make repeated visits to the street without notice.
-When Marion returned home from Pegwell Bay, even the potboy at The
-Duchess of Edinburgh knew why she had come, and Clara Demijohn
-professed to be able to tell all that passed at the interview next
-day. And there was the great "Duca" matter;—so that Paradise Row
-generally conceived itself to be concerned on all questions of
-nobility, both Foreign and British. There were the Ducaites and the
-anti-Ducaites. The Demijohn faction generally, as being under the
-influence of Crocker, were of opinion that George Roden being a Duke
-could not rid himself of his ducal nature, and they were loud in
-their expression of the propriety of calling the Duke Duke whether he
-wished it or no. But Mrs. Grimley at The Duchess was warm on the
-other side. George Roden, according to her lights, being a clerk in
-the Post Office, must certainly be a Briton, and being a Briton, and
-therefore free, was entitled to call himself whatever he pleased. She
-was generally presumed to enunciate a properly constitutional theory
-in the matter, and, as she was a leading personage in the
-neighbourhood, the Duca was for the most part called by his old name;
-but there were contests, and on one occasion blows had been struck.
-All this helped to keep life alive in the Row.</p>
-
-<p>But there had arisen another source of intense interest. Samuel
-Crocker was now regularly engaged to marry Miss Demijohn. There had
-been many difficulties before this could be arranged. Crocker not
-unnaturally wished that a portion of the enormous wealth which rumour
-attributed to Mrs. Demijohn should be made over to the bride on her
-marriage. But the discussions which had taken place between him and
-the old lady on the matter had been stormy and unsuccessful. "It's a
-sort of thing that one doesn't understand at all, you know," Crocker
-had said to Mrs. Grimley, giving the landlady to understand that he
-was not going to part with his own possession of himself without
-adequate consideration. Mrs. Grimley had comforted the young man by
-reminding him that the old lady was much given to hot brandy and
-water, and that she could not "take her money with her where she was
-going." Crocker had at last contented himself with an assurance that
-there should be a breakfast and a trousseau which was to cost £100.
-With the promise of this and the hope of what brandy-and-water might
-do for him, he had given in, and the match was made. Had there been
-no more than this in the matter the Row would not have been much
-stirred by it. The Row was so full of earls, marquises, and dukes
-that Crocker's love would have awakened no more than a passing
-attention, but for a concomitant incident which was touching in its
-nature, and interesting in its development. Daniel Tribbledale,
-junior clerk at Pogson and Littlebird's, had fought a battle with his
-passion for Clara Demijohn like a man; but, manly though the battle
-had been, Love had prevailed over him. He had at last found it
-impossible to give up the girl of his heart, and he had declared his
-intention of "punching Crocker's head" should he ever find him in the
-neighbourhood of the Row. With the object of doing this he frequented
-the Row constantly from ten in the evening till two in the morning,
-and spent a great deal more money than he ought to have done at The
-Duchess. He would occasionally knock at No. 10, and boldly ask to be
-allowed to see Miss Clara. On one or two of these occasions he had
-seen her, and tears had flown in great quantities. He had thrown
-himself at her feet, and she had assured him that it was in vain. He
-had fallen back at Pogson and Littlebird's to £120 a year, and there
-was no prospect of an increase. Moreover the betrothment with Crocker
-was complete. Clara had begged him to leave the vicinity of Holloway.
-Nothing, he had sworn, should divorce him from Paradise Row. Should
-that breakfast ever be given; should these hated nuptials ever take
-place; he would be heard of. It was in vain that Clara had threatened
-to die on the threshold of the church if anything rash were done. He
-was determined, and Clara, no doubt, was interested in the
-persistency of his affection. It was, however, specially worthy of
-remark that Crocker and Tribbledale never did meet in Paradise Row.</p>
-
-<p>Monday, 13th of July, was the day fixed for the marriage, and
-lodgings for the happy pair had been taken at Islington. It had been
-hoped that room might have been made for them at No. 10; but the old
-lady, fearing the interference of a new inmate, had preferred the
-horrors of solitude to the combined presence of her niece and her
-niece's husband. She had, however, given a clock and a small
-harmonium to grace the furnished sitting-room;—so that things might
-be said to stand on a sound and pleasant footing. Gradually, however,
-it came to be thought both by the old and the young lady, that
-Crocker was becoming too eager on that great question of the Duca.
-When he declared that no earthly consideration should induce him to
-call his friend by any name short of that noble title which he was
-entitled to use, he was asked a question or two as to his practice at
-the office. For it had come round to Paradise Row that Crocker was
-giving offence at the office by his persistency. "When I speak of him
-I always call him the 'Duca,'" said Crocker, gallantly, "and when I
-meet him I always address him as Duca. No doubt it may for a while
-create a little coolness, but he will recognize at last the truth of
-the spirit which actuates me. He is 'the Duca.'"</p>
-
-<p>"If you go on doing what they tell you not to do," said the old
-woman, "they'll dismiss you." Crocker had simply smiled ineffably.
-Not Æolus himself would dismiss him for a loyal adherence to the
-constitutional usages of European Courts.</p>
-
-<p>Crocker was in truth making himself thoroughly disagreeable at the
-Post Office. Sir Boreas had had his own view as to Roden's title, and
-had been anxious to assist Lord Persiflage in forcing the clerk to
-accept his nobility. But when he had found that Roden was determined,
-he had given way. No order had been given on the subject. It was a
-matter which hardly admitted of an order. But it was understood that
-as Mr. Roden wished to be Mr. Roden, he was to be Mr. Roden. It was
-declared that good taste required that he should be addressed as he
-chose to be addressed. When, therefore, Crocker persisted it was felt
-that Crocker was a bore. When Crocker declared to Roden personally
-that his conscience would not allow him to encounter a man whom he
-believed to be a nobleman without calling him by his title, the
-office generally felt that Crocker was an ass. Æolus was known to
-have expressed himself as very angry, and was said to have declared
-that the man must be dismissed sooner or later. This had been
-reported to Crocker. "Sir Boreas can't dismiss me for calling a
-nobleman by his right name," Crocker had replied indignantly. The
-clerks had acknowledged among themselves that this might be true, but
-had remarked that there were different ways of hanging a dog. If
-Æolus was desirous of hanging Crocker, Crocker would certainly find
-him the rope before long. There was a little bet made between Bobbin
-and Geraghty that the office would know Crocker no longer before the
-end of the year.</p>
-
-<p>Alas, alas;—just before the time fixed for the poor fellow's
-marriage, during the first week of July, there came to our Æolus not
-only an opportunity for dismissing poor Crocker, but an occasion on
-which, by the consent of all, it was admitted to be impossible that
-he should not do so, and the knowledge of the sin committed came upon
-Sir Boreas at a moment of great exasperation caused by another
-source. "Sir Boreas," Crocker had said, coming into the great man's
-room, "I hope you will do me the honour of being present at my
-wedding breakfast." The suggestion was an unpardonable impertinence.
-"I am asking no one else in the Department except the Duca," said
-Crocker. With what special flea in his ear Crocker was made to leave
-the room instantly cannot be reported; but the reader may be quite
-sure that neither did Æolus nor the Duca accept the invitation. It
-was on that very afternoon that Mr. Jerningham, with the assistance
-of one of the messengers, discovered that Crocker had—actually torn
-up a bundle of official papers!</p>
-
-<p>Among many official sins of which Crocker was often guilty was that
-of "delaying papers." Letters had to be written, or more probably
-copies made, and Crocker would postpone the required work from day to
-day. Papers would get themselves locked up, and sometimes it would
-not be practicable to trace them. There were those in the Department
-who said that Crocker was not always trustworthy in his statements,
-and there had come up lately a case in which the unhappy one was
-supposed to have hidden a bundle of papers of which he denied having
-ever had the custody. Then arose a tumult of anger among those who
-would be supposed to have had the papers if Crocker did not have
-them, and a violent search was instituted. Then it was discovered
-that he had absolutely—destroyed the official documents! They
-referred to the reiterated complaints of a fidgety old gentleman who
-for years past had been accusing the Department of every imaginable
-iniquity. According to this irritable old gentleman, a diabolical
-ingenuity had been exercised in preventing him from receiving a
-single letter through a long series of years.</p>
-
-<p>This was a new crime. Wicked things were often done, but anything so
-wicked as this had never before been perpetrated in the Department.
-The minds of the senior clerks were terribly moved, and the young men
-were agitated by a delicious awe. Crocker was felt to be abominable;
-but heroic also,—and original. It might be that a new opening for
-great things had been invented.</p>
-
-<p>The fidgety old gentleman had never a leg to stand upon,—not a
-stump; but now it was almost impossible that he should not be made to
-know that all his letters of complaint had been made away with! Of
-course Crocker must be dismissed. He was at once suspended, and
-called upon for his written explanation. "And I am to be married next
-week!" he said weeping to Mr. Jerningham. Æolus had refused to see
-him, and Mr. Jerningham, when thus appealed to, only shook his head.
-What could a Mr. Jerningham say to a man who had torn up official
-papers on the eve of his marriage? Had he laid violent hands on his
-bride, but preserved the papers, his condition, to Mr. Jerningham's
-thinking, would have been more wholesome.</p>
-
-<p>It was never known who first carried the tidings to Paradise Row.
-There were those who said that Tribbledale was acquainted with a
-friend of Bobbin, and that he made it all known to Clara in an
-anonymous letter. There were others who traced a friendship between
-the potboy at The Duchess and a son of one of the messengers. It was
-at any rate known at No. 10. Crocker was summoned to an interview
-with the old woman; and the match was then and there declared to be
-broken off. "What are your intentions, sir, as to supporting that
-young woman?" Mrs. Demijohn demanded with all the severity of which
-she was capable. Crocker was so broken-hearted that he had not a word
-to say for himself. He did not dare to suggest that perhaps he might
-not be dismissed. He admitted the destruction of the papers. "I never
-cared for him again when I saw him so knocked out of time by an old
-woman," said Clara afterwards.</p>
-
-<p>"What am I to do about the lodgings?" asked Crocker weeping.</p>
-
-<p>"Tear 'em up," said Mrs. Demijohn. "Tear 'em up. Only send back the
-clock and the harmonium."</p>
-
-<p>Crocker in his despair looked about everywhere for assistance. It
-might be that Æolus would be softer-hearted than Clara Demijohn. He
-wrote to Lord Persiflage, giving him a very full account of the
-affair. The papers, he said, had in fact been actually torn by
-accident. He was afraid of "the Duca," or he would have applied to
-him. "The Duca," no doubt had been his most intimate friend,—so he
-still declared,—but in such an emergency he did not know how to
-address "the Duca." But he bethought himself of Lord Hampstead, of
-that hunting acquaintance, with whom his intercourse had been so
-pleasant and so genial, and he made a journey down Hendon. Lord
-Hampstead at this time was living there all alone. Marion Fay had
-been taken back to Pegwell Bay, and her lover was at the old house
-holding intercourse almost with no one. His heart just now was very
-heavy with him. He had begun to believe that Marion would in truth
-never become his wife. He had begun to think that she would really
-die, and that he would never have had the sad satisfaction of calling
-her his own. All lightness and brightness had gone from him, all the
-joy which he used to take in argument, all the eagerness of his
-character,—unless the hungry craving of unsatisfied love could still
-be called an eagerness.</p>
-
-<p>He was in this condition when Crocker was brought out to him in the
-garden where he was walking. "Mr. Crocker," he said, standing still
-in the pathway and looking into the man's face.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, my lord; it's me. I am Crocker. You remember me, my lord, down
-in Cumberland?"</p>
-
-<p>"I remember you,—at Castle Hautboy."</p>
-
-<p>"And out hunting, my lord,—when we had that pleasant ride home from
-Airey Force."</p>
-
-<p>"What can I do for you now?"</p>
-
-<p>"I always do think, my lord, that there is nothing like sport to
-cement affection. I don't know how you feel about it, my lord."</p>
-
-<p>"If there is anything to be said—perhaps you will say it."</p>
-
-<p>"And there's another bond, my lord. We have both been looking for the
-partners of our joys in Paradise Row."</p>
-
-<p>"If you have anything to say, say it."</p>
-
-<p>"And as for your friend, my lord, the,—the—. You know whom I mean.
-If I have given any offence it has only been because I've thought
-that as the title was certainly theirs, a young lady who shall be
-nameless ought to have the advantage of it. I've only done it because
-of my consideration for the family."</p>
-
-<p>"What have you come here for, Mr. Crocker? I am not just now disposed
-to converse,—on, I may say, any subject. If there be
-<span class="nowrap">anything—"</span></p>
-
-<p>"Indeed, there is. Oh, my lord, they are going to dismiss me! For the
-sake of Paradise Row, my lord, pray, pray, interfere on my behalf."
-Then he told the whole story about the papers, merely explaining that
-they had been torn in accident. "Sir Boreas is angry with me because
-I have thought it right to call—you know whom—by his title, and now
-I am to be dismissed just when I was about to take that beautiful and
-accomplished young lady to the hymeneal altar. Only think if you and
-Miss Fay was to be divided in the same way!"</p>
-
-<p>With much lengthened explanation, which was, however, altogether
-ineffectual, Lord Hampstead had to make his visitor understand that
-there was no ground on which he could even justify a request. "But a
-letter! You could write a letter. A letter from your lordship would
-do so much." Lord Hampstead shook his head. "If you were just to say
-that you had known me intimately down in Cumberland! Of course I am
-not taking upon myself to say it was so,—but to save a poor fellow
-on the eve of his marriage!"</p>
-
-<p>"I will write a letter," said Lord Hampstead, thinking of it, turning
-over in his mind his own idea of what marriage would be to him. "I
-cannot say that we have been intimate friends, because it would not
-be true."</p>
-
-<p>"No;—no; no! Of course not that."</p>
-
-<p>"But I will write a letter to Sir Boreas. I cannot conceive that it
-should have any effect. It ought to have none."</p>
-
-<p>"It will, my lord."</p>
-
-<p>"I will write, and will say that your father is connected with my
-uncle, and that your condition in regard to your marriage may perhaps
-be accepted as a ground for clemency. Good day to you." Not very
-quickly, but with profuse thanks and the shedding of some tears, poor
-Crocker took his leave. He had not been long gone before the
-following letter was
-<span class="nowrap">written;—</span><br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Sir</span>,</p>
-
-<p>Though I have not the honour of any acquaintance with you,
-I take the liberty of writing to you as to the condition
-of one of the clerks in your office. I am perfectly aware
-that should I receive a reprimand from your hands, I shall
-have deserved it by my unjustifiable interference.</p>
-
-<p>Mr. Crocker represents to me that he is to be dismissed
-because of some act of which you as his superior officer
-highly disapprove. He asks me to appeal to you on his
-behalf because we have been acquainted with each other.
-His father is agent to my uncle Lord Persiflage, and we
-have met at my uncle's house. I do not dare to put this
-forward as a plea for mercy. But I understand that Mr.
-Crocker is about to be married almost immediately, and,
-perhaps, you will feel with me that a period in a man's
-life which should beyond all others be one of
-satisfaction, of joy, and of perfect contentment, may be
-regarded with a feeling of mercy which would be
-prejudicial if used more generally.</p>
-
-<p class="ind12">Your faithful servant,</p>
-
-<p class="ind18"><span class="smallcaps">Hampstead</span>.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p>When he wrote those words as to the period of joy and satisfaction
-his own heart was sore, sore, sore almost to breaking. There could
-never be such joy, never be such satisfaction for him.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c3-15" id="c3-15"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XV.</h3>
-<h4>"DISMISSAL. B. B."<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>By return of post Lord Hampstead received the following answer to his
-<span class="nowrap">letter;—</span><br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear Lord
-Hampstead</span>,—</p>
-
-<p>Mr. Crocker's case is <span class="u">a very bad one</span>;
-but the Postmaster
-General shall see your appeal, and his lordship will, I am
-sure, sympathize with your humanity—as do I also. I
-cannot take upon myself to say what his lordship will
-think it right to do, and it will be better, therefore,
-that you should abstain for the present from communicating
-with Mr. Crocker.</p>
-
-<p class="noindent"><span class="ind6">I am,</span><br />
-<span class="ind8">Your lordship's very faithful servant,</span></p>
-
-<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">Boreas
-Bodkin</span>.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p>Any excuse was sufficient to our Æolus to save him from the horror of
-dismissing a man. He knew well that Crocker, as a public servant, was
-not worth his salt. Sir Boreas was blessed,—or cursed,—with a
-conscience, but the stings of his conscience, though they were
-painful, did not hurt him so much as those of his feelings. He had
-owned to himself on this occasion that Crocker must go. Crocker was
-in every way distasteful to him. He was not only untrustworthy and
-incapable, but audacious also, and occasionally impudent. He was a
-clerk of whom he had repeatedly said that it would be much better to
-pay him his salary and let him have perpetual leave of absence, than
-keep him even if there were no salary to be paid. Now there had come
-a case on which it was agreed by all the office that the man must go.
-Destroy a bundle of official papers! Mr. Jerningham had been heard to
-declare that the law was in fault in not having provided that a man
-should be at once sent to Newgate for doing such a thing. "The stupid
-old fool's letters weren't really worth anything," Sir Boreas had
-said, as though attempting to palliate the crime! Mr. Jerningham had
-only shaken his head. What else could he do? It was not for him to
-dispute any matter with Sir Boreas. But to his thinking the old
-gentleman's letters had become precious documents, priceless records,
-as soon as they had once been bound by the red tape of the
-Government, and enveloped by the security of an official pigeon-hole.
-To stay away without leave,—to be drunk,—to be obstinately
-idle,—to be impudent, were great official sins; but Mr. Jerningham
-was used to them, and knew that as they had often occurred before, so
-would they re-occur. Clerks are mortal men, and will be idle, will be
-reckless, will sometimes get into disreputable rows. A little added
-severity, Mr. Jerningham thought, would improve his branch of the
-department, but, knowing the nature of men, the nature especially of
-Sir Boreas, he could make excuses. Here, however, was a case in which
-no superior Civil Servant could entertain a doubt. And yet Sir Boreas
-palliated even this crime! Mr. Jerningham shook his head, and Sir
-Boreas shoved on one side, so as to avoid for a day the pain of
-thinking about them, the new bundle of papers which had already
-formed itself on the great Crocker case. If some one would tear up
-that, what a blessing it would be!</p>
-
-<p>In this way there was delay, during which Crocker was not allowed to
-show his face at the office, and during this delay Clara Demijohn
-became quite confirmed in her determination to throw over her
-engagement. Tribbledale with his £120 would be much better than
-Crocker with nothing. And then it was agreed generally in Paradise
-Row that there was something romantic in Tribbledale's constancy.
-Tribbledale was in the Row every day,—or perhaps rather every
-night;—seeking counsel from Mrs. Grimley, and comforting himself
-with hot gin-and-water. Mrs. Grimley was good-natured, and impartial
-to both the young men. She liked customers, and she liked marriages
-generally. "If he ain't got no income of course he's out of the
-running," Mrs. Grimley said to Tribbledale, greatly comforting the
-young man's heart. "You go in and win," said Mrs. Grimley, indicating
-by that her opinion that the ardent suitor would probably be
-successful if he urged his love at the present moment. "Strike while
-the iron is hot," she said, alluding probably to the heat to which
-Clara's anger would be warmed by the feeling that the other lover had
-lost his situation just when he was most bound to be careful in
-maintaining it.</p>
-
-<p>Tribbledale went in and pleaded his case. It is probable that just at
-this time Clara herself was made acquainted with Tribbledale's
-frequent visits to The Duchess, and though she may not have been
-pleased with the special rendezvous selected, she was gratified by
-the devotion shown. When Mrs. Grimley advised Tribbledale to "go in
-and win," she was, perhaps, in Clara's confidence. When a girl has
-told all her friends that she is going to be married, and has already
-expended a considerable portion of the sum of money allowed for her
-wedding garments, she cannot sink back into the simple position of an
-unengaged young woman without pangs of conscience and qualms of
-remorse. Paradise Row knew that her young man was to be dismissed
-from his office, and condoled with her frequently and most
-unpleasantly. Mrs. Duffer was so unbearable in the matter that the
-two ladies had quarrelled dreadfully. Clara from the first moment of
-her engagement with Crocker had been proud of the second string to
-her bow, and now perceived that the time had come in which it might
-be conveniently used.</p>
-
-<p>It was near eleven when Tribbledale knocked at the door of No. 10,
-but nevertheless Clara was up, as was also the servant girl, who
-opened the door for the sake of discretion. "Oh, Daniel, what hours
-you do keep!" said Clara, when the young gentleman was shown into the
-parlour. "What on earth brings you here at such a time as this?"</p>
-
-<p>Tribbledale was never slow to declare that he was brought thither by
-the overwhelming ardour of his passion. His love for Clara was so old
-a story, and had been told so often, that the repeating of it
-required no circumlocution. Had he chanced to meet her in the High
-Street on a Sunday morning, he would have begun with it at once.
-"Clara," he said, "will you have me? I know that that other scoundrel
-is a ruined man."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, Daniel, you shouldn't hit those as are down."</p>
-
-<p>"Hasn't he been hitting me all the time that I was down? Hasn't he
-triumphed? Haven't you been in his arms?"</p>
-
-<p>"Laws; no."</p>
-
-<p>"And wasn't that hitting me when I was down, do you think?"</p>
-
-<p>"It never did you any harm."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, Clara;—if you knew the nature of my love you'd understand the
-harm. Every time he has pressed your lips I have heard it, though I
-was in King's Head Court all the time."</p>
-
-<p>"That must be a crammer, Daniel."</p>
-
-<p>"I did;—not with the ears of my head, but with the fibres of my
-breast."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh;—ah. But, Daniel, you and Sam used to be such friends at the
-first go off."</p>
-
-<p>"Go off of what?"</p>
-
-<p>"When he first took to coming after me. You remember the tea-party,
-when Marion Fay was here."</p>
-
-<p>"I tried it on just then;—I did. I thought that, maybe, I might come
-not to care about it so much."</p>
-
-<p>"I'm sure you acted it very well."</p>
-
-<p>"And I thought that perhaps it might be the best way of touching that
-cold heart of yours."</p>
-
-<p>"Cold! I don't know as my heart is colder than anybody else's heart."</p>
-
-<p>"Would that you would make it warm once more for me."</p>
-
-<p>"Poor Sam!" said Clara, putting her handkerchief up to her eyes.</p>
-
-<p>"Why is he any poorer than me? I was first. At any rate I was before
-him."</p>
-
-<p>"I don't know anything about firsts or lasts," said Clara, as the
-ghosts of various Banquos flitted before her eyes.</p>
-
-<p>"And as for him, what right has he to think of any girl? He's a poor
-mean creature, without the means of getting so much as a bed for a
-wife to lie on. He used to talk so proud of Her Majesty's Civil
-Service. Her Majesty's Civil Service has sent him away packing."</p>
-
-<p>"Not yet, Daniel."</p>
-
-<p>"They have. I've made it my business to find out, and Sir Boreas
-Bodkin has written the order to-day. 'Dismissal—B. B.' I know those
-who have seen the very words written in the punishment book of the
-Post Office."</p>
-
-<p>"Poor Sam!"</p>
-
-<p>"Destroying papers of the utmost importance about Her Majesty's Mail
-Service! What else was he to expect? And now he's penniless."</p>
-
-<p>"A hundred and twenty isn't so very much, Daniel."</p>
-
-<p>"Mr. Fay was saying only the other day that if I was married and
-settled they'd make it better for me."</p>
-
-<p>"You're too fond of The Duchess, Daniel."</p>
-
-<p>"No, Clara—no; I deny that. You ask Mrs. Grimley why it is I come to
-The Duchess so often. It isn't for anything that I take there."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh; I didn't know. Young men when they frequent those places
-generally do take something."</p>
-
-<p>"If I had a little home of my own with the girl I love on the other
-side of the fireplace, and perhaps a baby in her
-<span class="nowrap">arms—"</span> Tribbledale
-as he said this looked at her with all his eyes.</p>
-
-<p>"Laws, Daniel; what things you do say!"</p>
-
-<p>"I should never go then to any Duchess, or any Marquess of Granby, or
-to any Angel." These were public-houses so named, all standing thick
-together in the neighbourhood of Paradise Row. "I should not want to
-go anywhere then,—except where that young woman and that baby were
-to be found."</p>
-
-<p>"Daniel, you was always fine at poetry."</p>
-
-<p>"Try me, if it isn't real prose. The proof of the pudding's in the
-eating. You come and try." By this time Clara was in his arms, and
-the re-engagement was as good as made. Crocker was no doubt
-dismissed,—or if not dismissed had shown himself to be unworthy.
-What could be expected of a husband who could tear up a bundle of Her
-Majesty's Mail papers? And then Daniel Tribbledale had exhibited a
-romantic constancy which certainly deserved to be rewarded. Clara
-understood that the gin-and-water had been consumed night after night
-for her sake. And there were the lodgings and the clock and the
-harmonium ready for the occasion. "I suppose it had better be so,
-Daniel, as you wish it so much."</p>
-
-<p>"Wish it! I have always wished it. I wouldn't change places now with
-Mr. Pogson himself."</p>
-
-<p>"He married his third wife three years ago!"</p>
-
-<p>"I mean in regard to the whole box and dice of it. I'd rather have my
-Clara with £120, than be Pogson and Littlebird with all the profits."
-This gratifying assurance was rewarded, and then, considerably after
-midnight, the triumphant lover took his leave.</p>
-
-<p>Early on the following afternoon Crocker was in Paradise Row. He had
-been again with Lord Hampstead, and had succeeded in worming out of
-the good-natured nobleman something of the information contained in
-the letter from Sir Boreas. The matter was to be left to the
-Postmaster-General. Now there was an idea in the office that when a
-case was left to his lordship, his lordship never proceeded to
-extremities. Kings are bound to pardon if they allow themselves to be
-personally concerned as to punishment. There was something of the
-same feeling in regard to official discipline. As a fact the letter
-from Sir Boreas had been altogether false. He had known, poor man,
-that he must at last take the duty of deciding upon himself, and had
-used the name of the great chief simply as a mode of escape for the
-moment. But Crocker had felt that the mere statement indicated
-pardon. The very delay indicated pardon. Relying upon these
-indications he went to Paradise Row, dressed in his best frock coat,
-with gloves in his hand, to declare to his love that the lodgings
-need not be abandoned, and that the clock and harmonium might be
-preserved.</p>
-
-<p>"But you've been dismissed!" said Clara.</p>
-
-<p>"Never! never!"</p>
-
-<p>"It has been written in the book! 'Dismissal—B. B.!' I know the eyes
-that have seen it."</p>
-
-<p>"That's not the way they do it at all," said Crocker, who was
-altogether confused.</p>
-
-<p>"It has been written in the book, Sam; and I know that they never go
-back from that."</p>
-
-<p>"Who wrote it? Nothing has been written. There isn't a book;—not at
-least like that. Tribbledale has invented it."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, Sam, why did you tear those papers;—Her Majesty's Mail papers?
-What else was there to expect? 'Dismissal—B. B.;' Why did you do
-it,—and you engaged to a young woman? No;—don't come nigh to me.
-How is a young woman to go and get herself married to a young man,
-and he with nothing to support her? It isn't to be thought of. When I
-heard those words, 'Dismissal—B. B.,' I thought my very heart would
-sink within me."</p>
-
-<p>"It's nothing of the kind," said Crocker.</p>
-
-<p>"What's nothing of the kind?"</p>
-
-<p>"I ain't dismissed at all."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, Sam; how dare you?"</p>
-
-<p>"I tell you I ain't. He's written a letter to Lord Hampstead, who has
-always been my friend. Hampstead wasn't going to see me treated after
-that fashion. Hampstead wrote, and then Æolus wrote,—that's Sir
-Boreas,—and I've seen the letter,—that is, Hampstead told me what
-there is in it; and I ain't to be dismissed at all. When I heard the
-good news the first thing I did was to come as fast as my legs would
-carry me, and tell the girl of my heart."</p>
-
-<p>Clara did not quite believe him; but then neither had she quite
-believed Tribbledale, when he had announced the dismissal with the
-terrible corroboration of the great man's initials. But the crime
-committed seemed to her to be so great that she could not understand
-that Crocker should be allowed to remain after the perpetration of
-it. Crocker's salary was £150; and, balancing the two young men
-together as she had often done, though she liked the poetry of
-Tribbledale, she did on the whole prefer the swagger and audacity of
-Crocker. Her Majesty's Civil Service, too, had its charms for her.
-The Post Office was altogether superior to Pogson and Littlebird's.
-Pogson and Littlebird's hours were 9 to 5. Those of Her Majesty's
-Service were much more genteel;—10 namely to 4. But what might not a
-man do who had shown the nature of his disposition by tearing up
-official papers? And then, though the accidents of the occasion had
-enveloped her in difficulties on both sides, it seemed to her that,
-at the present moment, the lesser difficulties would be encountered
-by adhering to Tribbledale. She could excuse herself with Crocker.
-Paradise Row had already declared that the match with Crocker must be
-broken off. Crocker had indeed been told that the match was to be
-broken off. When Tribbledale had come to her overnight she had felt
-herself to be a free woman. When she had given way to the voice of
-the charmer, when she had sunk into his arms, softened by that
-domestic picture which he had painted, no pricks of conscience had
-disturbed her happiness. Whether the "Dismissal—B. B." had or had
-not yet been written, it was sure to come. She was as free to "wed
-another" as was Venice when her Doge was deposed. She could throw
-herself back upon the iniquity of the torn papers were Crocker to
-complain. But should she now return to her Crocker, how could she
-excuse herself with Tribbledale? "It is all over between you and me,
-Sam," she said with her handkerchief up to her eyes.</p>
-
-<p>"All over! Why should it be all over?"</p>
-
-<p>"You was told it was all over."</p>
-
-<p>"That was when all the Row said that I was to be dismissed. There was
-something in it,—then; though, perhaps, a girl might have waited
-till a fellow had got up upon his legs again."</p>
-
-<p>"Waiting ain't so pleasant, Mr. Crocker, when a girl has to look
-after herself."</p>
-
-<p>"But I ain't dismissed at all, and there needn't be any waiting. I
-thought that you would be suffering as well as me, and so I came
-right away to you, all at once."</p>
-
-<p>"So I have suffered, Sam. No one knows what I have suffered."</p>
-
-<p>"But it'll come all right now?" Clara shook her head. "You don't mean
-that Tribbledale's been and talked you over already?"</p>
-
-<p>"I knew Mr. Tribbledale before ever I saw you, Sam."</p>
-
-<p>"How often have I heard you call him a poor mean skunk?"</p>
-
-<p>"Never, Crocker; never. Such a word never passed my lips."</p>
-
-<p>"Something very like it then."</p>
-
-<p>"I may have said he wanted sperrit. I may have said so, though I
-disremember it. But if I did,—what of that?"</p>
-
-<p>"You despised him."</p>
-
-<p>"No, Crocker. What I despise is a man as goes and tears up Her
-Majesty's Mail papers. Tribbledale never tore up anything at Pogson
-and Littlebird's,—except what was to be tore. Tribbledale was never
-turned out for nigh a fortnight, so that he couldn't go and show his
-face in King's Head Court. Tribbledale never made hisself hated by
-everybody." That unknown abominable word which Crocker had put into
-her mouth had roused all the woman within her, so that she was
-enabled to fight her battle with a courage which would not have come
-to her aid had he been more prudent.</p>
-
-<p>"Who hates me?"</p>
-
-<p>"Mr. Jerningham does, and Roden, and Sir Boreas, and Bobbin." She had
-learned all their names. "How can they help hating a man that tears
-up the mail papers! And I hate you."</p>
-
-<p>"Clara!"</p>
-
-<p>"I do. What business had you to say I used that nasty word? I never
-do use them words. I wouldn't even so much as look at a man who'd
-demean himself to put such words as them into my mouth. So I tell you
-what it is, Mr. Crocker; you may just go away. I am going to become
-Daniel Tribbledale's wife, and it isn't becoming in you to stand here
-talking to a young woman that is engaged to another young man."</p>
-
-<p>"And this is to be the end of it?"</p>
-
-<p>"If you please, Mr. Crocker."</p>
-
-<p>"Well!"</p>
-
-<p>"If ever you feel inclined to speak your mind to another young woman,
-and you carry it as far as we did, and you wishes to hold on to her,
-don't you go and tear Her Majesty's Mail papers. And when she tells
-you a bit of her mind, as I did just now, don't you go and put nasty
-words into her mouth. Now, if you please, you may just as well send
-over that clock and that harmonium to Daniel Tribbledale, Esq.,
-King's Head Court, Great Broad Street." So saying she left him, and
-congratulated herself on having terminated the interview without much
-unpleasantness.</p>
-
-<p>Crocker, as he shook the dust off his feet upon leaving Paradise Row,
-began to ask himself whether he might not upon the whole congratulate
-himself as to the end to which that piece of business had been
-brought. When he had first resolved to offer his hand to the young
-lady, he had certainly imagined that that hand would not be empty.
-Clara was no doubt "a fine girl," but not quite so young as she was
-once. And she had a temper of her own. Matrimony, too, was often
-followed by many troubles. Paradise Row would no doubt utter jeers,
-but he need not go there to hear them. He was not quite sure but that
-the tearing of the papers would in the long run be beneficial to him.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c3-16" id="c3-16"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XVI.</h3>
-<h4>PEGWELL BAY.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>July had come and nearly gone before Lord Hampstead again saw Marion
-Fay. He had promised not to go to Pegwell Bay,—hardly understanding
-why such a promise had been exacted from him, but still acceding to
-it when it had been suggested to him by Mrs. Roden, at the request,
-as she said, of the Quaker. It was understood that Marion would soon
-return to Holloway, and that on that account the serenity of Pegwell
-Bay need not be disturbed by the coming of so great a man as Lord
-Hampstead. Hampstead had of course ridiculed the reason, but had
-complied with the request,—with the promise, however, that Marion
-should return early in the summer. But the summer weeks had passed
-by, and Marion did not return.</p>
-
-<p>Letters passed between them daily in which Marion attempted always to
-be cheerful. Though she had as yet invented no familiar name for her
-noble lover, yet she had grown into familiarity with him, and was no
-longer afraid of his nobility. "You oughtn't to stay there," she
-said, "wasting your life and doing nothing, because of a sick girl.
-You've got your yacht, and are letting all the summer weather go by."
-In answer to this he wrote to her, saying that he had sold his yacht.
-"Could you have gone with me, I would have kept it," he wrote. "Would
-you go with me I would have another ready for you, before you would
-be ready. I will make no assurance as to my future life. I cannot
-even guess what may become of me. It may be that I shall come to live
-on board some ship so that I may be all alone. But with my heart as
-it is now I cannot bear the references which others make to me about
-empty pleasures." At the same time he sold his horses, but he said
-nothing to her as to that.</p>
-
-<p>Gradually he did acknowledge to himself that it was her doom to die
-early,—almost acknowledged to himself that she was dying.
-Nevertheless he still thought that it would have been fit that they
-should be married. "If I knew that she were my own even on her
-deathbed," he once said to Mrs. Roden, "there would be a comfort to
-me in it." He was so eager in this that Mrs. Roden was almost
-convinced. The Quaker was willing that it should be so,—but willing
-also that it should not be so. He would not even try to persuade his
-girl as to anything. It was his doom to see her go, and he, having
-realized that, could not bring himself to use a word in opposition to
-her word. But Marion herself was sternly determined against the
-suggestion. It was unfitting, she said, and would be wicked. It was
-not the meaning of marriage. She could not bring herself to disturb
-the last thoughts of her life, not only by the empty assumption of a
-grand name, but by the sounding of that name in her ears from the
-eager lips of those around her. "I will be your love to the end," she
-said, "your own Marion. But I will not be made a Countess, only in
-order that a vain name may be carved over my grave." "God has
-provided a bitter cup for your lips, my love," she wrote again, "in
-having put it into your head to love one whom you must lose so soon.
-And mine is bitter because yours is bitter. But we cannot rid
-ourselves of the bitterness by pretences. Would it make your heart
-light to see me dressed up for a bridal ceremony, knowing, as you
-would know, that it was all for nothing? My lord, my love, let us
-take it as God has provided it. It is only because you grieve that I
-grieve;—for you and my poor father. If you could only bring yourself
-to be reconciled, then it would be so much to me to have had you to
-love me in my last moments,—to love me and to be loved."</p>
-
-<p>He could not but accept her decision. Her father and Mrs. Roden
-accepted it, and he was forced to do so also. He acknowledged to
-himself now that there was no appeal from it. Her very weakness gave
-her a strength which dominated him. There was an end of all his
-arguments and his strong phrases. He was aware that they had been of
-no service to him,—that her soft words had been stronger than all
-his reasonings. But not on that account did he cease to wish that it
-might be as he had once wished, since he had first acknowledged to
-himself his love. "Of course I will not drive her," he said to Mrs.
-Roden, when that lady urged upon him the propriety of abstaining from
-a renewal of his request. "Had I any power of driving her, as you
-say, I would not do so. I think it would be better. That is all. Of
-course it must be as she shall decide."</p>
-
-<p>"It would be a comfort to her to think that you and she thought alike
-about all things," said Mrs. Roden.</p>
-
-<p>"There are points on which I cannot alter my convictions even for her
-comfort," he answered. "She bids me love some other woman. Can I
-comfort her by doing that? She bids me seek another wife. Can I do
-that;—or say that I will do it at some future time? It would comfort
-her to know that I have no wound,—that I am not lame and sick and
-sore and weary. It would comfort her to know that my heart is not
-broken. How am I to do that for her?"</p>
-
-<p>"No;"—said Mrs. Roden—"no."</p>
-
-<p>"There is no comfort. Her imagination paints for her some future
-bliss, which shall not be so far away as to be made dim by
-distance,—in enjoying which we two shall be together, as we are
-here, with our hands free to grasp each other, and our lips free to
-kiss;—a heaven, but still a heaven of this world, in which we can
-hang upon each other's necks and be warm to each other's hearts. That
-is to be, to her, the reward of her innocence, and in the ecstacy of
-her faith she believes in it, as though it were here. I do think,—I
-do think,—that if I told her that it should be so, that I trusted to
-renew my gaze upon her beauty after a few short years, then she would
-be happy entirely. It would be for an eternity, and without the fear
-of separation."</p>
-
-<p>"Then why not profess as she does?"</p>
-
-<p>"A lie? As I know her truth when she tells me her creed, so would she
-know my falsehood, and the lie would be vain."</p>
-
-<p>"Is there then to be no future world, Lord Hampstead?"</p>
-
-<p>"Who has said so? Certainly not I. I cannot conceive that I shall
-perish altogether. I do not think that if, while I am here, I can
-tame the selfishness of self, I shall reach a step upwards in that
-world which shall come next after this. As to happiness, I do not
-venture to think much of it. If I can only be somewhat
-nobler,—somewhat more like the Christ whom we worship,—that will be
-enough without happiness. If there be truth in this story, He was not
-happy. Why should I look for happiness,—unless it be when the
-struggle of many worlds shall have altogether purified my spirit? But
-thinking like that,—believing like that,—how can I enter into the
-sweet Epicurean Paradise which that child has prepared for herself?"</p>
-
-<p>"Is it no better than that?"</p>
-
-<p>"What can be better, what can be purer,—if only it be true? And
-though it be false to me, it may be true to her. It is for my sake
-that she dreams of her Paradise,—that my wounds may be made whole,
-that my heart may be cured. Christ's lesson has been so learned by
-her that no further learning seems necessary. I fancy sometimes that
-I can see the platform raised just one step above the ground on which
-I stand,—and look into the higher world to which I am ascending. It
-may be that it is given to her to look up the one rung of the ladder
-by mounting which she shall find herself enveloped in the full glory
-of perfection."</p>
-
-<p>In conversations such as these Mrs. Roden was confounded by the depth
-of the man's love. It became impossible to bid him not be of a broken
-heart, or even to allude to those fresh hopes which Time would bring.
-He spoke to her often of his future life, always speaking of a life
-from which Marion would have been withdrawn by death, and did so with
-a cold, passionless assurance which showed her that he had almost
-resolved as to the future. He would see all lands that were to be
-seen, and converse with all people. The social condition of God's
-creatures at large should be his study. The task would be endless,
-and, as he said, an endless task hardly admits of absolute misery.
-"If I die there will be an end of it. If I live till old age shall
-have made me powerless to carry on my work, time will then probably
-have done something to dim the feeling." "I think," he said
-again;—"I feel that could I but remember her as my
-<span class="nowrap">wife—"</span></p>
-
-<p>"It is impossible," said Mrs. Roden.</p>
-
-<p>"But if it were so! It would be no more than a thin threadbare cloak
-over a woman's shivering shoulders. It is not much against the cold;
-but it would be very cruel to take that little from her." She looked
-at him with her eyes flooded with tears, but she could only shake her
-head in sign that it was impossible.</p>
-
-<p>At last, just at the end of July, there came a request that he would
-go down to Pegwell Bay. "It is so long since we have seen each
-other," she wrote, "and, perhaps, it is better that you should come
-than that I should go. The doctor is fidgety, and says so. But my
-darling will be good to me;—will he not? When I have seen a tear in
-your eyes it has gone near to crush me. That a woman, or even a man,
-should weep at some unexpected tidings of woe is natural. But who
-cries for spilt milk? Tell me that God's hand, though it be heavy to
-you, shall be borne with reverence and obedience and love."</p>
-
-<p>He did not tell her this, but he resolved that if possible she should
-see no tears. As for that cheerfulness, that reconciliation to his
-fate which she desired, he knew it to be impossible. He almost
-brought himself to believe as he travelled down to Pegwell Bay that
-it would be better that they should not meet. To thank the Lord for
-all His mercies was in her mind. To complain with all the bitterness
-of his heart of the cruelty with which he was treated was in his. He
-had told Mrs. Roden that according to his creed there would be a
-better world to come for him if he could succeed in taming the
-selfishness of self. But he told himself now that the struggle to do
-so had hitherto been vain. There had been but the one thing which had
-ever been to him supremely desirable. He had gone through the years
-of his early life forming some Utopian ideas,—dreaming of some
-perfection in politics, in philanthropy, in social reform, and the
-like,—something by devoting himself to which he could make his life
-a joy to himself. Then this girl had come across him, and there had
-suddenly sprung up within him a love so strong that all these other
-things faded into littlenesses. They should not be discarded. Work
-would be wanted for his life, and for hers. But here he had found the
-true salt by which all his work would be vivified and preserved and
-made holy and happy and glorious. There had come a something to him
-that was all that he wanted it to be. And now the something was
-fading from him,—was already all but gone. In such a state how
-should he tame the selfishness of self? He abandoned the attempt, and
-told himself that difficulties had been prepared for him greater than
-any of which he had dreamed when he had hoped that that taming might
-be within his power. He could not even spare her in his selfishness.
-He declared to himself that it was so, and almost owned that it would
-be better that he should not go to her.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes," she said, when he sat down beside her on her sofa, at an open
-window looking out on the little bay, "put your hand on mine, dear,
-and leave it there. To have you with me, to feel the little breeze,
-and to see you and to touch you is absolute happiness."</p>
-
-<p>"Why did you so often tell me not to come?"</p>
-
-<p>"Ah, why? But I know why it was, my lord." There was something half
-of tenderness, half pleasantry in the mode of address, and now he had
-ceased to rebel against it.</p>
-
-<p>"Why should I not come if it be a joy to you?"</p>
-
-<p>"You must not be angry now."</p>
-
-<p>"Certainly not angry."</p>
-
-<p>"We have got through all that,—you and I have for ourselves;—but
-there is a sort of unseemliness in your coming down here to see a
-poor Quaker's daughter."</p>
-
-<p>"Marion!"</p>
-
-<p>"But there is. We had got through all that in Paradise Row. Paradise
-Row had become used to you, and I could bear it. But here— They will
-all be sure to know who you are."</p>
-
-<p>"Who cares?"</p>
-
-<p>"That Marion Fay should have a lover would of itself make a stir in
-this little place;—but that she should have a lord for her lover!
-One doesn't want to be looked at as a miracle."</p>
-
-<p>"The follies of others should not ruffle you and me."</p>
-
-<p>"That's very well, dear;—but what if one is ruffled? But I won't be
-ruffled, and you shall come. When I thought that I should go again to
-our own house, then I thought we might perhaps dispense with the
-ruffling;—that was all."</p>
-
-<p>There was a something in these words which he could not stand,—which
-he could not bear and repress that tear which, as she had said, would
-go near to crush her if she saw it. Had she not plainly intimated her
-conviction that she would never again return to her old home? Here,
-here in this very spot, the doom was to come, and to come quickly. He
-got up and walked across the room, and stood a little behind her,
-where she could not see his face.</p>
-
-<p>"Do not leave me," she said. "I told you to stay and let your hand
-rest on mine." Then he returned, and laying his hand once again upon
-her lap turned his face away from her. "Bear it," she said. "Bear
-it." His hand quivered where it lay as he shook his head. "Call upon
-your courage and bear it."</p>
-
-<p>"I cannot bear it," he said, rising suddenly from his chair, and
-hurrying out of the room. He went out of the room and from the house,
-on to the little terrace which ran in front of the sea. But his
-escape was of no use to him; he could not leave her. He had come out
-without his hat, and he could not stand there in the sun to be stared
-at. "I am a coward," he said, going back to her and resuming his
-chair. "I own it. Let there be no more said about it. When a trouble
-comes to me, it conquers me. Little troubles I think I could bear. If
-it had been all else in all the world,—if it had been my life before
-my life was your life, I think that no one would have seen me blench.
-But now I find that when I am really tried, I fail."</p>
-
-<p>"It is in God's hands, dearest."</p>
-
-<p>"Yes;—it is in God's hands. There is some power, no doubt, that
-makes you strong in spirit, but frail in body; while I am strong to
-live but weak of heart. But how will that help me?"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, Lord Hampstead, I do so wish you had never seen me."</p>
-
-<p>"You should not say that, Marion; you shall not think it. I am
-ungrateful; because, were it given me to have it all back again, I
-would not sell what I have had of you, though the possession has been
-so limited, for all other imaginable treasures. I will bear it. Oh,
-my love, I will bear it. Do not say again that you wish you had not
-seen me."</p>
-
-<p>"For myself, dear,—for myself—"</p>
-
-<p>"Do not say it for me. I will struggle to make a joy of it, a joy in
-some degree, though my heart bleeds at the widowhood that is coming
-on it. I will build up for myself a memory in which there shall be
-much to satisfy me. I shall have been loved by her to have possessed
-whose love has been and shall be a glory to me."</p>
-
-<p>"Loved indeed, my darling."</p>
-
-<p>"Though there might have been such a heaven of joy, even that shall
-be counted as much. It shall be to me during my future life as though
-when wandering through the green fields in some long-past day, I had
-met a bright angel from another world; and the angel had stopped to
-speak to me, and had surrounded me with her glorious wings, and had
-given me of her heavenly light, and had spoken to me with the music
-of the spheres, and I had thought that she would stay with me for
-ever. But there had come a noise of the drums and a sound of the
-trumpets, and she had flown away from me up to her own abode. To have
-been so favoured, though it had been but for an hour, should suffice
-for a man's life. I will bear it, though it be in solitude."</p>
-
-<p>"No, darling; not in solitude."</p>
-
-<p>"It will be best so for me. The light and the music and the azure of
-the wings will so remain with me the purer and the brighter. Oh,—if
-it had been! But I will bear it. No ear shall again hear a sound of
-complaint. Not yours even, my darling, my own, mine for so short a
-time, but yet my very own for ever and ever." Then he fell on his
-knees beside her, and hid his face in her dress, while the fingers of
-both her hands rambled through his hair. "You are going," he said,
-when he rose up to his feet, "you are going whither I cannot go."</p>
-
-<p>"You will come; you will come to me."</p>
-
-<p>"You are going now, now soon, and I doubt not that you are going to
-joys inexpressible. I cannot go till some chance may take me. If it
-be given to you in that further world to see those and to think of
-those whom you have left below, then, if my heart be true to your
-heart, keep your heart true to mine. If I can fancy that, if I can
-believe that it is so, then shall I have that angel with me, and
-though my eyes may not see the tints, my ears will hear the
-music;—and though the glory be not palpable as is the light of
-heaven, there will be an inner glory in which my soul will be
-sanctified." After that there were not many words spoken between
-them, though he remained there till he was disturbed by the Quaker's
-coming. Part of the time she slept with her hand in his, and when
-awake she was contented to feel his touch as he folded the scarf
-close round her neck and straightened the shawl which lay across her
-feet, and now and again stroked her hair and put it back behind her
-ears as it strayed upon her forehead. Ever and again she would murmur
-a word or two of love as she revelled in the perception of his
-solicitude. What was there for her to regret, for her to whom was
-given the luxury of such love? Was not a month of it more than a
-whole life without it? Then, when the father came, Hampstead took his
-leave. As he kissed her lips, something seemed to tell him that it
-would be for the last time. It was not good, the Quaker had said,
-that she should be disturbed. Yes; he could come again; but not quite
-yet.</p>
-
-<p>At the very moment when the Quaker so spoke she was pressing her lips
-to his. "God keep you and take you, my darling," she whispered to
-him, "and bring you to me in heaven." She noticed not at all at the
-moment the warm tears that were running on to her own face; nor did
-the Quaker seem to notice it when Lord Hampstead left the house
-without saying to him a word of farewell.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c3-17" id="c3-17"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XVII.</h3>
-<h4>LADY AMALDINA'S WEDDING.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>The time came round for Lady Amaldina's marriage, than which nothing
-more august, nothing more aristocratic, nothing more truly savouring
-of the hymeneal altar, had ever been known or was ever to be known in
-the neighbourhood of Hanover Square. For it was at last decided that
-the marriage should take place in London before any of the
-aristocratic assistants at the ceremony should have been whirled away
-into autumnal spaces. Lord Llwddythlw himself knew but very little
-about it,—except this, that nothing would induce him so to hurry on
-the ceremony as to interfere with his Parliamentary duties. A day in
-August had been mentioned in special reference to Parliament. He was
-willing to abide by that, or to go to the sacrifice at any earlier
-day of which Parliament would admit. Parliament was to sit for the
-last time on Wednesday, 12th August, and the marriage was fixed for
-the 13th. Lady Amaldina had prayed for the concession of a week.
-Readers will not imagine that she based her prayers on the impatience
-of love. Nor could a week be of much significance in reference to
-that protracted and dangerous delay to which the match had certainly
-been subjected. But the bevy might escape. How were twenty young
-ladies to be kept together in the month of August when all the young
-men were rushing off to Scotland? Others were not wedded to their
-duties as was Lord Llwddythlw. Lady Amaldina knew well how completely
-Parliament became a mere affair of Governmental necessities during
-the first weeks of August. "I should have thought that just on this
-one occasion you might have managed it," she said to him, trying to
-mingle a tone of love with the sarcasm which at such a crisis was
-natural to her. He simply reminded her of the promise which he had
-made to her in the spring. He thought it best not to break through
-arrangements which had been fixed. When she told him of one very
-slippery member of the bevy,—slippery, not as to character, but in
-reference to the movements of her family,—he suggested that no one
-would know the difference if only nineteen were to be clustered round
-the bride's train. "Don't you know that they must be in pairs?" "Will
-not nine pairs suffice?" he asked. "And thus make one of them an
-enemy for ever by telling her that I wish to dispense with her
-services!"</p>
-
-<p>But it was of no use. "Dispense with them altogether," he said,
-looking her full in the face. "The twenty will not quarrel with you.
-My object is to marry you, and I don't care twopence for the
-bridesmaids." There was something so near to a compliment in this,
-that she was obliged to accept it. And she had, too, begun to
-perceive that Lord Llwddythlw was a man not easily made to change his
-mind. She was quite prepared for this in reference to her future
-life. A woman, she thought, might be saved much trouble by having a
-husband whom she was bound to obey. But in this matter of her
-marriage ceremony,—this last affair in which she might be presumed
-to act as a free woman,—she did think it hard that she might not be
-allowed to have her own way. The bridegroom, however, was firm. If
-Thursday, the 13th, did not suit her, he would be quite ready on
-Thursday, the 20th. "There wouldn't be one of them left in London,"
-said Lady Amaldina. "What on earth do you think that they are to do
-with themselves?"</p>
-
-<p>But all the bevy were true to her. Lady Amelia Beaudesert was a
-difficulty. Her mother insisted on going to a far-away Bavarian lake
-on which she had a villa;—but Lady Amelia at the last moment
-surrendered the villa rather than break up the bevy, and consented to
-remain with a grumpy old aunt in Essex till an opportunity should
-offer. It may be presumed, therefore, that it was taken to be a great
-thing to be one of the bevy. It is, no doubt, a pleasant thing for a
-girl to have it asserted in all the newspapers that she is, by
-acknowledgment, one of the twenty most beautiful unmarried ladies in
-Great Britain.</p>
-
-<p>Lady Frances was of course one of the bevy. But there was a member of
-the family,—a connection rather,—whom no eloquence could induce to
-show himself either in the church or at the breakfast. This was Lord
-Hampstead. His sister came to him and assured him that he ought to be
-there. "Sorrows," she said, "that have declared themselves before the
-world are held as sufficient excuse; but a man should not be hindered
-from his duties by secret grief."</p>
-
-<p>"I make no secret of it. I do not talk about my private affairs. I do
-not send a town-crier to Charing Cross to tell the passers-by that I
-am in trouble. But I care not whether men know or not that I am
-unfitted for joining in such festivities. My presence is not wanted
-for their marriage."</p>
-
-<p>"It will be odd."</p>
-
-<p>"Let it be odd. I most certainly shall not be there." But he
-remembered the occasion, and showed that he did so by sending to the
-bride the handsomest of all the gems which graced her exhibition of
-presents, short of the tremendous set of diamonds which had come from
-the Duke of Merioneth.</p>
-
-<p>This collection was supposed to be the most gorgeous thing that had
-ever as yet been arranged in London. It would certainly not be too
-much to say that the wealth of precious toys brought together would,
-if sold at its cost price, have made an ample fortune for a young
-newly-married couple. The families were noble and wealthy, and the
-richness of the wedding presents was natural. It might perhaps have
-been better had not the value of the whole been stated in one of the
-newspapers of the day. Who was responsible for the valuation was
-never known, but it seemed to indicate that the costliness of the
-gifts was more thought of than the affection of the givers; and it
-was undoubtedly true that, in high circles and among the clubs, the
-cost of the collection was much discussed. The diamonds were known to
-a stone, and Hampstead's rubies were spoken of almost as freely as
-though they were being exhibited in public. Lord Llwddythlw when he
-heard of all this muttered to his maiden sister a wish that a gnome
-would come in the night and run away with everything. He felt himself
-degraded by the publicity given to his future wife's ornaments. But
-the gnome did not come, and the young men from Messrs. Bijou and
-Carcanet were allowed to arrange the tables and shelves for the
-exhibition.</p>
-
-<p>The breakfast was to take place at the Foreign Office, at which the
-bride's father was for the time being the chief occupant. Lord
-Persiflage had not at first been willing that it should be so,
-thinking that his own more modest house might suffice for the
-marriage of his own daughter. But grander counsels had been allowed
-to prevail. With whom the idea first arose Lord Persiflage never
-knew. It might probably have been with some of the bevy, who had felt
-that an ordinary drawing-room would hardly suffice for so magnificent
-an array of toilets. Perhaps the thought had first occurred to
-Messrs. Bijou and Carcanet, who had foreseen the glory of spreading
-out all that wealth in the magnificent saloon intended for the
-welcoming of ambassadors. But it travelled from Lady Amaldina to her
-mother, and was passed on from Lady Persiflage to her husband. "Of
-course the Ambassadors will all be there," the Countess had said,
-"and, therefore, it will be a public occasion." "I wish we could be
-married at Llanfihangel," Lord Llwddythlw said to his bride. Now
-Llanfihangel church was a very small edifice, with a thatched roof,
-among the mountains in North Wales, with which Lady Amaldina had been
-made acquainted when visiting the Duchess, her future mother-in-law.
-But Llwddythlw was not to have his way in everything, and the
-preparations at the Foreign Office were continued.</p>
-
-<p>The beautifully embossed invitations were sent about among a large
-circle of noble and aristocratic friends. All the Ambassadors and all
-the Ministers, with all their wives and daughters, were, of course,
-asked. As the breakfast was to be given in the great Banqueting Hall
-at the Foreign Office it was necessary that the guests should be
-many. It is sometimes well in a matter of festivals to be saved from
-extravagance by the modest size of one's rooms. Lord Persiflage told
-his wife that his daughter's marriage would ruin him. In answer to
-this she reminded him that Llwddythlw had asked for no fortune. Lord
-Llwddythlw was one of those men who prefer giving to taking. He had a
-feeling that a husband should supply all that was wanted, and that a
-wife should owe everything to the man she marries. The feeling is
-uncommon just at present,—except with the millions who neither have
-nor expect other money than what they earn. If you are told that the
-daughter of an old man who has earned his own bread is about to marry
-a young man in the same condition of life, it is spoken of as a
-misfortune. But Lord Llwddythlw was old-fashioned, and had the means
-of acting in accordance with his prejudices. Let the marriage be ever
-so gorgeous, it would not cost the dowry which an Earl's daughter
-might have expected. That was the argument used by Lady Persiflage,
-and it seemed to have been effectual.</p>
-
-<p>As the day drew near it was observed that the bridegroom became more
-sombre and silent even than usual. He never left the House of Commons
-as long as it was open to him as a refuge. His Saturdays and his
-Sundays and his Wednesdays he filled up with work so various and
-unceasing that there was no time left for those pretty little
-attentions which a girl about to be married naturally expects. He did
-call, perhaps, every other day at his bride's house, but never
-remained there above two minutes. "I am afraid he is not happy," the
-Countess said to her daughter.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, yes, mamma, he is."</p>
-
-<p>"Then why does he go on like that?"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, mamma, you do not know him."</p>
-
-<p>"Do you?"</p>
-
-<p>"I think so. My belief is that there isn't a man in London so anxious
-to be married as Llwddythlw."</p>
-
-<p>"I am glad of that."</p>
-
-<p>"He has lost so much time that he knows it ought to be got through
-and done with without further delay. If he could only go to sleep and
-wake up a married man of three months' standing, he would be quite
-happy. If it could be administered under chloroform it would be so
-much better! It is the doing of the thing, and the being talked about
-and looked at, that is so odious to him."</p>
-
-<p>"Then why not have had it done quietly, my dear?"</p>
-
-<p>"Because there are follies, mamma, to which a woman should never give
-way. I will not have myself made humdrum. If I had been going to
-marry a handsome young man so as to have a spice of romance out of it
-all, I would have cared nothing about the bridesmaids and the
-presents. The man then would have stood for everything. Llwddythlw is
-not young, and is not handsome."</p>
-
-<p>"But he is thoroughly noble."</p>
-
-<p>"Quite so. He's as good as gold. He will always be somebody in
-people's eyes because he's great and grand and trustworthy all round.
-But I want to be somebody in people's eyes, too, mamma. I'm all very
-well to look at, but nothing particular. I'm papa's daughter, which
-is something,—but not enough. I mean to begin and be magnificent. He
-understands it all, and I don't think he'll oppose me when once this
-exhibition day is over. I've thought all about it, and I think that I
-know what I'm doing."</p>
-
-<p>At any rate, she had her way, and thoroughly enjoyed the task she had
-on hand. When she had talked of a possible romance with a handsome
-young lover she had not quite known herself. She might have made the
-attempt, but it would have been a failure. She could fall in love
-with a Master of Ravenswood in a novel, but would have given herself
-by preference,—after due consideration,—to the richer, though less
-poetical, suitor. Of good sterling gifts she did know the value, and
-was therefore contented with her lot. But this business of being
-married, with all the most extravagant appurtenances of the hymeneal
-altar, was to her taste.</p>
-
-<p>That picture in one of the illustrated papers which professed to give
-the hymeneal altar at St. George's, with the Bishop and the Dean and
-two Queen's Chaplains officiating, and the bride and the bridegroom
-in all their glory, with a Royal Duke and a Royal Duchess looking on,
-with all the Stars and all the Garters from our own and other Courts,
-and especially with the bevy of twenty, standing in ten distinct
-pairs, and each from a portrait, was manifestly a work of the
-imagination. I was there, and to tell the truth, it was rather a
-huddled matter. The spaces did not seem to admit of majestic
-grouping, and as three of these chief personages had the gout, the
-sticks of these lame gentlemen were to my eyes very conspicuous. The
-bevy had not room enough, and the ladies in the crush seemed to feel
-the intense heat. Something had made the Bishop cross. I am told that
-Lady Amaldina had determined not to be hurried, while the Bishop was
-due at an afternoon meeting at three. The artist, in creating the
-special work of art, had soared boldly into the ideal. In depicting
-the buffet of presents and the bridal feast, he may probably have
-been more accurate. I was not myself present. The youthful appearance
-of the bridegroom as he rose to make his speech may probably be
-attributed to a poetic license, permissible, nay laudable, nay
-necessary on such an occasion. The buffet of presents no doubt was
-all there; though it may be doubted whether the contributions from
-Royalty were in truth so conspicuous as they were made to appear.
-There were speeches spoken by two or three Foreign Ministers, and one
-by the bride's father. But the speech which has created most remark
-was from the bridegroom. "I hope we may be as happy as your kind
-wishes would have us," said he;—and then he sat down. It was
-declared afterwards that these were the only words which passed his
-lips on the occasion. To those who congratulated him he merely gave
-his hand and bowed, and yet he looked to be neither fluttered nor ill
-at ease. We know how a brave man will sit and have his tooth taken
-out, without a sign of pain on his brow,—trusting to the relief
-which is to come to him. So it was with Lord Llwddythlw. It might,
-perhaps, have saved pain if, as Lady Amaldina had said, chloroform
-could have been used.</p>
-
-<p>"Well, my dear, it is done at last," Lady Persiflage said to her
-daughter, when the bride was taken into some chamber for the
-readjustment of her dress.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, mamma, it is done now."</p>
-
-<p>"And are you happy?"</p>
-
-<p>"Certainly I am. I have got what I wanted."</p>
-
-<p>"And you can love him?" Coming from Lady Persiflage this did seem to
-be romantic; but she had been stirred up to some serious thoughts as
-she remembered that she was now surrendering to a husband the girl
-whom she had made, whom she had tutored, whom she had prepared either
-for the good or for the evil performance of the duties of life.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, yes, mamma," said Lady Amaldina. It is so often the case that
-the pupils are able to exceed the teaching of their tutors! It was so
-in this case. The mother, as she saw her girl given up to a silent
-middle-aged unattractive man, had her misgivings; but not so the
-daughter herself. She had looked at it all round, and had resolved
-that she could do her duty—under certain stipulations which she
-thought would be accorded to her. "He has more to say for himself
-than you think;—only he won't trouble himself to make assertions.
-And if he is not very much in love, he likes me better than anybody
-else, which goes a long way." Her mother blessed her, and led her
-away into a room where she joined her husband in order that she might
-be then taken down to the carriage.</p>
-
-<p>The bride herself had not quite understood what was to take place,
-and was surprised to find herself quite alone for a moment with her
-husband. "My wife," he said; "now kiss me."</p>
-
-<p>She ran into his arms and put up her face to him. "I thought you were
-going to forget that," she said, as he held her for a moment with his
-arm round her waist.</p>
-
-<p>"I could not dare," he said, "to handle all that gorgeous drapery of
-lace. You were dressed up then for an exhibition. You look now as my
-wife ought to look."</p>
-
-<p>"It had to be done, Llwddythlw."</p>
-
-<p>"I make no complaint, dearest. I only say that I like you better as
-you are, as a girl to kiss, and to embrace, and to talk to, and to
-make my own." Then she curtsied to him prettily, and kissed him
-again; and after that they walked out arm-in-arm down to the
-carriage.</p>
-
-<p>There were many carriages drawn up within the quadrangle of which the
-Foreign Office forms a part, but the carriage which was to take the
-bride and the bridegroom away was allowed a door to itself,—at any
-rate till such time as they should have been taken away. An effort
-had been made to keep the public out of the quadrangle; but as the
-duties of the four Secretaries of State could not be suspended, and
-as the great gates are supposed to make a public thoroughfare, this
-could only be done to a certain extent. The crowd, no doubt, was
-thicker out in Downing Street, but there were very many standing
-within the square. Among these there was one, beautifully arrayed in
-frock coat and yellow gloves, almost as though he himself was
-prepared for his own wedding. When Lord Llwddythlw brought Lady
-Amaldina out from the building and handed her into the carriage, and
-when the husband and wife had seated themselves, the well-dressed
-individual raised his hat from his head, and greeted them. "Long life
-and happiness to the bride of Castle Hautboy!" said he at the top of
-his voice. Lady Amaldina could not but see the man, and, recognizing
-him, she bowed.</p>
-
-<p>It was Crocker,—the irrepressible Crocker. He had been also in the
-church. The narrator and he had managed to find standing room in a
-back pew under one of the galleries. Now would he be able to say with
-perfect truth that he had been at the wedding, and had received a
-parting salute from the bride; whom he had known through so many
-years of her infancy. He probably did believe that he was entitled to
-count the future Duchess of Merioneth among his intimate friends.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c3-18" id="c3-18"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XVIII.</h3>
-<h4>CROCKER'S TALE.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>A thing difficult to get is the thing mostly prized, not the thing
-that is valuable. Two or three additional Kimberley mines found
-somewhere among the otherwise uninteresting plains of South Africa
-would bring down the price of diamonds amazingly. It could hardly
-have been the beauty, or the wit, or the accomplishments of Clara
-Demijohn which caused Mr. Tribbledale to triumph so loudly and with
-so genuine an exultation, telling all Broad Street of his success,
-when he had succeeded in winning the bride who had once promised
-herself to Crocker. Were it not that she had all but slipped through
-his fingers he would never surely have thought her to be worthy of
-such a pæan. Had she come to his first whistle he might have been
-contented enough,—as are other ordinary young men with their
-ordinary young women. He would probably have risen to no enthusiasm
-of passion. But as things had gone he was as another Paris who had
-torn a Helen from her Menelaus,—only in this case an honest Paris,
-with a correct Helen, and from a Menelaus who had not as yet made
-good his claim. But the subject was worthy of another Iliad, to be
-followed by another Æneid. By his bow and his spear he had torn her
-from the arms of a usurping lover, and now made her all his own.
-Another man would have fainted and abandoned the contest, when
-rejected as he had been. But he had continued the fight, even when
-lying low on the dust of the arena. He had nailed his flag to the
-mast when all his rigging had been cut away;—and at last he had won
-the battle. Of course his Clara was doubly dear to him, having been
-made his own after such difficulties as these.</p>
-
-<p>"I'm not one of those who easily give way in an affair of the heart,"
-he said to Mr. Littlebird, the junior partner in the firm, when he
-told that gentleman of his engagement.</p>
-
-<p>"So I perceive, Mr. Tribbledale."</p>
-
-<p>"When a man has set his affection on a young lady,—that is, his real
-affection,—he ought to stick to it,—or die." Mr. Littlebird, who
-was the happy father of three or four married and marriageable
-daughters, opened his eyes with surprise. The young men who had come
-after his young ladies had been pressing enough, but they had not
-died. "Or die!" repeated Tribbledale. "It is what I should have done.
-Had she become Mrs. Crocker, I should never again have been seen in
-the Court,"—"the Court" was the little alley in which Pogson and
-Littlebird's office was held,—"unless they had brought my dead body
-here to be identified." He was quite successful in his enthusiasm.
-Though Mr. Littlebird laughed when he told the story to Mr. Pogson,
-not the less did they agree to raise his salary to £160 on and from
-the day of his marriage.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, Mr. Fay," he said to the poor old Quaker, who had lately been
-so broken by his sorrow as hardly to be as much master of Tribbledale
-as he used to be, "I have no doubt I shall be steady now. If anything
-can make a young man steady it is—success in love."</p>
-
-<p>"I hope thou wilt be happy, Mr. Tribbledale."</p>
-
-<p>"I shall be happy enough now. My heart will be more in the
-business,—what there isn't of it at any rate with that dear creature
-in our mutual home at Islington. It was lucky about his having taken
-those lodgings, because Clara had got as it were used to them. And
-there are one or two things, such as a clock and the like, which need
-not be moved. If anything ever should happen to you, Mr. Fay, Pogson
-and Littlebird will find me quite up to the business."</p>
-
-<p>"Something will happen some day, no doubt," said the Quaker.</p>
-
-<p>On one occasion Lord Hampstead was in the Court having a word to say
-to Marion's father, or, perhaps, a word to hear. "I'm sure you'll
-excuse me, my lord," said Tribbledale, following him out of the
-office.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, yes," said Hampstead, with a smile,—for he had been there often
-enough to have made some acquaintance with the junior clerk. "If
-there be anything I can do for you, I will do it willingly."</p>
-
-<p>"Only just to congratulate me, my lord. You have heard of—Crocker?"
-Lord Hampstead owned that he had heard of Crocker. "He has been
-interfering with me in the tenderest of parts." Lord Hampstead looked
-serious. "There is a young woman"—the poor victim frowned, he knew
-not why; but remitted his frown and smiled again; "who had promised
-herself to me. Then that rude assailant came and upset all my joy."
-Here, as the narrator paused, Lord Hampstead owned to himself that he
-could not deny the truth of the description. "Perhaps," continued
-Tribbledale,—"perhaps you have seen Clara Demijohn." Lord Hampstead
-could not remember having been so fortunate. "Because I am aware that
-your steps have wandered in the way of Paradise Row." Then there came
-the frown again,—and then the smile. "Well;—perhaps it may be that
-a more perfect form of feminine beauty may be ascribed to another."
-This was intended as a compliment, more civil than true, paid to
-Marion Fay on Lord Hampstead's behalf. "But for a combination of
-chastity and tenderness I don't think you can easily beat Clara
-Demijohn." Lord Hampstead bowed, as showing his readiness to believe
-such a statement coming from so good a judge. "For awhile the
-interloper prevailed. Interlopers do prevail;—such is the female
-heart. But the true rock shows itself always at last. She is the true
-rock on which I have built the castle of my happiness."</p>
-
-<p>"Then I may congratulate you, Mr. Tribbledale."</p>
-
-<p>"Yes;—and not only that, my lord. But Crocker is nowhere. You must
-own that there is a triumph in that. There was a time! Oh! how I felt
-it. There was a time when he triumphed; when he talked of 'my Clara,'
-as though I hadn't a chance. He's up a tree now, my lord. I thought
-I'd just tell you as you are so friendly, coming among us, here, my
-lord!" Lord Hampstead again congratulated him, and expressed a hope
-that he might be allowed to send the bride a small present.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, my lord," said Tribbledale, "it shall go with the clock and the
-harmonium, and shall be the proudest moment of my life."</p>
-
-<p>When Miss Demijohn heard that the salary of Pogson and Littlebird's
-clerk,—she called it "Dan's screw" in speaking of the matter to her
-aunt,—had been raised to £160 per annum, she felt that there could
-be no excuse for a further change. Up to that moment it had seemed to
-her that Tribbledale had obtained his triumph by a deceit which it
-still might be her duty to frustrate. He had declared positively that
-those fatal words had been actually written in the book,
-"Dismissal—B. B." But she had learned that the words had not been
-written as yet. All is fair in love and war. She was not in the least
-angry with Tribbledale because of his little ruse. A lie told in such
-a cause was a merit. But not on that account need she be led away by
-it from her own most advantageous course. In spite of the little
-quarrel which had sprung up between herself and Crocker, Crocker,
-still belonging to Her Majesty's Civil Service, must be better than
-Tribbledale. But when she found that Tribbledale's statement as to
-the £160 was true, and when she bethought herself that Crocker would
-probably be dismissed sooner or later, then she determined to be
-firm. As to the £160, old Mrs. Demijohn herself went to the office,
-and learned the truth from Zachary Fay. "I think he is a good young
-man," said the Quaker, "and he will do very well if he will cease to
-think quite so much of himself." To this Mrs. Demijohn remarked that
-half-a-dozen babies might probably cure that fault.</p>
-
-<p>So the matter was settled, and it came to pass that Daniel
-Tribbledale and Clara Demijohn were married at Holloway on that very
-Thursday which saw completed the alliance which had been so long
-arranged between the noble houses of Powell and De Hauteville. There
-were two letters written on the occasion which shall be given here as
-showing the willingness to forget and forgive which marked the
-characters of the two persons. A day or two before the marriage the
-following invitation was
-<span class="nowrap">sent;—</span><br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dear Sam</span>,—</p>
-
-<p>I hope you will quite forget what is past, at any rate
-what was unpleasant, and come to our wedding on Thursday.
-There is to be a little breakfast here afterwards, and I
-am sure that Dan will be very happy to shake your hand. I
-have asked him, and he says that as he is to be the
-bridegroom he would be proud to have you as best man.</p>
-
-<p class="ind6">Your old sincere friend,</p>
-
-<p class="ind8"><span class="smallcaps">Clara
-Demijohn</span>,—for the present.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p>The answer was as follows:—<br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dear
-Clara</span>,—</p>
-
-<p>There's no malice in me. Since our little tiff I have been
-thinking that, after all, I'm not the man for matrimony.
-To sip the honey from many flowers is, perhaps, after all
-my line of life. I should have been happy to be Dan
-Tribbledale's bottle-holder, but that there is another
-affair coming off which I must attend. Our Lady Amaldina
-is to be married, and I must be there. Our families have
-been connected, as you know, for a great many years, and I
-could not forgive myself if I did not see her turned off.
-No other consideration would have prevented me from
-accepting your very kind invitation.</p>
-
-<p class="ind10">Your loving old friend,</p>
-
-<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">Sam
-Crocker</span>.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p>There did come a pang of regret across Clara's heart, as she read
-this as to the connection of the families. Of course Crocker was
-lying. Of course it was an empty boast. But there was a savour of
-aristocracy even in the capability of telling such a lie. Had she
-made Crocker her husband she also would have been able to drag Castle
-Hautboy into her daily conversations with Mrs. Duffer.</p>
-
-<p>At the time of these weddings, the month of August, Æolus had not
-even yet come to a positive and actual decision as to Crocker's fate.
-Crocker had been suspended;—by which act he had been temporarily
-expelled from the office, so that his time was all his own to do what
-he pleased with it. Whether when suspended he would receive his
-salary, no one knew as a certainty. The presumption was that a man
-suspended would be dismissed,—unless he could succeed in explaining
-away or diminishing the sin of which he had been supposed to be
-guilty. Æolus himself could suspend, but it required an act on the
-part of the senior officer to dismiss,—or even to deprive the sinner
-of any part of his official emoluments. There had been no explanation
-possible. No diminishing of the sin had been attempted. It was
-acknowledged on all sides that Crocker had,—as Miss Demijohn
-properly described it,—destroyed Her Majesty's Mail papers. In order
-that unpardonable delay and idleness might not be traced home to him,
-he had torn into fragments a bundle of official documents. His
-character was so well known that no one doubted his dismissal. Mr.
-Jerningham had spoken of it as a thing accomplished. Bobbin and
-Geraghty had been congratulated on their rise in the department.
-"Dismissal—B. B." had been recorded, if not in any official book, at
-any rate in all official minds. But B. B. himself had as yet decided
-nothing. When Crocker attended Lady Amaldina's wedding in his best
-coat and gloves he was still under suspension; but trusting to the
-conviction that after so long a reprieve capital punishment would not
-be carried out.</p>
-
-<p>Sir Boreas Bodkin had shoved the papers on one side, and, since that,
-nothing further had been said on the matter. Weeks had passed, but no
-decision had been made public. Sir Boreas was a man whom the
-subordinates nearest to him did not like to remind as to any such
-duty as this. When a case was "shoved on one side" it was known to be
-something unpalateable. And yet, as Mr. Jerningham whispered to
-George Roden, it was a thing that ought to be settled. "He can't come
-back, you know," he said.</p>
-
-<p>"I dare say he will," said the Duca.</p>
-
-<p>"Impossible! I look upon it as impossible!" This Mr. Jerningham said
-very seriously.</p>
-
-<p>"There are some people, you know," rejoined the other, "whose bark is
-so much worse than their bite."</p>
-
-<p>"I know there are, Mr. Roden, and Sir Boreas is perhaps one of them;
-but there are cases in which to pardon the thing done seems to be
-perfectly impossible. This is one of them. If papers are to be
-destroyed with impunity, what is to become of the Department? I for
-one should not know how to go on with my duties. Tearing up papers!
-Good Heavens! When I think of it I doubt whether I am standing on my
-head or my heels."</p>
-
-<p>This was very strong language for Mr. Jerningham, who was not
-accustomed to find fault with the proceedings of his superiors. He
-went about the office all these weeks with a visage of woe and the
-air of a man conscious that some great evil was at hand. Sir Boreas
-had observed it, and knew well why that visage was so long.
-Nevertheless when his eyes fell on that bundle of papers,—on the
-Crocker bundle of papers,—he only pushed it a little further out of
-sight than it was before.</p>
-
-<p>Who does not know how odious a letter will become by being shoved on
-one side day after day? Answer it at the moment, and it will be
-nothing. Put it away unread, or at least undigested, for a day, and
-it at once begins to assume ugly proportions. When you have been weak
-enough to let it lie on your desk, or worse again, hidden in your
-breast-pocket, for a week or ten days, it will have become an enemy
-so strong and so odious that you will not dare to attack it. It
-throws a gloom over all your joys. It makes you cross to your wife,
-severe to the cook, and critical to your own wine-cellar. It becomes
-the Black Care which sits behind you when you go out a riding. You
-have neglected a duty, and have put yourself in the power of perhaps
-some vulgar snarler. You think of destroying it and denying it,
-dishonestly and falsely,—as Crocker did the mail papers. And yet you
-must bear yourself all the time as though there were no load lying
-near your heart. So it was with our Æolus and the Crocker papers. The
-papers had become a great bundle. The unfortunate man had been called
-upon for an explanation, and had written a blundering long letter on
-a huge sheet of foolscap paper,—which Sir Boreas had not read, and
-did not mean to read. Large fragments of the torn "mail papers" had
-been found, and were all there. Mr. Jerningham had written a
-well-worded lengthy report,—which never certainly would be read.
-There were former documents in which the existence of the papers had
-been denied. Altogether the bundle was big and unholy and
-distasteful. Those who knew our Æolus well were sure that he would
-never even undo the tape by which the bundle was tied. But something
-must be done. One month's pay-day had already passed since the
-suspension, and the next was at hand. "Can anything be settled about
-Mr. Crocker?" asked Mr. Jerningham, one day about the end of August.
-Sir Boreas had already sent his family to a little place he had in
-the West of Ireland, and was postponing his holiday because of this
-horrid matter. Mr. Jerningham could never go away till Æolus went.
-Sir Boreas knew all this, and was thoroughly ashamed of himself.
-"Just speak to me about it to-morrow and we'll settle the matter," he
-said, in his blandest voice. Mr. Jerningham retreated from the room
-frowning. According to his thinking there ought to be nothing to
-settle. <span class="nowrap">"D——</span> the
-fellow," said Sir Boreas, as soon as the door was
-closed; and he gave the papers another shove which sent them off the
-huge table on to the floor. Whether it was Mr. Jerningham or Crocker
-who was damned, he hardly knew himself. Then he was forced to stoop
-to the humility of picking up the bundle.</p>
-
-<p>That afternoon he roused himself. About three o'clock he sent, not
-for Mr. Jerningham, but for the Duca. When Roden entered the room the
-bundle was before him, but not opened. "Can you send for this man and
-get him here to-day?" he asked. The Duca promised that he would do
-his best. "I can't bring myself to recommend his dismissal," he said.
-The Duca only smiled. "The poor fellow is just going to be married,
-you know." The Duca smiled again. Living in Paradise Row himself, he
-knew that the lady, <i>née</i> Clara
-Demijohn, was already the happy wife
-of Mr. Tribbledale. But he knew also that after so long an interval
-Crocker could not well be dismissed, and he was not ill-natured
-enough to rob his chief of so good an excuse. He left the room,
-therefore, declaring that he would cause Crocker to be summoned
-immediately.</p>
-
-<p>Crocker was summoned, and came. Had Sir Boreas made up his mind
-briefly to dismiss the man, or briefly to forgive him, the interview
-would have been unnecessary. As things now were the man could not
-certainly be dismissed. Sir Boreas was aware of that. Nor could he be
-pardoned without further notice. Crocker entered the room with that
-mingling of the bully and the coward in his appearance which is
-generally the result when a man who is overawed attempts to show that
-he is not afraid. Sir Boreas passed his fingers through the hairs on
-each side of his head, frowned hard, and, blowing through his
-nostrils, became at once the Æolus that he had been named;</p>
-
-
-<div class="center">
-<table class="sm" style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="3"><tr><td align="left">
-<p class="noindent"><span class="ind2">Assumes the god,</span><br />
-<span class="ind2">Affects to nod,</span><br />
-And seems to shake the spheres.</p>
-</td></tr></table>
-</div>
-
-
-<p>"Mr. Crocker," said the god, laying his hand on the bundle of papers
-still tied up in a lump. Then he paused and blew the wrath out of his
-nostrils.</p>
-
-<p>"Sir Boreas, no one can be more sorry for an accident than I am for
-that."</p>
-
-<p>"An accident!"</p>
-
-<p>"Well, Sir Boreas; I am afraid I shall not make you understand it
-all."</p>
-
-<p>"I don't think you will."</p>
-
-<p>"The first paper I did tear up by accident, thinking it was something
-done with."</p>
-
-<p>"Then you thought you might as well send the others after it."</p>
-
-<p>"One or two were torn by accident. Then—"</p>
-
-<p>"Well!"</p>
-
-<p>"I hope you'll look it over this time, Sir Boreas."</p>
-
-<p>"I have done nothing but look it over, as you call it, since you came
-into the Department. You've been a disgrace to the office. You're of
-no use whatsoever. You give more trouble than all the other clerks
-put together. I'm sick of hearing your name."</p>
-
-<p>"If you'll try me again I'll turn over a new leaf, Sir Boreas."</p>
-
-<p>"I don't believe it for a moment. They tell me you're just going to
-be married." Crocker was silent. Could he be expected to cut the
-ground from under his own feet at such a moment? "For the young
-lady's sake, I don't like turning you adrift on the world at such a
-time. I only wish that she had a more secure basis for her
-happiness."</p>
-
-<p>"She'll be all right," said Crocker. He will probably be thought to
-have been justified in carrying on the delusion at such a crisis of
-his life.</p>
-
-<p>"But you must take my assurance of this," said Æolus, looking more
-like the god of storms, "that no wife or baby,—no joy or
-trouble,—shall save you again if you again deserve dismissal."
-Crocker with his most affable smile thanked Sir Boreas and withdrew.
-It was said afterwards that Sir Boreas had seen and read that smile
-on Roden's face, had put two and two together in regard to him, and
-had become sure that there was to be no marriage. But, had he lost
-that excuse, where should he find another?</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c3-19" id="c3-19"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XIX.</h3>
-<h4>"MY MARION."<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>The blow came very suddenly at last. About the middle of September
-the spirit of Marion Fay flitted away from all its earthly joys and
-all its earthly troubles. Lord Hampstead saw her alive for the last
-time at that interview which was described a few pages back. Whenever
-he proposed to go down again to Pegwell Bay some objection was made,
-either by the Quaker or by Mrs. Roden on the Quaker's behalf. The
-doctor, it was alleged, had declared that such visits were injurious
-to his patient,—or perhaps it was that Marion had herself said that
-she was unable to bear the excitement. There was, no doubt, some
-truth in this. And Marion had seen that though she herself could
-enjoy the boundless love which her lover tendered to her, telling
-herself that though it was only for a while, it was very sweet to
-have it so, yet for him these meetings were full of agony. But in
-addition to this there was, I think, a jealousy on the part of
-Zachary Fay as to his daughter. When there was still a question
-whether the young lord should be his son-in-law, he had been willing
-to give way and to subordinate himself, even though his girl were the
-one thing left to him in all the world. While there was an idea that
-she should be married, there had accompanied that idea a hope, almost
-an expectation, that she might live. But when it was brought home to
-him as a fact that her marriage was out of the question because her
-life was waning, then unconsciously there grew up in his heart a
-feeling that the young lord ought not to rob him of what was left.
-Had Marion insisted, he would have yielded. Had Mrs. Roden told him
-that it was cruel to separate them, he would have groaned and given
-way. As it was, he simply leaned to that view of the matter which
-gave him the greatest preponderance with his own child. It may be
-that she saw it too, and would not wound him by asking for her
-lover's presence.</p>
-
-<p>About the middle of September she died, having written to Hampstead
-the very day before her death. Her letters lately had become but a
-few words each, which Mrs. Roden would put into an envelope and send
-to their destination. He wrote daily, assuring her that he would not
-leave his home for a day in order that he might go to her instantly
-when she would send for him. To the last she never gave up the idea
-of seeing him again;—but at last the little light flickered out
-quicker than had been expected.</p>
-
-<p>Mrs. Roden was at Pegwell Bay when the end came; and to her fell the
-duty of making it known to Lord Hampstead. She went up to town
-immediately, leaving the Quaker in the desolate cottage, and sent
-down a note from Holloway to Hendon Hall. "I must see you as soon as
-possible. Shall I go to you, or will you come to me?" When she wrote
-the words she was sure that he would understand their purport, and
-yet it was easier to write so than to tell the cruel truth plainly.
-The note was sent down by a messenger, but Lord Hampstead in person
-was the answer.</p>
-
-<p>There was no need of any telling. When he stood before her dressed
-from head to foot in black, she took him by the two hands and looked
-into his face. "It is all over for her," he said,—"the trouble and
-the anguish, and the sense of long dull days to come. My Marion! How
-infinitely she has the best of it! How glad I ought to be that it is
-so."</p>
-
-<p>"You must wait, Lord Hampstead," she said.</p>
-
-<p>"Pray, pray, let me have no consolation. Waiting in the sense you
-mean there will be none. For the one relief which will finally come
-to me I must of course wait. Did she say any word that you would wish
-to tell me!"</p>
-
-<p>"Many, many."</p>
-
-<p>"Were they for my ears?"</p>
-
-<p>"What other words should she have spoken to me? They were prayers for
-your health."</p>
-
-<p>"My health needs not her prayers."</p>
-
-<p>"Prayers for your soul's health."</p>
-
-<p>"Such praying will be efficacious there,—or would be were anything
-needed to make her fit for those angels among whom she has gone. For
-me they can do nothing,—unless it be that in knowing how much she
-loved me I may strive to be as she was."</p>
-
-<p>"And for your happiness."</p>
-
-<p>"Psha!" he exclaimed.</p>
-
-<p>"You must let me do her commission, Lord Hampstead. I was to bid you
-remember that God in His goodness has ordained that the dead after
-awhile shall be remembered only with a softened sorrow. I was to tell
-you that as a man you should give your thoughts to other things. It
-is not from myself;—it is from her."</p>
-
-<p>"She did not know. She did not understand. As regards good and evil
-she was, to my eyes, perfect;—perfect as she was in beauty, in
-grace, and feminine tenderness. But the character of others she had
-not learned to read. But I need not trouble you as to that, Mrs.
-Roden. You have been good to her as though you were her mother, and I
-will love you for it while I live." Then he was going away; but he
-turned again to ask some question as to the funeral. Might he do it.
-Mrs. Roden shook her head. "But I shall be there?" To this she
-assented, but explained to him that Zachary Fay would admit of no
-interference with that which he considered to be his own privilege
-and his own duty.</p>
-
-<p>Lord Hampstead had driven himself over from Hendon Hall, and had
-driven fast. When he left Mrs. Roden's house the groom was driving
-the dog-cart up and down Paradise Row, waiting for his master. But
-the master walked on out of the Row, forgetting altogether the horse
-and the cart and the man, not knowing whither he was going.</p>
-
-<p>The blow had come, and though it had been fully expected, though he
-had known well that it was coming, it struck him now as hard, almost
-harder than if it had not been expected. It seemed to himself that he
-was unable to endure his sorrow now because he had been already
-weakened by such a load of sorrow. Because he had grieved so much, he
-could not now bear this further grief. As he walked on he beat his
-hands about, unconscious that he was in the midst of men and women
-who were gazing at him in the streets. There was nothing left to
-him,—nothing, nothing, nothing! He felt that if he could rid himself
-of his titles, rid himself of his wealth, rid himself of the very
-clothes upon his back, it would be better for him, so that he might
-not seem to himself to think that comfort could be found in
-externals. "Marion," he said, over and over again, in little
-whispered words, but loud enough for his own ears to hear the sound.
-And then he uttered phrases which were almost fantastic in their woe,
-but which declared what was and had been the condition of his mind
-towards her since she had become so inexpressibly dear to him. "My
-wife," he said, "my own one! Mother of my children. My woman; my
-countess; my princess. They should have seen. They should have
-acknowledged. They should have known whom it was that I had brought
-among them;—of what nature should be the woman whom a man should set
-in a high place. I had made my choice;—and then that it should come
-to this!" "There is no good to be done," he said again. "It all turns
-to ashes and to dust. The low things of the world are those which
-prevail." "Oh, Marion, that I could be with you! Though it were to be
-nowhere,—though the great story should have no pathetic ending,
-though the last long eternal chapter should be a blank,—still to
-have wandered away with you would have been something." As soon as he
-reached his house he walked straight into the drawing-room, and
-having carefully closed the door, he took the poker in his hand and
-held it clasped there as something precious. "It is the only thing of
-mine," he said, "that she has touched. Even then I swore to myself
-that this hearth should be her hearth; that here we would sit
-together, and be one flesh and one bone." Then surreptitiously he
-took the bit of iron away with him, and hid it among his
-treasures,—to the subsequent dismay of the housemaid.</p>
-
-<p>There came to him a summons from the Quaker to the funeral, and on
-the day named, without saying a word to any one, he took the train
-and went down to Pegwell Bay. From the moment on which the messenger
-had come from Mrs. Roden he had dressed himself in black, and he now
-made no difference in his garments. Poor Zachary said but little to
-him; but that little was very bitter. "It has been so with all of
-them," he said. "They have all been taken. The Lord cannot strike me
-again now." Of the highly-born stranger's grief, or of the cause
-which brought him there, he had not a word to say; nor did Lord
-Hampstead speak of his own sorrow. "I sympathize and condole with
-you," he said to the old man. The Quaker shook his head, and after
-that there was silence between them till they parted. To the few
-others who were there Lord Hampstead did not address himself, nor did
-they to him. From the grave, when the clod of earth had been thrown
-on it, he walked slowly away, without a sign on his face of that
-agony which was rending his heart. There was a carriage there to take
-him to the railway, but he only shook his head when he was invited to
-enter it. He walked off and wandered about for hours, till he thought
-that the graveyard would be deserted. Then he returned, and when he
-found himself alone he stood over the newly heaped-up soil. "Marion,"
-he said to himself over and over again, whispering as he stood there.
-"Marion,—Marion; my wife; my woman." As he stood by the grave side,
-one came softly stealing up to him, and laid a hand upon his
-shoulder. He turned round quickly, and saw that it was the bereaved
-father. "Mr. Fay," he said, "we have both lost the only thing that
-either of us valued."</p>
-
-<p>"What is it to thee, who are young, and hardly knew her twelve months
-since?"</p>
-
-<p>"Months make no difference, I think."</p>
-
-<p>"But old age, my lord, and childishness, and solitude—"</p>
-
-<p>"I, too, am alone."</p>
-
-<p>"She was my daughter, my own. Thou hadst seen a pretty face, and that
-was all. She had remained with me when those others died. Had thou
-not <span class="nowrap">come—"</span></p>
-
-<p>"Did my coming kill her, Mr. Fay'?"</p>
-
-<p>"I do not say that. Thou hast been good to her, and I would not say a
-hard word to thee."</p>
-
-<p>"I did think that nothing could have added to my sorrow."</p>
-
-<p>"No, my lord; no, no. She would have died. She was her dear mother's
-child, and she was doomed. Go away, and be thankful that thou, too,
-hast not become the father of children born only to perish in your
-sight. I will not say an unkind word, but I would wish to have my
-girl's grave to myself." Upon this Lord Hampstead walked off, and
-went back to his own home, hardly knowing how he reached it.</p>
-
-<p>It was a month after this that he returned to the churchyard, and
-might have been seen sitting on the small stone slab which the Quaker
-had already caused to be laid over the grave. It was a fine October
-evening, and the sombre gloom of the hours was already darkening
-everything around. He had crept into the enclosure silently, almost
-slily, so as to insure himself that his presence should not be noted;
-and now, made confident by the coming darkness, he had seated himself
-on the stone. During the long hours that he sat there no word was
-formed within his lips, but he surrendered himself entirely to
-thoughts of what his life might have been had she been spared to him.
-He had come there for a purpose, the very opposite of that; but how
-often does it come to pass that we are unable to drive our thoughts
-into that channel in which we wish them to flow? He had thought much
-of her last words, and was minded to attempt to do something as she
-would have had him do it;—not that he might enjoy his life, but that
-he might make it useful. But as he sat there, he could not think of
-the real future,—not of the future as it might be made to take this
-or that form by his own efforts; but of the future as it would have
-been had she been with him, of the glorious, bright, beautiful future
-which her love, her goodness, her beauty, her tenderness would have
-illuminated.</p>
-
-<p>Till he had seen her his heart had never been struck. Ideas,
-sufficiently pleasant in themselves, though tinged with a certain
-irony and sarcasm, had been frequent with him as to his future
-career. He would leave that building up of a future family of
-Marquises,—if future Marquises there were to be,—to one of those
-young darlings whose bringing-up would manifestly fit them for the
-work. For himself he would perhaps philosophize, perhaps do something
-that might be of service,—would indulge at any rate his own views as
-to humanity;—but he would not burden himself with a Countess and a
-nursery full of young lords and ladies. He had often said to Roden,
-had often said to Vivian, that her ladyship, his stepmother, need not
-trouble herself. He certainly would not be guilty of making either a
-Countess or a Marchioness. They, of course, had laughed at him, and
-had bid him bide his time. He had bided his time,—as they had
-said,—and Marion Fay had been the result.</p>
-
-<p>Yes;—life would have been worth the having if Marion Fay had
-remained to him. It was thus he communed with himself as he sat there
-on the tomb. From the moment in which he had first seen her in Mrs.
-Roden's house he had felt that things were changed with him. There
-had come a vision before him which filled him full of delight. As he
-learned to know the tones of her voice, and the motion of her limbs,
-and to succumb to the feminine charms with which she enveloped him,
-all the world was brightened up to his view. Here there was no
-pretence of special blood, no assumption of fantastic titles, no
-claim to superiority because of fathers and mothers who were in
-themselves by no means superior to their neighbours. And yet there
-had been all the grace, all the loveliness, all the tenderness,
-without which his senses would not have been captivated. He had never
-known his want;—but he had in truth wanted one who should be at all
-points a lady, and yet not insist on a right to be so esteemed on the
-strength of inherited privileges. Chance, good fortune, providence
-had sent her to him,—or more probably the eternal fitness of things,
-as he had allowed himself to argue when things had fallen out so well
-to his liking. Then there had arisen difficulties, which had seemed
-to him to be vain and absurd,—though they would not allow themselves
-to be at once swept away. They had talked to him of his station and
-of hers, making that an obstacle which to him had been a strong
-argument in favour of her love. Against this he had done battle with
-the resolute purpose which a man has who is sure of his cause. He
-would have none of their sophistries, none of their fears, none of
-their old-fashioned absurdities. Did she love him? Was her heart to
-him as was his to her? That was the one question on which it must all
-depend. As he thought of it all, sitting there on the tombstone, he
-put out his arm as though to fold her form to his bosom when he
-thought of the moment in which he became sure that it was so. There
-had been no doubt of the full-flowing current of her love. Then he
-had aroused himself, and had shaken his mane like a lion, and had
-sworn aloud that this vain obstacle should be no obstacle, even
-though it was pleaded by herself. Nature had been strong enough
-within him to assure him that he would overcome the obstacle.</p>
-
-<p>And he had overcome it,—or was overcoming it,—when that other
-barrier gradually presented itself, and loomed day by day terribly
-large before his affrighted eyes. Even to that he would not
-yield,—not only as regarded her but himself also. Had there been no
-such barrier, the possession of Marion would have been to him an
-assurance of perfect bliss which the prospect of far-distant death
-would not have effected. When he began to perceive that her condition
-was not as that of other young women, he became aware of a great
-danger,—of a danger to himself as well as to her, to himself rather
-than to her. This increased rather than diminished his desire for the
-possession. As the ardent rider will be more intent to take the fence
-when it looms before him large and difficult, so with him the
-resolution to make Marion his wife became the stronger when he knew
-that there were reasons of prudence, reasons of caution, reasons of
-worldly wisdom, why he should not do so. It had become a religion to
-him that she should be his one. Then gradually her strength had
-become known to him, and slowly he was made aware that he must bow to
-her decision. All that he wanted in all the world he must not
-have,—not that the love which he craved was wanting, but because she
-knew that her own doom was fixed.</p>
-
-<p>She had bade him retrick his beams, and take the light and the
-splendour of his sun elsewhere. The light and the splendour of his
-sun had all passed from him. She had absorbed them altogether. He,
-while he had been boasting to himself of his power and his manliness,
-in that he would certainly overcome all the barriers, had found
-himself to be weak as water in her hands. She, in her soft feminine
-tones, had told him what duty had required of her, and, as she had
-said so she had done. Then he had stood on one side, and had remained
-looking on, till she had—gone away and left him. She had never been
-his. It had not been allowed to him even to write his name, as
-belonging also to her, on the gravestone.</p>
-
-<p>But she had loved him. There was nothing in it all but this to which
-his mind could revert with any feeling of satisfaction. She had
-certainly loved him. If such love might be continued between a
-disembodied spirit and one still upon the earth,—if there were any
-spirit capable of love after that divorce between the soul and the
-body,—her love certainly would still be true to him. Most assuredly
-his should be true to her. Whatever he might do towards obeying her
-in striving to form some manly purpose for his life, he would never
-ask another woman to be his wife, he would never look for other love.
-The black coat should be laid aside as soon as might be, so that the
-world around him should not have cause for remark; but the mourning
-should never be taken from his heart.</p>
-
-<p>Then, when the darkness of night had quite come upon him, he arose
-from his seat, and flinging himself on his knees, stretched his arms
-wildly across the grave. "Marion," he said; "Marion; oh, Marion, will
-you hear me? Though gone from me, art thou not mine?" He looked up
-into the night, and there, before his eyes, was her figure, beautiful
-as ever, with all her loveliness of half-developed form, with her
-soft hair upon her shoulders; and her eyes beamed on him, and a
-heavenly smile came across her face, and her lips moved as though she
-would encourage him. "My Marion;—my wife!"</p>
-
-<p>Very late that night the servants heard him as he opened the door and
-walked across the hall, and made his way up to his own room.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c3-20" id="c3-20"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XX.</h3>
-<h4>MR. GREENWOOD'S LAST BATTLE.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>During the whole of that long summer nothing was absolutely arranged
-as to Roden and Lady Frances, though it was known to all London, and
-to a great many persons outside of London, that they were certainly
-to become man and wife. The summer was very long to Lord and Lady
-Trafford because of the necessity incumbent on them of remaining
-through the last dregs of the season on account of Lady Amaldina's
-marriage. Had Lady Amaldina thrown herself away on another Roden the
-aunt would have no doubt gone to the country; but her niece had done
-her duty in life with so much propriety and success that it would
-have been indecent to desert her. Lady Kingsbury therefore remained
-in Park Lane, and was driven to endure frequently the sight of the
-Post Office clerk.</p>
-
-<p>For George Roden was admitted to the house even though it was at last
-acknowledged that he must be George Roden, and nothing more. And it
-was found also that he must be a Post Office clerk, and nothing more.
-Lord Persiflage, on whom Lady Kingsbury chiefly depended for seeing
-that her own darlings should not be disgraced by being made
-brothers-in-law to anything so low as a clerk in the Post Office, was
-angry at last, and declared that it was impossible to help a man who
-would not help himself. "It is no use trying to pick a man up who
-will lie in the gutter." It was thus he spoke of Roden in his anger;
-and then the Marchioness would wring her hands and abuse her
-stepdaughter. Lord Persiflage did think that something might be done
-for the young man if the young man would only allow himself to be
-called a Duke. But the young man would not allow it, and Lord
-Persiflage did not see what could be done. Nevertheless there was a
-general idea abroad in the world that something would be done. Even
-the mysterious savour of high rank which attached itself to the young
-man would do something for him.</p>
-
-<p>It may be remembered that the Marquis himself, when first the fact
-had come to his ears that his daughter loved the young man, had been
-almost as ferociously angry as his wife. He had assented to the
-carrying of her away to the Saxon castle. He had frowned upon her. He
-had been a party to the expelling her from his own house. But
-gradually his heart had become softened towards her; in his illness
-he had repented of his harshness; he had not borne her continued
-absence easily, and had of late looked about for an excuse for
-accepting her lover. When the man was discovered to be a Duke, though
-it was only an Italian Duke, of course he accepted him. Now his wife
-told him daily that Roden was not a Duke, because he would not accept
-his Dukedom,—and ought therefore again to be rejected. Lord
-Persiflage had declared that nothing could be done for him, and
-therefore he ought to be rejected. But the Marquis clung to his
-daughter. As the man was absolutely a Duke, according to the laws of
-all the Heralds, and all the Courts, and all the tables of precedency
-and usages of peerage in Christendom, he could not de-grade himself
-even by any motion of his own. He was the eldest and the legitimate
-son of the last Duca di Crinola,—so the Marquis said,—and as such
-was a fitting aspirant for the hand of the daughter of an English
-peer. "But he hasn't got a shilling," said Lady Kingsbury weeping.
-The Marquis felt that it was within his own power to produce some
-remedy for this evil, but he did not care to say as much to his wife,
-who was tender on that point in regard to the interest of her three
-darlings. Roden continued his visits to Park Lane very frequently all
-through the summer, and had already arranged for an autumn visit to
-Castle Hautboy,—in spite of that angry word spoken by Lord
-Persiflage. Everybody knew he was to marry Lady Frances. But when the
-season was over, and all the world had flitted from London, nothing
-was settled.</p>
-
-<p>Lady Kingsbury was of course very unhappy during all this time; but
-there was a source of misery deeper, more pressing, more crushing
-than even the Post Office clerk. Mr. Greenwood, the late chaplain,
-had, during his last interview with the Marquis, expressed some noble
-sentiments. He would betray nothing that had been said to him in
-confidence. He would do nothing that could annoy the Marchioness,
-because the Marchioness was a lady, and as such, entitled to all
-courtesy from him as a gentleman. There were grounds no doubt on
-which he could found a claim, but he would not insist on them, as his
-doing so would be distasteful to her ladyship. He felt that he was
-being ill-treated, almost robbed; but he would put up with that
-rather than say a word which would come against his own conscience as
-a gentleman. With these high assurances he took his leave of the
-Marquis as though he intended to put up with the beggarly stipend of
-£200 a year which the Marquis had promised him. Perhaps that had been
-his intention;—but before two days were over he had remembered that
-though it might be base to tell her ladyship's secrets, the
-penny-post was still open to him.</p>
-
-<p>It certainly was the case that Lady Kingsbury had spoken to him with
-strong hopes of the death of the heir to the title. Mr. Greenwood, in
-discussing the matter with himself, went beyond that, and declared to
-himself that she had done so with expectation as well as hope.
-Fearful words had been said. So he assured himself. He thanked his
-God that nothing had come of it. Only for him something,—he assured
-himself,—would have come of it. The whisperings in that up-stairs
-sitting-room at Trafford had been dreadful. He had divulged nothing.
-He had held his tongue,—like a gentleman. But ought he not to be
-paid for holding his tongue? There are so many who act honestly from
-noble motives, and then feel that their honesty should be rewarded by
-all those gains which dishonesty might have procured for them! About
-a fortnight after the visit which Mr. Greenwood made to the Marquis
-he did write a letter to the Marchioness. "I am not anxious," he
-said, "to do more than remind your ladyship of those peculiarly
-confidential discussions which took place between yourself and me at
-Trafford during the last winter; but I think you will acknowledge
-that they were of a nature to make me feel that I should not be
-discarded like an old glove. If you would tell his lordship that
-something should be done for me, something would be done." Her
-ladyship when she received this was very much frightened. She
-remembered the expressions she had allowed herself to use, and did
-say a hesitating, halting word to her husband, suggesting that Mr.
-Greenwood's pension should be increased. The Marquis turned upon her
-in anger. "Did you ever promise him anything?" he asked. No;—she had
-promised him nothing. "I am giving him more than he deserves, and
-will do no more," said the Marquis. There was something in his voice
-which forbade her to speak another word.</p>
-
-<p>Mr. Greenwood's letter having remained for ten days without an
-answer, there came another. "I cannot but think that you will
-acknowledge my right to expect an answer," he said, "considering the
-many years through which I have enjoyed the privilege of your
-ladyship's friendship, and the <i>very confidential terms</i> on
-which we have been used to discuss matters of the highest interest
-to us both." The "matters" had no doubt been the probability of the
-accession to the title of her own son through the demise of his elder
-brother! She understood now all her own folly, and something of her
-own wickedness. To this second appeal she wrote a short answer,
-having laid awake over it one entire night.<br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dear Mr.
-Greenwood</span>—I have spoken to the Marquis, and he
-will do nothing.</p>
-
-<p class="ind12">Yours truly,</p>
-
-<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">C. Kingsbury</span>.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p>This she did without saying a word to her husband.</p>
-
-<p>Then, after the interval of a few days, there came a
-third letter.<br /> </p>
-
-
-<blockquote>
-<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear
-Lady Kingsbury</span>,—</p>
-
-<p>I cannot allow myself to think that this should be the end
-of it all, after so many years of social intimacy and
-confidential intercourse. Can you yourself imagine the
-condition of a gentleman of my age reduced after a life of
-ease and comfort to exist on a miserable pension of £200 a
-year? It simply means death,—death! Have I not a right to
-expect something better after the devotion of a life?</p>
-
-<p>Who has known as well as I the stumbling-blocks to your
-ladyship's ambition which have been found in the
-existences of Lord Hampstead and Lady Frances Trafford? I
-have sympathized with you no doubt,—partly because of
-their peculiarities, partly from sincere affection for
-your ladyship. It cannot surely be that your ladyship
-should now treat me as an enemy because I could do no more
-than sympathize!</p>
-
-<p>Dig I cannot. To beg I am ashamed. You will hardly wish
-that I should perish from want. I have not as yet been
-driven to open out my sad case to any one but yourself. Do
-not force me to it,—for the sake of those darling
-children for whose welfare I have ever been so anxious.</p>
-
-<p class="noindent"><span class="ind4">Believe me to be,</span><br />
-<span class="ind6">Your ladyship's most devoted and
-faithful friend,</span></p>
-
-<p class="ind12"><span class="smallcaps">Thomas
-Greenwood</span>.<br /> </p>
-</blockquote>
-
-
-<p>This epistle so frightened her that she began to consider how she
-might best collect together a sufficient sum of money to satisfy the
-man. She did succeed in sending him a note for £50. But this he was
-too wary to take. He returned it, saying that he could not, though
-steeped in poverty, accept chance eleemosynary aid. What he
-required.—and had he thought a right to ask,—was an increase to the
-fixed stipend allowed him. He must, he thought, again force himself
-upon the presence of the Marquis, and explain the nature of the
-demand more explicitly.</p>
-
-<p>Upon this Lady Kingsbury showed all the letters to her husband. "What
-does he mean by stumbling-blocks?" asked the Marquis in his wrath.
-Then there was a scene which was sad enough. She had to confess that
-she had spoken very freely to the chaplain respecting her
-step-children. "Freely! What does freely mean? Do you want them out
-of the way?" What a question for a husband to have to ask his wife!
-But she had a door by which she could partly escape. It was not that
-she had wanted them out of the way, but that she had been so
-horrified by what she had thought to be their very improper ideas as
-to their own rank of life. Those marriages which they had intended
-had caused her to speak as she had done to the chaplain. When alone
-at Trafford she had no doubt opened her mind to the clergyman. She
-rested a great deal on the undoubted fact that Mr. Greenwood was a
-clergyman. Hampstead and Fanny had been stumbling-blocks to her
-ambition because she had desired to see them married properly into
-proper families. She probably thought that she was telling the truth
-as she said all this. It was at any rate accepted as truth, and she
-was condoned. As to Hampstead, it was known by this time that that
-marriage could never take place; and as to Lady Frances, the
-Marchioness was driven, in her present misery, to confess, that as
-the Duca was in truth a Duca, his family must be held to be proper.</p>
-
-<p>But the Marquis sent for Mr. Cumming, his London solicitor, and put
-all the letters into his hand,—with such explanation as he thought
-necessary to give. Mr. Cumming at first recommended that the pension
-should be altogether stopped; but to this the Marquis did not
-consent. "It would not suit me that he should starve," said the
-Marquis. "But if he continues to write to her ladyship something must
-be done."</p>
-
-<p>"Threatening letters to extort money!" said the lawyer confidently.
-"I can have him before a magistrate to-morrow, my lord, if it be
-thought well." It was, however, felt to be expedient that Mr. Cumming
-should in the first case send for Mr. Greenwood, and explain to that
-gentleman the nature of the law.</p>
-
-<p>Mr. Cumming no doubt felt himself that it would be well that Mr.
-Greenwood should not starve, and well also that application should
-not be made to the magistrate, unless as a last resort. He, too,
-asked himself what was meant by "stumbling-blocks." Mr. Greenwood was
-a greedy rascal, descending to the lowest depth of villany with the
-view of making money out of the fears of a silly woman. But the silly
-woman, the lawyer thought, must have been almost worse than silly. It
-seemed natural to Mr. Cumming that a stepmother should be anxious for
-the worldly welfare of her own children;—not unnatural, perhaps,
-that she should be so anxious as to have a feeling at her heart
-amounting almost to a wish that "chance" should remove the obstacle.
-Chance, as Mr. Cumming was aware, could in such a case mean
-only—death. Mr. Cumming, when he put this in plain terms to himself,
-felt it to be very horrid; but there might be a doubt whether such a
-feeling would be criminal, if backed up by no deed and expressed by
-no word. But here it seemed that words had been spoken. Mr. Greenwood
-had probably invented that particular phrase, but would hardly have
-invented it unless something had been said to justify it. It was his
-business, however, to crush Mr. Greenwood, and not to expose her
-ladyship. He wrote a very civil note to Mr. Greenwood. Would Mr.
-Greenwood do him the kindness to call in Bedford Row at such or such
-an hour,—or indeed at any other hour that might suit him. Mr.
-Greenwood thinking much of it, and resolving in his mind that any
-increase to his pension might probably be made through Mr. Cumming,
-did as he was bid, and waited upon the lawyer.</p>
-
-<p>Mr. Cumming, when the clergyman was shown in, was seated with the
-letters before him,—the various letters which Mr. Greenwood had
-written to Lady Kingsbury,—folded out one over another, so that the
-visitor's eye might see them and feel their presence; but he did not
-intend to use them unless of necessity. "Mr. Greenwood," he said, "I
-learn that you are discontented with the amount of a retiring
-allowance which the Marquis of Kingsbury has made you on leaving his
-service."</p>
-
-<p>"I am, Mr. Cumming; certainly I am.—£200 a year is
-<span class="nowrap">not—"</span></p>
-
-<p>"Let us call it £300, Mr. Greenwood."</p>
-
-<p>"Well, yes; Lord Hampstead did say something—"</p>
-
-<p>"And has paid something. Let us call it £300. Not that the amount
-matters. The Marquis and Lord Hampstead are determined not to
-increase it."</p>
-
-<p>"Determined!"</p>
-
-<p>"Quite determined that under no circumstances will they increase it.
-They may find it necessary to stop it."</p>
-
-<p>"Is this a threat?"</p>
-
-<p>"Certainly it is a threat,—as far as it goes. There is another
-threat which I may have to make for the sake of coercing you; but I
-do not wish to use it if I can do without it."</p>
-
-<p>"Her ladyship knows that I am ill-treated in this matter. She sent me
-£50 and I returned it. It was not in that way that I wished to be
-paid for my services."</p>
-
-<p>"It was well for you that you did. But for that I could not certainly
-have asked you to come and see me here."</p>
-
-<p>"You could not?"</p>
-
-<p>"No;—I could not. You will probably understand what I mean." Here
-Mr. Cumming laid his hands upon the letters, but made no other
-allusion to them. "A very few words more will, I think, settle all
-that there is to be arranged between us. The Marquis, from certain
-reasons of humanity,—with which I for one hardly sympathize in this
-case,—is most unwilling to stop, or even to lessen, the ample
-pension which is paid to you."</p>
-
-<p>"Ample;—after a whole lifetime!"</p>
-
-<p>"But he will do so if you write any further letters to any member of
-his family."</p>
-
-<p>"That is tyranny, Mr. Cumming."</p>
-
-<p>"Very well. Then is the Marquis a tyrant. But he will go further than
-that in his tyranny. If it be necessary to defend either himself or
-any of his family from further annoyance, he will do so by criminal
-proceedings. You are probably aware that the doing this would be very
-disagreeable to the Marquis. Undoubtedly it would. To such a man as
-Lord Kingsbury it is a great trouble to have his own name, or worse,
-that of others of his family, brought into a Police Court. But, if
-necessary, it will be done. I do not ask you for any assurance, Mr.
-Greenwood, because it may be well that you should take a little time
-to think of it. But unless you are willing to lose your income, and
-to be taken before a police magistrate for endeavouring to extort
-money by threatening letters, you had better hold your hand."</p>
-
-<p>"I have never threatened."</p>
-
-<p>"Good morning, Mr. Greenwood."</p>
-
-<p>"Mr. Cumming, I have threatened no one."</p>
-
-<p>"Good morning, Mr. Greenwood." Then the discarded chaplain took his
-leave, failing to find the words with which he could satisfactorily
-express his sense of the injury which had been done him.</p>
-
-<p>Before that day was over he had made up his mind to take his £300 a
-year and be silent. The Marquis, he now found, was not so infirm as
-he had thought, nor the Marchioness quite so full of fears. He must
-give it up, and take his pittance. But in doing so he continued to
-assure himself that he was greatly injured, and did not cease to
-accuse Lord Kingsbury of sordid parsimony in refusing to reward
-adequately one whose services to the family had been so faithful and
-long-enduring.</p>
-
-<p>It may, however, be understood that in the midst of troubles such as
-these Lady Kingsbury did not pass a pleasant summer.</p>
-
-
-<p><a name="c3-21" id="c3-21"></a> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<h3>CHAPTER XXI.</h3>
-<h4>THE REGISTRAR OF STATE RECORDS.<br /> </h4>
-
-
-<p>Although Lord Persiflage had seemed to be very angry with the
-recusant Duke, and had made that uncivil speech about the gutter,
-still he was quite willing that George Roden should be asked down to
-Castle Hautboy. "Of course we must do something for him," he said to
-his wife; "but I hate scrupulous men. I don't blame him at all for
-making such a girl as Fanny fall in love with him. If I were a Post
-Office clerk I'd do the same if I could."</p>
-
-<p>"Not you. You wouldn't have given yourself the trouble."</p>
-
-<p>"But when I had done it I wouldn't have given her friends more
-trouble than was necessary. I should have known that they would have
-had to drag me up somewhere. I should have looked for that. But I
-shouldn't have made myself difficult when chance gave a helping hand.
-Why shouldn't he have taken his title?"</p>
-
-<p>"Of course we all wish he would."</p>
-
-<p>"Fanny is as bad as he is. She has caught some of Hampstead's
-levelling ideas and encourages the young man. It was all Kingsbury's
-fault from the first. He began the world wrong, and now he cannot get
-himself right again. A radical aristocrat is a contradiction in
-terms. It is very well that there should be Radicals. It would be a
-stupid do-nothing world without them. But a man can't be oil and
-vinegar at the same time." This was the expression made by Lord
-Persiflage of his general ideas on politics in reference to George
-Roden and his connection with the Trafford family; but not the less
-was George Roden asked down to Castle Hautboy. Lady Frances was not
-to be thrown over because she had made a fool of herself,—nor was
-George Roden to be left out in the cold, belonging as he did now to
-Lady Frances. Lord Persiflage never approved very much of
-anybody,—but he never threw anybody over.</p>
-
-<p>It was soon after the funeral of Marion Fay that Roden went down to
-Cumberland. During the last two months of Marion's illness Hampstead
-and Roden had been very often together. Not that they had lived
-together, as Hampstead had declared himself unable to bear continued
-society. His hours had been passed alone. But there had not been many
-days in which the friends had not seen each other for a few minutes.
-It had become a habit with Hampstead to ride over to Paradise Row
-when Roden had returned from the office. At first Mrs. Roden also had
-been there;—but latterly she had spent her time altogether at
-Pegwell Bay. Nevertheless Lord Hampstead would come, and would say a
-few words, and would then ride home again. When all was over at
-Pegwell Bay, when the funeral was at hand, and during the few days of
-absolutely prostrating grief which followed it, nothing was seen of
-him;—but on the evening before his friend's journey down to Castle
-Hautboy he again appeared in the Row. On this occasion he walked
-over, and his friend returned with him a part of the way. "You must
-do something with yourself," Roden said to him.</p>
-
-<p>"I see no need of doing anything special. How many men do nothing
-with themselves!"</p>
-
-<p>"Men either work or play."</p>
-
-<p>"I do not think I shall play much."</p>
-
-<p>"Not for a time certainly. You used to play; but I can imagine that
-the power of doing so will have deserted you."</p>
-
-<p>"I shan't hunt, if you mean that."</p>
-
-<p>"I do not mean that at all," said Roden;—"but that you should do
-something. There must be some occupation, or life will be
-insupportable."</p>
-
-<p>"It is insupportable," said the young man looking away, so that his
-countenance should not be seen.</p>
-
-<p>"But it must be supported. Let the load be ever so heavy, it must be
-carried. You would not destroy yourself?"</p>
-
-<p>"No;"—said the other slowly; "no. I would not do that. If any one
-would do it for me!"</p>
-
-<p>"No one will do it for you. Not to have some plan of active life,
-some defined labour by which the weariness of the time may be
-conquered, would be a weakness and a cowardice next door to that of
-suicide."</p>
-
-<p>"Roden," said the lord, "your severity is brutal."</p>
-
-<p>"The question is whether it be true. You shall call it what you
-like,—or call me what you like; but can you contradict what I say?
-Do you not feel that it is your duty as a man to apply what intellect
-you have, and what strength, to some purpose?"</p>
-
-<p>Then, by degrees, Lord Hampstead did explain the purpose he had
-before him. He intended to have a yacht built, and start alone, and
-cruise about the face of the world. He would take books with him, and
-study the peoples and the countries which he visited.</p>
-
-<p>"Alone?" asked Roden.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, alone;—as far as a man may be alone with a crew and a captain
-around him. I shall make acquaintances as I go, and shall be able to
-bear them as such. They will know nothing of my secret wound. Had I
-you with me,—you and my sister let us suppose,—or Vivian, or any
-one from here who had known me, I could not even struggle to raise my
-head."</p>
-
-<p>"It would wear off."</p>
-
-<p>"I will go alone; and if occasion offers I will make fresh
-acquaintances. I will begin another life which shall have no
-connection with the old one,—except that which will be continued by
-the thread of my own memory. No one shall be near me who may even
-think of her name when my own ways and manners are called in
-question." He went on to explain that he would set himself to work at
-once. The ship must be built, and the crew collected, and the stores
-prepared. He thought that in this way he might find employment for
-himself till the spring. In the spring, if all was ready, he would
-start. Till that time came he would live at Hendon Hall,—still
-alone. He so far relented, however, as to say that if his sister was
-married before he began his wanderings he would be present at her
-marriage.</p>
-
-<p>Early in the course of the evening he had explained to Roden that his
-father and he had conjointly arranged to give Lady Frances £40,000 on
-her wedding. "Can that be necessary?" asked Roden.</p>
-
-<p>"You must live; and as you have gone into a nest with the drones, you
-must live in some sort as the drones do."</p>
-
-<p>"I hope I shall never be a drone."</p>
-
-<p>"You cannot touch pitch and not be defiled. You'll be expected to
-wear gloves and drink fine wine,—or, at any rate, to give it to your
-friends. Your wife will have to ride in a coach. If she don't people
-will point at her, and think she's a pauper, because she has a handle
-to her name. They talk of the upper ten thousand. It is as hard to
-get out from among them as it is to get in among them. Though you
-have been wonderfully stout about the Italian title, you'll find that
-it will stick to you." Then it was explained that the money, which
-was to be given, would in no wise interfere with the "darlings."
-Whatever was to be added to the fortune which would naturally have
-belonged to Lady Frances, would come not from her father but from her
-brother.</p>
-
-<p>When Roden arrived at Castle Hautboy Lord Persiflage was there,
-though he remained but for a day. He was due to be with the Queen for
-a month,—a duty which was evidently much to his taste, though he
-affected to frown over it as a hardship. "I am sorry, Roden," he
-said, "that I should be obliged to leave you and everybody else;—but
-a Government hack, you know, has to be a Government hack." This was
-rather strong from a Secretary of State to a Clerk in the Post
-Office; but Roden had to let it pass lest he should give an opening
-to some remark on his own repudiated rank. "I shall be back before
-you are gone, I hope, and then perhaps we may arrange something." The
-only thing that Roden wished to arrange was a day for his own
-wedding, as to which, as far as he knew, Lord Persiflage could have
-nothing to say.</p>
-
-<p>"I don't think you ought to be sorry," Lady Frances said to her lover
-as they were wandering about on the mountains. He had endeavoured to
-explain to her that this large income which was now promised to him
-rather impeded than assisted the scheme of life which he had
-suggested to himself.</p>
-
-<p>"Not sorry,—but disappointed, if you know the difference."</p>
-
-<p>"Not exactly."</p>
-
-<p>"I had wanted to feel that I should earn my wife's bread."</p>
-
-<p>"So you shall. If a man works honestly for his living, I don't think
-he need inquire too curiously what proportion of it may come from his
-own labour or from some other source. If I had had nothing we should
-have done very well without the coach,—as poor Hampstead calls it.
-But if the coach is there I don't see why we shouldn't ride in it."</p>
-
-<p>"I should like to earn the coach too," said Roden.</p>
-
-<p>"This, sir, will be a lesson serviceable in teaching you that you are
-not to be allowed to have your own way in everything."</p>
-
-<p>An additional leave of absence for a month had been accorded to
-Roden. He had already been absent during a considerable time in the
-spring of the year, and in the ordinary course of events would not
-have been entitled to this prolonged indulgence. But there were
-reasons deemed to be sufficient. He was going to meet a Cabinet
-Minister. He was engaged to marry the daughter of a Marquis. And it
-was known that he was not simply George Roden, but in truth the Duca
-di Crinola. He had suffered some qualms of conscience as to the
-favour to be thus shown him, but had quieted them by the idea that
-when a man is in love something special ought to be done for him. He
-remained, therefore, till the Foreign Secretary returned from his
-royal service, and had by that time fixed the period of his marriage.
-It was to take place in the cold comfortless month of March. It would
-be a great thing, he had said, to have Hampstead present at it, and
-it was Hampstead's intention to start on his long travels early in
-April. "I don't see why people shouldn't be married in cold weather
-as well as in hot," said Vivian. "Brides need not go about always in
-muslin."</p>
-
-<p>When Lord Persiflage returned to Castle Hautboy, he had his plan
-ready arranged for relieving his future half-nephew-in-law,—if there
-be such a relationship,—from the ignominy of the Post Office. "I
-have Her Majesty's permission," he said to Roden, "to offer you the
-position of Registrar of State Records to the Foreign Office."</p>
-
-<p>"Registrar of State Records to the Foreign Office!"</p>
-
-<p>"Fifteen hundred a year," said his lordship, going off at once to
-this one point of true vital importance. "I am bound to say that I
-think I could have done better for you had you consented to bear the
-title, which is as completely your own, as is that mine by which I am
-called."</p>
-
-<p>"Don't let us go back to that, my lord."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh no;—certainly not. Only this; if you could be brought to think
-better of it,—if Fanny could be induced to make you think better of
-it,—the office now offered to you would, I think, be more
-comfortable to you."</p>
-
-<p>"How so?"</p>
-
-<p>"I can hardly explain, but it would. There is no reason on earth why
-it should not be held by an Italian. We had an Italian for many years
-librarian at the Museum. And as an Italian you would of course be
-entitled to call yourself by your hereditary title."</p>
-
-<p>"I shall never be other than an Englishman."</p>
-
-<p>"Very well. One man may lead a horse to water, but a thousand cannot
-make him drink. I only tell you what would be the case. The title
-would no doubt give a prestige to the new office. It is exactly that
-kind of work which would fall readily into the hands of a foreigner
-of high rank. One cannot explain these things, but it is so. The
-£1500 a year would more probably become £2000 if you submitted to be
-called by your own proper name." Everybody knew that Lord Persiflage
-understood the Civil Service of his country perfectly. He was a man
-who never worked very hard himself, or expected those under him to do
-so; but he liked common sense, and hated scruples, and he considered
-it to be a man's duty to take care of himself,—of himself first of
-all, and then, perhaps, afterwards, of the Service.</p>
-
-<p>Neither did Roden nor did Lady Frances give way a bit the more for
-this. They were persistent in clinging to their old comparatively
-humble English name. Lady Frances would be Lady Frances to the end,
-but she would be no more than Lady Frances Roden. And George Roden
-would be George Roden, whether a clerk in the Post Office or
-Registrar of State Records to the Foreign Office. So much the next
-new bride declared with great energy to the last new bride who had
-just returned from her short wedding tour, having been hurried home
-so that her husband might be able to lay the first stone of the new
-bridge to be built over the Menai Straits. Lady Llwddythlw, with all
-the composed manners of a steady matron, was at Castle Hautboy, and
-used all her powers of persuasion. "Never mind, my dear, what he
-says," Lady Llwddythlw urged. "What you should think of is what will
-be good for him. He would be somebody,—almost as good as an Under
-Secretary of State,—with a title. He would get to be considered
-among the big official swells. There is so much in a name! Of course,
-you've got your rank. But you ought to insist on it for his sake."</p>
-
-<p>Lady Frances did not give way in the least, nor did any one venture
-to call the Duca by his title, formally or openly. But, as Lord
-Hampstead had said, "it stuck to him." The women when they were alone
-with him would call him Duca, joking with him; and it was out of the
-question that he should be angry with them for their jokes. He became
-aware that behind his back he was always spoken of as The Duke, and
-that this was not done with any idea of laughing at him. The people
-around him believed that he was a Duke and ought to be called a Duke.
-Of course it was in joke that Lady Llwddythlw always called Lady
-Frances Duchessina when they were together, because Lady Frances had
-certainly not as yet acquired her right to the name; but it all
-tended to the same point. He became aware that the very servants
-around him understood it. They did not call him "your grace" or "my
-Lord," or make spoken allusion to his rank; but they looked it. All
-that obsequiousness due to an hereditary nobleman, which is dear to
-the domestic heart, was paid to him. He found himself called upon by
-Lady Persiflage to go into the dining-room out of his proper place.
-There was a fair excuse for this while the party was small, and
-confined to few beyond the family, as it was expected that the two
-declared lovers should sit together. But when this had been done with
-a larger party he expostulated with his hostess. "My dear Mr. Roden,"
-she said,—"I suppose I must call you so."</p>
-
-<p>"It's my name at any rate."</p>
-
-<p>"There are certain points on which, as far as I can see, a man may be
-allowed to have his way,—and certain points on which he may not."</p>
-
-<p>"As to his own name—"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes; on the matter of your name. I do not see my way how to get the
-better of you just at present, though on account of my near
-connection with Fanny I am very anxious to do so. But as to the fact
-of your rank, there it is. Whenever I see you,—and I hope I shall
-see you very often,—I shall always suppose that I see an Italian
-nobleman of the first class, and shall treat you so." He shrugged his
-shoulders, feeling that he had nothing else to do. "If I were to find
-myself in the society of some man calling himself by a title to which
-I knew that he had no right,—I should probably call him by no name;
-but I should be very careful not to treat him as a nobleman, knowing
-that he had no right to be so treated. What can I do in your case but
-just reverse the position?"</p>
-
-<p>He never went back to the Post Office,—of course. What should a
-Registrar of State Records to the Foreign Office do in so humble an
-establishment? He never went back for the purposes of work. He called
-to bid farewell to Sir Boreas, Mr. Jerningham, Crocker, and others
-with whom he had served. "I did not think we should see much more of
-you," said Sir Boreas, laughing.</p>
-
-<p>"I intended to live and die with you," said Roden.</p>
-
-<p>"We don't have dukes; or at any rate we don't keep them. Like to like
-is a motto which I always find true. When I heard that you were
-living with a young lord, and were going to marry the daughter of a
-marquis, and had a title of your own which you could use as soon as
-you pleased, I knew that I should lose you." Then he added in a
-little whisper, "You couldn't get Crocker made a duke, could you,—or
-a Registrar of Records?"</p>
-
-<p>Mr. Jerningham was full of smiles and bows, pervaded thoroughly by a
-feeling that he was bidding farewell to an august nobleman, though,
-for negative reasons, he was not to be allowed to gratify his tongue
-by naming the august name. Crocker was a little shy;—but he plucked
-up his courage at last. "I shall always know what I know, you know,"
-he said, as he shook hands with the friend to whom he had been so
-much attached. Bobbin and Geraghty made no allusions to the title,
-but they, too, as they were severally greeted, were evidently under
-the influence of the nobility of their late brother clerk.</p>
-
-<p>The marriage was duly solemnized when March came in the parish church
-of Trafford. There was nothing grand,—no even distant imitation of
-Lady Amaldina's glorious cavalcade. Hampstead did come down, and
-endeavoured for the occasion to fit himself for the joy of the day.
-His ship was ready for him, and he intended to start now in a week or
-two. As it happened that the House was not sitting, Lord Llwddythlw,
-at the instigation of his wife, was present. "One good turn deserves
-another," Lady Llwddythlw had said to him. And the darlings were
-there in all their glory, loud, beautiful, and unruly. Lady Kingsbury
-was of course present; but was too much in abeyance to be able to
-arouse even a sign of displeasure. Since that reference to the
-"stumbling blocks" had reached her husband, and since those fears
-with which Mr. Greenwood had filled her, she had been awed into
-quiescence.</p>
-
-<p>The bridegroom was of course married under the simple name of George
-Roden,—and we must part with him under that name; but it is the
-belief of the present chronicler that the aristocratic element will
-prevail, and that the time will come soon in which the Registrar of
-State Records to the Foreign Office will be known in the purlieus of
-Downing Street as the Duca di Crinola.</p>
-
-
-<p> </p>
-<hr class="narrow" />
-<p> </p>
-
-<h4>Transcriber's note:</h4>
-
-<div class="small">
-<p class="noindent">Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.</p>
-
-<p class="noindent">Volume I, Chapter I, paragraph 9.
-Trollope refers here and elsewhere
-to Lord Hampstead as Lady Kingsbury's son-in-law, although he is
-actually her stepson. This is not a example of carelessness by the
-author but an archaic use of "son-in-law" which persisted into the
-mid-nineteenth century.</p>
-
-<p class="noindent">Volume I, Chapter XIX, paragraph 1.
-The astute reader might
-wonder how a two-day visit can last from Wednesday to the
-following Tuesday, as stated in the sentence: Lady Amaldina
-and he were both to arrive there on Wednesday, December 3rd,
-and remain till the Tuesday morning.</p>
-
-<p class="noindent">Specific changes in wording of the
-text are listed below.</p>
-
-<p class="noindentind">Volume I, Chapter XII, paragraph 42.
-"On" was changed to "Oh" in the sentence: "OH, no doubt!</p>
-
-<p class="noindentind">Volume I, Chapter III, paragraph 62.
-The word "began" was
-changed to "begun" in the sentence: In the horror of the
-first revelation he had yielded, but had since BEGUN to
-feel that too much was being done in withdrawing him from
-Parliament.</p>
-
-<p class="noindentind">Volume II, Chapter III, paragraph 82.
-A comma was changed to a
-semi-colon in the sentence: This was on a Tuesday; on the Wednesday
-he did not speak to her on the subject.</p>
-
-<p class="noindentind">Volume II, Chapter VI, paragraph 17.
-The word "live" was changed to
-"life" in the sentence: I have had to ask myself, and I have told
-myself that I do not dare to love above my station in LIFE.</p>
-
-<p class="noindentind">Volume II, Chapter VI, paragraph 31.
-The word "to" was added
-to the sentence: It may be that you should drive me away
-from you, and TO beg you never to trouble me any further.</p>
-
-<p class="noindentind">Volume II, Chapter XII, paragraph 6.
-The word "conviction" was
-changed to the plural form in the sentence: The CONVICTIONS of the
-world since the days of Cain have all gone in that direction.</p>
-
-<p class="noindentind">Volume II, Chapter XIII, paragraph 47.
-"Roden" was changed to
-"Trafford" in the sentence: I have seen Lady Frances TRAFFORD.</p>
-
-<p class="noindentind">Volume II, Chapter XV, paragraph 61.
-"10" was changed to "11" in the
-sentence: Marion Fay and her father live at No. 17, Paradise Row,
-Holloway, and Mrs. Roden and George Roden live at No. 11. The reader
-will recall that Mrs. Demijohn and her niece Clara resided at No. 10.</p>
-
-<p class="noindentind">Volume II, Chapter XX, paragraph 19.
-"17" was changed to "15" in the
-sentence: I hope you'll let me introduce you to Mrs. Duffer of No.
-15. The reader will recall that Mrs. Duffer lives at No. 15, while
-No. 17 is the home of Marion Fay and her father.</p>
-
-<p class="noindentind">Volume III, Chapter III, paragraph 25.
-The Baron's name appears eight
-times in the text; this, the first, occurrence was spelled "d'Osse,"
-and the other seven spelled "d'Ossi" or "D'Ossi." "d'Osse" was
-changed to "d'Ossi" in the sentence beginning: When Lord Persiflage
-spoke of the matter to Baron d'OSSI, the Italian Minister in
-<span class="nowrap">London, …</span></p>
-
-<p class="noindentind">Volume III, Chapter VI, paragraph 1.
-The word "fame" was changed to
-"name" in the sentence: As to his mother's NAME, he said, no one had
-doubted, and no one would doubt it for a moment.</p>
-</div>
-
-<p> </p>
-<p> </p>
-<hr class="full" />
-
-<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30100 ***</div>
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+<!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"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Marion Fay, by Anthony Trollope</title> +<style type="text/css"> + body {background:#fdfdfd; + color:black; + font-family: "Times-Roman", serif; + font-size: large; + margin-left:15%; + margin-right:15%; + text-align:justify; } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center; + clear: both; } + h1.title { font-size: 300%;} + hr.narrow { width: 40%; + text-align: center; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; } + hr { width: 100%; } + hr.full { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } + blockquote { font-size: large; } + blockquote.med { font-size: medium; } + img.left { float:left; + margin: 0px 8px 6px 0px; } + table {font-size: large; } + table.sm {font-size: medium; } + table.j {font-size: large; + text-align: justify; } + td.j {text-align: justify; } + p {text-indent: 4%; } + p.noindent { text-indent: 0%; } + p.noindentind { text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 4%; } + .caption { font-size: small; + font-weight: bold; } + .center { text-align: center; } + img { border: 0; } + .ind2 { margin-left: 2em; } + .ind4 { margin-left: 4em; } + .ind6 { margin-left: 6em; } + .ind8 { margin-left: 8em; } + .ind10 { margin-left: 10em; } + .ind12 { margin-left: 12em; } + .ind15 { margin-left: 15em; } + .ind18 { margin-left: 18em; } + .jright { text-align: right; } + .wide { letter-spacing: 2em; } + .nowrap { white-space: nowrap; } + .nonser { font-family: Arial, non-serif; } + .small { font-size: 85%; } + .large { font-size: 130%; } + .smallcaps { font-variant: small-caps; } + .u { text-decoration: underline; } + a:link {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + link {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + a:visited {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + a:hover {color:red; + text-decoration: underline; } + pre {font-size: 70%; } +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30100 ***</div> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Marion Fay, by Anthony Trollope</h1> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>Links to Volumes</h3> +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="1"> +<tr><td><a href="#v1">VOLUME I.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#v2">VOLUME II.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#v3">VOLUME III.</a></td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<hr class="full" /> +<p><a name="v1" id="v1"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h1 class="title">MARION FAY.</h1> + +<h3>A Novel.</h3> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h4>BY</h4> + +<h2>ANTHONY TROLLOPE,</h2> + +<h4>AUTHOR OF<br /> +<br /> +"FRAMLEY PARSONAGE," "ORLEY FARM," "THE WAY WE<br /> +<br /> +LIVE NOW," ETC., ETC.</h4> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h3><i>IN THREE VOLUMES.</i></h3> + +<h2>VOL. I.</h2> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h4>London:<br /> +CHAPMAN & HALL, <span class="smallcaps">Limited</span>, +11, HENRIETTA ST.<br /> +1882.</h4> + +<h5><i>[All Rights reserved.]</i></h5> + +<p> </p> +<hr class="narrow" /> +<p> </p> + +<h5>Bungay:</h5> + +<h6>CLAY AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS.</h6> + +<p> </p> +<hr class="narrow" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h3>CONTENTS OF VOLUME I.<br /> </h3> + +<div class="center"> +<table class="sm" style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="3"> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">I. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-1" >THE MARQUIS OF KINGSBURY.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">II. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-2" >LORD HAMPSTEAD.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">III. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-3" >THE MARCHIONESS.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">IV. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-4" >LADY FRANCES.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">V. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-5" >MRS. RODEN.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">VI. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-6" >PARADISE ROW.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">VII. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-7" >THE POST OFFICE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">VIII. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-8" >MR. GREENWOOD.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">IX. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-9" >AT KÖNIGSGRAAF.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">X. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-10" >"NOBLESSE OBLIGE."</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XI. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-11" >LADY PERSIFLAGE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XII. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-12" >CASTLE HAUTBOY.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XIII. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-13" >THE BRAESIDE HARRIERS.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XIV. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-14" >COMING HOME FROM HUNTING.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XV. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-15" >MARION FAY AND HER FATHER.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XVI. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-16" >THE WALK BACK TO HENDON.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XVII. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-17" >LORD HAMPSTEAD'S SCHEME.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XVIII. </td><td align="left"><a href="#c1-18" >HOW THEY LIVED AT TRAFFORD PARK.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XIX. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-19" >LADY AMALDINA'S LOVER.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XX. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-20" >THE SCHEME IS SUCCESSFUL.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XXI. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-21" >WHAT THEY ALL THOUGHT AS THEY WENT HOME.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XXII. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c1-22" >AGAIN AT TRAFFORD.</a></td></tr> +</table> +</div> + +<p> </p> +<hr class="narrow" /> + +<p><a name="c1-1" id="c1-1"></a> </p> +<h1>MARION FAY.</h1> +<p> </p> +<hr class="narrow" /> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER I.</h3> +<h4>THE MARQUIS OF KINGSBURY.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>When Mr. Lionel Trafford went into Parliament for the Borough of +Wednesbury as an advanced Radical, it nearly broke the heart of his +uncle, the old Marquis of Kingsbury. Among Tories of his day the +Marquis had been hyper-Tory,—as were his friends, the Duke of +Newcastle, who thought that a man should be allowed to do what he +liked with his own, and the Marquis of Londonderry, who, when some +such falling-off in the family politics came near him, spoke with +indignation of the family treasure which had been expended in +defending the family seat. Wednesbury had never been the Marquis's +own; but his nephew was so in a peculiar sense. His nephew was +necessarily his heir,—the future Marquis,—and the old Marquis never +again, politically, held up his head. He was an old man when this +occurred, and luckily for him he did not live to see the worse things +which came afterwards.</p> + +<p>The Member for Wednesbury became Marquis and owner of the large +family property, but still he kept his politics. He was a Radical +Marquis, wedded to all popular measures, not ashamed of his Charter +days, and still clamorous for further Parliamentary reform, although +it was regularly noted in Dod that the Marquis of Kingsbury was +supposed to have strong influence in the Borough of Edgeware. It was +so strong that both he and his uncle had put in whom they pleased. +His uncle had declined to put him in because of his renegade +theories, but he revenged himself by giving the seat to a +glib-mouthed tailor, who, to tell the truth, had not done much credit +to his choice.</p> + +<p>But it came to pass that the shade of his uncle was avenged, if it +can be supposed that such feelings will affect the eternal rest of a +dead Marquis. There grew up a young Lord Hampstead, the son and heir +of the Radical Marquis, promising in intelligence and satisfactory in +externals, but very difficult to deal with as to the use of his +thoughts. They could not keep him at Harrow or at Oxford, because he +not only rejected, but would talk openly against, Christian +doctrines; a religious boy, but determined not to believe in revealed +mysteries. And at twenty-one he declared himself a +Republican,—explaining thereby that he disapproved altogether of +hereditary honours. He was quite as bad to this Marquis as had been +this Marquis to the other. The tailor kept his seat because Lord +Hampstead would not even condescend to sit for the family borough. He +explained to his father that he had doubts about a Parliament of +which one section was hereditary, but was sure that at present he was +too young for it. There must surely have been gratification in this +to the shade of the departed Marquis.</p> + +<p>But there was worse than this,—infinitely worse. Lord Hampstead +formed a close friendship with a young man, five years older than +himself, who was but a clerk in the Post Office. In George Roden, as +a man and a companion, there was no special fault to be found. There +may be those who think that a Marquis's heir should look for his most +intimate friend in a somewhat higher scale of social rank, and that +he would more probably serve the purposes of his future life by +associating with his equals;—that like to like in friendship is +advantageous. The Marquis, his father, certainly thought so in spite +of his Radicalism. But he might have been pardoned on the score of +Roden's general good gifts,—might have been pardoned even though it +were true, as supposed, that to Roden's strong convictions Lord +Hampstead owed much of the ultra virus of his political +convictions,—might have been pardoned had not there been worse +again. At Hendon Hall, the Marquis's lovely suburban seat, the Post +Office clerk was made acquainted with Lady Frances Trafford, and they +became lovers.</p> + +<p>The radicalism of a Marquis is apt to be tainted by special +considerations in regard to his own family. This Marquis, though he +had his exoteric politics, had his esoteric feelings. With him, +Liberal as he was, his own blood possessed a peculiar ichor. Though +it might be well that men in the mass should be as nearly equal as +possible, yet, looking at the state of possibilities and realities as +existent, it was clear to him that a Marquis of Kingsbury had been +placed on a pedestal. It might be that the state of things was matter +for regret. In his grander moments he was certain that it was so. Why +should there be a ploughboy unable to open his mouth because of his +infirmity, and a Marquis with his own voice very resonant in the +House of Lords, and a deputy voice dependent on him in the House of +Commons? He had said so very frequently before his son, not knowing +then what might be the effect of his own teaching. There had been a +certain pride in his heart as he taught these lessons, wrong though +it might be that there should be a Marquis and a ploughboy so far +reversed by the injustice of Fate. There had been a comfort to him in +feeling that Fate had made him the Marquis, and had made some one +else the ploughboy. He knew what it was to be a Marquis down to the +last inch of aristocratic admeasurement. He would fain that his +children should have understood this also. But his lesson had gone +deeper than he had intended, and great grief had come of it.</p> + +<p>The Marquis had been first married to a lady altogether unconnected +with noble blood, but whose father had held a position of remarkable +ascendancy in the House of Commons. He had never been a Cabinet +Minister, because he had persisted in thinking that he could better +serve his country by independence. He had been possessed of wealth, +and had filled a great place in the social world. In marrying the +only daughter of this gentleman the Marquis of Kingsbury had indulged +his peculiar taste in regard to Liberalism, and was at the same time +held not to have derogated from his rank. She had been a woman of +great beauty and of many intellectual gifts,—thoroughly imbued with +her father's views, but altogether free from feminine pedantry and +that ambition which begrudges to men the rewards of male labour. Had +she lived, Lady Frances might probably not have fallen in with the +Post Office clerk; nevertheless, had she lived, she would have known +the Post Office clerk to be a worthy gentleman.</p> + +<p>But she had died when her son was about sixteen and her daughter no +more than fifteen. Two years afterwards our Marquis had gone among +the dukes, and had found for himself another wife. Perhaps the +freshness and edge of his political convictions had been blunted by +that gradual sinking down among the great peers in general which was +natural to his advanced years. A man who has spouted at twenty-five +becomes tired of spouting at fifty, if nothing special has come from +his spouting. He had been glad when he married Lady Clara Mountressor +to think that circumstances as they had occurred at the last election +would not make it necessary for him to deliver up the borough to the +tailor on any further occasion. The tailor had been drunk at the +hustings, and he ventured to hope that before six months were over +Lord Hampstead would have so far rectified his frontiers as to be +able to take a seat in the House of Commons.</p> + +<p>Then very quickly there were born three little flaxen-haired +boys,—who became at least flaxen-haired as they emerged from their +cradles,—Lord Frederic, Lord Augustus, and Lord Gregory. That they +must be brought up with ideas becoming the scions of a noble House +there could be no doubt. Their mother was every inch a duke's +daughter. But, alas, not one of them was likely to become Marquis of +Kingsbury. Though born so absolutely in the purple they were but +younger sons. This was a silent sorrow;—but when their half sister +Lady Frances told their mother openly that she had plighted her troth +to the Post Office clerk, that was a sorrow which did not admit of +silence.</p> + +<p>When Lord Hampstead had asked permission to bring his friend to the +house there seemed to be no valid reason for refusing him. Low as he +had descended amidst the depths of disreputable opinion, it was not +supposed that even he would countenance anything so horrible as this. +And was there not ground for security in the reticence and dignity of +Lady Frances herself? The idea never presented itself to the +Marchioness. When she heard that the Post Office clerk was coming she +was naturally disgusted. All Lord Hampstead's ideas, doings, and ways +were disgusting to her. She was a woman full of high-bred courtesy, +and had always been gracious to her son-in-law's friends,—but it had +been with a cold grace. Her heart rejected them thoroughly,—as she +did him, and, to tell the truth, Lady Frances also. Lady Frances had +all her mother's dignity, all her mother's tranquil manner, but +something more than her mother's advanced opinions. She, too, had her +ideas that the world should gradually be taught to dispense with the +distances which separate the dukes and the ploughboys,—gradually, +but still with a progressive motion, always tending in that +direction. This to her stepmother was disgusting.</p> + +<p>The Post Office clerk had never before been received at Hendon Hall, +though he had been introduced in London by Lord Hampstead to his +sister. The Post Office clerk had indeed abstained from coming, +having urged his own feelings with his friend as to certain +unfitnesses. "A Marquis is as absurd to me as to you," he had said to +Lord Hampstead, "but while there are Marquises they should be +indulged,—particularly Marchionesses. An over-delicate skin is a +nuisance; but if skins have been so trained as not to bear the free +air, veils must be allowed for their protection. The object should be +to train the skin, not to punish it abruptly. An unfortunate Sybarite +Marchioness ought to have her rose leaves. Now I am not a rose leaf." +And so he had stayed away.</p> + +<p>But the argument had been carried on between the friends, and the +noble heir had at last prevailed. George Roden was not a rose leaf, +but he was found at Hendon to have flowers of beautiful hues and with +a sweet scent. Had he not been known to be a Post Office +clerk,—could the Marchioness have been allowed to judge of him +simply from his personal appearance,—he might have been taken to be +as fine a rose leaf as any. He was a tall, fair, strongly-built young +man, with short light hair, pleasant grey eyes, an aquiline nose, and +small mouth. In his gait and form and face nothing was discernibly +more appropriate to Post Office clerks than to the nobility at large. +But he was a clerk, and he himself, as he himself declared, knew +nothing of his own family,—remembered no relation but his mother.</p> + +<p>It had come to pass that the house at Hendon had become specially the +residence of Lord Hampstead, who would neither have lodgings of his +own in London or make part of the family when it occupied Kingsbury +House in Park Lane. He would sometimes go abroad, would sometimes +appear for a week or two at Trafford Park, the grand seat in +Yorkshire. But he preferred the place, half town half country, in the +neighbourhood of London, and here George Roden came frequently +backwards and forwards after the ice had been broken by a first +visit. Sometimes the Marquis would be there, and with him his +daughter,—rarely the Marchioness. Then came the time when Lady +Frances declared boldly to her stepmother that she had pledged her +troth to the Post Office clerk. That happened in June, when +Parliament was sitting, and when the flowers at Hendon were at their +best. The Marchioness came there for a day or two, and the Post +Office clerk on that morning had left the house for his office work, +not purposing to come back. Some words had been said which had caused +annoyance, and he did not intend to return. When he had been gone +about an hour Lady Frances revealed the truth.</p> + +<p>Her brother at that time was two-and-twenty. She was a year younger. +The clerk might perhaps be six years older than the young lady. Had +he only been the eldest son of a Marquis, or Earl, or Viscount; had +he been but an embryo Baron, he might have done very well. He was a +well-spoken youth, yet with a certain modesty, such a one as might +easily take the eye of a wished-for though ever so noble a +mother-in-law. The little lords had learned to play with him, and it +had come about that he was at his ease in the house. The very +servants had seemed to forget that he was no more than a clerk, and +that he went off by railway into town every morning that he might +earn ten shillings by sitting for six hours at his desk. Even the +Marchioness had almost trained herself to like him,—as one of those +excrescences which are sometimes to be found in noble families, some +governess, some chaplain or private secretary, whom chance or merit +has elevated in the house, and who thus becomes a trusted friend. +Then by chance she heard the name "Frances" without the prefix +"Lady," and said a word in haughty anger. The Post Office clerk +packed up his portmanteau, and Lady Frances told her story.</p> + +<p>Lord Hampstead's name was John. He was the Honourable John Trafford, +called by courtesy Earl of Hampstead. To the world at large he was +Lord Hampstead,—to his friends in general he was Hampstead; to his +stepmother he was especially Hampstead,—as would have been her own +eldest son the moment he was born had he been born to such good luck. +To his father he had become Hampstead lately. In early days there had +been some secret family agreement that in spite of conventionalities +he should be John among them. The Marquis had latterly suggested that +increasing years made this foolish; but the son himself attributed +the change to step-maternal influences. But still he was John to his +sister, and John to some half-dozen sympathising friends,—and among +others to the Post Office clerk.</p> + +<p>"He has not said a word to me," the sister replied when she was taxed +by her brother with seeming partiality for their young visitor.</p> + +<p>"But he will?"</p> + +<p>"No girl will ever admit as much as that, John."</p> + +<p>"But if he should?"</p> + +<p>"No girl will have an answer ready for such a suggestion."</p> + +<p>"I know he will."</p> + +<p>"If so, and if you have wishes to express, you should speak to him."</p> + +<p>All this made the matter quite clear to her brother. A girl such as +was his sister would not so receive a brother's notice as to a +proposed overture of love from a Post Office clerk, unless she had +brought herself to look at the possibility without abhorrence.</p> + +<p>"Would it go against the grain with you, John?" This was what the +clerk said when he was interrogated by his friend.</p> + +<p>"There would be difficulties."</p> + +<p>"Very great difficulties,—difficulties even with you."</p> + +<p>"I did not say so."</p> + +<p>"They would come naturally. The last thing that a man can abandon of +his social idolatries is the sanctity of the women belonging to him."</p> + +<p>"God forbid that I should give up anything of the sanctity of my +sister."</p> + +<p>"No; but the idolatry attached to it! It is as well that even a +nobleman's daughter should be married if she can find a nobleman or +such like to her taste. There is no breach of sanctity in the +love,—but so great a wound to the idolatry in the man! Things have +not changed so quickly that even you should be free from the feeling. +Three hundred years ago, if the man could not be despatched out of +the country or to the other world, the girl at least would be locked +up. Three hundred years hence the girl and the man will stand +together on their own merits. Just in this period of transition it is +very hard for such a one as you to free himself altogether from the +old trammels."</p> + +<p>"I make the endeavour."</p> + +<p>"Most bravely. But, my dear fellow, let this individual thing stand +separately, away from politics and abstract ideas. I mean to ask your +sister whether I can have her heart, and, as far as her will goes, +her hand. If you are displeased I suppose we shall have to part,—for +a time. Let theories run ever so high, Love will be stronger than +them all." Lord Hampstead at this moment gave no assurance of his +good will; but when it came to pass that his sister had given her +assurance, then he ranged himself on the side of his friend the +clerk.</p> + +<p>So it came to pass that there was great trouble in the household of +the Marquis of Kingsbury. The family went abroad before the end of +July, on account of the health of the children. So said the <i>Morning +Post</i>. Anxious friends inquired in vain what could have befallen +those flaxen-haired young Herculeses. Why was it necessary that they +should be taken to the Saxon Alps when the beauties and comforts of +Trafford Park were so much nearer and so superior? Lady Frances was +taken with them, and there were one or two noble intimates among the +world of fashion who heard some passing whispers of the truth. When +passing whispers creep into the world of fashion they are heard far +and wide.</p> + + +<p><a name="c1-2" id="c1-2"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER II.</h3> +<h4>LORD HAMPSTEAD.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Lord Hampstead, though he would not go into Parliament or belong to +any London Club, or walk about the streets with a chimney-pot hat, or +perform any of his public functions as a young nobleman should do, +had, nevertheless, his own amusements and his own extravagances. In +the matter of money he was placed outside his father's +liberality,—who was himself inclined to be liberal enough,—by the +fact that he had inherited a considerable portion of his maternal +grandfather's fortune. It might almost be said truly of him that +money was no object to him. It was not that he did not often talk +about money and think about money. He was very prone to do so, saying +that money was the most important factor in the world's justices and +injustices. But he was so fortunately circumstanced as to be able to +leave money out of his own personal consideration, never being driven +by the want of it to deny himself anything, or tempted by a +superabundance to expenditure which did not otherwise approve itself +to him. To give 10<i>s.</i> or 20<i>s.</i> a +bottle for wine because somebody +pretended that it was very fine, or £300 for a horse when one at a +£100 would do his work for him, was altogether below his philosophy. +By his father's lodge gate there ran an omnibus up to town which he +would often use, saying that an omnibus with company was better than +a private carriage with none. He was wont to be angry with himself in +that he employed a fashionable tailor, declaring that he incurred +unnecessary expense merely to save himself the trouble of going +elsewhere. In this, however, it may be thought that there was +something of pretence, as he was no doubt conscious of good looks, +and aware probably that a skilful tailor might add a grace.</p> + +<p>In his amusements he affected two which are especially expensive. He +kept a yacht, in which he was accustomed to absent himself in the +summer and autumn, and he had a small hunting establishment in +Northamptonshire. Of the former little need be said here, as he spent +his time on board much alone, or with friends with whom we need not +follow him; but it may be said that everything about the <i>Free +Trader</i> was done well,—for such was the name of the vessel. Though +he did not pay 10<i>s.</i> a bottle for his wine, he paid the best price +for sails and cordage, and hired a competent skipper to look after +himself and his boat. His hunting was done very much in the same +way,—unless it be that in his yachting he was given to be tranquil, +and in his hunting he was very fond of hard riding. At Gorse Hall, as +his cottage was called, he had all comforts, we may perhaps say much +of luxury, around him. It was indeed hardly more than a cottage, +having been an old farm-house, and lately converted to its present +purpose. There were no noble surroundings, no stately hall, no marble +staircases, no costly salon. You entered by a passage which deserved +no auguster name, on the right of which was the dining-room; on the +left a larger chamber, always called the drawing-room because of the +fashion of the name. Beyond that was a smaller retreat in which the +owner kept his books. Leading up from the end of the passage there +was a steep staircase, a remnant of the old farm-house, and above +them five bed-rooms, so that his lordship was limited to the number +of four guests. Behind this was the kitchen and the servants' +rooms—sufficient, but not more than sufficient, for such a house. +Here our young democrat kept half-a-dozen horses, all of them—as men +around were used to declare—fit to go, although they were said to +have been bought at not more than £100 each. It was supposed to be a +crotchet on the part of Lord Hampstead to assert that cheap things +were as good as dear, and there were some who believed that he did in +truth care as much for his horses as other people. It was certainly a +fact that he never would have but one out in a day, and he was wont +to declare that Smith took out his second horse chiefly that Jones +might know that he did so. Down here, at Gorse Hall, the Post Office +clerk had often been received as a visitor,—but not at Gorse Hall +had he ever seen Lady Frances.</p> + +<p>This lord had peculiar ideas about hunting, in reference to sport in +general. It was supposed of him, and supposed truly, that no young +man in England was more devotedly attached to fox-hunting than +he,—and that in want of a fox he would ride after a stag, and in +want of a stag after a drag. If everything else failed he would go +home across the country, any friend accompanying him, or else alone. +Nevertheless, he entertained a vehement hostility against all other +sports.</p> + +<p>Of racing he declared that it had become simply a way of making +money, and of all ways the least profitable to the world and the most +disreputable. He was never seen on a racecourse. But his enemies +declared of him, that though he loved riding he was no judge of an +animal's pace, and that he was afraid to bet lest he should lose his +money.</p> + +<p>Against shooting he was still louder. If there was in his country any +tradition, any custom, any law hateful to him, it was such as had +reference to the preservation of game. The preservation of a fox, he +said, stood on a perfectly different basis. The fox was not preserved +by law, and when preserved was used for the advantage of all who +chose to be present at the amusement. One man in one day would shoot +fifty pheasants which had eaten up the food of half-a-dozen human +beings. One fox afforded in one day amusement to two hundred +sportsmen, and was—or more generally was not—killed during the +performance. And the fox during his beneficial life had eaten no +corn, nor for the most part geese,—but chiefly rats and such like. +What infinitesimal sum had the fox cost the country for every man who +rushed after him? Then, what had been the cost of all those pheasants +which one shooting cormorant crammed into his huge bag during one +day's greedy sport?</p> + +<p>But it was the public nature of the one amusement and the thoroughly +private nature of the other which chiefly affected him. In the +hunting-field the farmer's son, if he had a pony, or the butcher-boy +out of the town, could come and take his part; and if the butcher-boy +could go ahead and keep his place while the man with a red coat and +pink boots and with two horses fell behind, the butcher-boy would +have the best of it, and incur the displeasure of no one. And the +laws, too, by which hunting is governed, if there be laws, are +thoroughly democratic in their nature. They are not, he said, made by +any Parliament, but are simply assented to on behalf of the common +need. It was simply in compliance with opinion that the lands of all +men are open to be ridden over by the men of the hunt. In compliance +with opinion foxes are preserved. In compliance with opinion coverts +are drawn by this or the other pack of hounds. The Legislature had +not stepped in to defile the statute book by bye-laws made in favour +of the amusements of the rich. If injury were done, the ordinary laws +of the country were open to the injured party. Anything in hunting +that had grown to be beyond the reach of the law had become so by the +force of popular opinion.</p> + +<p>All of this was reversed in shooting, from any participation in which +the poor were debarred by enactments made solely on behalf of the +rich. Four or five men in a couple of days would offer up hecatombs +of slaughtered animals, in doing which they could only justify +themselves by the fact that they were acting as poultry-butchers for +the supply of the markets of the country. There was no excitement in +it,—simply the firing off of many guns with a rapidity which +altogether prevents that competition which is essential to the +enjoyment of sport. Then our noble Republican would quote +Teufelsdröckh and the memorable epitaph of the partridge-slayer. But +it was on the popular and unpopular elements of the two sports that +he would most strongly dilate, and on the iniquity of the game-laws +as applying to the more aristocratic of the two. It was, however, +asserted by the sporting world at large that Hampstead could not hit +a haystack.</p> + +<p>As to fishing, he was almost equally violent, grounding his objection +on the tedium and cruelty incident to the pursuit. The first was only +a matter of taste, he would allow. If a man could content himself and +be happy with an average of one fish to every three days' fishing, +that was the man's affair. He could only think that in such case the +man himself must be as cold-blooded as the fish which he so seldom +succeeded in catching. As to the cruelty, he thought there could be +no doubt. When he heard that bishops and ladies delighted themselves +in hauling an unfortunate animal about by the gills for more than an +hour at a stretch, he was inclined to regret the past piety of the +Church and the past tenderness of the sex. When he spoke in this way +the cruelty of fox-hunting was of course thrown in his teeth. Did not +the poor hunted quadrupeds, when followed hither and thither by a +pack of fox-hounds, endure torments as sharp and as prolonged as +those inflicted on the fish? In answer to this Lord Hampstead was +eloquent and argumentative. As far as we could judge from Nature the +condition of the two animals during the process was very different. +The salmon with the hook in its throat was in a position certainly +not intended by Nature. The fox, using all its gifts to avoid an +enemy, was employed exactly as Nature had enjoined. It would be as +just to compare a human being impaled alive on a stake with another +overburdened with his world's task. The overburdened man might +stumble and fall, and so perish. Things would have been hard to him. +But not, therefore, could you compare his sufferings with the +excruciating agonies of the poor wretch who had been left to linger +and starve with an iron rod through his vitals. This argument was +thought to be crafty rather than cunning by those who were fond of +fishing. But he had another on which, when he had blown off the steam +of his eloquence by his sensational description of a salmon impaled +by a bishop, he could depend with greater confidence. He would +grant,—for the moment, though he was by no means sure of the +fact,—but for the moment he would grant that the fox did not enjoy +the hunt. Let it be acknowledged—for the sake of the argument—that +he was tortured by the hounds rather than elated by the triumphant +success of his own manœuvres. Lord Hampstead "ventured to +say,"—this he would put forward in the rationalistic tone with which +he was wont to prove the absurdity of hereditary honours,—"that in +the infliction of all pain the question as to cruelty or no cruelty +was one of relative value." Was it "tanti?" Who can doubt that for a +certain maximum of good a certain minimum of suffering may be +inflicted without slur to humanity? In hunting, one fox was made to +finish his triumphant career, perhaps prematurely, for the advantage +of two hundred sportsmen. "Ah, but only for their amusement!" would +interpose some humanitarian averse equally to fishing and to hunting. +Then his lordship would arise indignantly and would ask his opponent, +whether what he called amusement was not as beneficial, as essential, +as necessary to the world as even such material good things as bread +and meat. Was poetry less valuable than the multiplication table? Man +could exist no doubt without fox-hunting. So he could without butter, +without wine, or other so-called necessaries;—without ermine +tippets, for instance, the original God-invested wearer of which had +been doomed to lingering starvation and death when trapped amidst the +snow, in order that one lady might be made fine by the agonies of a +dozen little furry sufferers. It was all a case of "tanti," he said, +and he said that the fox who had saved himself half-a-dozen times and +then died nobly on behalf of those who had been instrumental in +preserving an existence for him, ought not to complain of the lot +which Fate had provided for him among the animals of the earth. It +was said, however, in reference to this comparison between fishing +and fox-hunting, that Lord Hampstead was altogether deficient in that +skill and patience which is necessary for the landing of a salmon.</p> + +<p>But men, though they laughed at him, still they liked him. He was +good-humoured and kindly-hearted. He was liberal in more than his +politics. He had, too, a knack of laughing at himself, and his own +peculiarities, which went far to redeem them. That a young Earl, an +embryo Marquis, the heir of such a house as that of Trafford, should +preach a political doctrine which those who heard ignorantly called +Communistic, was very dreadful; but the horror of it was mitigated +when he declared that no doubt as he got old he should turn Tory like +any other Radical. In this there seemed to be a covert allusion to +his father. And then they could perceive that his "Communistic" +principles did not prevent him from having a good eye to the value of +land. He knew what he was about, as an owner of property should do, +and certainly rode to hounds as well as any one of the boys of the +period.</p> + +<p>When the idea first presented itself to him that his sister was on +the way to fall in love with George Roden, it has to be acknowledged +that he was displeased. It had not occurred to him that this peculiar +breach would be made on the protected sanctity of his own family. +When Roden had spoken to him of this sanctity as one of the "social +idolatries," he had not quite been able to contradict him. He had +wished to do so both in defence of his own consistency, and also, if +it were possible, so as to maintain the sanctity. The "divinity" +which "does hedge a king," had been to him no more than a social +idolatry. The special respect in which dukes and such like were held +was the same. The judge's ermine and the bishop's apron were +idolatries. Any outward honour, not earned by the deeds or words of +him so honoured, but coming from birth, wealth, or from the doings of +another, was an idolatry. Carrying on his arguments, he could not +admit the same thing in reference to his sister;—or rather, he would +have to admit it if he could not make another plea in defence of the +sanctity. His sister was very holy to him;—but that should be +because of her nearness to him, because of her sweetness, because of +her own gifts, because as her brother he was bound to be her especial +knight till she should have chosen some other special knight for +herself. But it should not be because she was the daughter, +granddaughter, and great-granddaughter of dukes and marquises. It +should not be because she was Lady Frances Trafford. Had he himself +been a Post Office clerk, then would not this chosen friend have been +fit to love her? There were unfitnesses, no doubt, very common in +this world, which should make the very idea of love impossible to a +woman,—unfitness of character, of habits, of feelings, of education, +unfitnesses as to inward personal nobility. He could not say that +there were any such which ought to separate his sister and his +friend. If it was to be that this sweet sister should some day give +her heart to a lover, why not to George Roden as well as to another? +There were no such unfitnesses as those of which he would have +thought in dealing with the lives of some other girl and some other +young man.</p> + +<p>And yet he was, if not displeased, at any rate dissatisfied. There +was something which grated against either his taste, or his +judgment,—or perhaps his prejudices. He endeavoured to inquire into +himself fairly on this matter, and feared that he was yet the victim +of the prejudices of his order. He was wounded in his pride to think +that his sister should make herself equal to a clerk in the Post +Office. Though he had often endeavoured, only too successfully, to +make her understand how little she had in truth received from her +high birth, yet he felt that she had received something which should +have made the proposal of such a marriage distasteful to her. A man +cannot rid himself of a prejudice because he knows or believes it to +be a prejudice. That the two, if they continued to wish it, must +become man and wife he acknowledged to himself;—but he could not +bring himself not to be sorry that it should be so.</p> + +<p>There were some words on the subject between himself and his father +before the Marquis went abroad with his family, which, though they +did not reconcile him to the match, lessened the dissatisfaction. His +father was angry with him, throwing the blame of this untoward affair +on his head, and he was always prone to resent censure thrown by any +of his family on his own peculiar tenets. Thus it came to pass that +in defending himself he was driven to defend his sister also. The +Marquis had not been at Hendon when the revelation was first made, +but had heard it in the course of the day from his wife. His Radical +tendencies had done very little towards reconciling him to such a +proposal. He had never brought his theories home into his own +personalities. To be a Radical peer in the House of Lords, and to +have sent a Radical tailor to the House of Commons, had been enough, +if not too much, to satisfy his own political ideas. To himself and +to his valet, to all those immediately touching himself, he had +always been the Marquis of Kingsbury. And so also, in his inner +heart, the Marchioness was the Marchioness, and Lady Frances Lady +Frances. He had never gone through any process of realizing his +convictions as his son had done. "Hampstead," he said, "can this +possibly be true what your mother has told me?" This took place at +the house in Park Lane, to which the Marquis had summoned his son.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean about Frances and George Roden?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I mean that."</p> + +<p>"I supposed you did, sir. I imagined that when you sent for me it was +in regard to them. No doubt it is true."</p> + +<p>"What is true? You speak as though you absolutely approved it."</p> + +<p>"Then my voice has belied me, for I disapprove of it."</p> + +<p>"You feel, I hope, how utterly impossible it is."</p> + +<p>"Not that."</p> + +<p>"Not that?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot say that I think it to be impossible,—or even improbable. +Knowing the two, as I do, I feel the probability to be on their +side."</p> + +<p>"That they—should be married?"</p> + +<p>"That is what they intend. I never knew either of them to mean +anything which did not sooner or later get itself accomplished."</p> + +<p>"You'll have to learn it on this occasion. How on earth can it have +been brought about?" Lord Hampstead shrugged his shoulders. "Somebody +has been very much to blame."</p> + +<p>"You mean me, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Somebody has been very much to blame."</p> + +<p>"Of course, you mean me. I cannot take any blame in the matter. In +introducing George Roden to you, and to my mother, and to Frances, I +brought you to the knowledge of a highly-educated and extremely +well-mannered young man."</p> + +<p>"Good God!"</p> + +<p>"I did to my friend what every young man, I suppose, does to his. I +should be ashamed of myself to associate with any one who was not a +proper guest for my father's table. One does not calculate before +that a young man and a young woman shall fall in love with each +other."</p> + +<p>"You see what has happened."</p> + +<p>"It was extremely natural, no doubt,—though I had not anticipated +it. As I told you, I am very sorry. It will cause many heartburns, +and some unhappiness."</p> + +<p>"Unhappiness! I should think so. I must go away,—in the middle of +the Session."</p> + +<p>"It will be worse for her, poor girl."</p> + +<p>"It will be very bad for her," said the Marquis, speaking as though +his mind were quite made up on that matter.</p> + +<p>"But nobody, as far as I can see, has done anything wrong," continued +Lord Hampstead. "When two young people get together whose tastes are +similar, and opinions,—whose educations and habits of thought have +been the <span class="nowrap">same—"</span></p> + +<p>"Habits the same!"</p> + +<p>"Habits of thought, I said, sir."</p> + +<p>"You would talk the hind legs off a dog," said the Marquis, bouncing +out of the room. It was not unusual with him, in the absolute privacy +of his own circle, to revert to language which he would have felt to +be unbecoming to him as Marquis of Kingsbury among ordinary people.</p> + + +<p><a name="c1-3" id="c1-3"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER III.</h3> +<h4>THE MARCHIONESS.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Though the departure of the Marquis was much hurried, there were +other meetings between Hampstead and the family before the flitting +was actually made.</p> + +<p>"No doubt I will. I am quite with you there," the son said to the +father, who had desired him to explain to the young man the +impossibility of such a marriage. "I think it would be a misfortune +to them both, which should be avoided,—if they can get over their +present feelings."</p> + +<p>"Feelings!"</p> + +<p>"I suppose there are such feelings, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Of course he is looking for position—and money."</p> + +<p>"Not in the least. That might probably be the idea with some young +nobleman who would wish to marry into his own class, and to improve +his fortune at the same time. With such a one that would be fair +enough. He would give and take. With George that would not be +honest;—nor would such accusation be true. The position, as you call +it, he would feel to be burdensome. As to money, he does not know +whether Frances has a shilling or not."</p> + +<p>"Not a shilling,—unless I give it to her."</p> + +<p>"He would not think of such a matter."</p> + +<p>"Then he must be a very imprudent young man, and unfit to have a wife +at all."</p> + +<p>"I cannot admit that,—but suppose he is?"</p> + +<p>"And yet you think—?"</p> + +<p>"I think, sir, that it is unfortunate. I have said so ever since I +first heard it. I shall tell him exactly what I think. You will have +Frances with you, and will of course express your own opinion."</p> + +<p>The Marquis was far from satisfied with his son, but did not dare to +go on further with the argument. In all such discussions he was wont +to feel that his son was "talking the hind legs off a dog." His own +ideas on concrete points were clear enough to him,—as this present +idea that his daughter, Lady Frances Trafford, would outrage all +propriety, all fitness, all decency, if she were to give herself in +marriage to George Roden, the Post Office clerk. But words were not +plenty with him,—or, when plenty, not efficacious,—and he was prone +to feel, when beaten in argument, that his opponent was taking an +unfair advantage. Thus it was that he often thought, and sometimes +said, that those who oppressed him with words would "talk the hind +legs off a dog."</p> + +<p>The Marchioness also expressed her opinion to Hampstead. She was a +lady stronger than her husband;—stronger in this, that she never +allowed herself to be worsted in any encounter. If words would not +serve her occasion at the moment, her countenance would do so,—and +if not that, her absence. She could be very eloquent with silence, +and strike an adversary dumb by the way in which she would leave a +room. She was a tall, handsome woman, with a sublime gait.—"Vera +incessu patuit Dea." She had heard, if not the words, then some +translation of the words, and had taken them to heart, and borne them +with her as her secret motto. To be every inch an aristocrat, in look +as in thought, was the object of her life. That such was her highest +duty was quite fixed in her mind. It had pleased God to make her a +Marchioness,—and should she derogate from God's wish? It had been +her one misfortune that God should not also have made her the mother +of a future Marquis. Her face, though handsome, was quite impassive, +showing nothing of her sorrows or her joys; and her voice was equally +under control. No one had ever imagined, not even her husband, that +she felt acutely that one blow of fortune. Though Hampstead's +politics had been to her abominable, treasonable, blasphemous, she +treated him with an extreme courtesy. If there were anything that he +wished about the house she would have it done for him. She would +endeavour to interest herself about his hunting. And she would pay +him a great respect,—to him most onerous,—as being second in all +things to the Marquis. Though a Republican blasphemous rebel,—so she +thought of him,—he was second to the Marquis. She would fain have +taught her little boys to respect him,—as the future head of the +family,—had he not been so accustomed to romp with them, to pull +them out of their little beds, and toss them about in their +night-shirts, that they loved him much too well for respect. It was +in vain that their mother strove to teach them to call him Hampstead.</p> + +<p>Lady Frances had never been specially in her way, but to Lady Frances +the stepmother had been perhaps harder than to the stepson, of whose +presence as an absolute block to her ambition she was well aware. +Lady Frances had no claim to a respect higher than that which was due +to her own children. Primogeniture had done nothing for her. She was +a Marquis's daughter, but her mother had been only the offspring of a +commoner. There was perhaps something of conscience in her feelings +towards the two. As Lord Hampstead was undoubtedly in her way, it +occurred to her to think that she should not on that account be +inimical to him. Lady Frances was not in her way,—and therefore was +open to depreciation and dislike without wounds to her conscience; +and then, though Hampstead was abominable because of his +Republicanism, his implied treason, and blasphemy, yet he was +entitled to some excuse as being a man. These things were abominable +no doubt in him, but more pardonably abominable than they would be in +a woman. Lady Frances had never declared herself to be a Republican +or a disbeliever, much less a rebel,—as, indeed, had neither Lord +Hampstead. In the presence of her stepmother she was generally silent +on matters of political or religious interest. But she was supposed +to sympathise with her brother, and was known to be far from properly +alive to aristocratic interests. There was never quarrelling between +the two, but there was a lack of that friendship which may subsist +between a stepmother of thirty-eight and a stepdaughter of +twenty-one. Lady Frances was tall and slender, with quiet speaking +features, dark in colour, with blue eyes, and hair nearly black. In +appearance she was the very opposite of her stepmother, moving +quickly and achieving grace as she did so, without a thought, by the +natural beauty of her motions. The dignity was there, but without a +thought given to it. Not even did the little lords, her brothers, +chuck their books and toys about with less idea of demeanour. But the +Marchioness never arranged a scarf or buttoned a glove without +feeling that it was her duty to button her glove and arrange her +scarf as became the Marchioness of Kingsbury.</p> + +<p>The stepmother wished no evil to Lady Frances,—only that she should +be married properly and taken out of the way. Any stupid Earl or +mercurial Viscount would have done, so long as the blood and the +money had been there. Lady Frances had been felt to be dangerous, and +the hope was that the danger might be got rid of by a proper +marriage. But not by such a marriage as this!</p> + +<p>When that accidental calling of the name was first heard and the +following avowal made, the Marchioness declared her immediate +feelings by a look. It was so that Arthur may have looked when he +first heard that his Queen was sinful,—so that Cæsar must have felt +when even Brutus struck him. For though Lady Frances had been known +to be blind to her own greatness, still this,—this at any rate was +not suspected. "You cannot mean it!" the Marchioness had at last +said.</p> + +<p>"I certainly mean it, mamma." Then the Marchioness, with one hand +guarding her raiment, and with the other raised high above her +shoulder, in an agony of supplication to those deities who arrange +the fates of ducal houses, passed slowly out of the room. It was +necessary that she should bethink herself before another word was +spoken.</p> + +<p>For some time after that very few words passed between her and the +sinner. A dead silence best befitted the occasion;—as, when a child +soils her best frock, we put her in the corner with a scolding; but +when she tells a fib we quell her little soul within her by a +terrible quiescence. To be eloquently indignant without a word is +within the compass of the thoughtfully stolid. It was thus that Lady +Frances was at first treated by her stepmother. She was, however, at +once taken up to London, subjected to the louder anger of her father, +and made to prepare for the Saxon Alps. At first, indeed, her +immediate destiny was not communicated to her. She was to be taken +abroad;—and, in so taking her, it was felt to be well to treat her +as the policeman does his prisoner, whom he thinks to be the last +person who need be informed as to the whereabouts of the prison. It +did leak out quickly, because the Marquis had a castle or château of +his own in Saxony;—but that was only an accident.</p> + +<p>The Marchioness still said little on the matter,—unless in what she +might say to her husband in the secret recesses of marital +discussion; but before she departed she found it expedient to express +herself on one occasion to Lord Hampstead. "Hampstead," she said, +"this is a terrible blow that has fallen upon us."</p> + +<p>"I was surprised myself. I do not know that I should call it exactly +a blow."</p> + +<p>"Not a blow! But of course you mean that it will come to nothing."</p> + +<p>"What I meant was, that though I regard the proposition as +<span class="nowrap">inexpedient—"</span></p> + +<p>"Inexpedient!"</p> + +<p>"Yes;—I think it inexpedient certainly; but there is nothing in it +that shocks me."</p> + +<p>"Nothing that shocks you!"</p> + +<p>"Marriage in itself is a good thing."</p> + +<p>"Hampstead, do not talk to me in that way."</p> + +<p>"But I think it is. If it be good for a young man to marry it must be +good for a young woman also. The one makes the other necessary."</p> + +<p>"But not for such as your sister,—and him—together. You are +speaking in that way simply to torment me."</p> + +<p>"I can only speak as I think. I do agree that it would be +inexpedient. She would to a certain extent lose the countenance of +her <span class="nowrap">friends—"</span></p> + +<p>"Altogether!"</p> + +<p>"Not altogether,—but to some extent. A certain class of people,—not +the best worth knowing,—might be inclined to drop her. However +foolish her own friends may be we owe something—even to their +folly."</p> + +<p>"Her friends are not foolish,—her proper friends."</p> + +<p>"I quite agree with that; but then so many of them are improper."</p> + +<p>"Hampstead!"</p> + +<p>"I am afraid that I don't make myself quite clear. But never mind. It +would be inexpedient. It would go against the grain with my father, +who ought to be consulted."</p> + +<p>"I should think so."</p> + +<p>"I quite agree with you. A father ought to be consulted, even though +a daughter be of age, so as to be enabled by law to do as she likes +with herself. And then there would be money discomforts."</p> + +<p>"She would not have a shilling."</p> + +<p>"Not but what I should think it my duty to put that right if there +were any real distress." Here spoke the heir, who was already in +possession of much, and upon whom the whole property of the family +was entailed. "Nevertheless if I can prevent it,—without quarrelling +either with one or the other, without saying a hard word,—I shall do +so."</p> + +<p>"It will be your bounden duty."</p> + +<p>"It is always a man's bounden duty to do what is right. The +difficulty is in seeing the way." After this the Marchioness was +silent. What she had gained by speaking was very little,—little or +nothing. The nature of the opposition he proposed was almost as bad +as a sanction, and the reasons he gave for agreeing with her were as +hurtful to her feelings as though they had been advanced on the other +side. Even the Marquis was not sufficiently struck with horror at the +idea that a daughter of his should have condescended to listen to +love from a Post Office clerk!</p> + +<p>On the day before they started Hampstead was enabled to be alone with +his sister for a few minutes. "What an absurdity it is," she said, +laughing,—"this running away."</p> + +<p>"It is what you must have expected."</p> + +<p>"But not the less absurd. Of course I shall go. Just at the moment I +have no alternative; as I should have none if they threatened to lock +me up, till I got somebody to take my case in hand. But I am as free +to do what I please with myself as is papa."</p> + +<p>"He has got money."</p> + +<p>"But he is not, therefore, to be a tyrant."</p> + +<p>"Yes he is;—over an unmarried daughter who has got none. We cannot +but obey those on whom we are dependent."</p> + +<p>"What I mean is, that carrying me away can do no good. You don't +suppose, John, that I shall give him up after having once brought +myself to say the word! It was very difficult to say;—but ten times +harder to be unsaid. I am quite determined,—and quite satisfied."</p> + +<p>"But they are not."</p> + +<p>"As regards my father, I am very sorry. As to mamma, she and I are so +different in all our thinking that I know beforehand that whatever I +might do would displease her. It cannot be helped. Whether it be good +or bad I cannot be made such as she is. She came too late. You will +not turn against me, John?"</p> + +<p>"I rather think I shall."</p> + +<p>"John!"</p> + +<p>"I may rather say that I have. I do not think your engagement to be +wise."</p> + +<p>"But it has been made," said she.</p> + +<p>"And may be unmade."</p> + +<p>"No;—unless by him."</p> + +<p>"I shall tell him that it ought to be unmade,—for the happiness of +both of you."</p> + +<p>"He will not believe you."</p> + +<p>Then Lord Hampstead shrugged his shoulders, and thus the conversation +was finished.</p> + +<p>It was now about the end of June, and the Marquis felt it to be a +grievance that he should be carried away from the charm of political +life in London. In the horror of the first revelation he had yielded, +but had since begun to feel that too much was being done in +withdrawing him from Parliament. The Conservatives were now in; but +during the last Liberal Government he had consented so far to trammel +himself with the bonds of office as to become Privy Seal for the +concluding six months of its existence, and therefore felt his own +importance in a party point of view. But having acceded to his wife +he could not now go back, and was sulky. On the evening before their +departure he was going to dine out with some of the party. His wife's +heart was too deep in the great family question for any gaiety, and +she intended to remain at home,—and to look after the final +packings-up for the little lords.</p> + +<p>"I really do not see why you should not have gone without me," the +Marquis said, poking his head out of his dressing-room.</p> + +<p>"Impossible," said the Marchioness.</p> + +<p>"I don't see it at all."</p> + +<p>"If he should appear on the scene ready to carry her off, what should +I have done?"</p> + +<p>Then the Marquis drew his head in again, and went on with his +dressing. What, indeed, could he do himself if the man were to appear +on the scene, and if his daughter should declare herself willing to +go off with him?</p> + +<p>When the Marquis went to his dinner party the Marchioness dined with +Lady Frances. There was no one else present but the two servants who +waited on them, and hardly a word was spoken. The Marchioness felt +that an awful silence was becoming in the situation. Lady Frances +merely determined more strongly than ever that the situation should +not last very long. She would go abroad now, but would let her father +understand that the kind of life planned out for her was one that she +could not endure. If she was supposed to have disgraced her position, +let her be sent away.</p> + +<p>As soon as the melancholy meal was over the two ladies separated, the +Marchioness going up-stairs among her own children. A more careful, +more affectionate, perhaps, I may say, a more idolatrous mother never +lived. Every little want belonging to them,—for even little lords +have wants,—was a care to her. To see them washed and put in and out +of their duds was perhaps the greatest pleasure of her life. To her +eyes they were pearls of aristocratic loveliness; and, indeed, they +were fine healthy bairns, clean-limbed, bright-eyed, with grand +appetites, and never cross as long as they were allowed either to +romp and make a noise, or else to sleep. Lord Frederic, the eldest, +was already in words of two syllables, and sometimes had a bad time +with them. Lord Augustus was the owner of great ivory letters of +which he contrived to make playthings. Lord Gregory had not as yet +been introduced to any of the torments of education. There was an old +English clergyman attached to the family who was supposed to be their +tutor, but whose chief duty consisted in finding conversation for the +Marquis when there was no one else to talk to him. There was also a +French governess and a Swiss maid. But as they both learned English +quicker than the children learned French, they were not serviceable +for the purpose at first intended. The Marchioness had resolved that +her children should talk three or four languages as fluently as their +own, and that they should learn them without any of the agonies +generally incident to tuition. In that she had not as yet succeeded.</p> + +<p>She seated herself for a few minutes among the boxes and portmanteaus +in the midst of which the children were disporting themselves prior +to their final withdrawal to bed. No mother was ever so blessed,—if +only, if only! "Mamma," said Lord Frederic, "where's Jack?" "Jack" +absolutely was intended to signify Lord Hampstead.</p> + +<p>"Fred, did not I say that you should not call him Jack?"</p> + +<p>"He say he is Jack," declared Lord Augustus, rolling up in between +his mother's knees with an impetus which would have upset her had she +not been a strong woman and accustomed to these attacks.</p> + +<p>"That is only because he is good-natured, and likes to play with you. +You should call him Hampstead."</p> + +<p>"Mamma, wasn't he christianed?" asked the eldest.</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course he was christened, my dear," said the mother, +sadly,—thinking how very much of the ceremony had been thrown away +upon the unbelieving, godless young man. Then she superintended the +putting to bed, thinking what a terrible bar to her happiness had +been created by that first unfortunate marriage of her husband's. Oh, +that she should be stepmother to a daughter who desired to fling +herself into the arms of a clerk in the Post Office! And then that an +"unchristianed," that an infidel, republican, un-English, heir should +stand in the way of her darling boy! She had told herself a thousand +times that the Devil was speaking to her when she had dared to wish +that,—that Lord Hampstead was not there! She had put down the wish +in her heart very often, telling herself that it came from the Devil. +She had made a faint struggle to love the young man,—which had +resulted in constrained civility. It would have been unnatural to her +to love any but her own. Now she thought how glorious her Frederic +would have been as Lord Hampstead,—and how infinitely better it +would have been, how infinitely better it would be, for all the +Traffords, for all the nobles of England, and for the country at +large! But in thinking this she knew that she was a sinner, and she +endeavoured to crush the sin. Was it not tantamount to wishing that +her husband's son was—dead?</p> + + +<p><a name="c1-4" id="c1-4"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER IV.</h3> +<h4>LADY FRANCES.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>There is something so sad in the condition of a girl who is known to +be in love, and has to undergo the process of being made ashamed of +it by her friends, that one wonders that any young woman can bear it. +Most young women cannot bear it, and either give up their love or say +that they do. A young man who has got into debt, or been plucked,—or +even when he has declared himself to be engaged to a penniless young +lady, which is worse,—is supposed merely to have gone after his +kind, and done what was to be expected of him. The mother never looks +at him with that enduring anger by which she intends to wear out the +daughter's constancy. The father frets and fumes, pays the debts, +prepares the way for a new campaign, and merely shrugs his shoulders +about the proposed marriage, which he regards simply as an +impossibility. But the girl is held to have disgraced herself. Though +it is expected of her, or at any rate hoped, that she will get +married in due time, yet the falling in love with a man,—which is, +we must suppose, a preliminary step to marriage,—is a wickedness. +Even among the ordinary Joneses and Browns of the world we see that +it is so. When we are intimate enough with the Browns to be aware of +Jane Brown's passion, we understand the father's manner and the +mother's look. The very servants about the house are aware that she +has given way to her feelings, and treat her accordingly. Her +brothers are ashamed of her. Whereas she, if her brother be in love +with Jemima Jones, applauds him, sympathizes with him, and encourages +him.</p> + +<p>There are heroines who live through it all, and are true to the end. +There are many pseudo-heroines who intend to do so, but break down. +The pseudo-heroine generally breaks down when young Smith,—not so +very young,—has been taken in as a partner by Messrs. Smith and +Walker, and comes in her way, in want of a wife. The persecution is, +at any rate, so often efficacious as to make fathers and mothers feel +it to be their duty to use it. It need not be said here how high +above the ways of the Browns soared the ideas of the Marchioness of +Kingsbury. But she felt that it would be her duty to resort to the +measures which they would have adopted, and she was determined that +the Marquis should do the same. A terrible evil, an incurable evil, +had already been inflicted. Many people, alas, would know that Lady +Frances had disgraced herself. She, the Marchioness, had been unable +to keep the secret from her own sister, Lady Persiflage, and Lady +Persiflage would undoubtedly tell it to others. Her own lady's maid +knew it. The Marquis himself was the most indiscreet of men. +Hampstead would see no cause for secrecy. Roden would, of course, +boast of it all through the Post Office. The letter-carriers who +attended upon Park Lane would have talked the matter over with the +footmen at the area gate. There could be no hope of secrecy. All the +young marquises and unmarried earls would know that Lady Frances +Trafford was in love with the "postman." But time, and care, and +strict precaution might prevent the final misery of a marriage. Then, +if the Marquis would be generous, some young Earl, or at least a +Baron, might be induced to forget the "postman," and to take the +noble lily, soiled, indeed, but made gracious by gilding. Her +darlings must suffer. Any excess of money given would be at their +cost. But anything would be better than a Post Office clerk for a +brother-in-law.</p> + +<p>Such were the views as to their future life with which the +Marchioness intended to accompany her stepdaughter to their Saxon +residence. The Marquis, with less of a fixed purpose, was inclined in +the same way. "I quite agree that they should be separated;—quite," +he said. "It mustn't be heard of;—certainly not; certainly not. Not +a shilling,—unless she behaves herself properly. Of course she will +have her fortune, but not to bestow it in such a manner as that."</p> + +<p>His own idea was to see them all settled in the château, and then, if +possible, to hurry back to London before the season was quite at an +end. His wife laid strong injunctions on him as to absolute secrecy, +having forgotten, probably, that she herself had told the whole story +to Lady Persiflage. The Marquis quite agreed. Secrecy was +indispensable. As for him, was it likely that he should speak of a +matter so painful and so near to his heart! Nevertheless he told it +all to Mr. Greenwood, the gentleman who acted as tutor, private +secretary, and chaplain in the house.</p> + +<p>Lady Frances had her own ideas, as to this going away and living +abroad, very strongly developed in her mind. They intended to +persecute her till she should change her purpose. She intended to +persecute them till they should change theirs. She knew herself too +well, she thought, to have any fear as to her own persistency. That +the Marchioness should persuade, or even persecute, her out of an +engagement to which she had assented, she felt to be quite out of the +question. In her heart she despised the Marchioness,—bearing with +her till the time should come in which she would be delivered from +the nuisance of surveillance under such a woman. In her father she +trusted much, knowing him to be affectionate, believing him to be +still opposed to those aristocratic dogmas which were a religion to +the Marchioness,—feeling probably that in his very weakness she +would find her best strength. If her stepmother should in truth +become cruel, then her father would take her part against his wife. +There must be a period of discomfort,—say, six months; and then +would come the time in which she would be able to say, "I have tried +myself, and know my own mind, and I intend to go home and get myself +married." She would take care that her declaration to this effect +should not come as a sudden blow. The six months should be employed +in preparing for it. The Marchioness might be persistent in preaching +her views during the six months, but so would Lady Frances be +persistent in preaching hers.</p> + +<p>She had not accepted the man's love when he had offered it, without +thinking much about it. The lesson which she had heard in her earlier +years from her mother had sunk deep into her very soul,—much more +deeply than the teacher of those lessons had supposed. That teacher +had never intended to inculcate as a doctrine that rank is a mistake. +No one had thought more than she of the incentives provided by rank +to high duty. "Noblesse oblige." The lesson had been engraved on her +heart, and might have been read in all the doings of her life. But +she had endeavoured to make it understood by her children that they +should not be over-quick to claim the privileges of rank. Too many +such would be showered on them,—too many for their own welfare. Let +them never be greedy to take with outstretched hands those good +things of which Chance had provided for them so much more than their +fair share. Let them remember that after all there was no virtue in +having been born a child to a Marquis. Let them remember how much +more it was to be a useful man, or a kind woman. So the lessons had +been given,—and had gone for more than had been intended. Then all +the renown of their father's old politics assisted,—the re-election +of the drunken tailor,—the jeerings of friends who were high enough +and near enough to dare to jeer,—the convictions of childhood that +it was a fine thing, because peculiar for a Marquis and his +belongings, to be Radical;—and, added to this, there was contempt +for the specially noble graces of their stepmother. Thus it was that +Lord Hampstead was brought to his present condition of thinking,—and +Lady Frances.</p> + +<p>Her convictions were quite as strong as his, though they did not +assume the same form. With a girl, at an early age, all her +outlookings into the world have something to do with love and its +consequences. When a young man takes his leaning either towards +Liberalism or Conservatism he is not at all actuated by any feeling +as to how some possible future young woman may think on the subject. +But the girl, if she entertains such ideas at all, dreams of them as +befitting the man whom she may some day hope to love. Should she, a +Protestant, become a Roman Catholic and then a nun, she feels that in +giving up her hope for a man's love she is making the greatest +sacrifice in her power for the Saviour she is taking to her heart. If +she devotes herself to music, or the pencil, or to languages, the +effect which her accomplishments may have on some beau ideal of +manhood is present to her mind. From the very first she is dressing +herself unconsciously in the mirror of a man's eyes. Quite +unconsciously, all this had been present to Lady Frances as month +after month and year after year she had formed her strong opinions. +She had thought of no man's love,—had thought but little of loving +any man,—but in her meditations as to the weaknesses and vanity of +rank there had always been present that idea,—how would it be with +her if such a one should ask for her hand, such a one as she might +find among those of whom she dreamed as being more noble than Dukes, +even though they were numbered among the world's proletaries? Then +she had told herself that if any such a one should come,—if at any +time any should be allowed by herself to come,—he should be +estimated by his merits, whether Duke or proletary. With her mind in +such a state she had of course been prone to receive kindly the +overtures of her brother's friend.</p> + +<p>What was there missing in him that a girl should require? It was so +that she had asked herself the question. As far as manners were +concerned, this man was a gentleman. She was quite sure of that. +Whether proletary or not, there was nothing about him to offend the +taste of the best-born of ladies. That he was better educated than +any of the highly-bred young men she saw around her, she was quite +sure. He had more to talk about than others. Of his birth and family +she knew nothing, but rather prided herself in knowing nothing, +because of that doctrine of hers that a man is to be estimated only +by what he is himself, and not at all by what he may derive from +others. Of his personal appearance, which went far with her, she was +very proud. He was certainly a handsome young man, and endowed with +all outward gifts of manliness: easy in his gait, but not mindful of +it, with motions of his body naturally graceful but never studied, +with his head erect, with a laugh in his eye, well-made as to his +hands and feet. Neither his intellect nor his political convictions +would have recommended a man to her heart, unless there had been +something in the outside to please her eye, and from the first moment +in which she had met him he had never been afraid of her,—had +ventured when he disagreed from her to laugh at her, and even to +scold her. There is no barrier in a girl's heart so strong against +love as the feeling that the man in question stands in awe of her.</p> + +<p>She had taken some time before she had given him her answer, and had +thought much of the perils before her. She had known that she could +not divest herself of her rank. She had acknowledged to herself that, +whether it was for good or bad, a Marquis's daughter could not be +like another girl. She owed much to her father, much to her brothers, +something even to her stepmother. But was the thing she proposed to +do of such a nature as to be regarded as an evil to her family? She +could see that there had been changes in the ways of the world during +the last century,—changes continued from year to year. Rank was not +so high as it used to be,—and in consequence those without rank not +so low. The Queen's daughter had married a subject. Lords John and +Lords Thomas were every day going into this and the other business. +There were instances enough of ladies of title doing the very thing +which she proposed to herself. Why should a Post Office clerk be +lower than another?</p> + +<p>Then came the great question, whether it behoved her to ask her +father. Girls in general ask their mother, and send the lover to the +father. She had no mother. She was quite sure that she would not +leave her happiness in the hands of the present Marchioness. Were she +to ask her father she knew that the matter would be at once settled +against her. Her father was too much under the dominion of his wife +to be allowed to have an opinion of his own on such a matter. So she +declared to herself, and then determined that she would act on her +own responsibility. She would accept the man, and then take the first +opportunity of telling her stepmother what she had done. And so it +was. It was only early on that morning that she had given her answer +to George Roden,—and early on that morning she had summoned up her +courage, and told her whole story.</p> + +<p>The station to which she was taken was a large German schloss, very +comfortably arranged, with the mountain as a background and the River +Elbe running close beneath its terraces, on which the Marquis had +spent some money, and made it a residence to be envied by the eyes of +all passers-by. It had been bought for its beauty in a freak, but had +never been occupied for more than a week at a time till this +occasion. Under other circumstances Lady Frances would have been as +happy here as the day was long, and had often expressed a desire to +be allowed to stay for a while at Königsgraaf. But now, though she +made an attempt to regard their sojourn in the place as one of the +natural events of their life, she could not shake off the idea of a +prison. The Marchioness was determined that the idea of a prison +should not be shaken off. In the first few days she said not a word +about the objectionable lover, nor did the Marquis. That had been +settled between them. But neither was anything said on any other +subject. There was a sternness in every motion, and a grim silence +seemed to preside in the château, except when the boys were +present,—and an attempt was made to separate her from her brothers +as much as possible, which she was more inclined to resent than any +other ill usage which was adopted towards her. After about a +fortnight it was announced that the Marquis was to return to London. +He had received letters from "the party" which made it quite +necessary that he should be there. When this was told to Lady Frances +not a word was said as to the probable duration of their own stay at +the château.</p> + +<p>"Papa," she said, "you are going back to London?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my dear. My presence in town is imperatively necessary."</p> + +<p>"How long are we to stay here?"</p> + +<p>"How long?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, papa. I like Königsgraaf very much. I always thought it the +prettiest place I know. But I do not like looking forward to staying +here without knowing when I am to go away."</p> + +<p>"You had better ask your mamma, my dear."</p> + +<p>"Mamma never says anything to me. It would be no good my asking her. +Papa, you ought to tell me something before you go away."</p> + +<p>"Tell you what?"</p> + +<p>"Or let me tell you something."</p> + +<p>"What do you want to tell me, Frances?" In saying this he assumed his +most angry tone and sternest countenance,—which, however, were not +very angry or very stern, and had no effect in frightening his +daughter. He did not, in truth, wish to say a word about the Post +Office clerk before he made his escape, and would have been very glad +to frighten her enough to make her silent had that been possible.</p> + +<p>"Papa, I want you to know that it will do no good shutting me up +there."</p> + +<p>"Nobody shuts you up."</p> + +<p>"I mean here in Saxony. Of course I shall stay for some time, but you +cannot expect that I shall remain here always."</p> + +<p>"Who has talked about always?"</p> + +<p>"I understand that I am brought here to be—out of Mr. Roden's way."</p> + +<p>"I would rather not speak of that young man."</p> + +<p>"But, papa,—if he is to be my husband—"</p> + +<p>"He is not to be your husband."</p> + +<p>"It will be so, papa, though I should be kept here ever so long. That +is what I want you to understand. Having given my word,—and so much +more than my word,—I certainly shall not go back from it. I can +understand that you should carry me off here so as to try and wean me +from <span class="nowrap">it—"</span></p> + +<p>"It is quite out of the question; impossible!"</p> + +<p>"No, papa. If he choose,—and I choose,—no one can prevent us." As +she said this she looked him full in the face.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to say that you owe no obedience to your parents?"</p> + +<p>"To you, papa, of course I owe obedience,—to a certain extent. There +does come a time, I suppose, in which a daughter may use her own +judgment as to her own happiness."</p> + +<p>"And disgrace all her family?"</p> + +<p>"I do not think that I shall disgrace mine. What I want you to +understand, papa, is this,—that you will not ensure my obedience by +keeping me here. I think I should be more likely to be submissive at +home. There is an idea in enforced control which is hardly compatible +with obedience. I don't suppose you will lock me up."</p> + +<p>"You have no right to talk to me in that way."</p> + +<p>"I want to explain that our being here can do no good. When you are +gone mamma and I will only be very unhappy together. She won't talk +to me, and will look at me as though I were a poor lost creature. I +don't think that I am a lost creature at all, but I shall be just as +much lost here as though I were at home in England."</p> + +<p>"When you come to talking you are as bad as your brother," said the +Marquis as he left her. Only that the expression was considered to be +unfit for female ears, he would have accused her of "talking the hind +legs off a dog."</p> + +<p>When he was gone the life at Königsgraaf became very sombre indeed. +Mr. George Roden's name was never mentioned by either of the ladies. +There was the Post Office, no doubt, and the Post Office was at first +left open to her; but there soon came a time in which she was +deprived of this consolation. With such a guardian as the +Marchioness, it was not likely that free correspondence should be +left open to her.</p> + + +<p><a name="c1-5" id="c1-5"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER V.</h3> +<h4>MRS. RODEN.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>George Roden, the Post Office clerk, lived with his mother at +Holloway, about three miles from his office. There they occupied a +small house which had been taken when their means were smaller even +than at present;—for this had been done before the young man had +made his way into the official elysium of St. Martin's-le-Grand. This +had been effected about five years since, during which time he had +risen to an income of £170. As his mother had means of her own +amounting to about double as much, and as her personal expenses were +small, they were enabled to live in comfort. She was a lady of whom +none around knew anything, but there had gone abroad a rumour among +her neighbours that there was something of a mystery attached to her, +and there existed a prevailing feeling that she was at any rate a +well-born lady. Few people at Holloway knew either her or her son. +But there were some who condescended to watch them, and to talk about +them. It was ascertained that Mrs. Roden usually went to church on +Sunday morning, but that her son never did so. It was known, too, +that a female friend called upon her regularly once a week; and it +was noted in the annals of Holloway that this female friend came +always at three o'clock on a Monday. Intelligent observers had become +aware that the return visit was made in the course of the week, but +not always made on one certain day;—from which circumstances various +surmises arose as to the means, whereabouts, and character of the +visitor. Mrs. Roden always went in a cab. The lady, whose name was +soon known to be Mrs. Vincent, came in a brougham, which for a time +was supposed to be her own peculiar property. The man who drove it +was so well arrayed as to hat, cravat, and coat, as to leave an +impression that he must be a private servant; but one feminine +observer, keener than others, saw the man on an unfortunate day +descend from his box at a public-house, and knew at once that the +trousers were the trousers of a hired driver from a livery-stable. +Nevertheless it was manifest that Mrs. Vincent was better to do in +the world than Mrs. Roden, because she could afford to hire a +would-be private carriage; and it was imagined also that she was a +lady accustomed to remain at home of an afternoon, probably with the +object of receiving visitors, because Mrs. Roden made her visits +indifferently on Thursday, Friday, or Saturday. It was suggested also +that Mrs. Vincent was no friend to the young clerk, because it was +well known that he was never there when the lady came, and it was +supposed that he never accompanied his mother on the return visits. +He had, indeed, on one occasion been seen to get out of the cab with +his mother at their own door, but it was strongly surmised that she +had then picked him up at the Post Office. His official engagements +might, indeed, have accounted for all this naturally; but the ladies +of Holloway were well aware that the humanity of the +Postmaster-General allowed a Saturday half-holiday to his otherwise +overworked officials, and they were sure that so good a son as George +Roden would occasionally have accompanied his mother, had there been +no especial reason against it. From this further surmises arose. Some +glance had fallen from the eye of the visitor lady, or perhaps some +chance word had been heard from her lips, which created an opinion +that she was religious. She probably objected to George Roden because +he was anti-religious, or at any rate anti-church, meeting, or +chapel-going. It had become quite decided at Holloway that Mrs. +Vincent would not put up with the young clerk's infidelity. And it +was believed that there had been "words" between the two ladies +themselves on the subject of religion,—as to which probably there +was no valid foundation, it being an ascertained fact that the two +maids who were employed by Mrs. Roden were never known to tell +anything of their mistress.</p> + +<p>It was decided at Holloway that Mrs. Roden and Mrs. Vincent were +cousins. They were like enough in face and near enough in age to have +been sisters; but old Mrs. Demijohn, of No. 10, Paradise Row, had +declared that had George been a nephew his aunt would not have +wearied in her endeavour to convert him. In such a case there would +have been intimacy in spite of disapproval. But a first cousin once +removed might be allowed to go to the Mischief in his own way. Mrs. +Vincent was supposed to be the elder cousin,—perhaps three or four +years the elder,—and to have therefore something of an authority, +but not much. She was stouter, too, less careful to hide what grey +hairs years might have produced, and showing manifestly by the nature +of her bonnets and shawls that she despised the vanities of the +world. Not but that she was always handsomely dressed, as Mrs. +Demijohn was very well aware. Less than a hundred a year could not +have clothed Mrs. Vincent, whereas Mrs. Roden, as all the world +perceived, did not spend half the money. But who does not know that a +lady may repudiate vanity in rich silks and cultivate the world in +woollen stuffs, or even in calico? Nothing was more certain to Mrs. +Demijohn than that Mrs. Vincent was severe, and that Mrs. Roden was +soft and gentle. It was assumed also that the two ladies were widows, +as no husband or sign of a husband had appeared on the scene. Mrs. +Vincent showed manifestly from her deportment, as well as from her +title, that she had been a married woman. As to Mrs. Roden, of +course, there was no doubt.</p> + +<p>In regard to all this the reader may take the settled opinions of +Mrs. Demijohn and of Holloway as being nearly true. Riddles may be +read very accurately by those who will give sufficient attention and +ample time to the reading of them. They who will devote twelve hours +a day to the unravelling of acrostics, may discover nearly all the +enigmas of a weekly newspaper with a separate editor for such +difficulties. Mrs. Demijohn had almost arrived at the facts. The two +ladies were second cousins. Mrs. Vincent was a widow, was religious, +was austere, was fairly well off, and had quarrelled altogether with +her distant relative George of the Post Office. Mrs. Roden, though +she went to church, was not so well given to religious observances as +her cousin would have her. Hence words had come which Mrs. Roden had +borne with equanimity, but had received without effect. Nevertheless +the two women loved each other dearly, and it was a great part of the +life of each of them that these weekly visits should be made. There +was one great fact, as to which Mrs. Demijohn and Holloway were in +the wrong. Mrs. Roden was not a widow.</p> + +<p>It was not till the Kingsburys had left London that George told his +mother of his engagement. She was well acquainted with his intimacy +with Lord Hampstead, and knew that he had been staying at Hendon Hall +with the Kingsbury family. There had been no reticence between the +mother and son as to these people, in regard to whom she had +frequently cautioned him that there was danger in such associations +with people moving altogether in a different sphere. In answer to +this the son had always declared that he did not see the danger. He +had not run after Lord Hampstead. Circumstances had thrown them +together. They had originally met each other in a small political +debating society, and gradually friendship had grown. The lord had +sought him, and not he the lord. That, according to his own idea, had +been right. Difference in rank, difference in wealth, difference in +social regard required as much as that. He, when he had discovered +who was the young man whom he had met, stood off somewhat, and +allowed the friendship to spring from the other side. He had been +slow to accept favour,—even at first to accept hospitality. But +whenever the ice had, as he said, been thoroughly broken, then he +thought that there was no reason why they should not pull each other +out of the cold water together. As for danger, what was there to +fear? The Marchioness would not like it? Very probably. The +Marchioness was not very much to Hampstead, and was nothing at all to +him. The Marquis would not really like it. Perhaps not. But in +choosing a friend a young man is not supposed to follow altogether +his father's likings,—much less need the chosen friend follow them. +But the Marquis, as George pointed out to his mother, was hardly more +like other marquises than the son was like other marquis's sons. +There was a Radical strain in the family, as was made clear by that +tailor who was still sitting for the borough of Edgeware. Mrs. Roden, +however, though she lived so much alone, seeing hardly anything of +the world except as Mrs. Vincent might be supposed to represent the +world, had learned that the feelings and political convictions of the +Marquis were hardly what they had been before he had married his +present wife. "You may be sure, George," she had said, "that like to +like is as safe a motto for friendship as it is for love."</p> + +<p>"Not a doubt, mother," he replied; "but before you act upon it you +must define 'like.' What makes two men like—or a man and a woman?"</p> + +<p>"Outside circumstances of the world more than anything else," she +answered, boldly.</p> + +<p>"I would fancy that the inside circumstances of the mind would have +more to do with it." She shook her head at him, pleasantly, softly, +and lovingly,—but still with a settled purpose of contradiction. "I +have admitted all along," he continued, "that low +<span class="nowrap">birth—"</span></p> + +<p>"I have said nothing of low birth!" Here was a point on which there +did not exist full confidence between the mother and son, but in +regard to which the mother was always attempting to reassure the son, +while he would assume something against himself which she would not +allow to pass without an attempt of faint denial.</p> + +<p>"That birth low by comparison," he continued, going on with his +sentence, "should not take upon itself as much as may be allowed to +nobility by descent is certain. Though the young prince may be +superior in his gifts to the young shoeblack, and would best show his +princeliness by cultivating the shoeblack, still the shoeblack should +wait to be cultivated. The world has created a state of things in +which the shoeblack cannot do otherwise without showing an arrogance +and impudence by which he could achieve nothing."</p> + +<p>"Which, too, would make him black his shoes very badly."</p> + +<p>"No doubt. That will have to come to pass any way, because the nobler +employments to which he will be raised by the appreciating prince +will cause him to drop his shoes."</p> + +<p>"Is Lord Hampstead to cause you to drop the Post Office?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all. He is not a prince nor am I a shoeblack. Though we are +far apart, we are not so far apart as to make such a change essential +to our acquaintance. But I was saying— I don't know what I was +saying."</p> + +<p>"You were defining what 'like' means. But people always get muddled +when they attempt definitions," said the mother.</p> + +<p>"Though it depends somewhat on externals, it has more to do with +internals. That is what I mean. A man and woman might live together +with most enduring love, though one had been noble and wealthy and +the other poor and a nobody. But a thorough brute and a human being +of fine conditions can hardly live together and love each other."</p> + +<p>"That is true," she said. "That I fear is true."</p> + +<p>"I hope it is true."</p> + +<p>"It has often to be tried, generally to the great detriment of the +better nature."</p> + +<p>All this, however, had been said before George Roden had spoken a +word to Lady Frances, and had referred only to the friendship as it +was growing between her son and the young lord.</p> + +<p>The young lord had come on various occasions to the house at +Holloway, and had there made himself thoroughly pleasant to his +friend's mother. Lord Hampstead had a way of making himself pleasant +in which he never failed when he chose to exercise it. And he did +exercise it almost always,—always, indeed, unless he was driven to +be courteously disagreeable by opposition to his own peculiar +opinion. In shooting, fishing, and other occupations not approved of, +he would fall into a line of argument, seemingly and indeed truly +good-humoured, which was apt, however, to be aggravating to his +opponent. In this way he would make himself thoroughly odious to his +stepmother, with whom he had not one sentiment in common. In other +respects his manners were invariably sweet, with an assumption of +intimacy which was not unbecoming; and thus he had greatly +recommended himself to Mrs. Roden. Who does not know the fashion in +which the normal young man conducts himself when he is making a +morning call? He has come there because he means to be civil. He +would not be there unless he wished to make himself popular. He is +carrying out some recognized purpose of society. He would fain be +agreeable if it were possible. He would enjoy the moment if he could. +But it is clearly his conviction that he is bound to get through a +certain amount of altogether uninteresting conversation, and then to +get himself out of the room with as little awkwardness as may be. +Unless there be a pretty girl, and chance favour him with her special +companionship, he does not for a moment suppose that any social +pleasure is to be enjoyed. That rational amusement can be got out of +talking to Mrs. Jones does not enter into his mind. And yet Mrs. +Jones is probably a fair specimen of that general society in which +every one wishes to mingle. Society is to him generally made up of +several parts, each of which is a pain, though the total is deemed to +be desirable. The pretty girl episode is no doubt an +exception,—though that also has its pains when matter for +conversation does not come readily, or when conversation, coming too +readily, is rebuked. The morning call may be regarded as a period of +unmitigated agony. Now it has to be asserted on Lord Hampstead's +behalf that he could talk with almost any Mrs. Jones freely and +pleasantly while he remained, and take his departure without that +dislocating struggle which is too common. He would make himself at +ease, and discourse as though he had known the lady all his life. +There is nothing which a woman likes so much as this, and by doing +this Lord Hampstead had done much, if not to overcome, at any rate to +quiet the sense of danger of which Mrs. Roden had spoken.</p> + +<p>But this refers to a time in which nothing was known at Holloway as +to Lady Frances. Very little had been said of the family between the +mother and son. Of the Marquis George Roden had wished to think well, +but had hardly succeeded. Of the stepmother he had never even wished +to do so. She had from the first been known to him as a woman +thoroughly wedded to aristocratic prejudices,—who regarded herself +as endowed with certain privileges which made her altogether superior +to other human beings. Hampstead himself could not even pretend to +respect her. Of her Roden had said very little to his mother, simply +speaking of her as the Marchioness, who was in no way related to +Hampstead. Of Lady Frances he had simply said that there was a girl +there endowed with such a spirit, that of all girls of her class she +must surely be the best and noblest. Then his mother had shuddered +inwardly, thinking that here too there might be possible danger; but +she had shrunk from speaking of the special danger even to her son.</p> + +<p>"How has the visit gone?" Mrs. Roden asked, when her son had already +been some hours in the house. This was after that last visit to +Hendon Hall, in which Lady Frances had promised to become his wife.</p> + +<p>"Pretty well, taking it altogether."</p> + +<p>"I know that something has disappointed you."</p> + +<p>"No, indeed, nothing. I have been somewhat abashed."</p> + +<p>"What have they said to you?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Very little but what was kind,—just one word at the last."</p> + +<p>"Something, I know, has hurt you," said the mother.</p> + +<p>"Lady Kingsbury has made me aware that she dislikes me thoroughly. It +is very odd how one person can do that to another almost without a +word spoken."</p> + +<p>"I told you, George, that there would be danger in going there."</p> + +<p>"There would be no danger in that if there were nothing more."</p> + +<p>"What more is there then?"</p> + +<p>"There would be no danger in that if Lady Kingsbury was simply +Hampstead's stepmother."</p> + +<p>"What more is she?"</p> + +<p>"She is stepmother also to Lady Frances. Oh, mother!"</p> + +<p>"George, what has happened?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I have asked Lady Frances to be my wife."</p> + +<p>"Your wife?"</p> + +<p>"And she has promised."</p> + +<p>"Oh, George!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed, mother. Now you can perceive that she indeed may be a +danger. When I think of the power of tormenting her stepdaughter +which may rest in her hands I can hardly forgive myself for doing as +I have done."</p> + +<p>"And the Marquis?" asked the mother.</p> + +<p>"I know nothing as yet as to what his feelings may be. I have had no +opportunity of speaking to him since the little occurrence took +place. A word escaped me, an unthought-of word, which her ladyship +overheard, and for which she rebuked me. Then I left the house."</p> + +<p>"What word?"</p> + +<p>"Just a common word of greeting, a word that would be common among +dear friends, but which, coming from me to her, told all the story. I +forgot the prefix which was due from such a one as I am to such as +she is. I can understand with what horror I must henceforward be +regarded by Lady Kingsbury."</p> + +<p>"What will the Marquis say?"</p> + +<p>"I shall be a horror to him also,—an unutterable horror. The idea of +contact so vile will cure him at once of all his little Radical +longings."</p> + +<p>"And Hampstead?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, I think, can cure Hampstead of his convictions;—but even +he is not well pleased."</p> + +<p>"Has he quarrelled with you?"</p> + +<p>"No, not that. He is too noble to quarrel on such offence. He is too +noble even to take offence on such a cause. But he refuses to believe +that good will come of it. And you, mother?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, George, I doubt, I doubt."</p> + +<p>"You will not congratulate me?"</p> + +<p>"What am I to say? I fear more than I can hope."</p> + +<p>"When I tell you that she is noble at all points, noble in heart, +noble in beauty, noble in that dignity which a woman should always +carry with her, that she is as sweet a creature as God ever created +to bless a man with, will you not then congratulate me?"</p> + +<p>"I would her birth were other than it is," said the mother.</p> + +<p>"I would have her altered in nothing," said the son. "Her birth is +the smallest thing about her, but such as she is I would have her +altered in nothing."</p> + + +<p><a name="c1-6" id="c1-6"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER VI.</h3> +<h4>PARADISE ROW.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>About a fortnight after George Roden's return to Holloway,—a +fortnight passed by the mother in meditation as to her son's glorious +but dangerous love,—Lord Hampstead called at No. 11, Paradise Row. +Mrs. Roden lived at No. 11, and Mrs. Demijohn lived at No. 10, the +house opposite. There had already been some discussion in Holloway +about Lord Hampstead, but nothing had as yet been discovered. He +might have been at the house on various previous occasions, but had +come in so unpretending a manner as hardly to have done more than to +cause himself to be regarded as a stranger in Holloway. He was known +to be George's friend, because he had been first seen coming with +George on a Saturday afternoon. He had also called on a Sunday and +walked away, down the Row, with George. Mrs. Demijohn concluded that +he was a brother clerk in the Post Office, and had expressed an +opinion that "it did not signify," meaning thereby to imply that +Holloway need not interest itself about the stranger. A young +Government clerk would naturally have another young Government clerk +for his friend. Twice Lord Hampstead had come down in an omnibus from +Islington; on which occasion it was remarked that as he did not come +on Saturday there must be something wrong. A clerk, with Saturday +half-holidays, ought not to be away from his work on Mondays and +Tuesdays. Mrs. Duffer, who was regarded in Paradise Row as being very +inferior to Mrs. Demijohn, suggested that the young man might, +perhaps, not be a Post Office clerk. This, however, was ridiculed. +Where should a Post Office clerk find his friends except among Post +Office clerks? "Perhaps he is coming after the widow," suggested Mrs. +Duffer. But this also was received with dissent. Mrs. Demijohn +declared that Post Office clerks knew better than to marry widows +with no more than two or three hundred a year, and old enough to be +their mothers. "But why does he come on a Tuesday?" asked Mrs. +Duffer; "and why does he come alone?" "Oh you dear old Mrs. Duffer!" +said Clara Demijohn, the old lady's niece, naturally thinking that it +might not be unnatural that handsome young men should come to +Paradise Row.</p> + +<p>All this, however, had been as nothing to what occurred in the Row on +the occasion which is now about to be described.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Jemima," exclaimed Clara Demijohn, looking out of the window, +"there's that young man come again to Number Eleven, riding on +horseback, with a groom behind to hold him!"</p> + +<p>"Groom to hold him!" exclaimed Mrs. Demijohn, jumping, with all her +rheumatism, quickly from her seat, and trotting to the window.</p> + +<p>"You look if there aint,—with boots and breeches."</p> + +<p>"It must be another," said Mrs. Demijohn, after a pause, during which +she had been looking intently at the empty saddle of the horse which +the groom was leading slowly up and down the Row.</p> + +<p>"It's the same that came with young Roden that Saturday," said Clara; +"only he hadn't been walking, and he looked nicer than ever."</p> + +<p>"You can hire them all, horses and groom," said Mrs. Demijohn; "but +he'd never make his money last till the end of the month if he went +on in that way."</p> + +<p>"They aint hired. They're his own," said Clara.</p> + +<p>"How do you know, Miss?"</p> + +<p>"By the colour of his boots, and the way he touched his hat, and +because his gloves are clean. He aint a Post Office clerk at all, +Aunt Jemima."</p> + +<p>"I wonder whether he can be coming after the widow," said Mrs. +Demijohn. After this Clara escaped out of the room, leaving her aunt +fixed at the window. Such a sight as that groom and those two horses +moving up and down together had never been seen in the Row before. +Clara put on her hat and ran across hurriedly to Mrs. Duffer, who +lived at No. 15, next door but one to Mrs. Roden. But she was +altogether too late to communicate the news as news.</p> + +<p>"I knew he wasn't a Post Office clerk," said Mrs. Duffer, who had +seen Lord Hampstead ride up the street; "but who he is, or why, or +wherefore, it is beyond me to conjecture. But I never will give up my +opinion again, talking to your aunt. I suppose she holds out still +that he's a Post Office clerk."</p> + +<p>"She thinks he might have hired them."</p> + +<p>"Oh my! Hired them!"</p> + +<p>"But did you ever see anything so noble as the way he got off his +horse? As for hire, that's nonsense. He's been getting off that horse +every day of his life." Thus it was that Paradise Row was +awe-stricken by this last coming of George Roden's friend.</p> + +<p>It was an odd thing to do,—this riding down to Holloway. No one else +would have done it, either lord or Post Office clerk;—with a hired +horse or with private property. There was a hot July sunshine, and +the roads across from Hendon Hall consisted chiefly of paved streets. +But Lord Hampstead always did things as others would not do them. It +was too far to walk in the midday sun, and therefore he rode. There +would be no servant at Mrs. Roden's house to hold his horse, and +therefore he brought one of his own. He did not see why a man on +horseback should attract more attention at Holloway than at Hyde Park +Corner. Had he guessed the effect which he and his horse would have +had in Paradise Row he would have come by some other means.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Roden at first received him with considerable +embarrassment,—which he probably observed, but in speaking to her +seemed not to observe. "Very hot, indeed," he said;—"too hot for +riding, as I found soon after I started. I suppose George has given +up walking for the present."</p> + +<p>"He still walks home, I think."</p> + +<p>"If he had declared his purpose of doing so, he'd go on though he had +sunstroke every afternoon."</p> + +<p>"I hope he is not so obstinate as that, my lord."</p> + +<p>"The most obstinate fellow I ever knew in my life! Though the world +were to come to an end, he'd let it come rather than change his +purpose. It's all very well for a man to keep his purpose, but he may +overdo it."</p> + +<p>"Has he been very determined lately in anything?"</p> + +<p>"No;—nothing particular. I haven't seen him for the last week. I +want him to come over and dine with me at Hendon one of these days. +I'm all alone there." From this Mrs. Roden learnt that Lord Hampstead +at any rate did not intend to quarrel with her son, and she learnt +also that Lady Frances was no longer staying at the Hall. "I can send +him home," continued the lord, "if he can manage to come down by the +railway or the omnibus."</p> + +<p>"I will give him your message, my lord."</p> + +<p>"Tell him I start on the 21st. My yacht is at Cowes, and I shall go +down there on that morning. I shall be away Heaven knows how +long;—probably for a month. Vivian will be with me, and we mean to +bask away our time in the Norway and Iceland seas, till he goes, like +an idiot that he is, to his grouse-shooting. I should like to see +George before I start. I said that I was all alone; but Vivian will +be with me. George has met him before, and as they didn't cut each +other's throats then I suppose they won't now."</p> + +<p>"I will tell him all that," said Mrs. Roden.</p> + +<p>Then there was a pause for a moment, after which Lord Hampstead went +on in an altered voice. "Has he said anything to you since he was at +Hendon;—as to my family, I mean?"</p> + +<p>"He has told me something."</p> + +<p>"I was sure he had. I should not have asked unless I had been quite +sure. I know that he would tell you anything of that kind. Well?"</p> + +<p>"What am I to say, Lord Hampstead?"</p> + +<p>"What has he told you, Mrs. Roden?"</p> + +<p>"He has spoken to me of your sister."</p> + +<p>"But what has he said?"</p> + +<p>"That he loves her."</p> + +<p>"And that she loves him?"</p> + +<p>"That he hopes so."</p> + +<p>"He has said more than that, I take it. They have engaged themselves +to each other."</p> + +<p>"So I understand."</p> + +<p>"What do you think of it, Mrs. Roden?"</p> + +<p>"What can I think of it, Lord Hampstead? I hardly dare to think of it +at all."</p> + +<p>"Was it wise?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose where love is concerned wisdom is not much considered."</p> + +<p>"But people have to consider it. I hardly know how to think of it. To +my idea it was not wise. And yet there is no one living whom I esteem +so much as your son."</p> + +<p>"You are very good, my lord."</p> + +<p>"There is no goodness in it,—any more than in his liking for me. But +I can indulge my fancy without doing harm to others. Lady Kingsbury +thinks that I am an idiot because I do not live exclusively with +counts and countesses; but in declining to take her advice I do not +injure her much. She can talk about me and my infatuations among her +friends with a smile. She will not be tortured by any feeling of +disgrace. So with my father. He has an idea that I am out-Heroding +Herod, he having been Herod;—but there is nothing bitter in it to +him. Those fine young gentlemen, my brothers, who are the dearest +little chicks in the world, five and six and seven years old, will be +able to laugh pleasantly at their elder brother when they grow up, as +they will do, among the other idle young swells of the nation. That +their brother and George Roden should be always together will not +even vex them. They may probably receive some benefit themselves, may +achieve some diminution of the folly natural to their position, by +their advantage in knowing him. In looking at it all round, as far as +that goes, there is not only satisfaction to me, but a certain pride. +I am doing no more than I have a right to do. Whatever +counter-influence I may introduce among my own people, will be good +and wholesome. Do you understand me, Mrs. Roden?"</p> + +<p>"I think so;—very clearly. I should be dull, if I did not."</p> + +<p>"But it becomes different when one's sister is concerned. I am +thinking of the happiness of other people."</p> + +<p>"She, I suppose, will think of her own."</p> + +<p>"Not exclusively, I hope."</p> + +<p>"No; not that I am sure. But a girl, when she +<span class="nowrap">loves—"</span></p> + +<p>"Yes; that is all true. But a girl situated like Frances is bound not +to,—not to sacrifice those with whom Fame and Fortune have +connected her. I can speak plainly to you, Mrs. Roden, because you +know what are my own opinions about many things."</p> + +<p>"George has no sister, no girl belonging to him; but if he had, and +you loved her, would you abstain from marrying her lest you should +sacrifice your—connections?"</p> + +<p>"The word has offended you?"</p> + +<p>"Not in the least. It is a word true to the purpose in hand. I +understand the sacrifice you mean. Lady Kingsbury's feelings would +be—sacrificed were her daughter,—even her stepdaughter,—to become +my boy's husband. She supposes that her girl's birth is superior to +my boy's."</p> + +<p>"There are so many meanings to that word 'birth.'"</p> + +<p>"I will take it all as you mean, Lord Hampstead, and will not be +offended. My boy, as he is, is no match for your sister. Both Lord +and Lady Kingsbury would think that there had been—a sacrifice. It +might be that those little lords would not in future years be wont to +talk at their club of their brother-in-law, the Post Office clerk, as +they would of some earl or some duke with whom they might have become +connected. Let us pass it by, and acknowledge that there would be—a +sacrifice. So there will be should you marry below your degree. The +sacrifice would be greater because it would be carried on to some +future Marquis of Kingsbury. Would you practise such self-denial as +that you demand from your sister?"</p> + +<p>Lord Hampstead considered the matter a while, and then answered the +question. "I do not think that the two cases would be quite +analogous."</p> + +<p>"Where is the difference?"</p> + +<p>"There is something more delicate, more nice, requiring greater +caution in the conduct of a girl than of a man."</p> + +<p>"Quite so, Lord Hampstead. Where conduct is in question, the girl is +bound to submit to stricter laws. I may explain that by saying that +the girl is lost for ever who gives herself up to unlawful +love,—whereas, for the man, the way back to the world's respect is +only too easy, even should he, on that score, have lost aught of the +world's respect. The same law runs through every act of a girl's +life, as contrasted with the acts of men. But in this act,—the act +now supposed of marrying a gentleman whom she loves,—your sister +would do nothing which should exclude her from the respect of good +men or the society of well-ordered ladies. I do not say that the +marriage would be well-assorted. I do not recommend it. Though my +boy's heart is dearer to me than anything else can be in the world, I +can see that it may be fit that his heart should be made to suffer. +But when you talk of the sacrifice which he and your sister are +called on to make, so that others should be delivered from lesser +sacrifices, I think you should ask what duty would require from +yourself. I do not think she would sacrifice the noble blood of the +Traffords more effectually than you would by a similar marriage." As +she thus spoke she leant forward from her chair on the table, and +looked him full in the face. And he felt, as she did so, that she was +singularly handsome, greatly gifted, a woman noble to the eye and to +the ear. She was pleading for her son,—and he knew that. But she had +condescended to use no mean argument.</p> + +<p>"If you will say that such a law is dominant among your class, and +that it is one to which you would submit yourself, I will not +repudiate it. But you shall not induce me to consent to it, by even a +false idea as to the softer delicacy of the sex. That softer +delicacy, with its privileges and duties, shall be made to stand for +what it is worth, and to occupy its real ground. If you use it for +other mock purposes, then I will quarrel with you." It was thus that +she had spoken, and he understood it all.</p> + +<p>"I am not brought in question," he said slowly.</p> + +<p>"Cannot you put it to yourself as though you were brought in +question? You will at any rate admit that my argument is just."</p> + +<p>"I hardly know. I must think of it. Such a marriage on my part would +not outrage my stepmother, as would that of my sister."</p> + +<p>"Outrage! You speak, Lord Hampstead, as though your mother would +think that your sister would have disgraced herself as a woman!"</p> + +<p>"I am speaking of her feelings,—not of mine. It would be different +were I to marry in the same degree."</p> + +<p>"Would it? Then I think that perhaps I had better counsel George not +to go to Hendon Hall."</p> + +<p>"My sister is not there. They are all in Germany."</p> + +<p>"He had better not go where your sister will be thought of."</p> + +<p>"I would not quarrel with your son for all the world."</p> + +<p>"It will be better that you should. Do not suppose that I am pleading +for him." That, however, was what he did suppose, and that was what +she was doing. "I have told him already that I think that the +prejudices will be too hard for him, and that he had better give it +up before he adds to his own misery, and perhaps to hers. What I have +said has not been in the way of pleading,—but only as showing the +ground on which I think that such a marriage would be inexpedient. It +is not that we, or our sister, are too bad or too low for such +contact; but that you, on your side, are not as yet good enough or +high enough."</p> + +<p>"I will not dispute that with you, Mrs. Roden. But you will give him +my message?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I will give him your message."</p> + +<p>Then Lord Hampstead, having spent a full hour in the house, took his +departure and rode away.</p> + +<p>"Just an hour," said Clara Demijohn, who was still looking out of +Mrs. Duffer's window. "What can they have been talking about?"</p> + +<p>"I think he must be making up to the widow," said Mrs. Duffer, who +was so lost in surprise as to be unable to suggest any new idea.</p> + +<p>"He'd never have come with saddle horses to do that. She wouldn't be +taken by a young man spending his money in that fashion. She'd like +saving ways better. But they're his own horses, and his own man, and +he's no more after the widow than he's after me," said Clara, +laughing.</p> + +<p>"I wish he were, my dear."</p> + +<p>"There may be as good as him come yet, Mrs. Duffer. I don't think so +much of their having horses and grooms. When they have these things +they can't afford to have wives too,—and sometimes they can't afford +to pay for either." Then, having seen the last of Lord Hampstead as +he rode out of the Row, she went back to her mother's house.</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Demijohn had been making use of her time while Clara and +Mrs. Duffer had been wasting theirs in mere gazing, and making vain +surmises. As soon as she found herself alone the old woman got her +bonnet and shawl, and going out slily into the Row, made her way down +to the end of the street in the direction opposite to that in which +the groom was at that moment walking the horses. There she escaped +the eyes of her niece and of the neighbours, and was enabled to wait +unseen till the man, in his walking, came down to the spot at which +she was standing. "My young man," she said in her most winning voice, +when the groom came near her.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Mum?"</p> + +<p>"You'd like a glass of beer, wouldn't you;—after walking up and down +so long?"</p> + +<p>"No, I wouldn't, not just at present." He knew whom he served, and +from whom it would become him to take beer.</p> + +<p>"I'd be happy to pay for a pint," said Mrs. Demijohn, fingering a +fourpenny bit so that he might see it.</p> + +<p>"Thankye, Mum; no, I takes it reg'lar when I takes it. I'm on dooty +just at present."</p> + +<p>"Your master's horses, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Whose else, Mum? His lordship don't ride generally nobody's 'orses +but his own."</p> + +<p>Here was a success! And the fourpenny bit saved! His lordship! "Of +course not," said Mrs. Demijohn. "Why should he?"</p> + +<p>"Why, indeed, Mum?"</p> + +<p>"Lord—; Lord—;—Lord who, is he?"</p> + +<p>The groom poked up his hat, and scratched his head, and bethought +himself. A servant generally wishes to do what honour he can to his +master. This man had no desire to gratify an inquisitive old woman, +but he thought it derogatory to his master and to himself to seem to +deny their joint name. "'Ampstead!" he said, looking down very +serenely on the lady, and then moved on, not wasting another word.</p> + +<p>"I knew all along they were something out of the common way," said +Mrs. Demijohn as soon as her niece came in.</p> + +<p>"You haven't found out who it is, aunt?"</p> + +<p>"You've been with Mrs. Duffer, I suppose. You two'd put your heads +together for a week, and then would know nothing." It was not till +quite the last thing at night that she told her secret. "He was a +peer! He was Lord 'Ampstead!"</p> + +<p>"A peer!"</p> + +<p>"He was Lord 'Ampstead, I tell you," said Mrs. Demijohn.</p> + +<p>"I don't believe there is such a lord," said Clara, as she took +herself up to bed.</p> + + +<p><a name="c1-7" id="c1-7"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER VII.</h3> +<h4>THE POST OFFICE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>When George Roden came home that evening the matter was discussed +between him and his mother at great length. She was eager with him, +if not to abandon his love, at any rate to understand how impossible +it was that he should marry Lady Frances. She was very tender with +him, full of feeling, full of compassion and sympathy; but she was +persistent in declaring that no good could come from such an +engagement. But he would not be deterred in the least from his +resolution, nor would he accept it as possible that he should be +turned from his object by the wishes of any person as long as Lady +Frances was true to him. "You speak as if daughters were slaves," he +said.</p> + +<p>"So they are. So women must be;—slaves to the conventions of the +world. A young woman can hardly run counter to her family on a +question of marriage. She may be persistent enough to overcome +objections, but that will be because the objections themselves are +not strong enough to stand against her. But here the objections will +be very strong."</p> + +<p>"We will see, mother," he said. She who knew him well perceived that +it would be vain to talk to him further.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," he said, "I will go out to Hendon, perhaps on Sunday. That +Mr. Vivian is a pleasant fellow, and as Hampstead does not wish to +quarrel with me I certainly will not quarrel with him."</p> + +<p>Roden was generally popular at his office, and had contrived to make +his occupation there pleasant to himself and interesting; but he had +his little troubles, as will happen to most men in all walks of life. +His came to him chiefly from the ill-manners of a fellow-clerk who +sat in the same room with him, and at the same desk. There were five +who occupied the apartment, an elderly gentleman and four youngsters. +The elderly gentleman was a quiet, civil, dull old man, who never +made himself disagreeable, and was content to put up with the +frivolities of youth, if they did not become too uproarious or +antagonistic to discipline. When they did, he had but one word of +rebuke. "Mr. Crocker, I will not have it." Beyond that he had never +been known to go in the way either of reporting the misconduct of his +subordinates to other superior powers, or in quarrelling with the +young men himself. Even with Mr. Crocker, who no doubt was +troublesome, he contrived to maintain terms of outward friendship. +His name was Jerningham, and next to Mr. Jerningham in age came Mr. +Crocker, by whose ill-timed witticisms our George Roden was not +unfrequently made to suffer. This had sometimes gone so far that +Roden had contemplated the necessity of desiring Mr. Crocker to +assume that a bond of enmity had been established between them;—or +in other words, that they were not "to speak" except on official +subjects. But there had been an air of importance about such a +proceeding of which Crocker hardly seemed to be worthy; and Roden had +abstained, putting off the evil hour from day to day, but still +conscious that he must do something to stop vulgarities which were +distasteful to him.</p> + +<p>The two other young men, Mr. Bobbin and Mr. Geraghty, who sat at a +table by themselves and were the two junior clerks in that branch of +the office, were pleasant and good-humoured enough. They were both +young, and as yet not very useful to the Queen. They were apt to come +late to their office, and impatient to leave it when the hour of four +drew nigh. There would sometimes come a storm through the Department, +moved by an unseen but powerful and unsatisfied Æolus, in which +Bobbin and Geraghty would be threatened to be blown into infinite +space. Minutes would be written and rumours spread about; punishments +would be inflicted, and it would be given to be understood that now +one and then the other would certainly have to return to his +disconsolate family at the very next offence. There was a question at +this very moment whether Geraghty, who had come from the sister +island about twelve months since, should not be returned to King's +County. No doubt he had passed the Civil Service examiners with +distinguished applause; but Æolus hated the young Crichtons who came +to him with full marks, and had declared that Geraghty, though no +doubt a linguist, a philosopher, and a mathematician, was not worth +his salt as a Post Office clerk. But he, and Bobbin also, were +protected by Mr. Jerningham, and were well liked by George Roden.</p> + +<p>That Roden was intimate with Lord Hampstead had become known to his +fellow-clerks. The knowledge of this association acted somewhat to +his advantage and somewhat to his injury. His daily companions could +not but feel a reflected honour in their own intimacy with the friend +of the eldest son of a Marquis, and were anxious to stand well with +one who lived in such high society. Such was natural;—but it was +natural also that envy should show itself in ridicule, and that the +lord should be thrown in the clerk's teeth when the clerk should be +deemed to have given offence. Crocker, when it first became certain +that Roden passed much of his time in company with a young lord, had +been anxious enough to foregather with the fortunate youth who sat +opposite to him; but Roden had not cared much for Crocker's society, +and hence it had come to pass that Crocker had devoted himself to +jeers and witticisms. Mr. Jerningham, who in his very soul respected +a Marquis, and felt something of genuine awe for anything that +touched the peerage, held his fortunate junior in unfeigned esteem +from the moment in which he became aware of the intimacy. He did in +truth think better of the clerk because the clerk had known how to +make himself a companion to a lord. He did not want anything for +himself. He was too old and settled in life to be desirous of new +friendships. He was naturally conscientious, gentle, and unassuming. +But Roden rose in his estimation, and Crocker fell, when he became +assured that Roden and Lord Hampstead were intimate friends, and that +Crocker had dared to jeer at the friendship. A lord is like a new +hat. The one on the arm the other on the head are no evidences of +mental superiority. But yet they are taken, and not incorrectly +taken, as signs of merit. The increased esteem shown by Mr. +Jerningham for Roden should, I think, be taken as showing Mr. +Jerningham's good sense and general appreciation.</p> + +<p>The two lads were both on Roden's side. Roden was not a rose, but he +lived with a rose, and the lads of course liked the scent of roses. +They did not particularly like Crocker, though Crocker had a dash +about him which would sometimes win their flattery. Crocker was brave +and impudent and self-assuming. They were not as yet sufficiently +advanced in life to be able to despise Crocker. Crocker imposed upon +them. But should there come anything of real warfare between Crocker +and Roden, there could be no doubt but that they would side with Lord +Hampstead's friend. Such was the state of the room at the Post Office +when Crocker entered it, on the morning of Lord Hampstead's visit to +Paradise Row.</p> + +<p>Crocker was a little late. He was often a little late,—a fact of +which Mr. Jerningham ought to have taken more stringent notice than +he did. Perhaps Mr. Jerningham rather feared Crocker. Crocker had so +read Mr. Jerningham's character as to have become aware that his +senior was soft, and perhaps timid. He had so far advanced in this +reading as to have learned to think that he could get the better of +Mr. Jerningham by being loud and impudent. He had no doubt hitherto +been successful, but there were those in the office who believed that +the day might come when Mr. Jerningham would rouse himself in his +wrath.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Crocker, you are late," said Mr. Jerningham.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Jerningham, I am late. I scorn false excuses. Geraghty would say +that his watch was wrong. Bobbin would have eaten something that had +disagreed with him. Roden would have been detained by his friend, +Lord Hampstead." To this Roden made no reply even by a look. "For me, +I have to acknowledge that I did not turn out when I was called. Of +twenty minutes I have deprived my country; but as my country values +so much of my time at only seven-pence-halfpenny, it is hardly worth +saying much about it."</p> + +<p>"You are frequently late."</p> + +<p>"When the amount has come up to ten pound I will send the +Postmaster-General stamps to that amount." He was now standing at his +desk, opposite to Roden, to whom he made a low bow. "Mr. George +Roden," he said, "I hope that his lordship is quite well."</p> + +<p>"The only lord with whom I am acquainted is quite well; but I do not +know why you should trouble yourself about him."</p> + +<p>"I think it becoming in one who takes the Queen's pay to show a +becoming anxiety as to the Queen's aristocracy. I have the greatest +respect for the Marquis of Kingsbury. Have not you, Mr. Jerningham?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly I have. But if you would go to your work instead of +talking so much it would be better for everybody."</p> + +<p>"I am at my work already. Do you think that I cannot work and talk at +the same time? Bobbin, my boy, if you would open that window, do you +think it would hurt your complexion?" Bobbin opened the window. +"Paddy, where were you last night?" Paddy was Mr. Geraghty.</p> + +<p>"I was dining, then, with my sister's mother-in-law."</p> + +<p>"What,—the O'Kelly, the great legislator and Home Ruler, whom his +country so loves and Parliament so hates! I don't think any Home +Ruler's relative ought to be allowed into the service. Do you, Mr. +Jerningham?"</p> + +<p>"I think Mr. Geraghty, if he will only be a little more careful, will +do great credit to the service," said Mr. Jerningham.</p> + +<p>"I hope that Æolus may think the same." Æolus was the name by which a +certain pundit was known at the office;—a violent and imperious +Secretary, but not in the main ill-natured. "Æolus, when last I heard +of his opinion, seemed to have his doubts about poor Paddy." This was +a disagreeable subject, and it was felt by them all that it might +better be left in silence. From that time the work of the day was +continued with no more than moderate interruptions till the hour of +luncheon, when the usual attendant entered with the usual +mutton-chops. "I wonder if Lord Hampstead has mutton-chops for +luncheon?" asked Crocker.</p> + +<p>"Why should he not?" asked Mr. Jerningham, foolishly.</p> + +<p>"There must be some kind of gilded cutlet, upon which the higher +members of the aristocracy regale themselves. I suppose, Roden, you +must have seen his lordship at lunch."</p> + +<p>"I dare say I have," said Roden, angrily. He knew that he was +annoyed, and was angry with himself at his own annoyance.</p> + +<p>"Are they golden or only gilded?" asked Crocker.</p> + +<p>"I believe you mean to make yourself disagreeable," said the other.</p> + +<p>"Quite the reverse. I mean to make myself agreeable;—only you have +soared so high of late that ordinary conversation has no charms for +you. Is there any reason why Lord Hampstead's lunch should not be +mentioned?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly there is," said Roden.</p> + +<p>"Then, upon my life, I cannot see it. If you talked of my mid-day +chop I should not take it amiss."</p> + +<p>"I don't think a fellow should ever talk about another fellow's +eating unless he knows the fellow." This came from Bobbin, who +intended it well, meaning to fight the battle for Roden as well as he +knew how.</p> + +<p>"Most sapient Bobb," said Crocker, "you seem to be unaware that one +young fellow, who is Roden, happens to be the peculiarly intimate +friend of the other fellow, who is the Earl of Hampstead. Therefore +the law, as so clearly laid down by yourself, has not been infringed. +To return to our muttons, as the Frenchman says, what sort of lunch +does his lordship eat?"</p> + +<p>"You are determined to make yourself disagreeable," said Roden.</p> + +<p>"I appeal to Mr. Jerningham whether I have said anything unbecoming."</p> + +<p>"If you appeal to me, I think you have," said Mr. Jerningham.</p> + +<p>"You have, at any rate, been so successful in doing it," continued +Roden, "that I must ask you to hold your tongue about Lord Hampstead. +It has not been by anything I have said that you have heard of my +acquaintance with him. The joke is a bad one, and will become vulgar +if repeated."</p> + +<p>"Vulgar!" cried Crocker, pushing away his plate, and rising from his +chair.</p> + +<p>"I mean ungentlemanlike. I don't want to use hard words, but I will +not allow myself to be annoyed."</p> + +<p>"Hoity, toity," said Crocker, "here's a row because I made a chance +allusion to a noble lord. I am to be called vulgar because I +mentioned his name." Then he began to whistle.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Crocker, I will not have it," said Mr. Jerningham, assuming his +most angry tone. "You make more noise in the room than all the others +put together."</p> + +<p>"Nevertheless, I do wonder what Lord Hampstead has had for his +lunch." This was the last shot, and after that the five gentlemen did +in truth settle down to their afternoon's work.</p> + +<p>When four o'clock came Mr. Jerningham with praiseworthy punctuality +took his hat and departed. His wife and three unmarried daughters +were waiting for him at Islington, and as he was always in his seat +punctually at ten, he was justified in leaving it punctually at four. +Crocker swaggered about the room for a minute or two with his hat on, +desirous of showing that he was by no means affected by the rebukes +which he had received. But he, too, soon went, not having summoned +courage to recur to the name of Roden's noble friend. The two lads +remained for the sake of saying a word of comfort to Roden, who still +sat writing at his desk. "I thought it was very low form," said +Bobbin; "Crocker going on like that."</p> + +<p>"Crocker's a baist," said Geraghty.</p> + +<p>"What was it to him what anybody eats for his lunch?" continued +Bobbin.</p> + +<p>"Only he likes to have a nobleman's name in his mouth," said +Geraghty. "I think it's the hoighth of bad manners talking about +anybody's friends unless you happen to know them yourself."</p> + +<p>"I think it is," said Roden, looking up from his desk. "But I'll tell +you what shows worse manners;—that is, a desire to annoy anybody. +Crocker likes to be funny, and he thinks there is no fun so good as +what he calls taking a rise. I don't know that I'm very fond of +Crocker, but it may be as well that we should all think no more about +it." Upon this the young men promised that they, at least, would +think no more about it, and then took their departure. George Roden +soon followed them, for it was not the practice of anybody in that +department to remain at work long after four o'clock.</p> + +<p>Roden as he walked home did think more of the little affair than it +deserved,—more at least than he would acknowledge that it deserved. +He was angry with himself for bearing it in mind, and yet he did bear +it in mind. Could it be that a creature so insignificant as Crocker +could annoy him by a mere word or two? But he was annoyed, and did +not know how such annoyance could be made to cease. If the man would +continue to talk about Lord Hampstead there was nothing by which he +could be made to hold his tongue. He could not be kicked, or beaten, +or turned out of the room. For any purpose of real assistance Mr. +Jerningham was useless. As to complaining to the Æolus of the office +that a certain clerk would talk about Lord Hampstead, that of course +was out of the question. He had already used strong language, calling +the man vulgar and ungentlemanlike, but if a man does not regard +strong language what further can an angry victim do to him?</p> + +<p>Then his thoughts passed on to his connexion with the Marquis of +Kingsbury's family generally. Had he not done wrong, at any rate, +done foolishly, in thus moving himself out of his own sphere? At the +present moment Lady Frances was nearer to him even than Lord +Hampstead,—was more important to him and more in his thoughts. Was +it not certain that he would give rise to misery rather than to +happiness by what had occurred between him and Lady Frances? Was it +not probable that he had embittered for her all the life of the lady +whom he loved? He had assumed an assured face and a confident smile +while declaring to his mother that no power on earth should stand +between him and his promised wife,—that she would be able to walk +out from her father's hall and marry him as certainly as might the +housemaid or the ploughman's daughter go to her lover. But what would +be achieved by that if she were to walk out only to encounter misery? +The country was so constituted that he and these Traffords were in +truth of a different race; as much so as the negro is different from +the white man. The Post Office clerk may, indeed, possibly become a +Duke; whereas the negro's skin cannot be washed white. But while he +and Lady Frances were as they were, the distance between them was so +great that no approach could be made between them without disruption. +The world might be wrong in this. To his thinking the world was +wrong. But while the facts existed they were too strong to be set +aside. He could do his duty to the world by struggling to propagate +his own opinions, so that the distance might be a little lessened in +his own time. He was sure that the distance was being lessened, and +with this he thought that he ought to have been contented. The +jeering of such a one as Crocker was unimportant though disagreeable, +but it sufficed to show the feeling. Such a friendship as his with +Lord Hampstead had appeared to Crocker to be ridiculous. Crocker +would not have seen the absurdity unless others had seen it also. +Even his own mother saw it. Here in England it was accounted so +foolish a thing that he, a Post Office clerk, should be hand and +glove with such a one as Lord Hampstead, that even a Crocker could +raise a laugh against him! What would the world say when it should +have become known that he intended to lead Lady Frances to the +"hymeneal altar?" As he repeated the words to himself there was +something ridiculous even to himself in the idea that the hymeneal +altar should ever be mentioned in reference to the adventures of such +a person as George Roden, the Post Office clerk. Thinking of all +this, he was not in a happy frame of mind when he reached his home in +Paradise Row.</p> + + +<p><a name="c1-8" id="c1-8"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER VIII.</h3> +<h4>MR. GREENWOOD.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Roden spent a pleasant evening with his friend and his friend's +friend at Hendon Hall before their departure for the yacht,—during +which not a word was said or an allusion made to Lady Frances. The +day was Sunday, July 20th. The weather was very hot, and the two +young men were delighted at the idea of getting away to the cool +breezes of the Northern Seas. Vivian also was a clerk in the public +service, but he was a clerk very far removed in his position from +that filled by George Roden. He was attached to the Foreign Office, +and was Junior Private Secretary to Lord Persiflage, who was +Secretary of State at that moment. Lord Persiflage and our Marquis +had married sisters. Vivian was distantly related to the two ladies, +and hence the young men had become friends. As Lord Hampstead and +Roden had been drawn together by similarity of opinion, so had Lord +Hampstead and Vivian by the reverse. Hampstead could always produce +Vivian in proof that he was not, in truth, opposed to his own order. +Vivian was one who proclaimed his great liking for things as he found +them. It was a thousand pities that any one should be hungry; but, +for himself, he liked truffles, ortolans, and all good things. If +there was any injustice in the world he was not responsible. And if +there was any injustice he had not been the gainer, seeing that he +was a younger brother. To him all Hampstead's theories were sheer +rhodomontade. There was the world, and men had got to live in it as +best they might. He intended to do so, and as he liked yachting and +liked grouse-shooting, he was very glad to have arranged with Lord +Persiflage and his brother Private Secretary, so as to be able to get +out of town for the next two months. He was member of half-a-dozen +clubs, could always go to his brother's country house if nothing more +inviting offered, dined out in London four or five days a week, and +considered himself a thoroughly useful member of society in that he +condescended to write letters for Lord Persiflage. He was pleasant in +his manners to all men, and had accommodated himself to Roden as well +as though Roden's office had also been in Downing Street instead of +the City.</p> + +<p>"Yes, grouse," he said, after dinner. "If anything better can be +invented I'll go and do it. American bears are a myth. You may get +one in three years, and, as far as I can hear, very poor fun it is +when you get it. Lions are a grind. Elephants are as big as a +hay-stack. Pig-sticking may be very well, but you've got to go to +India, and if you're a poor Foreign Office clerk you haven't got +either the time or the money."</p> + +<p>"You speak as though killing something were a necessity," said Roden.</p> + +<p>"So it is, unless somebody can invent something better. I hate races, +where a fellow has nothing to do with himself when he can't afford to +bet. I don't mean to take to cards for the next ten years. I have +never been up in a balloon. Spooning is good fun, but it comes to an +end so soon one way or another. Girls are so wide-awake that they +won't spoon for nothing. Upon the whole I don't see what a fellow is +to do unless he kills something."</p> + +<p>"You won't have much to kill on board the yacht," said Roden.</p> + +<p>"Fishing without end in Iceland and Norway! I knew a man who killed a +ton of trout out of an Iceland lake. He had to pack himself up very +closely in tight-fitting nets, or the midges would have eaten him. +And the skin came off his nose and ears from the sun. But he liked +that rather than not, and he killed his ton of trout."</p> + +<p>"Who weighed them?" asked Hampstead.</p> + +<p>"How well you may know a Utilitarian by the nature of his questions! +If a man doesn't kill his ton all out, he can say he did, which is +the next best thing to it."</p> + +<p>"Are you taking close-packing nets with you?" Roden asked.</p> + +<p>"Well, no. Hampstead would be too impatient. And the <i>Free Trader</i> +isn't big enough to bring away the fish. But I don't mind betting a +sovereign that I kill something every day I'm out,—barring Sundays."</p> + +<p>Not a word was said about Lady Frances, although there were a few +moments in which Roden and Lord Hampstead were alone together. Roden +had made up his mind that he would ask no questions unless the +subject were mentioned, and did not even allude to any of the family; +but he learnt in the course of the evening that the Marquis had come +back from Germany with the intention of attending to his +Parliamentary duties during the remainder of the Session.</p> + +<p>"He's going to turn us all out," said Vivian, "on the County +Franchise, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid my father is not so keen about County Franchise as he +used to be, though I hope he will be one of the few to support it in +the House of Lords if the House of Commons ever dares to pass it."</p> + +<p>In this way Roden learnt that the Marquis, who had carried his +daughter off to Saxony as soon as he had heard of the engagement, had +left his charge there and had returned to London. As he went home +that evening he thought that it would be his duty to go to Lord +Kingsbury, and tell him, as from himself, that which the father had +as yet only learnt from his daughter or from his wife. He was aware +that it behoves a man when he has won a girl's heart to go to the +father and ask permission to carry on his suit. This duty he thought +he was bound to perform, even though the father were a person so high +and mighty as the Marquis of Kingsbury. Hitherto any such going was +out of his power. The Marquis had heard the tidings, and had +immediately caught his daughter up and carried her off to Germany. It +would have been possible to write to him, but Roden had thought that +not in such a way should such a duty be performed. Now the Marquis +had come back to London; and though the operation would be painful +the duty seemed to be paramount. On the next day he informed Mr. +Jerningham that private business of importance would take him to the +West End, and asked leave to absent himself. The morning had been +passed in the room at the Post Office with more than ordinary +silence. Crocker had been collecting himself for an attack, but his +courage had hitherto failed him. As Roden put on his hat and opened +the door he fired a parting shot. "Remember me kindly to Lord +Hampstead," he said; "and tell him I hope he enjoyed his cutlets."</p> + +<p>Roden stood for a moment with the door in his hand, thinking that he +would turn upon the man and rebuke his insolence, but at last +determined that it would be best to hold his peace.</p> + +<p>He went direct to Park Lane, thinking that he would probably find the +Marquis before he left the house after his luncheon. He had never +been before at the town mansion which was known as Kingsbury House, +and which possessed all the appanages of grandeur which can be given +to a London residence. As he knocked at the door he acknowledged that +he was struck with a certain awe of which he was ashamed. Having said +so much to the daughter, surely he should not be afraid to speak to +the father! But he felt that he could have managed the matter much +better had he contrived to have the interview at Hendon Hall, which +was much less grand than Kingsbury House. Almost as soon as he +knocked the door was opened, and he found himself with a powdered +footman as well as the porter. The powdered footman did not know +whether or no "my lord" was at home. He would inquire. Would the +gentleman sit down for a minute or two? The gentleman did sit down, +and waited for what seemed to him to be more than half-an-hour. The +house must be very large indeed if it took the man all this time to +look for the Marquis. He was beginning to think in what way he might +best make his escape,—as a man is apt to think when delays of this +kind prove too long for the patience,—but the man returned, and with +a cold unfriendly air bade Roden to follow him. Roden was quite sure +that some evil was to happen, so cold and unfriendly was the manner +of the man; but still he followed, having now no means of escape. The +man had not said that the Marquis would see him, had not even given +any intimation that the Marquis was in the house. It was as though he +were being led away to execution for having had the impertinence to +knock at the door. But still he followed. He was taken along a +passage on the ground floor, past numerous doors, to what must have +been the back of the house, and there was shown into a somewhat dingy +room that was altogether surrounded by books. There he saw an old +gentleman;—but the old gentleman was not the Marquis of Kingsbury.</p> + +<p>"Ah, eh, oh," said the old gentleman. "You, I believe, are Mr. George +Roden."</p> + +<p>"That is my name. I had hoped to see Lord Kingsbury."</p> + +<p>"Lord Kingsbury has thought it best for all parties +that,—that,—that,—I should see you. That is, if anybody should see +you. My name is Greenwood;—the Rev. Mr. Greenwood. I am his +lordship's chaplain, and, if I may presume to say so, his most +attached and sincere friend. I have had the honour of a very long +connexion with his lordship, and have therefore been entrusted by him +with this,—this,—this delicate duty, I had perhaps better call it." +Mr. Greenwood was a stout, short man, about sixty years of age, with +pendant cheeks, and pendant chin, with a few grey hairs brushed +carefully over his head, with a good forehead and well-fashioned +nose, who must have been good-looking when he was young, but that he +was too short for manly beauty. Now, in advanced years, he had become +lethargic and averse to exercise; and having grown to be corpulent he +had lost whatever he had possessed in height by becoming broad, and +looked to be a fat dwarf. Still there would have been something +pleasant in his face but for an air of doubt and hesitation which +seemed almost to betray cowardice. At the present moment he stood in +the middle of the room rubbing his hands together, and almost +trembling as he explained to George Roden who he was.</p> + +<p>"I had certainly wished to see his lordship himself," said Roden.</p> + +<p>"The Marquis has thought it better not, and I must say that I agree +with the Marquis." At the moment Roden hardly knew how to go on with +the business in hand. "I believe I am justified in assuring you that +anything you would have said to the Marquis you may say to me."</p> + +<p>"Am I to understand that Lord Kingsbury refuses to see me?"</p> + +<p>"Well;—yes. At the present crisis he does refuse. What can be +gained?"</p> + +<p>Roden did not as yet know how far he might go in mentioning the name +of Lady Frances to the clergyman, but was unwilling to leave the +house without some reference to the business he had in hand. He was +peculiarly averse to leaving an impression that he was afraid to +mention what he had done. "I had to speak to his lordship about his +daughter," he said.</p> + +<p>"I know; I know; Lady Frances! I have known Lady Frances since she +was a little child. I have the warmest regard for Lady Frances,—as I +have also for Lord Hampstead,—and for the Marchioness, and for her +three dear little boys, Lord Frederic, Lord Augustus, and Lord +Gregory. I feel a natural hesitation in calling them my friends +because I think that the difference in rank and station which it has +pleased the Lord to institute should be maintained with all their +privileges and all their honours. Though I have agreed with the +Marquis through a long life in those political tenets by propagating +which he has been ever anxious to improve the condition of the lower +classes, I am not and have not been on that account less anxious to +uphold by any small means which may be in my power those variations +in rank, to which, I think, in conjunction with the Protestant +religion, the welfare and high standing of this country are mainly to +be attributed. Having these feelings at my heart very strongly I do +not wish, particularly on such an occasion as this, to seem by even a +chance word to diminish the respect which I feel to be due to all the +members of a family of a rank so exalted as that which belongs to the +family of the Marquis of Kingsbury. Putting that aside for a moment, +I perhaps may venture on this occasion, having had confided to me a +task so delicate as the present, to declare my warm friendship for +all who bear the honoured name of Trafford. I am at any rate entitled +to declare myself so far a friend, that you may say anything on this +delicate subject which you would think it necessary to say to the +young lady's father. However inexpedient it may be that anything +should be said at all, I have been instructed by his lordship to +hear,—and to reply."</p> + +<p>George Roden, while he was listening to this tedious sermon, was +standing opposite to the preacher with his hat in his hand, having +not yet had accorded to him the favour of a seat. During the +preaching of the sermon the preacher had never ceased to shiver and +shake, rubbing one fat little clammy hand slowly over the other, and +apparently afraid to look his audience in the face. It seemed to +Roden as though the words must have been learnt by heart, they came +so glibly, with so much of unction and of earnestness, and were in +their glibness so strongly opposed to the man's manner. There had not +been a single word spoken that had not been offensive to Roden. It +seemed to him that they had been chosen because of their offence. In +all those long-winded sentences about rank in which Mr. Greenwood had +expressed his own humility and insufficiency for the position of +friend in a family so exalted he had manifestly intended to signify +the much more manifest insufficiency of his hearer to fill a place of +higher honour even than that of friend. Had the words come at the +spur of the moment, the man must, thought Roden, have great gifts for +extempore preaching. He had thought the time in the hall to be long, +but it had not been much for the communication of the Earl's wishes, +and then for the preparation of all these words. It was necessary, +however, that he must make his reply without any preparation.</p> + +<p>"I have come," he said, "to tell Lord Kingsbury that I am in love +with his daughter." At hearing this the fat little man held up both +his hands in amazement,—although he had already made it clear that +he was acquainted with all the circumstances. "And I should have been +bound to add," said Roden, plucking up all his courage, "that the +young lady is also in love with me."</p> + +<p>"Oh,—oh,—oh!" The hands went higher and higher as these +interjections were made.</p> + +<p>"Why not? Is not the truth the best?"</p> + +<p>"A young man, Mr. Roden, should never boast of a young lady's +affection,—particularly of such a young lady;—particularly when I +cannot admit that it exists;—particularly not in her father's +house."</p> + +<p>"Nobody should boast of anything, Mr. Greenwood. I speak of a fact +which it is necessary that a father should know. If the lady denies +the assertion I have done."</p> + +<p>"It is a matter in which delicacy demands that no question shall be +put to the young lady. After what has occurred, it is out of the +question that your name should even be mentioned in the young lady's +hearing."</p> + +<p>"Why?—I mean to marry her."</p> + +<p>"Mean!"—this word was shouted in the extremity of Mr. Greenwood's +horror. "Mr. Roden, it is my duty to assure you that under no +circumstances can you ever see the young lady again."</p> + +<p>"Who says so?"</p> + +<p>"The Marquis says so,—and the Marchioness,—and her little brothers, +who with their growing strength will protect her from all harm."</p> + +<p>"I hope their growing strength may not be wanted for any such +purpose. Should it be so I am sure they will not be deficient as +brothers. At present there could not be much for them to do." Mr. +Greenwood shook his head. He was still standing, not having moved an +inch from the position in which he had been placed when the door was +opened. "I can understand, Mr. Greenwood, that any further +conversation on the subject between you and me must be quite +useless."</p> + +<p>"Quite useless," said Mr. Greenwood.</p> + +<p>"But it has been necessary for my honour, and for my purpose, that +Lord Kingsbury should know that I had come to ask him for his +daughter's hand. I had not dared to expect that he would accept my +proposal graciously."</p> + +<p>"No, no; hardly that, Mr. Roden."</p> + +<p>"But it was necessary that he should know my purpose from myself. He +will now, no doubt, do so. He is, as I understand you, aware of my +presence in the house." Mr. Greenwood shook his head, as though he +would say that this was a matter he could not any longer discuss. "If +not, I must trouble his lordship with a letter."</p> + +<p>"That will be unnecessary."</p> + +<p>"He does know." Mr. Greenwood nodded his head. "And you will tell him +why I have come?"</p> + +<p>"The Marquis shall be made acquainted with the nature of the +interview."</p> + +<p>Roden then turned to leave the room, but was obliged to ask Mr. +Greenwood to show him the way along the passages. This the clergyman +did, tripping on, ahead, upon his toes, till he had delivered the +intruder over to the hall porter. Having done so, he made as it were +a valedictory bow, and tripped back to his own apartment. Then Roden +left the house, thinking as he did so that there was certainly much +to be done before he could be received there as a welcome son-in-law.</p> + +<p>As he made his way back to Holloway he again considered it all. How +could there be an end to this,—an end that would be satisfactory to +himself and to the girl that he loved? The aversion expressed to him +through the person of Mr. Greenwood was natural. It could not but be +expected that such a one as the Marquis of Kingsbury should endeavour +to keep his daughter out of the hands of such a suitor. If it were +only in regard to money would it not be necessary for him to do so? +Every possible barricade would be built up in his way. There would be +nothing on his side except the girl's love for himself. Was it to be +expected that her love would have power to conquer such obstacles as +these? And if it were, would she obtain her own happiness by clinging +to it? He was aware that in his present position no duty was so +incumbent on him as that of looking to the happiness of the woman +whom he wished to make his wife.</p> + + +<p><a name="c1-9" id="c1-9"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER IX.</h3> +<h4>AT KÖNIGSGRAAF.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Very shortly after this there came a letter from Lady Frances to +Paradise Row,—the only letter which Roden received from her during +this period of his courtship. A portion of the letter shall be given, +from which the reader will see that difficulties had arisen at +Königsgraaf as to their correspondence. He had written twice. The +first letter had in due course reached the young lady's hands, having +been brought up from the village post-office in the usual manner, and +delivered to her without remark by her own maid. When the second +reached the Castle it fell into the hands of the Marchioness. She +had, indeed, taken steps that it should fall into her hands. She was +aware that the first letter had come, and had been shocked at the +idea of such a correspondence. She had received no direct authority +from her husband on the subject, but felt that it was incumbent on +herself to take strong steps. It must not be that Lady Frances should +receive love-letters from a Post Office clerk! As regarded Lady +Frances herself, the Marchioness would have been willing enough that +the girl should be given over to a letter-carrier, if she could be +thus got rid of altogether,—so that the world should not know that +there was or had been a Lady Frances. But the fact was patent,—as +was also that too, too-sad truth of the existence of a brother older +than her own comely bairns. As the feeling of hatred grew upon her, +she continually declared to herself that she would have been as +gentle a stepmother as ever loved another woman's children, had these +two known how to bear themselves like the son and daughter of a +Marquis. Seeing what they were,—and what were her own children,—how +these struggled to repudiate that rank which her own were born to +adorn and protect, was it not natural that she should hate them, and +profess that she should wish them to be out of the way? They could +not be made to get out of the way, but Lady Frances might at any rate +be repressed. Therefore she determined to stop the correspondence.</p> + +<p>She did stop the second letter,—and told her daughter that she had +done so.</p> + +<p>"Papa didn't say I wasn't to have my letters," pleaded Lady Frances.</p> + +<p>"Your papa did not suppose for a moment that you would submit to +anything so indecent."</p> + +<p>"It is not indecent."</p> + +<p>"I shall make myself the judge of that. You are now in my care. Your +papa can do as he likes when he comes back." There was a long +altercation, but it ended in victory on the part of the Marchioness. +The young lady, when she was told that, if necessary, the +postmistress in the village should be instructed not to send on any +letter addressed to George Roden, believed in the potency of the +threat. She felt sure also that she would be unable to get at any +letters addressed to herself if the quasi-parental authority of the +Marchioness were used to prevent it. She yielded, on the condition, +however, that one letter should be sent; and the Marchioness, not at +all thinking that her own instructions would have prevailed with the +post-mistress, yielded so far.</p> + +<p>The tenderness of the letter readers can appreciate and understand +without seeing it expressed in words. It was very tender, full of +promises, and full of trust. Then came the short passage in which her +own uncomfortable position was explained;—"You will understand that +there has come one letter which I have not been allowed to see. +Whether mamma has opened it I do not know, or whether she has +destroyed it. Though I have not seen it, I take it as an assurance of +your goodness and truth. But it will be useless for you to write more +till you hear from me again; and I have promised that this, for the +present, shall be my last to you. The last and the first! I hope you +will keep it till you have another, in order that you may have +something to tell you how well I love you." As she sent it from her +she did not know how much of solace there was even in the writing of +a letter to him she loved, nor had she as yet felt how great was the +torment of remaining without palpable notice from him she loved.</p> + +<p>After the episode of the letter life at Königsgraaf was very bitter +and very dull. But few words were spoken between the Marchioness and +her stepdaughter, and those were never friendly in their tone or +kindly in their nature. Even the children were taken out of their +sister's way as much as possible, so that their morals should not be +corrupted by evil communication. When she complained of this to their +mother the Marchioness merely drew herself up and was silent. Were it +possible she would have altogether separated her darlings from +contact with their sister, not because she thought that the darlings +would in truth be injured,—as to which she had no fears at all, +seeing that the darlings were subject to her own influences,—but in +order that the punishment to Lady Frances might be the more complete. +The circumstances being such as they were, there should be no family +love, no fraternal sports, no softnesses, no mercy. There must, she +thought, have come from the blood of that first wife a stain of +impurity which had made her children altogether unfit for the rank to +which they had unfortunately been born. This iniquity on the part of +Lady Frances, this disgrace which made her absolutely tremble as she +thought of it, this abominable affection for an inferior creature, +acerbated her feelings even against Lord Hampstead. The two were +altogether so base as to make her think that they could not be +intended by Divine Providence to stand permanently in the way of the +glory of the family. Something certainly would happen. It would turn +out that they were not truly the legitimate children of a real +Marchioness. Some beautiful scheme of romance would discover itself +to save her and her darlings, and all the Traffords and all the +Montressors from the terrible abomination with which they were +threatened by these interlopers. The idea dwelt in her mind till it +became an almost fixed conviction that Lord Frederic would live to +become Lord Hampstead,—or probably Lord Highgate, as there was a +third title in the family, and the name of Hampstead must for a time +be held to have been disgraced,—and in due course of happy time +Marquis of Kingsbury. Hitherto she had been accustomed to speak to +her own babies of their elder brother with something of that respect +which was due to the future head of the family; but in these days she +altered her tone when they spoke to her of Jack, as they would call +him, and she, from herself, never mentioned his name to them. "Is +Fanny naughty?" Lord Frederic asked one day. To this she made no +reply. "Is Fanny very naughty?" the boy persisted in asking. To this +she nodded her head solemnly. "What has Fanny done, mamma?" At this +she shook her head mysteriously. It may, therefore, be understood +that poor Lady Frances was sadly in want of comfort during the +sojourn at Königsgraaf.</p> + +<p>About the end of August the Marquis returned. He had hung on in +London till the very last days of the Session had been enjoyed, and +had then pretended that his presence had been absolutely required at +Trafford Park. To Trafford Park he went, and had spent ten miserable +days alone. Mr. Greenwood had indeed gone with him; but the Marquis +was a man who was miserable unless surrounded by the comforts of his +family, and he led Mr. Greenwood such a life that that worthy +clergyman was very happy when he was left altogether in solitude by +his noble friend. Then, in compliance with the promise which he had +absolutely made, and aware that it was his duty to look after his +wicked daughter, the Marquis returned to Königsgraaf. Lady Frances +was to him at this period of his life a cause of unmitigated trouble. +It must not be supposed that his feelings were in any way akin to +those of the Marchioness as to either of his elder children. Both of +them were very dear to him, and of both of them he was in some degree +proud. They were handsome, noble-looking, clever, and to himself +thoroughly well-behaved. He had seen what trouble other elder sons +could give their fathers, what demands were made for increased +allowances, what disreputable pursuits were sometimes followed, what +quarrels there were, what differences, what want of affection and +want of respect! He was wise enough to have perceived all this, and +to be aware that he was in some respects singularly blest. Hampstead +never asked him for a shilling. He was a liberal man, and would +willingly have given many shillings. But still there was a comfort in +having a son who was quite contented in having his own income. No +doubt a time would come when those little lords would want shillings. +And Lady Frances had always been particularly soft to him, diffusing +over his life a sweet taste of the memory of his first wife. Of the +present Marchioness he was fond enough, and was aware how much she +did for him to support his position. But he was conscious ever of a +prior existence in which there had been higher thoughts, grander +feelings, and aspirations which were now wanting to him. Of these +something would come back in the moments which he spent with his +daughter; and in this way she was very dear to him. But now there had +come a trouble which robbed his life of all its sweetness. He must go +back to the grandeur of his wife and reject the tenderness of his +daughter. During these days at Trafford he made himself very +unpleasant to the devoted friend who had always been so true to his +interests.</p> + +<p>When the battle about the correspondence was explained to him by his +wife, it, of course, became necessary to him to give his orders to +his daughter. Such a matter could hardly be passed over in +silence,—though he probably might have done so had he not been +instigated to action by the Marchioness.</p> + +<p>"Fanny," he said, "I have been shocked by these letters."</p> + +<p>"I only wrote one, papa."</p> + +<p>"Well, one. But two came."</p> + +<p>"I only had one, papa."</p> + +<p>"That made two. But there should have been no letter at all. Do you +think it proper that a young lady should correspond with,—with,—a +gentleman in opposition to the wishes of her father and mother?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, papa."</p> + +<p>This seemed to him so weak that the Marquis took heart of grace, and +made the oration which he felt that he as a father was bound to utter +upon the entire question. For, after all, it was not the letters +which were of importance, but the resolute feeling which had given +birth to the letters. "My dear, this is a most unfortunate affair." +He paused for a reply; but Lady Frances felt that the assertion was +one to which at the present moment she could make no reply. "It is, +you know, quite out of the question that you should marry a young man +so altogether unfitted for you in point of station as this young +man."</p> + +<p>"But I shall, papa."</p> + +<p>"Fanny, you can do no such thing."</p> + +<p>"I certainly shall. It may be a very long time first; but I certainly +shall,—unless I die."</p> + +<p>"It is wicked of you, my dear, to talk of dying in that way."</p> + +<p>"What I mean is, that however long I may live I shall consider myself +engaged to Mr. Roden."</p> + +<p>"He has behaved very, very badly. He has made his way into my house +under a false pretence."</p> + +<p>"He came as Hampstead's friend."</p> + +<p>"It was very foolish of Hampstead to bring him,—very foolish,—a +Post Office clerk."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Vivian is a clerk in the Foreign Office. Why shouldn't one +office be the same as another?"</p> + +<p>"They are very different;—but Mr. Vivian wouldn't think of such a +thing. He understands the nature of things, and knows his own +position. There is a conceit about the other man."</p> + +<p>"A man should be conceited, papa. Nobody will think well of him +unless he thinks well of himself."</p> + +<p>"He came to me in Park Lane."</p> + +<p>"What! Mr. Roden?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; he came. But I didn't see him. Mr. Greenwood saw him."</p> + +<p>"What could Mr. Greenwood say to him?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Greenwood could tell him to leave the house,—and he did so. +There was nothing more to tell him. Now, my dear, let there be no +more about it. If you will put on your hat, we will go out and walk +down to the village."</p> + +<p>To this Lady Frances gave a ready assent. She was not at all disposed +to quarrel with her father, or to take in bad part what he had said +about her lover. She had not expected that things would go very +easily. She had promised to herself constancy and final success; but +she had not expected that in her case the course of true love could +be made to run smooth. She was quite willing to return to a condition +of good humour with her father, and,—not exactly to drop her lover +for the moment,—but so to conduct herself as though he were not +paramount in her thoughts. The cruelty of her stepmother had so +weighed upon her that she found it to be quite a luxury to be allowed +to walk with her father.</p> + +<p>"I don't know that anything can be done," the Marquis said a few days +afterwards to his wife. "It is one of those misfortunes which do +happen now and again!"</p> + +<p>"That such a one as your daughter should give herself up to a clerk +in the Post Office!"</p> + +<p>"What's the use of repeating that so often? I don't know that the +Post Office is worse than anything else. Of course it can't be +allowed;—and having said so, the best thing will be to go on just as +though nothing had happened."</p> + +<p>"And let her do just what she pleases?"</p> + +<p>"Who's going to let her do anything? She said she wouldn't write, and +she hasn't written. We must just take her back to Trafford, and let +her forget him as soon as she can."</p> + +<p>The Marchioness was by no means satisfied, though she did not know +what measure of special severity to recommend. There was once a +time,—a very good time, as Lady Kingsbury thought now,—in which a +young lady could be locked up in a convent, or perhaps in a prison, +or absolutely forced to marry some suitor whom her parents should +find for her. But those comfortable days were past. In a prison Lady +Frances was detained now; but it was a prison of which the +Marchioness was forced to make herself the gaoler, and in which her +darlings were made to be fellow-prisoners with their wicked sister. +She herself was anxious to get back to Trafford and the comforts of +her own home. The beauties of Königsgraaf were not lovely to her in +her present frame of mind. But how would it be if Lady Frances should +jump out of the window at Trafford and run away with George Roden? +The windows at Königsgraaf were certainly much higher than those at +Trafford.</p> + +<p>They had made up their mind to return early in September, and the +excitement of packing up had almost commenced among them when Lord +Hampstead suddenly appeared on the scene. He had had enough of +yachting, and had grown tired of books and gardening at Hendon. +Something must be done before the hunting began, and so, without +notice, he appeared one day at Königsgraaf. This was to the intense +delight of his brothers, over whose doings he assumed a power which +their mother was unable to withstand. They were made to gallop on +ponies on which they had only walked before; they were bathed in the +river, and taken to the top of the Castle, and shut up in the dungeon +after a fashion which was within the reach of no one but Hampstead. +Jack was Jack, and all was delight, as far as the children were +concerned; but the Marchioness was not so well pleased with the +arrival. A few days after his coming a conversation arose as to Lady +Frances which Lady Kingsbury would have avoided had it been possible, +but it was forced upon her by her stepson.</p> + +<p>"I don't think that Fanny ought to be bullied," said her stepson.</p> + +<p>"Hampstead, I wish you would understand that I do not understand +strong language."</p> + +<p>"Teased, tormented, and made wretched."</p> + +<p>"If she be wretched she has brought it on herself."</p> + +<p>"But she is not to be treated as though she had disgraced herself."</p> + +<p>"She has disgraced herself."</p> + +<p>"I deny it. I will not hear such a word said of her even by you." The +Marchioness drew herself up as though she had been insulted. "If +there is to be such a feeling about her in your house I must ask my +father to have her removed, and I will make a home for her. I will +not see her broken-hearted by cruel treatment. I am sure that he +would not wish it."</p> + +<p>"You have no right to speak to me in this manner."</p> + +<p>"I surely have a right to protect my sister, and I will exercise it."</p> + +<p>"You have brought most improperly a young man into the +<span class="nowrap">house—"</span></p> + +<p>"I have brought into the house a young man whom I am proud to call my +friend."</p> + +<p>"And now you mean to assist him in destroying your sister."</p> + +<p>"You are very wrong to say so. They both know, Roden and my sister +also, that I disapprove of this marriage. If Fanny were with me I +should not think it right to ask Roden into the house. They would +both understand that. But it does not follow that she should be +cruelly used."</p> + +<p>"No one has been cruel to her but she herself."</p> + +<p>"It is easy enough to perceive what is going on. It will be much +better that Fanny should remain with the family; but you may be sure +of this,—that I will not see her tortured." Then he took himself +off, and on the next day he had left Königsgraaf. It may be +understood that the Marchioness was not reconciled to her radical +stepson by such language as he had used to her. About a week +afterwards the whole family returned to England and to Trafford.</p> + + +<p><a name="c1-10" id="c1-10"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER X.</h3> +<h4>"NOBLESSE OBLIGE."<br /> </h4> + + +<p>"I quite agree," said Hampstead, endeavouring to discuss the matter +rationally with his sister, "that her ladyship should not be allowed +to torment you."</p> + +<p>"She does torment me. You cannot perceive what my life was at +Königsgraaf! There is a kind of usage which would drive any girl to +run away,—or to drown herself. I don't suppose a man can know what +it is always to be frowned at. A man has his own friends, and can go +anywhere. His spirits are not broken by being isolated. He would not +even see half the things which a girl is made to feel. The very +servants were encouraged to treat me badly. The boys were not allowed +to come near me. I never heard a word that was not intended to be +severe."</p> + +<p>"I am sure it was bad."</p> + +<p>"And it was not made better by the conviction that she has never +cared for me. It is to suffer all the authority, but to enjoy none of +the love of a mother. When papa came of course it was better; but +even papa cannot make her change her ways. A man is comparatively so +very little in the house. If it goes on it will drive me mad."</p> + +<p>"Of course I'll stand to you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, John, I am sure you will."</p> + +<p>"But it isn't altogether easy to know how to set about it. If we were +to keep house together at <span class="nowrap">Hendon—"</span> +As he made this proposition a +look of joy came over her face, and shone amidst her tears. "There +would, of course, be a difficulty."</p> + +<p>"What difficulty?" She, however, knew well what would be the +difficulty.</p> + +<p>"George Roden would be too near to us."</p> + +<p>"I should never see him unless you approved."</p> + +<p>"I should not approve. That would be the difficulty. He would argue +the matter with me, and I should have to tell him that I could not +let him come to the house, except with my father's leave. That would +be out of the question. And therefore, as I say, there would be a +difficulty."</p> + +<p>"I would never see him,—except with your sanction,—nor write to +him,—nor receive letters from him. You are not to suppose that I +would give him up. I shall never do that. I shall go on and wait. +When a girl has once brought herself to tell a man that she loves +him, according to my idea she cannot give him up. There are things +which cannot be changed. I could have lived very well without +thinking of him had I not encouraged myself to love him. But I have +done that, and now he must be everything to me."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry that it should be so."</p> + +<p>"It is so. But if you will take me to Hendon I will never see him +till I have papa's leave. It is my duty to obey him,—but not her."</p> + +<p>"I am not quite clear about that."</p> + +<p>"She has rejected me as a daughter, and therefore I reject her as a +mother. She would get rid of us both if she could."</p> + +<p>"You should not attribute to her any such thoughts."</p> + +<p>"If you saw her as often as I do you would know. She hates you almost +as much as me,—though she cannot show it so easily."</p> + +<p>"That she should hate my theories I can easily understand."</p> + +<p>"You stand in her way."</p> + +<p>"Of course I do. It is natural that a woman should wish to have the +best for her own children. I have sometimes myself felt it to be a +pity that Frederic should have an elder brother. Think what a gallant +young Marquis he would make, while I am altogether out of my +element."</p> + +<p>"That is nonsense, John."</p> + +<p>"I ought to have been a tailor. Tailors, I think, are generally the +most ill-conditioned, sceptical, and patriotic of men. Had my natural +propensities been sharpened by the difficulty of maintaining a wife +and children upon seven and sixpence a day, I really think I could +have done something to make myself conspicuous. As it is, I am +neither one thing nor another; neither fish nor fowl nor good red +herring. To the mind devoted to marquises I can understand that I +should be a revolting being. I have no aptitudes for aristocratic +prettinesses. Her ladyship has three sons, either of which would make +a perfect marquis. How is it possible that she should not think that +I am standing in her way?"</p> + +<p>"But she knew of your existence when she married papa."</p> + +<p>"No doubt she did;—but that does not alter her nature. I think I +could find it in my heart to forgive her, even though she attempted +to poison me, so much do I stand in her way. I have sometimes thought +that I ought to repudiate myself; give up my prospects, and call +myself John Trafford—so as to make way for her more lordly +lordlings."</p> + +<p>"That is nonsense, John."</p> + +<p>"At any rate it is impossible. I could only do it by blowing my +brains out—which would not be in accordance with my ideas of life. +But you are not in anybody's way. There is nothing to be got by +poisoning you. If she were to murder me there would be something +reasonable in it,—something that one could pardon; but in torturing +you she is instigated by a vile ambition. She is afraid, lest her own +position should be tarnished by an inferior marriage on your part. +There would be something noble in killing me for the sake of dear +little Fred. She would be getting something for him who, of course, +is most dear to her. But the other is the meanest vanity;—and I will +not stand it."</p> + +<p>This conversation took place early in October, when they had been +some weeks at Trafford Park. Hampstead had come and gone, as was his +wont, never remaining there above two or three days at a time. Lord +Kingsbury, who was ill at ease, had run hither and thither about the +country, looking after this or the other property, and staying for a +day or two with this or the other friend. The Marchioness had +declined to invite any friends to the house, declaring to her husband +that the family was made unfit for gaiety by the wicked conduct of +his eldest daughter. There was no attempt at shooting the pheasants, +or even preparing to shoot them, so great was the general depression. +Mr. Greenwood was there, and was thrown into very close intercourse +with her ladyship. He fully sympathized with her ladyship. Although +he had always agreed with the Marquis,—as he had not forgotten to +tell George Roden during that interview in London,—in regard to his +lordship's early political tenets, nevertheless his mind was so +constituted that he was quite at one with her ladyship as to the +disgraceful horror of low associations for noble families. Not only +did he sympathize as to the abomination of the Post Office clerk, but +he sympathized also fully as to the positive unfitness which Lord +Hampstead displayed for that station in life to which he had been +called. Mr. Greenwood would sigh and wheeze and groan when the future +prospects of the House of Trafford were discussed between him and her +ladyship. It might be, or it might not be, well,—so he kindly put it +in talking to the Marchioness,—that a nobleman should indulge +himself with liberal politics; but it was dreadful to think that the +heir to a great title should condescend to opinions worthy of a +radical tailor. For Mr. Greenwood agreed with Lord Hampstead about +the tailor. Lord Hampstead seemed to him to be a matter simply for +sorrow,—not for action. Nothing, he thought, could be done in regard +to Lord Hampstead. Time,—time that destroys but which also cures so +many things,—would no doubt have its effect; so that Lord Hampstead +might in the fulness of years live to be as staunch a supporter of +his class as any Duke or Marquis living. Or perhaps,—perhaps, it +might be that the Lord would take him. Mr. Greenwood saw that this +remark was more to the purpose, and at once went to work with the +Peerage, and found a score of cases in which, within half-a-century, +the second brother had risen to the title. It seemed, indeed, to be +the case that a peculiar mortality attached itself to the eldest sons +of Peers. This was comforting. But there was not in it so much ground +for positive action as at the present moment existed in regard to +Lady Frances. On this matter there was a complete unison of spirit +between the two friends.</p> + +<p>Mr. Greenwood had seen the objectionable young man, and could say how +thoroughly objectionable he was at all points,—how vulgar, flippant, +ignorant, impudent, exactly what a clerk in the Post Office might be +expected to be. Any severity, according to Mr. Greenwood, would be +justified in keeping the two young persons apart. Gradually Mr. +Greenwood learnt to talk of the female young person with very little +of that respect which he showed to other members of the family. In +this way her ladyship came to regard Lady Frances as though she were +not Lady Frances at all,—as though she were some distant Fanny +Trafford, a girl of bad taste and evil conduct, who had unfortunately +been brought into the family on grounds of mistaken charity.</p> + +<p>Things had so gone on at Trafford, that Trafford had hardly been +preferable to Königsgraaf. Indeed, at Königsgraaf there had been no +Mr. Greenwood, and Mr. Greenwood had certainly added much to the +annoyances which poor Lady Frances was made to bear. In this +condition of things she had written to her brother, begging him to +come to her. He had come, and thus had taken place the conversation +which has been given above.</p> + +<p>On the same day Hampstead saw his father and discussed the matter +with him;—that matter, and, as will be seen, some others also. "What +on earth do you wish me to do about her?" asked the Marquis.</p> + +<p>"Let her come and live with me at Hendon. If you will let me have the +house I will take all the rest upon myself."</p> + +<p>"Keep an establishment of your own?"</p> + +<p>"Why not? If I found I couldn't afford it I'd give up the hunting and +stick to the yacht."</p> + +<p>"It isn't about money," said the Marquis, shaking his head.</p> + +<p>"Her ladyship never liked Hendon for herself."</p> + +<p>"Nor is it about the house. You might have the house and welcome. But +how can I give up my charge over your sister just when I know that +she is disposed to do just what she ought not."</p> + +<p>"She won't be a bit more likely to do it there than here," said the +brother.</p> + +<p>"He would be quite close to her."</p> + +<p>"You may take this for granted, sir, that no two persons would be +more thoroughly guided by a sense of duty than my sister and George +Roden."</p> + +<p>"Did she show her duty when she allowed herself to be engaged to a +man like that without saying a word to any of her family."</p> + +<p>"She told her ladyship as soon as it occurred."</p> + +<p>"She should not have allowed it to have occurred at all. It is +nonsense talking like that. You cannot mean to say that such a girl +as your sister is entitled to do what she likes with herself without +consulting any of her family,—even to accepting such a man as this +for her lover."</p> + +<p>"I hardly know," said Hampstead, thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"You ought to know. I know. Everybody knows. It is nonsense talking +like that."</p> + +<p>"I doubt whether people do know," said Hampstead. "She is twenty-one, +and as far as the law goes might, I believe, walk out of the house, +and marry any man she pleases to-morrow. You as her father have no +authority over her whatever;"—here the indignant father jumped up +from his chair; but his son went on with his speech, as though +determined not to be interrupted,—"except what may come to you by +her good feeling, or else from the fact that she is dependent on you +for her maintenance."</p> + +<p>"Good G——!" shouted the Marquis.</p> + +<p>"I think this is about the truth of it. Young ladies do subject +themselves to the authority of their parents from feeling, from love, +and from dependence; but, as far as I understand in the matter, they +are not legally subject beyond a certain age."</p> + +<p>"You'd talk the hind legs off a dog."</p> + +<p>"I wish I could. But one may say a few words without being so +eloquent as that. If such is the case I am not sure that Fanny has +been morally wrong. She may have been foolish. I think she has been, +because I feel that the marriage is not suitable for her."</p> + +<p>"Noblesse oblige," said the Marquis, putting his hand upon his bosom.</p> + +<p>"No doubt. Nobility, whatever may be its nature, imposes bonds on us. +And if these bonds be not obeyed, then nobility ceases. But I deny +that any nobility can bind us to any conduct which we believe to be +wrong."</p> + +<p>"Who has said that it does?"</p> + +<p>"Nobility," continued the son, not regarding his father's question, +"cannot bind me to do that which you or others think to be right, if +I do not approve it myself."</p> + +<p>"What on earth are you driving at?"</p> + +<p>"You imply that because I belong to a certain order,—or my +sister,—we are bound to those practices of life which that order +regards with favour. This I deny both on her behalf and my own. I +didn't make myself the eldest son of an English peer. I do +acknowledge that as very much has been given to me in the way of +education, of social advantages, and even of money, a higher line of +conduct is justly demanded from me than from those who have been less +gifted. So far, <i>noblesse oblige</i>. But before I undertake the duty +thus imposed upon me, I must find out what is that higher line of +conduct. Fanny should do the same. In marrying George Roden she would +do better, according to your maxim, than in giving herself to some +noodle of a lord who from first to last will have nothing to be proud +of beyond his acres and his title."</p> + +<p>The Marquis had been walking about the room impatiently, while his +didactic son was struggling to explain his own theory as to those +words <i>noblesse oblige</i>. Nothing could so plainly express the +feelings of the Marquis on the occasion as that illustration of his +as to the dog's hind legs. But he was a little ashamed of it, and did +not dare to use it twice on the same occasion. He fretted and fumed, +and would have stopped Hampstead had it been possible; but Hampstead +was irrepressible when he had become warm on his own themes, and his +father knew that he must listen on to the bitter end. "I won't have +her go to Hendon at all," he said, when his son had finished.</p> + +<p>"Then you will understand little of her nature,—or of mine. Roden +will not come near her there. I can hardly be sure that he will not +do so here. Here Fanny will feel that she is being treated as an +enemy."</p> + +<p>"You have no right to say so."</p> + +<p>"There she will know that you have done much to promote her +happiness. I will give you my assurance that she will neither see him +nor write to him. She has promised as much to me herself, and I can +trust her."</p> + +<p>"Why should she be so anxious to leave her natural home?"</p> + +<p>"Because," said Hampstead boldly, "she has lost her natural mother." +The Marquis frowned awfully at hearing this. "I have not a word to +say against my stepmother as to myself. I will not accuse her of +anything as to Fanny,—except that they thoroughly misunderstand each +other. You must see it yourself, sir." The Marquis had seen it very +thoroughly. "And Mr. Greenwood has taken upon himself to speak to +her,—which was, I think, very impertinent."</p> + +<p>"I never authorized him."</p> + +<p>"But he did. Her ladyship no doubt authorized him. The end of it is +that Fanny is watched. Of course she will not bear a continuation of +such misery. Why should she? It will be better that she should come +to me than be driven to go off with her lover."</p> + +<p>Before the week was over the Marquis had yielded. Hendon Hall was to +be given up altogether to Lord Hampstead, and his sister was to be +allowed to live with him as the mistress of his house. She was to +come in the course of next month, and remain there at any rate till +the spring. There would be a difficulty about the hunting, no doubt, +but that Hampstead if necessary was prepared to abandon for the +season. He thought that perhaps he might be able to run down twice a +week to the Vale of Aylesbury, going across from Hendon to the +Willesden Junction. He would at any rate make his sister's comfort +the first object of his life, and would take care that in doing so +George Roden should be excluded altogether from the arrangement.</p> + +<p>The Marchioness was paralyzed when she heard that Lady Frances was to +be taken away,—to be taken into the direct neighbourhood of London +and the Post Office. Very many words she said to her husband, and +often the Marquis vacillated. But, when once the promise was given, +Lady Frances was strong enough to demand its fulfilment. It was on +this occasion that the Marchioness first allowed herself to speak to +Mr. Greenwood with absolute disapproval of her husband. "To Hendon +Hall!" said Mr. Greenwood, holding up his hands with surprise when +the project was explained.</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed! It does seem to me to be the most,—most improper sort +of thing to do."</p> + +<p>"He can walk over there every day as soon as he has got rid of the +letters." Mr. Greenwood probably thought that George Roden was sent +about with the Post Office bags.</p> + +<p>"Of course they will meet."</p> + +<p>"I fear so, Lady Kingsbury."</p> + +<p>"Hampstead will arrange that for them."</p> + +<p>"No, no!" said the clergyman, as though he were bound on behalf of +the family to repudiate an idea that was so damnatory to its honour.</p> + +<p>"It is just what he will do. Why else should he want to have her +there? With his ideas he would think it the best thing he could do +utterly to degrade us all. He has no idea of the honour of his +brothers. How should he, when he is so anxious to sacrifice his own +sister? As for me, of course, he would do anything to break my heart. +He knows that I am anxious for his father's name, and, therefore, he +would disgrace me in any way that was possible. But that the Marquis +should consent!"</p> + +<p>"That is what I cannot understand," said Mr. Greenwood.</p> + +<p>"There must be something in it, Mr. Greenwood, which they mean to +keep from me."</p> + +<p>"The Marquis can't intend to give her to that young man!"</p> + +<p>"I don't understand it. I don't understand it at all," said the +Marchioness. "He did seem so firm about it. As for the girl herself, +I will never see her again after she has left my house in such a +fashion. And, to tell the truth, I never wish to see Hampstead again. +They are plotting against me; and if there is anything I hate it is a +plot." In this way Mr. Greenwood and the Marchioness became bound +together in their great disapproval of Lady Frances and her love.</p> + + +<p><a name="c1-11" id="c1-11"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XI.</h3> +<h4>LADY PERSIFLAGE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Hampstead rushed up to Hendon almost without seeing his stepmother, +intent on making preparations for his sister, and then, before +October was over, rushed back to fetch her. He was very great at +rushing, never begrudging himself any personal trouble in what he +undertook to do. When he left the house he hardly spoke to her +ladyship. When he took Lady Frances away he was of course bound to +bid her adieu.</p> + +<p>"I think," he said, "that Frances will be happy with me at Hendon."</p> + +<p>"I have nothing to do with it,—literally nothing," said the +Marchioness, with her sternest frown. "I wash my hands of the whole +concern."</p> + +<p>"I am sure you would be glad that she should be happy."</p> + +<p>"It is impossible that any one should be happy who misconducts +herself."</p> + +<p>"That, I think, is true."</p> + +<p>"It is certainly true, with misconduct such as this."</p> + +<p>"I quite agree with what you said first. But the question remains as +to what is misconduct. +<span class="nowrap">Now—"</span></p> + +<p>"I will not hear you, Hampstead; not a word. You can persuade your +father, I dare say, but you cannot persuade me. Fanny has divorced +herself from my heart for ever."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry for that."</p> + +<p>"And I'm bound to say that you are doing the same. It is better in +some cases to be plain."</p> + +<p>"Oh—certainly; but not to be irrational."</p> + +<p>"I am not irrational, and it is most improper for you to speak to me +in that way."</p> + +<p>"Well, good-bye. I have no doubt it will come right some of these +days," said Hampstead, as he took his leave. Then he carried his +sister off to Hendon.</p> + +<p>Previous to this there had been a great deal of unpleasantness in the +house. From the moment in which Lady Kingsbury had heard that her +stepdaughter was to go to her brother she had refused even to speak +to the unfortunate girl. As far as it was possible she put her +husband also into Coventry. She held daily consultations with Mr. +Greenwood, and spent most of her hours in embracing, coddling, and +spoiling those three unfortunate young noblemen who were being so +cruelly injured by their brother and sister. One of her keenest pangs +was in seeing how boisterously the three bairns romped with "Jack" +even after she had dismissed him from her own good graces as utterly +unworthy of her regard. That night he positively brought Lord Gregory +down into the drawing-room in his night-shirt, having dragged the +little urchin out of his cot,—as one might do who was on peculiar +terms of friendship with the mother. Lord Gregory was in Elysium, but +the mother tore the child from the sinner's arms, and carried him +back in anger to the nursery.</p> + +<p>"Nothing does children so much good as disturbing them in their +sleep," said Lord Hampstead, turning to his father; but the anger of +the Marchioness was too serious a thing to allow of a joke.</p> + +<p>"From this time forth for evermore she is no child of mine," said +Lady Kingsbury the next morning to her husband, as soon as the +carriage had taken the two sinners away from the door.</p> + +<p>"It is very wrong to say that. She is your child, and must be your +child."</p> + +<p>"I have divorced her from my heart;—and also Lord Hampstead. How can +it be otherwise, when they are both in rebellion against me? Now +there will be this disgraceful marriage. Would you wish that I should +receive the Post Office clerk here as my son-in-law?"</p> + +<p>"There won't be any disgraceful marriage," said the Marquis. "At +least, what I mean is, that it will be much less likely at Hendon +than here."</p> + +<p>"Less likely than here! Here it would have been impossible. There +they will be all together."</p> + +<p>"No such thing," said the Marquis. "Hampstead will see to that. And +she too has promised me."</p> + +<p>"Pshaw!" exclaimed the Marchioness.</p> + +<p>"I won't have you say Pshaw to me when I tell you. Fanny always has +kept her word to me, and I don't in the least doubt her. Had she +remained here your treatment would have induced her to run away with +him at the first word."</p> + +<p>"Lord Kingsbury," said the offended lady, "I have always done my duty +by the children of your first marriage as a mother should do. I have +found them to be violent, and altogether unaware of the duties which +their position should impose upon them. It was only yesterday that +Lord Hampstead presumed to call me irrational. I have borne a great +deal from them, and can bear no more. I wish you would have found +some one better able to control their conduct." Then, with a stately +step, she stalked out of the room. Under these circumstances, the +house was not comfortable to any of the inhabitants.</p> + +<p>As soon as her ladyship had reached her own apartments after this +rough interview she seated herself at the table, and commenced a +letter to her sister, Lady Persiflage, in which she proceeded to give +a detailed account of all her troubles and sufferings. Lady +Persiflage, who was by a year or two the younger of the two, filled a +higher position in society than that of the Marchioness herself. She +was the wife only of an Earl; but the Earl was a Knight of the +Garter, Lord Lieutenant of his County, and at the present moment +Secretary of State for the Home Department. The Marquis had risen to +no such honours as these. Lord Persiflage was a peculiar man. Nobody +quite knew of what his great gifts consisted. But it was acknowledged +of him that he was an astute diplomat; that the honour of England was +safe in his hands; and that no more perfect courtier ever gave advice +to a well-satisfied sovereign. He was beautiful to look at, with his +soft grey hair, his bright eyes, and well-cut features. He was much +of a dandy, and, though he was known to be nearer seventy than sixty +years of age, he maintained an appearance of almost green juvenility. +Active he was not, nor learned, nor eloquent. But he knew how to hold +his own, and had held it for many years. He had married his wife when +she was very young, and she had become, first a distinguished beauty, +and then a leader of fashion. Her sister, our Marchioness, had been +past thirty when she married, and had never been quite so much in the +world's eye as her sister, Lady Persiflage. And Lady Persiflage was +the mother of her husband's heir. The young Lord Hautboy, her eldest +son, was now just of age. Lady Kingsbury looked upon him as all that +the heir to an earldom ought to be. His mother, too, was proud of +him, for he was beautiful as a young Phœbus. The Earl, his father, +was not always as well pleased, because his son had already achieved +a knack of spending money. The Persiflage estates were somewhat +encumbered, and there seemed to be a probability that Lord Hautboy +might create further trouble. Such was the family to whom +collectively the Marchioness looked for support in her unhappiness. +The letter which she wrote to her sister on the present occasion was +as <span class="nowrap">follows;—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="jright">Trafford Park,<br /> +Saturday, October 25th.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My Dear +Geraldine</span>,—</p> + +<p>I take up my pen to write to you with a heart laden with +trouble. Things have become so bad with me that I do not +know where to turn myself unless you can give me comfort. +I am beginning to feel how terrible it is to have +undertaken the position of mother to another person's +children. God knows I have endeavoured to do my duty. But +it has all been in vain. Everything is over now. I have +divided myself for ever from Hampstead and from Fanny. I +have felt myself compelled to tell their father that I +have divorced them from my heart; and I have told Lord +Hampstead the same. You will understand how terrible must +have been the occasion when I found myself compelled to +take such a step as this.</p> + +<p>You know how dreadfully shocked I was when she first +revealed to me the fact that she had promised to marry +that Post Office clerk. The young man had actually the +impudence to call on Lord Kingsbury in London, to offer +himself as a son-in-law. Kingsbury very properly would not +see him, but instructed Mr. Greenwood to do so. Mr. +Greenwood has behaved very well in the matter, and is a +great comfort to me. I hope we may be able to do something +for him some day. A viler or more ill-conditioned young +man he says that he never saw;—insolent, too, and talking +as though he had as much right to ask for Fanny's hand as +though he were one of the same class. As for that, she +would deserve nothing better than to be married to such a +man, were it not that all the world would know how closely +she is connected with my own darling boys!</p> + +<p>Then we took her off to Königsgraaf; and such a time as I +had with her! She would write letters to this wretch, and +contrived to receive one. I did stop that, but you cannot +conceive what a life she led me. Of course I have felt +from the first that she would be divided from her +brothers, because one never knows how early bad morals may +be inculcated! Then her papa came, and Hampstead,—who in +all this has encouraged his sister. The young man is his +friend. After this who will say that any nobleman ought to +call himself what they call a Liberal? Then we came home; +and what do you think has happened? Hampstead has taken +his sister to live with him at Hendon, next door, as you +may say, to the Post Office clerk, where the young man has +made himself thoroughly at home;—and Kingsbury has +permitted it! Oh, Geraldine, that is the worst of it! Am I +not justified in declaring that I have divorced them from +my heart?</p> + +<p>You can hardly feel as I do, you, whose son fills so well +that position which an eldest son ought to fill! Here am I +with my darlings, not only under a shade, but with this +disgrace before them which they will never be able +altogether to get rid of. I can divorce Hampstead and his +sister from my heart; but they will still be in some sort +brother and sister to my poor boys. How am I to teach them +to respect their elder brother, who I suppose must in +course of time become Head of the House, when he is hand +and glove with a dreadful young man such as that! Am I not +justified in declaring that no communication shall be kept +up between the two families? If she marries the man she +will of course drop the name; but yet all the world will +know because of the title. As for him, I am afraid that +there is no hope;—although it is odd that the second son +does so very often come to the title. If you look into it +you will find that the second brother has almost a better +chance than the elder,—although I am sure that nothing of +the kind will ever happen to dear Hautboy. But he knows +how to live in that state of life to which it has pleased +God to call him! Do write to me at once, and tell me what +I ought to do with a due regard to the position to which I +have been called upon to fill in the world.</p> + +<p class="ind8">Your most affectionate sister,</p> + +<p class="ind12"><span class="smallcaps">Clara Kingsbury</span>.</p> + +<p class="noindent">P.S.—Do remember poor +Mr. Greenwood if Lord Persiflage +should know how to do something for a clergyman. He is +getting old, and Kingsbury has never been able to do +anything for him. I hope the Liberals never will be able +to do anything for anybody. I don't think Mr. Greenwood +would be fit for any duty, because he has been idle all +his life, and is now fond of good living; but a deanery +would just suit him.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>After the interval of a fortnight Lady Kingsbury received a reply +from her sister which the reader may as well see at once.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="jright">Castle Hautboy,<br /> +November 9th.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear +Clara</span>,—</p> + +<p>I don't know that there is anything further to be done +about Fanny. As for divorcing her from your heart, I don't +suppose that it amounts to much. I advise you to keep on +good terms with Hampstead, because if anything were to +happen, it is always well for the Dowager to be friends +with the heir. If Fanny will marry the man she must. Lady +Di Peacocke married Mr. Billyboy, who was a clerk in one +of the offices. They made him Assistant Secretary, and +they now live in Portugal Street and do very well. I see +Lady Diana about everywhere. Mr. Billyboy can't keep a +carriage for her, but that of course is her look-out.</p> + +<p>As to what you say about second sons succeeding, don't +think of it. It would get you into a bad frame of mind, +and make you hate the very person upon whom you will +probably have to depend for much of your comfort.</p> + +<p>I think you should take things easier, and, above all, do +not trouble your husband. I am sure he could make himself +very unpleasant if he were driven too far. Persiflage has +no clerical patronage whatever, and would not interfere +about Deans or Bishops for all the world. I suppose he +could appoint a Chaplain to an Embassy, but your clergyman +seems to be too old and too idle for that.</p> + +<p class="ind8">Your affectionate sister,</p> + +<p class="ind12"><span class="smallcaps">Geraldine +Persiflage</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>This letter brought very little comfort to the distracted +Marchioness. There was much in it so cold that it offended her +deeply, and for a moment prompted her almost to divorce also Lady +Persiflage from her heart. Lady Persiflage seemed to think that Fanny +should be absolutely encouraged to marry the Post Office clerk, +because at some past period some Lady Diana, who at the time was near +fifty, had married a clerk also. It might be that a Lady Diana should +have run away with a groom, but would that be a reason why so +monstrous a crime should be repeated? And then in this letter there +was so absolute an absence of all affectionate regard for her own +children! She had spoken with great love of Lord Hautboy; but then +Lord Hautboy was the acknowledged heir, whereas her own children were +nobodies. In this there lay the sting. And then she felt herself to +have been rebuked because she had hinted at the possibility of Lord +Hampstead's departure for a better world. Lord Hampstead was mortal, +as well as others. And why should not his death be contemplated, +especially as it would confer so great a benefit on the world at +large? Her sister's letter persuaded her of nothing. The divorce +should remain as complete as ever. She would not condescend to think +of any future advantages which might accrue to her from any intimacy +with her stepson. Her dower had been regularly settled. Her duty was +to her own children,—and secondly to her husband. If she could +succeed in turning him against these two wicked elder children, then +she would omit to do nothing which might render his life pleasant to +him. Such were the resolutions which she formed on receipt of her +sister's letter.</p> + +<p>About this time Lord Kingsbury found it necessary to say a few words +to Mr. Greenwood. There had not of late been much expression of +kindness from the Marquis to the clergyman. Since their return from +Germany his lordship had been either taciturn or cross. Mr. Greenwood +took this very much to heart. For though he was most anxious to +assure to himself the friendship of the Marchioness he did not at all +wish to neglect the Marquis. It was in truth on the Marquis that he +depended for everything that he had in the world. The Marquis could +send him out of the house to-morrow,—and if this house were closed +to him, none other, as far as he knew, would be open to him except +the Union. He had lived delicately all his life, and +luxuriously,—but fruitlessly as regarded the gathering of any honey +for future wants. Whatever small scraps of preferment might have come +in his way had been rejected as having been joined with too much of +labour and too little of emolument. He had gone on hoping that so +great a man as the Marquis would be able to do something for +him,—thinking that he might at any rate fasten his patron closely to +him by bonds of affection. This had been in days before the coming of +the present Marchioness. At first she had not created any special +difficulty for him. She did not at once attempt to overthrow the +settled politics of the family, and Mr. Greenwood had been allowed to +be blandly liberal. But during the last year or two, great management +had been necessary. By degrees he had found it essential to fall into +the conservative views of her ladyship,—which extended simply to the +idea that the cream of the earth should be allowed to be the cream of +the earth. It is difficult in the same house to adhere to two +political doctrines, because the holders of each will require support +at all general meetings. Gradually the Marchioness had become +exigeant, and the Marquis was becoming aware that he was being thrown +over. A feeling of anger was growing up in his mind which he did not +himself analyze. When he heard that the clergyman had taken upon +himself to lecture Lady Frances,—for it was thus he read the few +words which his son had spoken to him,—he carried his anger with him +for a day or two, till at last he found an opportunity of explaining +himself to the culprit.</p> + +<p>"Lady Frances will do very well where she is," said the Marquis, in +answer to some expression of a wish as to his daughter's comfort.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no doubt!"</p> + +<p>"I am not sure that I am fond of too much interference in such +matters."</p> + +<p>"Have I interfered, my lord?"</p> + +<p>"I do not mean to find any special fault on this occasion."</p> + +<p>"I hope not, my lord."</p> + +<p>"But you did speak to Lady Frances when I think it might have been as +well that you should have held your tongue."</p> + +<p>"I had been instructed to see that young man in London."</p> + +<p>"Exactly;—but not to say anything to Lady Frances."</p> + +<p>"I had known her ladyship so many years!"</p> + +<p>"Do not drive me to say that you had known her too long."</p> + +<p>Mr. Greenwood felt this to be very hard;—for what he had said to +Lady Frances he had in truth said under instruction. That last speech +as to having perhaps known the young lady too long seemed to contain +a terrible threat. He was thus driven to fall back upon his +instructions. "Her ladyship seemed to think that perhaps a word in +<span class="nowrap">season—"</span></p> + +<p>The Marquis felt this to be cowardly, and was more inclined to be +angry with his old friend than if he had stuck to that former plea of +old friendship. "I will not have interference in this house, and +there's an end of it. If I wish you to do anything for me I will tell +you. That is all. If you please nothing more shall be said about it. +The subject is disagreeable to me."</p> + + +<div class="center"> +<p class="noindent">*<span class="ind2">*</span><span +class="ind2">*</span><span class="ind2">*</span><span +class="ind2">*</span><span class="ind2">*</span></p> +</div> + + +<p>"Has the Marquis said anything about Lady Frances since she went?" +the Marchioness asked the clergyman the next morning. How was he to +hold his balance between them if he was to be questioned by both +sides in this way? "I suppose he has mentioned her?"</p> + +<p>"He just mentioned the name one day."</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"I rather think that he does not wish to be interrogated about her +ladyship."</p> + +<p>"I dare say not. Is he anxious to have her back again?"</p> + +<p>"That I cannot say, Lady Kingsbury. I should think he must be."</p> + +<p>"Of course I shall be desirous to ascertain the truth. He has been so +unreasonable that I hardly know how to speak to him myself. I suppose +he tells you!"</p> + +<p>"I rather think his lordship will decline to speak about her ladyship +just at present."</p> + +<p>"Of course it is necessary that I should know. Now that she has +chosen to take herself off I shall not choose to live under the same +roof with her again. If Lord Kingsbury speaks to you on the subject +you should make him understand that." Poor Mr. Greenwood felt that +there were thorny paths before him, in which it might be very +difficult to guard his feet from pricks. Then he had to consider if +there were to be two sides in the house, strongly opposed to each +other, with which would it be best for him to take a part? The houses +of the Marquis, with all their comforts, were open for him; but the +influence of Lord Persiflage was very great, whereas that of the +Marquis was next to nothing.</p> + + +<p><a name="c1-12" id="c1-12"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XII.</h3> +<h4>CASTLE HAUTBOY.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>"You'd better ask the old Traffords down here for a few weeks. +Hampstead won't shoot, but he can hunt with the Braeside harriers."</p> + +<p>This was the answer made by Lord Persiflage to his wife when he was +told by her of that divorce which had taken place at Trafford Park, +and of the departure of Lady Frances for Hendon. Hampstead and Lady +Frances were the old Traffords. Lord Persiflage, too, was a +Conservative, but his politics were of a very different order from +those entertained by his sister-in-law. He was, above all, a man of +the world. He had been our Ambassador at St. Petersburg, and was now +a Member of the Cabinet. He liked the good things of office, but had +no idea of quarrelling with a Radical because he was a Radical. He +cared very little as to the opinions of his guests, if they could +make themselves either pleasant or useful. He looked upon his +sister-in-law as an old fool, and had no idea of quarrelling with +Hampstead for her sake. If the girl persisted in making a bad match +she must take the consequences. No great harm would come,—except to +her. As to the evil done to his "order," that did not affect Lord +Persiflage at all. He did not expect his order to endure for ever. +All orders become worn out in time, and effete. He had no abhorrence +for anybody; but he liked pleasant people; he liked to treat +everything as a joke; and he liked the labours of his not unlaborious +life to be minimised. Having given his orders about the old +Traffords, as he called them in reference to the "darlings," he said +nothing more on the subject. Lady Persiflage wrote a note to "Dear +Fanny," conveying the invitation in three words, and received a reply +to the effect that she and her brother would be at Castle Hautboy +before the end of November. Hampstead would perhaps bring a couple of +horses, but he would put them up at the livery stables at Penrith.</p> + +<p>"How do you do, Hampstead," said Persiflage when he first met his +guest before dinner on the day of the arrival. "You haven't got rid +of everything yet?"</p> + +<p>This question was supposed to refer to Lord Hampstead's revolutionary +tendencies. "Not quite so thoroughly as we hope to do soon."</p> + +<p>"I always think it a great comfort that in our country the +blackguards are so considerate. I must own that we do very little for +them, and yet they never knock us over the head or shoot at us, as +they do in Russia and Germany and France." Then he passed on, having +said quite enough for one conversation.</p> + +<p>"So you've gone off to Hendon to live with your brother?" said Lady +Persiflage to her niece.</p> + +<p>"Yes; indeed," said Lady Fanny, blushing at the implied allusion to +her low-born lover which was contained in this question.</p> + +<p>But Lady Persiflage had no idea of saying a word about the lover, or +of making herself in any way unpleasant. "I dare say it will be very +comfortable for you both," she said; "but we thought you might be a +little lonely till you got used to it, and therefore asked you to +come down for a week or two. The house is full of people, and you +will be sure to find some one that you know." Not a word was said at +Castle Hautboy as to those terrible things which had occurred in the +Trafford family.</p> + +<p>Young Vivian was there, half, as he said, for ornament, but partly +for pleasure and partly for business. "He likes to have a private +secretary with him," he said to Hampstead, "in order that people +might think there is something to do. As a rule they never send +anything down from the Foreign Office at this time of year. He always +has a Foreign Minister or two in the house, or a few Secretaries of +Legation, and that gives an air of business. Nothing would offend or +surprise him so much as if one of them were to say a word about +affairs. Nobody ever does, and therefore he is supposed to be the +safest Foreign Minister that we've had in Downing Street since old +<span class="nowrap">——'s</span> time."</p> + +<p>"Well, Hautboy." "Well, Hampstead." Thus the two heirs greeted each +other. "You'll come and shoot to-morrow?" asked the young host.</p> + +<p>"I never shoot. I thought all the world knew that."</p> + +<p>"The best cock-shooting in all England," said Hautboy. "But we shan't +come to that for the next month."</p> + +<p>"Cocks or hens, pheasants, grouse, or partridge, rabbits or hares, +it's all one to me. I couldn't hit 'em if I would, and I wouldn't if +I could."</p> + +<p>"There is a great deal in the couldn't," said Hautboy. "As for +hunting, those Braeside fellows go out two or three times a week. But +it's a wretched sort of affair. They hunt hares or foxes just as they +come, and they're always climbing up a ravine or tumbling down a +precipice."</p> + +<p>"I can climb and tumble as well as any one," said Hampstead. So that +question as to the future amusement of the guest was settled.</p> + +<p>But the glory of the house of Hauteville,—Hauteville was the Earl's +family name,—at present shone most brightly in the person of the +eldest daughter, Lady Amaldina. Lady Amaldina, who was as beautiful +in colour, shape, and proportion as wax could make a Venus, was +engaged to marry the eldest son of the Duke of Merioneth. The Marquis +of Llwddythlw was a young man about forty years of age, of great +promise, who had never been known to do a foolish thing in his life, +and his father was one of those half-dozen happy noblemen, each of +whom is ordinarily reported to be the richest man in England. Lady +Amaldina was not unnaturally proud of her high destiny, and as the +alliance had already been advertised in all the newspapers, she was +not unwilling to talk about it. Lady Frances was not exactly a +cousin, but stood in the place of a cousin, and therefore was +regarded as a good listener for all the details which had to be +repeated. It might be that Lady Amaldina took special joy in having +such a listener, because Lady Frances herself had placed her own +hopes so low. That story as to the Post Office clerk was known to +everybody at Castle Hautboy. Lady Persiflage ridiculed the idea of +keeping such things secret. Having so much to be proud of in regard +to her own children, she thought that there should be no such +secrets. If Fanny Trafford did intend to marry the Post Office clerk +it would be better that all the world should know it beforehand. Lady +Amaldina knew it, and was delighted at having a confidante whose +views and prospects in life were so different from her own. "Of +course, dear, you have heard what is going to happen to me," she +said, smiling.</p> + +<p>"I have heard of your engagement with the son of the Duke of +Merioneth, the man with the terrible Welsh name."</p> + +<p>"When you once know how to pronounce it it is the prettiest word that +poetry ever produced!" Then Lady Amaldina did pronounce her future +name;—but nothing serviceable would be done for the reader if an +attempt were made to write the sound which she produced. "I am not +sure but what it was the name which first won my heart. I can sign it +now quite easily without a mistake."</p> + +<p>"It won't be long, I suppose, before you will have to do so always?"</p> + +<p>"An age, my dear! The Duke's affairs are of such a nature,—and +Llwddythlw is so constantly engaged in business, that I don't suppose +it will take place for the next ten years. What with settlements, and +entails, and Parliament, and the rest of it, I shall be an old woman +before I am,—led to the hymeneal altar."</p> + +<p>"Ten years!" said Lady Fanny.</p> + +<p>"Well, say ten months, which seems to be just as long."</p> + +<p>"Isn't he in a hurry?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, awfully; but what can he do, poor fellow? He is so placed that +he cannot have his affairs arranged for him in half-an-hour, as other +men can do. It is a great trouble having estates so large and +interests so complicated! Now there is one thing I particularly want +to ask you."</p> + +<p>"What is it?"</p> + +<p>"About being one of the bridesmaids."</p> + +<p>"One can hardly answer for ten years hence."</p> + +<p>"That is nonsense, of course. I am determined to have no girl who has +not a title. It isn't that I care about that kind of thing in the +least, but the Duke does. And then I think the list will sound more +distinguished in the newspapers, if all the Christian names are given +with the Lady before them. There are to be his three sisters, Lady +Anne, Lady Antoinette, and Lady Anatolia;—then my two sisters, Lady +Alphonsa and Lady Amelia. To be sure they are very young."</p> + +<p>"They may be old enough according to what you say."</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed. And then there will be Lady Arabella Portroyal, and +Lady Augusta Gelashires. I have got the list written out somewhere, +and there are to be just twenty."</p> + +<p>"If the catalogue is finished there will hardly be room for me."</p> + +<p>"The Earl of Knocknacoppul's daughter has sent me word that she must +refuse, because her own marriage will take place first. She would +have put it off, as she is only going to marry an Irish baronet, and +because she is dying to have her name down as one of the bevy, but he +says that if she delays any longer he'll go on a shooting expedition +to the Rocky Mountains, and then perhaps he might never come back. So +there is a vacancy."</p> + +<p>"I hardly like to make a promise so long beforehand. Perhaps I might +have a young man, and he might go off to the Rocky Mountains."</p> + +<p>"That's just what made me not put down your name at first. Of course +you know we've heard about Mr. Roden?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't know," said Lady Frances, blushing.</p> + +<p>"Oh dear, yes. Everybody knows it. And I think it such a brave thing +to do,—if you're really attached to him!"</p> + +<p>"I should never marry any man without being attached to him," said +Lady Frances.</p> + +<p>"That's of course! But I mean romantically attached. I don't pretend +to that kind of thing with Llwddythlw. I don't think it necessary in +a marriage of this kind. He is a great deal older than I am, and is +bald. I suppose Mr. Roden is very, very handsome?"</p> + +<p>"I have not thought much about that."</p> + +<p>"I should have considered that one would want it for a marriage of +that kind. I don't know whether after all it isn't the best thing to +do. Romance is so delicious!"</p> + +<p>"But then it's delicious to be a Duchess," said Lady Frances, with +the slightest touch of irony.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no doubt! One has to look at it all round, and then to form a +judgment. It went a great way with papa, I know, Llwddythlw being +such a good man of business. He has been in the Household, and the +Queen will be sure to send a handsome present. I expect to have the +grandest show of wedding presents that any girl has yet exhibited in +England. Ever so many people have asked mamma already as to what I +should like best. Mr. MacWhapple said out plain that he would go to a +hundred and fifty pounds. He is a Scotch manufacturer, and has papa's +interest in Wigtonshire. I suppose you don't intend to do anything +very grand in that way."</p> + +<p>"I suppose not, as I don't know any Scotch manufacturers. But my +marriage, if I ever am married, is a thing so much of the future that +I haven't even begun to think of my dress yet."</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you a secret," said Lady Amaldina, whispering. "Mine is +already made, and I've tried it on."</p> + +<p>"You might get ever so much stouter in ten years," said Lady Frances.</p> + +<p>"That of course was joking. But we did think the marriage would come +off last June, and as we were in Paris in April the order was given. +Don't you tell anybody about that."</p> + +<p>Then it was settled that the name of Lady Frances should be put down +on the list of bridesmaids, but put down in a doubtful manner,—as is +done with other things of great importance.</p> + +<p>A few days after Lord Hampstead's arrival a very great dinner-party +was given at the Castle, at which all the county round was invited. +Castle Hautboy is situated near Pooly Bridge, just in the county of +Westmoreland, on an eminence, giving it a grand prospect over +Ulleswater, which is generally considered to be one of the Cumberland +Lakes. Therefore the gentry from the two counties were invited as far +round as Penrith, Shap, Bampton, and Patterdale. The Earl's property +in that neighbourhood was scattered about through the two counties, +and was looked after by a steward, or manager, who lived himself at +Penrith, and was supposed to be very efficacious in such duties. His +name was Crocker; and not only was he invited to the dinner, but also +his son, who happened at the time to be enjoying the month's holiday +which was allowed to him by the authorities of the office in London +to which he was attached.</p> + +<p>The reader may remember that a smart young man of this name sat at +the same desk with George Roden at the General Post Office. Young +Crocker was specially delighted with the honour done him on this +occasion. He not only knew that his fellow clerk's friend, Lord +Hampstead, was at the Castle, and his sister, Lady Frances, with him; +but he also knew that George Roden was engaged to marry that noble +lady! Had he heard this before he left London, he would probably have +endeavoured to make some atonement for his insolence to Roden; for he +was in truth filled with a strong admiration for the man who had +before him the possibility of such high prospects. But the news had +only reached him since he had been in the North. Now he thought that +he might possibly find an opportunity of making known to Lord +Hampstead his intimacy with Roden, and of possibly saying a +word—just uttering a hint—as to that future event.</p> + +<p>It was long before he could find himself near enough to Lord +Hampstead to address him. He had even refused to return home with his +father, who did not like being very late on the road, saying that he +had got a lift into town in another conveyance. This he did, with the +prospect of having to walk six miles into Penrith in his dress boots, +solely with the object of saying a few words to Roden's friend. At +last he was successful.</p> + +<p>"We have had what I call an extremely pleasant evening, my lord." It +was thus he commenced; and Hampstead, whose practice it was to be +specially graceful to any one whom he chanced to meet but did not +think to be a gentleman, replied very courteously that the evening +had been pleasant.</p> + +<p>"Quite a thing to remember," continued Crocker.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps one remembers the unpleasant things the longest," said +Hampstead, laughing.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, my lord, not that. I always forget the unpleasant. That's +what I call philosophy." Then he broke away into the subject that was +near his heart. "I wish our friend Roden had been here, my lord."</p> + +<p>"Is he a friend of yours?"</p> + +<p>"Oh dear, yes;—most intimate. We sit in the same room at the Post +Office. And at the same desk,—as thick as thieves, as the saying is. +We often have a crack about your lordship."</p> + +<p>"I have a great esteem for George Roden. He and I are really friends. +I know no one for whom I have a higher regard." This he said with an +earnest voice, thinking himself bound to express his friendship more +loudly than he would have done had the friend been in his own rank of +life.</p> + +<p>"That's just what I feel. Roden is a man that will rise."</p> + +<p>"I hope so."</p> + +<p>"He'll be sure to get something good before long. They'll make him a +Surveyor, or Chief Clerk, or something of that kind. I'll back him to +have £500 a year before any man in the office. There'll be a shindy +about it, of course. There always is a shindy when a fellow is put up +out of his turn. But he needn't care for that. They can laugh as win. +Eh, my lord!"</p> + +<p>"He would be the last to wish an injustice to be done for his own +good."</p> + +<p>"We've got to take that as it comes, my lord. I won't say but what I +should like to go up at once to a senior class over other men's +heads. There isn't a chance of that, because I'm independent, and the +seniors don't like me. Old Jerningham is always down upon me just for +that reason. You ask Roden, and he'll tell you the same thing,—my +lord." Then came a momentary break in the conversation, and Lord +Hampstead was seizing advantage of it to escape. But Crocker, who had +taken enough wine to be bold, saw the attempt, and intercepted it. He +was desirous of letting the lord know all that he knew. "Roden is a +happy dog, my lord."</p> + +<p>"Happy, I hope, though not a dog," said Hampstead, trusting that he +could retreat gracefully behind the joke.</p> + +<p>"Ha, ha, ha! The dog only meant what a lucky fellow he is. I have +heard him speak in raptures of what is in store for him."</p> + +<p>"What!"</p> + +<p>"There's no happiness like married happiness; is there, my lord?"</p> + +<p>"Upon my word, I can't say. Good night to you."</p> + +<p>"I hope you will come and see me and Roden at the office some of +these days."</p> + +<p>"Good night, good night!" Then the man did go. For a moment or two +Lord Hampstead felt actually angry with his friend. Could it be that +Roden should make so little of his sister's name as to talk about her +to the Post Office clerks,—to so mean a fellow as this! And yet the +man certainly knew the fact of the existing engagement. Hampstead +thought it impossible that it should have travelled beyond the limits +of his own family. It was natural that Roden should have told his +mother; but unnatural,—so Hampstead thought,—that his friend should +have made his sister a subject of conversation to any one else. It +was horrible to him that a stranger such as that should have spoken +to him about his sister at all. But surely it was not possible that +Roden should have sinned after that fashion. He soon resolved that it +was not possible. But how grievous a thing it was that a girl's name +should be made so common in the mouths of men!</p> + +<p>After that he sauntered into the smoking-room, where were congregated +the young men who were staying in the house. "That's a kind of thing +that happens only once a year," said Hautboy, speaking to all the +party; "but I cannot, for the life of me, see why it should happen at +all."</p> + +<p>"Your governor finds that it succeeds in the county," said one.</p> + +<p>"He polishes off a whole heap at one go," said another.</p> + +<p>"It does help to keep a party together," said a third.</p> + +<p>"And enables a lot of people to talk of dining at Castle Hautboy +without lying," said a fourth.</p> + +<p>"But why should a lot of people be enabled to say that they'd dined +here?" asked Hautboy. "I like to see my friends at dinner. What did +you think about it, Hampstead?"</p> + +<p>"It's all according to Hampstead's theories," said one.</p> + +<p>"Only he'd have had the tinkers and the tailors too," said another.</p> + +<p>"And wouldn't have had the ladies and gentlemen," said a third.</p> + +<p>"I would have had the tailors and tinkers," said Hampstead, "and I +would have had the ladies and gentlemen, too, if I could have got +them to meet the tailors and tinkers;—but I would not have had that +young man who got me out into the hall just now."</p> + +<p>"Why,—that was Crocker, the Post Office clerk," said Hautboy. "Why +shouldn't we have a Post Office clerk as well as some one else? +Nevertheless, Crocker is a sad cad." In the mean time Crocker was +walking home to Penrith in his dress boots.</p> + + +<p><a name="c1-13" id="c1-13"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XIII.</h3> +<h4>THE BRAESIDE HARRIERS.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>The Braeside Harriers can hardly be called a "crack" pack of hounds. +Lord Hautboy had been right in saying that they were always +scrambling through ravines, and that they hunted whatever they could +find to hunt. Nevertheless, the men and the hounds were in earnest, +and did accomplish a fair average of sport under difficult +circumstances. No "Pegasus" or "Littlelegs," or "Pigskin," ever sent +accounts of wondrous runs from Cumberland or Westmoreland to the +sporting papers, in which the gentlemen who had asked the special +Pigskin of the day to dinner were described as having been "in" at +some "glorious finish" on their well-known horses Banker or +Buff,—the horses named being generally those which the gentlemen +wished to sell. The names of gorses and brooks had not become +historic, as have those of Ranksborough and Whissendine. Trains were +not run to suit this or the other meet. Gentlemen did not get out of +fast drags with pretty little aprons tied around their waists, like +girls in a country house coming down to breakfast. Not many perhaps +wore pink coats, and none pink tops. One horse would suffice for one +day's work. An old assistant huntsman in an old red coat, with one +boy mounted on a ragged pony, served for an establishment. The whole +thing was despicable in the eyes of men from the Quorn and +Cottesmore. But there was some wonderful riding and much constant +sport with the Braeside Harriers, and the country had given birth to +certainly the best hunting song in the +<span class="nowrap">language;—</span></p> + + +<div class="center"> +<table class="sm" style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="3"><tr><td align="left"> +<p class="noindent">Do you ken John Peel with his coat so gay;<br /> +Do you ken John Peel at the break of day;<br /> +Do you ken John Peel when he's far, far away<br /> +<span class="ind2">With his hounds and his horn in the morning.</span></p> +</td></tr></table> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">Such as the +Braeside Harriers were, Lord Hampstead determined to make +the experiment, and on a certain morning had himself driven to +Cronelloe Thorn, a favourite meet halfway between Penrith and +Keswick.</p> + +<p>I hold that nothing is so likely to be permanently prejudicial to the +interest of hunting in the British Isles as a certain flavour of +tip-top fashion which has gradually enveloped it. There is a pretence +of grandeur about that and, alas, about other sports also, which is, +to my thinking, destructive of all sport itself. Men will not shoot +unless game is made to appear before them in clouds. They will not +fish unless the rivers be exquisite. To row is nothing unless you can +be known as a national hero. Cricket requires appendages which are +troublesome and costly, and by which the minds of economical fathers +are astounded. To play a game of hockey in accordance with the times +you must have a specially trained pony and a gaudy dress. Racquets +have given place to tennis because tennis is costly. In all these +cases the fashion of the game is much more cherished than the game +itself. But in nothing is this feeling so predominant as in hunting. +For the management of a pack, as packs are managed now, a huntsman +needs must be a great man himself, and three mounted subordinates are +necessary, as at any rate for two of these servants a second horse is +required. A hunt is nothing in the world unless it goes out four +times a week at least. A run is nothing unless the pace be that of a +steeplechase. Whether there be or be not a fox before the hounds is +of little consequence to the great body of riders. A bold huntsman +who can make a dash across country from one covert to another, and +who can so train his hounds that they shall run as though game were +before them, is supposed to have provided good sport. If a fox can be +killed in covert afterwards so much the better for those who like to +talk of their doings. Though the hounds brought no fox with them, it +is of no matter. When a fox does run according to his nature he is +reviled as a useless brute, because he will not go straight across +country. But the worst of all is the attention given by men to things +altogether outside the sport. Their coats and waistcoats, their boots +and breeches, their little strings and pretty scarfs, their saddles +and bridles, their dandy knick-knacks, and, above all, their flasks, +are more to many men than aught else in the day's proceedings. I have +known girls who have thought that their first appearance in the +ball-room, when all was fresh, unstained, and perfect from the +milliner's hand, was the one moment of rapture for the evening. I +have sometimes felt the same of young sportsmen at a Leicestershire +or Northamptonshire meet. It is not that they will not ride when the +occasion comes. They are always ready enough to break their bones. +There is no greater mistake than to suppose that dandyism is +antagonistic to pluck. The fault is that men train themselves to care +for nothing that is not as costly as unlimited expenditure can make +it. Thus it comes about that the real love of sport is crushed under +a desire for fashion. A man will be almost ashamed to confess that he +hunts in Essex or Sussex, because the proper thing is to go down to +the Shires. Grass, no doubt, is better than ploughed land to ride +upon; but, taking together the virtues and vices of all hunting +counties, I doubt whether better sport is not to be found in what I +will venture to call the haunts of the clodpoles, than among the +palmy pastures of the well-breeched beauties of Leicestershire.</p> + +<p>Braeside Harriers though they were, a strong taste for foxes had +lately grown up in the minds of men and in the noses of hounds. Blank +days they did not know, because a hare would serve the turn if the +nobler animal were not forthcoming; but ideas of preserving had +sprung up; steps were taken to solace the minds of old women who had +lost their geese; and the Braeside Harriers, though they had kept +their name, were gradually losing their character. On this occasion +the hounds were taken off to draw a covert instead of going to a +so-ho, as regularly as though they were advertised among the +fox-hounds in <i>The Times</i>. It was soon known that Lord Hampstead was +Lord Hampstead, and he was welcomed by the field. What matter that he +was a revolutionary Radical if he could ride to hounds? At any rate, +he was the son of a Marquis, and was not left to that solitude which +sometimes falls upon a man who appears suddenly as a stranger among +strangers on a hunting morning. "I am glad to see you out, my lord," +said Mr. Amblethwaite, the Master. "It isn't often that we get +recruits from Castle Hautboy."</p> + +<p>"They think a good deal of shooting there."</p> + +<p>"Yes; and they keep their horses in Northamptonshire. Lord Hautboy +does his hunting there. The Earl, I think, never comes out now."</p> + +<p>"I dare say not. He has all the foreign nations to look after."</p> + +<p>"I suppose he has his hands pretty full," said Mr. Amblethwaite. "I +know I have mine just at this time of the year. Where do you think +these hounds ran their fox to last Friday? We found him outside of +the Lowther Woods, near the village of Clifton. They took him +straight over Shap Fell, and then turning sharp to the right, went +all along Hawes Wall and over High Street into Troutbeck."</p> + +<p>"That's all among the mountains," said Hampstead.</p> + +<p>"Mountains! I should think so. I have to spend half my time among the +mountains."</p> + +<p>"But you couldn't ride over High Street?"</p> + +<p>"No, we couldn't ride; not there. But we had to make our way round, +some of us, and some of them went on foot. Dick never lost sight of +the hounds the whole day." Dick was the boy who rode the ragged pony. +"When we found 'em there he was with half the hounds around him, and +the fox's brush stuck in his cap."</p> + +<p>"How did you get home that night?" asked Hampstead.</p> + +<p>"Home! I didn't get home at all. It was pitch dark before we got the +rest of the hounds together. Some of them we didn't find till next +day. I had to go and sleep at Bowness, and thought myself very lucky +to get a bed. Then I had to ride home next day over Kirkstone Fell. +That's what I call something like work for a man and horse.—There's +a fox in there, my lord, do you hear them?" Then Mr. Amblethwaite +bustled away to assist at the duty of getting the fox to break.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad to see that you're fond of this kind of thing, my lord," +said a voice in Hampstead's ear, which, though he had only heard it +once, he well remembered. It was Crocker, the guest at the +dinner-party,—Crocker, the Post Office clerk.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Lord Hampstead, "I am very fond of this kind of thing. +That fox has broken, I think, at the other side of the cover." Then +he trotted off down a little lane between two loose-built walls, so +narrow that there was no space for two men to ride abreast. His +object at that moment was to escape Crocker rather than to look after +the hounds.</p> + +<p>They were in a wild country, not exactly on a mountain side, but +among hills which not far off grew into mountains, where cultivation +of the rudest kind was just beginning to effect its domination over +human nature. There was a long spinney rather than a wood stretching +down a bottom, through which a brook ran. It would now cease, and +then renew itself, so that the trees, though not absolutely +continuous, were nearly so for the distance of half a mile. The +ground on each side was rough with big stones, and steep in some +places as they went down the hill. But still it was such that +horsemen could gallop on it. The fox made his way along the whole +length, and then traversing, so as to avoid the hounds, ran a ring up +the hillside, and back into the spinney again. Among the horsemen +many declared that the brute must be killed unless he would make up +his mind for a fair start. Mr. Amblethwaite was very busy, hunting +the hounds himself, and intent rather on killing the fox fairly than +on the hopes of a run. Perhaps he was not desirous of sleeping out +another night on the far side of Helvellyn. In this way the sportsmen +galloped up and down the side of the wood till the feeling arose, as +it does on such occasions, that it might be well for a man to stand +still awhile and spare his horse, in regard to the future necessities +of the day. Lord Hampstead did as others were doing, and in a moment +Crocker was by his side. Crocker was riding an animal which his +father was wont to drive about the country, but one well known in the +annals of the Braeside Harriers. It was asserted of him that the +fence was not made which he did not know how to creep over. Of +jumping, such as jumping is supposed to be in the shires, he knew +nothing. He was, too, a bad hand at galloping, but with a shambling, +half cantering trot, which he had invented for himself, he could go +along all day, not very quickly, but in such fashion as never to be +left altogether behind. He was a flea-bitten horse, if my readers +know what that is,—a flea-bitten roan, or white covered with small +red spots. Horses of this colour are ugly to look at, but are very +seldom bad animals. Such as he was, Crocker, who did not ride much +when up in London, was very proud of him. Crocker was dressed in a +green coat, which in a moment of extravagance he had had made for +hunting, and in brown breeches, in which he delighted to display +himself on all possible occasions. "My lord," he said, "you'd hardly +think it, but I believe this horse to be the best hunter in +Cumberland."</p> + +<p>"Is he, indeed? Some horse of course must be the best, and why not +yours?"</p> + +<p>"There's nothing he can't do;—nothing. His jumping is mi—raculous, +and as for pace, you'd be quite surprised.—They're at him again now. +What an echo they do make among the hills!"</p> + +<p>Indeed they did. Every now and then the Master would just touch his +horn, giving a short blast, just half a note, and then the sound +would come back, first from this rock and then from the other, and +the hounds as they heard it would open as though encouraged by the +music of the hills, and then their voices would be carried round the +valley, and come back again and again from the steep places, and they +would become louder and louder as though delighted with the effect of +their own efforts. Though there should be no hunting, the concert was +enough to repay a man for his trouble in coming there. "Yes," said +Lord Hampstead, his disgust at the man having been quenched for the +moment by the charm of the music, "it is a wonderful spot for +echoes."</p> + +<p>"It's what I call awfully nice. We don't have anything like that up +at St. Martin's-le-Grand." Perhaps it may be necessary to explain +that the Post Office in London stands in a spot bearing that poetic +name.</p> + +<p>"I don't remember any echoes there," said Lord Hampstead.</p> + +<p>"No, indeed;—nor yet no hunting, nor yet no hounds; are there, my +lord? All the same, it's not a bad sort of place!"</p> + +<p>"A very respectable public establishment!" said Lord Hampstead.</p> + +<p>"Just so, my lord; that's just what I always say. It ain't swell like +Downing Street, but it's a deal more respectable than the Custom +House."</p> + +<p>"Is it? I didn't know."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes. They all admit that. You ask Roden else." On hearing the +name, Lord Hampstead began to move his horse, but Crocker was at his +side and could not be shaken off. "Have you heard from him, my lord, +since you have been down in these parts?"</p> + +<p>"Not a word."</p> + +<p>"I dare say he thinks more of writing to a correspondent of the +fairer sex."</p> + +<p>This was unbearable. Though the fox had again turned and gone up the +valley,—a movement which seemed to threaten his instant death, and +to preclude any hope of a run from that spot,—Hampstead felt himself +compelled to escape, if he could. In his anger he touched his horse +with his spur and galloped away among the rocks, as though his object +was to assist Mr. Amblethwaite in his almost frantic efforts. But +Crocker cared nothing for the stones. Where the lord went, he went. +Having made acquaintance with a lord, he was not going to waste the +blessing which Providence had vouchsafed to him.</p> + +<p>"He'll never leave that place alive, my lord."</p> + +<p>"I dare say not." And again the persecuted nobleman rode +on,—thinking that neither should Crocker, if he could have his will.</p> + +<p>"By the way, as we are talking of Roden—"</p> + +<p>"I haven't been talking about him at all." Crocker caught the tone of +anger, and stared at his companion. "I'd rather not talk about him."</p> + +<p>"My lord! I hope there has been nothing like a quarrel. For the +lady's sake, I hope there's no misunderstanding!"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Crocker," he said very slowly, "it isn't +<span class="nowrap">customary—"</span></p> + +<p>At that moment the fox broke, the hounds were away, and Mr. +Amblethwaite was seen rushing down the hill-side, as though +determined on breaking his neck. Lord Hampstead rushed after him at a +pace which, for a time, defied Mr. Crocker. He became thoroughly +ashamed of himself in even attempting to make the man understand that +he was sinning against good taste. He could not do so without some +implied mention of his sister, and to allude to his sister in +connection with such a man was a profanation. He could only escape +from the brute. Was this a punishment which he was doomed to bear for +being—as his stepmother was wont to say—untrue to his order?</p> + +<p>In the mean time the hounds went at a great pace down the hill. Some +of the old stagers, who knew the country well, made a wide sweep +round to the left, whence by lanes and tracks, which were known to +them, they could make their way down to the road which leads along +Ulleswater to Patterdale. In doing this they might probably not see +the hounds again that day,—but such are the charms of hunting in a +hilly country. They rode miles around, and though they did again see +the hounds, they did not see the hunt. To have seen the hounds as +they start, and to see them again as they are clustering round the +huntsman after eating their fox, is a great deal to some men.</p> + +<p>On this occasion it was Hampstead's lot—and Crocker's—to do much +more than that. Though they had started down a steep valley,—down +the side rather of a gully,—they were not making their way out from +among the hills into the low country. The fox soon went up +again,—not back, but over an intervening spur of a mountain towards +the lake. The riding seemed sometimes to Hampstead to be impossible. +But Mr. Amblethwaite did it, and he stuck to Mr. Amblethwaite. It +would have been all very well had not Crocker stuck to him. If the +old roan would only tumble among the stones what an escape there +would be! But the old roan was true to his character, and, to give +every one his due, the Post Office clerk rode as well as the lord. +There was nearly an hour and a-half of it before the hounds ran into +their fox just as he was gaining an earth among the bushes and +hollies with which Airey Force is surrounded. Then on the sloping +meadow just above the waterfall, the John Peel of the hunt dragged +out the fox from among the trees, and, having dismembered him +artistically, gave him to the hungry hounds. Then it was that perhaps +half-a-dozen diligent, but cautious, huntsmen came up, and heard all +those details of the race which they were afterwards able to give, as +on their own authority, to others who had been as cautious, but not +so diligent, as themselves.</p> + +<p>"One of the best things I ever saw in this country," said Crocker, +who had never seen a hound in any other country. At this moment he +had ridden up alongside of Hampstead on the way back to Penrith. The +Master and the hounds and Crocker must go all the way. Hampstead +would turn off at Pooley Bridge. But still there were four miles, +during which he would be subjected to his tormentor.</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed. A very good thing, as I was saying, Mr. Amblethwaite."</p> + + +<p><a name="c1-14" id="c1-14"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XIV.</h3> +<h4>COMING HOME FROM HUNTING.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Lord Hampstead had been discussing with Mr. Amblethwaite the +difficult nature of hunting in such a county as Cumberland. The +hounds were in the road before them with John Peel in the midst of +them. Dick with the ragged pony was behind, looking after stragglers. +Together with Lord Hampstead and the Master was a hard-riding, rough, +weather-beaten half-gentleman, half-farmer, named Patterson, who +lived a few miles beyond Penrith and was Amblethwaite's right hand in +regard to hunting. Just as Crocker joined them the road had become +narrow, and the young lord had fallen a little behind. Crocker had +seized his opportunity;—but the lord also seized his, and thrust +himself in between Mr. Patterson and the Master. "That's all true," +said the Master. "Of course we don't presume to do the thing as you +swells do it down in the Shires. We haven't the money, and we haven't +the country, and we haven't the foxes. But I don't know whether for +hunting we don't see as much of it as you do."</p> + +<p>"Quite as much, if I may take to-day as a sample."</p> + +<p>"Very ordinary;—wasn't it, Amblethwaite?" asked Patterson, who was +quite determined to make the most of his own good things.</p> + +<p>"It was not bad to-day. The hounds never left their scent after they +found him. I think our hillsides carry the scent better than our +grasses. If you want to ride, of course, it's rough. But if you like +hunting, and don't mind a scramble, perhaps you may see it here as +well as elsewhere."</p> + +<p>"Better, a deal, from all I hear tell," said Patterson. "Did you ever +hear any music like that in Leicestershire, my lord?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know that ever I did," said Hampstead. "I enjoyed myself +amazingly."</p> + +<p>"I hope you'll come again," said the Master, "and that often."</p> + +<p>"Certainly, if I remain here."</p> + +<p>"I knew his lordship would like it," said Crocker, crowding in on a +spot where it was possible for four to ride abreast. "I think it was +quite extraordinary to see how a stranger like his lordship got over +our country."</p> + +<p>"Clever little 'orse his lordship's on," said Patterson.</p> + +<p>"It's the man more than the beast, I think," said Crocker, trying to +flatter.</p> + +<p>"The best man in England," said Patterson, "can't ride to hounds +without a tidy animal under him."</p> + +<p>"Nor yet can't the best horse in England stick to hounds without a +good man on top of him," said the determined Crocker. Patterson +grunted,—hating flattery, and remembering that the man flattered was +a lord.</p> + +<p>Then the road became narrow again, and Hampstead fell a little +behind. Crocker was alongside of him in a moment. There seemed to be +something mean in running away from the man;—something at any rate +absurd in seeming to run away from him. Hampstead was ashamed in +allowing himself to be so much annoyed by such a cause. He had +already snubbed the man, and the man might probably be now silent on +the one subject which was so peculiarly offensive. "I suppose," said +he, beginning a conversation which should show that he was willing to +discuss any general matter with Mr. Crocker, "that the country north +and west of Penrith is less hilly than this?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, my lord; a delightful country to ride over in some parts. +Is Roden fond of following the hounds, my lord?"</p> + +<p>"I don't in the least know," said Hampstead, curtly. Then he made +another attempt. "These hounds don't go as far north as Carlisle?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, my lord; never more than eight or ten miles from Penrith. +They've another pack up in that country; nothing like ours, but still +they do show sport. I should have thought now Roden would have been +just the man to ride to hounds,—if he got the opportunity."</p> + +<p>"I don't think he ever saw a hound in his life. I'm rather in a +hurry, and I think I shall trot on."</p> + +<p>"I'm in a hurry myself," said Crocker, "and I shall be happy to show +your lordship the way. It isn't above a quarter of a mile's +difference to me going by Pooley Bridge instead of Dallmaine."</p> + +<p>"Pray don't do anything of the kind; I can find the road." Whereupon +Hampstead shook hands cordially with the Master, bade Mr. Patterson +good-bye with a kindly smile, and trotted on beyond the hounds as +quickly as he could.</p> + +<p>But Crocker was not to be shaken off. The flea-bitten roan was as +good at the end of a day as he was at the beginning, and trotted on +gallantly. When they had gone some quarter of a mile Hampstead +acknowledged to himself that it was beyond his power to shake off his +foe. By that time Crocker had made good his position close alongside +of the lord, with his horse's head even with that of the other. +"There is a word, my lord, I want to say to you." This Crocker +muttered somewhat piteously, so that Hampstead's heart was for the +moment softened towards him. He checked his horse and prepared +himself to listen. "I hope I haven't given any offence. I can assure +you, my lord, I haven't intended it. I have so much respect for your +lordship that I wouldn't do it for the world."</p> + +<p>What was he to do? He had been offended. He had intended to show that +he was offended. And yet he did not like to declare as much openly. +His object had been to stop the man from talking, and to do so if +possible without making any reference himself to the subject in +question. Were he now to declare himself offended he could hardly do +so without making some allusion to his sister. But he had determined +that he would make no such allusion. Now as the man appealed to him, +asking as it were forgiveness for some fault of which he was not +himself conscious, it was impossible to refrain from making him some +answer. "All right," he said; "I'm sure you didn't mean anything. Let +us drop it, and there will be an end of it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, certainly;—and I'm sure I'm very much obliged to your lordship. +But I don't quite know what it is that ought to be dropped. As I am +so intimate with Roden, sitting at the same desk with him every day +of my life, it did seem natural to speak to your lordship about him."</p> + +<p>This was true. As it had happened that Crocker, who as well as Roden +was a Post Office Clerk, had appeared as a guest at Castle Hautboy, +it had been natural that he should speak of his office companion to a +man who was notoriously that companion's friend. Hampstead did not +quite believe in the pretended intimacy, having heard Roden declare +that he had not as yet formed any peculiar friendship at the Office. +He had too felt, unconsciously, that such a one as Roden ought not to +be intimate with such a one as Crocker. But there was no cause of +offence in this. "It was natural," he said.</p> + +<p>"And then I was unhappy when I thought from what you said that there +had been some quarrel."</p> + +<p>"There has been no quarrel," said Hampstead.</p> + +<p>"I am very glad indeed to hear that." He was beginning to touch again +on a matter that should have been private. What was it to him whether +or no there was a quarrel between Lord Hampstead and Roden. Hampstead +therefore again rode on in silence.</p> + +<p>"I should have been so very sorry that anything should have occurred +to interfere with our friend's brilliant prospects." Lord Hampstead +looked about to see whether there was any spot at which he could make +his escape by jumping over a fence. On the right hand there was the +lake rippling up on to the edge of the road, and on the left was a +high stone wall, without any vestige of an aperture through it as far +as the eye could reach. He was already making the pace as fast as he +could, and was aware that no escape could be effected in that manner. +He shook his head, and bit the handle of his whip, and looked +straight away before him through his horse's ears. "You cannot think +how proud I've been that a gentleman sitting at the same desk with +myself should have been so fortunate in his matrimonial prospects. I +think it an honour to the Post Office all round."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Crocker," said Lord Hampstead, pulling up his horse suddenly, +and standing still upon the spot, "if you will remain here for five +minutes I will ride on; or if you will ride on I will remain here +till you are out of sight. I must insist that one of these +arrangements be made."</p> + +<p>"My lord!"</p> + +<p>"Which shall it be?"</p> + +<p>"Now I have offended you again."</p> + +<p>"Don't talk of offence, but just do as I bid you. I want to be +alone."</p> + +<p>"Is it about the matrimonial alliance?" demanded Crocker almost in +tears. Thereupon Lord Hampstead turned his horse round and trotted +back towards the hounds and horsemen, whom he heard on the road +behind him. Crocker paused a moment, trying to discover by the light +of his own intellect what might have been the cause of this singular +conduct on the part of the young nobleman, and then, having failed to +throw any light on the matter, he rode on homewards, immersed in deep +thought. Hampstead, when he found himself again with his late +companions, asked some idle questions as to the hunting arrangements +of next week. That they were idle he was quite aware, having resolved +that he would not willingly put himself into any position in which it +might be probable that he should again meet that objectionable young +man. But he went on with his questions, listening or not listening to +Mr. Amblethwaite's answers, till he parted company with his +companions in the neighbourhood of Pooley Bridge. Then he rode alone +to Hautboy Castle, with his mind much harassed by what had occurred. +It seemed to him to have been almost proved that George Roden must +have spoken to this man of his intended marriage. In all that the man +had said he had suggested that the information had come direct from +his fellow-clerk. He had seemed to declare,—Hampstead thought that +he had declared,—that Roden had often discussed the marriage with +him. If so, how base must have been his friend's conduct! How +thoroughly must he have been mistaken in his friend's character! How +egregiously wrong must his sister have been in her estimate of the +man! For himself, as long as the question had been simply one of his +own intimacy with a companion whose outside position in the world had +been inferior to his own, he had been proud of what he had done, and +had answered those who had remonstrated with him with a spirit +showing that he despised their practices quite as much as they could +ridicule his. He had explained to his father his own ideas of +friendship, and had been eager in showing that George Roden's company +was superior to most young men of his own position. There had been +Hautboy, and Scatterdash, and Lord Plunge, and the young Earl of +Longoolds, all of them elder sons, whom he described as young men +without a serious thought in their heads. What was it to him how +Roden got his bread, so long as he got it honestly? "The man's the +man for a' that." Thus he had defended himself and been quite +conscious that he was right. When Roden had suddenly fallen in love +with his sister, and his sister had as suddenly fallen in love with +Roden,—then he had begun to doubt. A thing which was in itself +meritorious might become dangerous and objectionable by reason of +other things which it would bring in its train. He felt for a time +that associations which were good for himself might not be so good +for his sister. There seemed to be a sanctity about her rank which +did not attach to his own. He had thought that the Post Office clerk +was as good as himself; but he could not assure himself that he was +as good as the ladies of his family. Then he had begun to reason with +himself on this subject, as he did on all. What was there different +in a girl's nature that ought to make her fastidious as to society +which he felt to be good enough for himself? In entertaining the +feeling which had been strong within him as to that feminine +sanctity, was he not giving way to one of those empty prejudices of +the world, in opposition to which he had resolved to make a life-long +fight? So he had reasoned with himself; but his reason, though it +affected his conduct, did not reach his taste. It irked him to think +there should be this marriage, though he was strong in his resolution +to uphold his sister,—and, if necessary, to defend her. He had not +given way as to the marriage. It had been settled between himself and +his sister and his father that there should be no meeting of the +lovers at Hendon Hall. He did hope that the engagement might die +away, though he was determined to cling to her even though she clung +to her lover. This was his state of mind, when this hideous young +man, who seemed to have been created with the object of showing him +how low a creature a Post Office clerk could be, came across him, and +almost convinced him that that other Post Office clerk had been +boasting among his official associates of the favours of the +high-born lady who had unfortunately become attached to him! He would +stick to his politics, to his Radical theories, to his old ideas +about social matters generally; but he was almost tempted to declare +to himself that women for the present ought to be regarded as exempt +from those radical changes which would be good for men. For himself +his "order" was a vanity and a delusion; but for his sister it must +still be held as containing some bonds. In this frame of mind he +determined that he would return to Hendon Hall almost immediately. +Further hope of hunting with the Braeside Harriers there was none; +and it was necessary for him to see Roden as soon as possible.</p> + +<p>That evening at the Castle Lady Amaldina got hold of him, and asked +him his advice as to her future duties as a married woman. Lady +Amaldina was very fond of little confidences as to her future life, +and had as yet found no opportunity of demanding the sympathy of her +cousin. Hampstead was not in truth her cousin, but they called each +other cousins,—or were called so. None of the Hauteville family felt +any of that aversion to the Radicalism of the heir to the marquisate +which the Marchioness entertained. Lady Amaldina delighted to be Amy +to Lord Hampstead, and was very anxious to ask him his advice as to +Lord Llwddythlw.</p> + +<p>"Of course you know all about my marriage, Hampstead?" she said.</p> + +<p>"I don't know anything about it," Hampstead replied.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Hampstead; how ill-natured!"</p> + +<p>"Nobody knows anything about it, because it hasn't taken place."</p> + +<p>"That is so like a Radical, to be so precise and rational. My +engagement then?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I've heard a great deal about that. We've been talking about +that for—how long shall I say?"</p> + +<p>"Don't be disagreeable. Of course such a man as Llwddythlw can't be +married all in a hurry just like anybody else."</p> + +<p>"What a misfortune for him!"</p> + +<p>"Why should it be a misfortune?"</p> + +<p>"I should think it so if I were going to be married to you."</p> + +<p>"That's the prettiest thing I have ever heard you say. At any rate he +has got to put up with it, and so have I. It is a bore, because +people will talk about nothing else. What do you think of Llwddythlw +as a public man?"</p> + +<p>"I haven't thought about it. I haven't any means of thinking. I am so +completely a private man myself, that I know nothing of public men. I +hope he's good at going to sleep."</p> + +<p>"Going to sleep?"</p> + +<p>"Otherwise it must be so dull, sitting so many hours in the House of +Commons. But he's been at it a long time, and I dare say he's used to +it."</p> + +<p>"Isn't it well that a man in his position should have a regard to his +country?"</p> + +<p>"Every man ought to have a regard to his country;—but a stronger +regard, if it be possible, to the world at large."</p> + +<p>Lady Amaldina stared at him, not knowing in the least what he meant. +"You are so droll," she said. "You never, I think, think of the +position you were born to fill."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, I do. I'm a man, and I think a great deal about it."</p> + +<p>"But you've got to be Marquis of Kingsbury, and Llwddythlw has got to +be Duke of Merioneth. He never forgets it for a moment."</p> + +<p>"What a nuisance for him,—and for you."</p> + +<p>"Why should it be a nuisance for me? Cannot a woman understand her +duties as well as a man?"</p> + +<p>"Quite so, if she knows how to get a glimpse at them."</p> + +<p>"I do," said Lady Amaldina, earnestly. "I am always getting glimpses +at them. I am quite aware of the functions which it will become me to +perform when I am Llwddythlw's wife."</p> + +<p>"Mother of his children?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't mean that at all, Hampstead. That's all in the hands of the +Almighty. But in becoming the future Duchess of +<span class="nowrap">Merioneth—"</span></p> + +<p>"That's in the hands of the Almighty, too, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"No; yes. Of course everything is in God's hands."</p> + +<p>"The children, the dukedom, and all the estates."</p> + +<p>"I never knew any one so provoking," she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"One is at any rate as much as another."</p> + +<p>"You don't a bit understand me," she said. "Of course if I go and get +married, I do get married."</p> + +<p>"And if you have children, you do have children. If you do,—and I +hope you will,—I'm sure they'll be very pretty and well behaved. +That will be your duty, and then you'll have to see that Llwddythlw +has what he likes for dinner."</p> + +<p>"I shall do nothing of the kind."</p> + +<p>"Then he'll dine at the Club, or at the House of Commons. That's my +idea of married life."</p> + +<p>"Nothing beyond that? No community of soul?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not."</p> + +<p>"No!"</p> + +<p>"Because you believe in the Trinity, Llwddythlw won't go to heaven. +If he were to take to gambling and drinking you wouldn't go to the +other place."</p> + +<p>"How can you be so horrid."</p> + +<p>"That would be a community of souls,—as souls are understood. A +community of interests I hope you will have, and, in order that you +may, take care and look after his dinner." She could not make much +more of her cousin in the way of confidence, but she did exact a +promise from him, that he would be in attendance at her wedding.</p> + +<p>A few days afterwards he returned to Hendon Park, leaving his sister +to remain for a fortnight longer at Castle Hautboy.</p> + + +<p><a name="c1-15" id="c1-15"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XV.</h3> +<h4>MARION FAY AND HER FATHER.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>"I saw him go in a full quarter of an hour since, and Marion Fay went +in before. I feel quite sure that she knew that he was expected." +Thus spoke Clara Demijohn to her mother.</p> + +<p>"How could she have known it," asked Mrs. Duffer, who was present in +Mrs. Demijohn's parlour, where the two younger women were standing +with their faces close to the window, with their gloves on and best +bonnets, ready for church.</p> + +<p>"I am sure she did, because she had made herself smarter than ever +with her new brown silk, and her new brown gloves, and her new brown +hat,—sly little Quaker that she is. I can see when a girl has made +herself up for some special occasion. She wouldn't have put on new +gloves surely to go to church with Mrs. Roden."</p> + +<p>"If you stay staring there any longer you'll both be late," said Mrs. +Demijohn.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Roden hasn't gone yet," said Clara, lingering. It was Sunday +morning, and the ladies at No. 10 were preparing for their devotions. +Mrs. Demijohn herself never went to church, having some years since +had a temporary attack of sciatica, which had provided her with a +perpetual excuse for not leaving the house on a Sunday morning. She +was always left at home with a volume of Blair's Sermons; but Clara, +who was a clever girl, was well aware that more than half a page was +never read. She was aware also that great progress was then made with +the novel which happened to have last come into the house from the +little circulating library round the corner. The ringing of the +neighbouring church bell had come to its final tinkling, and Mrs. +Duffer knew that she must start, or disgrace herself in the eyes of +the pew-opener. "Come, my dear," she said; and away they went. As the +door of No. 10 opened so did that of No. 11 opposite, and the four +ladies, including Marion Fay, met in the road. "You have a visitor +this morning," said Clara.</p> + +<p>"Yes;—a friend of my son's."</p> + +<p>"We know all about it," said Clara. "Don't you think he's a very +fine-looking young man, Miss Fay?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do," said Marion. "He is certainly a handsome young man."</p> + +<p>"Beauty is but skin deep," said Mrs. Duffer.</p> + +<p>"But still it goes a long way," said Clara, "particularly with high +birth and noble rank."</p> + +<p>"He is an excellent young man, as far as I know him," said Mrs. +Roden, thinking that she was called upon to defend her son's friend.</p> + +<p>Hampstead had returned home on the Saturday, and had taken the +earliest opportunity on the following Sunday morning to go over to +his friend at Holloway. The distance was about six miles, and he had +driven over, sending the vehicle back with the intention of walking +home. He would get his friend to walk with him, and then should take +place that conversation which he feared would become excessively +unpleasant before it was finished. He was shown up to the +drawing-room of No. 11, and there he found all alone a young woman +whom he had never seen before. This was Marion Fay, the daughter of +Zachary Fay, a Quaker, who lived at No. 17, Paradise Row. "I had +thought Mrs. Roden was here," he said.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Roden will be down directly. She is putting her bonnet on to go +to church."</p> + +<p>"And Mr. Roden?" he asked. "He I suppose is not going to church with +her?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, no; I wish he were. George Roden never goes to church."</p> + +<p>"Is he a friend of yours?"</p> + +<p>"For his mother's sake I was speaking;—but why not for his also? He +is not specially my friend, but I wish well to all men. He is not at +home at present, but I understood that he will be here shortly."</p> + +<p>"Do you always go to church?" he asked, grounding his question not on +any impertinent curiosity as to her observance of her religious +duties, but because he had thought from her dress she must certainly +be a Quaker.</p> + +<p>"I do usually go to your church on a Sunday."</p> + +<p>"Nay," said he, "I have no right to claim it as my church. I fear you +must regard me also as a heathen,—as you do George Roden."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry for that, sir. It cannot be good that any man should be a +heathen when so much Christian teaching is abroad. But men I think +allow themselves a freedom of thought from which women in their +timidity are apt to shrink. If so it is surely good that we should be +cowards?" Then the door opened, and Mrs. Roden came into the room.</p> + +<p>"George is gone," she said, "to call on a sick friend, but he will be +back immediately. He got your letter yesterday evening, and he left +word that I was to tell you that he would be back by eleven. Have you +introduced yourself to my friend Miss Fay?"</p> + +<p>"I had not heard her name," he said smiling, "but we had introduced +ourselves."</p> + +<p>"Marion Fay is my name," said the girl, "and yours, I suppose +is—Lord Hampstead."</p> + +<p>"So now we may be supposed to know each other for ever after," he +replied, laughing; "—only I fear, Mrs. Roden, that your friend will +repudiate the acquaintance because I do not go to church."</p> + +<p>"I said not so, Lord Hampstead. The nearer we were to being +friends,—if that were possible,—the more I should regret it." Then +the two ladies started on their morning duty.</p> + +<p>Lord Hampstead when he was alone immediately decided that he would +like to have Marion Fay for a friend, and not the less so because she +went to church. He felt that she had been right in saying that +audacity in speculation on religious subjects was not becoming a +young woman. As it was unfitting that his sister Lady Frances should +marry a Post Office clerk, so would it have been unbecoming that +Marion Fay should have been what she herself called a heathen. Surely +of all the women on whom his eyes had ever rested she was,—he would +not say to himself the most lovely,—but certainly the best worth +looking at. The close brown bonnet and the little cap, and the +well-made brown silk dress, and the brown gloves on her little hands, +together made, to his eyes, as pleasing a female attire as a girl +could well wear. Could it have been by accident that the graces of +her form were so excellently shown? It had to be supposed that she, +as a Quaker, was indifferent to outside feminine garniture. It is the +theory of a Quaker that she should be so, and in every article she +had adhered closely to Quaker rule. As far as he could see there was +not a ribbon about her. There was no variety of colour. Her +head-dress was as simple and close as any that could have been worn +by her grandmother. Hardly a margin of smooth hair appeared between +her cap and her forehead. Her dress fitted close to her neck, and on +her shoulders she wore a tight-fitting shawl. The purpose in her +raiment had been Quaker all through. The exquisite grace must have +come altogether by accident,—just because it had pleased nature to +make her gracious! As to all this there might perhaps be room for +doubt. Whether there had been design or not might possibly afford +scope for consideration. But that the grace was there was a matter +which required no consideration, and admitted of no doubt.</p> + +<p>As Marion Fay will have much to do with our story, it will be well +that some further description should be given here of herself and of +her condition in life. Zachary Fay, her father, with whom she lived, +was a widower with no other living child. There had been many others, +who had all died, as had also their mother. She had been a prey to +consumption, but had lived long enough to know that she had +bequeathed the fatal legacy to her offspring,—to all of them except +to Marion, who, when her mother died, had seemed to be exempted from +the terrible curse of the family. She had then been old enough to +receive her mother's last instructions as to her father, who was then +a broken-hearted man struggling with difficulty against the cruelty +of Providence. Why should it have been that God should thus afflict +him,—him who had no other pleasure in the world, no delights, but +those which were afforded to him by the love of his wife and +children? It was to be her duty to comfort him, to make up as best +she might by her tenderness for all that he had lost and was losing. +It was to be especially her duty to soften his heart in all worldly +matters, and to turn him as far as possible to the love of heavenly +things. It was now two years since her mother's death, and in all +things she had endeavoured to perform the duties which her mother had +exacted from her.</p> + +<p>But Zachary Fay was not a man whom it was easy to turn hither and +thither. He was a stern, hard, just man, of whom it may probably be +said that if a world were altogether composed of such, the condition +of such a world would be much better than that of the world we +know;—for generosity is less efficacious towards permanent good than +justice, and tender speaking less enduring in its beneficial results +than truth. His enemies, for he had enemies, said of him that he +loved money. It was no doubt true; for he that does not love money +must be an idiot. He was certainly a man who liked to have what was +his own, who would have been irate with any one who had endeavoured +to rob him of his own, or had hindered him in his just endeavour to +increase his own. That which belonged to another he did not +covet,—unless it might be in the way of earning it. Things had +prospered with him, and he was—for his condition in life—a rich +man. But his worldly prosperity had not for a moment succeeded in +lessening the asperity of the blow which had fallen upon him. With +all his sternness he was essentially a loving man. To earn money he +would say—or perhaps more probably would only think—was the +necessity imposed upon man by the Fall of Adam; but to have something +warm at his heart, something that should be infinitely dearer to him +than himself and all his possessions,—that was what had been left of +Divine Essence in a man even after the Fall of Adam. Now the one +living thing left for him to love was his daughter Marion.</p> + +<p>He was not a man whose wealth was of high order, or his employment of +great moment, or he would not probably have been living at Holloway +in Paradise Row. He was and had now been for many years senior clerk +to Messrs. Pogson and Littlebird, Commission Agents, at the top of +King's Court, Old Broad Street. By Messrs. Pogson and Littlebird he +was trusted with everything, and had become so amalgamated with the +firm as to have achieved in the City almost the credit of a merchant +himself. There were some who thought that Zachary Fay must surely be +a partner in the house, or he would not have been so well known or so +much respected among merchants themselves. But in truth he was no +more than senior clerk, with a salary amounting to four hundred a +year. Nor, though he was anxious about his money, would he have +dreamed of asking for any increase of his stipend. It was for Messrs. +Pogson and Littlebird to say what his services were worth. He would +not on any account have lessened his authority with them by becoming +a suppliant for increased payment. But for many years he had spent +much less than his income, and had known how to use his City +experiences in turning his savings to the best account. Thus, as +regarded Paradise Row and its neighbourhood, Zachary Fay was a rich +man.</p> + +<p>He was now old, turned seventy, tall and thin, with long grey hair, +with a slight stoop in his shoulders,—but otherwise hale as well as +healthy. He went every day to his office, leaving his house with +strict punctuality at half-past eight, and entering the door of the +counting-house just as the clock struck nine. With equal accuracy he +returned home at six, having dined in the middle of the day at an +eating-house in the City. All this time was devoted to the interests +of the firm, except for three hours on Thursday, during which he +attended a meeting in a Quaker house of worship. On these occasions +Marion always joined him, making a journey into the City for the +purpose. She would fain have induced him also to accompany her on +Sundays to the English Church. But to this he never would consent at +her instance,—as he had refused to do so at the instance of his +wife. He was he said a Quaker, and did not mean to be aught else than +a Quaker. In truth, though he was very punctual at those Quaker +meetings, he was not at heart a religious man. To go through certain +formularies, Quaker though he was, was as sufficient to him as to +many other votaries of Church ordinances. He had been brought up to +attend Quaker meetings, and no doubt would continue to attend them as +long as his strength might suffice; but it may be presumed of him +without harsh judgment that the price of stocks was often present to +his mind during those tedious hours in the meeting-house. In his +language he always complied with the strict tenets of his sect, +"thou-ing" and "thee-ing" all those whom he addressed; but he had +assented to an omission in this matter on the part of his daughter, +recognizing the fact that there could be no falsehood in using a mode +of language common to all the world. "If a plural pronoun of ignoble +sound," so he said, "were used commonly for the singular because the +singular was too grand and authoritative for ordinary use, it was no +doubt a pity that the language should be so injured; but there could +be no untruth in such usage; and it was better that at any rate the +young should adhere to the manner of speech which was common among +those with whom they lived." Thus Marion was saved from the "thees" +and the "thous," and escaped that touch of hypocrisy which seems to +permeate the now antiquated speeches of Quakers. Zachary Fay in these +latter years of his life was never known to laugh or to joke; but, if +circumstances were favourable, he would sometimes fall into a quaint +mode of conversation in which there was something of drollery and +something also of sarcasm; but this was unfrequent, as Zachary was +slow in making new friends, and never conversed after this fashion +with the mere acquaintance of the hour.</p> + +<p>Of Marion Fay's appearance something has already been said; enough, +perhaps,—not to impress any clear idea of her figure on the mind's +eye of a reader, for that I regard as a feat beyond the power of any +writer,—but to enable the reader to form a conception of his own. +She was small of stature, it should be said, with limbs exquisitely +made. It was not the brilliance of her eyes or the chiselled +correctness of her features which had struck Hampstead so forcibly as +a certain expression of earnest eloquence which pervaded her whole +form. And there was a fleeting brightness of colour which went about +her cheeks and forehead, and ran around her mouth, which gave to her +when she was speaking a brilliance which was hardly to be expected +from the ordinary lines of her countenance. Had you been asked, you +would have said that she was a brunette,—till she had been worked to +some excitement in talking. Then, I think, you would have hardly +ventured to describe her complexion by any single word. Lord +Hampstead, had he been asked what he thought about her, as he sat +waiting for his friend, would have declared that some divinity of +grace had been the peculiar gift which had attracted him. And yet +that rapid change of colour had not passed unobserved, as she told +him that she was sorry that he did not go to church.</p> + +<p>Marion Fay's life in Paradise Row would have been very lonely had she +not become acquainted with Mrs. Roden before her mother's death. Now +hardly a day passed but what she spent an hour with that lady. They +were, indeed, fast friends,—so much so that Mrs. Vincent had also +come to know Marion, and approving of the girl's religious tendencies +had invited her to spend two or three days at Wimbledon. This was +impossible, because Marion would never leave her father;—but she had +once or twice gone over with Mrs. Roden, when she made her weekly +call, and had certainly ingratiated herself with the austere lady. +Other society she had none, nor did she seem to desire it. Clara +Demijohn, seeing the intimacy which had been struck up between Marion +and Mrs. Roden,—as to which she had her own little jealousies to +endure,—was quite sure that Marion was setting her cap at the Post +Office clerk, and had declared in confidence to Mrs. Duffer that the +girl was doing it in the most brazen-faced manner. Clara had herself +on more than one occasion contrived to throw herself in the clerk's +way on his return homewards on dusky evenings,—perhaps intent only +on knowing what might be the young man's intentions as to Marion Fay. +The young man had been courteous to her, but she had declared to Mrs. +Duffer that he was one of those stiff young men who don't care for +ladies' society. "These are they," said Mrs. Duffer, "who marry the +readiest and make the best husbands." "Oh;—she'll go on sticking to +him till she don't leave a stone unturned," said Clara,—thereby +implying that, as far as she was concerned, she did not think it +worth her while to continue her attacks unless a young man would give +way to her at once. George had been asked more than once to drink tea +at No. 10, but had been asked in vain. Clara, therefore, had declared +quite loudly that Marion had made an absolute prisoner of him,—had +bound him hand and foot,—would not let him call his life his own. +"She interrupts him constantly as he comes from the office," she said +to Mrs. Duffer; "I call that downright unfeminine audacity." Yet she +knew that Mrs. Duffer knew that she had intercepted the young man. +Mrs. Duffer took it all in good part, knowing very well how necessary +it is that a young woman should fight her own battle strenuously.</p> + +<p>In the mean time Marion Fay and George Roden were good friends. "He +is engaged;—I must not say to whom," Mrs. Roden had said to her +young friend. "It will, I fear, be a long, long, tedious affair. You +must not speak of it."</p> + +<p>"If she be true to him, I hope he will be true to her," said Marion, +with true feminine excitement.</p> + +<p>"I only fear that he will be too true."</p> + +<p>"No, no;—that cannot be. Even though he suffer let him be true. You +may be sure I will not mention it,—to him, or to any one. I like him +so well that I do hope he may not suffer much." From that time she +found herself able to regard George Roden as a real friend, and to +talk to him as though there need be no cause for dreading an +intimacy. With an engaged man a girl may suffer herself to be +intimate.</p> + + +<p><a name="c1-16" id="c1-16"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XVI.</h3> +<h4>THE WALK BACK TO HENDON.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>"I was here a little early," said Hampstead when his friend came in, +"and I found your mother just going to church,—with a friend."</p> + +<p>"Marion Fay."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Miss Fay."</p> + +<p>"She is the daughter of a Quaker who lives a few doors off. But +though she is a Quaker she goes to church as well. I envy the tone of +mind of those who are able to find a comfort in pouring themselves +out in gratitude to the great Unknown God."</p> + +<p>"I pour myself out in gratitude," said Hampstead; "but with me it is +an affair of solitude."</p> + +<p>"I doubt whether you ever hold yourself for two hours in commune with +heavenly power and heavenly influence. Something more than gratitude +is necessary. You must conceive that there is a duty,—by the +non-performance of which you would encounter peril. Then comes the +feeling of safety which always follows the performance of a duty. +That I never can achieve. What did you think of Marion Fay?"</p> + +<p>"She is a most lovely creature."</p> + +<p>"Very pretty, is she not; particularly when speaking?</p> + +<p>"I never care for female beauty that does not display itself in +action,—either speaking, moving, laughing, or perhaps only +frowning," said Hampstead enthusiastically. "I was talking the other +day to a sort of cousin of mine who has a reputation of being a +remarkably handsome young woman. She had ever so much to say to me, +and when I was in company with her a page in buttons kept coming into +the room. He was a round-faced, high-cheeked, ugly boy; but I thought +him so much better-looking than my cousin, because he opened his +mouth when he spoke, and showed his eagerness by his eyes."</p> + +<p>"Your cousin is complimented."</p> + +<p>"She has made her market, so it does not signify. The Greeks seem to +me to have regarded form without expression. I doubt whether Phidias +would have done much with your Miss Fay. To my eyes she is the +perfection of loveliness."</p> + +<p>"She is not my Miss Fay. She is my mother's friend."</p> + +<p>"Your mother is lucky. A woman without vanity, without jealousy, +without <span class="nowrap">envy—"</span></p> + +<p>"Where will you find one?"</p> + +<p>"Your mother. Such a woman as that can, I think, enjoy feminine +loveliness almost as much as a man."</p> + +<p>"I have often heard my mother speak of Marion's good qualities, but +not much of her loveliness. To me her great charm is her voice. She +speaks musically."</p> + +<p>"As one can fancy Melpomene did. Does she come here often?"</p> + +<p>"Every day, I fancy;—but not generally when I am here. Not but what +she and I are great friends. She will sometimes go with me into town +on a Thursday morning, on her way to the meeting house."</p> + +<p>"Lucky fellow!" Roden shrugged his shoulders as though conscious that +any luck of that kind must come to him from another quarter, if it +came at all.</p> + +<p>"What does she talk about?"</p> + +<p>"Religion generally."</p> + +<p>"And you?"</p> + +<p>"Anything else, if she will allow me. She would wish to convert me. I +am not at all anxious to convert her, really believing that she is +very well as she is."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Hampstead; "that is the worst of what we are apt to call +advanced opinions. With all my self-assurance I never dare to tamper +with the religious opinions of those who are younger or weaker than +myself. I feel that they at any rate are safe if they are in earnest. +No one, I think, has ever been put in danger by believing Christ to +be a God."</p> + +<p>"They none of them know what they believe," said Roden; "nor do you +or I. Men talk of belief as though it were a settled thing. It is so +but with few; and that only with those who lack imagination. What +sort of a time did you have down at Castle Hautboy?"</p> + +<p>"Oh,—I don't know,—pretty well. Everybody was very kind, and my +sister likes it. The scenery is lovely. You can look up a long reach +of Ulleswater from the Castle terrace, and there is Helvellyn in the +distance. The house was full of people,—who despised me more than I +did them."</p> + +<p>"Which is saying a great deal, perhaps."</p> + +<p>"There were some uncommon apes. One young lady, not very young, asked +me what I meant to do with all the land in the world when I took it +away from everybody. I told her that when it was all divided equally +there would be a nice little estate even for all the daughters, and +that in such circumstances all the sons would certainly get married. +She acknowledged that such a result would be excellent, but she did +not believe in it. A world in which the men should want to marry was +beyond her comprehension. I went out hunting one day."</p> + +<p>"The hunting I should suppose was not very good."</p> + +<p>"But for one drawback it would have been very good indeed."</p> + +<p>"The mountains, I should have thought, would be one drawback, and the +lakes another."</p> + +<p>"Not at all. I liked the mountains because of their echoes, and the +lakes did not come in our way."</p> + +<p>"Where was the fault?"</p> + +<p>"There came a man."</p> + +<p>"Whom you disliked?"</p> + +<p>"Who was a bore."</p> + +<p>"Could you not shut him up?"</p> + +<p>"No; nor shake him off. I did at last do that, but it was by turning +round and riding backwards when we were coming home. I had just +invited him to ride on while I stood still,—but he wouldn't."</p> + +<p>"Did it come to that?"</p> + +<p>"Quite to that. I actually turned tail and ran away from him;—not as +we ordinarily do in society when we sneak off under some pretence, +leaving the pretender to think that he has made himself very +pleasant; but with a full declaration of my opinion and intention."</p> + +<p>"Who was he?"</p> + +<p>That was the question. Hampstead had come there on purpose to say who +the man was,—and to talk about the man with great freedom. And he +was determined to do so. But he preferred not to begin that which he +intended to be a severe accusation against his friend till they were +walking together, and he did not wish to leave the house without +saying a word further about Marion Fay. It was his intention to dine +all alone at Hendon Hall. How much nicer it would be if he could dine +in Paradise Row with Marion Fay! He knew it was Mrs. Roden's custom +to dine early, after church, on Sundays, so that the two maidens who +made up her establishment might go out,—either to church or to their +lovers, or perhaps to both, as might best suit them. He had dined +there once or twice already, eating the humble, but social, leg of +mutton of Holloway, in preference to the varied, but solitary, +banquet of Hendon. He was of opinion that really intimate +acquaintance demanded the practice of social feeling. To know a man +very well, and never to sit at table with him, was, according to his +views of life, altogether unsatisfactory. Though the leg of mutton +might be cold, and have no other accompaniment but the common +ill-boiled potato, yet it would be better than any banquet prepared +simply for the purpose of eating. He was gregarious, and now felt a +longing, of which he was almost ashamed, to be admitted to the same +pastures with Marion Fay. There was not, however, the slightest +reason for supposing that Marion Fay would dine at No. 11, even were +he asked to do so himself. Nothing, in fact, could be less probable, +as Marion Fay never deserted her father. Nor did he like to give any +hint to his friend that he was desirous of further immediate intimacy +with Marion. There would be an absurdity in doing so which he did not +dare to perpetrate. Only if he could have passed the morning in +Paradise Row, and then have walked home with Roden in the dark +evening, he could, he thought, have said what he had to say very +conveniently.</p> + +<p>But it was impossible. He sat silent for some minute or two after +Roden had asked the name of the bore of the hunting field, and then +answered him by proposing that they should start together on their +walk towards Hendon. "I am all ready; but you must tell me the name +of this dreadful man."</p> + +<p>"As soon as we have started I will. I have come here on purpose to +tell you."</p> + +<p>"To tell me the name of the man you ran away from in Cumberland?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly that;—come along." And so they started, more than an hour +before the time at which Marion Fay would return from church. "The +man who annoyed me so out hunting was an intimate friend of yours."</p> + +<p>"I have not an intimate friend in the world except yourself."</p> + +<p>"Not Marion Fay?"</p> + +<p>"I meant among men. I do not suppose that Marion Fay was out hunting +in Cumberland."</p> + +<p>"I should not have ran away from her, I think, if she had. It was Mr. +Crocker, of the General Post Office."</p> + +<p>"Crocker in Cumberland?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly he was in Cumberland,—unless some one personated him. I +met him dining at Castle Hautboy, when he was kind enough to make +himself known to me, and again out hunting,—when he did more than +make himself known to me."</p> + +<p>"I am surprised."</p> + +<p>"Is he not away on leave?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes;—he is away on leave. I do not doubt that it was he."</p> + +<p>"Why should he not be in Cumberland,—when, as it happens, his father +is land-steward or something of that sort to my uncle Persiflage?"</p> + +<p>"Because I did not know that he had any connection with Cumberland. +Why not Cumberland, or Westmoreland, or Northumberland, you may say? +Why not?—or Yorkshire, or Lincolnshire, or Norfolk? I certainly did +not suppose that a Post Office clerk out on his holidays would be +found hunting in any county."</p> + +<p>"You have never heard of his flea-bitten horse?"</p> + +<p>"Not a word. I didn't know that he had ever sat upon a horse. And now +will you let me know why you have called him my friend?"</p> + +<p>"Is he not so?"</p> + +<p>"By no means."</p> + +<p>"Does he not sit at the same desk with you?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly he does."</p> + +<p>"I think I should be friends with a man if I sat at the same desk +with him."</p> + +<p>"With Crocker even?" asked Roden.</p> + +<p>"Well; he might be an exception."</p> + +<p>"But if an exception to you, why not also an exception to me? As it +happens, Crocker has made himself disagreeable to me. Instead of +being my friend, he is,—I will not say my enemy, because I should be +making too much of him; but nearer to being so than any one I know. +Now, what is the meaning of all this? Why did he trouble you +especially down in Cumberland? Why do you call him my friend? And why +do you wish to speak to me about him?"</p> + +<p>"He introduced himself to me, and told me that he was your special +friend."</p> + +<p>"Then he lied."</p> + +<p>"I should not have cared about that;—but he did more."</p> + +<p>"What more did he do?"</p> + +<p>"I would have been courteous to him,—if only because he sat at the +same desk with you;—<span class="nowrap">but—"</span></p> + +<p>"But what?"</p> + +<p>"There are things which are difficult to be told."</p> + +<p>"If they have to be told, they had better be told," said Roden, +almost angrily.</p> + +<p>"Whether friend or not, he knew of—your engagement with my sister."</p> + +<p>"Impossible!"</p> + +<p>"He told me of it," said Lord Hampstead impetuously, his tongue now +at length loosed. "Told me of it! He spoke of it again and again to +my extreme disgust. Though the thing had been fixed as Fate, he +should not have mentioned it."</p> + +<p>"Certainly not."</p> + +<p>"But he did nothing but tell me of your happiness, and good luck, and +the rest of it. It was impossible to stop him, so that I had to ride +away from him. I bade him be silent,—as plainly as I could without +mentioning Fanny's name. But it was of no use."</p> + +<p>"How did he know it?"</p> + +<p>"You told him!"</p> + +<p>"I!"</p> + +<p>"So he said." This was not strictly the case. Crocker had so +introduced the subject as to have avoided the palpable lie of +declaring that the tidings had been absolutely given by Roden to +himself. But he had not the less falsely intended to convey that +impression to Hampstead, and had conveyed it. "He gave me to +understand that you were speaking about it continually at your +office." Roden turned round and looked at the other man, white with +rage—as though he could not allow himself to utter a word. "It was +as I tell you. He began it at the Castle, and afterwards continued it +whenever he could get near me when hunting."</p> + +<p>"And you believed him?"</p> + +<p>"When he repeated his story so often what was I to do?"</p> + +<p>"Knock him off his horse."</p> + +<p>"And so be forced to speak of my sister to every one in the hunt and +in the county? You do not feel how much is due to a girl's name."</p> + +<p>"I think I do. I think that of all men I am the most likely to feel +what is due to the name of Lady Frances Trafford. Of course I never +mentioned it to any one at the Post Office."</p> + +<p>"From whom had he heard it?"</p> + +<p>"How can I answer that? Probably through some of your own family. It +has made its way through Lady Kingsbury to Castle Hautboy, and has +then been talked about. I am not responsible for that."</p> + +<p>"Not for that certainly,—if it be so."</p> + +<p>"Nor because such a one as he has lied. You should not have believed +it of me."</p> + +<p>"I was bound to ask you."</p> + +<p>"You were bound to tell me, but should not have asked me. There are +things which do not require asking. What must I do with him?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing. Nothing can be done. You could not touch the subject +without alluding to my sister. She is coming back to Hendon in +another week."</p> + +<p>"She was there before, but I did not see her."</p> + +<p>"Of course you did not see her. How should you?"</p> + +<p>"Simply by going there."</p> + +<p>"She would not have seen you." There came a black frown over Roden's +brow as he heard this. "It has been understood between my father and +Fanny and myself that you should not come to Hendon while she is +living with me."</p> + +<p>"Should not I have been a party to that agreement?"</p> + +<p>"Hardly, I think. This agreement must have been made whether you +assented or not. On no other terms would my father have permitted her +to come. It was most desirable that she should be separated from Lady +Kingsbury."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes."</p> + +<p>"And therefore the agreement was advisable. I would not have had her +on any other terms."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Because I think that such visitings would have been unwise. It is no +use my blinking it to you. I do not believe that the marriage is +practicable."</p> + +<p>"I do."</p> + +<p>"As I don't, of course I cannot be a party to throwing you together. +Were you to persist in coming you would only force me to find a home +for her elsewhere."</p> + +<p>"I have not disturbed you."</p> + +<p>"You have not. Now I want you to promise me that you will not. I have +assured my father that it shall be so. Will you say that you will +neither come to her at Hendon Hall, or write to her, while she is +staying with me?" He paused on the road for an answer, but Roden +walked on without making one, and Hampstead was forced to accompany +him. "Will you promise me?"</p> + +<p>"I will not promise. I will do nothing which may possibly subject me +to be called a liar. I have no wish to knock at any door at which I +do not think myself to be welcome."</p> + +<p>"You know how welcome you would be at mine, but for her."</p> + +<p>"It might be that I should find myself forced to endeavour to see +her, and I will therefore make no promise. A man should fetter +himself by no assurances of that kind as to his conduct. If a man be +a drunkard, it may be well that he should bind himself by a vow +against drinking. But he who can rule his own conduct should promise +nothing. Good-day now. I must be back to dinner with my mother."</p> + +<p>Then he took his leave somewhat abruptly, and returned. Hampstead +went on to Hendon with his thoughts sometimes fixed on his sister, +sometimes on Roden, whom he regarded as impracticable, sometimes on +that horrid Crocker;—but more generally on Marion Fay, whom he +resolved that he must see again, whatever might be the difficulties +in his way.</p> + + +<p><a name="c1-17" id="c1-17"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XVII.</h3> +<h4>LORD HAMPSTEAD'S SCHEME.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>During the following week Hampstead went down to Gorse Hall, and +hunted two or three days with various packs of hounds within his +reach, declaring to himself that, after all, Leicestershire was +better than Cumberland, because he was known there, and no one would +dare to treat him as Crocker had done. Never before had his +democratic spirit received such a shock,—or rather the remnant of +that aristocratic spirit which he had striven to quell by the wisdom +and humanity of democracy! That a stranger should have dared to talk +to him about one of the ladies of his family! No man certainly would +do so in Northamptonshire or Leicestershire. He could not quite +explain to himself the difference in the localities, but he was quite +sure that he was safe from anything of that kind at Gorse Hall.</p> + +<p>But he had other matters to think of as he galloped about the +country. How might he best manage to see Marion Fay? His mind was set +upon that;—or, perhaps, more dangerously still, his heart. Had he +been asked before he would have said that there could have been +nothing more easy than for such a one as he to make acquaintance with +a young lady in Paradise Row. But now, when he came to look at it, he +found that Marion Fay was environed with fortifications and a +<i>chevaux-de-frise</i> of difficulties which were apparently impregnable. +He could not call at No. 17, and simply ask for Miss Fay. To do so he +must be a proficient in that impudence, the lack of which created so +many difficulties for him. He thought of finding out the Quaker +chapel in the City, and there sitting out the whole +proceeding,—unless desired to leave the place,—with the Quixotic +idea of returning to Holloway with her in an omnibus. As he looked at +this project all round, he became sure that the joint journey in an +omnibus would never be achieved. Then he imagined that Mrs. Roden +might perhaps give him aid. But with what a face could such a one as +he ask such a one as Mrs. Roden to assist him in such an enterprise? +And yet, if anything were to be done, it must be done through Mrs. +Roden,—or, at any rate, through Mrs. Roden's house. As to this too +there was a new difficulty. He had not actually quarrelled with +George Roden, but the two had parted on the road as though there were +some hitch in the cordiality of their friendship. He had been rebuked +for having believed what Crocker had told him. He did acknowledge to +himself that he should not have believed it. Though Crocker's lies +had been monstrous, he should rather have supposed him to be guilty +even of lies so monstrous, than have suspected his friend of conduct +that would certainly have been base. Even this added something to the +difficulties by which Marion Fay was surrounded.</p> + +<p>Vivian was staying with him at Gorse Hall. "I shall go up to London +to-morrow," he said, as the two of them were riding home after +hunting on the Saturday,—the Saturday after the Sunday on which +Hampstead had been in Paradise Row.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow is Sunday,—no day for travelling," said Vivian. "The +Fitzwilliams are at Lilford Cross Roads on Monday,—draw back towards +the kennels;—afternoon train up from Peterborough at 5.30;—branch +from Oundle to meet it, 4.50—have your traps sent there. It's all +arranged by Providence. On Monday evening I go to Gatcombe,—so that +it will all fit."</p> + +<p>"You need not be disturbed. A solitary Sunday will enable you to +write all your official correspondence for the fortnight."</p> + +<p>"That I should have done, even in your presence."</p> + +<p>"I must be at home on Monday morning. Give my love to them all at +Lilford Cross Roads. I shall be down again before long if my sister +can spare me;—or perhaps I may induce her to come and rough it here +for a week or two." He was as good as his word, and travelled up to +London, and thence across to Hendon Hall, on the Sunday.</p> + +<p>It might have been said that no young man could have had stronger +inducements for clinging to his sport, or fewer reasons for +abandoning it. His stables were full of horses; the weather was good; +the hunting had been excellent; his friends were all around him; and +he had nothing else to do. His sister intended to remain for yet +another week at Castle Hautboy, and Hendon Hall of itself had +certainly no special attractions at the end of November. But Marion +Fay was on his mind, and he had arranged his scheme. His scheme, as +far as he knew, would be as practicable on a Tuesday as on a Monday; +but he was impatient, and for the nonce preferred Marion Fay, whom he +probably would not find, to the foxes which would certainly be found +in the neighbourhood of Lilford Cross Roads.</p> + +<p>It was not much of a scheme after all. He would go over to Paradise +Row, and call on Mrs. Roden. He would then explain to her what had +taken place between him and George, and leave some sort of apology +for the offended Post Office clerk. Then he would ask them both to +come over and dine with him on some day before his sister's return. +In what way Marion Fay's name might be introduced, or how she might +be brought into the arrangement, he must leave to the chapter of +accidents. On the Monday he left home at about two o'clock, and +making a roundabout journey <i>viâ</i> Baker Street, King's +Cross, and Islington, went down to Holloway by an omnibus. He had +become somewhat abashed and perplexed as to his visits to Paradise Row, +having learned to entertain a notion that some of the people there +looked at him. It was hard, he thought, that if he had a friend in +that or any other street he should not be allowed to visit his friend +without creating attention. He was not aware of the special existence +of Mrs. Demijohn, or of Clara, or of Mrs. Duffer, nor did he know +from what window exactly the eyes of curious inhabitants were fixed +upon him. But he was conscious that an interest was taken in his +comings and goings. As long as his acquaintance in the street was +confined to the inhabitants of No. 11, this did not very much +signify. Though the neighbours should become aware that he was +intimate with Mrs. Roden or her son, he need not care much about +that. But if he should succeed in adding Marion Fay to the number of +his Holloway friends, then he thought inquisitive eyes might be an +annoyance. It was on this account that he made his way down in an +omnibus, and felt that there was something almost of hypocrisy in the +soft, unpretending, and almost skulking manner in which he crept up +Paradise Row, as though his walking there was really of no moment to +any one. As he looked round after knocking at Mrs. Roden's door, he +saw the figure of Clara Demijohn standing a little back from the +parlour window of the house opposite.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Roden is at home," said the maid, "but there are friends with +her." Nevertheless she showed the young lord up to the drawing-room. +There were friends indeed. It was Mrs. Vincent's day for coming, and +she was in the room. That alone would not have been much, but with +the two elder ladies was seated Marion Fay. So far at any rate +Fortune had favoured him. But now there was a difficulty in +explaining his purpose. He could not very well give his general +invitation,—general at any rate as regarded Marion Fay,—before Mrs. +Vincent.</p> + +<p>Of course there was an introduction. Mrs. Vincent, who had often +heard Lord Hampstead's name, in spite of her general severity, was +open to the allurements of nobility. She was glad to meet the young +man, although she had strong reasons for believing that he was not a +tower of strength on matters of Faith. Hampstead and Marion Fay shook +hands as though they were old friends, and then the conversation +naturally fell upon George Roden.</p> + +<p>"You didn't expect my son, I hope," said the mother.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear no! I had a message to leave for him, which will do just as +well in a note."</p> + +<p>This was to some extent unfortunate, because it made both Mrs. +Vincent and Marion feel that they were in the way.</p> + +<p>"I think I'll send Betsy down for the brougham," said the former. The +brougham which brought Mrs. Vincent was always in the habit of +retiring round the corner to the "Duchess of Edinburgh," where the +driver had succeeded in creating for himself quite an intimacy.</p> + +<p>"Pray do not stir, madam," said Hampstead, for he had perceived from +certain preparations made by Miss Fay that she would find it +necessary to follow Mrs. Vincent out of the room. "I will write two +words for Roden, and that will tell him all I have to say."</p> + +<p>Then the elder ladies went back to the matter they were discussing +before Lord Hampstead had appeared. "I was asking this young lady," +said Mrs. Vincent, "to come with me for two or three days down to +Brighton. It is absolutely the fact that she has never seen +Brighton."</p> + +<p>As Mrs. Vincent went to Brighton twice annually, for a month at the +beginning of the winter and then again for a fortnight in the spring, +it seemed to her a wonderful thing that any one living, even at +Holloway, should never have seen the place.</p> + +<p>"I think it would be a very good thing," said Mrs. Roden,—"if your +father can spare you."</p> + +<p>"I never leave my father," said Marion.</p> + +<p>"Don't you think, my lord," said Mrs. Vincent, "that she looks as +though she wanted a change?"</p> + +<p>Authorized by this, Lord Hampstead took the opportunity of gazing at +Marion, and was convinced that the young lady wanted no change at +all. There was certainly no room for improvement; but it occurred to +him on the spur of the moment that he, too, might spend two or three +days at Brighton, and that he might find his opportunities there +easier than in Paradise Row. "Yes, indeed," he said, "a change is +always good. I never like to stay long in one place myself."</p> + +<p>"Some people must stay in one place," said Marion with a smile. +"Father has to go to his business, and would be very uncomfortable if +there were no one to give him his meals and sit at table with him."</p> + +<p>"He could spare you for a day or two," said Mrs. Roden, who knew that +it would be well for Marion that she should sometimes be out of +London.</p> + +<p>"I am sure that he would not begrudge you a short recreation like +that," said Mrs. Vincent.</p> + +<p>"He never begrudges me anything. We did go down to Cowes for a +fortnight in April, though I am quite sure that papa himself would +have preferred remaining at home all the time. He does not believe in +the new-fangled idea of changing the air."</p> + +<p>"Doesn't he?" said Mrs. Vincent. "I do, I know. Where I live, at +Wimbledon, may be said to be more country than town; but if I were to +remain all the year without moving, I should become so low and out of +sorts, that I veritably believe they would have to bury me before the +first year was over."</p> + +<p>"Father says that when he was young it was only people of rank and +fashion who went out of town regularly; and that folk lived as long +then as they do now."</p> + +<p>"I think people get used to living and dying according to +circumstances," said Hampstead. "Our ancestors did a great many +things which we regard as quite fatal. They drank their water without +filtering it, and ate salt meat all the winter through. They did very +little in the washing way, and knew nothing of ventilation. Yet they +contrived to live." Marion Fay, however, was obstinate, and declared +her purpose of declining Mrs. Vincent's kind invitation. There was a +good deal more said about it, because Hampstead managed to make +various propositions. "He was very fond of the sea himself," he said, +"and would take them all round, including Mrs. Vincent and Mrs. +Roden, in his yacht, if not to Brighton, at any rate to Cowes." +December was not exactly the time for yachting, and as Brighton could +be reached in an hour by railway, he was driven to abandon that +proposition, with a little laughter at his own absurdity.</p> + +<p>But it was all done with a gaiety and a kindness which quite won Mrs. +Vincent's heart. She stayed considerably beyond her accustomed hour, +to the advantage of the proprietor of the "Duchess of Edinburgh," and +at last sent Betsy down to the corner in high good humour. "I +declare, Lord Hampstead," she said, "I ought to charge you +three-and-sixpence before I go. I shall have to break into another +hour, because I have stayed talking to you. Pritchard never lets me +off if I am not back punctually by four." Then she took her +departure.</p> + +<p>"You needn't go, Marion," said Mrs. Roden,—"unless Lord Hampstead +has something special to say to me." Lord Hampstead declared that he +had nothing special to say, and Marion did not go.</p> + +<p>"But I have something special to say," said Hampstead, when the elder +lady was quite gone, "but Miss Fay may know it just as well as +yourself. As we were walking to Hendon on Sunday a matter came up as +to which George and I did not agree."</p> + +<p>"There was no quarrel, I hope?" said the mother.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear, no;—but we weren't best pleased with each other. +Therefore I want you both to come and dine with me one day this week. +I shall be engaged on Saturday, but any day before that will do." +Mrs. Roden put on a very serious look on receiving the proposition, +having never before been invited to the house of her son's friend. +Nor, for some years past, had she dined out with any acquaintance. +And yet she could not think at the moment of any reason why she +should not do so. "I was going to ask Miss Fay to come with you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, quite impossible," said Marion. "It is very kind, my lord; but I +never go out, do I, Mrs. Roden?"</p> + +<p>"That seems to me a reason why you should begin. Of course, I +understand about your father. But I should be delighted to make his +acquaintance, if you would bring him."</p> + +<p>"He rarely goes out, Lord Hampstead."</p> + +<p>"Then he will have less power to plead that he is engaged. What do +you say, Mrs. Roden? It would give me the most unaffected pleasure. +Like your father, Miss Fay, I, too, am unaccustomed to much going +out, as you call it. I am as peculiar as he is. Let us acknowledge +that we are all peculiar people, and that therefore there is the more +reason why we should come together. Mrs. Roden, do not try to prevent +an arrangement which will give me the greatest pleasure, and to which +there cannot be any real objection. Why should not Mr. Fay make +acquaintance with your son's friend? Which day would suit you best, +Wednesday, Thursday, or Friday?"</p> + +<p>At last it was settled that at any rate George Roden should dine at +Hendon Hall on the Friday,—he being absent during the +discussion,—and that time must be taken as to any further acceptance +of the invitation. Mrs. Roden was inclined to think that it had best +be regarded as impossible. She thought that she had made up her mind +never to dine out again. Then there came across her mind a +remembrance that her son was engaged to marry this young man's +sister, and that it might be for his welfare that she should give way +to these overtures of friendship. When her thoughts had travelled so +far as this, she might have felt sure that the invitation would at +last be accepted.</p> + +<p>As to Marion Fay, the subject was allowed to drop without any further +decision. She had said that it was impossible, and she said nothing +more. That was the last dictum heard from her; but it was not +repeated as would probably have been the case had she been quite sure +that it was impossible. Mrs. Roden during the interview did not +allude to that branch of the subject again. She was fluttered with +what had already been said, a little angry with herself that she had +so far yielded, a little perplexed at her own too evident confusion, +a little frightened at Lord Hampstead's evident admiration of the +girl. As to Marion, it must, of course, be left to her father,—as +would the question as to the Quaker himself.</p> + +<p>"I had better be going," said Marion Fay, who was also confused.</p> + +<p>"So must I," said Hampstead. "I have to return round by London, and +have ever so many things to do in Park Lane. The worst of having two +or three houses is that one never knows where one's clothes are. +Good-bye, Mrs. Roden. Mind, I depend upon you, and that I have set my +heart upon it. You will let me walk with you as far as your door, +Miss Fay?"</p> + +<p>"It is only three doors off," said Marion, "and in the other +direction." Nevertheless he did go with her to the house, though it +was only three doors off. "Tell your father, with my compliments," he +said, "that George Roden can show you the way over. If you can get a +cab to bring you across I will send you back in the waggonette. For +the matter of that, there is no reason on earth why it should not be +sent for you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, my lord. That is, I do not think it possible that we should +come."</p> + +<p>"Pray do, pray do, pray do," he said, as he took her hand when the +door at No. 17 was opened. As he walked down the street he saw the +figure still standing at the parlour window of No. 10.</p> + +<p>On the same evening Clara Demijohn was closeted with Mrs. Duffer at +her lodgings at No. 15. "Standing in the street, squeezing her hand!" +said Mrs. Duffer, as though the very hairs of her head were made to +stand on end by the tidings,—the moral hairs, that is, of her moral +head. Her head, in the flesh, was ornamented by a front which must +have prevented the actual standing on end of any hair that was left +to her.</p> + +<p>"I saw it! They came out together from No. 11 as loving as could be, +and he walked up with her to their own house. Then he seized her hand +and held it,—oh, for minutes!—in the street. There is nothing those +Quaker girls won't allow themselves. They are so free with their +Christian names, that, of course, they get into intimacies instantly. +I never allow a young man to call me Clara without leave asked and +given."</p> + +<p>"I should think not."</p> + +<p>"One can't be too particular about one's Christian name. They've been +in there together, at No. 11, for two hours. What can that mean? Old +Mrs. Vincent was there, but she went away."</p> + +<p>"I suppose she didn't like such doings."</p> + +<p>"What can a lord be doing in such a place as that," asked Clara, +<span class="nowrap">"—coming</span> so often, you know? +And one that has to be a Markiss, which +is much more than a lord. One thing is quite certain. It can't mean +that he is going to marry Marion Fay?" With this assurance Clara +Demijohn comforted herself as best she might.</p> + + +<p><a name="c1-18" id="c1-18"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XVIII.</h3> +<h4>HOW THEY LIVED AT TRAFFORD PARK.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>There certainly was no justification for the ill-humour which Lady +Kingsbury displayed to her husband because Hampstead and his sister +had been invited down to Castle Hautboy. The Hautboy people were her +own relations,—not her husband's. If Lady Persiflage had taken upon +herself to think better of all the evil things done by the children +of the first Marchioness, that was not the fault of the Marquis! But +to her thinking this visit had been made in direct opposition to her +wishes and her interests. Had it been possible she would have sent +the naughty young lord and the naughty young lady altogether to +Coventry,—as far as all aristocratic associations were concerned. +This encouragement of them at Castle Hautboy was in direct +contravention of her ideas. But poor Lord Kingsbury had had nothing +to do with it. "They are not fit to go to such a house as Castle +Hautboy," she said. The Marquis, who was sitting alone in his own +morning room at Trafford, frowned angrily. But her ladyship, too, was +very angry. "They have disgraced themselves, and Geraldine should not +have received them."</p> + +<p>There were two causes for displeasure in this. In the first place the +Marquis could not endure that such hard things should be said of his +elder children. Then, by the very nature of the accusation made, +there was a certain special honour paid to the Hauteville family +which he did not think at all to be their due. On many occasions his +wife had spoken as though her sister had married into a House of +peculiar nobility,—because, forsooth, Lord Persiflage was in the +Cabinet, and was supposed to have made a figure in politics. The +Marquis was not at all disposed to regard the Earl as in any way +bigger than was he himself. He could have paid all the Earl's +debts,—which the Earl certainly could not do himself,—and never +have felt it. The social gatherings at Castle Hautboy were much more +numerous than any at Trafford, but the guests at Castle Hautboy were +often people whom the Marquis would never have entertained. His wife +pined for the social influence which her sister was supposed to +possess, but he felt no sympathy with his wife in that respect.</p> + +<p>"I deny it," said the father, rising from his chair, and scowling at +his wife as he stood leaning upon the table. "They have not disgraced +themselves."</p> + +<p>"I say they have." Her ladyship made her assertion boldly, having +come into the room prepared for battle, and determined if possible to +be victor. "Has not Fanny disgraced herself in having engaged herself +to a low fellow, the scum of the earth, without saying anything even +to you about it?"</p> + +<p>"No!" shouted the Marquis, who was resolved to contradict his wife in +anything she might say.</p> + +<p>"Then I know nothing of what becomes a young woman," continued the +Marchioness. "And does not Hampstead associate with all manner of low +people?"</p> + +<p>"No, never."</p> + +<p>"Is not this George Roden a low person? Does he ever live with young +men or with ladies of his own rank?"</p> + +<p>"And yet you're angry with him because he goes to Castle Hautboy! +Though, no doubt, he may meet people there quite unfit for society."</p> + +<p>"That is not true," said the Marchioness. "My brother-in-law +entertains the best company in Europe."</p> + +<p>"He did do so when he had my son and my daughter under his roof."</p> + +<p>"Hampstead does not belong to a single club in London," said the +step-mother.</p> + +<p>"So much the better," said the father, "as far as I know anything +about the clubs. Hautboy lost fourteen hundred pounds the other day +at the Pandemonium; and where did the money come from to save him +from being expelled?"</p> + +<p>"That's a very old story," said the Marchioness, who knew that her +husband and Hampstead between them had supplied the money to save the +young lad from disgrace.</p> + +<p>"And yet you throw it in my teeth that Hampstead doesn't belong to +any club! There isn't a club in London he couldn't get into +to-morrow, if he were to put his name down."</p> + +<p>"I wish he'd try at the Carlton," said her ladyship, whose father and +brother, and all her cousins, belonged to that aristocratic and +exclusive political association.</p> + +<p>"I should disown him," said the still Liberal Marquis;—"that is to +say, of course he'll do nothing of the kind. But to declare that a +young man has disgraced himself because he doesn't care for club +life, is absurd;—and coming from you as his stepmother is wicked." +As he said this he bobbed his head at her, looking into her face as +though he should say to her, "Now you have my true opinion about +yourself." At this moment there came a gentle knock at the door, and +Mr. Greenwood put in his head. "I am busy," said the Marquis very +angrily. Then the unhappy chaplain retired abashed to his own rooms, +which were also on the ground floor, beyond that in which his patron +was now sitting.</p> + +<p>"My lord," said his wife, towering in her passion, "if you call me +wicked in regard to your children, I will not continue to live under +the same roof with you."</p> + +<p>"Then you may go away."</p> + +<p>"I have endeavoured to do my duty by your children, and a very hard +time I've had of it. If you think that your daughter is now +conducting herself with propriety, I can only wash my hands of her."</p> + +<p>"Wash your hands," he said.</p> + +<p>"Very well. Of course I must suffer deeply, because the shadow of the +disgrace must fall more or less upon my own darlings."</p> + +<p>"Bother the darlings," said the Marquis.</p> + +<p>"They're your own children, my lord; your own children."</p> + +<p>"Of course they are. Why shouldn't they be my own children? They are +doing very well, and will get quite as good treatment as younger +brothers ought to have."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe you care for them the least in the world," said the +Marchioness.</p> + +<p>"That is not true. You know I care for them."</p> + +<p>"You said 'bother the darlings' when I spoke of them." Here the poor +mother sobbed, almost overcome by the contumely of the expression +used towards her own offspring.</p> + +<p>"You drive a man to say anything. Now look here. I will not have +Hampstead and Fanny abused in my presence. If there be anything wrong +I must suffer more than you, because they are my children. You have +made it impossible for her to live +<span class="nowrap">here—"</span></p> + +<p>"I haven't made it impossible for her to live here. I have only done +my duty by her. Ask Mr. Greenwood."</p> + +<p>"D—— Mr. Greenwood!" said the Marquis. He certainly did say the +word at full length, as far as it can be said to have length, and +with all the emphasis of which it was capable. He certainly did say +it, though when the circumstance was afterwards not unfrequently +thrown in his teeth, he would forget it and deny it. Her ladyship +heard the word very plainly, and at once stalked out of the room, +thereby showing that her feminine feelings had received a wrench +which made it impossible for her any longer to endure the presence of +such a foul-mouthed monster. Up to that moment she had been anything +but the victor; but the vulgarity of the curse had restored to her +much of her prestige, so that she was able to leave the battlefield +as one retiring with all his forces in proper order. He had +"bothered" his own children, and "damned" his own chaplain!</p> + +<p>The Marquis sat awhile thinking alone, and then pulled a string by +which communication was made between his room and that in which the +clergyman sat. It was not a vulgar bell, which would have been +injurious to the reverence and dignity of a clerical friend, as +savouring of a menial's task work, nor was it a pipe for oral +communication, which is undignified, as requiring a man to stoop and +put his mouth to it,—but an arrangement by which a light tap was +made against the wall so that the inhabitant of the room might know +that he was wanted without any process derogatory to his +self-respect. The chaplain obeyed the summons, and, lightly knocking +at the door, again stood before the lord. He found the Marquis +standing upon the hearth-rug, by which, as he well knew, it was +signified that he was not intended to sit down. "Mr. Greenwood," said +the Marquis, in a tone of voice which was intended to be peculiarly +mild, but which at the same time was felt to be menacing, "I do not +mean at the present moment to have any conversation with you on the +subject to which it is necessary that I should allude, and as I shall +not ask for your presence for above a minute or two, I will not +detain you by getting you to sit down. If I can induce you to listen +to me without replying to me it will, I think, be better for both of +us."</p> + +<p>"Certainly, my lord."</p> + +<p>"I will not have you speak to me respecting Lady Frances."</p> + +<p>"When have I done so?" asked the chaplain plaintively.</p> + +<p>"Nor will I have you speak to Lady Kingsbury about her +step-daughter." Then he was silent, and seemed to imply, by what he +had said before, that the clergyman should now leave the room. The +first order given had been very simple. It was one which the Marquis +certainly had a right to exact, and with which Mr. Greenwood felt +that he would be bound to comply. But the other was altogether of a +different nature. He was in the habit of constant conversation with +Lady Kingsbury as to Lady Frances. Twice, three times, four times a +day her ladyship, who in her present condition had no other +confidant, would open out her sorrow to him on this terrible subject. +Was he to tell her that he had been forbidden by his employer to +continue this practice, or was he to continue it in opposition to the +Marquis's wishes? He would have been willing enough to do as he was +bidden, but that he saw that he would be driven to quarrel with the +lord or the lady. The lord, no doubt, could turn him out of the +house, but the lady could make the house too hot to hold him. The +lord was a just man, though unreasonable, and would probably not turn +him out without compensation; but the lady was a violent woman, who +if she were angered would remember nothing of justice. Thinking of +all this he stood distracted and vacillating before his patron. "I +expect you," said the Marquis, "to comply with my wishes,—or to +leave me."</p> + +<p>"To leave Trafford?" asked the poor man.</p> + +<p>"Yes; to leave Trafford; to do that or to comply with my wishes on a +matter as to which my wishes are certainly entitled to consideration. +Which is it to be, Mr. Greenwood?"</p> + +<p>"Of course, I will do as you bid me." Then the Marquis bowed +graciously as he still stood with his back to the fire, and Mr. +Greenwood left the room.</p> + +<p>Mr. Greenwood knew well that this was only the beginning of his +troubles. When he made the promise he was quite sure that he would be +unable to keep it. The only prospect open to him was that of breaking +the promise and keeping the Marquis in ignorance of his doing so. It +would be out of his power not to follow any lead in conversation +which the Marchioness might give him. But it might be possible to +make the Marchioness understand that her husband must be kept in the +dark as to any confidence between them. For, in truth, many secrets +were now discussed between them, as to which it was impossible that +her ladyship should be got to hold her tongue. It had come to be +received as a family doctrine between them that Lord Hampstead's +removal to a better world was a thing devoutly to be wished. It is +astonishing how quickly, though how gradually, ideas of such a nature +will be developed when entertainment has once been given to them. The +Devil makes himself at home with great rapidity when the hall door +has been opened to him. A month or two back, before her ladyship went +to Königsgraaf, she certainly would not have ventured to express a +direct wish for the young man's death, however frequently her +thoughts might have travelled in that direction. And certainly in +those days, though they were yet not many weeks since, Mr. Greenwood +would have been much shocked had any such suggestion been made to him +as that which was now quite commonly entertained between them. The +pity of it, the pity of it, the pity of it! It was thus the +heart-broken mother put the matter, reconciling to herself her own +wishes by that which she thought to be a duty to her own children. It +was not that she and Mr. Greenwood had between them any scheme by +which Lord Hampstead might cease to be in the way. Murder certainly +had not come into their thoughts. But the pity of it; the pity of it! +As Lord Hampstead was in all respects unfit for that high position +which, if he lived, he would be called upon to fill, so was her boy, +her Lord Frederic, made to adorn it by all good gifts. He was +noble-looking, gracious, and aristocratic from the crown of his +little head to the soles of his little feet. No more glorious heir to +a title made happy the heart of any British mother,—if only he were +the heir. And why should it be denied to her, a noble scion of the +great House of Montressor, to be the mother of none but younger sons? +The more her mind dwelt upon it, the more completely did the iniquity +of her wishes fade out of sight, and her ambition appear to be no +more than the natural anxiety of a mother for her child. Mr. +Greenwood had no such excuses to offer to himself; but with him, too, +the Devil having once made his entrance soon found himself +comfortably at home. Of meditating Lord Hampstead's murder he +declared to himself that he had no idea. His conscience was quite +clear to him in that respect. What was it to him who might inherit +the title and the property of the Traffords? He was simply discussing +with a silly woman a circumstance which no words of theirs could do +aught either to cause or to prevent. It soon seemed to him to be +natural that she should wish it, and natural also that he should seem +to sympathize with her who was his best friend. The Marquis, he was +sure, was gradually dropping him. Where was he to look for +maintenance, but to his own remaining friend? The Marquis would +probably give him something were he dismissed;—but that something +would go but a short way towards supporting him comfortably for the +rest of his life. There was a certain living in the gift of the +Marquis, the Rectory of Appleslocombe in Somersetshire, which would +exactly suit Mr. Greenwood's needs. The incumbent was a very old man, +now known to be bed-ridden. It was £800 a year. There would be ample +for himself and for a curate. Mr. Greenwood had spoken to the Marquis +on the subject;—but had been told, with some expression of civil +regret, that he was considered to be too old for new duties. The +Marchioness had talked to him frequently of Appleslocombe;—but what +was the use of that? If the Marquis himself were to die, and then the +Rector, there would be a chance for him,—on condition that Lord +Hampstead were also out of the way. But Mr. Greenwood, as he thought +of it, shook his head at the barren prospect. His sympathies no doubt +were on the side of the lady. The Marquis was treating him ill. Lord +Hampstead was a disgrace to his order. Lady Frances was worse even +than her brother. It would be a good thing that Lord Frederic should +be the heir. But all this had nothing to do with murder,—or even +with meditation of murder. If the Lord should choose to take the +young man it would be well; that was all.</p> + +<p>On the same afternoon, an hour or two after he had made his promise +to the Marquis, Lady Kingsbury sent for him. She always did send for +him to drink tea with her at five o'clock. It was so regular that the +servant would simply announce that tea was ready in her ladyship's +room up-stairs. "Have you seen his lordship to-day?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes;—I have seen him."</p> + +<p>"Since he told you in that rude way to leave the room?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, he called me after that."</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"He bade me not talk about Lady Frances."</p> + +<p>"I dare say not. He does not wish to hear her name spoken. I can +understand that."</p> + +<p>"He does not wish me to mention her to you."</p> + +<p>"Not to me? Is my mouth to be stopped? I shall say respecting her +whatever I think fit. I dare say, indeed!"</p> + +<p>"It was to my talking that he referred."</p> + +<p>"He cannot stop people's mouths. It is all nonsense. He should have +kept her at Königsgraaf, and locked her up till she had changed her +mind."</p> + +<p>"He wanted me to promise that I would not speak of her to your +ladyship."</p> + +<p>"And what did you say?" He shrugged his shoulders, and drank his tea. +She shook her head and bit her lips. She would not hold her tongue, +be he ever so angry. "I almost wish that she would marry the man, so +that the matter might be settled. I don't suppose he would ever +mention her name then himself. Has she gone back to Hendon yet?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, my lady."</p> + +<p>"This is his punishment for having run counter to his uncle's wishes +and his uncle's principles. You cannot touch pitch and not be +defiled." The pitch, as Mr. Greenwood very well understood, was the +first Marchioness. "Did he say anything about Hampstead?"</p> + +<p>"Not a word."</p> + +<p>"I suppose we are not to talk about him either! Unfortunate young +man! I wonder whether he feels himself how thoroughly he is +destroying the family."</p> + +<p>"I should think he must."</p> + +<p>"Those sort of men are so selfish that they never think of any one +else. It does not occur to him what Frederic might be if he were not +in the way. Nothing annoys me so much as when he pretends to be fond +of the children."</p> + +<p>"I suppose he won't come any more now."</p> + +<p>"Nothing will keep him away,—unless he were to die." Mr. Greenwood +shook his head sadly. "They say he rides hard."</p> + +<p>"I don't know." There was something in the suggestion which at the +moment made the clergyman almost monosyllabic.</p> + +<p>"Or his yacht might go down with him."</p> + +<p>"He never yachts at this time of the year," said the clergyman, +feeling comfort in the security thus assured.</p> + +<p>"I suppose not. Bad weeds never get cut off. But yet it is +astonishing how many elder sons have been—taken away, during the +last quarter of a century."</p> + +<p>"A great many."</p> + +<p>"There never could have been one who could be better spared," said +the stepmother.</p> + +<p>"Yes;—he might be spared."</p> + +<p>"If you only think of the advantage to the family! It will be ruined +if he comes to the title. And my Fred would be such an honour to the +name! There is nothing to be done, of course." That was the first +word that had ever been spoken in that direction, and that word was +allowed to pass without any reply having been made to it, though it +had been uttered almost in a question.</p> + + +<p><a name="c1-19" id="c1-19"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XIX.</h3> +<h4>LADY AMALDINA'S LOVER.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Trafford Park was in Shropshire. Llwddythlw, the Welsh seat of the +Duke of Merioneth, was in the next county;—one of the seats that is, +for the Duke had mansions in many counties. Here at this period of +the year it suited Lord Llwddythlw to live,—not for any special +gratification of his own, but because North Wales was supposed to +require his presence. He looked to the Quarter Sessions, to the +Roads, to the Lunatic Asylum, and to the Conservative Interests +generally of that part of Great Britain. That he should spend +Christmas at Llwddythlw was a thing of course. In January he went +into Durham; February to Somersetshire. In this way he parcelled +himself out about the kingdom, remaining in London of course from the +first to the last of the Parliamentary Session. It was, we may say +emphatically, a most useful life, but in which there was no +recreation and very little excitement. It was not wonderful that he +should be unable to find time to get married. As he could not get as +far as Castle Hautboy,—partly, perhaps, because he did not +especially like the omnium-gatherum mode of living which prevailed +there,—it had been arranged that he should give up two days early in +December to meet the lady of his love under her aunt's roof at +Trafford Park. Lady Amaldina and he were both to arrive there on +Wednesday, December 3rd, and remain till the Tuesday morning. There +had not been any special term arranged as to the young lady's visit, +as her time was not of much consequence; but it had been explained +minutely that the lover must reach Denbigh by the 5.45 train, so as +to be able to visit certain institutions in the town before a public +dinner which was to be held in the Conservative interest at seven. +Lord Llwddythlw had comfort in thinking that he could utilize his two +days' idleness at Trafford in composing and studying the speech on +the present state of affairs, which, though to be uttered at Denbigh, +would, no doubt, appear in all the London newspapers on the following +morning.</p> + +<p>As it was to be altogether a lover's meeting, no company was to be +invited. Mr. Greenwood would, of course, be there. To make up +something of a dinner-party, the Mayor of Shrewsbury was asked for +the first evening, with his wife. The Mayor was a strong conservative +politician, and Lord Llwddythlw would therefore be glad to meet him. +For the next day's dinner the clergyman of the parish, with his wife +and daughter, were secured. The chief drawback to these festive +arrangements consisted in the fact that both Lady Amaldina and her +lover arrived on the day of the bitter quarrel between the Marquis +and his wife.</p> + +<p>Perhaps, however, the coming of guests is the best relief which can +be afforded for the misery of such domestic feuds. After such words +as had been spoken Lord and Lady Trafford could hardly have sat down +comfortably to dinner, with no one between them but Mr. Greenwood. In +such case there could not have been much conversation. But now the +Marquis could come bustling into the drawing-room to welcome his +wife's niece before dinner without any reference to the discomforts +of the morning. Almost at the same moment Lord Llwddythlw made his +appearance, having arrived at the latest possible moment, and having +dressed himself in ten minutes. As there was no one present but the +family, Lady Amaldina kissed her future husband,—as she might have +kissed her grandfather,—and his lordship received the salutation as +any stern, undemonstrative grandfather might have done. Then Mr. +Greenwood entered, with the Mayor and his wife, and the party was +complete. The Marquis took Lady Amaldina out to dinner and her lover +sat next to her. The Mayor and his wife were on the other side of the +table, and Mr. Greenwood was between them. The soup had not been +handed round before Lord Llwddythlw was deep in a question as to the +comparative merits of the Shropshire and Welsh Lunatic asylums. From +that moment till the time at which the gentlemen went to the ladies +in the drawing-room the conversation was altogether of a practical +nature. As soon as the ladies had left the table roads and asylums +gave way to general politics,—as to which the Marquis and Mr. +Greenwood allowed the Conservatives to have pretty much their own +way. In the drawing-room conversation became rather heavy, till, at a +few minutes after ten, the Mayor, observing that he had a drive +before him, retired for the night. The Marchioness with Lady Amaldina +followed quickly; and within five minutes the Welsh lord, having +muttered something as to the writing of letters, was within the +seclusion of his own bedroom. Not a word of love had been spoken, but +Lady Amaldina was satisfied. On her toilet-table she found a little +parcel addressed to her by his lordship containing a locket with her +monogram, "A. L.," in diamonds. The hour of midnight was long passed +before his lordship had reduced to words the first half of those +promises of constitutional safety which he intended to make to the +Conservatives of Denbigh. Not much was seen of Lord Llwddythlw after +breakfast on the following morning, so determined was he to do +justice to the noble cause which he had in hand. After lunch a little +expedition was arranged for the two lovers, and the busy politician +allowed himself to be sent out for a short drive with no other +companion than his future bride. Had he been quite intimate with her +he would have given her the manuscript of his speech, and occupied +himself by saying it to her as a lesson which he had learnt. As he +could not do this he recapitulated to her all his engagements, as +though excusing his own slowness as to matrimony, and declared that +what with the property and what with Parliament, he never knew +whether he was standing on his head or his heels. But when he paused +he had done nothing towards naming a certain day, so that Lady +Amaldina found herself obliged to take the matter into her own hands. +"When then do you think it will be?" she asked. He put his hand up +and rubbed his head under his hat as though the subject were very +distressing to him. "I would not for worlds, you know, think that I +was in your way," she said, with just a tone of reproach in her +voice.</p> + +<p>He was in truth sincerely attached to her;—much more so than it was +in the compass of her nature to be to him. If he could have had her +for his wife without any trouble of bridal preparations, or of +subsequent honeymooning, he would most willingly have begun from this +moment. It was incumbent on him to be married, and he had quite made +up his mind that this was the sort of wife that he required. But now +he was sadly put about by that tone of reproach. "I wish to +goodness," he said, "that I had been born a younger brother, or just +anybody else than I am."</p> + +<p>"Why on earth should you wish that?"</p> + +<p>"Because I am so bothered. Of course, you don't understand it."</p> + +<p>"I do understand," said Amaldina;—"but there must, you know, be some +end to all that. I suppose the Parliament and the Lunatic Asylums +will go on just the same always."</p> + +<p>"No doubt,—no doubt."</p> + +<p>"If so, there is no reason why any day should ever be fixed. People +are beginning to think that it must be off, because it has been +talked of so long."</p> + +<p>"I hope it will never be off."</p> + +<p>"I know the Prince said the other day that he had expected—. But it +does not signify what he expected." Lord Llwddythlw had also heard +the story of what the Prince had said that he expected, and he +scratched his head again with vexation. It had been reported that the +Prince had declared that he had hoped to be asked to be godfather +long ago. Lady Amaldina had probably heard some other version of the +story. "What I mean is that everybody was surprised that it should be +so long postponed, but that they now begin to think it is abandoned +altogether."</p> + +<p>"Shall we say June next?" said the ecstatic lover. Lady Amaldina +thought that June would do very well. "But there will be the Town's +Education Improvement Bill," said his lordship, again scratching his +head.</p> + +<p>"I thought all the towns had been educated long ago." He looked at +her with feelings of a double sorrow;—sorrow that she should have +known so little, sorrow that she should be treated so badly. "I think +we will put it off altogether," she said angrily.</p> + +<p>"No, no, no," he exclaimed. "Would August do? I certainly have +promised to be at Inverness to open the New Docks."</p> + +<p>"That's nonsense," she said. "What can the Docks want with you to +open them?"</p> + +<p>"My father, you know," he said, "has a very great interest in the +city. I think I'll get David to do it." Lord David was his brother, +also a Member of Parliament, and a busy man, as were all the Powell +family; but one who liked a little recreation among the moors when +the fatigue of the House of Commons were over.</p> + +<p>"Of course he could do it," said Lady Amaldina. "He got himself +married ten years ago."</p> + +<p>"I'll ask him, but he'll be very angry. He always says that he +oughtn't to be made to do an elder brother's work."</p> + +<p>"Then I may tell mamma?" His lordship again rubbed his head, but did +it this time in a manner that was conceived to signify assent. The +lady pressed his arm gently, and the visit to Trafford, as far as she +was concerned, was supposed to have been a success. She gave him +another little squeeze as they got out of the carriage, and he went +away sadly to learn the rest of his speech, thinking how sweet it +might be "To do as others use; Play with the tangles of Neæra's hair, +Or sport with Amaryllis in the shade."</p> + +<p>But there was a worse interruption for Lord Llwddythlw than this +which he had now undergone. At about five, when he was making the +peroration of his speech quite secure in his memory, a message came +to him from the Marchioness, saying that she would be much obliged to +him if he would give her five minutes in her own room. Perhaps he +would be kind enough to drink a cup of tea with her. This message was +brought by her ladyship's own maid, and could be regarded only as a +command. But Lord Llwddythlw wanted no tea, cared not at all for Lady +Kingsbury, and was very anxious as to his speech. He almost cursed +the fidgety fretfulness of women as he slipped the manuscript into +his letter-case, and followed the girl along the passages.</p> + +<p>"This is so kind of you," she said. He gave himself the usual rub of +vexation as he bowed his head, but said nothing. She saw the state of +his mind, but was determined to persevere. Though he was a man plain +to look at, he was known to be the very pillar and support of his +order. No man in England was so wedded to the Conservative cause,—to +that cause which depends for its success on the maintenance of those +social institutions by which Great Britain has become the first among +the nations. No one believed as did Lord Llwddythlw in keeping the +different classes in their own places,—each place requiring honour, +truth, and industry. The Marchioness understood something of his +character in that respect. Who therefore would be so ready to see the +bitterness of her own injuries, to sympathize with her as to the +unfitness of that son and daughter who had no blood relationship to +herself, to perceive how infinitely better it would be for the +"order" that her own little Lord Frederic should be allowed to +succeed and to assist in keeping the institutions of Great Britain in +their proper position? She had become absolutely dead to the fact +that by any allusion to the probability of such a succession she was +expressing a wish for the untimely death of one for whose welfare she +was bound to be solicitous. She had lost, by constant dwelling on the +subject, her power of seeing how the idea would strike the feelings +of another person. Here was a man peculiarly blessed in the world, a +man at the very top of his "order," one who would be closely +connected with herself, and on whom at some future time she might be +able to lean as on a strong staff. Therefore she determined to trust +her sorrows into his ears.</p> + +<p>"Won't you have a cup of tea?"</p> + +<p>"I never take any at this time of the day."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps a cup of coffee?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing before dinner, thank you."</p> + +<p>"You were not at Castle Hautboy when Hampstead and his sister were +there?"</p> + +<p>"I have not been at Castle Hautboy since the spring."</p> + +<p>"Did you not think it very odd that they should have been asked?"</p> + +<p>"No, indeed! Why odd?"</p> + +<p>"You know the story;—do you not? As one about to be so nearly +connected with the family, you ought to know it. Lady Frances has +made a most unfortunate engagement, to a young man altogether beneath +her,—to a Post Office clerk!"</p> + +<p>"I did hear something of that."</p> + +<p>"She behaved shockingly here, and was then taken away by her brother. +I have been forced to divorce myself from her altogether." Lord +Llwddythlw rubbed his head; but on this occasion Lady Kingsbury +misinterpreted the cause of his vexation. He was troubled at being +made to listen to this story. She conceived that he was disgusted by +the wickedness of Lady Frances. "After that I think my sister was +very wrong to have her at Castle Hautboy. No countenance ought to be +shown to a young woman who can behave so abominably." He could only +rub his head. "Do you not think that such marriages are most +injurious to the best interests of society?"</p> + +<p>"I certainly think that young ladies should marry in their own rank."</p> + +<p>"So much depends upon it,—does it not, Lord Llwddythlw? All the +future blood of our head families! My own opinion is that nothing +could be too severe for such conduct."</p> + +<p>"Will severity prevent it?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing else can. My own impression is that a father in such case +should be allowed to confine his daughter. But then the Marquis is so +weak."</p> + +<p>"The country would not stand it for a moment."</p> + +<p>"So much the worse for the country," said her ladyship, holding up +her hands. "But the brother is if possible worse than the sister."</p> + +<p>"Hampstead?"</p> + +<p>"He utterly hates all idea of an aristocracy."</p> + +<p>"That is absurd."</p> + +<p>"Most absurd," said the Marchioness, feeling herself to be +encouraged;—"most absurd, and abominable, and wicked. He is quite a +revolutionist."</p> + +<p>"Not that, I think," said his lordship, who knew pretty well the +nature of Hampstead's political feelings.</p> + +<p>"Indeed he is. Why, he encourages his sister! He would not mind her +marrying a shoeblack if only he could debase his own family. Think +what I must feel, I, with my darling boys!"</p> + +<p>"Is not he kind to them?"</p> + +<p>"I would prefer that he should never see them!"</p> + +<p>"I don't see that at all," said the angry lord.</p> + +<p>But she altogether misunderstood him. "When I think of what he is, +and to what he will reduce the whole family should he live, I cannot +bear to see him touch them. Think of the blood of the Traffords, of +the blood of the Mountressors, of the blood of the +Hautevilles;—think of your own blood, which is now to be connected +with theirs, and that all this is to be defiled because this man +chooses to bring about a disreputable, disgusting marriage with the +expressed purpose of degrading us all."</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, Lady Kingsbury; I shall be in no way degraded."</p> + +<p>"Think of us; think of my children."</p> + +<p>"Nor will they. It may be a misfortune, but will be no degradation. +Honour can only be impaired by that which is dishonourable. I wish +that Lady Frances had given her heart elsewhere, but I feel sure that +the name of her family is safe in her hands. As for Hampstead, he is +a young man for whose convictions I have no sympathy,—but I am sure +that he is a gentleman."</p> + +<p>"I would that he were dead," said Lady Kingsbury in her wrath.</p> + +<p>"Lady Kingsbury!"</p> + +<p>"I would that he were dead!"</p> + +<p>"I can only say," said Lord Llwddythlw, rising from his chair, "that +you have made your confidence most unfortunately. Lord Hampstead is a +young nobleman whom I should be proud to call my friend. A man's +politics are his own. His honour, his integrity, and even his conduct +belong in a measure to his family. I do not think that his father, or +his brothers, or, if I may say so, his stepmother, will ever have +occasion to blush for anything that he may do." With this he bowed to +the Marchioness, and stalked out of the room with a grand manner, +which those who saw him shuffling his feet in the House of Commons +would hardly have thought belonged to him.</p> + +<p>The dinner on that day was very quiet, and Lady Kingsbury retired to +bed earlier even than usual. The conversation at the dinner was dull, +and turned mostly on Church subjects. Mr. Greenwood endeavoured to be +sprightly, and the parson, and the parson's wife, and the parson's +daughter were uncomfortable. Lord Llwddythlw was almost dumb. Lady +Amaldina, having settled the one matter of interest to her, was +simply contented. On the next morning her lover took his departure by +an earlier train than he had intended. It was, he said, necessary +that he should look into some matters at Denbigh before he made his +speech. He contrived to get a compartment to himself, and there he +practised his lesson till he felt that further practice would only +confuse him.</p> + +<p>"You had Fanny at the Castle the other day," Lady Kingsbury said the +next morning to her niece.</p> + +<p>"Mamma thought it would be good-natured to ask them both."</p> + +<p>"They did not deserve it. Their conduct has been such that I am +forced to say that they deserve nothing from my family. Did she speak +about this marriage of hers?"</p> + +<p>"She did mention it."</p> + +<p>"Well!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, there was nothing. Of course there was much more to say about +mine. She was saying that she would be glad to be a bridesmaid."</p> + +<p>"Pray don't have her."</p> + +<p>"Why not, aunt?"</p> + +<p>"I could not possibly be there if you did. I have been compelled to +divorce her from my heart."</p> + +<p>"Poor Fanny!"</p> + +<p>"But she was not ashamed of what she is doing?"</p> + +<p>"I should say not. She is not one of those that are ever ashamed."</p> + +<p>"No, no. Nothing would make her ashamed. All ideas of propriety she +has banished from her,—as though they didn't exist. I expect to hear +that she disregards marriage altogether."</p> + +<p>"Aunt Clara!"</p> + +<p>"What can you expect from doctrines such as those which she and her +brother share? Thank God, you have never been in the way of hearing +of such things. It breaks my heart when I think of what my own +darlings will be sure to hear some of these days,—should their +half-brother and half-sister still be left alive. But, Amaldina, pray +do not have her for one of your bridesmaids." Lady Amaldina, +remembering that her cousin was very handsome, and also that there +might be a difficulty in making up the twenty titled virgins, gave +her aunt no promise.</p> + + +<p><a name="c1-20" id="c1-20"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XX.</h3> +<h4>THE SCHEME IS SUCCESSFUL.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>When the matter was mentioned to George Roden by his mother he could +see no reason why she should not dine at Hendon Hall. He himself was +glad to have an opportunity of getting over that roughness of feeling +which had certainly existed between him and his friend when they +parted with each other on the road. As to his mother, it would be +well that she should so far return to the usages of the world as to +dine at the house of her son's friend. "It is only going back to what +you used to be," he said.</p> + +<p>"You know nothing of what I used to be," she replied, almost angrily.</p> + +<p>"I ask no questions, and have endeavoured so to train myself that I +should care but little about it. But I knew it was so." Then after a +pause he went back to the current of his thoughts. "Had my father +been a prince I think that I should take no pride in it."</p> + +<p>"It is well to have been born a gentleman," she said.</p> + +<p>"It is well to be a gentleman, and if the good things which are +generally attendant on high birth will help a man in reaching noble +feelings and grand resolves, so it may be that to have been well born +will be an assistance. But if a man derogates from his birth,—as so +many do,—then it is a crime."</p> + +<p>"All that has to be taken for granted, George."</p> + +<p>"But it is not taken for granted. Though the man himself be knave, +and fool, and coward, he is supposed to be ennobled because the blood +of the Howards run in his veins. And worse again: though he has gifts +of nobility beyond compare he can hardly dare to stand upright before +lords and dukes because of his inferiority."</p> + +<p>"That is all going away."</p> + +<p>"Would that it could be made to go a little faster. It may be helped +in its going. It may be that in these days the progress shall be +accelerated. But you will let me write to Hampstead and say that you +will come." She assented, and so that part of the little dinner-party +was arranged.</p> + +<p>After that she herself contrived to see the Quaker one evening on his +return home. "Yes," said Mr. Fay; "I have heard thy proposition from +Marion. Why should the young lord desire such a one as I am to sit at +his table?"</p> + +<p>"He is George's intimate friend."</p> + +<p>"That thy son should choose his friend well, I surely believe, +because I see him to be a prudent and wise young man, who does not +devote himself over-much to riotous amusements." George did +occasionally go to a theatre, thereby offending the Quaker's +judgment, justifying the "overmuch," and losing his claim to a full +measure of praise. "Therefore I will not quarrel with him that he has +chosen his friend from among the great ones of the earth. But like to +like is a good motto. I fancy that the weary draught-horse, such as I +am, should not stable himself with hunters and racers."</p> + +<p>"This young man affects the society of such as yourself and George, +rather than that of others nobly born as himself."</p> + +<p>"I do not know that he shows his wisdom the more."</p> + +<p>"You should give him credit at any rate for good endeavours."</p> + +<p>"It is not for me to judge him one way or the other. Did he ask that +Marion should also go to his house?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly. Why should not the child see something of the world that +may amuse her?"</p> + +<p>"Little good can come to my Marion from such amusements, Mrs. Roden; +but something, perhaps, of harm. Wilt thou say that such recreation +must necessarily be of service to a girl born to perform the hard +duties of a strict life?"</p> + +<p>"I would trust Marion in anything," said Mrs. Roden, eagerly.</p> + +<p>"So would I; so would I. She hath ever been a good girl."</p> + +<p>"But do you not distrust her if you shut her up, and are afraid to +allow her even to sit at table in a strange house?"</p> + +<p>"I have never forbidden her to sit at thy table," said the Quaker.</p> + +<p>"And you should let her go specially as a kindness to me. For my +son's sake I have promised to be there, and it would be a comfort to +me to have another woman with me."</p> + +<p>"Then you will hardly need me," said Mr. Fay, not without a touch of +jealousy.</p> + +<p>"He specially pressed his request that you would come. It is among +such as you that he would wish to make himself known. Moreover, if +Marion is to be there, you, I am sure, will choose to accompany her. +Would you not wish to see how the child bears herself on such an +occasion?"</p> + +<p>"On all occasions, at all places, at all hours, I would wish to have +my child with me. There is nothing else left to me in all the world +on which my eye can rest with pleasure. But I doubt whether it may be +for her good." Then he took his departure, leaving the matter still +undecided, speaking of it with words which seemed to imply that he +must ultimately refuse, but impressing Mrs. Roden with a conviction +that he would at last accept the invitation.</p> + +<p>"Doest thou wish it thyself?" he said to his daughter before retiring +to rest that night.</p> + +<p>"If you will go, father, I should like it."</p> + +<p>"Why shouldst thou like it? What doest thou expect? Is it because the +young man is a lord, and that there will be something of the gilded +grandeur of the grand ones of the earth to be seen about his house +and his table?"</p> + +<p>"It is not for that, father."</p> + +<p>"Or is it because he is young and comely, and can say soft things as +such youths are wont to say, because he will smell sweetly of scents +and lavender, because his hand will be soft to the touch, with rings +on his fingers, and jewels perhaps on his bosom like a woman?"</p> + +<p>"No, father; it is not for that."</p> + +<p>"The delicacies which he will give thee to eat and to drink; the +sweetmeats and rich food cannot be much to one nurtured as thou hast +been."</p> + +<p>"Certainly not, father; they can be nothing to me.</p> + +<p>"Then why is it that thou wouldst go to his house?"</p> + +<p>"It is that I may hear you, father, speak among men."</p> + +<p>"Nay," said he, laughing, "thou mayst hear me better speak among men +at King's Court in the City. There I can hold my own well enough, but +with these young men over their wine, I shall have but little to say, +I fancy. If thou hast nothing to gain but to hear thy old father +talk, the time and money will be surely thrown away."</p> + +<p>"I would hear him talk, father."</p> + +<p>"The young lord?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; the young lord. He is bright and clever, and, coming from +another world than our world, can tell me things that I do not know."</p> + +<p>"Can he tell thee aught that is good?"</p> + +<p>"From what I hear of him from our friend he will tell me, I think, +naught that is bad. You will be there to hear, and to arrest his +words if they be evil. But I think him to be one from whose mouth no +guile or folly will be heard."</p> + +<p>"Who art thou, my child, that thou shouldst be able to judge whether +words of guile are likely to come from a young man's lips?" But this +he said smiling and pressing her hand while he seemed to rebuke her.</p> + +<p>"Nay, father; I do not judge. I only say that I think it might be so. +They are not surely all false and wicked. But if you wish it +otherwise I will not utter another syllable to urge the request."</p> + +<p>"We will go, Marion. Thy friend urged that it is not good that thou +shouldst always be shut up with me alone. And, though I may distrust +the young lord as not knowing him, my confidence in thee is such that +I think that nothing will ever shake it." And so it was settled that +they should all go. He would send to a livery stable and hire a +carriage for this unusual occasion. There should be no need for the +young lord to send them home. Though he did not know, as he said, +much of the ways of the outside world, it was hardly the custom for +the host to supply carriages as well as viands. When he dined, as he +did annually, with the elder Mr. Pogson, Mr. Pogson sent him home in +no carriage. He would sit at the lord's table, but he would go and +come as did other men.</p> + +<p>On the Friday named the two ladies and the two men arrived at Hendon +Hall in something more than good time. Hampstead hopped and skipped +about as though he were delighted as a boy might have been at their +coming. It may be possible that there was something of guile even in +this, and that he had calculated that he might thus best create +quickly that intimacy with the Quaker and his daughter which he felt +to be necessary for his full enjoyment of the evening. If the Quaker +himself expected much of that gilding of which he had spoken he was +certainly disappointed. The garniture of Hendon Hall had always been +simple, and now had assumed less even of aristocratic finery than it +used to show when prepared for the use of the Marchioness. "I'm glad +you've come in time," said he, "because you can get comfortably warm +before dinner." Then he fluttered about round Mrs. Roden, paying her +attention much rather than Marion Fay,—still with some guile, as +knowing that he might thus best prepare for the coming of future good +things. "I suppose you found it awfully cold," he said.</p> + +<p>"I do not know that we were awed, my lord," said the Quaker. "But the +winter has certainly set in with some severity."</p> + +<p>"Oh, father!" said Marion, rebuking him.</p> + +<p>"Everything is awful now," said Hampstead, laughing. "Of course the +word is absurd, but one gets in the way of using it because other +people do."</p> + +<p>"Nay, my lord, I crave pardon if I seemed to criticize thy language. +Being somewhat used to a sterner manner of speaking, I took the word +in its stricter sense."</p> + +<p>"It is but slang from a girl's school, after all," said Roden.</p> + +<p>"Now, Master George, I am not going to bear correction from you," +said Hampstead, "though I put up with it from your elders. Miss Fay, +when you were at school did they talk slang?"</p> + +<p>"Where I was at school, Lord Hampstead," Marion answered, "we were +kept in strict leading-strings. Fancy, father, what Miss Watson would +have said if we had used any word in a sense not used in a +dictionary."</p> + +<p>"Miss Watson was a sensible woman, my dear, and understood well, and +performed faithfully, the duties which she had undertaken. I do not +know that as much can be said of all those who keep fashionable +seminaries for young ladies at the West End."</p> + +<p>"Miss Watson had a red face, and a big cap, and spectacles;—had she +not?" said Hampstead, appealing to Marion Fay.</p> + +<p>"Miss Watson," said Mrs. Roden, "whom I remember to have seen once +when Marion was at school with her, was a very little woman, with +bright eyes, who wore her own hair, and always looked as though she +had come out of a bandbox."</p> + +<p>"She was absolutely true to her ideas of life, as a Quaker should +be," said Mr. Fay, "and I only hope that Marion will follow her +example. As to language, it is, I think, convenient that to a certain +extent our mode of speech should consort with our mode of living. You +would not expect to hear from a pulpit the phrases which belong to a +racecourse, nor would the expressions which are decorous, perhaps, in +aristocratic drawing-rooms befit the humble parlours of clerks and +artisans."</p> + +<p>"I never will say that anything is awful again," said Lord Hampstead, +as he gave his arm to Mrs. Roden, and took her in to dinner.</p> + +<p>"I hope he will not be angry with father," whispered Marion Fay to +George Roden, as they walked across the hall together.</p> + +<p>"Not in the least. Nothing of that kind could anger him. If your +father were to cringe or to flatter him then he would be disgusted."</p> + +<p>"Father would never do that," said Marion, with confidence.</p> + +<p>The dinner went off very pleasantly, Hampstead and Roden taking +between them the weight of the conversation. The Quaker was perhaps a +little frightened by the asperity of his own first remark, and ate +his good things almost in silence. Marion was quite contented to +listen, as she had told her father was her purpose; but it was +perhaps to the young lord's words that she gave attention rather than +to those of his friends. His voice was pleasant to her ears. There +was a certain graciousness in his words, as to which she did not +suppose that their softness was specially intended for her hearing. +Who does not know the way in which a man may set himself at work to +gain admission into a woman's heart without addressing hardly a word +to herself? And who has not noted the sympathy with which the woman +has unconsciously accepted the homage? That pressing of the hand, +that squeezing of the arm, that glancing of the eyes, which are +common among lovers, are generally the developed consequences of +former indications which have had their full effect, even though they +were hardly understood, and could not have been acknowledged, at the +time. But Marion did, perhaps, feel that there was something of +worship even in the way in which her host looked towards her with +rapid glances from minute to minute, as though to see that if not +with words, at any rate with thoughts, she was taking her share in +the conversation which was certainly intended for her delight. The +Quaker in the mean time ate his dinner very silently. He was +conscious of having shown himself somewhat of a prig about that slang +phrase, and was repenting himself. Mrs. Roden every now and then +would put in a word in answer rather to her son than to the host, but +she was aware of those electric sparks which, from Lord Hampstead's +end of the wire, were being directed every moment against Marion +Fay's heart.</p> + +<p>"Now just for the fashion of the thing you must sit here for a +quarter of an hour, while we are supposed to be drinking our wine." +This was said by Lord Hampstead when he took the two ladies into the +drawing-room after dinner.</p> + +<p>"Don't hurry yourselves," said Mrs. Roden. "Marion and I are old +friends, and will get on very well."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes," said Marion. "It will be pleasure enough to me just to sit +here and look around me." Then Hampstead knelt down between them, +pretending to doctor up the fire, which certainly required no +doctoring. They were standing, one on one side and the other on the +other, looking down upon him.</p> + +<p>"You are spoiling that fire, Lord Hampstead," said Mrs. Roden.</p> + +<p>"Coals were made to be poked. I feel sure of that. Do take the poker +and give them one blow. That will make you at home in the house for +ever, you know." Then he handed the implement to Marion. She could +hardly do other than take it in her hand. She took it, blushed up to +the roots of her hair, paused a moment, and then gave the one blow to +the coals that had been required of her. "Thanks," said he, nodding +at her as he still knelt at her feet and took the poker from her; +"thanks. Now you are free of Hendon Hall for ever. I wouldn't have +any one but a friend poke my fire." Upon that he got up and walked +slowly out of the room.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mrs. Roden," said Marion, "I wish I hadn't done it."</p> + +<p>"It doesn't matter. It was only a joke."</p> + +<p>"Of course it was a joke! but I wish I hadn't done it. It seemed at +the moment that I should look to be cross if I didn't do as he bade +me. But when he had said that about being at home—! Oh, Mrs. Roden, +I wish I had not done it."</p> + +<p>"He will know that it was nothing, my dear. He is good-humoured and +playful, and likes the feeling of making us feel that we are not +strangers." But Marion knew that Lord Hampstead would not take it as +meaning nothing. Though she could see no more than his back as he +walked out of the room, she knew that he was glowing with triumph.</p> + +<p>"Now, Mr. Fay, here is port if you like, but I recommend you to stick +to the claret."</p> + +<p>"I have pretty well done all the sticking, my lord, of which I am +competent," said the Quaker. "A little wine goes a long way with me, +as I am not much used to it."</p> + +<p>"Wine maketh glad the heart of man," said Roden.</p> + +<p>"True enough, Mr. Roden. But I doubt whether it be good that a man's +heart should be much gladdened. Gladness and sorrow counterbalance +each other too surely. An even serenity is best fitted to human life, +if it can be reached."</p> + +<p>"A level road without hills," said Hampstead. "They say that horses +are soonest tired by such travelling."</p> + +<p>"They would hardly tell you so themselves if they could give their +experience after a long day's journey." Then there was a pause, but +Mr. Fay continued to speak. "My lord, I fear I misbehaved myself in +reference to that word 'awful' which fell by chance from thy mouth."</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear no; nothing of the kind."</p> + +<p>"I was bethinking me that I was among the young men in our court in +Great Broad Street, who will indulge sometimes in a manner of +language not befitting their occupation at the time, or perhaps their +station in life. I am wont then to remind them that words during +business hours should be used in their strict sense. But, my lord, if +you will take a farm horse from his plough you cannot expect from him +that he should prance upon the green."</p> + +<p>"It is because I think that there should be more mixing between what +you call plough horses and animals used simply for play, that I have +been so proud to make you welcome here. I hope it may not be by many +the last time that you will act as a living dictionary for me. If you +won't have any more wine we will go to them in the drawing-room."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Roden very soon declared it necessary that they should start +back to Holloway. Hampstead himself did not attempt to delay them. +The words that had absolutely passed between him and Marion had +hardly been more than those which have been here set down, but yet he +felt that he had accomplished not only with satisfaction but with +some glory to himself the purpose for which he had specially invited +his guests. His scheme had been carried out with perfect success. +After the manner in which Marion had obeyed his behest about the +fire, he was sure that he was justified in regarding her as a friend.</p> + + +<p><a name="c1-21" id="c1-21"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXI.</h3> +<h4>WHAT THEY ALL THOUGHT AS THEY WENT HOME.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Lord Hampstead had come to the door to help them into the carriage. +"Lord Hampstead," said Mrs. Roden, "you will catch your death of +cold. It is freezing, and you have nothing on your head."</p> + +<p>"I am quite indifferent about those things," he said, as for a moment +he held Marion's hand while he helped her into the carriage.</p> + +<p>"Do go in," she whispered. Her lips as she spoke were close to his +ear,—but that simply came from the position in which chance had +placed her. Her hand was still in his,—but that, too, was the +accident of the situation. But there is, I think, an involuntary +tendency among women to make more than necessary use of assistance +when the person tendering it has made himself really welcome. Marion +had certainly no such intention. Had the idea come to her at the +moment she would have shrank from his touch. It was only when his +fingers were withdrawn, when the feeling of the warmth of this +proximity had passed away, that she became aware that he had been so +close to her, and that now they were separated.</p> + +<p>Then her father entered the carriage, and Roden.</p> + +<p>"Good-night, my lord," said the Quaker. "I have passed my evening +very pleasantly. I doubt whether I may not feel the less disposed for +my day's work to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Not at all, Mr. Fay; not at all. You will be like a giant refreshed. +There is nothing like a little friendly conversation for bracing up +the mind. I hope it will not be long before you come and try it +again." Then the carriage was driven off, and Lord Hampstead went in +to warm himself before the fire which Marion Fay had poked.</p> + +<p>He had not intended to fall in love with her. Was there ever a young +man who, when he first found a girl to be pleasant to him, has +intended to fall in love with her? Girls will intend to fall in love, +or, more frequently perhaps, to avoid it; but men in such matters +rarely have a purpose. Lord Hampstead had found her, as he thought, +to be an admirable specimen of excellence in that class of mankind +which his convictions and theories induced him to extol. He thought +that good could be done by mixing the racers and plough-horses,—and +as regarded the present experiment, Marion Fay was a plough-horse. No +doubt he would not have made this special attempt had she not pleased +his eye, and his ear, and his senses generally. He certainly was not +a philosopher to whom in his search after wisdom an old man such as +Zachary Fay could make himself as acceptable as his daughter. It may +be acknowledged of him that he was susceptible to female influences. +But it had not at first occurred to him that it would be a good thing +to fall in love with Marion Fay. Why should he not be on friendly +terms with an excellent and lovely girl without loving her? Such had +been his ideas after first meeting Marion at Mrs. Roden's house. Then +he had determined that friends could not become friends without +seeing each other, and he had concocted his scheme without being +aware of the feelings which she had excited. The scheme had been +carried out; he had had his dinner-party; Marion Fay had poked his +fire; there had been one little pressure of the hand as he helped her +into the carriage, one little whispered word, which had it not been +whispered would have been as nothing; one moment of consciousness +that his lips were close to her cheek; and then he returned to the +warmth of his fire, quite conscious that he was in love.</p> + +<p>What was to come of it? When he had argued both with his sister and +with Roden that their marriage would be unsuitable because of their +difference in social position, and had justified his opinion by +declaring it to be impossible that any two persons could, by their +own doing, break through the conventions of the world without +ultimate damage to themselves and to others, he had silently +acknowledged to himself that he also was bound by the law which he +was teaching. That such conventions should gradually cease to be, +would be good; but no man is strong enough to make a new law for his +own governing at the spur of the moment;—and certainly no woman. The +existing distances between man and man were radically bad. This was +the very gist of his doctrine; but the instant abolition of such +distances had been proved by many experiments to be a vain dream, and +the diminution of them must be gradual and slow. That such diminution +would go on till the distances should ultimately disappear in some +future millennium was to him a certainty. The distances were being +diminished by the increasing wisdom and philanthropy of mankind. To +him, born to high rank and great wealth, it had been given to do more +perhaps than another. In surrendering there is more efficacy, as +there is also more grace, than in seizing. What of his grandeur he +might surrender without injury to others to whom he was bound, he +would surrender. Of what exact nature or kind should be the woman +whom it might please him to select as his wife, he had formed no +accurate idea; but he would endeavour so to marry that he would make +no step down in the world that might be offensive to his family, but +would yet satisfy his own convictions by drawing himself somewhat +away from aristocratic blood. His father had done the same when +choosing his first wife, and the happiness of his choice would have +been perfect had not death interfered. Actuated by such reasoning as +this, he had endeavoured in a mild way to separate his sister from +her lover, thinking that they who were in love should be bound by the +arguments which seemed good to him who was not in love. But now he +also was in love, and the arguments as they applied to himself fell +into shreds and tatters as he sat gazing at his fire, holding the +poker in his hand.</p> + +<p>Had there ever been anything more graceful than the mock violence +with which she had pretended to strike heartily at the coals?—had +there ever anything been more lovely than that mingled glance of +doubt, of fear, and of friendliness with which she had looked into +his face as she did it? She had quite understood his feeling when he +made his little request. There had been heart enough in her, spirit +enough, intelligence enough, to tell her at once the purport of his +demand. Or rather she had not seen it all at once, but had only +understood when her hand had gone too far to be withdrawn that +something of love as well as friendship had been intended. Before +long she should know how much of love had been intended! Whether his +purpose was or was not compatible with the wisdom of his theory as to +a gradual diminution of distances, his heart had gone too far now for +any retracting. As he sat there he at once began to teach himself +that the arguments he had used were only good in reference to +high-born females, and that they need not necessarily affect himself. +Whomever he might marry he would raise to his own rank. For his rank +he did not care a straw himself. It was of the prejudices of others +he was thinking when he assured himself that Marion would make as +good a Countess and as good a Marchioness as any lady in the land. In +regard to his sister it was otherwise. She must follow the rank of +her husband. It might be that the sores which she would cause to many +by becoming the wife of a Post Office clerk ought to be avoided. But +there need be no sores in regard to his marriage with Marion Fay.</p> + +<p>His present reasoning was, no doubt, bad, but such as it was it was +allowed to prevail absolutely. It did not even occur to him that he +would make an attempt to enfranchise himself from Marion's charms. +Whatever might occur, whatever details there might be which would +require his attention in regard to his father or others of the +family, everything must give way to his present passion. She had +poked his fire, and she must be made to sit at his hearth for the +remainder of their joint existence. She must be made to sit there if +he could so plead his cause that his love should prevail with her. As +to the Quaker father, he thought altogether well of him too,—an +industrious, useful, intelligent man, of whose quaint manners and +manly bearing he would not be ashamed in any society. She, too, was a +Quaker, but that to him was little or nothing. He also had his +religious convictions, but they were not of a nature to be affronted +or shocked by those of any one who believed that the increasing +civilization of the world had come from Christ's teaching. The +simple, earnest purity of the girl's faith would be an attraction to +him rather than otherwise. Indeed, there was nothing in his Marion, +as he saw her, that was not conducive to feminine excellence.</p> + +<p>His Marion! How many words had he spoken to her? How many thoughts +had he extracted from her? How many of her daily doings had he ever +witnessed? But what did it matter? It is not the girl that the man +loves, but the image which imagination has built up for him to fill +the outside covering which has pleased his senses. He was quite as +sure that the Ten Commandments were as safe in Marion's hands as +though she were already a saint, canonized for the perfection of all +virtues. He was quite ready to take that for granted; and having so +convinced himself, was now only anxious as to the means by which he +might make this priceless pearl his own.</p> + +<p>There must be some other scheme. He sat, thinking of this, cudgelling +his brains for some contrivance by which he and Marion Fay might be +brought together again with the least possible delay. His idea of a +dinner-party had succeeded beyond all hope. But he could not have +another dinner-party next week. Nor could he bring together the +guests whom he had to-day entertained after his sister's return. He +was bound not to admit George Roden to his house as long as she +should be with him. Without George he could hardly hope that Mrs. +Roden would come to him, and without Mrs. Roden how could he entice +the Quaker and his daughter? His sister would be with him on the +following day, and would, no doubt, be willing to assist him with +Marion if it were possible. But the giving of such assistance on her +part would tacitly demand assistance also from him in her +difficulties. Such assistance, he knew, he could not give, having +pledged himself to his father in regard to George Roden. He could at +the present moment devise no other scheme than the very simple one of +going to Mrs. Roden, and declaring his love for the girl.</p> + + +<div class="center"> +<p class="noindent">*<span class="ind2">*</span><span +class="ind2">*</span><span class="ind2">*</span><span +class="ind2">*</span><span class="ind2">*</span></p> +</div> + + +<p>The four guests in the carriage were silent throughout their drive +home. They all had thoughts of their own sufficient to occupy them. +George Roden told himself that this, for a long day, must be his last +visit to Hendon Hall. He knew that Lady Frances would arrive on the +morrow, and that then his presence was forbidden. He had refused to +make any promise as to his assured absence, not caring to subject +himself to an absolute bond; but he was quite aware that he was bound +in honour not to enter the house in which he could not be made +welcome. He felt himself to be safe, with a great security. The girl +whom he loved would certainly be true. He was not impatient, as was +Hampstead. He did not trouble his mind with schemes which were to be +brought to bear within the next few days. He could bide his time, +comforting himself with his faith. But still a lover can hardly be +satisfied with the world unless he can see some point in his heaven +from which light may be expected to break through the clouds. He +could not see the point from which the light might be expected.</p> + +<p>The Quaker was asking himself many questions. Had he done well to +take his girl to this young nobleman's house? Had he done well to +take himself there? It had been as it were a sudden disruption in the +settled purposes of his life. What had he or his girl to do with +lords? And yet he had been pleased. Courtesy always flatters, and +flattery is always pleasant. A certain sense of softness had been +grateful to him. There came upon him a painful question,—as there +does on so many of us, when for a time we make a successful struggle +against the world's allurements,—whether in abandoning the delights +of life we do in truth get any compensation for them. Would it not +after all be better to do as others use? Phœbus as he touches our +trembling ear encourages us but with a faint voice. It had been very +pleasant,—the soft chairs, the quiet attendance, the well-cooked +dinner, the good wines, the bright glasses, the white linen,—and +pleasanter than all that silvery tone of conversation to which he was +so little accustomed either in King's Court or Paradise Row. Marion +indeed was always gentle to him as a dove cooing; but he was aware of +himself that he was not gentle in return. Stern truth, expressed +shortly in strong language, was the staple of his conversation at +home. He had declared to himself all through his life that stern +truth and strong language were better for mankind than soft phrases. +But in his own parlour in Paradise Row he had rarely seen his Marion +bright as she had been at this lord's table. Was it good for his +Marion that she should be encouraged to such brightness; and if so, +had he been cruel to her to suffuse her entire life with a colour so +dark as to admit of no light? Why had her beauty shone so brightly in +the lord's presence? He too knew something of love, and had it always +present to his mind that the time would come when his Marion's heart +would be given to some stranger. He did not think, he would not +think, that the stranger had now come;—but would it be well that his +girl's future should be affected even as was his own? He argued the +points much within himself, and told himself that it could not be +well.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Roden had read it nearly all,—though she could not quite read +the simple honesty of the young lord's purpose. The symptoms of love +had been plain enough to her eyes, and she had soon told herself that +she had done wrong in taking the girl to the young lord's house. She +had seen that Hampstead had admired Marion, but she had not dreamed +that it would be carried to such a length as this. But when he had +knelt on the rug between them, leaning just a little towards the +girl, and had looked up into the girl's face, smiling at his own +little joke, but with his face full of love;—then she had known. And +when Marion had whispered the one word, with her little fingers +lingering within the young lord's touch, then she had known. It was +not the young lord only who had given way to the softness of the +moment. If evil had been done, she had done it; and it seemed as +though evil had certainly been done. If much evil had been done, how +could she forgive herself?</p> + +<p>And what were Marion's thoughts? Did she feel that an evil had been +done, an evil for which there could never be a cure found? She would +have so assured herself, had she as yet become aware of the full +power and depth and mortal nature of the wound she had received. For +such a wound, for such a hurt, there is but one cure, and of that she +certainly would have entertained no hope. But, as it will sometimes +be that a man shall in his flesh receive a fatal injury, of which he +shall for awhile think that only some bruise has pained him, some +scratch annoyed him; that a little time, with ointment and a +plaister, will give him back his body as sound as ever; but then +after a short space it becomes known to him that a deadly gangrene is +affecting his very life; so will it be with a girl's heart. She did +not yet,—not yet,—tell herself that half-a-dozen gentle words, that +two or three soft glances, that a touch of a hand, the mere presence +of a youth whose comeliness was endearing to the eye, had mastered +and subdued all that there was of Marion Fay. But it was so. Not for +a moment did her mind run away, as they were taken homewards, from +the object of her unconscious idolatry. Had she behaved ill?—that +was her regret! He had been so gracious;—that was her joy! Then +there came a pang from the wound, though it was not as yet a pang as +of death. What right had such a one as she to receive even an idle +word of compliment from a man such as was Lord Hampstead? What could +he be to her, or she to him? He had his high mission to complete, his +great duties to perform, and doubtless would find some noble lady as +a fit mother for his children. He had come across her path for a +moment, and she could not but remember him for ever! There was +something of an idea present to her that love would now be beyond her +reach. But the pain necessarily attached to such an idea had not as +yet reached her. There came something of a regret that fortune had +placed her so utterly beyond his notice;—but she was sure of this, +sure of this, that if the chance were offered to her, she would not +mar his greatness by accepting the priceless boon of his love. But +why,—why had he been so tender to her? Then she thought of what were +the ways of men, and of what she had heard of them. It had been bad +for her to go abroad thus with her poor foolish softness, with her +girl's untried tenderness,—that thus she should be affected by the +first chance smile that had been thrown to her by one of those petted +darlings of Fortune! And then she was brought round to that same +resolution which was at the moment forming itself in her father's +mind;—that it would have been better for her had she not allowed +herself to be taken to Hendon Hall. Then they were in Paradise Row, +and were put down at their separate doors with but few words of +farewell to each other.</p> + +<p>"They have just come home," said Clara Demijohn, rushing into her +mother's bedroom. "You'll find it is quite true. They have been +dining with the lord!"</p> + + +<p><a name="c1-22" id="c1-22"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXII.</h3> +<h4>AGAIN AT TRAFFORD.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>The meeting between Hampstead and his sister was affectionate and, +upon the whole, satisfactory, though it was necessary that a few +words should be spoken which could hardly be pleasant in themselves. +"I had a dinner-party here last night," he said laughing, desirous of +telling her something of George Roden,—and something also of Marion +Fay.</p> + +<p>"Who were the guests?"</p> + +<p>"Roden was here." Then there was silence. She was glad that her lover +had been one of the guests, but she was not as yet moved to say +anything respecting him. "And his mother."</p> + +<p>"I am sure I shall like his mother," said Lady Frances.</p> + +<p>"I have mentioned it," continued her brother, speaking with unusual +care, "because, in compliance with the agreement I made at Trafford, +I cannot ask him here again at present."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry that I should be in your way, John."</p> + +<p>"You are not in my way, as I think you know. Let us say no more than +that at present. Then I had a singular old Quaker, named Zachary Fay, +an earnest, honest, but humble man, who blew me up instantly for +talking slang."</p> + +<p>"Where did you pick him up?"</p> + +<p>"He comes out of the City," he said, not wishing to refer again to +Paradise Row and the neighbourhood of the Rodens,—"and he brought +his daughter."</p> + +<p>"A young lady?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly a young lady."</p> + +<p>"Ah, but young,—and beautiful?"</p> + +<p>"Young,—and beautiful."</p> + +<p>"Now you are laughing. I suppose she is some strong-minded, rather +repulsive, middle-aged woman."</p> + +<p>"As to the strength of her mind, I have not seen enough to constitute +myself a judge," said Hampstead, almost with a tone of offence. "Why +you should imagine her to be repulsive because she is a Quaker, or +why middle-aged, I do not understand. She is not repulsive to me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, John, I am so sorry! Now I know that you have found some divine +beauty."</p> + +<p>"We sometimes entertain angels unawares. I thought that I had done so +when she took her departure."</p> + +<p>"Are you in earnest?"</p> + +<p>"I am quite in earnest as to the angel. Now I have to consult you as +to a project." It may be remembered that Hampstead had spoken to his +father as to the expediency of giving up his horses if he found that +his means were not sufficient to keep up Hendon Hall, his yacht, and +his hunting establishment in Northamptonshire. The Marquis, without +saying a word to his son, had settled that matter, and Gorse Hall, +with its stables, was continued. The proposition now made to Lady +Frances was that she should go down with him and remain there for a +week or two till she should find the place too dull. He had intended +to fix an almost immediate day; but now he was debarred from this by +his determination to see Marion yet once again before he took himself +altogether beyond the reach of Holloway. The plan, therefore, though +it was fixed as far as his own intention went and the assent of Lady +Frances, was left undefined as to time. The more he thought of +Holloway, and the difficulties of approaching Paradise Row, the more +convinced he became that his only mode of approaching Marion must be +through Mrs. Roden. He had taken two or three days to consider what +would be the most appropriate manner of going through this operation, +when on a sudden he was arrested by a letter from his father, begging +his presence down at Trafford. The Marquis was ill, and was anxious +to see his son. The letter in which the request was made was sad and +plaintive throughout. He was hardly able to write, Lord Kingsbury +said, because he was so unwell; but he had no one to write for him. +Mr. Greenwood had made himself so disagreeable that he could no +longer employ him for such purposes. "Your stepmother is causing me +much vexation, which I do not think that I deserve from her." He then +added that it would be necessary for him to have his lawyer down at +Trafford, but that he wished to see Hampstead first in order that +they might settle as to certain arrangements which were required in +regard to the disposition of the property. There were some things +which Hampstead could not fail to perceive from this letter. He was +sure that his father was alarmed as to his own condition, or he would +not have thought of sending for the lawyer to Trafford. He had +hitherto always been glad to seize an opportunity of running up to +London when any matter of business had seemed to justify the journey. +Then it occurred to his son that his father had rarely or ever spoken +or written to him of his "stepmother." In certain moods the Marquis +had been wont to call his wife either the Marchioness or Lady +Kingsbury. When in good humour he had generally spoken of her to his +son as "your mother." The injurious though strictly legal name now +given to her was a certain index of abiding wrath. But things must +have been very bad with the Marquis at Trafford when he had utterly +discarded the services of Mr. Greenwood,—services to which he had +been used for a time to which the memory of his son did not go back. +Hampstead of course obeyed his father's injunctions, and went down to +Trafford instantly, leaving his sister alone at Hendon Hall. He found +the Marquis not in bed indeed, but confined to his own sitting-room, +and to a very small bed-chamber which had been fitted up for him +close to it. Mr. Greenwood had been anxious to give up his own rooms +as being more spacious; but the offer had been peremptorily and +almost indignantly refused. The Marquis had been unwilling to accept +anything like a courtesy from Mr. Greenwood. Should he make up his +mind to turn Mr. Greenwood out of the house,—and he had almost made +up his mind to do so,—then he could do what he pleased with Mr. +Greenwood's rooms. But he wasn't going to accept the loan of chambers +in his own house as a favour from Mr. Greenwood.</p> + +<p>Hampstead on arriving at the house saw the Marchioness for a moment +before he went to his father. "I cannot tell how he is," said Lady +Kingsbury, speaking in evident dudgeon. "He will hardly let me go +near him. Doctor Spicer seems to think that we need not be alarmed. +He shuts himself up in those gloomy rooms down-stairs. Of course it +would be better for him to be off the ground floor, where he would +have more light and air. But he has become so obstinate, that I do +not know how to deal with him."</p> + +<p>"He has always liked to live in the room next to Mr. Greenwood's."</p> + +<p>"He has taken an absolute hatred to Mr. Greenwood. You had better not +mention the poor old gentleman's name to him. Shut up as I am here, I +have no one else to speak a word to, and for that reason, I suppose, +he wishes to get rid of him. He is absolutely talking of sending the +man away after having had him with him for nearly thirty years." In +answer to all this Hampstead said almost nothing. He knew his +stepmother, and was aware that he could do no service by telling her +what he might find it to be his duty to say to his father as to Mr. +Greenwood, or on any other subject. He did not hate his +stepmother,—as she hated him. But he regarded her as one to whom it +was quite useless to speak seriously as to the affairs of the family. +He knew her to be prejudiced, ignorant, and falsely proud,—but he +did not suppose her to be either wicked or cruel.</p> + +<p>His father began almost instantly about Mr. Greenwood, so that it +would have been quite impossible for him to follow Lady Kingsbury's +advice on that matter had he been ever so well minded. "Of course I'm +ill," he said; "I suffer so much from sickness and dyspepsia that I +can eat nothing. Doctor Spicer seems to think that I should get +better if I did not worry myself; but there are so many things to +worry me. The conduct of that man is abominable."</p> + +<p>"What man, sir?" asked Hampstead,—who knew, however, very well what +was coming.</p> + +<p>"That clergyman," said Lord Kingsbury, pointing in the direction of +Mr. Greenwood's room.</p> + +<p>"He does not come to you, sir, unless you send for him?"</p> + +<p>"I haven't seen him for the last five days, and I don't care if I +never see him again."</p> + +<p>"How has he offended you, sir?"</p> + +<p>"I gave him my express injunctions that he should not speak of your +sister either to me or the Marchioness. He gave me his solemn +promise, and I know very well that they are talking about her every +hour of the day."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps that is not his fault."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is. A man needn't talk to a woman unless he likes. It is +downright impudence on his part. Your stepmother comes to me every +day, and never leaves me without abusing Fanny."</p> + +<p>"That is why I thought it better that Fanny should come to me."</p> + +<p>"And then, when I argue with her, she always tells me what Mr. +Greenwood says about it. Who cares about Mr. Greenwood? What business +has Mr. Greenwood to interfere in my family? He does not know how to +behave himself, and he shall go."</p> + +<p>"He has been here a great many years, sir," said Hampstead, pleading +for the old man.</p> + +<p>"Too many," said the Marquis. "When you've had a man about you so +long as that, he is sure to take liberties."</p> + +<p>"You must provide for him, sir, if he goes."</p> + +<p>"I have thought of that. He must have something, of course. He has +had three hundred a-year for the last ten years, and has had +everything found for him down to his washing and his cab fares. For +five-and-twenty years he has never paid for a bed or a meal out of +his own pocket. What has he done with his money? He ought to be a +rich man for his degree."</p> + +<p>"What a man does with his money is, I suppose, no concern to those +who pay it. It is supposed to have been earned, and there is an end +of it as far as they are concerned."</p> + +<p>"He shall have a thousand pounds," said the Marquis.</p> + +<p>"That would hardly be liberal. I would think twice before I dismissed +him, sir."</p> + +<p>"I have thought a dozen times."</p> + +<p>"I would let him remain," said Hampstead, "if only because he's a +comfort to Lady Kingsbury. What does it matter though he does talk of +Fanny? Were he to go she would talk to somebody else who might be +perhaps less fit to hear her, and he would, of course, talk to +everybody."</p> + +<p>"Why has he not obeyed me?" demanded the Marquis, angrily. "It is I +who have employed him. I have been his patron, and now he turns +against me." Thus the Marquis went on till his strength would not +suffice for any further talking. Hampstead found himself quite unable +to bring him to any other subject on that day. He was sore with the +injury done him in that he was not allowed to be the master in his +own house.</p> + +<p>On the next morning Hampstead heard from Dr. Spicer that his father +was in a state of health very far from satisfactory. The doctor +recommended that he should be taken away from Trafford, and at last +went so far as to say that his advice extended to separating his +patient from Lady Kingsbury. "It is, of course, a very disagreeable +subject," said the doctor, "for a medical man to meddle with; but, my +lord, the truth is that Lady Kingsbury frets him. I don't, of course, +care to hear what it is, but there is something wrong." Lord +Hampstead, who knew very well what it was, did not attempt to +contradict him. When, however, he spoke to his father of the +expediency of change of air, the Marquis told him that he would +rather die at Trafford than elsewhere.</p> + +<p>That his father was really thinking of his death was only too +apparent from all that was said and done. As to those matters of +business, they were soon settled between them. There was, at any +rate, that comfort to the poor man that there was no probability of +any difference between him and his heir as to the property or as to +money. Half-an-hour settled all that. Then came the time which had +been arranged for Hampstead's return to his sister. But before he +went there were conversations between him and Mr. Greenwood, between +him and his stepmother, and between him and his father, to which, for +the sake of our story, it may be as well to refer.</p> + +<p>"I think your father is ill-treating me," said Mr. Greenwood. Mr. +Greenwood had allowed himself to be talked into a thorough contempt +and dislike for the young lord; so that he had almost brought himself +to believe in those predictions as to the young lord's death in which +Lady Kingsbury was always indulging. As a consequence of this, he now +spoke in a voice very different from those obsequious tones which he +had before been accustomed to use when he had regarded Lord Hampstead +as his young patron.</p> + +<p>"I am sure my father would never do that," said Hampstead, angrily.</p> + +<p>"It looks very like it. I have devoted all the best of my life to his +service, and he now talks of dismissing me as though I were no better +than a servant."</p> + +<p>"Whatever he does, he will, I am sure, have adequate cause for +doing."</p> + +<p>"I have done nothing but my duty. It is out of the question that a +man in my position should submit to orders as to what he is to talk +about and what not. It is natural that Lady Kingsbury should come to +me in her troubles."</p> + +<p>"If you will take my advice," said Lord Hampstead, in that tone of +voice which always produces in the mind of the listener a +determination that the special advice offered shall not be taken, +"you will comply with my father's wishes while it suits you to live +in his house. If you cannot do that, it would become you, I think, to +leave it." In every word of this there was a rebuke; and Mr. +Greenwood, who did not like being rebuked, remembered it.</p> + +<p>"Of course I am nobody in this house now," said the Marchioness in +her last interview with her stepson. It is of no use to argue with an +angry woman, and in answer to this Hampstead made some gentle murmur +which was intended neither to assent or to dispute the proposition +made to him. "Because I ventured to disapprove of Mr. Roden as a +husband for your sister I have been shut up here, and not allowed to +speak to any one."</p> + +<p>"Fanny has left the house, so that she may no longer cause you +annoyance by her presence."</p> + +<p>"She has left the house in order that she may be near the abominable +lover with whom you have furnished her."</p> + +<p>"This is not true," said Hampstead, who was moved beyond his control +by the double falseness of the accusation.</p> + +<p>"Of course you can be insolent to me, and tell me that I speak +falsehoods. It is part of your new creed that you should be neither +respectful to a parent, nor civil to a lady."</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, Lady Kingsbury,"—he had never called her Lady +Kingsbury before,—"if I have been disrespectful or uncivil, but your +statements were very hard to bear. Fanny's engagement with Mr. Roden +has not even received my sanction. Much less was it arranged or +encouraged by me. She has not gone to Hendon Hall to be near Mr. +Roden, with whom she had undertaken to hold no communication as long +as she remains there with me. Both for my own sake and for hers I am +bound to repudiate the accusation." Then he went without further +adieu, leaving with her a conviction that she had been treated with +the greatest contumely by her husband's rebellious heir.</p> + +<p>Nothing could be sadder than the last words which the Marquis spoke +to his son. "I don't suppose, Hampstead, that we shall ever meet +again in this world."</p> + +<p>"Oh, father!"</p> + +<p>"I don't think Mr. Spicer knows how bad I am."</p> + +<p>"Will you have Sir James down from London?"</p> + +<p>"No Sir James can do me any good, I fear. It is ill ministering to a +mind diseased."</p> + +<p>"Why, sir, should you have a mind diseased? With few men can things +be said to be more prosperous than with you. Surely this affair of +Fanny's is not of such a nature as to make you feel that all things +are bitter round you."</p> + +<p>"It is not that."</p> + +<p>"What then? I hope I have not been a cause of grief to you?"</p> + +<p>"No, my boy;—no. It irks me sometimes to think that I should have +trained you to ideas which you have taken up too violently. But it is +not that."</p> + +<p>"My mother—?"</p> + +<p>"She has set her heart against me,—against you and Fanny. I feel +that a division has been made between my two families. Why should my +daughter be expelled from my own house? Why should I not be able to +have you here, except as an enemy in the camp? Why am I to have that +man take up arms against me, whom I have fed in idleness all his +life?"</p> + +<p>"I would not let him trouble my thoughts."</p> + +<p>"When you are old and weak you will find it hard to banish thoughts +that trouble you. As to going, where am I to go to?"</p> + +<p>"Come to Hendon."</p> + +<p>"And leave her here with him, so that all the world shall say that I +am running away from my own wife? Hendon is your house now, and this +is mine;—and here I must stay till my time has come."</p> + +<p>This was very sad, not as indicating the state of his father's +health, as to which he was more disposed to take the doctor's opinion +than that of the patient, but as showing the infirmity of his +father's mind. He had been aware of a certain weakness in his +father's character,—a desire not so much for ruling as for seeming +to rule all that were around him. The Marquis had wished to be +thought a despot even when he had delighted in submitting himself to +the stronger mind of his first wife. Now he felt the chains that were +imposed upon him, so that they galled him when he could not throw +them off. All this was very sad to Hampstead; but it did not make him +think that his father's health had in truth been seriously affected.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<h5>END OF VOL. I.</h5> + +<p> </p> +<hr class="narrow" /> +<p><a name="v2" id="v2"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h1 class="title">MARION FAY.</h1> + +<h3>A Novel.</h3> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h4>BY</h4> + +<h2>ANTHONY TROLLOPE,</h2> + +<h4>AUTHOR OF<br /> +<br /> +"FRAMLEY PARSONAGE," "ORLEY FARM," "THE WAY WE<br /> +<br /> +LIVE NOW," ETC., ETC.</h4> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h3><i>IN THREE VOLUMES.</i></h3> + +<h2>VOL. II.</h2> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h4>London:<br /> +CHAPMAN & HALL, <span class="smallcaps">Limited</span>, +11, HENRIETTA ST.<br /> +1882.</h4> + +<h5><i>[All Rights reserved.]</i></h5> + +<p> </p> +<hr class="narrow" /> +<p> </p> + +<h5>Bungay:</h5> + +<h6>CLAY AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS.</h6> + +<p> </p> +<hr class="narrow" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h3>CONTENTS OF VOLUME II.<br /> </h3> + +<div class="center"> +<table class="sm" style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="3"> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">I. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-1" >THE IRREPRESSIBLE CROCKER.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">II. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-2" >MRS. RODEN'S ELOQUENCE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">III. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-3" >MARION'S VIEWS ABOUT MARRIAGE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">IV. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-4" >LORD HAMPSTEAD IS IMPATIENT.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">V. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-5" >THE QUAKER'S ELOQUENCE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">VI. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-6" >MARION'S OBSTINACY.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">VII. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-7" >MRS. DEMIJOHN'S PARTY.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">VIII. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-8" >NEW YEAR'S DAY.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">IX. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-9" >MISS DEMIJOHN'S INGENUITY.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">X. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-10" >KING'S COURT, OLD BROAD STREET.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XI. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-11" >MR. GREENWOOD BECOMES AMBITIOUS.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XII. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-12" >LIKE THE POOR CAT I' THE ADAGE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XIII. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-13" >LADY FRANCES SEES HER LOVER.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XIV. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-14" >MR. GREENWOOD'S FEELINGS.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XV. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-15" >"THAT WOULD BE DISAGREEABLE."</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XVI. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-16" >"I DO."</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XVII. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-17" >AT GORSE HALL.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XVIII. </td><td align="left"><a href="#c2-18" >POOR WALKER.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XIX. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-19" >FALSE TIDINGS.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XX. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-20" >NEVER, NEVER, TO COME AGAIN.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XXI. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c2-21" >DI CRINOLA.</a></td></tr> +</table> +</div> + +<p> </p> +<hr class="narrow" /> + +<p><a name="c2-1" id="c2-1"></a> </p> +<h1>MARION FAY.</h1> +<p> </p> +<hr class="narrow" /> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER I.</h3> +<h4>THE IRREPRESSIBLE CROCKER.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Hampstead remained nearly a fortnight down at Trafford, returning to +Hendon only a few days before Christmas. Crocker, the Post Office +clerk, came back to his duties at the same time, but, as was the +custom with him, stole a day more than belonged to him, and thus +incurred the frowns of Mr. Jerningham and the heavy wrath of the +great Æolus. The Æoluses of the Civil Service are necessarily much +exercised in their minds by such irregularities. To them personally +it matters not at all whether one or another young man may be +neglectful. It may be known to such a one that a Crocker may be +missed from his seat without any great injury,—possibly with no +injury at all,—to the Queen's service. There are Crockers whom it +would be better to pay for their absence than their presence. This +Æolus thought it was so with this Crocker. Then why not dismiss +Crocker, and thus save the waste of public money? But there is a +necessity,—almost a necessity,—that the Crockers of the world +should live. They have mothers, or perhaps even wives, with backs to +be clothed and stomachs to be fed, or perhaps with hearts to be +broken. There is, at any rate, a dislike to proceed to the ultimate +resort of what may be called the capital punishment of the Civil +Service. To threaten, to frown, to scold, to make a young man's life +a burden to him, are all within the compass of an official Æolus. You +would think occasionally that such a one was resolved to turn half +the clerks in his office out into the streets,—so loud are the +threats. In regard to individuals he often is resolved to do so at +the very next fault. But when the time comes his heart misgives him. +Even an Æolus is subject to mercy, and at last his conscience becomes +so callous to his first imperative duty of protecting the public +service, that it grows to be a settled thing with him, that though a +man's life is to be made a burden to him, the man is not to be +actually dismissed. But there are men to whom you cannot make their +life a burden,—men upon whom no frowns, no scoldings, no threats +operate at all; and men unfortunately sharp enough to perceive what +is that ultimate decision to which their Æolus had been brought. Such +a one was our Crocker, who cared very little for the blusterings. On +this occasion he had remained away for the sake of having an +additional day with the Braeside Harriers, and when he pleaded a +bilious headache no one believed him for an instant. It was in vain +for Æolus to tell him that a man subject to health so precarious was +altogether unfitted for the Civil Service. Crocker had known +beforehand exactly what was going to be said to him, and had +discounted it at its exact worth. Even in the presence of Mr. +Jerningham he spoke openly of the day's hunting, knowing that Mr. +Jerningham would prefer his own ease to the trouble of renewed +complaint. "If you would sit at your desk now that you have come +back, and go on with your docketing, instead of making everybody else +idle, it would be a great deal better," said Mr. Jerningham.</p> + +<p>"Then my horse took the wall in a fly, and old Amblethwaite crept +over afterwards," continued Crocker, standing with his back to the +fire, utterly disregarding Mr. Jerningham's admonitions.</p> + +<p>On his first entrance into the room Crocker had shaken hands with Mr. +Jerningham, then with Bobbin and Geraghty, and at last he came to +Roden, with whom he would willingly have struck up terms of +affectionate friendship had it been possible for him to do so. He had +resolved that it should be so, but when the moment came his courage a +little failed him. He had made himself very offensive to Roden at +their last interview, and could see at a glance that Roden remembered +it. As far as his own feelings were concerned such "tiffs," as he +called them, went for nothing. He had, indeed, no feelings, and was +accustomed to say that he liked the system of give and take,—meaning +that he liked being impudent to others, and did not care how impudent +others might be to him. This toughness and insolence are as sharp as +needles to others who do not possess the same gifts. Roden had +learned to detest the presence of the young man, to be sore when he +was even spoken to, and yet did not know how to put him down. You may +have a fierce bull shut up. You may muzzle a dog that will bite. You +may shoot a horse that you cannot cure of biting and tearing. But you +cannot bring yourself to spend a morning in hunting a bug or killing +a flea. Crocker had made himself a serious annoyance even to Lord +Hampstead, though their presence together had only been for a very +short time. But Roden had to pass his life at the same desk with the +odious companion. Absolutely to cut him, to let it be known all +through the office that they two did not speak, was to make too much +of the matter. But yet it was essentially necessary for his peace +that some step should be taken to save himself from the man's +insolence. On the present occasion he nodded his head to Crocker, +being careful not to lay the pen down from his fingers. "Ain't you +going to give us your hand, old fellow?" said Crocker, putting on his +best show of courage.</p> + +<p>"I don't know that I am," said Roden. "Perhaps some of these days you +may learn to make yourself less disagreeable."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I've always meant to be very friendly, especially with +you," said Crocker; "but it is so hard to get what one says taken in +the proper sense."</p> + +<p>After this not a word was spoken between the two all the morning. +This happened on a Saturday,—Saturday, the 20th of December, on +which day Hampstead was to return to his own house. Punctually at one +Crocker left his desk, and with a comic bow of mock courtesy to Mr. +Jerningham, stuck his hat on the side of his head, and left the +office. His mind, as he took himself home to his lodgings, was full +of Roden's demeanour towards him. Since he had become assured that +his brother clerk was engaged to marry Lady Frances Trafford, he was +quite determined to cultivate an enduring and affectionate +friendship. But what steps should he take to recover the ground which +he had lost? It occurred to him now that while he was in Cumberland +he had established quite an intimacy with Lord Hampstead, and he +thought that it would be well to use Lord Hampstead's acknowledged +good-nature for recovering the ground which he had lost with his +brother clerk.</p> + + +<div class="center"> +<p class="noindent">*<span class="ind2">*</span><span +class="ind2">*</span><span class="ind2">*</span><span +class="ind2">*</span><span class="ind2">*</span></p> +</div> + + +<p>At about three o'clock that afternoon, when Lady Frances was +beginning to think that the time of her brother's arrival was near at +hand, the servant came into the drawing-room, and told her that a +gentleman had called, and was desirous of seeing her. "What +gentleman?" asked Lady Frances. "Has he sent his name?"</p> + +<p>"No, my lady; but he says,—he says that he is a clerk from the Post +Office." Lady Frances was at the moment so dismayed that she did not +know what answer to give. There could be but one Post Office clerk +who should be anxious to see her, and she had felt from the tone of +the servant's voice that he had known that it was her lover who had +called. Everybody knew that the Post Office clerk was her lover. Some +immediate answer was necessary. She quite understood the pledge that +her brother had made on her behalf; and, though she had not herself +made any actual promise, she felt that she was bound not to receive +George Roden. But yet she could not bring herself to turn him away +from the door, and so to let the servant suppose that she was ashamed +to see him to whom she had given the promise of her hand. "You had +better show the gentleman in," she said at last, with a voice that +almost trembled. A moment afterwards the door was opened, and Mr. +Crocker entered the room!</p> + +<p>She had endeavoured in the minute which had been allowed her to study +the manner in which she should receive her lover. As she heard the +approaching footsteps, she prepared herself. She had just risen from +her seat, nearly risen, when the strange man appeared. It has to be +acknowledged that she was grievously disappointed, although she had +told herself that Roden ought not to have come to her. What woman is +there will not forgive her lover for coming, even though he certainly +should not have come? What woman is there will fail to receive a +stranger with hard looks when a stranger shall appear to her instead +of an expected lover? "Sir?" she said, standing as he walked up the +room and made a low bow to her as he took his position before her.</p> + +<p>Crocker was dressed up to the eyes, and wore yellow kid gloves. "Lady +Frances," he said, "I am Mr. Crocker, Mr. Samuel Crocker, of the +General Post Office. You may not perhaps have heard of me from my +friend, Mr. Roden?"</p> + +<p>"No, indeed, sir."</p> + +<p>"You might have done so, as we sit in the same room and at the same +desk. Or you may remember meeting me at dinner at your uncle's castle +in Cumberland."</p> + +<p>"Is anything,—anything the matter with Mr. Roden?"</p> + +<p>"Not in the least, my lady. I had the pleasure of leaving him in very +good health about two hours since. There is nothing at all to +occasion your ladyship the slightest uneasiness." A dark frown came +across her brow as she heard the man talk thus freely of her interest +in George Roden's condition. She no doubt had betrayed her own secret +as far as there was a secret; but she was not on that account the +less angry because he had forced her to do so.</p> + +<p>"Has Mr. Roden sent you as a messenger?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"No, my lady; no. That would not be at all probable. I am sure he +would very much rather come with any message of his own." At this he +sniggered most offensively. "I called with a hope of seeing your +brother, Lord Hampstead, with whom I may take the liberty of saying +that I have a slight acquaintance."</p> + +<p>"Lord Hampstead is not at home."</p> + +<p>"So the servant told me. Then it occurred to me that as I had come +all the way down from London for a certain purpose, to ask a little +favour from his lordship, and as I was not fortunate enough to find +his lordship at home, I might ask the same from your ladyship."</p> + +<p>"There can be nothing that I can do for you, sir."</p> + +<p>"You can do it, my lady, much better than any one else in the world. +You can be more powerful in this matter even than his lordship."</p> + +<p>"What can it be?" asked Lady Frances.</p> + +<p>"If your ladyship will allow me I will sit down, as the story I have +to tell is somewhat particular." It was impossible to refuse him the +use of a chair, and she could therefore only bow as he seated +himself. "I and George Roden, my lady, have known each other +intimately for these ever so many years." Again she bowed her head. +"And I may say that we used to be quite pals. When two men sit at the +same desk together they ought to be thick as thieves. See what a cat +and dog life it is else! Don't you think so, my lady?"</p> + +<p>"I know nothing of office life. As I don't think that I can help you, +perhaps you wouldn't mind—going away?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, my lady, you must hear me to the end, because you are just the +person who can help me. Of course as you two are situated he would do +anything you were to bid him. Now he has taken it into his head to be +very huffy with me."</p> + +<p>"Indeed I can do nothing in the matter," she said, in a tone of deep +distress.</p> + +<p>"If you would only just tell him that I have never meant to offend +him! I am sure I don't know what it is that has come up. It may be +that I said a word in joke about Lord Hampstead, only that there +really could not have been anything in that. Nobody could have a more +profound respect for his lordship's qualities than I have, and I may +say the same for your ladyship most sincerely. I have always thought +it a great feather in Roden's cap that he should be so closely +connected,—more than closely, I may say,—with your noble family."</p> + +<p>What on earth was she to do with a man who would go on talking to +her, making at every moment insolent allusions to the most cherished +secret of her heart! "I must beg you to go away and leave me, sir," +she said. "My brother will be here almost immediately."</p> + +<p>This had escaped from her with a vain idea that the man would receive +it as a threat,—that he would think probably that her brother would +turn him out of the house for his insolence. In this she was +altogether mistaken. He had no idea that he was insolent. "Then +perhaps you will allow me to wait for his lordship," he said.</p> + +<p>"Oh dear, no! He may come or he may not. You really cannot wait. You +ought not to have come at all."</p> + +<p>"But for the sake of peace, my lady! One word from your fair lips—." +Lady Frances could endure it no longer. She got up from her seat and +walked out of the room, leaving Mr. Crocker planted in his chair. In +the hall she found one of the servants, whom she told to "take that +man to the front door at once." The servant did as he was bid, and +Crocker was ushered out of the house without any feeling on his part +that he had misbehaved himself.</p> + +<p>Crocker had hardly got beyond the grounds when Hampstead did in truth +return. The first words spoken between him and his sister of course +referred to their father's health. "He is unhappy rather than ill," +said Hampstead.</p> + +<p>"Is it about me?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"No; not at all about you in the first instance."</p> + +<p>"What does that mean?"</p> + +<p>"It is not because of you; but from what others say about you."</p> + +<p>"Mamma?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes; and Mr. Greenwood."</p> + +<p>"Does he interfere?"</p> + +<p>"I am afraid he does;—not directly with my father, but through her +ladyship, who daily tells my father what the stupid old man says. +Lady Kingsbury is most irrational and harassing. I have always +thought her to be silly, but now I cannot keep myself from feeling +that she misbehaves herself grievously. She does everything she can +to add to his annoyance."</p> + +<p>"That is very bad."</p> + +<p>"It is bad. He can turn Mr. Greenwood out of the house if Mr. +Greenwood becomes unbearable. But he cannot turn his wife out."</p> + +<p>"Could he not come here?"</p> + +<p>"I am afraid not,—without bringing her too. She has taken it into +her stupid head that you and I are disgracing the family. As for me, +she seems to think that I am actually robbing her own boys of their +rights. I would do anything for them, or even for her, if I could +comfort her; but she is determined to look upon us as enemies. My +father says that it will worry him into his grave."</p> + +<p>"Poor papa!"</p> + +<p>"We can run away, but he can not. I became very angry when I was +there, both with her ladyship and that pestilential old clergyman, +and told them both pretty much what I thought. I have the comfort of +knowing that I have two bitter enemies in the house."</p> + +<p>"Can they hurt you?"</p> + +<p>"Not in the least,—except in this, that they can teach those little +boys to regard me as an enemy. I would fain have had my brothers left +to me. Mr. Greenwood, and I must now say her ladyship also, are +nothing to me."</p> + +<p>It was not till after dinner that the story was told about Crocker. +"Think what I must have felt when I was told that a clerk from the +Post Office wanted to see me!"</p> + +<p>"And then that brute Crocker was shown in?" asked Hampstead.</p> + +<p>"Do you really know him?"</p> + +<p>"Know him! I should rather think so. Don't you remember him at Castle +Hautboy?"</p> + +<p>"Not in the least. But he told me that he had been there."</p> + +<p>"He never would leave me. He absolutely drove me out of the country +because he would follow me about when we were hunting. He insulted me +so grievously that I had to turn tail and run away from him. What did +he want of me?"</p> + +<p>"To intercede for him with George Roden."</p> + +<p>"He is an abominable man, irrepressible, so thick-skinned that you +cannot possibly get at him so as to hurt him. It is of no use telling +him to keep his distance, for he does not in the least know what you +mean. I do not doubt that he has left the house with a conviction +that he has gained a sincere friend in you."</p> + + +<div class="center"> +<p class="noindent">*<span class="ind2">*</span><span +class="ind2">*</span><span class="ind2">*</span><span +class="ind2">*</span><span class="ind2">*</span></p> +</div> + + +<p>It was now more than a fortnight since Marion Fay had dined at +Hendon, and Hampstead felt that unless he could succeed in carrying +on the attack which he had commenced, any little beginning of a +friendship which he had made with the Quaker would be obliterated by +the length of time. If she thought about him at all, she must think +that he was very indifferent to let so long a time pass by without +any struggle on his part to see her again. There had been no word of +love spoken. He had been sure of that. But still there had been +something of affectionate intercourse which she could not have failed +to recognize. What must she think of him if he allowed that to pass +away without any renewal, without an attempt at carrying it further? +When she had bade him go in out of the cold there had been something +in her voice which had made him feel that she was in truth anxious +for him. Now more than a fortnight had gone, and there had been no +renewal! "Fanny," he said, "how would it be if we were to ask those +Quakers to dine here on Christmas Day?"</p> + +<p>"It would be odd, wouldn't it, as they are strangers, and dined here +so lately?"</p> + +<p>"People like that do not stand on ceremony at all. I don't see why +they shouldn't come. I could say that you want to make their +acquaintance."</p> + +<p>"Would you ask them alone?"</p> + +<p>In that he felt that the great difficulty lay. The Fays would hardly +come without Mrs. Roden, and the Rodens could not be asked. "One +doesn't always ask the same people to meet each other."</p> + +<p>"It would be very odd, and I don't think they'd come," said Lady +Frances, gravely. Then after a pause she went on. "I fear, John, that +there is more in it than mere dinner company."</p> + +<p>"Certainly there is," he said boldly;—"much more in it."</p> + +<p>"You are not in love with the Quaker's daughter?"</p> + +<p>"I rather think I am. When I have seen her three or four times more, +I shall be able to find out. You may be sure of this, that I mean to +see her three or four times more, and at any rate one of the times +must be before I go down to Gorse Hall." Then of course she knew the +whole truth. He did, however, give up the idea as to the Christmas +dinner-party, having arrived at the belief, after turning the matter +over in his mind, that Zachary Fay would not bring his daughter again +so soon.</p> + + +<p><a name="c2-2" id="c2-2"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER II.</h3> +<h4>MRS. RODEN'S ELOQUENCE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>On Sunday Hampstead was nervous and fidgety. He had at one time +thought that it would be the very day for him to go to Holloway. He +would be sure to find Mrs. Roden at home after church, and then, if +he could carry things to the necessary length, he might also see +Zachary Fay. But on consideration it appeared to him that Sunday +would not suit his purpose. George Roden would be there, and would be +sadly in the way. And the Quaker himself would be in the way, as it +would be necessary that he should have some preliminary interview +with Marion before anything could be serviceably said to her father. +He was driven, therefore, to postpone his visit. Nor would Monday do, +as he knew enough of the manners of Paradise Row to be aware that on +Monday Mrs. Vincent would certainly be there. It would be his object, +if things could be made to go pleasantly, first to see Mrs. Roden for +a few minutes, and then to spend as much of the afternoon as might be +possible with Marion Fay. He therefore fixed on the Tuesday for his +purpose, and having telegraphed about the country for his horses, +groom, and other appurtenances, he went down to Leighton on the +Monday, and consoled himself with a day's hunting with the +staghounds.</p> + +<p>On his return his sister spoke to him very seriously as to her own +affairs. "Is not this almost silly, John, about Mr. Roden not coming +here?"</p> + +<p>"Not silly at all, according to my ideas."</p> + +<p>"All the world knows that we are engaged. The very servants have +heard of it. That horrid young man who came from the Post Office was +aware of it."</p> + +<p>"What has all that to do with it?"</p> + +<p>"If it has been made public in that way, what can be the object of +keeping us apart? Mamma no doubt told her sister, and Lady Persiflage +has published it everywhere. Her daughter is going to marry a duke, +and it has crowned her triumph to let it be known that I am going to +marry only a Post Office clerk. I don't begrudge her that in the +least. But as they have talked about it so much, they ought, at any +rate, to let me have my Post Office clerk."</p> + +<p>"I have nothing to say about it one way or the other," said +Hampstead. "I say nothing about it, at any rate now."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by that, John?"</p> + +<p>"When I saw how miserable you were at Trafford I did my best to bring +you away. But I could only bring you here on an express stipulation +that you should not meet George Roden while you were in my house. If +you can get my father's consent to your meeting him, then that part +of the contract will be over."</p> + +<p>"I don't think I made any promise."</p> + +<p>"I understand it so."</p> + +<p>"I said nothing to papa on the subject,—and I do not remember that I +made any promise to you. I am sure I did not."</p> + +<p>"I promised for you." To this she was silent. "Are you going to ask +him to come here?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not. But if he did come, how could I refuse to see him? I +thought that he was here on Saturday, and I told Richard to admit +him. I could not send him away from the door."</p> + +<p>"I do not think he will come unless he is asked," said Hampstead. +Then the conversation was over.</p> + +<p>On the following day, at two o'clock, Lord Hampstead again started +for Holloway. On this occasion he drove over, and left his trap and +servant at the "Duchess of Edinburgh." He was so well known in the +neighbourhood now as hardly to be able to hope to enter on the +domains of Paradise Row without being recognized. He felt that it was +hard that his motions should be watched, telling himself that it was +one of the evils belonging to an hereditary nobility; but he must +accept this mischief as he did others, and he walked up the street +trying to look as though he didn't know that his motions were being +watched first from Number Fifteen as he passed it, and then from +Number Ten opposite, as he stood at Mrs. Roden's door.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Roden was at home, and received him, of course, with her most +gracious smile; but her heart sank within her as she saw him, for she +felt sure that he had come in pursuit of Marion Fay. "It is very kind +of you to call," she said. "I had heard from George that you had gone +down into the country since we had the pleasure of dining with you."</p> + +<p>"Yes; my father has been unwell, and I had to stay with him a few +days or I should have been here sooner. You got home all of you quite +well?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes."</p> + +<p>"Miss Fay did not catch cold?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all;—though I fear she is hardly strong."</p> + +<p>"She is not ill, I hope?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no; not that. But she lives here very quietly, and I doubt +whether the excitement of going out is good for her."</p> + +<p>"There was not much excitement at Hendon Hall, I think," he said, +laughing.</p> + +<p>"Not for you, but for her perhaps. In appreciating our own condition +we are so apt to forget what is the condition of others! To Marion +Fay it was a strange event to have to dine at your house,—and +strange also to receive little courtesies such as yours. It is hard +for you to conceive how strongly the nature of such a girl may be +effected by novelties. I have almost regretted, Lord Hampstead, that +I should have consented to take her there."</p> + +<p>"Has she said anything?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no; there was nothing for her to say. You are not to suppose +that any harm has been done."</p> + +<p>"What harm could have been done?" he asked. Of what nature was the +harm of which Mrs. Roden was speaking? Could it be that Marion had +made any sign of altered feelings; had declared in any way her liking +or disliking; had given outward testimony of thoughts which would +have been pleasant to him,—or perhaps unpleasant,—had he known +them?</p> + +<p>"No harm, of course," said Mrs. Roden;—"only to a nature such as +hers all excitement is evil."</p> + +<p>"I cannot believe that," he said, after a pause. "Now and then in the +lives of all of us there must come moments of excitement which cannot +be all evil. What would Marion say if I were to tell her that I loved +her?"</p> + +<p>"I hope you will not do that, my lord."</p> + +<p>"Why should you hope so? What right have you to hope so? If I do love +her, is it not proper that I should tell her?"</p> + +<p>"But it would not be proper that you should love her."</p> + +<p>"There, Mrs. Roden, I take the liberty of declaring that you are +altogether in the wrong, and that you speak without due +consideration."</p> + +<p>"Do I, my lord?"</p> + +<p>"I think so. Why am I not to be allowed the ordinary privilege of a +man,—that of declaring my passion to a woman when I meet one who +seems in all things to fulfil the image of perfection which I have +formed for myself,—when I see a girl that I fancy I can love?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, there is the worst! It is only a fancy."</p> + +<p>"I will not be accused in that way without defending myself. Let it +be fancy or what not, I love Marion Fay, and I have come here to tell +her so. If I can make any impression on her I shall come again and +tell her father so. I am here now because I think that you can help +me. If you will not, I shall go on without your help."</p> + +<p>"What can I do?"</p> + +<p>"Go to her with me now, at once. You say that excitement is bad for +her. The excitement will be less if you will come with me to her +house."</p> + +<p>Then there was a long pause in the conversation, during which Mrs. +Roden was endeavouring to determine what might be her duty at this +moment. She certainly did not think that it would be well that Lord +Hampstead, the eldest son of the Marquis of Kingsbury, should marry +Marion Fay. She was quite sure that she had all the world with her +there. Were any one to know that she had assisted in arranging such a +marriage, that any one would certainly condemn her. That would +assuredly be the case, not only with the young lord's family, not +only with others of the young lord's order, but with all the educated +world of Great Britain. How could it be that such a one as Marion Fay +should be a fitting wife for such a one as Lord Hampstead? Marion Fay +had undoubtedly great gifts of her own. She was beautiful, +intelligent, sweet-minded, and possessed of natural delicacy,—so +much so that to Mrs. Roden herself she had become as dear almost as a +daughter; but it was impossible that she should have either the +education or the manners fit for the wife of a great English peer. +Though her manners might be good and her education excellent, they +were not those required for that special position. And then there was +cause for other fears. Marion's mother and brothers and sisters had +all died young. The girl herself had hitherto seemed to escape the +scourge under which they perished. But occasionally there would rise +to her cheeks a bright colour, which for the moment would cause Mrs. +Roden's heart to sink within her. Occasionally there would be heard +from her not a cough, but that little preparation for coughing which +has become so painfully familiar to the ears of those whose fate it +has been to see their beloved ones gradually fade from presumed +health. She had already found herself constrained to say a word or +two to the old Quaker, not telling him that she feared any coming +evil, but hinting that change of air would certainly be beneficial to +such a one as Marion. Acting under this impulse, he had taken her +during the inclemency of the past spring to the Isle of Wight. She +was minded gradually to go on with this counsel, so as if possible to +induce the father to send his girl out of London for some +considerable portion of the year. If this were so, how could she +possibly encourage Lord Hampstead in his desire to make Marion his +wife?</p> + +<p>And then, as to the girl herself, could it be for her happiness that +she should be thus lifted into a strange world, a world that would be +hard and ungracious to her, and in which it might be only too +probable that the young lord should see her defects when it would be +too late for either of them to remedy the evil that had been done? +She had thought something of all this before, having recognized the +possibility of such a step as this after what she had seen at Hendon +Hall. She had told herself that it would be well at any rate to +discourage any such idea in Marion's heart, and had spoken jokingly +of the gallantry of men of rank. Marion had smiled sweetly as she had +listened to her friend's words, and had at once said that such +manners were at any rate pretty and becoming in one so placed as Lord +Hampstead. There had been something in this to make Mrs. Roden almost +fear that her words had been taken as intending too much,—that +Marion had accepted them as a caution against danger. Not for worlds +would she have induced the girl to think that any danger was +apprehended. But now the danger had come, and it behoved Mrs. Roden +if possible to prevent the evil. "Will you come across with me now?" +said Hampstead, having sat silent in his chair while these thoughts +were passing through the lady's mind.</p> + +<p>"I think not, my lord."</p> + +<p>"Why not, Mrs. Roden? Will it not be better than that I should go +alone?"</p> + +<p>"I hope you will not go at all."</p> + +<p>"I shall go,—certainly. I consider myself bound by all laws of +honesty to tell her what she has done to me. She can then judge what +may be best for herself."</p> + +<p>"Do not go at any rate to-day, Lord Hampstead. Let me beg at least as +much as that of you. Consider the importance of the step you will be +taking."</p> + +<p>"I have thought of it," said he.</p> + +<p>"Marion is as good as gold."</p> + +<p>"I know she is."</p> + +<p>"Marion, I say, is as good as gold; but is it likely that any girl +should remain untouched and undazzled by such an offer as you can +make her?"</p> + +<p>"Touched I hope she may be. As for dazzled,—I do not believe in it +in the least. There are eyes which no false lights can dazzle."</p> + +<p>"But if she were touched, as would no doubt be the case," said Mrs. +Roden, "could it be well that you with such duties before you should +marry the daughter of Zachary Fay? Listen to me a moment," she +continued, as he attempted to interrupt her. "I know what you would +say, and I sympathize with much of it; but it cannot be well for +society that classes should be mixed together suddenly and roughly."</p> + +<p>"What roughness would there be?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"As lords and ladies are at present, as dukes are, and duchesses, and +such like, there would be a roughness to them in having Marion Fay +presented to them as one of themselves. Lords have married low-born +girls, I know, and the wives have been contented with a position +which has almost been denied to them, or only grudgingly accorded. I +have known something of that, my lord, and have felt—at any rate I +have seen—its bitterness. Marion Fay would fade and sink to nothing +if she were subjected to such contumely. To be Marion Fay is enough +for her. To be your wife, and not to be thought fit to be your wife, +would not be half enough."</p> + +<p>"She shall be thought fit."</p> + +<p>"You can make her Lady Hampstead, and demand that she shall be +received at Court. You can deck her with diamonds, and cause her to +be seated high in honour according to your own rank. But could you +induce your father's wife to smile on her?" In answer to this he was +dumb. "Do you think she would be contented if your father's wife were +to frown on her?"</p> + +<p>"My father's wife is not everybody."</p> + +<p>"She would necessarily be much to your wife. Take a week, my lord, or +a month, and think upon it. She expects nothing from you yet, and it +is still in your power to save her from unhappiness."</p> + +<p>"I would make her happy, Mrs. Roden."</p> + +<p>"Think about it;—think about it."</p> + +<p>"And I would make myself happy also. You count my feelings as being +nothing in the matter."</p> + +<p>"Nothing as compared with hers. You see how plainly I deal with you. +Let me say that for a time your heart will be sore;—that you do in +truth love this girl so as to feel that she is necessary to your +happiness. Do you not know that if she were placed beyond your reach +you would recover from that sting? The duties of the world would +still be open to you. Being a man, you would still have before you +many years for recovery before your youth had departed from you. Of +course you would find some other woman, and be happy with her. For +her, if she came to shipwreck in this venture, there would be no +other chance."</p> + +<p>"I would make this chance enough for her."</p> + +<p>"So you think; but if you will look abroad you will see that the +perils to her happiness which I have attempted to describe are not +vain. I can say no more, my lord, but can only beg that you will take +some little time to think of it before you put the thing out of your +own reach. If she had once accepted your love I know that you would +never go back."</p> + +<p>"Never."</p> + +<p>"Therefore think again while there is time." He slowly dragged +himself up from his chair, and left her almost without a word at +parting. She had persuaded him—to take another week. It was not that +he doubted in the least his own purpose, but he did not know how to +gainsay her as to this small request. In that frame of mind which is +common to young men when they do not get all that they want, angry, +disappointed, and foiled, he went down-stairs, and opened the front +door,—and there on the very steps he met Marion Fay.</p> + +<p>"Marion," he said, pouring all the tenderness of his heart into his +voice.</p> + +<p>"My lord?"</p> + +<p>"Come in, Marion,—for one moment." Then she followed him into the +little passage, and there they stood. "I had come over to ask you how +you are after our little party."</p> + +<p>"I am quite well;—and you?"</p> + +<p>"I have been away with my father, or I should have come sooner."</p> + +<p>"Nay;—it was not necessary that you should trouble yourself."</p> + +<p>"It is necessary;—it is necessary; or I should be troubled very +much. I am troubled." She stood there looking down on the ground as +though she were biding her time, but she did not speak to him. "She +would not come with me," he said, pointing up the stairs on which +Mrs. Roden was now standing. "She has told me that it is bad that I +should come; but I will come one day soon." He was almost beside +himself with love as he was speaking. The girl was so completely +after his own heart as he stood there close to her, filled with her +influences, that he was unable to restrain himself.</p> + +<p>"Come up, Marion dear," said Mrs. Roden, speaking from the landing. +"It is hardly fair to keep Lord Hampstead standing in the passage."</p> + +<p>"It is most unfair," said Marion. "Good day, my lord."</p> + +<p>"I will stand here till you come down to me, unless you will speak to +me again. I will not be turned out while you are here. Marion, you +are all the world to me. I love you with my whole, whole heart. I had +come here, dear, to tell you so;—but she has delayed me. She made me +promise that I would not come again for a week, as though weeks or +years could change me? Say one word to me, Marion. One word shall +suffice now, and then I will go. Marion, can you love me?"</p> + +<p>"Come to me, Marion, come to me," said Mrs. Roden. "Do not answer him +now."</p> + +<p>"No," said Marion, looking up, and laying her hand gently on the +sleeve of his coat. "I will not answer him now. It is too sudden. I +must think of words to answer such a speech. Lord Hampstead, I will +go to her now."</p> + +<p>"But I shall hear from you."</p> + +<p>"You shall come to me again, and I will tell you."</p> + +<p>"To-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"Nay; but give me a day or two. On Friday I will be ready with my +answer."</p> + +<p>"You will give me your hand, Marion." She gave it to him, and he +covered it with kisses. "Only have this in your mind, fixed as fate, +that no man ever loved a woman more truly than I love you. No man was +ever more determined to carry out his purpose. I am in your hands. +Think if you cannot dare to trust yourself into mine." Then he left +her, and went back to the "Duchess of Edinburgh," not thinking much +of the eyes which might be looking at him.</p> + + +<p><a name="c2-3" id="c2-3"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER III.</h3> +<h4>MARION'S VIEWS ABOUT MARRIAGE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>When Lord Hampstead shut the door behind him, Marion went slowly up +the stairs to Mrs. Roden, who had returned to her drawing-room. When +she entered, her friend was standing near the door, with anxiety +plainly written on her face,—with almost more than anxiety. She took +Marion by the hand and, kissing her, led her to the sofa. "I would +have stopped him if I could," she said.</p> + +<p>"Why should you have stopped him?"</p> + +<p>"Such things should be considered more."</p> + +<p>"He had made it too late for considering to be of service. I knew, I +almost knew, that he would come."</p> + +<p>"You did?"</p> + +<p>"I can tell myself now that I did, though I could not say it even to +myself before." There was a smile on her face as she spoke, and, +though her colour was heightened, there was none of that peculiar +flush which Mrs. Roden so greatly feared to see. Nor was there any +special excitement in her manner. There was no look either of awe or +of triumph. She seemed to take it as a matter of course, quite as +much at least as any Lady Amaldina could have done, who might have +been justified by her position in expecting that some young noble +eldest son would fling himself at her feet.</p> + +<p>"And are you ready with your answer?" Marion turned her eyes towards +her friend, but made no immediate reply. "My darling girl,—for you +in truth are very dear to me,—much thought should be given to such +an appeal as that before any answer is made."</p> + +<p>"I have thought."</p> + +<p>"And are you ready?"</p> + +<p>"I think so. Dear Mrs. Roden, do not look at me like that. If I do +not say more to tell you immediately it is because I am not perhaps +quite sure;—not sure, at any rate, of the reasons I may have to +give. I will come to you to-morrow, and then I will tell you."</p> + +<p>There was room then at any rate for hope! If the girl had not quite +resolved to grasp at the high destiny offered to her, it was still +her friend's duty to say something that might influence her.</p> + +<p>"Marion, dear!"</p> + +<p>"Say all that you think, Mrs. Roden. Surely you know that I know that +whatever may come from you will come in love. I have no mother, and +to whom can I go better than to you to fill a mother's place?"</p> + +<p>"Dear Marion, it is thus I feel towards you. What I would say to you +I would say to my own child. There are great differences in the ranks +of men."</p> + +<p>"I have felt that."</p> + +<p>"And though I do in my honest belief think that the best and +honestest of God's creatures are not always to be found among +so-called nobles, yet I think that a certain great respect should be +paid to those whom chance has raised to high places."</p> + +<p>"Do I not respect him?"</p> + +<p>"I hope so. But perhaps you may not show it best by loving him."</p> + +<p>"As to that, it is a matter in which one can, perhaps, hardly control +oneself. If asked for love it will come from you like water from a +fountain. Unless it be so, then it cannot come at all."</p> + +<p>"That surely is a dangerous doctrine for a young woman."</p> + +<p>"Young women, I think, are compassed by many dangers," said Marion; +"and I know but one way of meeting them."</p> + +<p>"What way is that, dear?"</p> + +<p>"I will tell you, if I can find how to tell it, to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"There is one point, Marion, on which I feel myself bound to warn +you, as I endeavoured also to warn him. To him my words seemed to +have availed nothing; but you, I think, are more reasonable. Unequal +marriages never make happy either the one side or the other."</p> + +<p>"I hope I may do nothing to make him unhappy."</p> + +<p>"Unhappy for a moment you must make him;—for a month, perhaps, or +for a year; though it were for years, what would that be to his whole +life?"</p> + +<p>"For years?" said Marion. "No, not for years. Would it be more than +for days, do you think?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot tell what may be the nature of the young man's heart;—nor +can you. But as to that, it cannot be your duty to take much thought. +Of his lasting welfare you are bound to think."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes; of that certainly;—of that above all things."</p> + +<p>"I mean as to this world. Of what may come afterwards to one so +little known we here can hardly dare to speak,—or even to think. But +a girl, when she has been asked to marry a man, is bound to think of +his welfare in this life."</p> + +<p>"I cannot but think of his eternal welfare also," said Marion.</p> + +<p>"Unequal marriages are always unhappy," said Mrs. Roden, repeating +her great argument.</p> + +<p>"Always?"</p> + +<p>"I fear so. Could you be happy if his great friends, his father, and +his stepmother, and all those high-born lords and ladies who are +connected with him,—could you be happy if they frowned on you?"</p> + +<p>"What would their frowns be to me? If he smiled I should be happy. If +the world were light and bright to him, it would certainly be light +and bright to me."</p> + +<p>"I thought so once, Marion. I argued with myself once just as you are +arguing now."</p> + +<p>"Nay, Mrs. Roden, I am hardly arguing."</p> + +<p>"It was just so that I spoke to myself, saying that the joy which I +took in a man's love would certainly be enough for my happiness. But +oh, alas! I fell to the ground. I will tell you now more of myself +than I have told any one for many a year, more even than I have told +George. I will tell you because I know that I can trust your faith."</p> + +<p>"Yes; you can trust me," said Marion.</p> + +<p>"I also married greatly; greatly, as the world's honours are +concerned. In mere rank I stood as a girl higher perhaps than you do +now. But I was lifted out of my own degree, and in accepting the name +which my husband gave me I assured myself that I would do honour to +it, at any rate by my conduct. I did it no dishonour;—but my +marriage was most unfortunate."</p> + +<p>"Was he good?" asked Marion.</p> + +<p>"He was weak. Are you sure that Lord Hampstead is strong? He was +fickle-hearted. Can you be sure that Lord Hampstead will be constant +amidst the charms of others whose manners will be more like his own +than yours can be?"</p> + +<p>"I think he would be constant," said Marion.</p> + +<p>"Because you are ready to worship him who has condescended to step +down from his high pedestal and worship you. Is it not so?"</p> + +<p>"It may be that it is so," said Marion.</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes, my child. It may be that it is so. And then, think of what +may follow,—not only for him, but for you also; not only for you, +but for him also. Broken hearts, crushed ambitions, hopes all dead, +personal dislikes, and perhaps hatred."</p> + +<p>"Not hatred; not hatred."</p> + +<p>"I lived to be hated;—and why not another?" Then she was silent, and +Marion rising from her seat kissed her, and went away to her home.</p> + +<p>She had very much to think of. Though she had declared that she had +almost expected this offer from her lover, still it could not be that +the Quaker girl, the daughter of Zachary Fay, Messrs. Pogson and +Littlebird's clerk, should not be astounded by having such an offer +from such a suitor as Lord Hampstead. But in truth the glory of the +thing was not very much to her. It was something, no doubt. It must +be something to a girl to find that her own personal charms have +sufficed to lure down from his lofty perch the topmost bird of them +all. That Marion was open to some such weakness may be acknowledged +of her. But of the coronet, of the diamonds, of the lofty title, and +high seats, of the castle, and the parks, and well-arranged +equipages, of the rich dresses, of the obsequious servants, and +fawning world that would be gathered around her, it may be said that +she thought not at all. She had in her short life seen one man who +had pleased her ear and her eye, and had touched her heart; and that +one man had instantly declared himself to be all her own. That made +her bosom glow with some feeling of triumph!</p> + +<p>That same evening she abruptly told the whole story to her father. +"Father," she said, "Lord Hampstead was here to-day."</p> + +<p>"Here, in this house?"</p> + +<p>"Not in this house. But I met him at our friend's, whom I went to +see, as is my custom almost daily."</p> + +<p>"I am glad he came not here," said the Quaker.</p> + +<p>"Why should you be glad?" To this the Quaker made no answer.</p> + +<p>"His purpose was to have come here. It was to see me that he came."</p> + +<p>"To see thee?"</p> + +<p>"Father, the young lord has asked me to be his wife."</p> + +<p>"Asked thee to be his wife!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed. Have you not often heard that young men may be +infatuated? It has chanced that I have been the Cinderella for his +eyes."</p> + +<p>"But thou art no princess, child."</p> + +<p>"And, therefore, am unfit to mate with this prince. I could not +answer him at once, father. It was too sudden for me to find the +words. And the place was hardly fitting. But I have found them now."</p> + +<p>"What words, my child?"</p> + +<p>"I will tell him with all respect and deference,—nay, I will tell +him with some love, for I do love him,—that it will become him to +look for his wife elsewhere."</p> + +<p>"Marion," said the Quaker, who was somewhat moved by those things +which had altogether failed with the girl herself; "Marion, must it +be so?"</p> + +<p>"Father, it must certainly be so."</p> + +<p>"And yet thou lovest him?"</p> + +<p>"Though I were dying for his love it must be so."</p> + +<p>"Why, my child, why? As far as I saw the young man he is good and +gracious, of great promise, and like to be true-hearted."</p> + +<p>"Good, and gracious, and true-hearted! Oh, yes! And would you have it +that I should bring such a one as that to sorrow,—perhaps to +disgrace?"</p> + +<p>"Why to sorrow? Why to disgrace? Wouldst thou be more likely to +disgrace a husband than one of those painted Jezebels who know no +worship but that of their faded beauty? Thou hast not answered him, +Marion?"</p> + +<p>"No, father. He is to come on Friday for my answer."</p> + +<p>"Think of it yet again, my child. Three days are no time for +considering a matter of such moment. Bid him leave you for ten days +further."</p> + +<p>"I am ready now," said Marion.</p> + +<p>"And yet thou lovest him! That is not true to nature, Marion. I would +not bid thee take a man's hand because he is rich and great if thou +couldst not give him thy heart in return. I would not have thee break +any law of God or man for the glitter of gold or tinsel of rank. But +the good things of this world, if they be come by honestly, are good. +And the love of an honest man, if thou lovest him thyself in return, +is not of the less worth because he stands high in wealth and in +honour."</p> + +<p>"Shall I think nothing of him, father?"</p> + +<p>"Yea, verily; it will be thy duty to think of him, almost exclusively +of him,—when thou shalt be his wife."</p> + +<p>"Then, father, shall I never think of him."</p> + +<p>"Wilt thou pay no heed to my words, so as to crave from him further +time for thought?"</p> + +<p>"Not a moment. Father, you must not be angry with your child for +this. My own feelings tell me true. My own heart, and my own heart +alone, can dictate to me what I shall say to him. There are +<span class="nowrap">reasons—"</span></p> + +<p>"What reasons?"</p> + +<p>"There are reasons why my mother's daughter should not marry this +man." Then there came a cloud across his brow, and he looked at her +as though almost overcome by his anger. It seemed as though he strove +to speak; but he sat for a while in silence. Then rising from his +chair he left the room, and did not see her again that night.</p> + +<p>This was on a Tuesday; on the Wednesday he did not speak to her on +the subject. The Thursday was Christmas Day, and she went to church +with Mrs. Roden. Nor did he on that day allude to the matter; but on +the evening she made to him a little request. "To-morrow, father, is +a holiday, is it not, in the City?"</p> + +<p>"So they tell me. I hate such tom-fooleries. When I was young a man +might be allowed to earn his bread on all lawful days of the week. +Now he is expected to spend the wages he cannot earn in drinking and +shows."</p> + +<p>"Father, you must leave me here alone after our dinner. He will come +for his answer."</p> + +<p>"And you will give it?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, father, certainly. Do not question me further, for it +must be as I told you." Then he left her as he had done before; but +he did not urge her with any repetition of his request.</p> + +<p>This was what occurred between Marion and her father; but on the +Wednesday she had gone to Mrs. Roden as she had promised, and there +explained her purpose more fully than she had before been able to do. +"I have come, you see," she said, smiling. "I might have told you all +at once, for I have changed nothing of my mind since first he spoke +to me all so suddenly in the passage down-stairs."</p> + +<p>"Are you so sure of yourself?"</p> + +<p>"Quite sure;—quite sure. Do you think I would hurt him?"</p> + +<p>"No, no. You would not, I know, do so willingly."</p> + +<p>"And yet I must hurt him a little. I hope it will hurt him just a +little." Mrs. Roden stared at her. "Oh, if I could make him +understand it all! If I could bid him be a man, so that it should +wound him only for a short time."</p> + +<p>"What wound!"</p> + +<p>"Did you think that I could take him, I, the daughter of a City +clerk, to go and sit in his halls, and shame him before all the +world, because he had thought fit to make me his wife? Never!"</p> + +<p>"Marion, Marion!"</p> + +<p>"Because he has made a mistake which has honoured me, shall I mistake +also, so as to dishonour him? Because he has not seen the distance, +shall I be blind to it? He would have given himself up for me. Shall +I not be able to make a sacrifice? To such a one as I am to sacrifice +myself is all that I can do in the world."</p> + +<p>"Is it such a sacrifice?"</p> + +<p>"Could it be that I should not love him? When such a one comes, +casting his pearls about, throwing sweet odours through the air, +whispering words which are soft-sounding as music in the heavens, +whispering them to me, casting them at me, turning on me the laughing +glances of his young eyes, how could I help to love him? Do you +remember when for a moment he knelt almost at my feet, and told me +that I was his friend, and spoke to me of his hearth? Did you think +that that did not move me?"</p> + +<p>"So soon, my child;—so soon?"</p> + +<p>"In a moment. Is it not so that it is done always?"</p> + +<p>"Hearts are harder than that, Marion."</p> + +<p>"Mine, I think, was so soft just then that the half of his sweet +things would have ravished it from my bosom. But I feel for myself +that there are two parts in me. Though the one can melt away, and +pass altogether from my control, can gush like water that runs out +and cannot be checked, the other has something in it of hard +substance which can stand against blows, even from him."</p> + +<p>"What is that something, Marion?"</p> + +<p>"Nay, I cannot name it. I think it be another heart, of finer +substance, or it may be it is woman's pride, which will suffer all +things rather than hurt the one it loves. I know myself. No words +from him,—no desire to see his joy, as he would be joyful, if I told +him that I could give him all he asks,—no longing for all his love +could do for me, shall move me one tittle. He shall tell himself to +his dying day that the Quaker girl, because she loved him, was true +to his interests."</p> + +<p>"My child;—my child!" said Mrs. Roden, taking Marion in her arms.</p> + +<p>"Do you think that I do not know,—that I have forgotten? Was it +nothing to me to see my—mother die, and her little ones? Do I not +know that I am not, as others are, free to wed, not a lord like that, +but even one of my own standing? Mrs. Roden, if I can live till my +poor father shall have gone before me, so that he may not be left +alone when the weakness of age shall have come upon him,—then,—then +I shall be satisfied to follow them. No dream of loving had ever +crossed my mind. He has come, and without my mind, the dream has been +dreamed. I think that my lot will be happier so, than if I had passed +away without any feeling such as that I have now. Perhaps he will not +marry till I am gone."</p> + +<p>"Would that hurt you so sorely?"</p> + +<p>"It ought not. It shall not. It will be well that he should marry, +and I will not wish to cause him evil. He will have gone away, and I +shall hardly know of it. Perhaps they will not tell me." Mrs. Roden +could only embrace her, sobbing, wiping her eyes with piteousness. +"But I will not begrudge aught of the sacrifice," she continued. +"There is nothing, I think, sweeter than to deny oneself all things +for love. What are our lessons for but to teach us that? Shall I not +do unto him as it would be well for me that some such girl should do +for my sake if I were such as he?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Marion, you have got the better part."</p> + +<p>"And yet,—and yet—. I would that he should feel a little because he +cannot have the toy that has pleased his eye. What was it that he saw +in me, do you think?" As she asked the question she cheered up +wonderfully.</p> + +<p>"The beauty of your brow and eyes,—the softness of your woman's +voice."</p> + +<p>"Nay, but I think it was my Quaker dress. His eye, perhaps, likes +things all of a colour. I had, too, new gloves and a new frock when +he saw me. How well I remember his coming,—how he would glance round +at me till I hardly knew whether I was glad that he should observe me +so much,—or offended at his persistence. I think that I was glad, +though I told myself that he should not have glanced at me so often. +And then, when he asked us to go down to his house I did long,—I did +long,—to win father's consent to the journey. Had he not +<span class="nowrap">gone—"</span></p> + +<p>"Do not think of it, Marion."</p> + +<p>"That I will not promise;—but I will not talk of it. Now, dear Mrs. +Roden, let all then be as though it had never been. I do not mean to +mope, or to neglect my work, because a young lord has crossed my path +and told me that he loves me. I must send him from me, and then I +will be just as I have been always." Having made this promise she +went away, leaving Mrs. Roden much more flurried by the interview +than was she herself. When the Friday came, holiday as it was, the +Quaker took himself off to the City after dinner, without another +word as to his daughter's lover.</p> + + +<p><a name="c2-4" id="c2-4"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER IV.</h3> +<h4>LORD HAMPSTEAD IS IMPATIENT.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Hampstead, when he was sent away from Paradise Row, and bade to wait +till Friday for an answer, was disappointed, almost cross, and +unreasonable in his feelings towards Mrs. Roden. To Mrs. Roden +altogether he attributed it that Marion had deferred her reply. +Whether the delay thus enjoined told well or ill for his hopes he +could not bring himself to determine. As he drove himself home his +mind was swayed now in one direction and now in the other. Unless she +loved him somewhat, unless she thought it possible that she should +love him, she would hardly have asked for time to think of it all. +And yet, had she really have loved him, why should she have asked for +time? He had done for her all that a man could do for a girl, and if +she loved him she should not have tormented him by foolish +delays,—by coying her love!</p> + +<p>It should be said on his behalf that he attributed to himself no +preponderance of excellence, either on the score of his money or his +rank. He was able so to honour the girl as to think of her that such +things would go for nothing with her. It was not that he had put his +coronet at her feet, but his heart. It was of that he thought when he +reminded himself of all that he had done for her, and told himself +angrily that she should not have tormented him. He was as arrogant +and impatient of disappointment as any young lord of them all,—but +it was not, however, because he was a lord that he thought that +Marion's heart was due to him.</p> + +<p>"I have been over to Holloway," he said to his sister, almost as soon +as he had returned.</p> + +<p>Out of the full heart the mouth speaks. "Have you seen George?" asked +Lady Frances.</p> + +<p>"No; I did not go to see him. He, of course, would be at his office +during the day. I went about my own business."</p> + +<p>"You need not be so savage with me, John. What was your own business +at Holloway?"</p> + +<p>"I went to ask Marion Fay to be my wife."</p> + +<p>"You did?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I did. Why should I not? It seems the fashion for us all now to +marry just those we fancy best."</p> + +<p>"And why not? Have I gainsaid you? If this Quaker's daughter be good +and honest, and fair to look +<span class="nowrap">at—"</span></p> + +<p>"That she is fair to look at I can say certainly. That she is good I +believe thoroughly. That she is honest, at any rate to me, I cannot +say as yet."</p> + +<p>"Not honest?"</p> + +<p>"She will not steal or pick a pocket, if you mean that."</p> + +<p>"What is it, John? Why do you speak of her in this way?"</p> + +<p>"Because I have chosen to tell you. Having made up my mind to do this +thing, I would not keep it secret as though I were ashamed of it. How +can I say that she is honest till she has answered me honestly?"</p> + +<p>"What answer has she made you?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"None;—as yet! She has told me to come again another day."</p> + +<p>"I like her better for that."</p> + +<p>"Why should you like her better? Just because you're a woman, and +think that shilly-shallying and pretending not to know your own mind, +and keeping a fellow in suspense, is becoming. I am not going to +change my mind about Marion; but I do think that mock hesitation is +unnecessary, and in some degree dishonest."</p> + +<p>"Must it necessarily be mock hesitation? Ought she not to be sure of +herself that she can love you?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly; or that she should not love me. I am not such a puppy as +to suppose that she is to throw herself into my arms just because I +ask her. But I think that she must have known something of herself so +as to have been able to tell me either to hope or not to hope. She +was as calm as a Minister in the House of Commons answering a +question; and she told me to wait till Friday just as those fellows +do when they have to find out from the clerks in the office what it +is they ought to say."</p> + +<p>"You will go again on Friday?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Of course I must. It is not likely that she should come to me. And +then if she says that she'd rather not, I must come home once more +with my tail between my legs."</p> + +<p>"I do not think she will say that."</p> + +<p>"How can you tell?"</p> + +<p>"It is the nature of a girl, I think," said Lady Frances, "to doubt a +little when she thinks that she can love, but not to doubt at all +when she feels that she cannot. She may be persuaded afterwards to +change her mind, but at first she is certain enough."</p> + +<p>"I call that shilly-shally."</p> + +<p>"Not at all. The girl I'm speaking of is honest throughout. And Miss +Fay will have been honest should she accept you now. It is not often +that such a one as you, John, can ask a girl in vain."</p> + +<p>"That is mean," he said, angrily. "That is imputing falseness, and +greed, and dishonour to the girl I love. If she has liked some fellow +clerk in her father's office better than she likes me, shall she +accept me merely because I am my father's son?"</p> + +<p>"It was not that of which I was thinking. A man may have personal +gifts which will certainly prevail with a girl young and unsullied by +the world, as I suppose is your Marion Fay."</p> + +<p>"Bosh," he said, laughing. "As far as personal gifts are concerned, +one fellow is pretty nearly the same as another. A girl has to be +good-looking. A man has got to have something to buy bread and cheese +with. After that it is all a mere matter of liking and +disliking—unless, indeed, people are dishonest, which they very +often are."</p> + +<p>Up to this period of his life Lord Hampstead had never met any girl +whom he had thought it desirable to make his wife. It was now two +years since the present Marchioness had endeavoured to arrange an +alliance between him and her own niece, Lady Amaldina Hauteville. +This, though but two years had passed since, seemed to him to have +occurred at a distant period of his life. Very much had occurred to +him during those two years. His political creed had been strengthened +by the convictions of others, especially by those of George Roden, +till it had included those advanced opinions which have been +described. He had annoyed, and then dismayed, his father by his +continued refusal to go into Parliament. He had taken to himself ways +of living of his own, which gave to him the manners and appearance of +more advanced age. At that period, two years since, his stepmother +still conceived high hopes of him, even though he would occasionally +utter in her presence opinions which seemed to be terrible. He was +then not of age, and there would be time enough for a woman of her +tact and intellect to cure all those follies. The best way of curing +them, she thought, would be by arranging a marriage between the heir +to the Marquisate and the daughter of so distinguished a conservative +Peer as her brother-in-law, Lord Persiflage. Having this high object +in view, she opened the matter with diplomatic caution to her sister. +Lady Persiflage had at that moment begun to regard Lord Llwddythlw as +a possible son-in-law, but was alive to the fact that Lord Hampstead +possessed some superior advantages. It was possible that her girl +should really love such a one as Lord Hampstead,—hardly possible +that there should be anything romantic in a marriage with the heir of +the Duke of Merioneth. As far as wealth and rank went there was +enough in both competitors. She whispered therefore to her girl the +name of the younger aspirant,—aspirant as he might be hoped to +be,—and the girl was not opposed to the idea. Only let there be no +falling to the ground between two stools; no starving for want of +fodder between two bundles of hay! Lord Llwddythlw had already begun +to give symptoms. No doubt he was bald; no doubt he was pre-occupied +with Parliament and the county. There was no doubt that his wife +would have to encounter that touch of ridicule which a young girl +incurs when she marries a man altogether removed beyond the world of +romance. But dukes are scarce, and the man of business was known to +be a man of high honour. There would be no gambling, no difficulties, +no possible question of a want of money. And then his politics were +the grandest known in England,—those of an old Tory willing always +to work for his party without desiring any of those rewards which the +"party" wishes to divide among as select a number as possible. What +Lord Hampstead might turn out to be, there was as yet no knowing. He +had already declared himself to be a Radical. He was fond of hunting, +and it was quite on the cards that he should take to Newmarket. Then, +too, his father might live for five-and-twenty years, whereas the +Duke of Merioneth was already nearly eighty. But Hampstead was as +beautiful as a young Phœbus, and the pair would instantly become +famous if only from their good looks alone. The chance was given to +Lady Amaldina, but only given on the understanding that she must make +very quick work of her time.</p> + +<p>Hampstead was coaxed down to Castle Hautboy for a month in September, +with an idea that the young lovers might be as romantic as they +pleased among the Lakes. Some little romance there was; but at the +end of the first week Amaldina wisely told her mother that the thing +wouldn't do. She would always be glad to regard Lord Hampstead as a +cousin, but as to anything else, there must be an end of it. "I shall +some day give up my title and abandon the property to Freddy. I shall +then go to the United States, and do the best I can there to earn my +own bread." This little speech, made by the proposed lover to the +girl he was expected to marry, opened Lady Amaldina's eyes to the +danger of her situation. Lord Llwddythlw was induced to spend two +days in the following month at Castle Hautboy, and then the +arrangements for the Welsh alliance were completed.</p> + +<p>From that time forth a feeling of ill-will on the part of Lady +Kingsbury towards her stepson had grown and become strong from month +to month. She had not at first conceived any idea that her Lord +Frederic ought to come to the throne. That had come gradually when +she perceived, or thought that she perceived, that Hampstead would +hardly make a marriage properly aristocratic. Hitherto no tidings of +any proposed marriage had reached her ears. She lived at last in +daily fear, as any marriage would be the almost sure forerunner of a +little Lord Highgate. If something might happen,—something which she +had taught herself to regard as beneficent and fitting rather than +fatal,—something which might ensure to her little Lord Frederic +those prospects which he had almost a right to expect, then in spite +of all her sufferings Heaven would have done something for her for +which she might be thankful. "What will her ladyship say when she +hears of my maid Marion?" said Hampstead to his sister on the +Christmas Day before his further visit to Holloway.</p> + +<p>"Will it matter much?" asked Lady Frances.</p> + +<p>"I think my feelings towards her are softer than yours. She is silly, +arrogant, harsh, and insolent to my father, and altogether +unprincipled in her expectations and ambitions."</p> + +<p>"What a character you give her," said his sister.</p> + +<p>"But nevertheless I feel for her to such an extent that I almost +think I ought to abolish myself."</p> + +<p>"I cannot say that I feel for her."</p> + +<p>"It is all for her son that she wants it; and I agree with her in +thinking that Freddy will be better fitted than I am for the position +in question. I am determined to marry Marion if I can get her; but +all the Traffords, unless it be yourself, will be broken-hearted at +such a marriage. If once I have a son of my own the matter will be +hopeless. If I were to call myself Snooks, and refused to take a +shilling from the property, I should do them no good. Marion's boy +would be just as much in their way as I am."</p> + +<p>"What a way of looking at it."</p> + +<p>"How my stepmother will hate her! A Quaker's daughter! A clerk at +Pogson and Littlebird's! Living at Paradise Row! Can't you see her! +Is it not hard upon her that we should both go to Paradise Row?" Lady +Frances could not keep herself from laughing. "You can't do her any +permanent injury, because you are only a girl; but I think she will +poison me. It will end in her getting Mr. Greenwood to give me some +broth."</p> + +<p>"John, you are too terrible."</p> + +<p>"If I could be on the jury afterwards, I would certainly acquit them +both on the ground of extreme provocation."</p> + +<p>Early on the following morning he was in a fidget, having fixed no +hour for his visit to Holloway. It was not likely that she should be +out or engaged, but he determined not to go till after lunch. All +employment was out of the question, and he was rather a trouble to +his sister; but in the course of the morning there came a letter +which did for a while occupy his thoughts. The envelope was addressed +in a hand he did not know, and was absurdly addressed to the</p> + + +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0"><tr><td> +<p class="noindent">"<span class="smallcaps">Right Honourable,</span><br /> +<span class="ind4"><span class="smallcaps">The Lord Hampstead</span>."</span></p> +</td></tr></table> +</div> + + +<p>"I wonder who this ass is," said he, tearing it open. The ass was +Samuel Crocker, and the letter was as +<span class="nowrap">follows;—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="jright">Heathcote Street,<br /> +Mecklenburg Square,<br /> +Christmas Day, 18—.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear +Lord Hampstead</span>,</p> + +<p>I hope I may be excused for addressing your lordship in +this familiar manner. I take occasion of this happy day to +write to your lordship on a message of peace. Since I had +the honour of meeting you at your noble uncle's mansion, +Castle Hautboy, I have considered it one of the greatest +delights of my life to be able to boast of your +acquaintance. You will not, I am sure, forget that we have +been fellow sportsmen, and that we rode together on that +celebrated run when we killed our fox in the field just +over Airey Force. I shall never forget the occasion, or +how well your lordship went over our rough country. To my +mind there is no bond of union so strong as that of sport.</p> + + +<div class="center"> +<table class="sm" style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0"><tr><td> +<p class="noindent">"Up strikes little Davy with his musical horn."</p> +</td></tr></table> +</div> + + +<p>I am sure you will remember that, my lord, and the +beautiful song to which it belongs. I remember, too, how, +as we were riding home after the run, your lordship was +talking all the way about our mutual friend, George Roden.</p> + +<p>He is a man for whom I have a most sincere regard, both as +being an excellent public servant, and as a friend of your +lordship's. It is quite a pleasure to see the way in which +he devotes himself to the service,—as I do also. When you +have taken the Queen's shilling you ought to earn it. +Those are my principles, my lord. We have a couple of +young fellows there whose only object it is to get through +the day and eat their lunches. I always tell them that +official hours ain't their own. I suppose they'll +understand me some day.</p> + +<p>But as I was saying to your lordship about George Roden, +there has something come up which I don't quite +understand, which seems to have turned him against me. +Nothing has ever given me so much pleasure as when I heard +of his prospects as to a certain matter—which your +lordship will know what I mean. Nothing could be more +flattering than the way I've wished him joy ever so many +times. So I do also your lordship and her ladyship, +because he is a most respectable young man, though his +station in life isn't so high as some people's. But a +clerk in H. M. S. has always been taken for a gentleman +which I am proud to think is my position as well as his.</p> + +<p>But, as I was saying to your lordship, something seems to +have gone against him as to our mutual friendship. He sits +there opposite and won't speak a word to me, except just +to answer a question, and that hardly civil. He is as +sweet as sugar to those fellows who ain't at the same desk +with him as I am,—or I should think it was his future +prospects were making him upsetting. Couldn't your +lordship do something to make things up between us +again,—especially on this festive occasion? I'm sure your +lordship will remember how pleasant we were together at +Castle Hautboy, and at the hunt, and especially as we were +riding home together on that day. I did take the liberty +of calling at Hendon Hall, when her ladyship was kind +enough to see me. Of course there was a delicacy in +speaking to her ladyship about Mr. Roden, which nobody +could understand better than I do; but I think she made me +something of a promise that she would say a word when a +proper time might come.</p> + +<p>It could only have been a joke of mine; and I do joke +sometimes, as your lordship may have observed. But I +shouldn't think Roden would be the man to be mortally +offended by anything of that sort. Anyway, I will leave +the matter in your lordship's hands, merely remarking +that,—as your lordship may remember,—"Blessed are the +peace-makers, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven."</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="ind4">I have the honour to be,</span><br /> +<span class="ind6">My dear Lord Hampstead,</span><br /> +<span class="ind8">Your lordship's most obedient,</span><br /> +<span class="ind10">Very humble servant,</span></p> + +<p class="ind12"><span class="smallcaps">Samuel Crocker</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Fretful and impatient as he was on that morning, it was impossible +for Hampstead not to laugh at this letter. He showed it to his +sister, who, in spite of her annoyance, was constrained to laugh +also. "I shall tell George to take him to his bosom at once," said +he.</p> + +<p>"Why should George be bothered with him?"</p> + +<p>"Because George can't help himself. They sit at the same desk +together, as Crocker has not forgotten to tell me a dozen times. When +a man perseveres in this way, and is thick-skinned enough to bear all +rebuffs, there is nothing he will not accomplish. I have no doubt he +will be riding my horses in Leicestershire before the season is +over." An answer, however, was written to him in the following +<span class="nowrap">words;—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dear Mr. Crocker</span>,</p> + +<p>I am afraid I cannot interfere with Mr. Roden, who doesn't +like to be dictated to in such matters.</p> + +<p class="ind12">Yours truly,</p> + +<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">Hampstead</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>"There," said he; "I do not think he can take that letter as a mark +of friendship."</p> + +<p>In this way the morning was passed till the time came for the start +to Holloway. Lady Frances, standing at the hall door as he got into +his trap, saw that the fashion of his face was unusually serious.</p> + + +<p><a name="c2-5" id="c2-5"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER V.</h3> +<h4>THE QUAKER'S ELOQUENCE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>When the Friday morning came in Paradise Row both father and +daughter, at No. 17, were full of thought as they came down to +breakfast. To each of them it was a day laden with importance. The +father's mind had been full of the matter ever since the news had +been told to him. He had received Marion's positive assurance that +such a marriage was altogether impossible with something of +impatience till she had used that argument as to her own health, +which was so powerful with her. On hearing that he had said nothing, +but had gone away. Nor had he spoken a word on the subject since. But +his mind had been full of it. He had lost his wife,—and all his +little ones, as she had said; but he had declared to himself with +strong confidence that this child was to be spared to him. He was a +man whose confidence was unbounded in things as to which he had +resolved. It was as though he had determined, in spite of Fate, in +spite of God, that his Marion should live. And she had grown up under +his eyes, if not robust, by no means a weak creature. She did her +work about the house, and never complained. In his eyes she was very +beautiful; but he saw nothing in her colour which was not to him a +sign of health. He told himself that it was nothing that she, having +seen so many die in her own family, should condemn herself; but for +himself he repudiated the idea, and declared to himself that she +should not become an early victim. So thinking, he exercised his mind +constantly during those few days in considering whether there was any +adequate cause for the refusal which Marion had determined to give +this man.</p> + +<p>He, in truth, was terribly anxious that this grand stroke of fortune +should be acknowledged and accepted. He wanted nothing from the young +lord himself,—except, perhaps, that he might be the young lord's +father-in-law. But he did want it all, long for it all, pant for it +all, on behalf of his girl. If all these good things came in his +girl's way because of her beauty, her grace, and her merit, why +should they not be accepted? Others not only accepted these things +for their daughters, but hunted for them, cheated for them, did all +mean things in searching for them,—and had their tricks and their +lies regarded by the world quite as a matter of course,—because it +was natural that parents should be anxious for their children. He had +not hunted. He had not cheated. The thing had come in his girl's way. +The man had found her to be the most lovely, the most attractive, the +most loveable among all whom he had seen. And was this glory to be +thrown away because she had filled her mind with false fears? Though +she were to die, must not the man take his chance with her, as do +other husbands in marrying other wives?</p> + +<p>He had been thinking of this, and of nothing but this, during the +days which had intervened since Lord Hampstead had been in Paradise +Row. He had not said a word to his daughter,—had indeed not dared to +say a word to her, so abhorrent to him was the idea of discussing +with her the probabilities of her own living or dying. And he was +doubtful, too, whether any words coming from him at the present might +not strengthen her in her resolution. If the man really loved her he +might prevail. His words would be stronger to overcome her than any +that could be spoken by her father. And then, too, if he really loved +her, the one repulse would not send him back for ever. It might, +perhaps, be better that any arguments from her father should be +postponed till she should have heard her lover's arguments. But his +mind was so filled with the whole matter that he could not bring +himself to assure himself certainly that his decision was the best. +Though he was one who rarely needed counsel from others, on this +occasion he did need it, and now it was his purpose to ask counsel of +Mrs. Roden before the moment should have come which might be fatal to +his hopes.</p> + +<p>As this was the day immediately following Christmas, there was no +business for him in the City. In order that the weary holiday might +be quicker consumed, they breakfasted at No. 17 an hour later than +was usual. After breakfast he got through the morning as well as he +could with his newspaper, and some record of stocks and prices which +he had brought with him from the City. So he remained, fretful, doing +nothing, pretending to read, but with his mind fixed upon the one +subject, till it was twelve o'clock, at which hour he had determined +to make his visit. At half-past one they were to dine, each of them +having calculated, without, however, a word having been spoken, that +Lord Hampstead would certainly not come till the ceremony of dinner +would be over. Though the matter was so vitally important to both of +them, not a word concerning it was spoken.</p> + +<p>At twelve o'clock he took up his hat, and walked out. "You will be +back punctually for dinner, father?" she asked. He made his promise +simply by nodding his head, and then left the room. Five minutes +afterwards he was closeted with Mrs. Roden in her drawing-room. +Having conceived the difficulty of leading up to the subject +gradually, he broke into it at once. "Marion has told thee that this +young man will be here to-day?" She simply assented. "Hast thou +advised her as to what she should say?"</p> + +<p>"She has not seemed to want advice."</p> + +<p>"How should a girl not want advice in so great a matter?"</p> + +<p>"How, indeed? But yet she has needed none."</p> + +<p>"Has she told thee," he asked, "what it is in her mind to do?"</p> + +<p>"I think so."</p> + +<p>"Has she said that she would refuse the man?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; that certainly was her purpose."</p> + +<p>"And given the reasons?" he said, almost trembling as he asked the +question.</p> + +<p>"Yes, she gave her reasons."</p> + +<p>"And didst thou agree with her?" Before she could reply to this Mrs. +Roden felt herself compelled to pause. When she thought of that one +strongest reason, fully as she agreed with it, she was unable to tell +the father of the girl that she did so. She sat looking at him, +wanting words with which she might express her full concurrence with +Marion without plunging a dagger into the other's heart. "Then thou +didst agree with her?" There was something terrible in the intensity +and slowness of the words as he repeated the question.</p> + +<p>"On the whole I did," she said. "I think that unequal marriages are +rarely happy."</p> + +<p>"That was all?" he asked. Then when she was again silent, he made the +demand which was so important to him. "Did she say aught of her +health in discussing all this with thee?"</p> + +<p>"She did, Mr. Fay."</p> + +<p>"And thou?"</p> + +<p>"It was a subject, my friend, on which I could not speak to her. All +that was said came from her. Her mind was so fully made up, as I have +said before, no advice from me could avail anything. With some people +it is easy to see that whether you agree with them or differ from +them it is impossible to turn them."</p> + +<p>"But to me thou canst say whether thou hast agreed with her. Yes; I +know well that the subject is one difficult to talk of in a father's +hearing. But there are things which should be talked of, though the +heart should break." After another pause he continued; "Is there, +thinkest thou, sufficient cause in the girl's health to bid her sever +herself from these delights of life and customary habits which the +Lord has intended for His creatures?" At every separate question he +paused, but when she was silent he went on with other questions. "Is +there that in her looks, is there that in her present condition of +life, which make it needful for thee, her friend, or for me, her +father, to treat her as though she were already condemned by the hand +of the Lord to an early grave?" Then, again, looking almost fiercely +into her face, he went on with his examination, "That is what thou +art doing."</p> + +<p>"Not I;—not I."</p> + +<p>"Yes, thou, my friend; thou, with all thy woman's softness in thy +heart! It is what I shall do, unless I bring myself to tell her that +her fears are vain. To me she has said that that is her reason. It is +not that she cannot love the man. Has she not said as much to thee?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; truly."</p> + +<p>"And art thou not assenting to it unless thou tell'st her that her +fancies are not only vain, but wrong? Though thou hast not spoken the +word, has not thy silence assented as fully as words could do? Answer +me at any rate to that."</p> + +<p>"It is so," she said.</p> + +<p>"Is it then necessary to condemn her? Art thou justified in thine own +thoughts in bidding her regard herself as one doomed?" Again there +was a pause. What was she to say? "Thou art aware that in our poor +household she does all that the strictest economy would demand from +an active mother of a family? She is never idle. If she suffers I do +not see it. She takes her food, if not with strong appetite, yet +regularly. She is upright, and walks with no languor. No doctor comes +near her. If like others she requires change of air and scene, what +can give her such chance as this marriage? Hast thou not heard that +for girls of feeble health marriage itself will strengthen them? Is +she such that thou as her friend must bid her know that she must +perish like a blighted flower? Must I bid her to hem and stitch her +own winding-sheet? It comes to that if no word be said to her to turn +her from this belief. She has seen them all die,—one after +another,—one after another, till the idea of death, of death for +herself as well as for them, has gotten hold of her. And yet it will +be the case that one in a family shall escape. I have asked among +those who know, and I have found that it is so. The Lord does not +strike them all, always. But if she thinks that she is stricken then +she will fall. If she goes forth to meet Death on the path, Death +will come half way to encounter her. Dost thou believe of me that it +is because the man is a noble lord that I desire this marriage?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no, Mr. Fay."</p> + +<p>"He will take my child away from me. She will then be but little to +me. What want I with lords, who for the few days of active life that +are left to me would not change my City stool for any seat that any +lord can give me? But I shall know that she has had her chance in the +world, and has not been unnecessarily doomed—to an early grave!"</p> + +<p>"What would you have me do?"</p> + +<p>"Go to her, and tell her that she should look forward, with trust in +God, to such a state of health as He may vouchsafe to give her. Her +thoughts are mostly with her God. Bid her not shorten His mercies. +Bid her not to tell herself that she can examine His purposes. Bid +her do in this as her nature bids her, and, if she can love this man, +give herself into his arms and leave the rest to the Lord."</p> + +<p>"But he will be there at once."</p> + +<p>"If he be there, what harm? Thou canst go when he comes to the door. +I shall go to her now, and we shall dine together, and then at once I +will leave her. When you see me pass the window then thou canst take +thine occasion." So saying, without waiting for a promise, he left +her and went back to his own house.</p> + +<p>And Marion's heart had been full of many thoughts that morning,—some +of them so trifling in their object, that she herself would wonder at +herself because that they should occupy her. How should she be +dressed to receive her lover? In what words first should she speak to +him,—and in what sort? Should she let any sign of love escape from +her? Her resolution as to her great purpose was so fixed that there +was no need for further thought on that matter. It was on the little +things that she was intent. How far might she indulge herself in +allowing some tenderness to escape her? How best might she save him +from any great pain, and yet show him that she was proud that he had +loved her? In what dress she might receive him, in that would she sit +at table with her father. It was Christmas time, and the occasion +would justify whatever of feminine smartness her wardrobe possessed. +As she brought out from its recess the rich silk frock, still all but +new, in which he had first seen her, she told herself that she would +probably have worn it for her father's sake, had no lover been +coming. On the day before, the Christmas Day, she had worn it at +church. And the shoes with the pretty buckles, and the sober but yet +handsome morsel of lace which was made for her throat,—and which she +had not been ashamed to wear at that memorable dinner,—they were all +brought out. It was Christmas, and her father's presence would surely +have justified them all! And would she not wish to leave in her +lover's eyes the memory of whatever prettiness she might have +possessed? They were all produced. But when the moment came for +arraying herself they were all restored to their homes. She would be +the simple Quaker girl as she was to be found there on Monday, on +Tuesday, and on Wednesday. It would be better that he should know how +little there was for him to lose.</p> + +<p>Zachary Fay ate his dinner almost without a word. She, though she +smiled on him and tried to look contented, found it almost impossible +to speak. She uttered some little phrases which she intended to be +peculiar to the period of the year; but she felt that her father's +mind was intent on what was coming, and she discontinued her efforts. +She found it hardly possible to guess at the frame of his mind, so +silent had he been since first he had yielded to her when she assured +him of her purpose. But she had assured him, and he could not doubt +her purpose. If he were unhappy for the moment it was needful that he +should be unhappy. There could be no change, and therefore it was +well that he should be silent. He had hardly swallowed his dinner +when he rose from his chair, and, bringing in his hat from the +passage, spoke a word to her before he departed. "I am going into the +City, Marion," he said. "I know it is well that I should be absent +this afternoon. I shall return to tea. God bless thee, my child."</p> + +<p>Marion, rising from her chair, kissed his lips and cheeks, and +accompanied him to the door. "It will be all well, my father," she +said; "it will be all well, and your child will be happy."</p> + +<p>About half-an-hour afterwards there came a knock at the door, and +Marion for a moment thought that her lover was already there. But it +was Mrs. Roden who came up to her in the drawing-room. "Am I in the +way, Marion?" she asked. "I will be gone in a minute; but perhaps I +can say a word first."</p> + +<p>"Why should you be in the way?"</p> + +<p>"He is coming."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I suppose so. He said that he would come. But what if he come? +You and he are old friends."</p> + +<p>"I would not be here to interrupt him. I will escape when we hear the +knock. Oh, Marion!"</p> + +<p>"What is it, Mrs. Roden? You are sad, and something troubles you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed. There is something which troubles me sorely. This lover +of yours?"</p> + +<p>"It is fixed, dear friend; fixed as fate. It does not trouble me. It +shall not trouble me. Why should it be a trouble? Suppose I had never +seen him!"</p> + +<p>"But you have seen him, my child."</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed; and whether that be for good or evil, either to him or +to me, it must be accepted. Nothing now can alter that. But I think, +indeed, that it is a blessing. It will be something to me to remember +that such a one as he has loved me. And for +<span class="nowrap">him—"</span></p> + +<p>"I would speak now of you, Marion."</p> + +<p>"I am contented."</p> + +<p>"It may be, Marion, that in this concerning your health you should be +altogether wrong."</p> + +<p>"How wrong?"</p> + +<p>"What right have you or I to say that the Lord has determined to +shorten your days."</p> + +<p>"Who has said so?"</p> + +<p>"It is on that theory that you are acting."</p> + +<p>"No;—not on that; not on that alone. Were I as strong as are other +girls,—as the very strongest,—I would do the same. Has my father +been with you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, he has."</p> + +<p>"My poor father! But it is of no avail. It would be wrong, and I will +not do it. If I am to die, I must die. If I am to live, let me live. +I shall not die certainly because I have resolved to send this fine +lover away. However weak Marion Fay may be, she is strong enough not +to pine for that."</p> + +<p>"If there be no need?"</p> + +<p>"No need? What was it you said of unequal marriages? What was the +story that you told me of your own? If I love this man, of whom am I +to think the most? Could it be possible that I should be to him what +a wife ought to be to her husband? Could I stand nobly on his +hearth-rug, and make his great guests welcome? Should I be such a one +that every day he should bless the kind fortune which had given him +such a woman to help him to rule his house? How could I go from the +littleness of these chambers to walk through his halls without +showing that I knew myself to be an intruder? And yet I should be so +proud that I should resent the looks of all who told me by their +faces that I was so. He has done wrong in allowing himself to love +me. He has done wrong in yielding to his passion, and telling me of +his love. I will be wiser and nobler than he. If the Lord will help +me, if my Saviour will be on my side, I will not do wrong. I did not +think that you, Mrs. Roden, would turn against me."</p> + +<p>"Turn against thee, Marion? I to turn against thee!"</p> + +<p>"You should strengthen me."</p> + +<p>"It seems to me that you want no strength from others. It is for your +poor father that I would say a word."</p> + +<p>"I would not have father believe that my health has aught to do with +it. You know,—you know what right I have to think that I am fit to +marry and to hope to be the mother of children. It needs not that he +should know. Let it suffice for him to be told that I am not equal to +this greatness. A word escaped me in speaking to him, and I repent +myself that I so spoke to him. But tell him,—and tell him +truly,—that were my days fixed here for the next fifty years, were I +sure of the rudest health, I would not carry my birth, my manners, my +habits into that young lord's house. How long would it be, Mrs. +Roden, before he saw some little trick that would displease him? Some +word would be wrongly spoken, some garment would be ill-folded, some +awkward movement would tell the tale,—and then he would feel that he +had done wrong to marry the Quaker's daughter. All the virtues under +the sun cannot bolster up love so as to stand the battery of one +touch of disgust. Tell my father that, and tell him that I have done +well. Then you can tell him also, that, if God shall so choose it, I +shall live a strong old maid for many years, to think night and day +of his goodness to me,—of his great love."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Roden, as she had come across from her own house, had known that +her mission would fail. To persuade another against one's own belief +is difficult in any case, but to persuade Marion Fay on such a matter +as this was a task beyond the eloquence of man or woman. She had made +up her mind that she must fail utterly when the knock came at the +door. She took the girl in her arms and kissed her without further +attempt. She would not even bid her think of it once again, as might +have been so easy at parting. "I will go into your room while he +passes," she said. As she did so Lord Hampstead's voice was heard at +the door.</p> + + +<p><a name="c2-6" id="c2-6"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER VI.</h3> +<h4>MARION'S OBSTINACY.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Lord Hampstead drove himself very fast from Hendon Hall to the +"Duchess of Edinburgh" at Holloway, and then, jumping out of his +trap, left it without saying a word to his servant, and walked +quickly up Paradise Row till he came to No. 17. There, without +pausing a moment, he knocked sharply at the door. Going on such a +business as this, he did not care who saw him. There was an idea +present to him that he would be doing honour to Marion Fay if he made +it known to all the world of Holloway that he had come there to ask +her to be his wife. It was this feeling which had made him declare +his purpose to his sister, and which restrained him from any +concealment as to his going and coming.</p> + +<p>Marion was standing alone in the middle of the room, with her two +hands clasped together, but with a smile on her face. She had +considered much as to this moment, determining even the very words +that she would use. The words probably were forgotten, but the +purpose was all there. He had resolved upon nothing, had considered +nothing,—except that she should be made to understand that, because +of his exceeding love, he required her to come to him as his wife. +"Marion," he said, "Marion, you know why I am here!" And he advanced +to her, as though he would at once have taken her in his arms.</p> + +<p>"Yes, my lord, I know."</p> + +<p>"You know that I love you. I think, surely, that never love was +stronger than mine. If you can love me say but the one word, and you +will make me absolutely happy. To have you for my wife is all that +the world can give me now. Why do you go from me? Is it to tell me +that you cannot love me, Marion? Do not say that, or I think my heart +will break."</p> + +<p>She could not say that, but as he paused for her answer it was +necessary that she should say something. And the first word spoken +must tell the whole truth, even though it might be that the word must +be repeated often before he could be got to believe that it was an +earnest word. "My lord," she began.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I do hate that form of address. My name is John. Because of +certain conventional arrangements the outside people call me Lord +Hampstead."</p> + +<p>"It is because I can be to you no more than one of the outside people +that I call you—my lord."</p> + +<p>"Marion!"</p> + +<p>"Only one of the outside people;—no more, though my gratitude to +you, my appreciation, my friendship for you may be ever so strong. My +father's daughter must be just one of the outside people to Lord +Hampstead,—and no more."</p> + +<p>"Why so? Why do you say it? Why do you torment me? Why do you banish +me at once, and tell me that I must go home a wretched, miserable +man? Why?—why?—why?</p> + +<p>"Because, my lord—"</p> + +<p>"I can give a reason,—a good reason,—a reason which I cannot +oppose, though it must be fatal to me unless I can remove it; a +reason to which I must succumb if necessary, but to which, Marion, I +will not succumb at once. If you say that you cannot love me that +will be a reason."</p> + +<p>If it were necessary that she should tell him a lie, she must do so. +It would have been pleasant if she could have made him understand +that she would be content to love him on condition that he would be +content to leave her. That she should continue to love him, and that +he should cease to love her,—unless, perhaps, just a little,—that +had been a scheme for the future which had recommended itself to her. +There should be a something left which should give a romance to her +life, but which should leave him free in all things. It had been a +dream, in which she had much trusted, but which, while she listened +to the violence of his words, she acknowledged to herself to be +almost impossible. She must tell the lie;—but at the moment it +seemed to her that there might be a middle course. "I dare not love +you," she said.</p> + +<p>"Dare not love me, Marion? Who hinders you? Who tells you that you +may not? Is it your father?"</p> + +<p>"No, my lord, no."</p> + +<p>"It is Mrs. Roden."</p> + +<p>"No, my lord. This is a matter in which I could obey no friend, no +father. I have had to ask myself, and I have told myself that I do +not dare to love above my station in life."</p> + +<p>"I am to have that bugbear again between me and my happiness?"</p> + +<p>"Between that and your immediate wishes;—yes. Is it not so in all +things? If I,—even I,—had set my heart upon some one below me, +would not you, as my friend, have bade me conquer the feeling?"</p> + +<p>"I have set my heart on one whom in the things of the world I regard +as my equal,—in all other things as infinitely my superior."</p> + +<p>"The compliment is very sweet to me, but I have trained myself to +resist sweetness. It may not be, Lord Hampstead. It may not be. You +do not know as yet how obstinate such a girl as I may become when she +has to think of another's welfare,—and a little, perhaps, of her +own."</p> + +<p>"Are you afraid of me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"That I should not love you?"</p> + +<p>"Even of that. When you should come to see in me that which is not +lovable you would cease to love me. You would be good to me because +your nature is good; kind to me because your nature is kind. You +would not ill-treat me because you are gentle, noble, and forgiving. +But that would not suffice for me. I should see it in your eye, +despite yourself,—and hear it in your voice, even though you tried +to hide it by occasional softness. I should eat my own heart when I +came to see that you despised your Quaker wife."</p> + +<p>"All that is nonsense, Marion."</p> + +<p>"My lord!"</p> + +<p>"Say the word at once if it has to be said,—so that I may know what +it is that I have to contend with. For you my heart is so full of +love that it seems to be impossible that I should live without you. +If there could be any sympathy I should at once be happy. If there be +none, say so."</p> + +<p>"There is none."</p> + +<p>"No spark of sympathy in you for me,—for one who loves you so +truly?" When the question was put to her in that guise she could not +quite tell so monstrous a lie as would be needed for an answer fit +for her purpose. "This is a matter, Marion, in which a man has a +right to demand an answer,—to demand a true answer."</p> + +<p>"Lord Hampstead, it may be that you should perplex me sorely. It may +be that you should drive me away from you, and to beg you never to +trouble me any further. It may be that you should force me to remain +dumb before you, because that I cannot reply to you in proper words. +But you will never alter my purpose. If you think well of Marion Fay, +take her word when she gives it you. I can never become your +lordship's wife."</p> + +<p>"Never?"</p> + +<p>"Never! Certainly never!"</p> + +<p>"Have you told me why;—all the reason why?"</p> + +<p>"I have told you enough, Lord Hampstead."</p> + +<p>"By heavens, no! You have not answered me the one question that I +have asked you. You have not given me the only reason which I would +take,—even for a while. Can you love me, Marion?"</p> + +<p>"If you loved me you would spare me," she said. Then feeling that +such words utterly betrayed her, she recovered herself, and went to +work with what best eloquence was at her command to cheat him out of +the direct answer which he required. "I think," she said, "you do not +understand the workings of a girl's heart in such a matter. She does +not dare to ask herself about her love, when she knows that loving +would avail her nothing. For what purpose should I inquire into +myself when the object of such inquiry has already been obtained? Why +should I trouble myself to know whether this thing would be a gain to +me or not, when I am well aware that I can never have the gain?"</p> + +<p>"Marion, I think you love me." She looked at him and tried to +smile,—tried to utter some half-joking word; and then as she felt +that she could no longer repress her tears, she turned her face from +him, and made no attempt at a reply. "Marion," he said again, "I +think that you love me."</p> + +<p>"If you loved me, my lord, you would not torture me." She had seated +herself now on the sofa, turning her face away from him over her +shoulder so that she might in some degree hide her tears. He sat +himself at her side, and for a moment or two got possession of her +hand.</p> + +<p>"Marion," he said, pleading his case with all the strength of words +which was at his command, "you know, do you not, that no moment of +life can be of more importance to me than this?"</p> + +<p>"Is it so, my lord?"</p> + +<p>"None can be so important. I am striving to get her for my companion +in life, who to me is the sweetest of all human beings. To touch you +as I do now is a joy to me, even though you have made my heart so +sad." At the moment she struggled to get her hand away from him, but +the struggle was not at first successful. "You answer me with +arguments which are to me of no avail at all. They are, to my +thinking, simply a repetition of prejudices to which I have been all +my life opposed. You will not be angry because I say so?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, my lord," she said; "not angry. I am not angry, but indeed +you must not hold me." With that she extricated her hand, which he +allowed to pass from his grasp as he continued his address to her.</p> + +<p>"As to all that, I have my opinion and you have yours. Can it be +right that you should hold to your own and sacrifice me who have +thought so much of what it is I want myself,—if in truth you love +me? Let your opinion stand against mine, and neutralize it. Let mine +stand against yours, and in that we shall be equal. Then after that +let love be lord of all. If you love me, Marion, I think that I have +a right to demand that you shall be my wife."</p> + +<p>There was something in this which she did not know how to +answer;—but she did know, she was quite sure, that no word of his, +no tenderness either on his part or on her own, would induce her to +yield an inch. It was her duty to sacrifice herself for him,—for +reasons which were quite apparent to herself,—and she would do it. +The fortress of her inner purpose was safe, although he had succeeded +in breaking down the bulwark by which it had been her purpose to +guard it. He had claimed her love, and she had not been strong enough +to deny the claim. Let the bulwark go. She was bad at lying. Let her +lie as she might, he had wit enough to see through it. She would not +take the trouble to deny her love should he persist in saying that it +had been accorded to him. But surely she might succeed at last in +making him understand that, whether she loved him or no, she would +not marry him. "I certainly shall never be your wife," she said.</p> + +<p>"And that is all?"</p> + +<p>"What more, my lord?"</p> + +<p>"You can let me go, and never wish me to return?"</p> + +<p>"I can, my lord. Your return would only be a trouble to you, and a +pain to me. Another time do not turn your eyes too often on a young +woman because her face may chance to please you. It is well that you +should marry. Go and seek a wife, with judgment, among your own +people. When you have done that, then you may return and tell Marion +Fay that you have done well by following her advice."</p> + +<p>"I will come again, and again, and again, and I will tell Marion Fay +that her counsels are unnatural and impossible. I will teach her to +know that the man who loves her can seek no other wife;—that no +other mode of living is possible to him than one in which he and +Marion Fay shall be joined together. I think I shall persuade her at +last that such is the case. I think she will come to know that all +her cold prudence and worldly would-be wisdom can be of no avail to +separate those who love each other. I think that when she finds that +her lover so loves her that he cannot live without her, she will +abandon those fears as to his future fickleness, and trust herself to +one of whose truth she will have assured herself." Then he took her +hand, and kneeling at her knee, he kissed it before she was powerful +enough to withdraw it. And so he left her, without another word, and +mounting on his vehicle, drove himself home without having exchanged +a single word at Holloway with any one save Marion Fay.</p> + +<p>She, when she was left alone, threw herself at full length on the +sofa and burst into an ecstacy of tears. Trust herself to him! Yes, +indeed. She would trust herself to him entirely, only in order that +she might have the joy, for one hour, of confessing her love to him +openly, let the consequences to herself afterwards be what they +might! As to that future injury to her pride of which she had spoken +both to her father and also to her friend,—of which she had said so +much to herself in discussing this matter with her own heart—as to +that he had convinced her. It did not become her in any way to think +of herself in this matter. He certainly would be able to twist her as +he would if she could stand upon no surer rock than her fears for her +own happiness. One kiss from him would be payment for it all. But all +his love, all his sweetness, all his truth, all his eloquence should +avail nothing with her towards overcoming that spirit of +self-sacrifice by which she was dominated. Though he should extort +from her all her secret, that would be her strength. Though she +should have to tell him of her failing health,—her certainly failing +health,—though even that should be necessary, she certainly would +not be won from her purpose. It might be sweet, she thought, to make +him in all respects her friend of friends; to tell him everything; to +keep no fear, no doubt, no aspiration a secret from him. "Love you, +oh my dearest, thou very pearl of my heart, love you indeed! Oh, yes. +Do you not know that not even for an instant could I hide my love? +Are you not aware, did you not see at the moment, that when you first +knelt at my feet, my heart had flown to you without an effort on my +part to arrest it? But now, my beloved one, now we understand each +other. Now there need be no reproaches between us. Now there need be +no speaking of distrust. I am all yours,—only it is not fit, as you +know, dearest, that the poor Quaker girl should become your wife. Now +that we both understand that, why should we be sad? Why should we +mourn?" Why should she not succeed in bringing things to such a pass +as this; and if so, why should life be unhappy either to him or to +her?</p> + +<p>Thus she was thinking of it till she had almost brought herself to a +state of bliss, when her father returned to her. "Father," she said, +getting up and embracing his arm as he stood, "it is all over."</p> + +<p>"What is over?" asked the Quaker.</p> + +<p>"He has been here."</p> + +<p>"Well, Marion; and what has he said?"</p> + +<p>"What he said it is hardly for me to tell you. What I said,—I would +you could know it all without my repeating a word of it."</p> + +<p>"Has he gone away contented?"</p> + +<p>"Nay, not that, father. I hardly expected that. I hardly hoped for +that. Had he been quite contented perhaps I might not have been so."</p> + +<p>"Why should you not have both been made happy?" asked the father.</p> + +<p>"It may be that we shall be so. It may be that he shall understand."</p> + +<p>"Thou hast not taken his offer then?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! No, father, no. I can never accept his offer. If that be in +your mind put it forth. You shall never see your Marion the wife of +any man, whether of that young lord or of another more fitted to her. +No one ever shall be allowed to speak to me as he has spoken."</p> + +<p>"Why dost thou make thyself different from other girls?" he said, +angrily.</p> + +<p>"Oh, father, father!"</p> + +<p>"It is romance and false sentiment, than which nothing is more odious +to me. There is no reason why thou shouldst be different from others. +The Lord has not marked thee out as different from other girls, +either in His pleasure or His displeasure. It is wrong for thee to +think it of thyself." She looked up piteously into his face, but said +not a word. "It is thy duty to take thyself from His hands as He has +made thee; and to give way to no vain ecstatic terrors. If, as I +gather from thy words, this young man be dear to thee, and if, as I +gather from this second coming of his, thou art dear to him, then I +as thy father tell thee that thy duty calls thee to him. It is not +that he is a lord."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, father."</p> + +<p>"It is not, I say, that he is a lord, or that he is rich, or that he +is comely to the eyes, that I would have thee go to him as his wife. +It is because thou and he love each other, as it is the ordinance of +the Lord Almighty that men and women should do. Marriage is +honourable, and I, thy father, would fain see thee married. I believe +the young man to be good and true. I could give thee to him, lord +though he be, with a trusting heart, and think that in so disposing +of my child I had done well for her. Think of this, Marion, if it be +not already too late." All this he had said standing, so that he was +able to leave the room without the ceremony of rising from his chair. +Without giving her a moment for reply, having his hand on the lock of +the door as he uttered the last words of his counsel to her, he +marched off, leaving her alone.</p> + +<p>It may be doubted whether at the moment she could have found words +for reply, so full was her heart with the feelings that were crowded +there. But she was well aware that all her father's words could go +for nothing. Of only one thing was she sure,—that no counsel, no +eloquence, no love would ever induce her to become the wife of Lord +Hampstead.</p> + + +<p><a name="c2-7" id="c2-7"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER VII.</h3> +<h4>MRS. DEMIJOHN'S PARTY.<br /> </h4> + + +<blockquote> +<p>Mrs. Demijohn presents her compliments to Mr. Crocker, and +begs the honour of his company to tea at nine o'clock on +Wednesday, 31st of December, to see the New Year in.</p> + +<p class="noindent">R.I.V.P.<span class="ind12">(Do come, C. D.)</span></p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="ind12">10, Paradise Row, Holloway.</span><br /> +29th December, 18—.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>This note was delivered to Crocker on his arrival at his office on +the morning of Saturday, the 27th.</p> + +<p>It must be explained that Crocker had lately made the acquaintance of +Miss Clara Demijohn without any very formal introduction. Crocker, +with that determination which marked his character, in pursuit of the +one present purport of his mind to effect a friendly reconciliation +with George Roden, had taken himself down to Holloway, and had called +at No. 11, thinking that he might induce his friend's mother to act +on his behalf in a matter appertaining to peace and charity. Mrs. +Roden had unhappily been from home, but he had had the good fortune +to encounter Miss Demijohn. Perhaps it was that she had seen him +going in and out of the house, and had associated him with the great +mystery of the young nobleman; perhaps she had been simply attracted +by the easy air with which he cocked his hat and swung his +gloves;—or, perhaps it was simply chance. But so it was that in the +gloom of the evening she met him just round the corner opposite to +the "Duchess of Edinburgh," and the happy acquaintance was commenced. +No doubt, as in all such cases, it was the gentleman who spoke first. +Let us, at any rate, hope so for the sake of Paradise Row generally. +Be that as it may, before many minutes were over she had explained to +him that Mrs. Roden had gone out in a cab soon after dinner, and that +probably something was up at Wimbledon, as Mrs. Roden never went +anywhere else, and this was not the day of the week on which her +visits to Mrs. Vincent were generally made. Crocker, who was +simplicity itself, soon gave her various details as to his own +character and position in life. He, too, was a clerk in the Post +Office, and was George Roden's particular friend. "Oh, yes; he knew +all about Lord Hampstead, and was, he might say, intimately +acquainted with his lordship. He had been in the habit of meeting his +lordship at Castle Hautboy, the seat of his friend, Lord Persiflage, +and had often ridden with his lordship in the hunting-field. He knew +all about Lady Frances and the engagement, and had had the pleasure +of making the acquaintance of her ladyship. He had been corresponding +lately with Lord Hampstead on the subject. No;—he had not as yet +heard anything of Marion Fay, the Quaker's daughter. Then Clara had +something to say on her side. She quite understood that if she +expected to be communicated with, she also must communicate; and +moreover, young Mr. Crocker was by his age, appearance, and sex, just +such a one as prompted her to be communicative without loss of +self-respect. What was the good of telling things to Mrs. Duffer, who +was only an old widow without any friends, and with very small means +of existence? She had communicated her secrets to Mrs. Duffer simply +from want of a better pair of ears into which she could pour them. +But here was one in telling secrets to whom she could take delight, +and who had secrets of his own to give in return. It is not to be +supposed that the friendship which arose grew from the incidents of +one meeting only. On that first evening Crocker could not leave the +fair one without making arrangements for a further interview, and so +the matter grew. The intimacy between them was already of three days' +standing when the letter of invitation above given reached Crocker's +hands. To tell the very truth, the proposed party was made up chiefly +for Crocker's sake. What is the good of having a young man if you +cannot show him to your friends?</p> + +<p>"Crocker!" said Mrs. Demijohn to her niece; "where did you pick up +Crocker?"</p> + +<p>"What questions you do ask, aunt! Pick him up, indeed!"</p> + +<p>"So you have—; picked him up, as you're always a doing with young +men. Only you never know how to keep 'em when you've got 'em."</p> + +<p>"I declare, aunt, your vulgarity is unbearable."</p> + +<p>"I'm not going to have any Crocker in my house," said the old woman, +"unless I know where he comes from. Perhaps he's a counter-skipper. +He may be a ticket-of-leave man for all you know."</p> + +<p>"Aunt Jemima, you're so provoking that I sometimes think I shall have +to leave you."</p> + +<p>"Where will you go to, my dear?"</p> + +<p>To this question, which had often been asked before, Clara thought it +unnecessary to make any answer; but returned at once to the inquiries +which were not unnaturally made by the lady who stood to her in the +place of a mother. "Mr. Crocker, Aunt Jemima, is a clerk in the Post +Office, who sits at the same desk with George Roden, and is +intimately acquainted both with Lord Hampstead and with Lady Frances +Trafford. He used to be George Roden's bosom friend; but there has +lately been some little tiff between the young men, which would be so +pleasant if we could make it up. You have got to a speaking +acquaintance with Mrs. Roden, and perhaps if you will ask them +they'll come. I am sure Marion Fay will come, because you always get +your money from Pogson and Littlebird. I wish I had the cheek to ask +Lord Hampstead." Having heard all this, the old lady consented to +receive our sporting friend from the Post Office, and also assented +to the other invitations, which were given.</p> + +<p>Crocker, of course, sent his compliments, and expressed the great +pleasure he would have in "seeing the New Year in" in company with +Mrs. Demijohn. As the old lady was much afflicted with rheumatism, +the proposition as coming from her would have been indiscreet had she +not known that her niece on such occasions was well able to act as +her deputy. Mrs. Roden also promised to come, and with difficulty +persuaded her son that it would be gracious on his part to be so far +civil to his neighbours. Had he known that Crocker also would be +there he certainly would not have yielded; but Crocker, when at the +office, kept the secret of his engagement to himself. The Quaker also +and Marion Fay were to be there. Mr. Fay and Mrs. Demijohn had long +known each other in regard to matters of business, and he, for the +sake of Messrs. Pogson and Littlebird's firm, could not refuse to +drink a cup of tea at their client's house. A junior clerk from the +same counting-house, one Daniel Tribbledale by name, with whom Clara +had made acquaintance at King's Court some two years since, was also +to be of the party. Mr. Tribbledale had at one time, among all +Clara's young men, been the favourite. But circumstances had occurred +which had somewhat lessened her goodwill towards him. Mr. Littlebird +had quarrelled with him, and he had been refused promotion. It was +generally supposed at the present time in the neighbourhood of Old +Broad Street that Daniel Tribbledale was languishing for the love of +Clara Demijohn. Mrs. Duffer, of course, was to be there, and so the +list of friends for the festive occasion was completed.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Duffer was the first to come. Her aid, indeed, was required for +the cutting up of the cakes and arrangements of the cups and saucers. +The Quaker and his daughter were next, appearing exactly at nine +o'clock,—to do which he protested to be the best sign of good +manners that could be shown. "If they want me at ten, why do they ask +me at nine?" demanded the Quaker. Marion was forced to give way, +though she was by no means anxious to spend a long evening in company +with Mrs. Demijohn. As to that seeing of the New Year in, it was +quite out of the question for the Quaker or for his daughter. The +company altogether came early. The only touch of fashion evinced on +this occasion was shown by Mr. Crocker. The Rodens, with Mr. +Tribbledale at their heels, appeared not long after Mr. Fay, and then +the demolition of the Sally Lunns was commenced. "I declare I think +he means to deceive us," whispered Clara to her friend, Mrs. Duffer, +when all the good tea had been consumed before the young man +appeared. "I don't suppose he cares much for tea," said Mrs. Duffer; +"they don't now-a-days." "It isn't just for the tea that a man is +expected to come," said Clara, indignantly. It was now nearly ten, +and she could not but feel that the evening was going heavily. +Tribbledale had said one tender word to her; but she had snubbed him, +expecting Crocker to be there almost at once, and he had retired +silent into a corner. George Roden had altogether declined to make +himself agreeable—to her; but as he was an engaged man, and engaged +to a lady of rank, much could not be expected of him. Mrs. Roden and +the Quaker and Mrs. Demijohn did manage to keep up something of +conversation. Roden from time to time said a few words to Marion. +Clara, who was repenting herself of her hardness to young +Tribbledale, was forced to put up with Mrs. Duffer. When suddenly +there came a thundering knock at the door, and Mr. Crocker was +announced by the maid, who had been duly instructed beforehand as to +all peculiarities in the names of the guests.</p> + +<p>There was a little stir, as there always is when a solitary guest +comes in much after the appointed time. Of course there was +rebuke,—suppressed rebuke from Mrs. Demijohn, mild rebuke from Mrs. +Duffer, a very outburst of rebuke from Clara. But Crocker was up to +the occasion. "Upon my word, ladies, I had no help for it. I was +dining with a few friends in the City, and I couldn't get away +earlier. If my own ideas of happiness had been consulted I should +have been here an hour ago. Ah, Roden, how are you? Though I know you +live in the same street, I didn't think of meeting you." Roden gave +him a nod, but did not vouchsafe him a word. "How's his lordship? I +told you, didn't I, that I had heard from him the other day?" Crocker +had mentioned more than once at his office the fact that he had +received a letter from Lord Hampstead.</p> + +<p>"I don't often see him, and very rarely hear from him," said Roden, +without turning away from Marion to whom he was at the moment +speaking.</p> + +<p>"If all our young noblemen were like Hampstead," said Crocker, who +had told the truth in declaring that he had been dining, "England +would be a very different sort of place from what it is. The most +affable young lord that ever sat in the House of Peers." Then he +turned himself towards Marion Fay, at whose identity he made a guess. +He was anxious at once to claim her as a mutual friend, as connected +with himself by her connection with the lord in question. But as he +could find no immediate excuse for introducing himself, he only +winked at her.</p> + +<p>"Are you acquainted with Mr. Tribbledale, Mr. Crocker?" asked Clara.</p> + +<p>"Never had the pleasure as yet," said Crocker. Then the introduction +was effected. "In the Civil Service?" asked Crocker. Tribbledale +blushed, and of necessity repudiated the honour. "I thought, perhaps, +you were in the Customs. You have something of the H.M.S. cut about +you." Tribbledale acknowledged the compliment with a bow. "I think +the Service is the best thing a man can do with himself," continued +Crocker.</p> + +<p>"It is genteel," said Mrs. Duffer.</p> + +<p>"And the hours so pleasant," said Clara. "Bank clerks have always to +be there by nine."</p> + +<p>"Is a young man to be afraid of that?" asked the Quaker, indignantly. +"Ten till four, with one hour for the newspapers and another for +lunch. See the consequence. I never knew a young man yet from a +public office who understood the meaning of a day's work."</p> + +<p>"I think that is a little hard," said Roden. "If a man really works, +six hours continuously is as much as he can do with any good to his +employers or himself."</p> + +<p>"Well done, Roden," said Crocker. "Stick up for Her Majesty's shop." +Roden turned himself more round than before, and continued to address +himself to Marion.</p> + +<p>"Our employers wouldn't think much of us," said the Quaker, "if we +didn't do better for them than that in private offices. I say that +the Civil Service destroys a young man, and teaches him to think that +the bread of idleness is sweet. As far as I can see, nothing is so +destructive of individual energy as what is called public money. If +Daniel Tribbledale would bestir himself he might do very well in the +world without envying any young man his seat either at the Custom +House or the Post Office." Mr. Fay had spoken so seriously that they +all declined to carry that subject further. Mrs. Demijohn and Mrs. +Duffer murmured their agreement, thinking it civil to do so, as the +Quaker was a guest. Tribbledale sat silent in his corner, awestruck +at the idea of having given rise to the conversation. Crocker winked +at Mrs. Demijohn, and thrust his hands into his pockets as much as to +say that he could get the better of the Quaker altogether if he chose +to exercise his powers of wit and argument.</p> + +<p>Soon after this Mr. Fay rose to take his daughter away. "But," said +Clara, with affected indignation, "you are to see the Old Year out +and the New Year in."</p> + +<p>"I have seen enough of the one," said Mr. Fay, "and shall see enough +of the other if I live to be as near its close as I am to its birth."</p> + +<p>"But there are refreshments coming up," said Mrs. Demijohn.</p> + +<p>"I have refreshed myself sufficiently with thy tea, madam. I rarely +take anything stronger before retiring to my rest. Come, Marion, thou +requirest to be at no form of welcoming the New Year. Thou, too, wilt +be better in thy bed, as thy duties call upon thee to be early." So +saying, the Quaker bowed formally to each person present, and took +his daughter out with him under his arm. Mrs. Roden and her son +escaped almost at the same moment, and Mrs. Demijohn, having waited +to take what she called just a thimbleful of hot toddy, went also to +her rest.</p> + +<p>"Here's a pretty way of seeing the New Year in," said Clara, +laughing.</p> + +<p>"We are quite enough of us for the purpose," said Crocker, "unless we +also are expected to go away." But as he spoke he mixed a tumbler of +brandy and water, which he divided among two smaller glasses, handing +them to the two ladies present.</p> + +<p>"I declare," said Mrs. Duffer, "I never do anything of the +kind,—almost never."</p> + +<p>"On such an occasion as this everybody does it," said Crocker.</p> + +<p>"I hope Mr. Tribbledale will join us," said Clara. Then the bashful +clerk came out of his corner, and seating himself at the table +prepared to do as he was bid. He made his toddy very weak, not +because he disliked brandy, but guided by an innate spirit of modesty +which prevented him always from going more than halfway when he was +in company.</p> + +<p>Then the evening became very pleasant. "You are quite sure that he is +really engaged to her ladyship?" asked Clara.</p> + +<p>"I wish I were as certainly engaged to you," replied the polite +Crocker.</p> + +<p>"What nonsense you do talk, Mr. Crocker;—and before other people +too. But you think he is?"</p> + +<p>"I am sure of it. Both Hampstead and she have told me so much +themselves out of their own mouths."</p> + +<p>"My!" exclaimed Mrs. Duffer.</p> + +<p>"And here's her brother engaged to Marion Fay," said Clara. Crocker +declared that as to this he was by no means so well assured. Lord +Hampstead in spite of their intimacy had told him nothing about it. +"But it is so, Mr. Crocker, as sure as ever you are sitting there. He +has been coming here after her over and over again, and was closeted +with her only last Friday for hours. It was a holiday, but that sly +old Quaker went out of the way, so as to leave them together. That +Mrs. Roden, though she's as stiff as buckram, knows all about it. To +the best of my belief she got it all up. Marion Fay is with her every +day. It's my belief there's something we don't understand yet. She's +got a hold of them young people, and means to do just what she likes +with 'em." Crocker, however, could not agree to this. He had heard of +Lord Hampstead's peculiar politics, and was assured that the young +lord was only carrying out his peculiar principles in selecting +Marion Fay for himself and devoting his sister to George Roden.</p> + +<p>"Not that I like that kind of thing, if you ask me," said Crocker. +"I'm very fond of Hampstead, and I've always found Lady Frances to be +a pleasant and affable lady. I've no cause to speak other than civil +of both of them. But when a man has been born a lord, and a lady a +lady—. A lady of that kind, Miss Demijohn."</p> + +<p>"Oh, exactly;—titled you mean, Mr. Crocker?"</p> + +<p>"Quite high among the nobs, you know. Hampstead will be a Marquis +some of these days, which is next to a Duke."</p> + +<p>"And do you know him,—yourself?" asked Tribbledale with a voice of +awe.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said Crocker.</p> + +<p>"To speak to him when you see him?"</p> + +<p>"I had a long correspondence with him about a week ago about a matter +which interested both of us very much."</p> + +<p>"And how does he address you?" asked Clara,—also with something of +awe.</p> + +<p>"'Dear Crocker;'—just that. I always say 'My dear Lord Hampstead,' +in return. I look upon 'Dear Hampstead,' as a little vulgar, you +know, and I always think that one ought to be particular in these +matters. But, as I was saying, when it comes to marriage, people +ought to be true to themselves. Now if I was a Marquis,—I don't know +what I mightn't do if I saw you, you know, Clara." "Clara" pouted, +but did not appear to have been offended either by the compliment or +by the familiarity. "But under any other circumstances less forcible +I would stick to my order."</p> + +<p>"So would I," said Mrs. Duffer. "Marquises ought to marry marquises, +and dukes dukes."</p> + +<p>"There it is!" said Clara, "and now we must drink its health, and I +hope we may be all married to them we like best before it comes round +again." This had reference to the little clock on the mantelpiece, +the hands of which had just crept round to twelve o'clock.</p> + +<p>"I wish we might," said Crocker, "and have a baby in the cradle too."</p> + +<p>"Go away," said Clara.</p> + +<p>"That would be quick," said Mrs. Duffer. "What do you say, Mr. +Tribbledale?"</p> + +<p>"Where my heart's fixed," said Tribbledale, who was just becoming +warm with the brandy-and-water, "there ain't no hope for this year, +nor yet for the one after." Whereupon Crocker remarked that "care +killed a cat."</p> + +<p>"You just put on your coat and hat, and take me across to my +lodgings. See if I don't give you a chance," said Mrs. Duffer, who +was also becoming somewhat merry under the influences of the moment. +But she knew that it was her duty to do something for her young +hostess, and, true woman as she was, thought that this was the best +way of doing it. Tribbledale did as he was bid, though he was obliged +thus to leave his lady-love and her new admirer together. "Do you +really mean it?" said Clara, when she and Crocker were alone.</p> + +<p>"Of course I do,—honest," said Crocker.</p> + +<p>"Then you may," said Clara, turning her face to him.</p> + + +<p><a name="c2-8" id="c2-8"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER VIII.</h3> +<h4>NEW YEAR'S DAY.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Crocker had by no means as yet got through his evening. Having dined +with his friends in the City, and "drank tea" with the lady of his +love, he was disposed to proceed, if not to pleasanter delights, at +any rate to those which might be more hilarious. Every Londoner, from +Holloway up to Gower Street, in which he lived, would be seeing the +New Year in,—and beyond Gower Street down in Holborn, and from +thence all across to the Strand, especially in the neighbourhood of +Covent Garden and the theatres, there would be a whole world of happy +revellers engaged in the same way. On such a night as this there +could certainly be no need of going to bed soon after twelve for such +a one as Samuel Crocker. In Paradise Row he again encountered +Tribbledale, and suggested to that young man that they should first +have a glass of something at the "Duchess" and then proceed to more +exalted realms in a hansom. "I did think of walking there this fine +starlight night," said Tribbledale, mindful of the small stipend at +which his services were at present valued by Pogson and Littlebird. +But Crocker soon got the better of all this. "I'll stand Sammy for +this occasion," said he. "The New Year comes in only once in twelve +months." Then Tribbledale went into "The Duchess," and after that was +as indifferent, while his money lasted him, as was Crocker himself. +"I've loved that girl for three years," said Tribbledale, as soon as +they had left "The Duchess" and were again in the open air.</p> + +<p>It was a beautiful night, and Crocker thought that they might as well +walk a little way. It was pleasant under the bright stars to hear of +the love adventures of his new friend, especially as he himself was +now the happy hero. "For three years?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Indeed I have, Crocker." That glass of hot whiskey-and-water, though +it enhanced the melancholy tenderness of the young man, robbed him of +his bashfulness, and loosened the strings of his tongue. "For three +years! And there was a time when she worshipped the very stool on +which I sat at the office. I don't like to boast."</p> + +<p>"You have to be short, sharp, and decisive if you mean to get a girl +like that to travel with you."</p> + +<p>"I should have taken the ball at the hop, Crocker; that's what I +ought to have done. But I see it all now. She's as fickle as she is +fair;—fickler, perhaps, if anything."</p> + +<p>"Come, Tribbledale; I ain't going to let you abuse her, you know."</p> + +<p>"I don't want to abuse her. God knows I love her too well in spite of +all. It's your turn now. I can see that. There's a great many of them +have had their turns."</p> + +<p>"Were there now?" asked Crocker anxiously.</p> + +<p>"There was Pollocky;—him at the Highbury Gas Works. He came after +me. It was because of him she dropped me."</p> + +<p>"Was that going on for a marriage?"</p> + +<p>"Right ahead, I used to think. Pollocky is a widower with five +children."</p> + +<p>"Oh Lord!"</p> + +<p>"But he's the head of all the gas, and has four hundred a year. It +wasn't love as carried her on with him. I could see that. She +wouldn't go and meet him anywhere about the City, as she did me. I +suppose Pollocky is fifty, if he's a day."</p> + +<p>"And she dropped him also?"</p> + +<p>"Or else it was he." On receipt of this information Crocker whistled. +"It was something about money," continued Tribbledale. "The old woman +wouldn't part."</p> + +<p>"There is money I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"The old woman has a lot."</p> + +<p>"And isn't the niece to have it?" asked Crocker.</p> + +<p>"No doubt she will; because there never was a pair more loving. But +the old lady will keep it herself as long as she is here." Then there +entered an idea into Crocker's head that if he could manage to make +Clara his own, he might have power enough to manage the aunt as well +as the niece. They had a little more whiskey-and-water at the Angel +at Islington before they got into the cab which was to take them down +to the Paphian Music-Hall, and after that Tribbledale passed from the +realm of partial fact to that of perfect poetry. "He would never," he +said, "abandon Clara Demijohn, though he should live to an age beyond +that of any known patriarch. He quite knew all that there was against +him. Crocker he thought might probably prevail. He rather hoped that +Crocker might prevail;—for why should not so good a fellow be made +happy, seeing how utterly impossible it was that he, Daniel +Tribbledale, should ever reach that perfect bliss in dreaming of +which he passed his miserable existence. But as to one thing he had +quite made up his mind. The day that saw Clara Demijohn a bride would +most undoubtedly be the last of his existence."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, damme; you won't," said Crocker turning round upon him in +the cab.</p> + +<p>"I shall!" said Tribbledale with emphasis. "And I've made up my mind +how to do it too. They've caged up the Monument, and you're so looked +after on the Duke of York's, that there isn't a chance. But there's +nothing to prevent you from taking a header at the Whispering Gallery +of Saint Paul's. You'd be more talked of that way, and the vergers +would be sure to show the stains made on the stones below. 'It was +here young Tribbledale fell,—a clerk at Pogson and Littlebird's, who +dashed out his brains for love on the very day as Clara Demijohn got +herself married.' I'm of that disposition, Crocker, as I'd do +anything for love;—anything." Crocker was obliged to reply that he +trusted he might never be the cause of such a fatal attempt at glory; +but he went on to explain that in the pursuit of love a man could not +in any degree give way to friendship. Even though numberless lovers +might fall from the Whispering Gallery in a confused heap of mangled +bodies, he must still tread the path which was open to him. These +were his principles, and he could not abandon them even for the sake +of Tribbledale. "Nor would I have you," shouted Tribbledale, leaning +out over the door of the cab. "I would not delay you not for a day, +not for an hour. Were to-morrow to be your bridal morning it would +find me prepared. My only request to you is that a boy might be +called Daniel after me. You might tell her it was an uncle or +grandfather. She would never think that in her own child was +perpetuated a monument of poor Daniel Tribbledale." Crocker, as he +jumped out of the cab with a light step in front of the Paphian Hall, +promised that in this particular he would attend to the wishes of his +friend.</p> + +<p>The performances at the Paphian Hall on that festive occasion need +not be described here with accuracy. The New Year had been seen well +in with music, dancing, and wine. The seeing of it in was continued +yet for an hour, till an indulgent policeman was forced to interfere. +It is believed that on the final ejection of our two friends, the +forlorn lover, kept steady, no doubt, by the weight of his woe, did +find his way home to his own lodgings. The exultant Crocker was less +fortunate, and passed his night without the accommodation of sheets +and blankets somewhere in the neighbourhood of Bow Street. The fact +is important to us, as it threatened to have considerable effect upon +our friend's position at his office. Having been locked up in a cell +during the night, and kept in durance till he was brought on the +following morning before a magistrate, he could not well be in his +room at ten o'clock. Indeed when he did escape from the hands of the +Philistines, at about two in the day, sick, unwashed and unfed, he +thought it better to remain away altogether for that day. The great +sin of total absence would be better than making an appearance before +Mr. Jerningham in his present tell-tale condition. He well knew his +own strength and his own weakness. All power of repartee would be +gone from him for the day. Mr. Jerningham would domineer over him, +and Æolus, should the violent god be pleased to send for him, would +at once annihilate him. So he sneaked home to Gower Street, took a +hair of the dog that bit him, and then got the old woman who looked +after him to make him some tea and to fry a bit of bacon for him. In +this ignominious way he passed New Year's Day,—at least so much of +it as was left to him after the occurrences which have been +described.</p> + +<p>But on the next morning the great weight of his troubles fell upon +him heavily. In his very heart of hearts he was afraid of Æolus. In +spite of his "brummagem" courage the wrath of the violent god was +tremendous to him. He knew what it was to stand with his hand on the +lock of the door and tremble before he dared to enter the room. There +was something in the frown of the god which was terrible to him. +There was something worse in the god's smile. He remembered how he +had once been unable to move himself out of the room when the god had +told him that he need not remain at the office, but might go home and +amuse himself just as he pleased. Nothing crushes a young man so much +as an assurance that his presence can be dispensed with without loss +to any one. Though Crocker had often felt the mercies of Æolus, and +had told himself again and again that the god never did in truth lift +up his hand for final irrevocable punishment, still he trembled as he +anticipated the dread encounter.</p> + +<p>When the morning came, and while he was yet in his bed, he struggled +to bethink himself of some strategy by which he might evade the evil +hour. Could he have been sent for suddenly into Cumberland? But in +this case he would of course have telegraphed to the Post Office on +the preceding day. Could he have been taken ill with a fit,—so as to +make his absence absolutely necessary, say for an entire week? He +well knew that they had a doctor at the Post Office, a crafty, +far-seeing, obdurate man, who would be with him at once and would +show him no mercy. He had tried these schemes all round, and had +found that there were none left with which Æolus was not better +acquainted than was he himself. There was nothing for it but to go +and bear the brunt.</p> + +<p>Exactly at ten o'clock he entered the room, hung his hat up on the +accustomed peg, and took his seat on the accustomed chair before any +one spoke a word to him. Roden on the opposite seat took no notice of +him. "Bedad, he's here anyhow this morning," whispered Geraghty to +Bobbin, very audibly. "Mr. Crocker," said Mr. Jerningham, "you were +absent throughout the entire day yesterday. Have you any account to +give of yourself?" There was certainly falsehood implied in this +question, as Mr. Jerningham knew very well what had become of +Crocker. Crocker's misadventure at the police office had found its +way into the newspapers, and had been discussed by Æolus with Mr. +Jerningham. I am afraid that Mr. Jerningham must have intended to +tempt the culprit into some false excuse.</p> + +<p>"I was horribly ill," said Crocker, without stopping the pen with +which he was making entries in the big book before him. This no doubt +was true, and so far the trap had been avoided.</p> + +<p>"What made you ill, Mr. Crocker?"</p> + +<p>"Headache."</p> + +<p>"It seems to me, Mr. Crocker, you're more subject to such attacks as +these than any young man in the office."</p> + +<p>"I always was as a baby," said Crocker, resuming something of his +courage. Could it be possible that Æolus should not have heard of the +day's absence?</p> + +<p>"There is ill-health of so aggravated a nature," said Mr. Jerningham, +"as to make the sufferer altogether unfit for the Civil Service."</p> + +<p>"I'm happy to say I'm growing out of them gradually," said Crocker. +Then Geraghty got up from his chair and whispered the whole truth +into the sufferer's ears. "It was all in the <i>Pall Mall</i> yesterday, +and Æolus knew it before he went away." A sick qualm came upon the +poor fellow as though it were a repetition of yesterday's sufferings. +But still it was necessary that he should say something. "New Year's +Day comes only once a year, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"It was only a few weeks since that you remained a day behind your +time when you were on leave. But Sir Boreas has taken the matter up, +and I have nothing to say to it. No doubt Sir Boreas will send for +you." Sir Boreas Bodkin was that great Civil servant in the General +Post Office whom men were wont to call Æolus.</p> + +<p>It was a wretched morning for poor Crocker. He was not sent for till +one o'clock, just at the moment when he was going to eat his lunch! +That horrid sickness, the combined result of the dinner in the City, +of Mrs. Demijohn's brandy, and of the many whiskies which followed, +still clung to him. The mutton-chop and porter which he had promised +himself would have relieved him; but now he was obliged to appear +before the god in all his weakness. Without a word he followed a +messenger who had summoned him, with his tail only too visibly +between his legs. Æolus was writing a note when he was ushered into +the room, and did not condescend to arrest himself in the progress +merely because Crocker was present. Æolus well knew the effect on a +sinner of having to stand silent and all alone in the presence of an +offended deity.</p> + +<p>"So, Mr. Crocker," said Æolus at last, looking up from his completed +work; "no doubt you saw the Old Year out on Wednesday night." The +jokes of the god were infinitely worse to bear than his most furious +blasts. "Like some other great men," continued Æolus, "you have +contrived to have your festivities chronicled in the newspapers." +Crocker found it impossible to utter a word. "You have probably seen +the <i>Pall Mall</i> of yesterday, and the <i>Standard</i> of +this morning?"</p> + +<p>"I haven't looked at the newspaper, sir, since—"</p> + +<p>"Since the festive occasion," suggested Æolus.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Sir Boreas—"</p> + +<p>"Well, Mr. Crocker; what is it that you have to say for yourself?"</p> + +<p>"I did dine with a few friends."</p> + +<p>"And kept it up tolerably late, I should think."</p> + +<p>"And then afterwards went to a tea-party," said Crocker.</p> + +<p>"A tea-party!"</p> + +<p>"It was not all tea," said Crocker, with a whine.</p> + +<p>"I should think not. There was a good deal besides tea, I should +say." Then the god left off to smile, and the blasts began to blow. +"Now, Mr. Crocker, I should like to know what you think of yourself. +After having read the accounts of your appearance before the +magistrate in two newspapers, I suppose I may take it for granted +that you were abominably drunk out in the streets on Wednesday +night." It is very hard for a young man to have to admit under any +circumstances that he has been abominably drunk out in the +streets;—so that Crocker stood dumb before his accuser. "I choose to +have an answer, sir. I must either have your own acknowledgment, or +must have an official account from the police magistrate."</p> + +<p>"I had taken something, sir."</p> + +<p>"Were you drunk? If you will not answer me you had better go, and I +shall know how to deal with you." Crocker thought that he had perhaps +better go and leave the god to deal with him. He remained quite +silent. "Your personal habits would be nothing to me, sir," continued +Æolus, "if you were able to do your work and did not bring disgrace +on the department. But you neglect the office. You are unable to do +your work. And you do bring disgrace on the department. How long is +it since you remained away a day before?"</p> + +<p>"I was detained down in Cumberland for one day, after my leave of +absence."</p> + +<p>"Detained in Cumberland! I never tell a gentleman, Mr. Crocker, that +I do not believe him,—never. If it comes to that with a gentleman, +he must go." This was hard to bear; but yet Crocker was aware that he +had told a fib on that occasion in reference to the day's hunting. +Then Sir Boreas took up his pen and again had recourse to his paper, +as though the interview was over. Crocker remained standing, not +quite knowing what he was expected to do. "It's of no use your +remaining there," said Sir Boreas. Whereupon Crocker retired, and, +with his tail still between his legs, returned to his own desk. Soon +afterwards Mr. Jerningham was sent for, and came back with an +intimation that Mr. Crocker's services were no longer required, at +any rate for that day. When the matter had been properly represented +to the Postmaster-General, a letter would be written to him. The +impression made on the minds of Bobbin and Geraghty was that poor +Crocker would certainly be dismissed on this occasion. Roden, too, +thought that it was now over with the unfortunate young man, as far +as the Queen's service was concerned, and could not abstain from +shaking hands with the unhappy wretch as he bade them all a +melancholy good-bye. "Good afternoon," said Mr. Jerningham to him +severely, not condescending to shake hands with him at all.</p> + +<p>But Mr. Jerningham heard the last words which the god had spoken on +the subject, and was not therefore called upon to be specially +soft-hearted. "I never saw a poor devil look so sick in my life," +Æolus had said.</p> + +<p>"He must have been very bad, Sir Boreas."</p> + +<p>Æolus was fond of a good dinner himself, and had a sympathy for +convivial offences. Indeed for all offences he had a sympathy. No man +less prone to punish ever lived. But what is a man to do with +inveterate offenders? Æolus would tear his hair sometimes in dismay +because he knew that he was retaining in the service men whom he +would have been bound to get rid of had he done his duty. "You had +better tell him to go home," said Æolus,—"for to-day, you know."</p> + +<p>"And what then, Sir Boreas?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose he'll sleep it off by to-morrow. Have a letter written to +him,—to frighten him, you know. After all, New Year's Day only does +come once a year." Mr. Jerningham, having thus received instructions, +went back to his room and dismissed Crocker in the way we have seen. +As soon as Crocker's back was turned Roden was desired to write the +letter.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Sir</span>,</p> + +<p>Your conduct in absenting yourself without leave from the +office yesterday is of such a nature as to make it +necessary for me to inform you, that should it be repeated +I shall have no alternative but to bring your name under +the serious consideration of my Lord the +Postmaster-General.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="ind10">I am, sir,</span><br /> +<span class="ind12">Your obedient servant,</span></p> + +<p class="ind12">(Signed) <span class="smallcaps">Boreas +Bodkin</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>In the same envelope was a short note from one of his +brother clerks.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dear Crocker</span>,</p> + +<p>You had better be here sharp at ten to-morrow. Mr. +Jerningham bids me tell you.</p> + +<p class="ind12">Yours truly,</p> + +<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">Bart. Bobbin</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Thus Crocker got through his troubles on this occasion.</p> + + +<p><a name="c2-9" id="c2-9"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER IX.</h3> +<h4>MISS DEMIJOHN'S INGENUITY.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>On the day on which Crocker was going through his purgatory at the +Post Office, a letter reached Lady Kingsbury at Trafford Park, which +added much to the troubles and annoyances felt by different members +of the family there. It was an anonymous letter, and the reader,—who +in regard to such mysteries should never be kept a moment in +ignorance,—may as well be told at once that the letter was written +by that enterprising young lady, Miss Demijohn. The letter was +written on New Year's Day, after the party,—perhaps in consequence +of the party, as the rash doings of some of the younger members of +the Trafford family were made specially obvious to Miss Demijohn by +what was said on that occasion. The letter ran as follows:<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My Lady +Marchioness</span>—</p> + +<p>I conceive it to be my duty as a well-wisher of the family +to inform you that your stepson, Lord Hampstead, has +become entangled in what I think to be a dangerous way +with a young woman living in a neighbouring street to +this.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p class="noindent">The "neighbouring" street +was of course a stroke of cunning on the +part of Miss Demijohn.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent">She lives at No. 17, +Paradise Row, Holloway, and her name +is Marion Fay. She is daughter to an old Quaker, who is +clerk to Pogson and Littlebird, King's Court, Great Broad +Street, and isn't of course in any position to entertain +such hopes as these. He may have a little money saved, but +what's that to the likes of your ladyship and his lordship +the Marquis? Some think she is pretty. I don't. Now I +don't like such cunning ways. Of what I tell your ladyship +there isn't any manner of doubt. His lordship was there +for hours the other day, and the girl is going about as +proud as a peacock.</p> + +<p>It's what I call a regular Paradise Row conspiracy, and +though the Quaker has lent himself to it, he ain't at the +bottom. Next door but two to the Fays there is a Mrs. +Roden living, who has got a son, a stuck-up fellow and a +clerk in the Post Office. I believe there isn't a bit of +doubt but he has been and got himself engaged to another +of your ladyship's noble family. As to that, all Holloway +is talking of it. I don't believe there is a 'bus driver +up and down the road as doesn't know it. It's my belief +that Mrs. Roden is the doing of it all! She has taken +Marion Fay by the hand just as though she were her own, +and now she has got the young lord and the young lady +right into her mashes. If none of 'em isn't married yet it +won't be long so unless somebody interferes. If you don't +believe me do you send to the 'Duchess of Edinburgh' at +the corner, and you'll find that they know all about it.</p> + +<p>Now, my Lady Marchioness, I've thought it my duty to tell +you all this because I don't like to see a noble family +put upon. There isn't nothing for me to get out of it +myself. But I do it just as one of the family's +well-wishers. Therefore I sign myself your very +respectful,</p> + +<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">A +Well-Wisher</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>The young lady had told her story completely as far as her object was +concerned, which was simply that of making mischief. But the business +of anonymous letter-writing was one not new to her hand. It is easy, +and offers considerable excitement to the minds of those whose time +hangs heavy on their hands.</p> + +<p>The Marchioness, though she would probably have declared beforehand +that anonymous letters were of all things the most contemptible, +nevertheless read this more than once with a great deal of care. And +she believed it altogether. As to Lady Frances, of course she knew +the allegations to be true. Seeing that the writer was so well +acquainted with the facts as to Lady Frances, why should she be less +well-informed in reference to Lord Hampstead? Such a marriage as this +with the Quaker girl was exactly the sort of match which Hampstead +would be pleased to make. Then she was especially annoyed by the +publicity of the whole affair. That Holloway and the drivers of the +omnibuses, and the "Duchess of Edinburgh" should know all the secrets +of her husband's family,—should be able to discuss the disgrace to +which "her own darlings" would be subjected, was terrible to her. But +perhaps the sting that went sharpest to her heart was that which came +from the fact that Lord Hampstead was about to be married at all. Let +the wife be a Quaker or what not, let her be as low as any woman that +could be found within the sound of Bow Bells, still, if the marriage +ceremony were once pronounced over them, that woman's son would +become Lord Highgate, and would be heir to all the wealth and all the +titles of the Marquis of Kingsbury,—to the absolute exclusion of the +eldest-born of her own darlings.</p> + +<p>She had had her hopes in the impracticability of Lord Hampstead. Such +men as that, she had told herself, were likely to keep themselves +altogether free of marriage. He would not improbably, she thought, +entertain some abominable but not unlucky idea that marriage in +itself was an absurdity. At any rate, there was hope as long as he +could be kept unmarried. Were he to marry and then have a son, even +though he broke his neck out hunting next day, no good would come of +it. In this condition of mind she thought it well to show the letter +to Mr. Greenwood before she read it to her husband. Lord Kingsbury +was still very ill,—so ill as to have given rise to much +apprehension; but still it would be necessary to discuss this letter +with him, ill as he might be. Only it should be first discussed with +Mr. Greenwood.</p> + +<p>Mr. Greenwood's face became flatter, and his jaw longer, and his eyes +more like gooseberries as he read the letter. He had gradually +trained himself to say and to hear all manner of evil things about +Lady Frances in the presence of the Marchioness. He had too +accustomed himself to speak of Lord Hampstead as a great obstacle +which it would be well if the Lord would think proper to take out of +the way. He had also so far followed the lead of his patroness as to +be deep if not loud in his denunciations of the folly of the Marquis. +The Marquis had sent him word that he had better look out for a new +home, and without naming an especial day for his dismissal, had given +him to understand that it would not be convenient to receive him +again in the house in Park Lane. But the Marquis had been ill when he +had thus expressed his displeasure,—and was now worse. It might be +that the Marquis himself would never again visit Park Lane. As no +positive limit had been fixed for Mr. Greenwood's departure from +Trafford Park, there he remained,—and there he intended to remain +for the present. As he folded up the letter carefully after reading +it slowly, he only shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Is it true, I wonder?" asked the Marchioness.</p> + +<p>"There is no reason why it should not be."</p> + +<p>"That's just what I say to myself. We know it is true about Fanny. Of +course there's that Mr. Roden, and the Mrs. Roden. When the writer +knows so much, there is reason to believe the rest."</p> + +<p>"A great many people do tell a great many lies," said Mr. Greenwood.</p> + +<p>"I suppose there is such a person as this Quaker,—and that there is +such a girl?"</p> + +<p>"Quite likely."</p> + +<p>"If so, why shouldn't Hampstead fall in love with her? Of course he's +always going to the street because of his friend Roden."</p> + +<p>"Not a doubt, Lady Kingsbury."</p> + +<p>"What ought we to do?" To this question Mr. Greenwood was not +prepared with an immediate answer. If Lord Hampstead chose to get +himself married to a Quaker's daughter, how could it be helped? "His +father would hardly have any influence over him now." Mr. Greenwood +shook his head. "And yet he must be told." Mr. Greenwood nodded his +head. "Perhaps something might be done about the property."</p> + +<p>"He wouldn't care two straws about settlements," said Mr. Greenwood.</p> + +<p>"He doesn't care about anything he ought to. If I were to write and +ask him, would he tell the truth about this marriage?"</p> + +<p>"He wouldn't tell the truth about anything," said Mr. Greenwood.</p> + +<p>The Marchioness passed this by, though she knew it at the moment to +be calumny. But she was not unwilling to hear calumny against Lord +Hampstead. "There used to be ways," she said, "in which a marriage of +that kind could be put on one side afterwards."</p> + +<p>"You must put it on one side before, now-a-days, if you mean to do it +at all," said the clergyman.</p> + +<p>"But how?—how?"</p> + +<p>"If he could be got out of the way."</p> + +<p>"How out of the way?"</p> + +<p>"Well;—that's what I don't know. Suppose he could be made to go out +yachting, and she be married to somebody else when he's at sea!" Lady +Kingsbury felt that her friend was but little good at a stratagem. +But she felt also that she was not very good herself. She could wish; +but wishing in such matters is very vain. She had right on her side. +She was quite confident as to that. There could be no doubt but that +"gods and men" would desire to see her little Lord Frederic succeed +to the Marquisate rather than this infidel Republican. If this +wretched Radical could be kept from marrying there would evidently be +room for hope, because there was the fact,—proved by the +incontestable evidence of Burke's Peerage,—that younger sons did so +often succeed. But if another heir were to be born, then, as far as +she was aware, Burke's Peerage promised her nothing. "It's a pity he +shouldn't break his neck out hunting," said Mr. Greenwood.</p> + +<p>"Even that wouldn't be much if he were to be married first," said the +Marchioness.</p> + +<p>Every day she went to her husband for half-an-hour before her lunch, +at which time the nurse who attended him during the day was +accustomed to go to her dinner. He had had a physician down from +London since his son had visited him, and the physician had told the +Marchioness that though there was not apparently any immediate +danger, still the symptoms were such as almost to preclude a hope of +ultimate recovery. When this opinion had been pronounced there had +arisen between the Marchioness and the chaplain a discussion as to +whether Lord Hampstead should be once again summoned. The Marquis +himself had expressed no such wish. A bulletin of a certain fashion +had been sent three or four times a week to Hendon Hall purporting to +express the doctor's opinion of the health of their noble patient; +but the bulletin had not been scrupulously true. Neither of the two +conspirators had wished to have Lord Hampstead at Trafford Park. Lady +Kingsbury was anxious to make the separation complete between her own +darlings and their brother, and Mr. Greenwood remembered, down to +every tittle of a word and tone, the insolence of the rebuke which he +had received from the heir. But if Lord Kingsbury were really to be +dying, then they would hardly dare to keep his son in ignorance.</p> + +<p>"I've got something I'd better show you," she said, as she seated +herself by her husband's sofa. Then she proceeded to read to him the +letter, without telling him as she did so that it was anonymous. When +he had heard the first paragraph he demanded to know the name of the +writer. "I'd better read it all first," said the Marchioness. And she +did read it all to the end, closing it, however, without mentioning +the final "Well-Wisher." "Of course it's anonymous," she said, as she +held the letter in her hand.</p> + +<p>"Then I don't believe a word of it," said the Marquis.</p> + +<p>"Very likely not; but yet it sounds true."</p> + +<p>"I don't think it sounds true at all. Why should it be true? There is +nothing so wicked as anonymous letters."</p> + +<p>"If it isn't true about Hampstead it's true at any rate of Fanny. +That man comes from Holloway, and Paradise Row and the 'Duchess of +Edinburgh.' Where Fanny goes for her lover, Hampstead is likely to +follow. 'Birds of a feather flock together.'"</p> + +<p>"I won't have you speak of my children in that way," said the sick +lord.</p> + +<p>"What can I do? Is it not true about Fanny? If you wish it, I will +write to Hampstead and ask him all about it." In order to escape from +the misery of the moment he assented to this proposition. The letter +being anonymous had to his thinking been disgraceful and therefore he +had disbelieved it. And having induced himself to disbelieve the +statements made, he had been drawn into expressing,—or at any rate +to acknowledging by his silence,—a conviction that such a marriage +as that proposed with Marion Fay would be very base. Her ladyship +felt therefore that if Lord Hampstead could be got to acknowledge the +engagement, something would have been done towards establishing a +quarrel between the father and the son.</p> + +<p>"Has that man gone yet?" he asked as his wife rose to leave the room.</p> + +<p>"Has what man gone?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Greenwood."</p> + +<p>"Gone? How should he have gone? It has never been expected that he +should go by this time. I don't see why he should go at all. He was +told that you would not again require his services up in London. As +far as I know, that is all that has been said about going." The poor +man turned himself on his sofa angrily, but did not at the moment +give any further instructions as to the chaplain's departure.</p> + +<p>"He wants to know why you have not gone," Lady Kingsbury said to the +clergyman that afternoon.</p> + +<p>"Where am I to go to?" whined the unfortunate one. "Does he mean to +say that I am to be turned out into the road at a moment's notice +because I can't approve of what Lady Frances is doing? I haven't had +any orders as to going. If I am to go I suppose he will make some +arrangement first." Lady Kingsbury said what she could to comfort +him, and explained that there was no necessity for his immediate +departure. Perhaps the Marquis might not think of it again for +another week or two; and there was no knowing in what condition they +might find themselves.</p> + +<p>Her ladyship's letter to her stepson was as follows; and by return of +post her stepson's answer +<span class="nowrap">came;—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear +Hampstead</span>,—</p> + +<p>Tidings have reached your father that you have engaged +yourself to marry a girl, the daughter of a Quaker named +Fay, living at No. 17, Paradise Row. He, the Quaker, is +represented as being a clerk in a counting-house in the +City. Of the girl your father has heard nothing, but can +only imagine that she should be such as her position would +make probable. He desires me to ask you whether there is +any truth in the statement. You will observe that I +express no opinion myself whether it be true or false, +whether proper or improper. After your conduct the other +day I should not think of interfering myself; but your +father wishes me to ask for his information.</p> + +<p class="ind12">Yours truly,</p> + +<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">Clara +Kingsbury</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Hampstead's answer was very short, but quite sufficient for the +<span class="nowrap">purpose;—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear +Lady Kingsbury</span>,</p> + +<p>I am not engaged to marry Miss Fay,—as yet. I think that +I may be some day soon.</p> + +<p class="ind12">Yours affectionately,</p> + +<p class="ind18"><span class="smallcaps">Hampstead</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>By the same post he wrote a letter to his father, and that shall also +be shown to the reader.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear +Father</span>,—</p> + +<p>I have received a letter from Lady Kingsbury, asking me as +to a report of an engagement between me and a young lady +named Marion Fay. I am sorry that her writing should be +evidence that you are hardly yet strong enough to write +yourself. I trust that it may not long be so.</p> + +<p>Would you wish to see me again at Trafford? I do not like +to go there without the expression of a wish from you; but +I hold myself in readiness to start whenever you may +desire it. I had hoped from the last accounts that you +were becoming stronger.</p> + +<p>I do not know how you may have heard anything of Marion +Fay. Had I engaged myself to her, or to any other young +lady, I should have told you at once. I do not know +whether a young man is supposed to declare his own +failures in such matters, when he has failed,—even to his +father. But, as I am ashamed of nothing in the matter, I +will avow that I have asked the young lady to be my wife, +but she has as yet declined. I shall ask her again, and +still hope to succeed.</p> + +<p>She is the daughter of a Mr. Fay who, as Lady Kingsbury +says, is a Quaker, and is a clerk in a house in the City. +As he is in all respects a good man, standing high for +probity and honour among those who know him, I cannot +think that there is any drawback. She, I think, has all +the qualities which I would wish to find in the woman whom +I might hope to make my wife. They live at No. 17, +Paradise Row, Holloway. Lady Kingsbury, indeed, is right +in all her details.</p> + +<p>Pray let me have a line, if not from yourself, at any rate +dictated by you, to say how you are.</p> + +<p class="ind12">Your affectionate son,</p> + +<p class="ind18"><span class="smallcaps">Hampstead</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>It was impossible to keep the letter from Lady Kingsbury. It thus +became a recognized fact by the Marquis, by the Marchioness, and by +Mr. Greenwood, that Hampstead was going to marry the Quaker's +daughter. As to that pretence of a refusal, it went for nothing, even +with the father. Was it probable that a Quaker's daughter, the +daughter of a merchant's clerk out of the City, should refuse to +become a Marchioness? The sick man was obliged to express anger, +having been already made to treat the report as incredible because of +the disgrace which would accompany it, if true. Had he been left to +himself he would have endeavoured to think as little about it as +possible. Not to quarrel with his two eldest children was the wish +that was now strongest at his heart. But his wife recalled the matter +to him at each of the two daily visits which she made. "What can I +do?" he was driven to ask on the third morning.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Greenwood suggests—," began his wife, not intending to irritate +him, having really forgotten at the moment that no suggestion coming +from Mr. Greenwood could be welcome to him.</p> + +<p>"D—— Mr. Greenwood," he shouted, lifting himself up erect from the +pillows on his sofa. The Marchioness was in truth so startled by the +violence of his movement, and by the rage expressed on his haggard +face, that she jumped from her chair with unexpected surprise. "I +desire," said the Marquis, "that that man shall leave the house by +the end of this month."</p> + + +<p><a name="c2-10" id="c2-10"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER X.</h3> +<h4>KING'S COURT, OLD BROAD STREET<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Hampstead received the letter from Lady Kingsbury, and answered it on +Saturday, the 3rd of January, having at that time taken no active +steps in regard to Marion Fay after the rejection of his suit on the +day following Christmas. Eight days had thus elapsed, and he had done +nothing. He had done nothing, though there was not an hour in the day +in which he was not confirming his own resolve to do something by +which he might make Marion Fay his own. He felt that he could hardly +go to the girl again immediately after the expression of her +resolution. At first he thought that he would write to her, and did +sit down to the table for that purpose; but as he strove to produce +words which might move her, he told himself that the words which he +might speak would be better. Then he rode half way to Holloway, with +the object of asking aid from Mrs. Roden; but he returned without +completing his purpose, telling himself that any such aid, even if it +could be obtained, would avail him nothing. In such a contest, if a +man cannot succeed by his own doing, surely he will not do so by the +assistance of any one else; and thus he was in doubt.</p> + +<p>After having written to Lady Kingsbury and his father he reflected +that, in his father's state of health, he ought to go again to +Trafford Park. If it were only for a day or for an hour he ought to +see his father. He knew that he was not wanted by his stepmother. He +knew also that no desire to see him had reached him from the Marquis. +He was afraid that the Marquis himself did not wish to see him. It +was almost impossible for him to take his sister to the house unless +an especial demand for her attendance was made; and he could not very +well leave her alone for any lengthened period. Nevertheless he +determined to make a rapid run into Shropshire, with the intention of +returning the following day, unless he found the state of his +father's health so bad as to make it expedient that he should remain. +He intended to hunt on the Monday and the Tuesday, travelling from +London to Leighton and back. But he would leave London by the night +mail train from Paddington on Wednesday evening so as to reach +Trafford Park House on the following morning between four and five. +It was a journey which he had often made before in the same manner, +and to which the servants at Trafford were well accustomed. Even at +that time in the morning he would walk to the Park from the station, +which was four miles distant, leaving his luggage, if he had any, to +be sent for on the following morning; but he would usually travel +without luggage, having all things necessary for his use in his own +room at Trafford.</p> + +<p>It had hitherto been his custom to acquaint his sister with his +manœuvres on these occasions, having never been free in his +correspondence with his stepmother. He had written or telegraphed to +Lady Frances, and she had quite understood that his instructions, +whatever they might be, were to be obeyed. But Lady Frances was no +longer a resident at Trafford Park, and he therefore telegraphed to +the old butler, who had been a servant in the family from a period +previous to his own birth. This telegram he sent on the Monday, as +follows;—"Shall be at Trafford Thursday morning, 4.30 A.M. Will walk +over. Let Dick be up. Have room ready. Tell my father." He fixed +Wednesday night for his journey, having made up his mind to devote a +portion of the Wednesday morning to the business which he had on hand +in reference to Marion Fay.</p> + +<p>It was not the proper thing, he thought, to go to a girl's father for +permission to ask the girl to be his wife, before the girl had +herself assented; but the circumstances in this case were peculiar. +It had seemed to him that Marion's only reason for rejecting him was +based on disparity in their social condition,—which to his thinking +was the worst reason that could be given. It might be that the reason +had sprung from some absurd idea originating with the Quaker father; +or it might be that the Quaker father would altogether disapprove of +any such reason. At any rate he would be glad to know whether the old +man was for him or against him. And with the object of ascertaining +this, he determined that he would pay a visit to the office in King's +Court on the Wednesday morning. He could not endure the thought of +leaving London,—it might be for much more than the one day +intended,—without making some effort in regard to the object which +was nearest his heart.</p> + +<p>Early in the day he walked into Messrs. Pogson and Littlebird's +office, and saw Mr. Tribbledale seated on a high stool behind a huge +desk, which nearly filled up the whole place. He was rather struck by +the smallness and meanness of Messrs. Pogson and Littlebird's +premises, which, from a certain nobility belonging to the Quaker's +appearance, he would have thought to be spacious and important. It is +impossible not to connect ideas after this fashion. Pogson and +Littlebird themselves carried in their own names no flavour of +commercial grandeur. Had they been only known to Hampstead by their +name, any small mercantile retreat at the top of the meanest alley in +the City might have sufficed for them. But there was something in the +demeanour of Zachary Fay which seemed to give promise of one of those +palaces of trade which are now being erected in every street and lane +devoted in the City to business. Nothing could be less palatial than +Pogson and Littlebird's counting-house. Hampstead had entered it from +a little court, which it seemed to share with one other equally +unimportant tenement opposite to it, by a narrow low passage. Here he +saw two doors only, through one of which he passed, as it was open, +having noticed that the word "Private" was written on the other. Here +he found himself face to face with Tribbledale and with a little boy +who sat at Tribbledale's right hand on a stool equally high. Of these +two, as far as he could see, consisted the establishment of Messrs. +Pogson and Littlebird. "Could I see Mr. Fay?" asked Hampstead.</p> + +<p>"Business?" suggested Tribbledale.</p> + +<p>"Not exactly. That is to say, my business is private."</p> + +<p>Then there appeared a face looking at him over a screen about five +feet and a-half high, which divided off from the small apartment a +much smaller apartment, having, as Hampstead now regarded it, the +appearance of a cage. In this cage, small as it was, there was a +desk, and there were two chairs; and here Zachary Fay carried on the +business of his life, and transacted most of those affairs +appertaining to Messrs. Pogson and Littlebird which could be +performed in an office. Messrs. Pogson and Littlebird themselves, +though they had a room of their own, to which that door marked +"Private" belonged, were generally supposed to be walking on 'Change +as British merchants should do, or making purchases of whole ships' +cargos in the Docks, or discounting bills, the least of which would +probably represent £10,000. The face which looked over the barrier of +the cage at Lord Hampstead was of course that of Zachary Fay. "Lord +Hampstead!" he said, with surprise.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Fay, how do you do? I have something I want to say to you. +Could you spare me five minutes?"</p> + +<p>The Quaker opened the door of the cage and asked Lord Hampstead to +walk in. Tribbledale, who had heard and recognized the name, stared +hard at the young nobleman,—at his friend Crocker's noble friend, at +the lord of whom it had been asserted positively that he was engaged +to marry Mr. Fay's daughter. The boy, too, having heard that the +visitor was a lord, stared also. Hampstead did as he was bid, but +remembering that the inhabitant of the cage had at once heard what +had been said in the office, felt that it would be impossible for him +to carry on his conversation about Marion without other protection +from the ears of the world. "It is a little private what I have to +say," remarked Hampstead.</p> + +<p>The Quaker looked towards the private room. "Old Mr. Pogson is +there," whispered Tribbledale. "I heard him come in a quarter of an +hour ago."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps thou wouldst not mind walking up and down the yard," said +the Quaker. Hampstead of course walked out, but on looking about him +found that the court was very small for the communication which he +had to make. Space would be required, so that he might not be +troubled by turning when he was in the midst of his eloquence. +Half-a-dozen steps would carry him the whole length of King's Court; +and who could tell his love-story in a walk limited to six steps?</p> + +<p>"Perhaps we might go out into the street?" he suggested.</p> + +<p>"Certainly, my lord," said the Quaker. "Tribbledale, should any one +call before I return, and be unable to wait for five minutes, I shall +be found outside the court, not above fifty yards either to the right +or to the left." Hampstead, thus limited to a course not exceeding a +hundred yards in one of the most crowded thoroughfares of the City, +began the execution of his difficult task.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Fay," he said, "are you aware of what has passed between me and +your daughter Marion?"</p> + +<p>"Hardly, my lord."</p> + +<p>"Has she told you nothing of it?"</p> + +<p>"Yea, my lord; she has in truth told me much. She has told me no +doubt all that it behoves a father to hear from a daughter in such +circumstances. I live on such terms with my Marion that there are not +many secrets kept by either of us from the other."</p> + +<p>"Then you do know?"</p> + +<p>"I know that your lordship tendered to her your hand,—honestly, +nobly, and truly, as I take it."</p> + +<p>"With perfect honesty and perfect truth most certainly."</p> + +<p>"And I know also that she declined the honour thus offered her."</p> + +<p>"She did."</p> + +<p>"Is this you, Zachary? How are you this morning?" This came from a +stout, short, red-faced man, who stopped them, standing in the middle +of the pavement.</p> + +<p>"Well, I thank thee, Mr. Gruby. At this moment I am particularly +engaged. That is Jonathan Gruby," said the Quaker to his companion as +soon as the stout man had walked on; "one of the busiest men in the +City. You have heard probably of Gruby and Inderwald."</p> + +<p>Hampstead had never heard of Gruby and Inderwald, and wished that the +stout man had been minding his business at that moment. "But as to +Miss Fay," he said, endeavouring to continue to tell his love-story.</p> + +<p>"Yes, as to Marion. I hardly do know what passed between you two, not +having heard the reasons she gave thee."</p> + +<p>"No reasons at all;—nothing worth speaking of between persons who +know anything of the world."</p> + +<p>"Did she tell thee that she did not love thee, my lord?—because that +to my thinking would be reason enough."</p> + +<p>"Nothing of the kind. I don't mean to boast, but I don't see why she +should not like me well enough."</p> + +<p>"Nor in sooth do I either."</p> + +<p>"What, Zachary; you walking about at this busy time of the day?"</p> + +<p>"I am walking about, Sir Thomas. It is not customary with me, but I +am walking about." Then he turned on his heel, moved almost to +dudgeon by the interruption, and walked the other way. "Sir Thomas +Bolster, my lord; a very busy sort of gentleman, but one who has done +well in the world.—Nor in sooth do I either; but this is a matter in +which a young maiden must decide for herself. I shall not bid her not +to love thee, but I cannot bid her to do so."</p> + +<p>"It isn't that, Mr. Fay. Of course I have no right to pretend to any +regard from her. But as to that there has been no question."</p> + +<p>"What did she say to thee?"</p> + +<p>"Some trash about rank."</p> + +<p>"Nay, my lord, it is not trash. I cannot hear thee speak so of thine +own order without contradiction."</p> + +<p>"Am I to be like a king in the old days, who was forced to marry any +ugly old princess that might be found for him, even though she were +odious to him? I will have nothing to do with rank on such terms. I +claim the right to please myself, as do other men, and I come to you +as father to the young lady to ask from you your assistance in +winning her to be my wife." At this moment up came Tribbledale +running from the office.</p> + +<p>"There is Cooke there," said Tribbledale, with much emphasis in his +voice, as though Cooke's was a very serious affair; "from Pollock and +Austen's."</p> + +<p>"Is not Mr. Pogson within?"</p> + +<p>"He went out just after you. Cooke says that it's most important that +he should see some one immediately."</p> + +<p>"Tell him that he must wait yet five minutes longer," said Zachary +Fay, frowning. Tribbledale, awestruck as he bethought himself how +great were the affairs of Pollock and Austen, retreated back +hurriedly to the court.</p> + +<p>"You know what I mean, Mr. Fay," continued Lord Hampstead.</p> + +<p>"I know well what thou meanest, my lord. I think I know what thou +meanest. Thou meanest to offer to my girl not only high rank and +great wealth, but, which should be of infinitely more value to her, +the heart and the hand of an honest man. I believe thee to be an +honest man, my lord."</p> + +<p>"In this matter, Mr. Fay, at any rate, I am."</p> + +<p>"In all matters as I believe; and how should I, being such a one as I +am, not be willing to give my girl to such a suitor as thee? And what +is it now?" he shrieked in his anger, as the little boy off the high +stool came rushing to him.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Pogson has just come back, Mr. Fay, and he says that he can't +find those letters from Pollock and Austen anywhere about the place. +He wants them immediately, because he can't tell the prices named +without seeing them."</p> + +<p>"Lord Hampstead," said the Quaker, almost white with rage, "I must +pray thee to excuse me for five minutes." Hampstead promised that he +would confine himself to the same uninteresting plot of ground till +the Quaker should return to him, and then reflected that there were +certain reasons upon which he had not calculated against falling in +love with the daughter of a City clerk.</p> + +<p>"We will go a little further afield," said the Quaker, when he +returned, "so that we may not be troubled again by those imbeciles in +the court. It is little, however, that I have to say to thee further. +Thou hast my leave."</p> + +<p>"I am glad of that."</p> + +<p>"And all my sympathies. But, my lord, I suppose I had better tell the +truth."</p> + +<p>"Oh, certainly."</p> + +<p>"My girl fears that her health may fail her."</p> + +<p>"Her health!"</p> + +<p>"It is that as I think. She has not said so to me openly; but I think +it is that. Her mother died early,—and her brothers and her sisters. +It is a sad tale, my lord."</p> + +<p>"But need that hinder her?"</p> + +<p>"I think not, my lord. But it must be for thee to judge. As far as I +know she is as fit to become a man's wife as are other girls. Her +health has not failed her. She is not robust, but she does her work +in looking after my household, such as it is, well and punctually. I +think that her mind is pervaded with vain terrors. Now I have told +thee all, placing full confidence in thee as in an honest man. There +is my house. Thou art welcome to go there if it seemeth thee good, +and to deal with Marion in this matter as thy love and thy judgment +may direct thee." Having said this he returned hurriedly to King's +Court as though he feared that Tribbledale or the boy might again +find him out.</p> + +<p>So far Hampstead had succeeded; but he was much troubled in his mind +by what he had heard as to Marion's health. Not that it occurred to +him for a moment that such a marriage as he contemplated would be +undesirable because his Marion might become ill. He was too +thoroughly in love to entertain such an idea. Nor is it one which can +find ready entrance into the mind of a young man who sees a girl +blooming with the freshness and beauty of youth. It would have seemed +to him, had he thought about it at all, that Marion's health was +perfect. But he was afraid of her obstinacy, and he felt that this +objection might be more binding on her than that which she put +forward in reference to his rank. He went back, therefore, to Hendon +Hall only half-satisfied,—sometimes elated, but sometimes depressed. +He would, however, go and discuss the matter with her at full length +as soon as he should have returned from Shropshire. He would remain +there only for one day,—though it might be necessary for him to +repeat the journey almost immediately,—so that no time might be lost +in using his eloquence upon Marion. After what had passed between him +and the Quaker, he thought that he was almost justified in assuring +himself that the girl did in truth love him.</p> + +<p>"Give my father my kindest love," said Lady Frances, as her brother +was about to start for the train.</p> + +<p>"Of course I will."</p> + +<p>"And tell him that I will start at a moment's notice whenever he may +wish to see me."</p> + +<p>"In such case of course I should take you."</p> + +<p>"And be courteous to her if you can."</p> + +<p>"I doubt whether she will allow me. If she abuses you or insults me I +must answer her."</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't."</p> + +<p>"You would be more ready than I am. One cannot but answer her because +she expects to hear something said in return. I shall keep out of her +way as much as possible. I shall have my breakfast brought to me in +my own room to-morrow, and shall then remain with my father as much +as possible. If I leave him at all I shall get a walk. There will +only be the dinner. As to one thing I have quite made up my mind. +Nothing shall drive me into having any words with Mr. +Greenwood;—unless, indeed, my father were to ask me to speak to +him."</p> + + +<p><a name="c2-11" id="c2-11"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XI.</h3> +<h4>MR. GREENWOOD BECOMES AMBITIOUS.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Mr. Greenwood was still anxious as to the health of the Rector of +Appleslocombe. There might be even yet a hope for him; but his +chance, he thought, would be better with the present +Marquis—ill-disposed towards him as the Marquis was—than with the +heir. The Marquis was weary of him, and anxious to get rid of +him,—was acting very meanly to him, as Mr. Greenwood thought, having +offered him £1000 as a final payment for a whole life's attention. +The Marquis, who had ever been a liberal man, had now, perhaps on his +death-bed, become unjust, harsh, and cruel. But he was weak and +forgetful, and might possibly be willing to save his money and get +rid of the nuisance of the whole affair by surrendering the living. +This was Mr. Greenwood's reading of the circumstances as they at +present existed. But the Marquis could not dispose of the living +while the Rector was still alive; nor could he even promise it, to +any good effect, without his son's assent. That Lord Hampstead would +neither himself so bestow his patronage or allow it to be so +bestowed, Mr. Greenwood was very sure. There had been that between +him and Lord Hampstead which convinced him that the young man was +more hostile to him even than the father. The Marquis, as Mr. +Greenwood thought, had insulted him of late;—but Lord Hampstead, +young as he was, had also been insolent; and what was worse, he had +insulted Lord Hampstead. There had been something in the young lord's +eye which had assured him of the young lord's contempt as well as +dislike. If anything could be done about the living it must be done +by the Marquis. The Marquis was very ill; but it was still probable +that the old rector should die first. He had been given to understand +that the old rector could hardly live many weeks.</p> + +<p>Mr. Greenwood understood but little of the young lord's character. +The Marquis, no doubt, he knew well, having lived with him for many +years. When he supposed his patron to be fretful and irascible +because of his infirmities, but to be by nature forgiving, +unreasonable, and weak, he drew an easy portrait, which was like the +person portrayed. But in attributing revenge, or harshness, or pride +of power to Lord Hampstead he was altogether wrong. As regarded +Appleslocombe and other parishes, the patronage of which would some +day belong to him, Lord Hampstead had long since made up his mind +that he would have nothing to do with them, feeling himself unfit to +appoint clergymen to ministrations in a Church to which he did not +consider himself to belong. All that he would leave to the Bishop, +thinking that the Bishop must know more about it than himself. Was +his father, however, to make any request to him with reference to +Appleslocombe especially, he would no doubt regard the living as +bestowed before his father's death. But of all this Mr. Greenwood +could understand nothing. He felt, however, that as the Marquis had +given him cause for anger, so had the young lord given him cause for +hatred as well as anger.</p> + +<p>Daily, almost hourly, these matters were discussed between Lady +Kingsbury and the chaplain. There had come to be strong sympathy +between them as far as sympathy can exist where the feelings are much +stronger on the one side than on the other. The mother of the +"darlings" had allowed herself to inveigh very bitterly against her +husband's children by his former marriage, and at first had been +received only half way by her confidential friend. But of late her +confidential friend had become more animated and more bitter than +herself, and had almost startled her by the boldness of his +denunciations. She in her passion had allowed herself more than once +to express a wish that her stepson—were dead. She had hardly in +truth meant as much as she implied,—or meaning it had hardly thought +of what she meant. But the chaplain taking the words from her lips, +had repeated them till she was almost terrified by their iniquity and +horror. He had no darlings to justify him! No great injury had been +done to him by an unkind fortune! Great as were the sin of Lord +Hampstead and his sister, they could bring no disgrace upon him! And +yet there was a settled purpose of hatred in his words which +frightened her, though she could not bring herself to oppose them. +She in her rage had declared that it would be well that Lord +Hampstead should break his neck out hunting or go down in his yacht +at sea; and she had been gratified to find that her friend had +sanctioned her ill-wishes. But when Mr. Greenwood spoke as though +something might possibly be done to further those wishes, then she +almost repented herself.</p> + +<p>She had been induced to say that if any power should come to her of +bestowing the living of Appleslocombe she would bestow it on Mr. +Greenwood. Were Lord Hampstead to die before the Marquis, and were +the Marquis to die before the old rector, such power would belong to +her during the minority of her eldest son. There had, therefore, been +some meaning in the promise; and the clergyman had referred to it +more than once or twice. "It is most improbable, you know, Mr. +Greenwood," she had said very seriously. He had replied as seriously +that such improbabilities were of frequent occurrence. "If it should +happen I will do so," she had answered. But after that she had never +of her own accord referred to the probability of Lord Hampstead's +death.</p> + +<p>From day to day there grew upon her a feeling that she had subjected +herself to domination, almost to tyranny from Mr. Greenwood. The man +whom she had known intimately during her entire married life now +appeared to assume different proportions and almost a different +character. He would still stand before her with his flabby hands +hanging listlessly by his side, and with eyes apparently full of +hesitation, and would seem to tremble as though he feared the effect +of his own words; but still the words that fell from him were felt to +be bonds from which she could not escape. When he looked at her from +his lack-lustre eyes, fixing them upon her for minutes together, till +the minutes seemed to be hours, she became afraid. She did not +confess to herself that she had fallen into his power; nor did she +realize the fact that it was so; but without realizing it she was +dominated, so that she also began to think that it would be well that +the chaplain should be made to leave Trafford Park. He, however, +continued to discuss with her all family matters as though his +services were indispensable to her; and she was unable to answer him +in such a way as to reject his confidences.</p> + +<p>The telegram reached the butler as to Hampstead's coming on the +Monday, and was, of course, communicated at once to Lord Kingsbury. +The Marquis, who was now confined to his bed, expressed himself as +greatly gratified, and himself told the news to his wife. She, +however, had already heard it, as had also the chaplain. It quickly +went through the whole household, in which among the servants there +existed an opinion that Lord Hampstead ought to have been again sent +for some days since. The Doctor had hinted as much to the +Marchioness, and had said so plainly to the butler. Mr. Greenwood had +expressed to her ladyship his belief that the Marquis had no desire +to see his son, and that the son certainly had no wish to pay another +visit to Trafford. "He cares more about the Quaker's daughter than +anything else," he had said,—"about her and his hunting. He and his +sister consider themselves as separated from the whole of the family. +I should leave them alone if I were you." Then she had said a faint +word to her husband, and had extracted from him something that was +supposed to be the expression of a wish that Lord Hampstead should +not be disturbed. Now Lord Hampstead was coming without any +invitation.</p> + +<p>"Going to walk over, is he, in the middle of the night?" said Mr. +Greenwood, preparing to discuss the matter with the Marchioness. +There was something of scorn in his voice, as though he were taking +upon himself to laugh at Lord Hampstead for having chosen this way of +reaching his father's house.</p> + +<p>"He often does that," said the Marchioness.</p> + +<p>"It's an odd way of coming into a sick house,—to disturb it in the +middle of the night." Mr. Greenwood, as he spoke, stood looking at +her ladyship severely.</p> + +<p>"How am I to help it? I don't suppose anybody will be disturbed at +all. He'll come round to the side door, and one of the servants will +be up to let him in. He always does things differently from anybody +else."</p> + +<p>"One would have thought that when his father was +<span class="nowrap">dying—"</span></p> + +<p>"Don't say that, Mr. Greenwood. There's nothing to make you say that. +The Marquis is very ill, but nobody has said that he's so bad as +that." Mr. Greenwood shook his head, but did not move from the +position in which he was standing. "I suppose that on this occasion +Hampstead is doing what is right."</p> + +<p>"I doubt whether he ever does what is right. I am only thinking that +if anything should happen to the Marquis, how very bad it would be +for you and the young lords."</p> + +<p>"Won't you sit down, Mr. Greenwood?" said the Marchioness, to whom +the presence of the standing chaplain had become almost intolerable.</p> + +<p>The man sat down,—not comfortably in his chair, but hardly more than +on the edge of it, so as still to have that air of restraint which +had annoyed his companion. "As I was saying, if anything should +happen to my lord it would be very sad for your ladyship and for Lord +Frederick, and Lord Augustus, and Lord Gregory."</p> + +<p>"We are all in the hands of God," said her ladyship, piously.</p> + +<p>"Yes;—we are all in the hands of God. But it is the Lord's intention +that we should all look out for ourselves, and do the best we can to +avoid injustice, and cruelty, and,—and—robbery."</p> + +<p>"I do not think there will be any robbery, Mr. Greenwood."</p> + +<p>"Would it not be robbery if you and their little lordships should be +turned at once out of this house?"</p> + +<p>"It would be his own;—Lord Hampstead's,—of course. I should have +Slocombe Abbey in Somersetshire. As far as a house goes, I should +like it better than this. Of course it is much smaller;—but what +comfort do I ever have out of a house like this?"</p> + +<p>"That's true enough. But why?"</p> + +<p>"There is no good in talking about it, Mr. Greenwood."</p> + +<p>"I cannot help talking about it. It is because Lady Frances has +broken up the family by allowing herself to be engaged to a young man +beneath her own station in life." Here he shook his head, as he +always did when he spoke of Lady Frances. "As for Lord Hampstead, I +look upon it as a national misfortune that he should outlive his +father."</p> + +<p>"What can we do?"</p> + +<p>"Well, my lady; it is hard to say. What will my feelings be, should +anything happen to the Marquis, and should I be left to the tender +mercies of his eldest son? I should have no claim upon Lord Hampstead +for a shilling. As he is an infidel, of course he would not want a +chaplain. Indeed I could not reconcile it to my conscience to remain +with him. I should be cast out penniless, having devoted all my life, +as I may say, to his lordship's service."</p> + +<p>"He has offered you a thousand pounds."</p> + +<p>"A thousand pounds, for the labours of a whole life! And what +assurance shall I have of that? I don't suppose he has ever dreamed +of putting it into his will. And if he has, what will a thousand +pounds do for me? You can go to Slocombe Abbey. But the rectory, +which was as good as promised, will be closed against me." The +Marchioness knew that this was a falsehood, but did not dare to tell +him so. The living had been talked about between them till it was +assumed that he had a right to it. "If the young man were out of the +way," he continued, "there would be some chance for me."</p> + +<p>"I cannot put him out of the way," said the Marchioness.</p> + +<p>"And some chance for Lord Frederic and his brothers."</p> + +<p>"You need not tell me of that, Mr. Greenwood."</p> + +<p>"But one has to look the truth in the face. It is for your sake that +I have been anxious,—rather than my own. You must own that." She +would not own anything of the kind. "I suppose there was no doubt +about the first marriage?"</p> + +<p>"None at all," said the Marchioness, terrified.</p> + +<p>"Though it was thought very odd at the time. It ought to be looked +to, I think. No stone ought to be left unturned."</p> + +<p>"There is nothing to be hoped for in that direction, Mr. Greenwood."</p> + +<p>"It ought to be looked to;—that's all. Only think what it will be if +he marries, and has a son before anything is—is settled."</p> + +<p>To this Lady Kingsbury made no answer; and after a pause Mr. +Greenwood turned to his own grievances. "I shall make bold," he said, +"to see the Marquis once again before Lord Hampstead comes down. He +cannot but acknowledge that I have a great right to be anxious. I do +not suppose that any promise would be sacred in his son's eyes, but I +must do the best I can." To this her ladyship would make no answer, +and they parted, not in the best humour with each other.</p> + +<p>That was on the Monday. On the Tuesday Mr. Greenwood, having asked to +be allowed an interview, crept slowly into the sick man's room. "I +hope your lordship find yourself better this morning?" The sick man +turned in his bed, and only made some feeble grunt in reply. "I hear +that Lord Hampstead is coming down to-morrow, my lord."</p> + +<p>"Why should he not come?" There must have been something in the tone +of Mr. Greenwood's voice which had grated against the sick man's +ears, or he would not have answered so sulkily.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, my lord. I did not mean to say that there was any reason why +his lordship should not come. Perhaps it might have been better had +he come earlier."</p> + +<p>"It wouldn't have been at all better."</p> + +<p>"I only just meant to make the remark, my lord; there was nothing in +it."</p> + +<p>"Nothing at all," said the sick man. "Was there anything else you +wished to say, Mr. Greenwood?"</p> + +<p>The nurse all this time was sitting in the room, which the chaplain +felt to be uncomfortable. "Could we be alone for a few minutes, my +lord?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I don't think we could," said the sick man.</p> + +<p>"There are a few points which are of so much importance to me, Lord +Kingsbury."</p> + +<p>"I ain't well enough to talk business, and I won't do it. Mr. Roberts +will be here to-morrow, and you can see him."</p> + +<p>Mr. Roberts was a man of business, or agent to the property, who +lived at Shrewsbury, and whom Mr. Greenwood especially disliked. Mr. +Greenwood being a clergyman was, of course, supposed to be a +gentleman, and regarded Mr. Roberts as being much beneath himself. It +was not customary for Mr. Roberts to dine at the house, and he was +therefore regarded by the chaplain as being hardly more than an upper +servant. It was therefore very grievous to him to be told that he +must discuss his own private affairs and make his renewed request as +to the living through Mr. Roberts. It was evidently intended that he +should have no opportunity of discussing his private affairs. +Whatever the Marquis might offer him he must take; and that, as far +as he could see, without any power of redress on his side. If Mr. +Roberts were to offer him a thousand pounds, he could only accept the +cheque and depart with it from Trafford Park, shaking off from his +feet the dust which such ingratitude would forbid him to carry with +him.</p> + +<p>He was in the habit of walking daily for an hour before sunset, +moving very slowly up and down the driest of the roads near the +house, generally with his hands clasped behind his back, believing +that in doing so he was consulting his health, and maintaining that +bodily vigour which might be necessary to him for the performance of +the parochial duties at Appleslocombe. Now when he had left the +bed-room of the Marquis he went out of the front door, and proceeded +on his walk at a somewhat quicker pace than usual. He was full of +wrath, and his passion gave some alacrity to his movements. He was of +course incensed against the Marquis; but his anger burnt hottest +against Lord Hampstead. In this he was altogether unreasonable, for +Lord Hampstead had said nothing and done nothing that could injure +his position. Lord Hampstead disliked him and, perhaps, despised him, +but had been anxious that the Marquis should be liberal in the mode +of severing a connection which had lasted so long. But to Mr. +Greenwood himself it was manifest that all his troubles came from the +iniquities of his patron's two elder children; and he remembered at +every moment that Lord Hampstead had insulted him when they were both +together. He was certainly not a man to forgive an enemy, or to lose +any opportunity for revenge which might come in his way.</p> + +<p>Certainly it would be good if the young man could be got to break his +neck out hunting;—or good if the yacht could be made to founder, or +go to pieces on a rock, or come to any other fatal maritime +misfortune. But these were accidents which he personally could have +no power to produce. Such wishing was infantine, and fit only for a +weak woman, such as the Marchioness. If anything were to be done it +must be done by some great endeavour; and the endeavour must come +from himself. Then he reflected how far the Marchioness would +certainly be in his power, if both the Marquis and his eldest son +were dead. He did believe that he had obtained great influence over +her. That she should rebel against him was of course on the cards. +But he was aware that within the last month, since the date, indeed, +at which the Marquis had threatened to turn him out of the house, he +had made considerable progress in imposing himself upon her as a +master. He gave himself in this respect much more credit than was in +truth due to him. Lady Kingsbury, though she had learnt to fear him, +had not so subjected herself to his influence as not to be able to +throw him off should a time come at which it might be essential to +her comfort to do so. But he had misread the symptoms, and had +misread also the fretfulness of her impatience. He now assured +himself that if anything could be done he might rely entirely on her +support. After all that she had said to him, it would be impossible +that she should throw him over. Thinking of all this, and thinking +also how expedient it was that something should be done, he returned +to the house when he had taken the exact amount of exercise which he +supposed necessary for his health.</p> + + +<p><a name="c2-12" id="c2-12"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XII.</h3> +<h4>LIKE THE POOR CAT I' THE ADAGE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Wishing will do nothing. If a man has sufficient cause for action he +should act. "Letting I dare not wait upon I would, Like the poor cat +i' the adage," never can produce results. Cherries will not fall into +your mouth without picking. "If it were done, when 'tis done then +'twere well it were done quickly." If grapes hang too high what is +the use of thinking of them? Nevertheless,—"Where there's a will +there's a way." But certainly no way will be found amidst +difficulties, unless a man set himself to work seriously to look for +it. With such self-given admonitions, counsels, and tags of old +quotations as these, Mr. Greenwood went to work with himself on +Monday night, and came to a conclusion that if anything were to be +done it must be done at once.</p> + +<p>Then came the question—what was the thing to be done, and what at +once meant? When a thing has to be done which requires a special +summoning of resolution, it is too often something which ought not to +be done. To virtuous deeds, if they recommend themselves to us at +all, we can generally make up our minds more easily. It was +pleasanter to Mr. Greenwood to think of the thing as something in the +future, as something which might possibly get itself done for him by +accident, than as an act the doing of which must fall into his own +hands. Then came the "cat i' the adage," and the "when 'tis done then +'twere well," and the rest of it. Thursday morning, between four and +five o' clock, when it would be pitch dark, with neither star nor +moon in the heavens, when Lord Hampstead would certainly be alone in +a certain spot, unattended and easily assailable;—would Thursday +morning be the fittest time for any such deed as that which he had +now in truth began to contemplate?</p> + +<p>When the thing presented itself to him in this new form, he recoiled +from it. It cannot be said that Mr. Greenwood was a man of any strong +religious feelings. He had been ordained early in life to a curacy, +having probably followed, in choosing his profession, the bent given +to him by his family connections, and had thus from circumstances +fallen into the household of his present patron's uncle. From that to +this he had never performed a service in a church, and his domestic +services as chaplain had very soon become nothing.</p> + +<p>The old Lord Kingsbury had died very soon afterwards, and Mr. +Greenwood's services had been continued rather as private secretary +and librarian than as domestic chaplain. He had been crafty, willing, +and, though anxious, he had been able to conceal his anxiety in that +respect, and ready to obey when he found it necessary. In this manner +he had come to his present condition of life, and had but few of the +manners or feelings of a clergyman about him. He was quite willing to +take a living if it should come in his way,—but to take it with a +purpose that the duties should be chiefly performed by a curate. He +was not a religious man; but when he came to look the matter in the +face, not on that account could he regard himself as a possible +murderer without terrible doubts.</p> + +<p>As he thought of it his first and prevailing fear did not come from +the ignominious punishment which is attached to, and which generally +attends, the crime. He has been described as a man flabby in +appearance, as one who seemed to tremble in his shoes when called +upon for any special words, as one who might be supposed to be devoid +of strong physical daring. But the true character of the man was +opposed to his outward bearing. Courage is a virtue of too high a +nature to be included among his gifts; but he had that command of his +own nerves, that free action of blood round his heart, that personal +audacity coming from self-confidence, which is often taken to +represent courage. Given the fact that he wanted an enemy out of the +way, he could go to work to prepare to put him out of the way without +exaggerated dread of the consequences as far as this world is +concerned. He trusted much in himself, and thought it possible that +he could so look through all the concomitant incidents of such an act +as that he contemplated without allowing one to escape him which +might lead to detection. He could so look at the matter, he thought, +as to be sure whether this or the other plot might or might not be +safe. It might be that no safe plot were possible, and that the +attempt must therefore be abandoned. These, at any rate, were not the +dangers which made him creep about in dismay at his own intentions.</p> + +<p>There were other dangers of which he could not shake off the dread. +Whether he had any clear hope as to eternal bliss in another life, it +may be doubted. He probably drove from his mind thoughts on the +subject, not caring to investigate his own belief. It is the practice +of many to have their minds utterly callous in that respect. To +suppose that such men think this or think the other as to future +rewards and punishments is to give them credit for a condition of +mind to which they have never risen. Such a one was probably Mr. +Greenwood; but nevertheless he feared something when this idea +respecting Lord Hampstead presented itself to him. It was as is some +boggy-bo to a child, some half-belief in a spectre to a nervous +woman, some dread of undefined evil to an imaginative but melancholy +man. He did not think that by meditating such a deed, by hardening +his heart to the necessary resolution, by steeling himself up to its +perpetration, he would bring himself into a condition unfitted for a +life of bliss. His thoughts did not take any such direction. But +though there might be no punishment in this world,—even though there +were to be no other world in which punishment could come,—still +something of evil would surely fall upon him. The convictions of the +world since the days of Cain have all gone in that direction. It was +thus that he allowed himself to be cowed, and to be made to declare +to himself again and again that the project must be abandoned.</p> + +<p>But "the cat i' the adage" succeeded so far on the Tuesday in getting +the better of his scruples, that he absolutely did form a plot. He +did not as yet quite see his way to that security which would be +indispensable;—but he did form a plot. Then came the bitter +reflection that what he would do would be done for the benefit of +others rather than his own. What would Lord Frederic know of his +benefactor when he should come to the throne—as in such case he +would do—as Marquis of Kingsbury? Lord Frederic would give him no +thanks, even were he to know it,—which of course could never be the +case. And why had not that woman assisted him,—she who had +instigated him to the doing of the deed? "For Banquo's issue have I +filed my mind," he said to himself over and over again, not, however, +in truth thinking of the deed with any of the true remorse to which +Macbeth was a prey. The "filing of his mind" only occurred to him +because the words were otherwise apt. Would she even be grateful when +she should tell herself,—as she surely would do,—that the deed had +been done by the partner of her confidences?</p> + +<p>When he thought of the reward which was to come to him in payment of +the intended deed something like a feeling of true conscience did +arise within him. Might it not be the case that even he, callous as +he was to most things, should find himself unable to go down to +Appleslocombe and read himself in, as the phrase goes, as rector and +pastor of the parish? He thought of this as he lay in his bed, and +acknowledged to himself that his own audacity would probably be +insufficient to carry him through such a struggle. But still on the +morning when he rose he had not altogether rejected the idea. The +young man had scorned him and had insulted him, and was hateful to +him. But still why should he be the Macbeth, seeing that the Lady +Macbeth of the occasion was untrue to him? In all this he was unaware +how very little his Lady Macbeth had really meant when she had +allowed herself in his presence to express wishes as to her stepson's +death.</p> + +<p>He thought he saw his plan. The weapon was there ready to his +hand;—a weapon which he had not bought, which could not be traced to +him, which would certainly be fatal if used with the assurance of +which he was confident. And there would be ample time for retreat. +But still as he arranged it all in his mind he regarded it all not as +a thing fixed, but as a thing which was barely possible. It was thus +that it might be done, had the Lady Macbeth of the occasion really +shown herself competent to such a task. Why should he trouble himself +on such a matter? Why should he file his mind for Banquo's issue? Yet +he looked at the pistol and at the window as he prepared to go up to +her ladyship's room before lunch on the Wednesday morning. It +certainly could be done, he said to himself, telling himself at the +same time that all that had been passing in his own mind was no more +than a vague speculation. A man is apt to speculate on things which +have no reality to him, till they become real.</p> + +<p>He had assumed the practice of going to her ladyship's sitting-room +up-stairs without a special summons, latterly to her ladyship's great +disgust. When her quarrel had first become strong with Lady Frances +she had no doubt received comfort from his support. But now she had +become weary of him, and had sometimes been almost dismayed by the +words he spoke to her. At half-past twelve punctually she went down +to her husband's room, and it was now customary with the chaplain to +visit her before she did so. She had more than once almost resolved +to tell him that she preferred to be left alone during the morning. +But she had not as yet assumed the courage to do this. She was aware +that words had fallen from her in her anger which it was possible he +might use against her, were she to subject herself to his +displeasure. "Lord Hampstead will be here at half-past four—what you +may call the middle of the night—to-morrow morning, Lady Kingsbury," +said he, repeating an assertion which he had already made to her two +or three times. As he did so he stood in the middle of the room, +looking down upon her with a gaze under which she had often suffered, +but which she did not in the least understand.</p> + +<p>"Of course I know he's coming."</p> + +<p>"Don't you think it a very improper time, with a sick man in the +house?"</p> + +<p>"He won't disturb his father."</p> + +<p>"I don't know. There will be the opening and the shutting of the +door, and the servant will be going about the passages, and there +will be the bringing in of the luggage."</p> + +<p>"He won't have any luggage." Mr. Greenwood had been aware of this; +but it might be well that he should affect ignorance.</p> + +<p>"It is like everything else that he does," he said, being anxious to +induce the stepmother to speak ill of her stepson. But the bent of +her mind had been turned. She was not conscious of the cause which +had produced the change, but she was determined to speak no further +evil of her stepchildren before Mr. Greenwood. "I suppose there is +nothing to be done?" said Mr. Greenwood.</p> + +<p>"What should there be to be done? If you do remain here I wish you +would sit down, Mr. Greenwood. You oppress me by standing up in that +way in the middle of the room."</p> + +<p>"I do not wonder that you should be oppressed," he said, seating +himself, as was his wont, on the edge of a chair. "I am oppressed, I +know. No one ever says a word to comfort me. What am I to do if +anything should happen?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Greenwood, what is the use of all this?"</p> + +<p>"What would you think, Lady Kingsbury, if you had to live all the +rest of your life on an income arising from a thousand pounds?"</p> + +<p>"It isn't my fault. What's the good of your coming to me with all +that? I have had nothing to do with the arrangement which Lord +Kingsbury has made with you. You know very well that I do not dare +even to mention your name to him, lest he should order that you +should be turned out of the house."</p> + +<p>"Turned out of the house!" he said, jumping off his chair on to his +legs with an alacrity which was quite unusual to him. "Turned out of +the house?—as if I were a dog! No man alive would stand such +language."</p> + +<p>"You know very well that I've always stood your friend," said the +Marchioness, alarmed by the man's impetuosity.</p> + +<p>"And you tell me that I'm to be turned out of the house."</p> + +<p>"I only say that it would be better not to mention your name to him. +I must go now, because he will be waiting for me."</p> + +<p>"He doesn't care a straw for you; not a straw."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Greenwood!"</p> + +<p>"He cares only for his son and daughter;—for the son and daughter of +his first wife; for those two ignoble young persons who, as you have +said so often, are altogether unworthy of their name."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Greenwood, I cannot admit this."</p> + +<p>"Have you not said it over and over again? Have you not declared how +good a thing it would be that Lord Hampstead should die? You cannot +go back from all that, Lady Kingsbury."</p> + +<p>"I must go now, Mr. Greenwood," she said, shuffling out of the room. +He had altogether frightened her, and, as she went down-stairs, she +determined that at whatever cost she must save herself from further +private conversation with the chaplain.</p> + +<p>Mr. Greenwood, when he was thus left alone, did not at once leave the +room. He had reseated himself, and there he remained still gazing as +though there had been some one for him to gaze at, and still seated +on the edge of his chair as though there were some one to see the +affected humility of his position. But in truth the gazing and the +manner of sitting had become so customary to him that they were +assumed without thought. His mind was now full of the injury done to +him by the Marchioness. She had made him her confidant; she had +poured her secret thoughts into his ears; she had done her best to +inspire him with her hatred and her desires;—and now, when she had +almost taught him to be the minister of her wishes, she turned upon +him, and upbraided him and deserted him! Of course when he had +sympathized with her as to her ill-used darlings he had expected her +to sympathize with him as to the hardships inflicted upon him. But +she cared nothing for his hardships, and was anxious to repudiate the +memory of all the hard words which she had spoken as to her husband's +children. It should not be so! She should not escape from him in this +manner! When confidences have been made, the persons making them must +abide the consequences. When a partnership has been formed, neither +partner has a right to retreat at once, leaving the burden of all +debts upon the other. Had not all these thoughts, and plottings, +which had been so heavy on his mind since that telegram had come, +which had been so heavy on his soul, been her doing? Had not the idea +come from her? Had there not been an unspoken understanding between +them that in consequence of certain mutual troubles and mutual +aspirations there should be a plan of action arranged between them? +Now she was deserting him! Well;—he thought that he could so +contrive things that she should not do so with impunity. Having +considered all this he got up from his chair and slowly walked down +to his own room.</p> + +<p>He lunched by himself, and then sat himself down with a novel, as was +his wont at that hour of the day. There could be no man more punctual +in all his daily avocations than Mr. Greenwood. After lunch there +always came the novel; but there was seldom much of it read. He would +generally go to sleep, and would remain so, enjoying perfect +tranquillity for the best part of an hour. Then he would go out for +his constitutional walk, after which he would again take up the novel +till the time came for her ladyship's tea. On this occasion he did +not read at all, but neither did he at once sleep. There had been +that on his mind which, even though it had not been perfected, +banished sleep from him for some minutes. There was no need of any +further conversation as to safety or danger. The deed, whether it +would or could not have been done in the manner he had premeditated, +certainly would not be done now. Certainly not now would he file his +mind for Banquo's issue. But after half-an-hour of silent meditation +he did sleep.</p> + +<p>When he arose and went out for a walk he felt that his heart was +light within him. He had done nothing by which he had compromised +himself. He had bound himself to no deed. As he walked up and down +the road he assured himself that he had never really thought of doing +it. He had only speculated as to the probability,—which is so common +for men to do as to performances which they had no thought of +attempting. There was a great burden gone from him. Had he desired to +get rid of Lord Hampstead, it was in that way that he would have done +it;—and he would so have done it that he would never have been +suspected of the deed. He had never intended more than that. As he +returned to the house he assured himself that he had never intended +anything more. And yet there was a great burden gone from him.</p> + +<p>At five o'clock a message was brought to him that her ladyship, +finding herself to be rather unwell, begged to be excused from asking +him up to tea. The message was brought by the butler himself, with a +suggestion that he should have tea in his own room. "I think I will, +Harris," he said, "just take a cup. By-the-bye, Harris, have you seen +my lord to-day?" Harris declared that he had seen his lordship, in a +tone of voice which implied that he at any rate had not been banished +from my lord's presence. "And how do you find him?" Harris thought +that the Marquis was a little more like himself to-day than he had +been for the last three days. "That's right. I am very glad to hear +that. Lord Hampstead's coming to-morrow will be a great comfort to +him."</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed," said Harris, who was quite on Lord Hampstead's side in +the family quarrels. He had not been pleased with the idea of the +Roden marriage, which certainly was unfortunate for the daughter of a +Marquis; but he was by no means inclined to take part against the +heir to the family honours.</p> + +<p>"I wish he were coming at a little more reasonable hour in the day," +said Mr. Greenwood with a smile. But Harris thought that the time of +the day would do very well. It was the kind of thing which his +lordship very often did, and Harris did not see any harm in it. This +Harris said with his hand on the lock of the door, showing that he +was not anxious for a prolonged conversation with the chaplain.</p> + + +<p><a name="c2-13" id="c2-13"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XIII.</h3> +<h4>LADY FRANCES SEES HER LOVER.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>On the Monday in that week,—Monday, the 5th of January, on which day +Hampstead had been hunting and meditating the attack which he +subsequently made on Zachary Fay, in King's Court,—Mrs. Vincent had +paid a somewhat unusually long visit in Paradise Row. As the visit +was always made on Monday, neither had Clara Demijohn or Mrs. Duffer +been very much surprised; but still it had been observed that the +brougham had been left at the "Duchess of Edinburgh" for an hour +beyond the usual time, and a few remarks were made. "She is so +punctual about her time generally," Clara had said. But Mrs. Duffer +remarked that as she had exceeded the hour usually devoted to her +friend's company she had probably found it quite as well to stay +another. "They don't make half-hours in any of those yards, you +know," said Mrs. Duffer. And so the matter had been allowed to pass +as having been sufficiently explained.</p> + +<p>But there had in truth been more than that in Mrs. Vincent's +prolonged visit to her cousin. There had been much to be discussed, +and the discussion led to a proposition made that evening by Mrs. +Roden to her son by which the latter was much surprised. She was +desirous of starting almost immediately for Italy, and was anxious +that he should accompany her. If it were to be so he was quite alive +to the expediency of going with her. "But what is it, mother?" he +asked, when she had requested his attendance without giving the cause +which rendered the journey necessary. Then she paused as though +considering whether she would comply with his request, and tell him +that whole secret of his life which she had hitherto concealed from +him. "Of course, I will not press you," he said, "if you think that +you cannot trust me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, George, that is unkind."</p> + +<p>"What else am I to say? Is it possible that I should start suddenly +upon such a journey, or that I should see you doing so, without +asking the reason why? Or can I suppose if you do not tell me, but +that there is some reason why you should not trust me?"</p> + +<p>"You know I trust you. No mother ever trusted a son more implicitly. +You ought to know that. It is not a matter of trusting. There may be +secrets to which a person shall be so pledged that she cannot tell +them to her dearest friend. If I had made a promise would you not +have me keep it?"</p> + +<p>"Promises such as that should not be exacted, and should not be +made."</p> + +<p>"But if they have been exacted and have been made? Do as I ask you +now, and it is probable that everything will be clear to you before +we return, or at any rate as clear to you as it is to me." After +this, with a certain spirit of reticence which was peculiar with him, +he made up his mind to do as his mother would have him without asking +further questions. He set himself to work immediately to make the +necessary arrangements for his journey with as much apparent +satisfaction as though it were to be done on his own behalf. It was +decided that they would start on the next Friday, travel through +France and by the tunnel of the Mont Cenis to Turin, and thence on to +Milan. Of what further there was to befall them he knew nothing at +this period.</p> + +<p>It was necessary in the first place that he should get leave of +absence from Sir Boreas, as to which he professed himself to be in +much doubt, because he had already enjoyed the usual leave of absence +allowed by the rules of the office. But on this matter he found Æolus +to be very complaisant. "What, Italy?" said Sir Boreas. "Very nice +when you get there, I should say, but a bad time of year for +travelling. Sudden business, eh?—To go with your mother! It is bad +for a lady to go alone. How long? You don't know? Well! come back as +soon as you can; that's all. You couldn't take Crocker with you, +could you?" For at this time Crocker had already got into further +trouble in regard to imperfections of handwriting. He had been +promised absolution as to some complaint made against him on +condition that he could read a page of his own manuscript. But he had +altogether failed in the attempt. Roden didn't think that he could +carry Crocker to Italy, but arranged his own affair without that +impediment.</p> + +<p>But there was another matter which must be arranged also. It was now +six weeks since he had walked with Lord Hampstead half-way back from +Holloway to Hendon, and had been desired by his friend not to visit +Lady Frances while she was staying at Hendon Hall. The reader may +remember that he had absolutely refused to make any promise, and that +there had consequently been some sharp words spoken between the two +friends. There might, he had then said, arise an occasion on which he +should find it impossible not to endeavour to see the girl he loved. +But hitherto, though he had refused to submit himself to the demand +made upon him, he had complied with its spirit. At this moment, as it +seemed to him, a period had come in which it was essential to him +that he should visit her. There had been no correspondence between +them since those Königsgraaf days in consequence of the resolutions +which she herself had made. Now, as he often told himself, they were +as completely separated as though each had determined never again to +communicate with the other. Months had gone by since a word had +passed between them. He was a man, patient, retentive, and by nature +capable of enduring such a trouble without loud complaint; but he did +remember from day to day how near they were to each other, and he did +not fail to remind himself that he could hardly expect to find +constancy in her unless he took some means of proving to her that he +was constant himself. Thinking of all this, he determined that he +would do his best to see her before he started for Italy. Should he +fail to be received at Hendon Hall then he would write. But he would +go to the house and make his attempt.</p> + +<p>On Thursday morning, the day on which Hampstead arrived at Trafford +Park, he went down from London, and knocking at the door asked at +once for Lady Frances. Lady Frances was at home and alone;—alone +altogether, having no companion with her in the house during her +brother's absence. The servant who opened the door, the same who had +admitted poor Crocker and had understood how much his young mistress +had been dismayed when the Post Office clerk had been announced, was +unwilling at once to show this other Post Office clerk into the +house, although he probably understood well the difference between +the two comers. "I'll go and see," he said, leaving George Roden to +sit or stand in the hall as he liked best. Then the man, with a +sagacity which certainly did him credit, made a roundabout journey +through the house, so that the lover stationed in the hall might not +know that his mistress was to be reached merely by the opening of a +single door. "A gentleman in the hall?" said Lady Frances.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Roden, my lady," said the man.</p> + +<p>"Show him in," said Lady Frances, allowing herself just a moment for +consideration,—a moment so short that she trusted that no hesitation +had been visible. And yet she had doubted much. She had been very +clear in explaining to her brother that she had made no promise. She +had never pledged herself to any one that she would deny herself to +her lover should he come to see her. She would not admit to herself +that even her brother, even her father, had a right to demand from +her such a pledge. But she knew what were her brother's wishes on +this matter, and what were the reasons for them. She knew also how +much she owed to him. But she too had suffered from that long +silence. She had considered that a lover whom she never saw, and from +whom she never heard, was almost as bad as no lover at all. She had +beaten her feathers against her cage, as she thought of this cruel +separation. She had told herself of the short distance which +separated Hendon from Holloway. She perhaps had reflected that had +the man been as true to her as was she to him, he would not have +allowed himself to be deterred by the injunctions either of father or +brother. Now, at any rate, when her lover was at the door, she could +not turn him away. It had all to be thought of, but it was thought of +so quickly that the order for her lover's admittance was given almost +without a pause which could have been felt. Then, in half a minute, +her lover was in the room with her.</p> + +<p>Need the chronicler of such scenes declare that they were in each +other's arms before a word was spoken between them? The first word +that was spoken came from her. "Oh, George, how long it has been!"</p> + +<p>"It has been long to me."</p> + +<p>"But at last you have come?"</p> + +<p>"Did you expect me sooner? Had you not agreed with Hampstead and your +father that I was not to come?"</p> + +<p>"Never mind. You are here now. Poor papa, you know, is very ill. +Perhaps I may have to go down there. John is there now."</p> + +<p>"Is he so ill as that?"</p> + +<p>"John went last night. We do not quite know how ill he is. He does +not write, and we doubt whether we get at the truth. I was very +nearly going with him; and then, sir, you would not have seen me—at +all."</p> + +<p>"Another month, another six months, another year, would have made no +difference in my assurance of your truth to me."</p> + +<p>"That is a very pretty speech for you to make."</p> + +<p>"Nor I think in yours for me."</p> + +<p>"I am bound, of course, to be just as pretty as you are. But why have +you come now? You shouldn't have come when John had left me all +alone."</p> + +<p>"I did not know that you were here alone."</p> + +<p>"Or you would not have come, perhaps? But you should not have come. +Why did you not ask before you came?"</p> + +<p>"Because I should have been refused. It would have been refused; +would it not?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly it would."</p> + +<p>"But as I wish to see you specially—"</p> + +<p>"Why specially? I have wanted to see you always. Every day has been a +special want. It should have been so with you also had you been as +true as I am. There should have been no special times."</p> + +<p>"But I am going—"</p> + +<p>"Going! Where are you going? Not for always! You are leaving +Holloway, you mean, or the Post Office." Then he explained to her +that as far as he knew the journey would not be for long. He was not +leaving his office, but had permission to absent himself for a time, +so that he might travel with his mother as far as Milan. "Nay," said +he, laughing, "why I am to do so I do not in the least know. My +mother has some great Italian mystery of which she has never yet +revealed to me any of the circumstances. All I know is that I was +born in Italy."</p> + +<p>"You an Italian?"</p> + +<p>"I did not say that. There is an old saying that you need not be a +horse because you were born in a stable. Nor do I quite know that I +was born in Italy, though I feel sure of it. Of my father I have +never known anything,—except that he was certainly a bad husband to +my mother. There are circumstances which do make me almost sure that +I was born in Italy; but as my mother has been unwilling to talk to +me of my earliest days, I have never chosen to ask her. Now I shall +perhaps know it all."</p> + +<p>Of what else passed between them the reader need learn no details. To +her the day was one of exceeding joy. A lover in China, or waging +wars in Zululand or elsewhere among the distant regions, is a +misfortune. A lover ought to be at hand, ready at the moment, to be +kissed or scolded, to wait upon you, or, so much sweeter still, to be +waited upon, just as the occasion may serve. But the lover in China +is better than one in the next street or the next parish,—or only a +few miles off by railway,—whom you may not see. The heart recognizes +the necessity occasioned by distance with a sweet softness of tender +regrets, but is hardened by mutiny, or crushed by despair in +reference to stern parents or unsuitable pecuniary circumstances. +Lady Frances had been enduring the sternness of parents, and had been +unhappy. Now there had come a break. She had seen what he was like, +and had heard his voice, and been reassured by his vows, and had +enjoyed the longed-for opportunity of repeating her own. "Nothing, +nothing, nothing can change me!" How was he to be sure of that while +she had no opportunity of telling him that it was so? "No +time;—nothing that papa can say, nothing that John can do, will have +any effect. As to Lady Kingsbury, of course you know that she has +thrown me off altogether." It was nothing to him, he said, who might +have thrown her off. Having her promise, he could bide his time. Not +but that he was impatient; but that he knew that when so much was to +be given to him at last, it behoved him to endure all things rather +than to be faint of heart. And so they parted.</p> + +<p>She, however, in spite of her joy, had a troubled spirit when he was +gone. She had declared to her brother that she was bound by no +promise as to seeing or not seeing her lover, but yet she was aware +how much she owed to him, and that, though she had not promised, he +had made a promise on her behalf, to her father. But for that promise +she would never have been allowed to be at Hendon Hall. His brother +had made all his arrangements so as to provide for her a home in +which she might be free from the annoyances inflicted upon her by her +stepmother; but had done so almost with a provision that she should +not see George Roden. She certainly had done nothing herself to +infringe that stipulation; but George Roden had come, and she had +seen him. She might have refused him admittance, no doubt; but then +again she thought that it would have been impossible to do so. How +could she have told the man to deny her, thus professing her +indifference for him in regard to whom she had so often declared that +she was anxious that all the world should know that they were engaged +to marry each other? It would have been impossible for her not to see +him; and yet she felt that she had been treacherous to her brother, +to whom she owed so much!</p> + +<p>One thing seemed to her to be absolutely necessary. She must write at +once and tell him what had occurred. Thinking of this she sat down +and wrote so that she might despatch her letter by that post;—and +what she wrote is here given.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My Dear +John</span>—</p> + +<p>I shall be so anxious to get news from Trafford, and to +hear how you found papa. I cannot but think that were he +very ill somebody would have let us know the truth. Though +Mr. Greenwood is cross-grained and impertinent, he would +hardly have kept us in the dark.</p> + +<p>Now I have a piece of news to tell you which I hope will +not make you very angry. It was not my doing, and I do not +know how I could have helped it. Your friend, George +Roden, called to-day and asked to see me. Of course I +could have refused. He was in the hall when Richard +announced him, and I suppose I could have sent out word to +say that I was not at home. But I think you will feel that +that was in truth impossible. How is one to tell a lie to +a man when one feels towards him as I do about George? Or +how could I even let the servants think that I would treat +him so badly? Of course every one knows about it. I want +every one to know about it, so that it may be understood +that I am not in the least ashamed of what I mean to do.</p> + +<p>And when you hear why he came I do not think that you can +be angry even with him. He has been called upon, for some +reason, to go at once with his mother to Italy. They start +for Milan to-morrow, and he does not at all know when he +may return. He had to get leave at the Post Office, but +that Sir Boreas whom he talks about seems to have been +very good-natured about giving it. He asked him whether he +would not take Mr. Crocker with him to Italy; but that of +course was a joke. I suppose they do not like Mr. Crocker +at the Post Office any better than you do. Why Mrs. Roden +should have to go he does not understand. All he knows is +that there is some Italian secret which he will hear all +about before he comes home.</p> + +<p>Now I really do think that you cannot be surprised that he +should have come to see me when he is going to take such a +journey as that. What should I have thought if I had heard +that he had gone without saying a word to me about it? +Don't you think that that would have been most unnatural? +I should have almost broken my heart when I heard that he +had started.</p> + +<p>I do hope, therefore, that you will not be angry with +either of us. But yet I feel that I may have brought you +into trouble with papa. I do not care in the least for +Lady Kingsbury, who has no right to interfere in the +matter at all. After her conduct everything I think is +over between us. But I shall be indeed sorry if papa is +vexed; and shall feel it very much if he says anything to +you after all your great kindness to me.</p> + +<p class="ind12">Your affectionate sister,</p> + +<p class="ind18"><span class="smallcaps">Fanny</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>"I have done one other thing to-day," said George Roden, when he was +explaining to his mother on Thursday evening all the preparations he +had made for their journey.</p> + +<p>"What other thing?" she asked, guessing accurately, however, the +nature of the thing of which he was about to speak.</p> + +<p>"I have seen Lady Frances Trafford."</p> + +<p>"I thought it probable that you might endeavour to do so."</p> + +<p>"I have done more than endeavour on this occasion. I went down to +Hendon Hall, and was shown into the drawing-room. I am sorry for +Hampstead's sake, but it was impossible for me not to do so."</p> + +<p>"Why sorry for his sake?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Because he had pledged himself to his father that I should not do +so. He clearly had no right to make such a pledge. I could not bind +myself to an assurance by keeping which I might seem to show myself +to be indifferent. A girl may bind herself by such a promise, but +hardly a man. Had I made the promise I almost think I must have +broken it. I did not make it, and therefore I have no sin to confess. +But I fear I shall have done him a mischief with his father."</p> + +<p>"And what did she say, George?"</p> + +<p>"Oh; just the old story, mother, I suppose. What she said was what I +knew just as well before I went there. But yet it was necessary that +I should hear what she had to say;—and as necessary I think that she +should hear me."</p> + +<p>"Quite as necessary, I am sure," said his mother kissing his +forehead.</p> + + +<p><a name="c2-14" id="c2-14"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XIV.</h3> +<h4>MR. GREENWOOD'S FEELINGS.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>On that Wednesday night Mr. Greenwood did not sleep much. It may be +doubted whether he once closed his eyes in slumber. He had indeed +been saved from the performance of an act which now seemed to him to +be so terrible that he could hardly believe that he had in truth +contemplated it; but yet he knew,—he knew that it for some hours had +been the purpose of his mind to do it! He struggled to make himself +believe that it had in truth been no more than a speculation, that +there had been no formed purpose, that he had only amused himself by +considering how he could do such a deed without detection, if the +deed were to be done. He had simply been thinking over the blunders +of others, the blindness of men who had so bungled in their business +as to have left easy traces for the eyes and intelligence of the +world outside, and had been assuring himself how much better he could +manage if the necessity of such an operation were to come upon him. +That was all. No doubt he hated Lord Hampstead,—and had cause to do +so. It was thus that he argued with himself. But his hatred had +surely not carried him to the intention of murder!</p> + +<p>There could have been no question of real murder; for why should he +have troubled himself either with the danger or with the load which +it would certainly have imposed on his conscience? Much as he hated +Lord Hampstead, it was no business of his. It was that Lady Macbeth +up-stairs, the mother of the darlings, who had really thought of +murder. It was she who had spoken openly of her great desire that +Lord Hampstead should cease to live. Had there been any real question +of murder it would have been for her to meditate, for her to think, +for her to plot;—surely not for him! Certainly, certainly he had +contemplated no such deed as that, with the object of obtaining for +the comfort of his old age the enjoyment of the living of +Appleslocombe! He told himself now that had he in truth committed +such a crime, had he carried out the plot which had formed itself in +his brain only as a matter of speculation, though he might not have +been detected, yet he would have been suspected; and suspicion would +have been as destructive to his hopes as detection. Of course all +that had been clear enough to him throughout his machinations; and +therefore how could he really have intended it? He had not intended +it. It had only been one of those castles in the air which the old +build as well as the young,—which are no more than the "airy +fabrics" of the brain!</p> + +<p>It was thus he struggled to drive from his mind and from his eyes the +phantom of the terrible deed. But that he did not succeed was made +evident to himself by the hot clammy drops of sweat which came out +upon his brow, by his wakefulness throughout the livelong night, by +the carefulness with which his ears watched for the sound of the +young man's coming, as though it were necessary that he should be +made assured that the murder had in truth not been done. Before that +hour had come he found himself to be shaking even in his bed; to be +drawing the clothes around him to dispel the icy cold, though the +sweat still stood upon his brow; to be hiding his eyes under the +bed-clothes in order that he might not see something which seemed to +be visible to him through the utmost darkness of the chamber. At any +rate he had done nothing! Let his thoughts have been what they might, +he had soiled neither his hands nor his conscience. Though everything +that he had ever done or ever thought were known, he was free from +all actual crime. She had talked of death and thought of murder. He +had only echoed her words and her thoughts, meaning nothing,—as a +man is bound to do to a woman. Why then could he not sleep? Why +should he be hot and shiver with cold by turns? Why should horrid +phantoms perplex him in the dark? He was sure he had never meant it. +What must be the agony of those who do mean, of those who do execute, +if such punishment as this were awarded to one who had done no more +than build a horrid castle in the air? Did she sleep;—he +wondered,—she who had certainly done more than build a castle in the +air; she who had wished and longed, and had a reason for her wishing +and her longing?</p> + +<p>At last he heard a footfall on the road, which passed but some few +yards distant from his window, a quick, cheery, almost running +footfall, a step full of youth and life, sounding crisp on the hard +frozen ground; and he knew that the young man whom he hated had come. +Though he had never thought of murdering him,—as he told +himself,—yet he hated him. And then his thoughts, although in +opposition to his own wishes,—which were intent upon sleep, if sleep +would only come to him,—ran away to the building of other castles. +How would it have been now, now at this moment, if that plan, which +he had never really intended to carry out, which had only been a +speculation, had been a true plan and been truly executed? How would +it have been with them all now at Trafford Park? The Marchioness +would have been at any rate altogether satisfied;—but what comfort +would there have been in that to him? Lord Frederic would have been +the heir to a grand title and to vast estates;—but how would he have +been the better for that? The old lord who was lying there so sick in +the next room might probably have sunk into his grave with a broken +heart. The Marquis had of late been harsh to him; but there did come +to him an idea at the present moment that he had for thirty years +eaten the sick man's bread. And the young man would have been sent +without a moment's notice to meet his final doom! Of what nature that +might have been, the wretched man lying there did not dare even to +make a picture in his imagination. It was a matter which he had +sedulously and successfully dismissed from all his thoughts. It was +of the body lying out there in the cold, not of the journey which the +winged soul might make, that he unwillingly drew a picture to +himself. He conceived how he himself, in the prosecution of the plan +which he had formed, would have been forced to have awakened the +house, and to tell of the deed, and to assist in carrying the body to +what resting-place might have been found for it. There he would have +had to enact a part of which he had, a few hours since, told himself +that he would be capable, but in attempting which he was now sure +that he would have succumbed to the difficulties of the struggle. Who +would have broken the news to the father? Who would have attempted to +speak the first word of vain consolation? Who would have flown to the +lady's door up-stairs and have informed her that death was in the +house—and have given her to understand that the eldest of her +darlings was the heir? It would have been for him to do it all; for +him with a spirit weighed down to the ground by that terrible burden +with which the doing of such a deed would have loaded it. He would +certainly have revealed himself in the struggle!</p> + +<p>But why should he allow his mind to be perplexed with such thoughts? +No such deed had been done. There had been no murder. The young man +was there now in the house, light-hearted after his walk; full of +life and youthful energy. Why should he be troubled with such waking +dreams as these? Must it be so with him always, for the rest of his +life, only because he had considered how a thing might best be done? +He heard a footstep in a distant passage, and a door closed, and then +again all was silent. Was there not cause to him for joy in the young +man's presence? If his speculations had been wicked, was there not +time to turn for repentance,—for repentance, though there was so +little for which repentance were needed? Nevertheless the night was +to him so long, and the misery connected with the Trafford name so +great, that he told himself that he would quit the place as soon as +possible. He would take whatever money were offered to him and go. +How would it have been with him had he really done the deed, when he +found himself unable to sleep in the house in which he would not +quite admit to himself that he had even contemplated it?</p> + +<p>On the next morning his breakfast was brought to him in his own room, +and he inquired from the servant after Lord Hampstead and his +purposes. The servant thought that his lordship meant to remain on +that day and the next. So he had heard Harris, the butler, say. His +lordship was to see his father at eleven o'clock that morning. The +household bulletin respecting the Marquis had that morning been +rather more favourable than usual. The Marchioness had not yet been +seen. The doctor would probably be there by twelve. This was the news +which Mr. Greenwood got from the servant who waited upon him. Could +he not escape from the house during the period that the young lord +would be there, without seeing the young lord? The young lord was +hateful to him—more hateful than ever. He would, if possible, get +himself carried into Shrewsbury, and remain there on some excuse of +visiting a friend till the young lord should have returned to London. +He could not tell himself why, but he felt that the sight of the +young lord would be oppressive to him.</p> + +<p>But in this he was prevented by an intimation that was given to him +early in the day, before he had made preparations for his going, that +Lord Hampstead wished to see him, and would wait upon him in his own +room. The Marquis had expressed himself grateful to his son for +coming, but did not wish to detain him at Trafford. "Of course it is +very dull for you, and I think I am better."</p> + +<p>"I am so glad of that;—but if you think that I am of any comfort to +you I shall be delighted to stay. I suppose Fanny would come down if +I remain here."</p> + +<p>Then the Marquis shook his head. Fanny, he thought, had better be +away. "The Marchioness and Fanny would not be happy in the house +together,—unless, indeed, she has given up that young man." +Hampstead could not say that she had given up the young man. "I do +hope she never sees him," said the Marquis. Then his son assured him +that the two had never met since Fanny had gone to Hendon Hall. And +he was rash enough to assure his father that there would be no such +meeting while his sister was his guest. At that moment George Roden +was standing in the drawing-room at Hendon Hall with Lady Frances in +his arms.</p> + +<p>After that there arose a conversation between the father and son as +to Mr. Greenwood. The Marquis was very desirous that the man who had +become so objectionable to him should quit the house. "The truth is," +said the Marquis, "that it is he who makes all the mischief between +me and your stepmother. It is he that makes me ill. I have no comfort +while he is here, making plots against me." If they two had only +known the plot which had been made! Hampstead thought it reasonable +that the man should be sent away, if only because his presence was +disagreeable. Why should a man be kept in the house simply to produce +annoyance? But there must be the question of compensation. He did not +think that £1000 was sufficient. Then the Marquis was unusually +difficult of persuasion in regard to money. Hampstead thought that an +annuity of £300 a year should be settled on the poor clergyman. The +Marquis would not hear of it. The man had not performed even the +slight duties which had been required of him. The books had not even +been catalogued. To bribe a man, such as that, by £300 a year for +making himself disagreeable would be intolerable. The Marquis had +never promised him anything. He ought to have saved his money. At +last the father and son came to terms, and Hampstead sent to prepare +a meeting with the chaplain.</p> + +<p>Mr. Greenwood was standing in the middle of the room when Lord +Hampstead entered it, rubbing his fat hands together. Hampstead saw +no difference in the man since their last meeting, but there was a +difference. Mr. Greenwood's manner was at first more submissive, as +though he were afraid of his visitor; but before the interview was +over he had recovered his audacity. "My father has wished me to see +you," said Hampstead. Mr. Greenwood went on rubbing his hands, still +standing in the middle of the room. "He seems to think it better that +you should leave him."</p> + +<p>"I don't know why he should think it better;—but, of course, I will +go if he bids me." Mr. Greenwood had quite made up his mind that it +would be better for him also that he should go.</p> + +<p>"There will be no good in going into that. I think we might as well +sit down, Mr. Greenwood." They did sit down, the chaplain as usual +perching himself on the edge of a chair. "You have been here a great +many years."</p> + +<p>"A great many, Lord Hampstead;—nearly all my life;—before you were +born, Lord Hampstead." Then, as he sat gazing, there came before his +eyes the phantom of Lord Hampstead being carried into the house as a +corpse while he himself was struggling beneath a portion of the +weight.</p> + +<p>"Just so; and though the Marquis cannot admit that there is any claim +upon <span class="nowrap">him—"</span></p> + +<p>"No claim, Lord Hampstead!"</p> + +<p>"Certainly no claim. Yet he is quite willing to do something in +acknowledgment of the long connection. His lordship thinks that an +annuity of £200 a <span class="nowrap">year—."</span> +Mr. Greenwood shook his head, as though he +would say that that certainly would not satisfy him. Hampstead had +been eager to secure the full £300 for the wretched, useless man, but +the Marquis had declared that he would not burden the estate with a +charge so unnecessarily large. "I say," continued Hampstead, +frowning, "that his lordship has desired me to say that you shall +receive during your life an annuity of £200." It certainly was the +fact that Lord Hampstead could frown when he was displeased, and that +at such moments he would assume a look of aristocratic impatience +which was at variance with his professed political theories. Mr. +Greenwood again shook his head. "I do not think that I need say +anything farther," continued the young lord. "That is my father's +decision. He presumes that you would prefer the annuity to the +immediate payment of a thousand pounds." Here the shaking of the head +became more violent. "I have only in addition to ask you when it will +suit you to leave Trafford Park." Lord Hampstead, when he had left +his father, had determined to use his blandest manner in +communicating these tidings to the chaplain. But Mr. Greenwood was +odious to him. The way in which the man stood on the floor and rubbed +his hands together, and sat on the edge of his chair, and shook his +head without speaking a word, were disgusting to him. If the man had +declared boldly his own view of what was due to him, Hampstead would +have endeavoured to be gracious to him. As it was he was anything but +gracious, as he asked the chaplain to name the day on which he would +be prepared to leave the house.</p> + +<p>"You mean to say that I am to be—turned out."</p> + +<p>"It is some months since you were told that my father no longer +required your services."</p> + +<p>"I am to be turned out,—like a dog,—after thirty years!"</p> + +<p>"I cannot contradict you when you say so, but I must ask you to name +a day. It is not as though the suggestion were now made to you for +the first time." Mr. Greenwood got up from the edge of the chair, and +again stood in the middle of the room. Lord Hampstead felt himself +constrained also to stand. "Have you any answer to make to me?"</p> + +<p>"No; I have not," said the chaplain.</p> + +<p>"You mean that you have not fixed upon a day?"</p> + +<p>"I shan't go with £200 a year," said the chaplain. "It's +unreasonable; it's brutal!"</p> + +<p>"Brutal!" shouted Lord Hampstead.</p> + +<p>"I shan't stir till I've seen the Marquis himself. It's out of the +question that he should turn me out in this way. How am I to live +upon £200 a year? I always understood that I was to have +Appleslocombe."</p> + +<p>"No such promise was ever made to you," said Lord Hampstead, very +angrily. "No hint of such a thing has ever been made except by +yourself."</p> + +<p>"I always understood it," said Mr. Greenwood. "And I shall not leave +this till I've had an opportunity of discussing the matter with the +Marquis himself. I don't think the Marquis would ever have treated me +in this way,—only for you, Lord Hampstead."</p> + +<p>This was intolerable. What was he to do with the abominable man? It +would be very disagreeable, the task of turning him out while the +Marquis was still so ill, and yet it was not to be endured that such +a man should be allowed to hold his position in the house in +opposition to the will of the owner. It was, he felt, beneath him to +defend himself against the charge made—or even to defend his father. +"If you will not name a day, I must," said the young lord. The man +remained immovable on his seat except that he continued to rub his +hands. "As I can get no answer I shall have to instruct Mr. Roberts +that you cannot be allowed to remain here after the last day of the +month. If you have any feeling left to you you will not impose upon +us so unpleasant a duty while my father is ill." With this he left +the room, while Mr. Greenwood was still standing and rubbing his +hands.</p> + +<p>Two hundred pounds a year! He had better go and take it. He was quite +aware of that. But how was he to live upon £200,—he who had been +bedded and boarded all his life at the expense of another man, and +had also spent £300? But at the moment this was not the thought +uppermost in his mind. Would it not have been better that he should +have carried out that project of his? Only that he had been merciful, +this young lord would not have been able to scorn him and ill-treat +him as he had done. There were no phantoms now. Now he thought that +he could have carried his share of the corpse into the house without +flinching.</p> + + +<p><a name="c2-15" id="c2-15"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XV.</h3> +<h4>"THAT WOULD BE DISAGREEABLE."<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Things at Trafford on that day and on the next were very +uncomfortable. No house could possibly be more so. There were four +persons who, in the natural course of things, would have lived +together, not one of whom would sit down to table with any other. The +condition of the Marquis, of course, made it impossible that he +should do so. He was confined to his room, in which he would not +admit Mr. Greenwood to come near him, and where his wife's short +visits did not seem to give him much satisfaction. Even with his son +he was hardly at his ease, seeming to prefer the society of the +nurse, with occasional visits from the doctor and Mr. Roberts. The +Marchioness confined herself to her own room, in which it was her +intention to prevent the inroads of Mr. Greenwood as far as it might +be possible. That she should be able to exclude him altogether was +more than she could hope, but much, she thought, could be done by the +dint of headaches, and by a resolution never to take her food +down-stairs. Lord Hampstead had declared his purpose to Harris, as +well as to his father, never again to sit down to table with Mr. +Greenwood. "Where does he dine?" he asked the butler. "Generally in +the family dining-room, my lord," said Harris. "Then give me my +dinner in the breakfast parlour." "Yes, my lord," said the butler, +who at once resolved to regard Mr. Greenwood as an enemy of the +family. In this manner Mr. Greenwood gave no trouble, as he had his +meat sent to him in his own sitting-room. But all this made the house +very uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon Mr. Roberts came over from Shrewsbury, and saw Lord +Hampstead. "I knew he would make himself disagreeable, my lord," said +Mr. Roberts.</p> + +<p>"How did you know it?"</p> + +<p>"Things creep out. He had made himself disagreeable to his lordship +for some months past; and then we heard that he was talking of +Appleslocombe as though he were certain to be sent there."</p> + +<p>"My father never thought of it."</p> + +<p>"I didn't think he did. Mr. Greenwood is the idlest human being that +ever lived, and how could he have performed the duties of a parish?"</p> + +<p>"He asked my father once, and my father flatly refused him."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps her ladyship—," suggested Mr. Roberts, with some +hesitation.</p> + +<p>"At any rate he is not to have Appleslocombe, and he must be made to +go. How is it to be done?" Mr. Roberts raised his eyebrows. "I +suppose there must be some means of turning an objectionable resident +out of a house."</p> + +<p>"The police, of course, could carry him out—with a magistrate's +order. He would have to be treated like any other vagrant."</p> + +<p>"That would be disagreeable."</p> + +<p>"Very disagreeable, my lord," said Mr. Roberts. "My lord should be +saved from that if possible."</p> + +<p>"How if we gave him nothing to eat?" said Lord Hampstead.</p> + +<p>"That would be possible; but it would be troublesome. What if he +resolved to remain and be starved? It would be seeing which would +hold out the longer. I don't think my lord would have the heart to +keep him twenty-four hours without food. We must try and save my lord +from what is disagreeable as much as we can." Lord Hampstead was in +accord as to this, but did not quite see his way how to effect it. +There were still, however, more than three weeks to run before the +day fixed for the chaplain's exit, and Mr. Roberts suggested that it +might in that time be fully brought home to the man that his £200 a +year would depend on his going. "Perhaps you'd better leave him to +me, my lord," said Mr. Roberts; "and I shall deal with him better +when you're not here."</p> + +<p>When the time came for afternoon tea Mr. Greenwood, perceiving that +no invitation came to him from the Marchioness, sent a note up to her +asking for the favour of an interview. "He had a few words to say, +and would be much obliged to her if she would allow him to come to +her." On receiving this she pondered for some time before she could +make up her mind as to what answer she should give. She would have +been most anxious to do as she had already heard that Lord Hampstead +had done, and decline to meet him at all. She could not analyze her +own feelings about the man, but had come during the last few days to +hold him in horror. It was as though something of the spirit of the +murderer had shown itself to her in her eyes. She had talked glibly, +wickedly, horribly of the death of the man who had seemed to stand in +her way. She had certainly wished for it. She had taught herself to +think, by some ultra-feminine lack of logic, that she had really been +injured in that her own eldest boy had not been born heir to his +father's titles. She had found it necessary to have some recipient +for her griefs. Her own sister, Lady Persiflage, had given her no +comfort, and then she had sought for and had received encouragement +from her husband's chaplain. But in talking of Lord Hampstead's death +she had formed no plan. She had only declared in strong language that +if, by the hand of Providence, such a thing should be done, it would +be to her a happy chance. She had spoken out where another more +prudent than she would perhaps only have wished. But this man had +taken up her words with an apparently serious purpose which had +frightened her; and then, as though he had been the recipient of some +guilty secret, he had laid aside the respect which had been usual to +him, and had assumed a familiarity of co-partnership which had +annoyed and perplexed her. She did not quite understand it all, but +was conscious of a strong desire to be rid of him. But she did not +dare quite as yet to let him know that such was her purpose, and she +therefore sent her maid down to him with a message. "Mr. Greenwood +wants to see me," she said to the woman. "Will you tell him with my +compliments that I am not very well, and that I must beg him not to +stay long."</p> + +<p>"Lord Hampstead has been a' quarrelling with Mr. Greenwood, my +lady,—this very morning," said the maid.</p> + +<p>"Quarrelling, Walker?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my lady. There has been ever so much about it. My lord says as +he won't sit down to dinner with Mr. Greenwood on no account, and Mr. +Roberts has been here, all about it. He's to be turned away."</p> + +<p>"Who is to be turned away?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Greenwood, my lady. Lord Hampstead has been about it all the +morning. It's for that my lord the Marquis has sent for him, and +nobody's to speak to him till he's packed up everything, and taken +himself right away out of the house."</p> + +<p>"Who has told you all that, Walker?" Walker, however, would not +betray her informant. She answered that it was being talked of by +everybody down-stairs, and she repeated it now only because she +thought it proper that "my lady" should be informed of what was going +on. "My lady" was not sorry to have received the information even +from her maid, as it might assist her in her conversation with the +chaplain.</p> + +<p>On this occasion Mr. Greenwood sat down without being asked. "I am +sorry to hear that you are so unwell, Lady Kingsbury."</p> + +<p>"I have got one of my usual headaches;—only it's rather worse than +usual."</p> + +<p>"I have something to say which I am sure you will not be surprised +that I should wish to tell you. I have been grossly insulted by Lord +Hampstead."</p> + +<p>"What can I do?"</p> + +<p>"Well;—something ought to be done."</p> + +<p>"I cannot make myself answerable for Lord Hampstead, Mr. Greenwood."</p> + +<p>"No; of course not. He is a young man for whom no one would make +himself answerable. He is head-strong, violent, and most uncourteous. +He has told me very rudely that I must leave the house by the end of +the month."</p> + +<p>"I suppose the Marquis had told him."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe it. Of course the Marquis is ill, and I could bear +much from him. But I won't put up with it from Lord Hampstead."</p> + +<p>"What can I do?"</p> + +<p>"Well;—after what has passed between us, Lady +<span class="nowrap">Kingsbury,—"</span> He +paused, and looked at her as he made this appeal. She compressed her +lips and collected herself, and prepared for the fight which she felt +was coming. He saw it all, and prepared himself also. "After what has +passed between us, Lady Kingsbury," he said, repeating his words, "I +think you ought to be on my side."</p> + +<p>"I don't think anything of the kind. I don't know what you mean about +sides. If the Marquis says you're to go, I can't keep you."</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you what I've done, Lady Kingsbury. I have refused to stir +out of this house till I've been allowed to discuss the matter with +his lordship; and I think you ought to give me your countenance. I'm +sure I've always been true to you. When you have unburdened your +troubles to my ears I have always been sympathetic. When you have +told me what a trouble this young man has been to you, have not I +always,—always,—always taken your part against him?" He almost +longed to tell her that he had formed a plan for ridding her +altogether of the obnoxious young man; but he could not find the +words in which to do this. "Of course I have felt that I might depend +upon you for assistance and countenance in this house."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Greenwood," she said, "I really cannot talk to you about these +things. My head is aching very badly, and I must ask you to go."</p> + +<p>"And that is to be all?"</p> + +<p>"Don't you hear me tell you that I cannot interfere?" Still he kept +that horrid position of his upon the chair, staring at her with his +large, open, lustreless eyes. "Mr. Greenwood, I must ask you to leave +me. As a gentleman you must comply with my request."</p> + +<p>"Oh," he said; "very well! Then I am to know that after thirty years' +faithful service all the family has turned against me. I shall take +<span class="nowrap">care—"</span> But he paused, +remembering that were he to speak a word too +much, he might put in jeopardy the annuity which had been promised +him; and at last he left the room.</p> + +<p>Of Mr. Greenwood no one saw anything more that day, nor did Lord +Hampstead encounter him again before he returned to London. Hampstead +had arranged to stay at Trafford during the following day, and then +to return to London, again using the night mail train. But on the +next morning a new trouble fell upon him. He received his sister's +letter, and learned that George Roden had been with her at Hendon +Hall. He had certainly pledged himself that there should be no such +meeting, and had foolishly renewed this pledge only yesterday. When +he read the letter he was vexed, chiefly with himself. The arguments +which she had used as to Roden's coming, and also those by which she +had excused herself for receiving him, did seem to him to be +reasonable. When the man was going on such a journey it was natural +that he should wish to see the girl he loved; and natural that she +should wish to see him. And he was well aware that neither of them +had pledged themselves. It was he only who had given a pledge, and +that as to the conduct of others who had refused to support him in +it. Now his pledge had been broken, and he felt himself called upon +to tell his father of what had occurred. "After all that I told you +yesterday," he said, "George Roden and Fanny have met each other." +Then he attempted to make the best excuse he could for this breach of +the promise which he had made.</p> + +<p>"What's the good?" said the Marquis. "They can't marry each other. I +wouldn't give her a shilling if she were to do such a thing without +my sanction." Hampstead knew very well that, in spite of this, his +father had made by his will ample provision for his sister, and that +it was very improbable that any alteration in this respect would be +made, let his sister's disobedience be what it might. But the Marquis +seemed hardly to be so much affected as he had expected by these +tidings. "Whatever you do," said the Marquis, "don't let her ladyship +know it. She would be sure to come down to me and say it was all my +fault; and then she would tell me what Mr. Greenwood thought about +it." The poor man did not know how little likely it was that she +would ever again throw Mr. Greenwood in his teeth.</p> + +<p>Lord Hampstead had not as yet even seen his stepmother, but had +thought it no more than decent to send her word that he would wait +upon her before he left the house. All domestic troubles he knew to +be bad. For his stepmother's sake, and for that of his sister and +little brothers, he would avoid as far as might be possible any open +rupture. He therefore went to the Marchioness before he ate his +dinner. "My father is much better," he said; but his stepmother only +shook her head, so that there was before him the task of recommencing +the conversation. "Dr. Spicer says so."</p> + +<p>"I am not sure that Mr. Spicer knows much about it."</p> + +<p>"He thinks so himself."</p> + +<p>"He never tells me what he thinks. He hardly tells me anything."</p> + +<p>"He is not strong enough for much talking."</p> + +<p>"He will talk to Mr. Roberts by the hour together. So I hear that I +am to congratulate you." This she said in a tone which was clearly +intended to signify both condemnation and ridicule.</p> + +<p>"I am not aware of it," said Hampstead with a smile.</p> + +<p>"I suppose it is true about the Quaker lady?"</p> + +<p>"I can hardly tell you, not knowing what you may have heard. There +can be no room for congratulation, as the lady has not accepted the +offer I have made her." The Marchioness laughed incredulously,—with +a little affected laugh in which the incredulity was sincere.—"I can +only tell you that it is so."</p> + +<p>"No doubt you will try again?"</p> + +<p>"No doubt."</p> + +<p>"Young ladies in such circumstances are not apt to persevere in their +severity. Perhaps it may be supposed that she will give way at last."</p> + +<p>"I cannot take upon myself to answer that, Lady Kingsbury. The matter +is one on which I am not particularly anxious to talk. Only as you +asked me I thought it best just to tell you the facts."</p> + +<p>"I am sure I am ever so much obliged to you. The young lady's father +<span class="nowrap">is—"</span></p> + +<p>"The young lady's father is a clerk in a merchant's office in the +City."</p> + +<p>"So I understand,—and a Quaker?"</p> + +<p>"And a Quaker."</p> + +<p>"And I believe he lives at Holloway."</p> + +<p>"Just so."</p> + +<p>"In the same street with that young man whom Fanny has—has chosen to +pick up."</p> + +<p>"Marion Fay and her father live at No. 17, Paradise Row, Holloway; +and Mrs. Roden and George Roden live at No. 11."</p> + +<p>"Exactly. We may understand, therefore, how you became acquainted +with Miss Fay."</p> + +<p>"I don't think you can. But if you wish to know I will tell you that +I first saw Miss Fay at Mrs. Roden's house."</p> + +<p>"I suppose so."</p> + +<p>Hampstead had begun this interview with perfect good humour; but +there had gradually been growing upon him that tone of defiance which +her little speeches to him had naturally produced. Scorn would always +produce scorn in him, as would ridicule and satire produce the same +in return. "I do not know why you should have supposed so, but such +was the fact. Neither had George Roden or my sister anything to do +with it. Miss Fay is a friend of Mrs. Roden, and Mrs. Roden +introduced me to the young lady."</p> + +<p>"I am sure we are all very much obliged to her."</p> + +<p>"I am, at any rate,—or shall be if I succeed at last."</p> + +<p>"Poor fellow! It will be very piteous if you too are thwarted in +love."</p> + +<p>"I'll say good-bye, my lady," said he, getting up to leave her.</p> + +<p>"You have told me nothing of Fanny."</p> + +<p>"I do not know that I have anything to tell."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps she also will be jilted."</p> + +<p>"I should hardly think so."</p> + +<p>"Because, as you tell me, she is not allowed to see him." There was a +thorough disbelief expressed in this which annoyed him. It was as +though she had expressed her opinion that the lovers were encouraged +to meet daily in spite of the pledge which had been given. And then +the pledge had been broken; and there would be a positive lie on his +part if he were now to leave her with the idea that they had not met. +"You must find it hard to keep them apart, as they are so near."</p> + +<p>"I have found it too hard, at any rate."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you have?"</p> + +<p>"They did meet yesterday."</p> + +<p>"Oh, they did. Directly your back was turned?"</p> + +<p>"He was going abroad, and he came; and she has written to tell me of +it. I say nothing of myself, Lady Kingsbury; but I do not think you +can understand how true she can be,—and he also."</p> + +<p>"That is your idea of truth."</p> + +<p>"That is my idea of truth, Lady Kingsbury; which, as I said before, I +am afraid I cannot explain to you. I have never meant to deceive you; +nor have they."</p> + +<p>"I thought a promise was a promise," she said. Then he left her, +condescending to make no further reply. On that night he went back to +London, with a sad feeling at his heart that his journey down to +Trafford had done no good to any one. He had, however, escaped a +danger of which he had known nothing.</p> + + +<p><a name="c2-16" id="c2-16"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XVI.</h3> +<h4>"I DO."<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Lord Hampstead did not reach his house till nearly six on the +following morning, and, having been travelling two nights out of +three, allowed himself the indulgence of having his breakfast in bed. +While he was so engaged his sister came to him, very penitent for her +fault, but ready to defend herself should he be too severe to her. +"Of course I am very sorry because of what you had said. But I don't +know how I am to help myself. It would have looked so very strange."</p> + +<p>"It was unfortunate—that's all."</p> + +<p>"Was it so very unfortunate, John?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I had to tell them down there."</p> + +<p>"Was papa angry?"</p> + +<p>"He only said that if you chose to make such a fool of yourself, he +would do nothing for you—in the way of money."</p> + +<p>"George does not think of that in the least."</p> + +<p>"People must eat, you know."</p> + +<p>"Ah; that would make no difference either to him or to me. We must +wait, that's all. I do not think it would make me unhappy to wait +till I died, if he only were content to wait also. But was papa so +very angry?"</p> + +<p>"He wasn't so very angry,—only angry. I was obliged to tell him; but +I said as little to him as possible because he is ill. Somebody else +made herself disagreeable."</p> + +<p>"Did you tell her?"</p> + +<p>"I was determined to tell her;—so that she should not turn round +upon me afterwards and say that I had deceived her. I had made a +promise to my father."</p> + +<p>"Oh, John, I am so sorry."</p> + +<p>"There is no use in crying after spilt milk. A promise to my father +she would of course take as a promise to her, and it would have been +flung in my face."</p> + +<p>"She will do so now."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes;—but I can fight the battle better, having told her +everything."</p> + +<p>"Was she disagreeable?"</p> + +<p>"Abominable! She mixed you up with Marion Fay, and really showed more +readiness than I gave her credit for in what she said. Of course she +got the better of me. She could call me a liar and a fool to my face, +and I could not retaliate. But there's a row in the house which makes +everything wretched there."</p> + +<p>"Another row?"</p> + +<p>"You are forgotten in this new row,—and so am I. George Roden and +Marion Fay are nothing in comparison with poor Mr. Greenwood. He has +been committing horrible offences, and is to be turned out. He swears +he won't go, and my father is determined he shall. Mr. Roberts has +been called in, and there is a question whether Harris shall not put +him on gradually diminished rations till he be starved into +surrender. He's to have £200 a year if he goes, but he says that it +is not enough for him."</p> + +<p>"Would it be much?"</p> + +<p>"Considering that he likes to have everything of the very best I do +not think it would. He would probably have to go to prison or else +hang himself."</p> + +<p>"Won't it be rather hard upon him?"</p> + +<p>"I think it will. I don't know what it is that makes the governor so +hard to him. I begged and prayed for another hundred a year as though +he were the dearest friend I had in the world; but I couldn't turn +the governor an inch. I don't think I ever disliked any one so much +in the world as I do Mr. Greenwood."</p> + +<p>"Not Mr. Crocker?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Poor Crocker! I love Crocker, in comparison. There is a delightful +pachydermatousness about Crocker which is almost heroic. But I hate +Mr. Greenwood, if it be in my nature to hate any one. It is not only +that he insults me, but he looks at me as though he would take me by +the throat and strangle me if he could. But still I will add the +other hundred a year out of my own pocket, because I think he is +being treated hardly. Only I must do it on the sly."</p> + +<p>"But Lady Kingsbury is still fond of him?"</p> + +<p>"I rather think not. I fancy he has made himself too free with her, +and has offended her. However, there he is shut up all alone, and +swearing that he won't stir out of the house till something better is +done for him."</p> + +<p>There were two matters now on Lord Hampstead's mind to which he gave +his attention, the latter of which, however, was much the more +prominent in his thoughts. He was anxious to take his sister down to +Gorse Hall, and there remain for the rest of the hunting season, +making such short runs up to Holloway as he might from time to time +find to be necessary. No man can have a string of hunters idle +through the winter without feeling himself to be guilty of an +unpardonable waste of property. A customer at an eating-house will +sometimes be seen to devour the last fragments of what has been +brought to him, because he does not like to abandon that for which he +must pay. So it is with the man who hunts. It is not perhaps that he +wants to hunt. There are other employments in life which would at the +moment be more to his taste. It is his conscience which prompts +him,—the feeling that he cannot forgive himself for intolerable +extravagance if he does not use the articles with which he has +provided himself. You can neglect your billiard-table, your books, or +even your wine-cellar,—because they eat nothing. But your horses +soon eat their heads off their own shoulders if you pass weeks +without getting on their backs. Hampstead had endeavoured to mitigate +for himself this feeling of improvidence by running up and down to +Aylesbury; but the saving in this respect was not sufficient for his +conscience, and he was therefore determined to balance the +expenditure of the year by a regular performance of his duties at +Gorse Hall. But the other matter was still more important to him. He +must see Marion Fay before he went into Northamptonshire, and then he +would learn how soon he might run up with the prospect of seeing her +again. The distance of Gorse Hall and the duty of hunting would admit +of certain visits to Holloway. "I think I shall go to Gorse Hall +to-morrow," he said to his sister as soon as he had come down from +his room.</p> + +<p>"All right; I shall be ready. Hendon Hall or Gorse Hall,—or any +other Hall, will be the same to me now." Whereby she probably +intended to signify that as George Roden was on his way to Italy all +parts of England were indifferent to her.</p> + +<p>"But I am not quite certain," said he.</p> + +<p>"What makes the doubt?"</p> + +<p>"Holloway, you know, has not been altogether deserted. The sun no +doubt has set in Paradise Row, but the moon remains." At this she +could only laugh, while he prepared himself for his excursion to +Holloway.</p> + +<p>He had received the Quaker's permission to push his suit with Marion, +but he did not flatter himself that this would avail him much. He +felt that there was a strength in Marion which, as it would have made +her strong against her father had she given away her heart without +his sanction, so would it be but little moved by any permission +coming from him. And there was present to the lover's mind a feeling +of fear which had been generated by the Quaker's words as to Marion's +health. Till he had heard something of that story of the mother and +her little ones, it had not occurred to him that the girl herself was +wanting in any gift of physical well-being. She was beautiful in his +eyes, and he had thought of nothing further. Now an idea had been put +into his head which, though he could hardly realize it, was most +painful to him. He had puzzled himself before. Her manner to him had +been so soft, so tender, so almost loving, that he could not but +hope, could hardly not think, that she loved him. That, loving him, +she should persist in refusing him because of her condition of life, +seemed to him to be unnatural. He had, at any rate, been confident +that, were there nothing else, he could overcome that objection. Her +heart, if it were really given to him, would not be able to support +itself in its opposition to him upon such a ground of severance as +that. He thought that he could talk her out of so absurd an argument. +But in that other argument there might be something that she would +cling to with persistency.</p> + +<p>But the Quaker himself had declared that there was nothing in it. "As +far as I know," the Quaker had said, "she is as fit to become a man's +wife as any other girl." He surely must have known had there been any +real cause. Girls are so apt to take fancies into their heads, and +then will sometimes become so obstinate in their fancies! In this way +Hampstead discussed the matter with himself, and had been discussing +it ever since he had walked up and down Broad Street with the Quaker. +But if she pleaded her health, he had what her own father had said to +use as an argument with which to convince her. If she spoke again of +his rank, he thought that on that matter his love might be strong +enough as an argument against her,—or perhaps her own.</p> + +<p>He found no trouble in making his way into her presence. She had +heard of his visit to King's Court, and knew that he would come. She +had three things which she had to tell him, and she would tell them +all very plainly if all should be necessary. The first was that love +must have nothing to do in this matter,—but only duty. The second, +which she feared to be somewhat weak,—which she almost thought would +not of itself have been strong enough,—was that objection as to her +condition in life which she had urged to him before. She declared to +herself that it would be strong enough both for him, and for her, if +they would only guide themselves by prudence. But the third,—that +should be a rock to her if it were necessary; a cruel rock on which +she must be shipwrecked, but against which his bark should surely not +be dashed to atoms. If he would not leave her in peace without it she +would tell him that she was fit to be no man's wife.</p> + +<p>If it came to that, then she must confess her own love. She +acknowledged to herself that it must be so. There could not be +between them the tenderness necessary for the telling of such a tale +without love, without acknowledged love. It would be better that it +should not be so. If he would go and leave her to dream of +him,—there might be a satisfaction even in that to sustain her +during what was left to her of life. She would struggle that it +should be so. But if his love were too strong, then must he know it +all. She had learned from her father something of what had passed at +that interview in the City, and was therefore ready to receive her +lover when he came. "Marion," he said, "you expected me to come to +you again?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly I did."</p> + +<p>"Of course I have come. I have had to go to my father, or I should +have been here sooner. You know that I shall come again and again +till you will say a word to me that shall comfort me."</p> + +<p>"I knew that you would come again, because you were with father in +the City."</p> + +<p>"I went to ask his leave,—and I got it."</p> + +<p>"It was hardly necessary for you, my lord, to take that trouble."</p> + +<p>"But I thought it was. When a man wishes to take a girl away from her +own home, and make her the mistress of his, it is customary that he +shall ask for her father's permission."</p> + +<p>"It would have been so, had you looked higher,—as you should have +done."</p> + +<p>"It was so in regard to any girl that I should wish to make my wife. +Whatever respect a man can pay to any woman, that is due to my +Marion." She looked at him, and with the glance of her eye went all +the love of her heart. How could she say those words to him, full of +reason and prudence and wisdom, if he spoke to her like this? "Answer +me honestly. Do you not know that if you were the daughter of the +proudest lord living in England you would not be held by me as +deserving other usage than that which I think to be your privilege +now?"</p> + +<p>"I only meant that father could not but feel that you were honouring +him."</p> + +<p>"I will not speak of honour as between him and me or between me and +you. With me and your father honesty was concerned. He has believed +me, and has accepted me as his son-in-law. With us, Marion, with us +two, all alone as we are here together, all in all to each other as I +hope we are to be, only love can be brought in question. Marion, +Marion!" Then he threw himself on his knees before her, and embraced +her as she was sitting.</p> + +<p>"No, my lord; no; it must not be." But now he had both her hands in +his, and was looking into her face. Now was the time to speak of +duty,—and to speak with some strength, if what she might say was to +have any avail.</p> + +<p>"It shall not be so, my lord." Then she did regain her hands, and +struggled up from the sofa on to her feet. "I, too, believe in your +honesty. I am sure of it, as I am of my own. But you do not +understand me. Think of me as though I were your sister."</p> + +<p>"As my sister?"</p> + +<p>"What would you have your sister do if a man came to her then, whom +she knew that she could never marry? Would you have her submit to his +embrace because she knew him to be honest?"</p> + +<p>"Not unless she loved him."</p> + +<p>"It would have nothing to do with it, Lord Hampstead."</p> + +<p>"Nothing, Marion!"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, my lord. You will think that I am giving myself airs if I +speak of my duty."</p> + +<p>"Your father has allowed me to come."</p> + +<p>"I owe him duty, no doubt. Had he bade me never to see you, I hope +that that would have sufficed. But there are other duties than +that,—a duty even higher than that."</p> + +<p>"What duty, Marion?"</p> + +<p>"That which I owe to you. If I had promised to be your +<span class="nowrap">wife—"</span></p> + +<p>"Do promise it."</p> + +<p>"Had I so promised, should I not then have been bound to think first +of your happiness?"</p> + +<p>"You would have accomplished it, at any rate."</p> + +<p>"Though I cannot be your wife I do not owe it you the less to think +of it,—seeing all that you are willing to do for me,—and I will +think of it. I am grateful to you."</p> + +<p>"Do you love me?"</p> + +<p>"Let me speak, Lord Hampstead. It is not civil in you to interrupt me +in that way. I am thoroughly grateful, and I will not show my +gratitude by doing that which I know would ruin you."</p> + +<p>"Do you love me?"</p> + +<p>"Not if I loved you with all my heart,—" and she spread out her arms +as though to assure herself how she did love him with all her very +soul,—"would I for that be brought even to think of doing the thing +that you ask me."</p> + +<p>"Marion!"</p> + +<p>"No,—no. We are utterly unfit for each other." She had made her +first declaration as to duty, and now she was going on as to that +second profession which she intended should be, if possible, the +last. "You are as high as blood and wealth and great friends can make +you. I am nothing. You have called me a lady."</p> + +<p>"If God ever made one, you are she."</p> + +<p>"He has made me better. He has made me a woman. But others would not +call me a lady. I cannot talk as they do, sit as they do, act as they +do,—even think as they do. I know myself, and I will not presume to +make myself the wife of such a man as you." As she said this there +came a flush across her face, and a fire in her eye, and, as though +conquered by her own emotion, she sank again upon the sofa.</p> + +<p>"Do you love me, Marion?"</p> + +<p>"I do," she said, standing once more erect upon her feet. "There +shall be no shadow of a lie between us. I do love you, Lord +Hampstead. I will have nothing to make me blush in my own esteem when +I think of you. How should it be other than that a girl such as I +should love such a one as you when you ask me with words so sweet!"</p> + +<p>"Then, Marion, you shall be my own."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I must now be yours,—while I am alive. You have so far +conquered me." As he attempted to take her in his arms she retreated +from him; but so gently that her very gentleness repressed him. "If +never loving another is to be yours,—if to pray for you night and +day as the dearest one of all, is to be yours,—if to remind myself +every hour that all my thoughts are due to you, if to think of you so +that I may console myself with knowing that one so high and so good +has condescended to regard me,—if that is to be yours,—then I am +yours; then shall I surely be yours while I live. But it must be only +with my thoughts, only with my prayers, only with all my heart."</p> + +<p>"Marion, Marion!" Now again he was on his knees before her, but +hardly touching her.</p> + +<p>"It is your fault, Lord Hampstead," she said, trying to smile. "All +this is your doing, because you would not let a poor girl say simply +what she had to say."</p> + +<p>"Nothing of it shall be true,—except that you love me. That is all +that I can remember. That I will repeat to you daily till you have +put your hand in mine, and call yourself my wife."</p> + +<p>"That I will never do," she exclaimed, once again standing. "As God +hears me now I will never say it. It would be wrong,—and I will +never say it." In thus protesting she put forth her little hands +clenched fast, and then came again the flush across her brow, and her +eyes for a moment seemed to wander, and then, failing in strength to +carry her through it all, she fell back senseless on the sofa.</p> + +<p>Lord Hampstead, finding that he alone could do nothing to aid her, +was forced to ring the bell, and to give her over to the care of the +woman, who did not cease to pray him to depart. "I can't do nothing, +my lord, while you stand over her that way."</p> + + +<p><a name="c2-17" id="c2-17"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XVII.</h3> +<h4>AT GORSE HALL.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Hampstead, when he was turned out into Paradise Row, walked once or +twice up the street, thinking what he might best do next, regardless +of the eyes at No. 10 and No. 15;—knowing that No. 11 was absent, +where alone he could have found assistance had the inhabitant been +there. As far as he could remember he had never seen a woman faint +before. The way in which she had fallen through from his arms on to +the sofa when he had tried to sustain her, had been dreadful to him; +and almost more dreadful the idea that the stout old woman with whom +he had left her should be more powerful than he to help her. He +walked once or twice up and down, thinking what he had best now do, +while Clara Demijohn was lost in wonder as to what could have +happened at No. 17. It was quite intelligible to her that the lover +should come in the father's absence and be entertained,—for a whole +afternoon if it might be so; though she was scandalized by the +audacity of the girl who had required no screen of darkness under the +protection of which her lover's presence might be hidden from the +inquiries of neighbours. All that, however, would have been +intelligible. There is so much honour in having a lord to court one +that perhaps it is well to have him seen. But why was the lord +walking up and down the street with that demented air?</p> + +<p>It was now four o'clock, and Hampstead had heard the Quaker say that +he never left his office till five. It would take him nearly an hour +to come down in an omnibus from the City. Nevertheless Hampstead +could not go till he had spoken to Marion's father. There was the +"Duchess of Edinburgh," and he could no doubt find shelter there. But +to get through two hours at the "Duchess of Edinburgh" would, he +thought, be beyond his powers. To consume the time with walking might +be better. He started off, therefore, and tramped along the road till +he came nearly to Finchley, and then back again. It was dark as he +returned, and he fancied that he could wait about without being +perceived. "There he is again," said Clara, who had in the mean time +gone over to Mrs. Duffer. "What can it all mean?"</p> + +<p>"It's my belief he's quarrelled with her," said Mrs. Duffer.</p> + +<p>"Then he'd never wander about the place in that way. There's old +Zachary just come round the corner. Now we shall see what he does."</p> + +<p>"Fainted, has she?" said Zachary, as they walked together up to the +house. "I never knew my girl do that before. Some of them can faint +just as they please; but that's not the way with Marion." Hampstead +protested that there had been no affectation on this occasion; that +Marion had been so ill as to frighten him, and that, though he had +gone out of the house at the woman's bidding, he had found it +impossible to leave the neighbourhood till he should have learnt +something as to her condition. "Thou shalt hear all I can tell thee, +my friend," said the Quaker, as they entered the house together.</p> + +<p>Hampstead was shown into the little parlour, while the Quaker went up +to inquire after the state of his daughter. "No; thou canst not well +see her," said he, returning, "as she has taken herself to her bed. +That she should have been excited by what passed between you is no +more than natural. I cannot tell thee now when thou mayst come again; +but I will write thee word from my office to-morrow." Upon this Lord +Hampstead would have promised to call himself at King's Court on the +next day, had not the Quaker declared himself in favour of writing +rather than of speaking. The post, he said, was very punctual; and on +the next evening his lordship would certainly receive tidings as to +Marion.</p> + +<p>"Of course I cannot say what we can do about Gorse Hall till I hear +from Mr. Fay," said Hampstead to his sister when he reached home. +"Everything must depend on Marion Fay." That his sister should have +packed all her things in vain seemed to him to be nothing while +Marion's health was in question; but when the Quaker's letter arrived +the matter was at once settled. They would start for Gorse Hall on +the following day, the Quaker's letter having been as +<span class="nowrap">follows;—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My +Lord</span>,—</p> + +<p>I trust I may be justified in telling thee that there is +not much to ail my girl. She was up to-day, and about the +house before I left her, and assured me with many +protestations that I need not take any special steps for +her comfort or recovery. Nor indeed could I see in her +face anything which could cause me to do so. Of course I +mentioned thy name to her, and it was natural that the +colour should come and go over her cheeks as I did so. I +think she partly told me what had passed between you two, +but only in part. As to the future, when I spoke of it, +she told me that there was no need of any arrangement, as +everything had been said that needed speech. But I guess +that such is not thy reading of the matter; and that after +what has passed between thee and me I am bound to offer to +thee an opportunity of seeing her again shouldst thou wish +to do so. But this must not be at once. It will certainly +be better for her and, may be, for thee also that she +should rest awhile before she be again asked to see thee. +I would suggest, therefore, that thou shouldst leave her +to her own thoughts for some weeks to come. If thou +will'st write to me and name a day some time early in +March I will endeavour to bring her round so far as to see +thee when thou comest.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="ind10">I am, my lord,</span><br /> +<span class="ind12">Thy very faithful friend,</span></p> + +<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">Zachary +Fay</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>It cannot be said that Lord Hampstead was by any means satisfied with +the arrangement which had been made for him, but he was forced to +acknowledge to himself that he could not do better than accede to it. +He could of course write to the Quaker, and write also to Marion; but +he could not well show himself in Paradise Row before the time fixed, +unless unexpected circumstances should arise. He did send three +loving words to Marion—"his own, own, dearest Marion," and sent them +under cover to her father, to whom he wrote, saying that he would be +guided by the Quaker's counsels. "I will write to you on the first of +March," he said, "but I do trust that if in the mean time anything +should happen,—if, for instance, Marion should be ill,—you will +tell me at once as being one as much concerned in her health as you +are yourself."</p> + +<p>He was nervous and ill-at-ease, but not thoroughly unhappy. She had +told him how dear he was to her, and he would not have been a man had +he not been gratified. And there had been no word of objection raised +on any matter beyond that one absurd objection as to which he thought +himself entitled to demand that his wishes should be allowed to +prevail. She had been very determined; how absolutely determined he +was not probably himself aware. She had, however, made him understand +that her conviction was very strong. But this had been as to a point +on which he did not doubt that he was right, and as to which her own +father was altogether on his side. After hearing the strong +protestation of her affection he could not think that she would be +finally obdurate when the reasons for her obduracy were so utterly +valueless. But still there were vague fears about her health. Why had +she fainted and fallen through his arms? Whence had come that +peculiar brightness of complexion which would have charmed him had it +not frightened him? A dim dread of something that was not +intelligible to him pervaded him, and robbed him of a portion of the +triumph which had come to him from her avowal.</p> + + +<div class="center"> +<p class="noindent">*<span class="ind2">*</span><span +class="ind2">*</span><span class="ind2">*</span><span +class="ind2">*</span><span class="ind2">*</span></p> +</div> + + +<p>As the days went on at Gorse Hall his triumph became stronger than +his fears, and the time did not pass unpleasantly with him. Young +Lord Hautboy came to hunt with him, bringing his sister Lady +Amaldina, and after a few days Vivian found them. The conduct of Lady +Frances in reference to George Roden was no doubt very much blamed, +but the disgrace did not loom so large in the eyes of Lady Persiflage +as in those of her sister the Marchioness. Amaldina was, therefore, +suffered to amuse herself, even as the guest of her wicked +friend;—even though the host were himself nearly equally wicked. It +suited young Hautboy very well to have free stables for his horses, +and occasionally an extra mount when his own two steeds were +insufficient for the necessary amount of hunting to be performed. +Vivian, who had the liberal allowance of a private secretary to a +Cabinet Minister to fall back upon, had three horses of his own. So +that among them they got a great deal of hunting,—in which Lady +Amaldina would have taken a conspicuous part had not Lord Llwddythlw +entertained strong opinions as to the expediency of ladies riding to +hounds. "He is so absurdly strict, you know," she said to Lady +Frances.</p> + +<p>"I think he is quite right," said the other. "I don't believe in +girls trying to do all the things that men do."</p> + +<p>"But what is the difference in jumping just over a hedge or two? I +call it downright tyranny. Would you do anything Mr. Roden told you?"</p> + +<p>"Anything on earth,—except jump over the hedges. But our temptations +are not likely to be in that way."</p> + +<p>"I think it very hard because I almost never see Llwddythlw."</p> + +<p>"But you will when you are married."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe I shall;—unless I go and look at him from behind +the grating in the House of Commons. You know we have settled upon +August."</p> + +<p>"I had not heard it."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes. I nailed him at last. But then I had to get David. You don't +know David?"</p> + +<p>"No special modern David."</p> + +<p>"Our David is not very modern. He is Lord David Powell, and my +brother that is to be. I had to persuade him to do something instead +of his brother, and I had to swear that we couldn't ever be married +unless he would consent. I suppose Mr. Roden could get married any +day he pleased." Nevertheless Lady Amaldina was better than nobody to +make the hours pass when the men are away hunting.</p> + +<p>But at last there came a grand day, on which the man of business was +to come out hunting himself. Lord Llwddythlw had come into the +neighbourhood, and was determined to have a day's pleasure. Gorse +Hall was full, and Hautboy, though his sister was very eager in +beseeching him, refused to give way to his future magnificent +brother-in-law. "Do him all the good in the world," said Hautboy, "to +put up at the pot-house. He'll find out all about whiskey and beer +and gin, and know exactly how many beds the landlady makes up." Lord +Llwddythlw, therefore, slept at a neighbouring hotel, and no doubt +did turn his spare moments to some profit.</p> + +<p>Lord Llwddythlw was a man who had always horses, though he very +rarely hunted; who had guns, though he never fired them; and +fishing-rods, though nobody knew where they were. He kept up a great +establishment, regretting nothing in regard to it except the +necessity of being sometimes present at the festivities for which it +was used. On the present occasion he had been enticed into +Northamptonshire no doubt with the purpose of laying some first +bricks, or opening some completed institution, or eating some +dinner,—on any one of which occasions he would be able to tell the +neighbours something as to the constitution of their country. Then +the presence of his lady-love seemed to make this a fitting occasion +for, perhaps, the one day's sport of the year. He came to Gorse Hall +to breakfast, and then rode to the meet along with the open carriage +in which the two ladies were sitting. "Llwddythlw," said his +lady-love, "I do hope you mean to ride."</p> + +<p>"Being on horseback, Amy, I shall have no other alternative."</p> + +<p>Lady Amaldina turned round to her friend, as though to ask whether +she had ever seen such an absurd creature in her life. "You know what +I mean by riding, Llwddythlw," she said.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I do. You want me to break my neck."</p> + +<p>"Oh, heavens! Indeed I don't."</p> + +<p>"Or, perhaps, only to see me in a ditch."</p> + +<p>"I can't have that pleasure," she said, "because you won't allow me +to hunt."</p> + +<p>"I have taken upon myself no such liberty as even to ask you not to +do so. I have only suggested that tumbling into ditches, however +salutary it may be for middle-aged gentlemen like myself, is not a +becoming amusement for young ladies."</p> + +<p>"Llwddythlw," said Hautboy, coming up to his future brother-in-law, +"that's a tidy animal of yours."</p> + +<p>"I don't quite know what tidy means as applied to a horse, my boy; +but if it's complimentary, I am much obliged to you."</p> + +<p>"It means that I should like to have the riding of him for the rest +of the season."</p> + +<p>"But what shall I do for myself if you take my tidy horse?"</p> + +<p>"You'll be up in Parliament, or down at Quarter Sessions, or doing +your duty somewhere like a Briton."</p> + +<p>"I hope I may do my duty not the less because I intend to keep the +tidy horse myself. When I am quite sure that I shall not want him any +more, then I'll let you know."</p> + +<p>There was the usual trotting about from covert to covert, and the +usual absence of foxes. The misery of sportsmen on these days is +sometimes so great that we wonder that any man, having experienced +the bitterness of hunting disappointment, should ever go out again. +On such occasions the huntsman is declared among private friends to +be of no use whatever. The master is an absolute muff. All honour as +to preserving has been banished from the country. The gamekeepers +destroy the foxes. The owners of coverts encourage them. "Things have +come to such a pass," says Walker to Watson, "that I mean to give it +up. There's no good keeping horses for this sort of thing." All this +is very sad, and the only consolation comes from the evident delight +of those who take pleasure in trotting about without having to incur +the labour and peril of riding to hounds.</p> + +<p>At two o'clock on this day the ladies went home, having been driven +about as long as the coachmen had thought it good for their horses. +The men of course went on, knowing that they could not in honour +liberate themselves from the toil of the day till the last covert +shall have been drawn at half-past three o'clock. It is certainly +true as to hunting that there are so many hours in which the spirit +is vexed by a sense of failure, that the joy when it does come should +be very great to compensate the evils endured. It is not simply that +foxes will not dwell in every spinney, or break as soon as found, or +always run when they do break. These are the minor pangs. But when +the fox is found, and will break, and does run, when the scent +suffices, and the hounds do their duty, when the best country which +the Shires afford is open to you, when your best horse is under you, +when your nerves are even somewhat above the usual mark,—even then +there is so much of failure! You are on the wrong side of the wood, +and getting a bad start are never with them for a yard; or your +horse, good as he is, won't have that bit of water; or you lose your +stirrup-leather, or your way; or you don't see the hounds turn, and +you go astray with others as blind as yourself; or, perhaps, when +there comes the run of the season, on that very day you have taken a +liberty with your chosen employment, and have lain in bed. Look back +upon your hunting lives, brother sportsmen, and think how few and how +far between the perfect days have been.</p> + +<p>In spite of all that was gone this was one of those perfect days to +those who had the pleasure afterwards of remembering it. "Taking it +all in all, I think that Lord Llwddythlw had the best of it from +first to last," said Vivian, when they were again talking of it in +the drawing-room after they had come in from their wine.</p> + +<p>"To think that you should be such a hero!" said Lady Amaldina, much +gratified. "I didn't believe you would take so much trouble about +such a thing."</p> + +<p>"It was what Hautboy called the tidiness of the horse."</p> + +<p>"By George, yes; I wish you'd lend him to me. I got my brute in +between two rails, and it took me half-an-hour to smash a way +through. I never saw anything of it after that." Poor Hautboy almost +cried as he gave this account of his own misfortune.</p> + +<p>"You were the only fellow I saw try them after Crasher," said Vivian. +"Crasher came on his head, and I should think he must be there still. +I don't know where Hampstead got through."</p> + +<p>"I never know where I've been," said Hampstead, who had, in truth, +led the way over the double rails which had so confounded Crasher and +had so perplexed Hautboy. But when a man is too forward to be seen, +he is always supposed to be somewhere behind.</p> + +<p>Then there was an opinion expressed by Walker that Tolleyboy, the +huntsman, had on that special occasion stuck very well to his hounds, +to which Watson gave his cordial assent. Walker and Watson had both +been asked to dinner, and during the day had been heard to express to +each other all that adverse criticism as to the affairs of the hunt +in general which appeared a few lines back. Walker and Watson were +very good fellows, popular in the hunt, and of all men the most +unlikely to give it up.</p> + +<p>When that run was talked about afterwards, as it often was, it was +always admitted that Lord Llwddythlw had been the hero of the day. +But no one ever heard him talk of it. Such a trifle was altogether +beneath his notice.</p> + + +<p><a name="c2-18" id="c2-18"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XVIII.</h3> +<h4>POOR WALKER.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>That famous run took place towards the end of February, at which time +Hampstead was counting all the hours till he should again be allowed +to show himself in Paradise Row. He had in the mean time written one +little letter to the Quaker's +<span class="nowrap">daughter;—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dearest +Marion</span>,—I only write because I cannot keep myself +quiet without telling you how well I love you. Pray do not +believe that because I am away I think of you less. I am +to see you, I hope, on Monday, the 2nd of March. If you +would write me but one word to say that you will be glad +to see me!</p> + +<p class="ind12">Always your own,</p> + +<p class="ind18">H.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>She showed this to her father, and the sly old Quaker told her that +it would not be courteous in her not to send some word of reply. As +the young lord, he said, had been permitted by him, her father, to +pay his addresses to her, so much was due to him. Why should his girl +lose this grand match? Why should his daughter not become a happy and +a glorious wife, seeing that her beauty and her grace had entirely +won this young lord's heart? "<span class="smallcaps">My Lord</span>," +she wrote back to him,—"I +shall be happy to see you when you come, whatever day may suit you. +But, alas! I can only say what I have said.—Yet I am thine, +<span class="smallcaps">Marion</span>." +She had intended not to be tender, and yet she had thought herself +bound to tell him that all that she had said before was true.</p> + +<p>It was after this that Lord Llwddythlw distinguished himself, so much +so that Walker and Watson did nothing but talk about him all the next +day. "It's those quiet fellows that make the best finish after all!" +said Walker, who had managed to get altogether to the bottom of his +horse during the run, and had hardly seen the end of it quite as a +man wishes to see it.</p> + +<p>The day but one after this, the last Friday in February, was to be +the last of Hampstead's hunting, at any rate until after his proposed +visit to Holloway. He, and Lady Frances with him, intended to return +to London on the next day, and then, as far as he was concerned, the +future loomed before him as a great doubt. Had Marion been the +highest lady in the land, and had he from his position and rank been +hardly entitled to ask for her love, he could not have been more +anxious, more thoughtful, or occasionally more down-hearted. But this +latter feeling would give way to joy when he remembered the words +with which she had declared her love. No assurance could have been +more perfect, or more devoted. She had coyed him nothing as far as +words are concerned, and he never for a moment doubted but that her +full words had come from a full heart. "But alas! I can only say what +I have said." That of course had been intended to remove all hope. +But if she loved him as she said she did, would he not be able to +teach her that everything should be made to give way to love? It was +thus that his mind was filled, as day after day he prepared himself +for his hunting, and day after day did his best in keeping to the +hounds.</p> + +<p>Then came that last day in February as to which all those around him +expressed themselves to be full of hope. Gimberley Green was +certainly the most popular meet in the country, and at Gimberley +Green the hounds were to meet on this occasion. It was known that men +were coming from the Pytchley and the Cottesmore, so that everybody +was supposed to be anxious to do his best. Hautboy was very much on +the alert, and had succeeded in borrowing for the occasion +Hampstead's best horse. Even Vivian, who was not given to much +outward enthusiasm, had had consultations with his groom as to which +of two he had better ride first. Sometimes there does come a day on +which rivalry seems to be especially keen, when a sense of striving +to excel and going ahead of others seems to instigate minds which are +not always ambitious. Watson and Walker were on this occasion very +much exercised, and had in the sweet confidences of close friendship +agreed with themselves that certain heroes who were coming from one +of the neighbouring hunts should not be allowed to carry off the +honours of the day.</p> + +<p>On this occasion they both breakfasted at Gorse Hall, which was not +uncommon with them, as the hotel,—or pot-house, as Hautboy called +it,—was hardly more than a hundred yards distant. Walker was +peculiarly exuberant, and had not been long in the house before he +confided to Hautboy in a whisper their joint intention that "those +fellows" were not to be allowed to have it all their own way. +"Suppose you don't find after all, Mr. Walker," said Lady Amaldina, +as the gentlemen got up from breakfast, and loaded themselves with +sandwiches, cigar-cases, and sherry-flasks.</p> + +<p>"I won't believe anything so horrible," said Walker.</p> + +<p>"I should cut the concern," said Watson, "and take to stagging in +Surrey." This was supposed to be the bitterest piece of satire that +could be uttered in regard to the halcyon country in which their +operations were carried on.</p> + +<p>"Tolleyboy will see to that," said Walker. "We haven't had a blank +yet, and I don't think he'll disgrace himself on such a day as this." +Then they all started, in great glee, on their hacks, their hunters +having been already sent on to Gimberley Green.</p> + +<p>The main part of the story of that day's sport, as far as we're +concerned with it, got itself told so early in the day that readers +need not be kept long waiting for the details. Tolleyboy soon +relieved these imperious riders from all dangers as to a blank. At +the first covert drawn a fox was found immediately, and without any +of those delays, so perplexing to some and so comforting to others, +made away for some distant home of his own. It is, perhaps, on such +occasions as these that riders are subjected to the worst perils of +the hunting field. There comes a sudden rush, when men have not +cooled themselves down by the process of riding here and there and +going through the usual preliminary prefaces to a run. They are +collected in crowds, and the horses are more impatient even than +their riders. No one on that occasion could have been more impatient +than Walker,—unless it was the steed upon which Walker was mounted. +There was a crowd of men standing in a lane at the corner of the +covert,—of men who had only that moment reached the spot,—when at +about thirty yards from them a fox crossed the lane, and two or three +leading hounds close at his brush. One or two of the strangers from +the enemy's country occupied a position close to, or rather in the +very entrance of, a little hunting gate which led out of the lane +into the field opposite. Between the lane and the field there was a +fence which was not "rideable!" As is the custom with lanes, the +roadway had been so cut down that there was a bank altogether +precipitous about three feet high, and on that a hedge of trees and +stakes and roots which had also been cut almost into the consistency +of a wall. The gate was the only place,—into which these enemies had +thrust themselves, and in the possession of which they did not choose +to hurry themselves, asserting as they kept their places that it +would be well to give the fox a minute. The assertion in the +interests of hunting might have been true. A sportsman who could at +such a moment have kept his blood perfectly cool, might have +remembered his duties well enough to have abstained from pressing +into the field in order that the fox might have his fair chance. +Hampstead, however, who was next to the enemies, was not that cool +hero, and bade the strangers move on, not failing to thrust his horse +against their horses. Next to him, and a little to the left, was the +unfortunate Walker. To his patriotic spirit it was intolerable that +any stranger should be in that field before one of their own hunt. +What he himself attempted, what he wished to do, or whether any clear +intention was formed in his mind, no one ever knew. But to the +astonishment of all who saw it the horse got himself half-turned +round towards the fence, and attempted to take it in a stand. The +eager animal did get himself up amidst the thick wood on the top of +the bank, and then fell headlong over, having entangled his feet +among the boughs. Had his rider sat loosely he would probably have +got clear of his horse. But as it was they came down together, and +unfortunately the horse was uppermost. Just as it happened Lord +Hampstead made his way through the gate, and was the first who +dismounted to give assistance to his friend. In two or three minutes +there was a crowd round, with a doctor in the midst of it, and a +rumour was going about that the man had been killed. In the mean time +the enemies were riding well to the hounds, with Tolleyboy but a few +yards behind them, Tolleyboy having judiciously remembered a spot at +which he could make his way out of the covert into field without +either passing through the gate or over the fence.</p> + +<p>The reader may as well know at once that Walker was not killed. He +was not killed, though he was so crushed and mauled with broken ribs +and collar-bone, so knocked out of breath and stunned and mangled and +squeezed, so pummelled and pounded and generally misused, that he did +not come to himself for many hours, and could never after remember +anything of that day's performances after eating his breakfast at +Gorse Hall. It was a week before tidings went through the Shires that +he was likely to live at all, and even then it was asserted that he +had been so altogether smashed that he would never again use any of +his limbs. On the morning after the hunt his widowed mother and only +sister were down with him at the hotel, and there they remained till +they were able to carry him away to his own house. "Won't I?" was +almost the first intelligible word he said when his mother suggested +to him, her only son, that now at least he would promise to abandon +that desperate amusement, and would never go hunting any more. It may +be said in praise of British surgery generally that Walker was out +again on the first of the following November.</p> + +<p>But Walker with his misfortunes and his heroism and his recovery +would have been nothing to us had it been known from the first to all +the field that Walker had been the victim. The accident happened +between eleven and twelve,—probably not much before twelve. But the +tidings of it were sent up by telegraph from some neighbouring +station to London in time to be inserted in one of the afternoon +newspapers of that day; and the tidings as sent informed the public +that Lord Hampstead while hunting that morning had fallen with his +horse at the corner of Gimberly Green, that the animal had fallen on +him,—and that he had been crushed to death. Had the false +information been given in regard to Walker it might probably have +excited so little attention that the world would have known nothing +about it till it learned that the poor fellow had not been killed. +But, having been given as to a young nobleman, everybody had heard of +it before dinner-time that evening. Lord Persiflage knew it in the +House of Lords, and Lord Llwddythlw had heard it in the House of +Commons. There was not a club which had not declared poor Hampstead +to be an excellent fellow, although he was a little mad. The +Montressors had already congratulated themselves on the good fortune +of little Lord Frederic; and the speedy death of the Marquis was +prophesied, as men and women were quite sure that he would not be +able in his present condition to bear the loss of his eldest son. The +news was telegraphed down to Trafford Park by the family +lawyer,—with an intimation, however, that, as the accident had been +so recent, no absolute credence should yet be given as to its fatal +result. "Bad fall probably," said the lawyer in his telegram, "but I +don't believe the rest. Will send again when I hear the truth." At +nine o'clock that evening the truth was known in London, and before +midnight the poor Marquis had been relieved from his terrible +affliction. But for three hours it had been supposed at Trafford Park +that Lord Frederic had become the heir to his father's title and his +father's property.</p> + +<p>Close inquiry was afterwards made as to the person by whom this false +intelligence had been sent to the newspaper, but nothing certain was +ever asserted respecting it. That a general rumour had prevailed for +a time among many who were out that Lord Hampstead had been the +victim, was found to have been the case. He had been congratulated by +scores of men who had heard that he had fallen. When Tolleyboy was +breaking up the fox, and wondering why so few men had ridden through +the hunt with him, he was told that Lord Hampstead had been killed, +and had dropped his bloody knife out of his hands. But no one would +own as to having sent the telegram. Suspicion attached itself to an +attorney from Kettering who had been seen in the early part of the +day, but it could not be traced home to him. Official inquiry was +made; but as it was not known who sent the message, or to what +address, or from what post town, or even the wording of the message, +official information was not forthcoming. It is probable that Sir +Boreas at the Post Office did not think it proper to tell everybody +all that he knew. It was admitted that a great injury had been done +to the poor Marquis, but it was argued on the other side that the +injury had been quickly removed.</p> + +<p>There had, however, been three or four hours at Trafford Park, during +which feelings had been excited which afterwards gave rise to bitter +disappointment. The message had come to Mr. Greenwood, of whose +estrangement from the family the London solicitor had not been as yet +made aware. He had been forced to send the tidings into the sick +man's room by Harris, the butler, but he had himself carried it up to +the Marchioness. "I am obliged to come," he said, as though +apologizing when she looked at him with angry eyes because of his +intrusion. "There has been an accident." He was standing, as he +always stood, with his hands hanging down by his side. But there was +a painful look in his eyes more than she had usually read there.</p> + +<p>"What accident—what accident, Mr. Greenwood? Why do you not tell +me?" Her heart ran away at once to the little beds in which her +darlings were already lying in the next room.</p> + +<p>"It is a telegram from London."</p> + +<p>From London—a telegram! Then her boys were safe. "Why do you not +tell me instead of standing there?"</p> + +<p>"Lord Hampstead—"</p> + +<p>"Lord Hampstead! What has he done? Is he married?"</p> + +<p>"He will never be married." Then she shook in every limb, and +clenched her hands, and stood with open mouth, not daring to question +him. "He has had a fall, Lady Kingsbury."</p> + +<p>"A fall!"</p> + +<p>"The horse has crushed him."</p> + +<p>"Crushed him!"</p> + +<p>"I used to say it would be so, you know. And now it has come to +pass."</p> + +<p>"Is he—?"</p> + +<p>"Dead? Yes, Lady Kingsbury, he is—dead." Then he gave her the +telegram to read. She struggled to read it, but the words were too +vague; or her eyes too dim. "Harris has gone in with the tidings. I +had better read the telegram, I suppose, but I thought you'd like to +see it. I told you how it would be, Lady Kingsbury; and now it has +come to pass." He stood standing a minute or two longer, but as she +sat hiding her face, and unable to speak, he left the room without +absolutely asking her to thank him for his news.</p> + +<p>As soon as he was gone she crept slowly into the room in which her +three boys were sleeping. A door from her own chamber opened into it, +and then another into that in which one of the nurses slept. She +leaned over them and kissed them all; but she knelt at that on which +Lord Frederic lay, and woke him with her warm embraces. "Oh, mamma, +don't," said the boy. Then he shook himself, and sat up in his bed. +"Mamma, when is Jack coming?" he said. Let her train them as she +would, they would always ask for Jack. "Go to sleep, my darling, my +darling, my darling!" she said, kissing him again and again. +"Trafford," she said, whispering to herself, as she went back to her +own room, trying the sound of the title he would have to use. It had +been all arranged in her own mind how it was to be, if such a thing +should happen.</p> + +<p>"Go down," she said to her maid soon afterwards, "and ask Mrs. +Crawley whether his Lordship would wish to see me." Mrs. Crawley was +the nurse. But the maid brought back word that "My Lord" did not wish +to see "My Lady." For three hours he lay stupefied in his sorrow; and +for three hours she sat alone, almost in the dark. We may doubt +whether it was all triumph. Her darling had got what she believed to +be his due; but the memory that she had longed for it,—almost prayed +for it,—must have dulled her joy.</p> + +<p>There was no such regret with Mr. Greenwood. It seemed to him that +Fortune, Fate, Providence, or what not, had only done its duty. He +believed that he had in truth foreseen and foretold the death of the +pernicious young man. But would the young man's death be now of any +service to him? Was it not too late? Had they not all quarrelled with +him? Nevertheless he had been avenged.</p> + +<p>So it was at Trafford Park for three hours. Then there came a postboy +galloping on horseback, and the truth was known. Lady Kingsbury went +again to her children, but this time she did not kiss them. A gleam +of glory had come there and had passed away;—but yet there was +something of relief.</p> + +<p>Why had he allowed himself to be so cowed on that morning? That was +Mr. Greenwood's thought.</p> + +<p>The poor Marquis fell into a slumber almost immediately, and on the +next morning had almost forgotten that the first telegram had come.</p> + + +<p><a name="c2-19" id="c2-19"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XIX.</h3> +<h4>FALSE TIDINGS.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>But there was another household which the false tidings of Lord +Hampstead's death reached that same night. The feelings excited at +Trafford had been very keen,—parental agony, maternal hope, +disappointment, and revenge; but in that other household there was +suffering quite as great. Mr. Fay himself did not devote much time +during the day either to the morning or the evening newspapers. Had +he been alone at Messrs. Pogson and Littlebird's he would have heard +nothing of the false tidings. But sitting in his inner room, Mr. +Pogson read the third edition of the <i>Evening Advertiser</i>, and then +saw the statement, given with many details. "We," said the statement, +"have sent over to the office of our contemporary, and have +corroborated the facts." Then the story was repeated. Pushing his way +through a gate at Gimberley Green, Lord Hampstead's horse had tumbled +down, and all the field had ridden over him. He had been picked up +dead, and his body had been carried home to Gorse Hall. Now Lord +Hampstead's name had become familiar in King's Court. Tribbledale had +told how the young lord had become enamoured of Zachary Fay's +daughter, and was ready to marry her at a moment's notice. The tale +had been repeated to old Littlebird by young Littlebird, and at last +even to Mr. Pogson himself. There had been, of course, much doubt in +King's Court as to the very improbable story. But some inquiries had +been made, and there was now a general belief in its truth. When Mr. +Pogson read the account of the sad tragedy he paused a moment to +think what he would do, then opened his door and called for Zachary +Fay. They who had known the Quaker long always called him Zachary, or +Friend Zachary, or Zachary Fay. "My friend," said Mr. Pogson, "have +you read this yet?" and he handed him the paper.</p> + +<p>"I never have much time for the newspaper till I get home at night," +said the clerk, taking the sheet that was offered him.</p> + +<p>"You had better read it, perhaps, as I have heard your name +mentioned, I know not how properly, with that of the young lord." +Then the Quaker, bringing his spectacles down from his forehead over +his eyes, slowly read the paragraph. As he did so Mr. Pogson looked +at him carefully. But the Quaker showed very little emotion by his +face. "Does it concern you, Zachary?"</p> + +<p>"I know the young man, Mr. Pogson. Though he be much out of my own +rank, circumstances have brought him to my notice. I shall be grieved +if this be true. With thy permission, Mr. Pogson, I will lock up my +desk and return home at once." To this Mr. Pogson of course assented, +recommending the Quaker to put the newspaper into his pocket.</p> + +<p>Zachary Fay, as he walked to the spot where he was wont to find the +omnibus, considered much as to what he might best do when he reached +home. Should he tell the sad tidings to his girl, or should he leave +her to hear it when further time should have confirmed the truth. To +Zachary himself it seemed too probable that it should be true. +Hunting to him, in his absolute ignorance of what hunting meant, +seemed to be an occupation so full of danger that the wonder was that +the hunting world had not already been exterminated. And then there +was present to him a feeling, as there is to so many of us, that the +grand thing which Fortune seemed to offer him was too good to be +true. It could hardly be that he should live to see his daughter the +mother of a future British peer! He had tried to school himself not +to wish it, telling himself that such wishes were vain, and such +longings wicked; he had said much to himself as to the dangers of +rank and titles and wealth for those who were not born to them. He +had said something also of that family tragedy which had robbed his +own life of most of its joys, and which seemed to have laid so heavy +a burden on his girl's spirit. Going backwards and forwards morning +and evening to his work, he had endeavoured to make his own heart +acknowledge that the marriage was not desirable; but he had +failed;—and had endeavoured to reconcile the failure to his +conscience by telling himself falsely that he as a father had been +anxious only for the welfare of his child. Now he felt the blow +terribly on her account, feeling sure that his girl's heart had been +given to the young man; but he felt it also on his own. It might be, +nevertheless, that the report would prove untrue. Had the matter been +one in which he was not himself so deeply interested, he would +certainly have believed it to be untrue, he being a man by his nature +not prone to easy belief. It would, however, be wiser, he said to +himself as he left the omnibus at the "Duchess of Edinburgh," to say +nothing as yet to Marion. Then he put the paper carefully into his +breast coat pocket, and considered how he might best hide his +feelings as to the sad news. But all this was in vain. The story had +already found its way down to Paradise Row. Mrs. Demijohn was as +greedy of news as her neighbours, and would generally send round the +corner for a halfpenny evening journal. On this occasion she did so, +and within two minutes of the time in which the paper had been put +into her hands exclaimed to her niece almost with ecstasy, "Clara, +what do you think? That young lord who comes here to see Marion Fay +has gone and got himself killed out hunting."</p> + +<p>"Lord Hampstead!" shouted Clara. "Got himself killed! Laws, aunt, I +can't believe it!" In her tone, also, there was something almost of +exultation. The glory that had been supposed to be awaiting Marion +Fay was almost too much for the endurance of any neighbour. Since it +had become an ascertained fact that Lord Hampstead had admired the +girl, Marion's popularity in the Row had certainly decreased. Mrs. +Duffer believed her no longer to be handsome; Clara had always +thought her to be pert; Mrs. Demijohn had expressed her opinion that +the man was an idiot; and the landlady at the "Duchess of Edinburgh" +had wittily asserted that "young marquises were not to be caught with +chaff." There was no doubt a sense of relief in Clara Demijohn's mind +when she heard that this special young marquis had been trampled to +death in the hunting field, and carried home a corpse.</p> + +<p>"I must go and tell the poor girl," said Clara, immediately.</p> + +<p>"Leave it alone," said the old woman. "There will be plenty to tell +her, let alone you." But such occasions occur so rarely that it does +not do not to take advantage of them. In ordinary life events are so +unfrequent, and when they do arrive they give such a flavour of salt +to hours which are generally tedious, that sudden misfortunes come as +godsends,—almost even when they happen to ourselves. Even a funeral +gives a tasteful break to the monotony of our usual occupations, and +small-pox in the next street is a gratifying excitement. Clara soon +got possession of the newspaper, and with it in her hand ran across +the street to No. 17. Miss Fay was at Home, and in a minute or two +came down to Miss Demijohn in the parlour.</p> + +<p>It was only during the minute or two that Clara began to think how +she should break the tidings to her friend, or in any way to realize +the fact that the "tidings" would require breaking. She had rushed +across the street with the important paper in her hand, proud of the +fact that she had something great to tell. But during that minute or +two it did occur to her that a choice of words was needed for such an +occasion. "Oh, Miss Fay," she said, "have you heard?"</p> + +<p>"Heard what?" asked Marion.</p> + +<p>"I do not know how to tell you, it is so terrible! I have only just +seen it in the newspaper, and have thought it best to run over and +let you know."</p> + +<p>"Has anything happened to my father?" asked the girl.</p> + +<p>"It isn't your father. This is almost more dreadful, because he is so +young." Then that bright pink hue spread itself over Marion's face; +but she stood speechless with her features almost hardened by the +resolution which she had already formed within her not to betray the +feelings of her heart before this other girl. The news, let it be +what it might, must be of him! There was no one else "so young," of +whom it was probable that this young woman would speak to her after +this fashion. She stood silent, motionless, conveying nothing of her +feelings by her face,—unless one might have read something from the +deep flush of her complexion. "I don't know how to say it," said +Clara Demijohn. "There; you had better take the paper and read for +yourself. It's in the last column but one near the bottom. 'Fatal +Accident in the Field!' You'll see it."</p> + +<p>Marion took the paper, and read the words through without faltering +or moving a limb. Why would not the cruel young woman go and leave +her to her sorrow? Why did she stand there looking at her, as though +desirous to probe to the bottom the sad secret of her bosom? She kept +her eyes still fixed upon the paper, not knowing where else to turn +them,—for she would not look into her tormentor's face for pity. +"Ain't it sad?" said Clara Demijohn.</p> + +<p>Then there came a deep sigh. "Sad," she said, repeating the word; +"sad! Yes, it's sad. I think, if you don't mind, I'll ask you to +leave me now. Oh, yes; there's the newspaper."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you'd like to keep it for your father." Here Marion shook +her head. "Then I'll take it back to aunt. She's hardly looked at it +yet. When she came to the paragraph, of course, she read it out; and +I wouldn't let her have any peace till she gave it me to bring over."</p> + +<p>"I wish you'd leave me," said Marion Fay.</p> + +<p>Then with a look of mingled surprise and anger she left the room, and +returned across the street to No. 10. "She doesn't seem to me to care +a straw about it," said the niece to her aunt; "but she got up just +as highty tighty as usual and asked me to go away."</p> + +<p>When the Quaker came to the door, and opened it with his latch-key, +Marion was in the passage ready to receive him. Till she had heard +the sound of the lock she had not moved from the room, hardly from +the position, in which the other girl had left her. She had sunk into +a chair which had been ready for her, and there she had remained +thinking over it. "Father," she said, laying her hand upon his arm as +she went to meet him, and looking up into his face;—"father?"</p> + +<p>"My child!"</p> + +<p>"Have you heard any tidings in the City?"</p> + +<p>"Have you heard any, Marion?"</p> + +<p>"Is it true then?" she said, seizing both his arms as though to +support her.</p> + +<p>"Who knows? Who can say that it be true till further tidings shall +come? Come in, Marion. It is not well that we should discuss it +here."</p> + +<p>"Is it true? Oh, father;—oh, father; it will kill me."</p> + +<p>"Nay, Marion, not that. After all, the lad was little more than a +stranger to thee."</p> + +<p>"A stranger?"</p> + +<p>"How many weeks is it since first thou saw'st him? And how often? But +two or three times. I am sorry for him;—if it be true; if it be +true! I liked him well."</p> + +<p>"But I have loved him."</p> + +<p>"Nay, Marion, nay; thou shouldst moderate thyself."</p> + +<p>"I will not moderate myself." Then she disengaged herself from his +arm. "I loved him,—with all my heart, and all my strength; nay, with +my whole soul. If it be so as that paper says, then I must die too. +Oh, father, is it true, think you?"</p> + +<p>He paused a while before he answered, examining himself what it might +be best that he should say as to her welfare. As for himself, he +hardly knew what he believed. These papers were always in search of +paragraphs, and would put in the false and true alike,—the false +perhaps the sooner, so as to please the taste of their readers. But +if it were true, then how bad would it be to give her false hopes! +"There need be no ground to despair," he said, "till we shall hear +again in the morning."</p> + +<p>"I know he is dead."</p> + +<p>"Not so, Marion. Thou canst know nothing. If thou wilt bear thyself +like a strong-hearted girl, as thou art, I will do this for thee. I +will go across to the young lord's house at Hendon at once, and +inquire there as to his safety. They will surely know if aught of ill +has happened to their master."</p> + +<p>So it was done. The poor old man, after his long day's labour, +without waiting for his evening meal, taking only a crust with him in +his pocket, got into a cab on that cold November evening, and had +himself driven by suburban streets and lanes to Hendon Hall. Here the +servants were much surprised and startled by the inquiries made. They +had heard nothing. Lord Hampstead and his sister were expected home +on the following day. Dinner was to be prepared for them, and fires +had already been lighted in the rooms. "Dead!" "Killed out hunting!" +"Trodden to death in the field!" Not a word of it had reached Hendon +Hall. Nevertheless the housekeeper, when the paragraph was shown to +her, believed every word of it. And the servants believed it. Thus +the poor Quaker returned home with but very little comfort.</p> + +<p>Marion's condition during that night was very sad, though she +struggled to bear up against her sorrow in compliance with her +father's instructions. There was almost nothing said as she sat by +him while he ate his supper. On the next morning, too, she rose to +give him his breakfast, having fallen asleep through weariness a +hundred times during the night, to wake again within a minute or two +to the full sense of her sorrow. "Shall I know soon?" she said as he +left the house.</p> + +<p>"Surely some one will know," he said; "and I will send thee word."</p> + +<p>But as he left the house the real facts had already been made known +at the "Duchess of Edinburgh." One of the morning papers had a full, +circumstantial, and fairly true account of the whole matter. "It was +not his lordship at all," said the good-natured landlady, coming out +to him as he passed the door.</p> + +<p>"Not Lord Hampstead?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all."</p> + +<p>"He was not killed?"</p> + +<p>"It wasn't him as was hurt, Mr. Fay. It was another of them young +men—one Mr. Walker; only son of Watson, Walker, and Warren. And +whether he be dead or alive nobody knows; but they do say there +wasn't a whole bone left in his body. It's all here, and I was +a-going to bring it you. I suppose Miss Fay did take it badly?"</p> + +<p>"I knew the young man," said the Quaker, hurrying back to his own +house with the paper,—anxious if possible not to declare to the +neighbourhood that the young lord was in truth a suitor for his +daughter's hand. "And I thank thee, Mrs. Grimley, for thy care. The +suddenness of it all frightened my poor girl."</p> + +<p>"That'll comfort her up," said Mrs. Grimley cheerily. "From all we +hear, Mr. Fay, she do have reason to be anxious for this young lord. +I hope he'll be spared to her, Mr. Fay, and show himself a true man."</p> + +<p>Then the Quaker returned with his news,—which was accepted by him +and by them all as trustworthy. "Now my girl will be happy again?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, father."</p> + +<p>"But my child has told the truth to her old father at last."</p> + +<p>"Had I told you any untruth?"</p> + +<p>"No, indeed, Marion."</p> + +<p>"I said that I am not fit to be his wife, and I am not. Nothing is +changed in all that. But when I heard that he was—. But, father, we +will not talk of it now. How good you have been to me, I shall never +forget,—and how tender!"</p> + +<p>"Who should be soft-hearted if not a father?"</p> + +<p>"They are not all like you. But you have been always good and gentle +to your girl. How good and how gentle we cannot always see;—can we? +But I have seen it now, father."</p> + +<p>As he went into the City, about an hour after his proper time, he +allowed his heart to rejoice at the future prospects of his girl. He +did now believe that there would be a marriage between her and her +noble lover. She had declared her love to him,—to him, her father, +and after that she would surely do as they would have her. Something +had reached even his ears of the coyness of girls, and it was not +displeasing to him that his girl had not been at once ready to give +herself with her easy promise to her lover. How strong she had +looked, even in the midst of her sufferings, on the previous evening! +That she should be weaker this morning, less able to restrain her +tears, more prone to tremble as he spoke to her, was but natural. The +shock of the grief will often come after the sorrow is over. He knew +that, and told himself that there need be nothing,—need not at least +be much,—to fear.</p> + +<p>But it was not so with Marion as she lay all the morning convulsed +almost with the violence of her emotions. Her own weakness was +palpable to herself, as she struggled to regain her breath, struggled +to repress her sobs, struggled to move about the house, and be as +might be any other girl. "Better just lie thee down till thy father +return, and leave me to bustle through the work," said the old Quaker +woman who had lived with them through all their troubles. Then Marion +yielded, and laid herself on the bed till the hour had come in which +her father might be expected.</p> + + +<p><a name="c2-20" id="c2-20"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XX.</h3> +<h4>NEVER, NEVER, TO COME AGAIN.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>The trouble to Hampstead occasioned by the accident was considerable, +as was also for the first twenty-four hours his anxiety and that of +his sister as to the young man's fate. He got back to Gorse Hall +early in the day, as there was no more hunting after the killing of +that first fox. There had been a consultation as to the young man, +and it had been held to be best to have him taken to the inn at which +he had been living, as there would be room there for any of his +friends who might come to look after him. But during the whole of +that day inquiries were made at Gorse Hall after Lord Hampstead +himself, so general had been the belief that he was the victim. From +all the towns around, from Peterborough, Oundle, Stilton, and +Thrapstone, there came mounted messengers, with expressions of hope +and condolence as to the young lord's broken bones.</p> + +<p>And then the condition of their poor neighbour was so critical that +they found it to be impossible to leave Gorse Hall on the next day, +as they had intended. He had become intimate with them, and had +breakfasted at Gorse Hall on that very morning. In one way Hampstead +felt that he was responsible, as, had he not been in the way, poor +Walker's horse would have been next to the gate, and would not have +attempted the impossible jump. They were compelled to put off the +journey till the Monday. "Will go by the 9.30 train," said Hampstead +in his telegram, who, in spite of poor Walker's mangled body, was +still determined to see Marion on that day. On the Saturday morning +it became known to him and his sister that the false report had been +in the London newspapers, and then they had found themselves +compelled to send telegrams to every one who knew them, to the +Marquis, and to the lawyer in London, to Mr. Roberts, and to the +housekeeper at Hendon Hall. Telegrams were also sent by Lady Amaldina +to Lady Persiflage, and especially to Lord Llwddythlw. Vivian sent +others to the Civil Service generally. Hautboy was very eager to let +everybody know the truth at the Pandemonium. Never before had so many +telegrams been sent from the little office at Gimberley. But there +was one for which Hampstead demanded priority, writing it himself, +and himself giving it into the hands of the despatching young lady, +the daughter of the Gimberley grocer, who no doubt understood the +occasion perfectly.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<div class="center"> +<p class="noindent">To Marion Fay, 17, Paradise Row, Holloway.</p> +</div> +<p>It was not I who was hurt. Shall be at No. 17 by three on +Monday.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>"I wonder whether they heard it down at Trafford," said Lady Amaldina +to Lady Frances. On this subject they were informed before the day +was over, as a long message came from Mr. Roberts in compliance with +the instructions from the Marquis. "Because if they did what a +terrible disappointment my aunt will have to bear."</p> + +<p>"Do not say anything so horrible," said Lady Frances.</p> + +<p>"I always look upon Aunt Clara as though she were not quite in her +right senses about her own children. She thinks a great injury is +done her because her son is not the heir. Now for a moment she will +have believed that it was so." This, however, was a view of the +matter which Lady Frances found herself unable to discuss.</p> + +<p>"He's going to get well after all," said Hautboy that evening, just +before dinner. He had been running over to the inn every hour to ask +after the condition of poor Walker. At first the tidings had been +gloomy enough. The doctor had only been able to say that he needn't +die because of his broken bones. Then late in the afternoon there +arrived a surgeon from London who gave something of a stronger hope. +The young man's consciousness had come back to him, and he had +expressed an appreciation for brandy and water. It was this fact +which had seemed so promising to young Lord Hautboy. On the Saturday +there came Mrs. Walker and Miss Walker, and before the Sunday evening +it was told how the patient had signified his intention of hunting +again on the first possible opportunity. "I always knew he was a +brick," said Hautboy, as he repeated the story, "because he always +would ride at everything."</p> + +<p>"I don't think he'll ever ride again at the fence just out of +Gimberley Wood," said Lord Hampstead. They were all able to start on +the Monday morning without serious concern, as the accounts from the +injured man's bed-room were still satisfactory. That he had broken +three ribs, a collar-bone, and an arm seemed to be accounted as +nothing. Nor was there much made of the scalp wound on his head, +which had come from a kick the horse gave him in the struggle. As his +brains were still there, that did not much matter. His cheek had been +cut open by a stake on which he fell, but the scar, it was thought, +would only add to his glories. It was the pressure of the horse which +had fallen across his body which the doctors feared. But Hautboy very +rightly argued that there couldn't be much danger, seeing that he had +recovered his taste for brandy and water. "If it wasn't for that," +said Hautboy, "I don't think I'd have gone away and left him."</p> + +<p>Lord Hampstead found, when he reached home on the Monday morning, +that his troubles were not yet over. The housekeeper came out and +wept, almost with her arms round his neck. The groom, and the +footman, and the gardener, even the cowboy himself, flocked about +him, telling stories of the terrible condition in which they had been +left after the coming of the Quaker on the Friday evening. "I didn't +never think I'd ever see my lord again," said the cook solemnly. "I +didn't a'most hope it," said the housemaid, "after hearing the Quaker +gentleman read it all out of the newspaper." Lord Hampstead shook +hands with them all, and laughed at the misfortune of the false +telegram, and endeavoured to be well pleased with everything, but it +occurred to him to think what must have been the condition of Mr. +Fay's house that night, when he had come across from Holloway through +the darkness and rain to find out for his girl what might be the +truth or falsehood of the report which had reached him.</p> + +<p>At 3.0 punctually he was in Paradise Row. Perhaps it was not +unnatural that even then his advent should create emotion. As he +turned down from the main road the very potboy from "The Duchess" +rushed up to him, and congratulated him on his escape. "I have had +nothing to escape," said Lord Hampstead trying to pass on. But Mrs. +Grimley saw him, and came out to him. "Oh, my lord, we are so +thankful;—indeed, we are."</p> + +<p>"You are very good, ma'am," said the lord.</p> + +<p>"And now, Lord 'Ampstead, mind and be true to that dear young lady +who was well-nigh heart-broke when she heard as it were you who was +smashed up."</p> + +<p>He was hurrying on finding it impossible to make any reply to this, +when Miss Demijohn, seeing that Mrs. Grimley had been bold enough to +address the noble visitor to their humble street, remembering how +much she had personally done in the matter, having her mind full of +the important fact that she had been the first to give information on +the subject to the Row generally, thinking that no such appropriate +occasion as this would ever again occur for making personal +acquaintance with the lord, rushed out from her own house, and seized +the young man's hand before he was able to defend himself. "My lord," +she said, "my lord, we were all so depressed when we heard of it."</p> + +<p>"Were you, indeed?"</p> + +<p>"All the Row was depressed, my lord. But I was the first who knew it. +It was I who communicated the sad tidings to Miss Fay. It was, +indeed, my lord. I saw it in the <i>Evening Tell-Tale</i>, and went across +with the paper at once."</p> + +<p>"That was very good of you."</p> + +<p>"Thank'ee, my lord. And, therefore, seeing you and knowing you,—for +we all know you now in Paradise +<span class="nowrap">Row—"</span></p> + +<p>"Do you now?"</p> + +<p>"Every one of us, my lord. Therefore I thought I'd just make bold to +come out and introduce myself. Here's Mrs. Duffer. I hope you'll let +me introduce you to Mrs. Duffer of No. 15. Mrs. Duffer, Lord +Hampstead. And oh, my lord, it will be such an honour to the Row if +anything of that kind should happen."</p> + +<p>Lord Hampstead, having with his best grace gone through the ceremony +of shaking hands with Mrs. Duffer, who had come up to him and Clara +just at the step of the Quaker's house, was at last allowed to knock +at the door. Miss Fay would be with him in a minute, said the old +woman as she showed him into the sitting-room up-stairs.</p> + +<p>Marion, as soon as she heard the knock, ran for a moment to her own +bed-room. Was it not much to her that he was with her again, not only +alive, but uninjured, that she should again hear his voice, and see +the light of his countenance, and become aware once more of a certain +almost heavenly glory which seemed to surround her when she was in +his presence? She was aware that on such occasions she felt herself +to be lifted out of her ordinary prosaic life, and to be for a time +floating, as it were, in some upper air; among the clouds, +indeed;—alas, yes; but among clouds which were silver-lined; in a +heaven which could never be her own, but in which she could dwell, +though it were but for an hour or two, in ecstasy,—if only he would +allow her to do so without troubling her with further prayer. Then +there came across her a thought that if only she could so begin this +interview with him that it might seem to be an occasion of special +joy,—as though it were a thanksgiving because he had come back to +her safe,—she might, at any rate for this day, avoid words from him +which might drive her again to refuse his great request. He already +knew that she loved him, must know of what value to her must be his +life, must understand how this had come at first a terrible, +crushing, killing sorrow, and then a relief which by the excess of +its joy must have been almost too much for her. Could she not let all +that be a thing acknowledged between them, which might be spoken of +as between dearest friends, without any allusion for the present to +that request which could never be granted?</p> + +<p>But he, as he waited there a minute or two, was minded to make quite +another use of the interview. He was burning to take her in his arms +as his own, to press his lips to hers and know that she returned his +caress, to have the one word spoken which would alone suffice to +satisfy the dominating spirit of the man within him. Had she acceded +to his request, then his demand would have been that she should at +once become his wife, and he would not have rested at peace till he +had reduced her months to weeks. He desired to have it all his own +way. He had drawn her into his presence as soon almost as he had seen +her. He had forced upon her his love. He had driven her to give him +her heart, and to acknowledge that it was so. Of course he must go on +with his triumph over her. She must be his altogether, from the crown +of her head to the soles of her feet,—and that without delay. His +hunting and his yacht, his politics and his friendships, were nothing +to him without Marion Fay. When she came into the room, his heart was +in sympathy with her, but by no means his mind.</p> + +<p>"My lord," she said, letting her hand lie willingly between the +pressure of his two, "you may guess what we suffered when we heard +the report, and how we felt when we learnt the truth."</p> + +<p>"You got my telegram? I sent it as soon as I began to understand how +foolish the people had been."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, my lord. It was so good of you!"</p> + +<p>"Marion, will you do something for me?"</p> + +<p>"What shall I do, my lord?"</p> + +<p>"Don't call me, 'my lord.'"</p> + +<p>"But it is proper."</p> + +<p>"It is most improper, and abominable, and unnatural."</p> + +<p>"Lord Hampstead!"</p> + +<p>"I hate it. You and I can understand each other, at any rate."</p> + +<p>"I hope so."</p> + +<p>"I hate it from everybody. I can't tell the servants not to do it. +They wouldn't understand me. But from you! It seems always as though +you were laughing at me."</p> + +<p>"Laugh at you!"</p> + +<p>"You may if you like it. What is it you may not do with me? If it +were really a joke, if you were quizzing, I shouldn't mind it." He +held her hand the whole time, and she did not attempt to withdraw it. +What did her hand signify? If she could only so manage with him on +that day that he should be satisfied to be happy, and not trouble her +with any request. "Marion," he said, drawing her towards him.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, my lord. Well. I won't. You shan't be called my lord +to-day, because I am so happy to see you;—because you have had so +great an escape."</p> + +<p>"But I didn't have any escape."</p> + +<p>If only she could keep him in this way! If he would only talk to her +about anything but his passion! "It seemed to me so, of course. +Father was broken-hearted about it. He was as bad as I. Think of +father going down without his tea to Hendon Hall, and driving the +poor people there all out of their wits."</p> + +<p>"Everybody was out of his wits."</p> + +<p>"I was," she said, bobbing her head at him. She was just so far from +him, she thought, as to be safe from any impetuous movement. "And +Hannah was nearly as bad." Hannah was the old woman. "You may imagine +we had a wretched night of it."</p> + +<p>"And all about nothing," said he, falling into her mood in the +moment. "But think of poor Walker."</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed! I suppose he has friends, too, who loved him, as—as +some people love you. But he is not going to die?"</p> + +<p>"I hope not. Who is that young woman opposite who rushed out to me in +the street? She says she brought you the news first."</p> + +<p>"Miss Demijohn."</p> + +<p>"Is she a friend of yours?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Marion, blushing as she spoke the word very firmly.</p> + +<p>"I am rather glad of that, because I didn't fall in love with her. +She introduced me to ever so many of the neighbours. The landlady of +the public-house was one, I think."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid they have offended you among them."</p> + +<p>"Not in the least. I never take offence except when I think people +mean it. But now, Marion, say one word to me."</p> + +<p>"I have said many words. Have I not said nice words?"</p> + +<p>"Every word out of your mouth is like music to me. But there is one +word which I am dying to hear."</p> + +<p>"What word?" she said. She knew that she should not have asked the +question, but it was so necessary for her to put off the evil if it +were only for a moment.</p> + +<p>"It is whatever word you may choose to use when you speak to me as my +wife. My mother used to call me John; the children call me Jack; my +friends call me Hampstead. Invent something sweet for yourself. I +always call you Marion because I love the sound so dearly."</p> + +<p>"Every one calls me Marion."</p> + +<p>"No! I never did so till I had told myself that, if possible, you +should be my own. Do you remember when you poked the fire for me at +Hendon Hall?"</p> + +<p>"I do;—I do. It was wrong of me; was it not;—when I hardly knew +you?"</p> + +<p>"It was beyond measure good of you; but I did not dare to call you +Marion then, though I knew your name as well as I do now, Marion! I +have it here, written all round my heart." What could she say to a +man who spoke to her after this fashion? It was as though an angel +from heaven were courting her! If only she could have gone on +listening so that nothing further should come of it! "Find some name +for me, and tell me that it shall be written round your heart."</p> + +<p>"Indeed it is. You know it is, Lord Hampstead."</p> + +<p>"But what name?"</p> + +<p>"Your friend;—your friend of friends."</p> + +<p>"It will not do. It is cold."</p> + +<p>"Then it is untrue to her from whom it comes. Do you think that my +friendship is cold for you?"</p> + +<p>She had turned towards him, and was sitting before him with her face +looking into his, with her hands clasped as though in assurance of +her truth;—when suddenly he had her in his arms and had pressed his +lips to hers. In a moment she was standing in the middle of the room. +Though he was strong, her strength was sufficient for her. "My lord!" +she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Ah, you are angry with me?"</p> + +<p>"My lord, my lord,—I did not think you would treat me like that."</p> + +<p>"But, Marion; do you not love me?"</p> + +<p>"Have I not told you that I do? Have I not been true and honest to +you? Do you not know it all?" But in truth he did not know it all. +"And now I must bid you never, never to come again."</p> + +<p>"But I shall come. I will come. I will come always. You will not +cease to love me?"</p> + +<p>"No;—not that—I cannot do that. But you must not come. You have +done that which makes me ashamed of myself." At that moment the door +was opened, and Mrs. Roden came into the room.</p> + + +<p><a name="c2-21" id="c2-21"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXI.</h3> +<h4>DI CRINOLA.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>The reader must submit to have himself carried back some weeks,—to +those days early in January, when Mrs. Roden called upon her son to +accompany her to Italy. Indeed, he must be carried back a long way +beyond that; but the time during which he need be so detained shall +be short. A few pages will suffice to tell so much of the early life +of this lady as will be necessary to account for her residence in +Paradise Row.</p> + +<p>Mary Roden, the lady whom we have known as Mrs. Roden, was left an +orphan at the age of fifteen, her mother having died when she was +little more than an infant. Her father was an Irish clergyman with no +means of his own but what he secured from a small living; but his +wife had inherited money amounting to about eight thousand pounds, +and this had descended to Mary when her father died. The girl was +then taken in charge by a cousin of her own, a lady ten years her +senior who had lately married, and whom we have since met as Mrs. +Vincent, living at Wimbledon. Mr. Vincent had been well connected and +well-to-do in the world, and till he died the household in which Mary +Roden had been brought up had been luxurious as well as comfortable. +Nor did Mr. Vincent die till after his wife's cousin had found a +husband for herself. Soon afterwards he was gathered to his fathers, +leaving to his widow a comfortable, but not more than a comfortable, +income.</p> + +<p>The year before his death he and his wife had gone into Italy, rather +on account of his health than for pleasure, and had then settled +themselves at Verona for a winter,—a winter which eventually +stretched itself into nearly a year, at the close of which Mr. +Vincent died. But before that event took place Mary Roden had become +a wife.</p> + +<p>At Verona, at first at the house of her own cousin,—which was of +course her own home,—and afterwards in the society of the place to +which the Vincents had been made welcome,—Mary met a young man who +was known to all the world as the Duca di Crinola. No young man more +beautiful to look at, more charming in manners, more ready in +conversation, was then known in those parts of Italy than this young +nobleman. In addition to these good gifts, he was supposed to have in +his veins the very best blood in all Europe. It was declared on his +behalf that he was related to the Bourbons and to the Hapsburgh +family. Indeed there was very little of the best blood which Europe +had produced in the last dozen centuries of which some small +proportion was not running in his veins. He was too the eldest son of +his father, who, though he possessed the most magnificent palace in +Verona, had another equally magnificent in Venice, in which it suited +him to live with his Duchessa. As the old nobleman did not come often +to Verona, and as the young nobleman never went to Venice, the father +and son did not see much of each other, an arrangement which was +supposed to have its own comforts, as the young man was not disturbed +in the possession of his hotel, and as the old man was reported in +Verona generally to be arbitrary, hot-tempered, and tyrannical. It +was therefore said of the young Duke by his friends that he was +nearly as well off as though he had no father at all.</p> + +<p>But there were other things in the history of the young Duke which, +as they became known to the Vincents, did not seem to be altogether +so charming. Though of all the palaces in Verona that in which he +lived was by far the most beautiful to look at from the outside, it +was not supposed to be furnished in a manner conformable to its +external appearance. It was, indeed, declared that the rooms were for +the most part bare; and the young Duke never gave the lie to these +assertions by throwing them open to his friends. It was said of him +also that his income was so small and so precarious that it amounted +almost to nothing, that the cross old Duke at Venice never allowed +him a shilling, and that he had done everything in his power to +destroy the hopes of a future inheritance. Nevertheless, he was +beautiful to look at in regard to his outward attire, and could +hardly have been better dressed had he been able to pay his tailor +and shirt-maker quarterly. And he was a man of great accomplishments, +who could talk various languages, who could paint, and model, and +write sonnets, and dance to perfection. And he could talk of virtue, +and in some sort seem to believe in it,—though he would sometimes +confess of himself that Nature had not endowed him with the strength +necessary for the performance of all the good things which he so +thoroughly appreciated.</p> + +<p>Such as he was he entirely gained the affection of Mary Roden. It is +unnecessary here to tell the efforts that were made by Mrs. Vincent +to prevent the marriage. Had she been less austere she might, +perhaps, have prevailed with the girl. But as she began by pointing +out to her cousin the horror of giving herself, who had been born and +bred a Protestant, to a Roman Catholic,—and also of bestowing her +English money upon an Italian,—all that she said was without effect. +The state of Mr. Vincent's health made it impossible for them to +move, or Mary might perhaps have been carried back to England. When +she was told that the man was poor, she declared that there was so +much the more reason why her money should be given to relieve the +wants of the man she loved. It ended in their being married, and all +that Mr. Vincent was able to accomplish was to see that the marriage +ceremony should be performed after the fashion both of the Church of +England and of the Church of Rome. Mary at the time was more than +twenty-one, and was thus able, with all the romance of girlhood, to +pour her eight thousand pounds into the open hands of her +thrice-noble and thrice-beautiful lover.</p> + +<p>The Duchino with his young Duchessina went their way rejoicing, and +left poor Mr. Vincent to die at Verona. Twelve months afterwards the +widow had settled herself at the house at Wimbledon, from which she +had in latter years paid her weekly visits to Paradise Row, and +tidings had come from the young wife which were not altogether +satisfactory. The news, indeed, which declared that a young little +Duke had been born to her was accompanied by expressions of joy which +the other surrounding incidents of her life were not permitted at the +moment altogether to embitter. Her baby, her well-born beautiful +baby, was for a few months allowed to be a joy to her, even though +things were otherwise very sorrowful. But things were very sorrowful. +The old Duke and the old Duchess would not acknowledge her. Then she +learned that the quarrel between the father and son had been carried +to such a pitch that no hope of reconciliation remained. Whatever was +left of family property was gone as far as any inheritance on the +part of the elder son was concerned. He had himself assisted in +making over to a second brother all right that he possessed in the +property belonging to the family. Then tidings of horror accumulated +itself upon her and her baby. Then came tidings that her husband had +been already married when he first met her,—which tidings did not +reach her till he had left her alone, somewhere up among the Lakes, +for an intended absence of three days. After that day she never saw +him again. The next she heard of him was from Italy, from whence he +wrote to her to tell her that she was an angel, and that he, devil as +he was, was not fit to appear in her presence. Other things had +occurred during the fifteen months in which they had lived together +to make her believe at any rate the truth of this last statement. It +was not that she ceased to love him, but that she knew that he was +not fit to be loved. When a woman is bad a man can generally get quit +of her from his heartstrings;—but a woman has no such remedy. She +can continue to love the dishonoured one without dishonour to +herself,—and does so.</p> + +<p>Among other misfortunes was the loss of all her money. There she was, +in the little villa on the side of the lake, with no income,—and +with statements floating about her that she had not, and never had +had, a husband. It might well be that after that she should caution +Marion Fay as to the imprudence of an exalted marriage. But there +came to her assistance, if not friendship and love, in the midst of +her misfortunes. Her brother-in-law,—if she had a husband or a +brother-in-law,—came to her from the old Duke with terms of +surrender; and there came also a man of business, a lawyer, from +Venice, to make good the terms if they should be accepted. Though +money was very scarce with the family, or the power of raising money, +still such was the feeling of the old nobleman in her misfortunes +that the entire sum which had been given up to his eldest son should +be restored to trustees for her use and for the benefit of her baby, +on condition that she should leave Italy, and consent to drop the +title of the Di Crinola family. As to that question of a former +marriage, the old lawyer declared that he was unable to give any +certain information. The reprobate had no doubt gone through some +form of a ceremony with a girl of low birth at Venice. It very +probably was not a marriage. The young Duchino, the brother, declared +his belief that there had been no such marriage. But she, should she +cling to the name, could not make her title good to it without +obtaining proofs which they had not been able to find. No doubt she +could call herself Duchess. Had she means at command she might +probably cause herself to be received as such. But no property would +thus be affected,—nor would it rob him, the younger son, of his +right to call himself also by the title. The offer made to her was +not ungenerous. The family owed her nothing, but were willing to +sacrifice nearly half of all they had with the object of restoring to +her the money of which the profligate had robbed her,—which he had +been enabled to take from her by her own folly and credulity. In this +terrible emergency of her life, Mrs. Vincent sent over to her a +solicitor from London, between whom and the Italian man of business a +bargain was struck. The young wife undertook to drop her husband's +name, and to drop it also on behalf of her boy. Then the eight +thousand pounds was repaid, and Mrs. Roden, as she afterwards called +herself, went back to Wimbledon and to England with her baby.</p> + +<p>So far the life of George Roden's mother had been most unfortunate. +After that, for a period of sixteen years time went with her, if not +altogether happily, at least quietly and comfortably. Then there came +a subject of disruption. George Roden took upon himself to have +opinions of his own; and would not hold his peace in the presence of +Mrs. Vincent, to whom those opinions were most unacceptable. And they +were the more unacceptable because the mother's tone of mind had +always taken something of the bent which appeared so strongly +afterwards in her son. George at any rate could not be induced to be +silent; nor,—which was worse,—could he after reaching his twentieth +year be made to go to church with that regularity which was necessary +for the elder lady's peace of mind. He at this time had achieved for +himself a place in the office ruled over by our friend Sir Boreas, +and had in this way become so much of a man as to be entitled to +judge for himself. In this way there had been no quarrel between Mrs. +Vincent and Mrs. Roden, but there had come a condition of things in +which it had been thought expedient that they should live apart. Mrs. +Roden had therefore taken for herself a house in Paradise Row, and +those weekly inter-visitings had been commenced between her and her +cousin.</p> + +<p>Such had been the story of Mrs. Roden's life, till tidings were +received in England that her husband was dead. The information had +been sent to Mrs. Vincent by the younger son of the late old Duke, +who was now a nobleman well known in the political life of his own +country. He had stated that, to the best of his belief, his brother's +first union had not been a legal marriage. He thought it right, he +had said, to make this statement, and to say that as far as he was +concerned he was willing to withdraw that compact upon which his +father had insisted. If his sister-in-law wished to call herself by +the name and title of Di Crinola, she might do so. Or if the young +man of whom he spoke as his nephew wished to be known as Duca di +Crinola he would raise no objection. But it must be remembered that +he had nothing to offer to his relative but the barren tender of the +name. He himself had succeeded to but very little, and that which he +possessed had not been taken from his brother.</p> + +<p>Then there were sundry meetings between Mrs. Vincent and Mrs. Roden, +at which it was decided that Mrs. Roden should go to Italy with her +son. Her brother-in-law had been courteous to her, and had offered to +receive her if she would come. Should she wish to use the name of Di +Crinola, he had promised that she should be called by it in his +house; so that the world around might know that she was recognized by +him and his wife and children. She determined that she would at any +rate make the journey, and that she would take her son with her.</p> + +<p>George Roden had hitherto learnt nothing of his father or his family. +In the many consultations held between his mother and Mrs. Vincent it +had been decided that it would be better to keep him in the dark. Why +fill his young imagination with the glory of a great title in order +that he might learn at last, as might too probably be the case, that +he had no right to the name,—no right to consider himself even to be +his father's son? She, by her folly,—so she herself +acknowledged,—had done all that was possible to annihilate herself +as a woman. There was no name which she could give to her son as +certainly as her own. This, which had been hers before she had been +allured into a mock marriage, would at any rate not be disputed. And +thus he had been kept in ignorance of his mother's story. Of course +he had asked. It was no more than natural that he should ask. But +when told that it was for his mother's comfort that he should ask no +more, he had assented with that reticence which was peculiar to him. +Then chance had thrown him into friendship with the young English +nobleman, and the love of Lady Frances Trafford had followed.</p> + +<p>His mother, when he consented to accompany her, had almost promised +him that all mysteries should be cleared up between them before their +return. In the train, before they reached Paris, a question was asked +and an answer given which served to tell much of the truth. As they +came down to breakfast that morning, early in the dark January +morning, he observed that his mother was dressed in deep mourning. It +had always been her custom to wear black raiment. He could not +remember that he had ever seen on her a coloured dress, or even a +bright ribbon. And she was not now dressed quite as is a widow +immediately on the death of her husband. It was now a quarter of a +century since she had seen the man who had so ill-used her. According +to the account which she had received, it was twelve months at least +since he had died in one of the Grecian islands. The full weeds of a +mourning widow would ill have befitted her condition of mind, or her +immediate purpose. But yet there was a speciality of blackness in her +garments which told him that she had dressed herself with a purpose +as of mourning. "Mother," he said to her in the train, "you are in +mourning,—as for a friend?" Then when she paused he asked again, +"May I not be told for whom it is done? Am I not right in saying that +it is so?"</p> + +<p>"It is so, George."</p> + +<p>"For whom then?"</p> + +<p>They two were alone in the carriage, and why should his question not +be answered now? But it had come to pass that there was a horror to +her in mentioning the name of his father to him. "George," she said, +"it is more than twenty-five years since I saw your father."</p> + +<p>"Is he dead—only now?"</p> + +<p>"It is only now,—only the other day,—that I have heard of his +death."</p> + +<p>"Why should not I also be in black?"</p> + +<p>"I had not thought of it. But you never saw him since he had you in +his arms as a baby. You cannot mourn for him in heart."</p> + +<p>"Do you?"</p> + +<p>"It is hard to say for what we mourn sometimes. Of course I loved him +once. There is still present to me a memory of what I loved,—of the +man who won my heart by such gifts as belonged to him; and for that I +mourn. He was beautiful and clever, and he charmed me. It is hard to +say sometimes for what we mourn."</p> + +<p>"Was he a foreigner, mother?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, George. He was an Italian. You shall know it all soon now. But +do not you mourn. To you no memories are left. Were it not for the +necessity of the present moment, no idea of a father should ever be +presented to you." She vouchsafed to tell him no more at that moment, +and he pressed her with no further questions.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<h5>END OF VOL. II.</h5> + +<hr class="narrow" /> +<h6>BUNGAY: PRINTED BY CLAY AND TAYLOR.</h6> +<hr class="narrow" /> +<p><a name="v3" id="v3"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h1 class="title">MARION FAY.</h1> + +<h3>A Novel.</h3> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h4>BY</h4> + +<h2>ANTHONY TROLLOPE,</h2> + +<h4>AUTHOR OF<br /> +<br /> +"FRAMLEY PARSONAGE," "ORLEY FARM," "THE WAY WE<br /> +<br /> +LIVE NOW," ETC., ETC.</h4> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h3><i>IN THREE VOLUMES.</i></h3> + +<h2>VOL. III.</h2> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h4>London:<br /> +CHAPMAN & HALL, <span class="smallcaps">Limited</span>, +11, HENRIETTA ST.<br /> +1882.</h4> + +<h5><i>[All Rights reserved.]</i></h5> + +<p> </p> +<hr class="narrow" /> +<p> </p> + +<h5>Bungay:</h5> + +<h6>CLAY AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS.</h6> + +<p> </p> +<hr class="narrow" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h3>CONTENTS OF VOLUME III.<br /> </h3> + +<div class="center"> +<table class="sm" style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="3"> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">I. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-1" >"I WILL COME BACK AS I WENT."</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">II. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-2" >TRUE TIDINGS.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">III. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-3" >ALL THE WORLD KNOWS IT.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">IV. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-4" >"IT SHALL BE DONE."</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">V. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-5" >MARION WILL CERTAINLY HAVE HER WAY.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">VI. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-6" >"BUT HE IS;—HE IS."</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">VII. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-7" >THE GREAT QUESTION.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">VIII. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-8" >"I CANNOT COMPEL HER."</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">IX. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-9" >IN PARK LANE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">X. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-10" >AFTER ALL HE ISN'T.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XI. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-11" >"OF COURSE THERE WAS A BITTERNESS."</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XII. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-12" >LORD HAMPSTEAD AGAIN WITH MRS. RODEN.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XIII. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-13" >LORD HAMPSTEAD AGAIN WITH MARION.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XIV. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-14" >CROCKER'S DISTRESS.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XV. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-15" >"DISMISSAL. B. B."</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XVI. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-16" >PEGWELL BAY.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XVII. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-17" >LADY AMALDINA'S WEDDING.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XVIII. </td><td align="left"><a href="#c3-18" >CROCKER'S TALE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XIX. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-19" >"MY MARION."</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XX. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-20" >MR. GREENWOOD'S LAST BATTLE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XXI. </td> <td align="left"><a href="#c3-21" >THE REGISTRAR OF STATE RECORDS.</a></td></tr> +</table> +</div> + +<p> </p> +<hr class="narrow" /> + +<p><a name="c3-1" id="c3-1"></a> </p> +<h1>MARION FAY.</h1> +<p> </p> +<hr class="narrow" /> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER I.</h3> +<h4>"I WILL COME BACK AS I WENT."<br /> </h4> + + +<p>While Lord Hampstead's party were at Gorse Hall, some weeks before +poor Walker's accident, there came a letter from George Roden to Lady +Frances, and she, when she reached Hendon Hall, found a second. Both +these letters, or parts of them, shall be here given, as they will +tell all that need be added to what is already known of the story of +the man, and will explain to the reader the cause and manner of +action which he adopted.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="jright">Rome,<br /> +January 30th, 18—.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dearest +Fanny</span>,—</p> + +<p>I wonder whether it will seem as odd to you to receive a +letter from me written at Rome as it is to me to write it. +Our letters hitherto have been very few in number, and +have only declared that in spite of obstacles we shall +always love each other. I have never before had anything +in truth to tell you; but now I have so much that I do not +know how to begin or how to go on with it. But it must be +written, as there is much that will interest you as my +dearest friend, and much also that will concern yourself +should you ever become my wife. It may be that a point +will arise as to which you and your friends,—your father, +for instance, and your brother,—will feel yourselves +entitled to have a voice in deciding. It may be quite +possible that your judgment, or, at any rate, that of your +friends, may differ from my own. Should it be so I cannot +say that I shall be prepared to yield; but I will, at any +rate, enable you to submit the case to them with all +fairness.</p> + +<p>I have told you more than once how little I have known of +my own family,—that I have known indeed nothing. My +mother has seemed to me to be perversely determined not to +tell me all that which I will acknowledge I have thought +that I ought to know. But with equal perversity I have +refrained from asking questions on a subject of which I +think I should have been told everything without +questioning. And I am a man not curious by nature as to +the past. I am more anxious as to what I may do myself +than as to what others of my family may have done before +me.</p> + +<p>When, however, my mother asked me to go with her to Italy, +it was manifest that her journey had reference to her +former life. I knew from circumstances which could not be +hidden from me,—from her knowledge, for instance, of +Italian, and from some relics which remained to her of her +former life,—that she had lived for some period in this +country. As my place of birth had never been mentioned to +me, I could not but guess that I had been born in Italy, +and when I found that I was going there I felt certain +that I must learn some portion of the story of which I had +been kept in ignorance. Now I have learnt it all as far as +my poor mother knows it herself; and as it will concern +you to know it too, I must endeavour to explain to you all +the details. Dearest Fanny, I do trust that when you have +heard them you will think neither worse of me on that +account,—nor better. It is as to the latter that I am +really in fear. I wish to believe that no chance attribute +could make me stand higher in your esteem than I have come +to stand already by my own personal character.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Then he told her,—not, perhaps, quite so fully as the reader has +heard it told in the last chapter,—the story of his mother's +marriage and of his own birth. Before they had reached Rome, where +the Duca di Crinola at present lived, and where he was at present a +member of the Italian Cabinet, the mother had told her son all that +she knew, having throughout the telling of the story unconsciously +manifested to him her own desire to remain in obscurity, and to bear +the name which had been hers for five-and-twenty years; but at the +same time so to manage that he should return to England bearing the +title to which by his birth she believed him to be entitled. When in +discussing this he explained to her that it would be still necessary +for him to earn his bread as a clerk in the Post Office in spite of +his high-sounding nobility, and explained to her the absurdity of his +sitting in Mr. Jerningham's room at the desk with young Crocker, and +calling himself at the same time the Duca di Crinola, she in her +arguments exhibited a weakness which he had hardly expected from her. +She spoke vaguely, but with an assurance of personal hope, of Lady +Frances, of Lord Hampstead, of the Marquis of Kingsbury, and of Lord +Persiflage,—as though by the means of these noble personages the +Duca di Crinola might be able to live in idleness. Of all this Roden +could say nothing in this first letter to Lady Frances. But it was to +this that he alluded when he hoped that she would not think better of +him because of the news which he sent her.</p> + +<p>"At present," he wrote, continuing his letter after the telling of +the story,<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent">we are staying +with my uncle, as I presume I am entitled +to call him. He is very gracious, as also are his wife and +the young ladies who are my cousins; but I think that he +is as anxious as I am that there should be no acknowledged +branch of the family senior to his own. He is Duca di +Crinola to all Italy, and will remain so whether I assume +the title or not. Were I to take the name, and to remain +in Italy,—which is altogether impossible,—I should be +nobody. He who has made for himself a great position, and +apparently has ample means, would not in truth be +affected. But I am sure that he would not wish it. He is +actuated by a sense of honesty, but he certainly has no +desire to be incommoded by relatives who would, as regards +the family, claim to be superior to himself. My dearest +mother wishes to behave well to him, wishes to sacrifice +herself; but is, I fear, above all things, anxious to +procure for her son the name and title which his father +bore.</p> + +<p>As for myself, you will, I think, already have perceived +that it is my desire to remain as I was when last I saw +you, and to be as ever</p> + +<p class="ind10">Yours, most affectionately,</p> + +<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">George +Roden</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Lady Frances was, as may be imagined, much startled at the receipt of +this letter;—startled, and also pleased. Though she had always +declared to herself that she was in every respect satisfied with her +lover from the Post Office, though she had been sure that she had +never wanted him to be other than he was, still, when she heard of +that fine-sounding name, there did for a moment come upon her an idea +that, for his sake, it might be well that he should have the +possession of all that his birth had done for him. But when she came +to understand the meaning of his words, as she did on the second or +third reading of his letter,—when she discovered what he meant by +saying that he hoped she would not think better of him by reason of +what he was telling her, when she understood the purport of the +manner in which he signed his name, she resolved that in every +respect she would think as he thought and act as he wished her to +act. Whatever might be the name which he might be pleased to give +her, with that would she be contented, nor would she be led by any +one belonging to her to ask him to change his purpose.</p> + +<p>For two days she kept the letter by her unanswered, and without +speaking of it to anybody. Then she showed it to her brother, +exacting from him a promise that he should not speak of it to any one +without her permission. "It is George's secret," she said, "and I am +sure you will see that I have no right to disclose it. I tell you +because he would do so if he were here." Her brother was willing +enough to make the promise, which would of course be in force only +till he and Roden should see each other; but he could not be brought +to agree with his sister as to his friend's view of the position.</p> + +<p>"He may have what fancies he pleases about titles," he said, "as may +I; but I do not think that he would be justified in repudiating his +father's name. I feel it a burden and an absurdity to be born to be +an earl and a marquis, but I have to put up with it; and, though my +reason and political feeling on the matter tell me that it is a +burden and an absurdity, yet the burden is easily borne, and the +absurdity does not annoy me much. There is a gratification in being +honoured by those around you, though your conscience may be twinged +that you yourself have done nothing to deserve it. It will be so with +him if he takes his position here as an Italian nobleman."</p> + +<p>"But he would still have to be a clerk in the Post Office."</p> + +<p>"Probably not."</p> + +<p>"But how would he live?" asked Lady Frances.</p> + +<p>"The governor, you would find, would look upon him in a much more +favourable light than he does at present."</p> + +<p>"That would be most unreasonable."</p> + +<p>"Not at all. It is not unreasonable that a Marquis of Kingsbury +should be unwilling to give his daughter to George Roden, a clerk in +the Post Office,—but that he should be willing to give her to a Duca +di Crinola."</p> + +<p>"What has that to do with earning money?"</p> + +<p>"The Governor would probably find an income in one case, and not in +the other. I do not quite say that it ought to be so, but it is not +unreasonable that it should be so." Then Lady Frances said a great +deal as to that pride in her lover which would not allow him to +accept such a position as that which was now suggested.</p> + +<p>There was a long discussion on the subject. Her brother explained to +her how common it was for noblemen of high birth to live on means +provided by their wives' fortunes, and how uncommon it was that men +born to high titles should consent to serve as clerks in a public +office. But his common sense had no effect upon his sister, who ended +the conversation by exacting from him a renewed assurance of secrecy. +"I won't say a word till he comes," said Hampstead; "but you may be +sure that a story like that will be all over London before he does +come."</p> + +<p>Lady Frances of course answered her lover's letter; but of what she +said it is only necessary that the reader should know that she +promised that in all things she would be entirely guided by his +wishes.</p> + +<p>Then came his second letter to her, dated on the day on which poor +Walker had nearly been crushed to death. "I am so glad that you agree +with me," he wrote.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent">Since my last +letter to you everything here has been +decided as far as I can decide it,—or, indeed, as far as +any of us can do so. There can, I think, be no doubt as to +the legality of my mother's marriage. My uncle is of the +same opinion, and points out to me that were I to claim my +father's name no one would attempt to dispute it. He alone +could do so,—or rather would be the person to do so if it +were done. He would make no such attempt, and would +himself present me to the King here as the Duca di Crinola +if I chose to remain and to accept the position. But I +certainly will not do so. I should in the first place be +obliged to give up my nationality. I could not live in +England bearing an Italian title, except as an Italian. I +do not know that as an Italian I should be forced to give +up my place in the Post Office. Foreigners, I believe, are +employed in the Civil Service. But there would be an +absurdity in it which to me would be specially annoying. I +could not live under such a weight of ridicule. Nor could +I live in any position in which some meagre income might +be found for me because of my nobility. No such income +would be forthcoming here. I can imagine that your father +might make a provision for a poor son-in-law with a grand +title. He ought not to do so, according to my ideas, but +it might be possible that he should find himself persuaded +to such weakness. But I could not accept it. I should not +be above taking money with my wife, if it happened to come +in my way, provided that I were earning an income myself +to the best of my ability. For her sake I should do what +might be best for her. But not even for your sake,—if you +wished it, as I know you do not,—could I consent to hang +about the world in idleness as an Italian duke without a +shilling of my own. Therefore, my darling, I purpose to +come back as I went,</p> + +<p class="ind12">Your own,</p> + +<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">George Roden</span>.</p> + +<div class="ind8"> +<p class="noindent">Clerk in the Post Office, and entitled to consider myself +as being on "H.M.S." when at work from ten till four.<br /> </p> +</div> +</blockquote> + + +<p>This letter reached Lady Frances at Hendon Hall on the return of +herself and her brother from Gorse Hall. But before that time the +prophecy uttered by Lord Hampstead as to the story being all over +London had already been in part fulfilled. Vivian during their +hunting weeks at Gorse Hall had been running continually up and down +from London, where his work as private secretary to the Secretary of +State had been, of course, most constant and important. He had, +nevertheless, managed to have three days a week in Northamptonshire, +explaining to his friends in London that he did it by sitting up all +night in the country, to his friends in the country that he sat up +all night in town. There are some achievements which are never done +in the presence of those who hear of them. Catching salmon is one, +and working all night is another. Vivian, however, managed to do what +was required of him, and to enjoy his hunting at the same time.</p> + +<p>On his arrival at Gorse Hall the day before the famous accident he +had a budget of news of which he was very full, but of which he at +first spoke only to Hampstead. He could not, at any rate, speak of it +in the presence of Lady Frances. "You have heard this, haven't you, +about George Roden?" he asked, as soon as he could get Lord Hampstead +to himself.</p> + +<p>"Heard what about George Roden?" asked the other, who, of course, had +heard it all.</p> + +<p>"The Italian title."</p> + +<p>"What about an Italian title?"</p> + +<p>"But have you heard it?"</p> + +<p>"I have heard something. What have you heard?"</p> + +<p>"George Roden is in Italy."</p> + +<p>"Unless he has left it. He has been there, no doubt."</p> + +<p>"And his mother." Hampstead nodded his head. "I suppose you do know +all about it?"</p> + +<p>"I want to know what you know. What I have heard has come to me as a +secret. Your story can probably be divulged."</p> + +<p>"I don't know that. We are apt to be pretty close as to what we hear +at the Foreign Office. But this didn't come as specially private. +I've had a letter from Muscati, a very good fellow in the Foreign +Office there, who had in some way heard your name as connected with +Roden."</p> + +<p>"That is very likely."</p> + +<p>"And your sister's," said Vivian in a whisper.</p> + +<p>"That is likely too. Men talk about anything now-a-days."</p> + +<p>"Lord Persiflage has heard direct from Italy. He is interested, of +course, as being brother-in-law to Lady Kingsbury."</p> + +<p>"But what have they heard?"</p> + +<p>"It seems that Roden isn't an Englishman at all."</p> + +<p>"That will be as he likes, I take it. He has lived here as an +Englishman for five-and-twenty years."</p> + +<p>"But of course he'll prefer to be an Italian," said Vivian. "It turns +out that he is heir to one of the oldest titles in Italy. You have +heard of the Ducas di Crinola?"</p> + +<p>"I have heard of them now."</p> + +<p>"One of them is Minister of Education in the present Cabinet, and is +likely to be the Premier. But he isn't the head of the family, and he +isn't really the Duca di Crinola. He is called so, of course. But he +isn't the head of the family. George Roden is the real Duca di +Crinola. I thought there must be something special about the man when +your sister took such a fancy to him."</p> + +<p>"I always thought there was something special about him," said +Hampstead; "otherwise I should hardly have liked him so well."</p> + +<p>"So did I. He always seemed to be,—to me,—just one of ourselves, +you know. A fellow doesn't come out like that unless he's somebody. +You Radicals may say what you please, but silk purses don't get made +out of sow's ears. Nobody stands up for blood less than I do; but, by +George, it always shows itself. You wouldn't think Crocker was heir +to a dukedom."</p> + +<p>"Upon my word, I don't know. I have a great respect for Crocker."</p> + +<p>"And now what's to be done?" asked Vivian.</p> + +<p>"How done?"</p> + +<p>"About Di Crinola? Lord Persiflage says that he can't remain in the +Post Office."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid he doesn't come in for much?"</p> + +<p>"Not a shilling."</p> + +<p>"Lord Persiflage thinks that something should be done for him. But it +is so hard. It should be done in Italy, you know. I should think that +they might make him extra Secretary of Legation, so as to leave him +here. But then they have such a small salary!" As the story of George +Roden's birth was thus known to all the Foreign Office, it was +probable that Hampstead's prophecy would be altogether fulfilled.</p> + + +<p><a name="c3-2" id="c3-2"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER II.</h3> +<h4>TRUE TIDINGS.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>The Foreign Office, from top to bottom, was very much moved on the +occasion,—and not without cause. The title of Di Crinola was quite +historic, and had existed for centuries. No Duca di Crinola,—at any +rate, no respectable Duca di Crinola,—could be in England even as a +temporary visitant without being considered as entitled to some +consideration from the Foreign Office. The existing duke of that +name, who had lately been best known, was at present a member of the +Italian Ministry. Had he come he would have been entitled to great +consideration. But he, as now appeared, was not the real Duca di +Crinola. The real duke was an Englishman,—or an Anglicized Italian, +or an Italianized Englishman. No one in the Foreign Office, not even +the most ancient pundit there, quite knew what he was. It was clear +that the Foreign Office must take some notice of the young nobleman. +But in all this was not contained more than half of the real reasons +for peculiar consideration. This Anglicized Italian Duca was known to +be engaged to the daughter of an English Marquis, to a lady who, if +not niece, was next door to being niece to the Secretary of State for +Foreign Affairs himself! Many years must have passed since an +individual had sprung into notice so interesting in many different +ways to all the body of the Foreign Office!</p> + +<p>And this personage was a clerk in the Post Office! There had no doubt +been a feeling in the Foreign Office, if not of actual disgrace, at +any rate of mingled shame and regret, that a niece of their Secretary +of State should have engaged herself to one so low. Had he been in +the Foreign Office himself something might have been made of +him;—but a Clerk in the Post Office! The thing had been whispered +about and talked over, till there had come up an idea that Lady +Frances should be sent away on some compulsory foreign mission, so as +to be out of the pernicious young man's reach. But now it turned out +suddenly that the young man was the Duca di Crinola, and it was +evident to all of them that Lady Frances Trafford was justified in +her choice.</p> + +<p>But what was to be done with the Duca? Rumours reached the Foreign +Office that the infatuated young nobleman intended to adhere to his +most unaristocratic position. The absurdity of a clerk of the third +class in one of the branches of the Post Office, with a salary of a +hundred and seventy a year, and sitting in the same room with +Crockers and Bobbins while he would have to be called by everybody +the Duca di Crinola, was apparent to the mind of the lowest Foreign +Office official. It couldn't be so, they said to each other. +Something must be done. If Government pay were necessary to him, +could he not be transformed by a leap into the Elysium of their own +department, where he might serve with some especial name invented for +the occasion? Then there arose questions which no man could answer. +Were he to be introduced into this new-fangled office proposed for +him, would he come in as an Englishman or an Italian; and if as an +Englishman, was it in accordance with received rules of etiquette +that he should be called Duca di Crinola? Would it be possible in so +special a case to get special permission from the Crown; or if not, +could he be appointed to the Foreign Office as a foreigner? The +special permission, though it was surrounded by so many difficulties, +yet seemed to be easier and less monstrous than this latter +suggestion. They understood that though he could not well be +dismissed from the office which he already held, it might be +difficult to appoint a foreign nobleman to the performance of duties +which certainly required more than ordinary British tendencies. In +this way the mind of the Foreign Office was moved, and the coming of +the young duke was awaited with considerable anxiety.</p> + +<p>The news went beyond the Foreign Office. Whether it was that the +Secretary of State himself told the story to the ladies of his +household, or that it reached them through private secretaries, it +was certainly the case that Lady Persiflage was enabled to write a +very interesting letter to her sister, and that Lady Amaldina took +the occasion of congratulating her cousin and of informing her lover.</p> + +<p>Lady Kingsbury, when she received the news, was still engaged in +pointing out to her husband the iniquity of his elder children in +having admitted the visit of Mr. Roden to Hendon Hall. This, she +persisted in saying, had been done in direct opposition to most +solemn promises made by all the parties concerned. The Marquis at the +time had recovered somewhat of his strength, in consequence, as was +said among the household, of the removal of Mr. Greenwood into +Shrewsbury. And the Marchioness took advantage of this improved +condition on the part of her husband to make him sensible of the +abominable iniquity of which the young persons had been guilty. The +visit had occurred two months since, but the iniquity to Lady +Kingsbury's thinking still demanded express condemnation and, if +possible, punishment. "A direct and premeditated falsehood on the +part of them all!" said Lady Kingsbury, standing over her husband, +who was recumbent on the sofa in his own room.</p> + +<p>"No; it wasn't," said the Marquis, who found it easier to deny the +whole charge than to attempt in his weakness to divide the guilt.</p> + +<p>"My dear! When she was allowed to go to Hendon Hall, was it not done +on a sacred pledge that she should not see that horrid man? Did not +Hampstead repeat the promise to my own ears?"</p> + +<p>"How could he help his coming? I wish you wouldn't trouble me about +it any more."</p> + +<p>"Then I suppose that she is to have your leave to marry the man +whenever she chooses!"</p> + +<p>Then he roused himself with whatever strength he possessed, and +begged her to leave him. With much indignation she stalked out of the +room, and going to her apartments found the following letter, which +had just arrived from her +<span class="nowrap">sister;—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My Dear +Clara</span>,—</p> + +<p>As you are down in the country, I suppose the news about +Fanny's "young man" has not yet reached you.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Fanny's young man! Had Fanny been the housemaid, it was thus that +they might have spoken of her lover. Could it be that "Fanny and her +young man" had already got themselves married? Lady Kingsbury, when +she read this, almost let the letter drop from her hand, so much was +she disgusted by the manner in which her sister spoke of this most +unfortunate affair.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p>I heard something of it only yesterday, and the rest of +the details to-day. As it has come through the Foreign +Office you may be quite sure that it is true, though it is +so wonderful. The young man is not George Roden at all, +nor is he an Englishman. He is an Italian, and his proper +name and title is Duca di Crinola.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p class="noindent">Again Lady Kingsbury +allowed the letter almost to drop; but on this +occasion with feelings of a very different nature. What! not George +Roden! Not a miserable clerk in the English Post Office! Duca di +Crinola;—a title of which she thought that she remembered to have +heard as belonging to some peculiarly ancient family! It was not to +be believed. And yet it came from her sister, who was usually correct +in all such matters;—and came also from the Foreign Office, which +she regarded as the one really trustworthy source of information as +to foreign matters of an aristocratic nature. "Duca di Crinola!" she +said to herself, as she went on with the reading of her letter.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p>There is a long story of the marriage of his mother which +I do not quite understand as yet, but it is not necessary +to the facts of the case. The young man has been +recognized in his own country as entitled to all the +honours of his family, and must be received so by us. +Persiflage says that he will be ready to present him at +Court on his return as Duca di Crinola, and will ask him +at once to dine in Belgrave Square. It is a most romantic +story, but must be regarded by you and me as being very +fortunate, as dear Fanny had certainly set her heart upon +marrying the man. I am told that he inherits nothing but +the bare title. Some foreign noblemen are, you know, very +poor; and in this case the father, +who was a "<span class="u">mauvais +sujet</span>," contrived to destroy whatever rights of property +he had. Lord Kingsbury probably will be able to do +something for him. Perhaps he may succeed in getting +official employment suited to his rank. At any rate we +must all of us make the best of him for Fanny's sake. It +will be better to have a Duca di Crinola among us, even +though he should not have a shilling, than a Post Office +clerk with two or three hundred a year.</p> + +<p>I asked Persiflage to write to Lord Kingsbury; but he +tells me that I must do it all, because he is so busy. +Were my brother-in-law well enough I think he should come +up to town to make inquiry himself and to see the young +man. If he cannot do so, he had better get Hampstead to +take him down to Trafford. Hampstead and this young +Duchino are luckily bosom friends. It tells well for +Hampstead that, after all, he did not go so low for his +associates as you thought he did. Amaldina intends to +write to Fanny to congratulate her.</p> + +<p class="ind8">Your affectionate sister,</p> + +<p class="ind12"><span class="smallcaps">Geraldine +Persiflage</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Duca di Crinola! She could not quite believe it;—and yet she did +believe it. Nor could she be quite sure as to herself whether she was +happy in believing it or the reverse. It had been terrible to her to +think that she should have to endure the name of being stepmother to +a clerk in the Post Office. It would not be at all terrible to her to +be stepmother to a Duca di Crinola, even though the stepson would +have no property of his own. That little misfortune would, as far as +the feelings of society went, be swallowed up amidst the attributes +of rank. Nothing would sound better than Duchessa or Duchessina! And, +moreover, it would be all true! This was no paltry title which might +be false, or might have been picked up, any how, the other day. All +the world would know that the Italian Duke was the lineal +representative of a magnificent family to whom this identical rank +had belonged for many years. There were strong reasons for taking the +young Duke and the young Duchess to her heart at once.</p> + +<p>But then there were other reasons why she should not wish it to be +true. In the first place she hated them both. Let the man be Duca di +Crinola as much as he might, he would still have been a Post Office +clerk, and Lady Frances would have admitted his courtship having +believed him at the time to have been no more than a Post Office +clerk. The sin would have been not the less abominable in the choice +of her lover, although it might be expedient that the sin should be +forgiven. And then the girl had insulted her, and there had been that +between them which would prevent the possibility of future love; and +would it not be hard upon her darlings if it should become necessary +to carve out from the family property a permanent income for this +Italian nobleman, and for a generation of Italian noblemen to come; +and then what a triumph would this be for Hampstead, who, of all +human beings, was the most distasteful to her.</p> + +<p>But upon the whole she thought it would be best to accept the Duca. +She must, indeed, accept him. Nothing that she could do would restore +the young man to his humble desk and humble name. Nor would the +Marquis be actuated by any prayer of hers in reference to the carving +of the property. It would be better for her to accept the young Duke +and the young Duchess, and make the best of them. If only the story +should at last be shown to be true!</p> + +<p>The duty was imposed on her of communicating the story to the +Marquis; but before she did so she was surprised by a visit from Mr. +Greenwood. Mr. Roberts had used no more than the violence of +argument, and Mr. Greenwood had been induced to take himself to +Shrewsbury on the day named for his departure. If he went he would +have £200 a year from the Marquis,—and £100 would be added by Lord +Hampstead, of which the Marquis need not know anything. Unless he +went on the day fixed that £100 would not be added. A good deal was +said on either side, but he went. The Marquis had refused to see him. +The Marchioness had bade him adieu in a most formal manner,—in a +manner quite unbecoming those familiar suggestions which, he thought, +had been made to him as to a specially desirable event. But he had +gone, and as he went he told himself that circumstances might yet +occur in the family which might be of use to him. He, too, had heard +the great family news,—perhaps through some under-satellite of the +Foreign Office, and he came with the idea that he would be the first +to make it known at Trafford Park.</p> + +<p>He would have asked for the Marquis, but he knew that the Marquis +would not receive him. Lady Kingsbury consented to see him, and he +was ushered up to the room to which he had so often made his way +without any asking. "I hope you are well, Mr. Greenwood," she said. +"Are you still staying in the neighbourhood?" It was, however, well +known at Trafford that he was at Shrewsbury.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Lady Kingsbury. I have not gone from the neighbourhood. I +thought that perhaps you might want to see me again."</p> + +<p>"I don't know that we need trouble you, Mr. Greenwood."</p> + +<p>"I have come with some news respecting the family." As he said this +he managed to assume the old look, and stood as though he had never +moved from the place since he had last been in the room.</p> + +<p>"Do sit down, Mr. Greenwood. What news?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. George Roden, the clerk in the Post Office—"</p> + +<p>But she was not going to have the tidings repeated to her by him, so +as to give him any claim to gratitude for having brought them. "You +mean the Duca di Crinola!"</p> + +<p>"Oh," exclaimed Mr. Greenwood.</p> + +<p>"I have heard all that, Mr. Greenwood."</p> + +<p>"That the Post Office clerk is an Italian nobleman?"</p> + +<p>"It suited the Italian nobleman for a time to be a Post Office clerk. +That is what you mean."</p> + +<p>"And Lady Frances is to be allowed—"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Greenwood, I must ask you not to discuss Lady Frances here."</p> + +<p>"Oh! Not to discuss her ladyship!"</p> + +<p>"Surely you must be aware how angry the Marquis has been about it."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" He had not seated himself, nor divested himself of that +inquisitorial appearance which was so distasteful to her. "We used to +discuss Lady Frances sometimes, Lady Kingsbury."</p> + +<p>"I will not discuss her now. Let that be enough, Mr. Greenwood."</p> + +<p>"Nor yet Lord Hampstead."</p> + +<p>"Nor yet Lord Hampstead. I think it very wrong of you to come after +all that took place. If the Marquis knew +<span class="nowrap">it—"</span></p> + +<p>Oh! If the Marquis knew it! If the Marquis knew all, and if other +people knew all! If it were known how often her ladyship had spoken, +and how loud, as to the wished-for removal to a better world of his +lordship's eldest son! But he could not dare to speak it out. And yet +it was cruel on him! He had for some days felt her ladyship to be +under his thumb, and now it seemed that she had escaped from him. +"Oh! very well, Lady Kingsbury. Perhaps I had better go,—just for +the present." And he went.</p> + +<p>This served, at least, for corroboration. She did not dare to keep +the secret long from her husband, and therefore, in the course of the +evening, went down with her sister's letter in her hand. "What!" said +the Marquis, when the story had been read to him. "What! Duca di +Crinola."</p> + +<p>"There can't be a doubt about it, my dear."</p> + +<p>"And he a clerk in the Post Office?"</p> + +<p>"He isn't a clerk in the Post Office now."</p> + +<p>"I don't quite see what he will be then. It appears that he has +inherited nothing."</p> + +<p>"My sister says nothing."</p> + +<p>"Then what's the good of his title. There is nothing so pernicious in +the world as a pauper aristocracy. A clerk in the Post Office is +entitled to have a wife, but a poor nobleman should at any rate let +his poverty die with himself."</p> + +<p>This was a view of the case which had not hitherto presented itself +to Lady Kingsbury. When she suggested to him that the young nobleman +should be asked down to Trafford, he did not seem to see that it was +at all necessary. It would be much better that Fanny should come +back. The young nobleman would, he supposed, live in his own +country;—unless, indeed, the whole tale was a cock-and-bull story +made up by Persiflage at the Foreign Office. It was just the sort of +thing, he said, that Persiflage would do. He had said not a word as +to carving an income out of the property for the young noble couple +when she left him.</p> + + +<p><a name="c3-3" id="c3-3"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER III.</h3> +<h4>ALL THE WORLD KNOWS IT.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>The story was in truth all over London and half over England by the +time that Lady Frances had returned to Hendon Hall. Though Vivian had +made a Foreign Office secret of the affair at Gorse Hall, +nevertheless it had been so commonly talked about during the last +Sunday there, that Hautboy had told it all to poor Walker and to the +Walker ladies. "By Jove, fancy!" Hautboy had said, "to go at once +from a Post Office clerk to a duke! It's like some of those stories +where a man goes to bed as a beggar and gets up as a prince. I wonder +whether he likes it." Hampstead had of course discussed the matter +very freely with his sister, still expressing an opinion that a man +could not do other than take his father's name and his father's +title. Lady Frances having thus become used to the subject was not +surprised to find the following letter from her friend Lady Amaldina +when she reached her +<span class="nowrap">home:—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dearest +Fanny</span>,—</p> + +<p>I am indeed <span class="u">delighted</span> to +be able to congratulate you on +the wonderful and <span class="u">most +romantic</span> story which has just +been made known to us. I was never one of those who blamed +you <span class="u">very much</span> because you +had given your affections to a +man <span class="u">so much below</span> you +in rank. Nevertheless, we all +could not but feel that it was a pity that he should be +<span class="u">a Post Office clerk!</span> Now, +indeed, you have reason to be +proud! I have already read up the subject, and I find that +the Ducas di Crinola are supposed to have +<span class="u">the very best +blood</span> in Europe. There can be no doubt that one of the +family married a <span class="u">Bourbon</span> before they +came to the French +throne. I could send you all the details, only I do not +doubt that you have found it out for yourself already. +Another married <span class="u">a second cousin of that +Maximilian who +married Mary of Burgundy</span>. One of the ladies of the family +is supposed to have been the wife of the younger brother +of one of the Guises, though it isn't +<span class="u">quite</span> certain +whether they were ever married. But that little blot, my +dear, will hardly affect +<span class="u">you</span> now. Taking the name +altogether, I don't think there is anything higher in all +Europe. Papa says that the Di Crinolas have always been +doing something in Italy in the way of politics, or +rebellion, or fighting. So it isn't as though they were +all washed out and no longer of any account, like some of +those we read of in history. Therefore I +<span class="u">do</span> think that you +must be a <span class="u">very happy girl</span>.</p> + +<p>I do feel <span class="u">so completely +snuffed out</span>, because, after all, +the title of Merioneth was only conferred in the time of +<span class="u">Charles the Second</span>. And though +there <span class="u">was</span> a Lord +Llwddythlw before that, even he was only created by +<span class="u">James +the First</span>. The Powells no doubt are a very old Welsh +family, and it is supposed that there was some +relationship between them and the Tudors. But what is that +to be compared to the <span class="u">mediæval +honours</span> of the <span class="u">great +House of Di Crinola?</span></p> + +<p>Papa seems to think that he will not have +<span class="u">much</span> fortune. +I am one of those who do not think that a large income is +at all to be compared to good birth in the way of giving +<span class="u">real position</span> in the +world. Of course the Duke's estates +are supposed to be <span class="u">enormous</span>, and +Llwddythlw, <span class="u">even as an +eldest son</span>, is a rich man; but as far as I can see there +is nothing but trouble comes from it. If he has anything +to do with a provincial town in the way of +<span class="u">rents</span> he is +expected to lay the <span class="u">first brick</span> +of every church and +institute about the place. If anything has to be +<span class="u">opened</span> +he has to <span class="u">open</span> it; and +he is never allowed to eat his +dinner without having to make <span class="u">two +or three speeches +before and afterwards</span>. That's what I call +a <span class="u">great bore</span>. +As far as I can see you will be always able to have your +duke with you, because he will have no abominable public +duties to look after.</p> + +<p>I suppose something will have to be +<span class="u">done</span> as to an +<span class="u">income</span>. Llwddythlw +seems to think that he ought to get +into Parliament. At least that is what he said to papa the +other day; for I have not seen him myself for ever so +long. He calls in the Square every Sunday just as we have +done lunch, and never remains <span class="u">above +two minutes</span>. Last +Sunday we had not heard of this +<span class="u">glorious</span> news; but papa +did see him one day at the House, and that was what he +said. I don't see how he is to get into the House +<span class="u">if he +is an Italian Duke</span>, and I don't know +<span class="u">what</span> he'd get by +going there. Papa says that he might be employed in some +<span class="u">diplomatic</span> position +by his own Government; but I should +think that the Marquis could do <span class="u">something +for him</span> as he +has <span class="u">so much</span> at his +own disposition. Every acre of the +Merioneth property is settled upon,—well,—whoever may +happen to be the next heir. There will sure to be an +income. There always is. Papa says that the young dukes +are always as well off, at any rate, as the young ravens.</p> + +<p>But, as I said before, what does all this signify in +comparison with <span class="smallcaps">Blood</span>. +It does make your +position, my dear, <span class="u">quite +another thing</span> from what we had +expected. You would have kept your title no doubt; but +<span class="u">where</span> would <span class="u">he</span> +have been?</p> + +<p>I wonder whether you will be married now before August. I +suppose not, because it doesn't seem to be quite certain +when that <span class="u">wicked papa</span> +of his died; but I do hope that +you won't. A day at last has been fixed for us;—the 20th +of August, when, as I told you before, Lord David is to +run away <span class="u">instantly</span> +after the ceremony so as to travel +all night and <span class="u">open something</span> +the next morning at +<span class="u">Aberdeen</span>. I mention it now, +because you will be <span class="u">by far</span> +the most <span class="u">remarkable</span> of +all my bevy of twenty. Of course +your name will have been in the papers before that as +<span class="u">the</span> future +Italian <span class="u">Duchess</span>. That I own will be to me a +just cause of pride. I think I have got my bevy all fixed +at last, and I do <span class="u">hope</span> +that none of them will get +married before <span class="u">my</span> day. That has +happened <span class="u">so often</span> as +to be quite <span class="u">heart-breaking</span>. +I shall cry if I find that +<span class="u">you</span> are to be married +<span class="u">first</span>.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="ind4">Believe me to be</span><br /> +<span class="ind6">Your most affectionate friend and cousin,</span></p> + +<p class="ind18"><span class="smallcaps">Amaldina</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>She wrote also to her future husband on the same +<span class="nowrap">subject;—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dearest +Llwddythlw</span>,—</p> + +<p>It was very <span class="u">good</span> +of you to come last Sunday, but I wish +you hadn't gone away just because the Graiseburys were +there. They would not have <span class="u">eaten</span> +you, though he is a Liberal.</p> + +<p>I have written to Fanny Trafford to congratulate her; +because you know it is after all better than being a mere +<span class="u">Post Office clerk</span>. +That was terrible;—so bad that one +hardly knew how to mention her name in society! When +people talked about it, I really +<span class="u">did feel</span> that I blushed +all over. One can mention her name now because people are +not <span class="u">supposed</span> +to know that he has got nothing. +Nevertheless, it is very dreadful. <span class="u">What +on earth are they +to live on?</span> I have told her about the young ravens. It +was papa who said that when he first heard of this Di +Crinola affair. I suppose a girl +<span class="u">ought to trust in +Providence</span> when she marries a man without a shilling. +That was what papa meant.</p> + +<p>Papa says that you said that he ought to go into +Parliament. But what would he <span class="u">get</span> +by that? Perhaps as he +is in the Post Office they might make him +<span class="u">Postmaster-General</span>. +Only papa says that if he were to go +into Parliament, then he could not call himself Duca di +Crinola. Altogether it seems to be +<span class="u">very sad</span>,—though not +<span class="u">quite</span> so sad as before. +It is true that one of the Di +Crinolas married a <span class="u">Bourbon</span>, +and that others of them have +married ever so many <span class="u">royalties</span>. +I think there ought to +be a law for giving such people something to live upon +<span class="u">out of the taxes</span>. How are they +to be <span class="u">expected</span> to live +upon nothing? I asked papa whether he couldn't get it +done; but he said it would be a +<span class="u">money bill</span>, and that +<span class="u">you</span> ought to take it up. Pray +don't, for fear it should +take you <span class="u">all August</span>. +I know you wouldn't have a scruple +about putting off your own little affair, if anything of +that kind <span class="u">were</span> to come in the +way. <span class="u">I believe you'd like +it.</span></p> + +<p><span class="u">Do</span> stop a little longer when +you come on Sunday. I have +<span class="u">ever so many</span> things +to say to you. And if you can think +of anything to be done for those <span class="u">poor</span> +Di Crinolas, +anything that won't take up <span class="u">all</span> +August,—pray do it.</p> + +<p class="ind15">Your own,</p> + +<p class="ind18"><span class="smallcaps">Amy</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>One more letter shall be given; the answer, namely, to the above from +the lover to his future +<span class="nowrap">bride;—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dear Amy</span>,—</p> + +<p>I'll be at the Square on Sunday by three. I will walk out +if you like, but it is always raining. I have to meet five +or six conservative members later on in the afternoon as +to the best thing to be done as to Mr. Green's Bill for +lighting London by electricity. It would suit everybody; +but some of our party, I am afraid, would go with them, +and the Government is very shilly-shally. I have been +going into the figures, and it has taken me all the week. +Otherwise I would have been to see you.</p> + +<p>This Di Crinola affair is quite a romance. I did not mean +that he ought to go into the House by way of getting an +income. If he takes up the title of course he could not do +so. If he takes it, he must regard himself as an Italian. +I should think him quite as respectable, earning his bread +as a clerk in a public office. They tell me he's a +high-spirited fellow. If he is, that is what he will do.</p> + +<p class="ind10">Yours affectionately,</p> + +<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">Llwddythlw</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>When Lord Persiflage spoke of the matter to Baron d'Ossi, the Italian +Minister in London, the Baron quite acknowledged the position of the +young Duca, and seemed to think that very little could be wanting to +the making of the young man's fortune. "Ah, yes, your Excellency," +said the Baron. "He has no great estates. Here in England you all +have great estates. It is very nice to have great estates. But he has +an uncle who is a great man in Rome. And he will have a wife whose +uncle is a very great man in London. What more should he want?" Then +the Baron bowed to the Minister of State, and the Minister of State +bowed to the Baron.</p> + +<p>But the surprise expressed and the consternation felt at the Post +Office almost exceeded the feelings excited at the Foreign Office or +among Lady Fanny's family and friends. Dukes and Ministers, Barons +and Princes, are terms familiar to the frequenters of the Foreign +Office. Ambassadors, Secretaries, and diplomatic noblemen generally, +are necessarily common in the mouths of all the officials. But at the +Post Office such titles still carried with them something of awe. The +very fact that a man whom they had seen should be a Duke was +tremendous to the minds of Bobbin and Geraghty; and when it became +known to them that a fellow workman in their own room, one who had in +truth been no more than themselves, would henceforth be called by so +august a title, it was as though the heavens and the earth were +coming together. It affected Crocker in such a way that there was for +a time a doubt whether his senses were not temporarily leaving +him,—so that confinement would become necessary. Of course the +matter had found its way into the newspapers. It became known at the +office on the last day of February,—two days before the return of +the Rodens to London.</p> + +<p>"Have you heard it, Mr. Jerningham?" said Crocker, rushing into the +room that morning. He was only ten minutes after the proper time, +having put himself to the expense of a cab in his impetuous desire to +be the first to convey the great news to his fellow clerks. But he +had been forestalled in his own room by the energy of Geraghty. The +condition of mind created in Mr. Jerningham's bosom by the story told +by Geraghty was of such a nature that he was unable to notice +Crocker's sin in reference to the ten minutes.</p> + +<p>"Dchuca di Crinola!" shouted Geraghty in his broadest brogue as +Crocker came in; determined not to be done out of the honour fairly +achieved by him.</p> + +<p>"By Jove, yes! A Duke," said Crocker. "A Duke! My own especial +friend! Hampstead will be nowhere; nowhere; nowhere! Duca di Crinola! +Isn't it beautiful? By George, I can't believe it. Can you, Mr. +Jerningham?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know what to believe," said Mr. Jerningham. "Only he was +always a most steady, well-behaved young man, and the office will +have a great loss of him."</p> + +<p>"I suppose the Duke won't come and see us ever," said Bobbin. "I +should like to shake hands with him once again."</p> + +<p>"Shake hands with him," said Crocker. "I'm sure he won't drop out +like that;—my own peculiar friend! I don't think I ever was so fond +of anybody as George Ro—, the Duca di Crinola of course I mean. By +George! haven't I sat at the same table with him for the last two +years! Why, it was only a night or two before he started on this +remarkable tour that I spent an evening with him in private society +at Holloway!" Then he got up and walked about the room impetuously, +clapping his hands, altogether carried away by the warmth of his +feelings.</p> + +<p>"I think you might as well sit down to your desk, Mr. Crocker," said +Mr. Jerningham.</p> + +<p>"Oh, come, bother, Mr. Jerningham!"</p> + +<p>"I will not be spoken to in that way, Mr. Crocker."</p> + +<p>"Upon my word, I didn't mean anything, sir. But when one has heard +such news as this, how is it possible that one should compose +oneself? It's a sort of thing that never happened before,—that one's +own particular friend should turn out to be the Duca di Crinola. Did +anybody ever read anything like it in a novel? Wouldn't it act well? +Can't I see the first meeting between myself and the Duke at the +Haymarket! 'Duke,' I should say—'Duke, I congratulate you on having +come to your august family title, to which no one living could do so +much honour as yourself.' Bancroft should do me. Bancroft would do me +to the life, and the piece should be called the <i>Duke's Friend</i>. I +suppose we shall call him Duke here in England, and Duca if we happen +to be in Italy together; eh, Mr. Jerningham?"</p> + +<p>"You had better sit down, Mr. Crocker, and try to do your work."</p> + +<p>"I can't;—upon my word I can't. The emotion is too much for me. I +couldn't do it if Æolus were here himself. By the way, I wonder +whether Sir Boreas has heard the news." Then he rushed off, and +absolutely made his way into the room of the great potentate.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mr. Crocker," said Sir Boreas, "I have heard it. I read the +newspapers, no doubt, as well as you do."</p> + +<p>"But it's true, Sir Boreas?"</p> + +<p>"I heard it spoken of two or three days ago, Mr. Crocker, and I +believe it to be true."</p> + +<p>"He was my friend, Sir Boreas; my particular friend. Isn't it a +wonderful thing,—that one's particular friend should turn out to be +Duca di Crinola! And he didn't know a word of it himself. I feel +quite sure that he didn't know a word of it."</p> + +<p>"I really can't say, Mr. Crocker; but as you have now expressed your +wonder, perhaps you had better go back to your room and do your +work."</p> + +<p>"He pretends he knew it three days ago!" said Crocker, as he returned +to his room. "I don't believe a word of it. He'd have written to me +had it been known so long ago as that. I suppose he had too many +things to think of, or he would have written to me."</p> + +<p>"Go aisy, Crocker," said Geraghty.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by that? It's just the thing he would have done."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe he ever wrote to you in his life," said Bobbin.</p> + +<p>"You don't know anything about it. We were here together two years +before you came into the office. Mr. Jerningham knows that we were +always friends. Good heavens! Duca di Crinola! I tell you what it is, +Mr. Jerningham. If it were ever so, I couldn't do anything to-day. +You must let me go. There are mutual friends of ours to whom it is +quite essential that I should talk it over." Then he took his hat and +marched off to Holloway, and would have told the news to Miss Clara +Demijohn had he succeeded in finding that young lady at home. Clara +was at that moment discussing with Mrs. Duffer the wonderful fact +that Mr. Walker and not Lord Hampstead had been kicked and trodden to +pieces at Gimberley Green.</p> + +<p>But even Æolus, great as he was, expressed himself with some surprise +that afternoon to Mr. Jerningham as to the singular fortune which had +befallen George Roden. "I believe it to be quite true, Mr. +Jerningham. These wonderful things do happen sometimes."</p> + +<p>"He won't stay with us, Sir Boreas, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Not if he is Duca di Crinola. I don't think we could get on with a +real duke. I don't know how it will turn out. If he chooses to remain +an Englishman he can't take the title. If he chooses to take the +title he must be an Italian, then he'll have nothing to live on. My +belief is we shan't see him any more. I wish it had been Crocker with +all my heart."</p> + + +<p><a name="c3-4" id="c3-4"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER IV.</h3> +<h4>"IT SHALL BE DONE."<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Lord Hampstead has been left standing for a long time in Marion Fay's +sitting-room after the perpetration of his great offence, and Mrs. +Roden has been standing there also, having come to the house almost +immediately after her return home from her Italian journey. +Hampstead, of course, knew most of the details of the Di Crinola +romance, but Marion had as yet heard nothing of it. There had been so +much for him to say to her during the interview which had been so +wretchedly interrupted by his violence that he had found no time to +mention to her the name either of Roden or of Di Crinola.</p> + +<p>"You have done that which makes me ashamed of myself." These had been +Marion's last words as Mrs. Roden entered the room. "I didn't know +Lord Hampstead was here," said Mrs. Roden.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mrs. Roden, I'm so glad you are come," exclaimed Marion. This of +course was taken by the lady as a kindly expression of joy that she +should have returned from her journey; whereas to Hampstead it +conveyed an idea that Marion was congratulating herself that +protection had come to her from further violence on his part. Poor +Marion herself hardly knew her own meaning,—hardly had any. She +could not even tell herself that she was angry with her lover. It was +probable that the very ecstacy of his love added fuel to hers. If a +lover so placed as were this lover,—a lover who had come to her +asking her to be his wife, and who had been received with the warmest +assurance of her own affection for him,—if he were not justified in +taking her in his arms and kissing her, when might a lover do so? The +ways of the world were known to her well enough to make her feel that +it was so, even in that moment of her perturbation. Angry with him! +How could she be angry with him? He had asked her, and she had +declared to him that she was not angry. Nevertheless she had been +quite in earnest when she had said that now,—after the thing that he +had done,—he must "never, never come to her again."</p> + +<p>She was not angry with him, but with herself she was angry. At the +moment, when she was in his arms, she bethought herself how +impossible had been the conditions she had imposed upon him. That he +should be assured of her love, and yet not allowed to approach her as +a lover! That he should be allowed to come there in order that she +might be delighted in looking at him, in hearing his voice, in +knowing and feeling that she was dear to him; but that he should be +kept at arm's length because she had determined that she should not +become his wife! That they should love each other dearly; but each +with a different idea of love! It was her fault that he should be +there in her presence at all. She had told herself that it was her +duty to sacrifice herself, but she had only half carried out her +duty. Should she not have kept her love to herself,—so that he might +have left her, as he certainly would have done had she behaved to him +coldly, and as her duty had required of her. She had longed for some +sweetness which would be sweet to her though only a vain +encouragement to him. She had painted for her own eyes a foolish +picture, had dreamed a silly dream. She had fancied that for the +little of life that was left to her she might have been allowed the +delight of loving, and had been vain enough to think that her lover +might be true to her and yet not suffer himself! Her sacrifice had +been altogether imperfect. With herself she was angry,—not with him. +Angry with him, whose very footfall was music to her ears! Angry with +him, whose smile to her was as a light specially sent from heaven for +her behoof! Angry with him, the very energy of whose passion thrilled +her with a sense of intoxicating joy! Angry with him because she had +been enabled for once,—only for once,—to feel the glory of her +life, to be encircled in the warmth of his arms, to become conscious +of the majesty of his strength! No,—she was not angry. But he must +be made to understand,—he must be taught to acknowledge,—that he +must never, never come to her again. The mind can conceive a joy so +exquisite that for the enjoyment of it, though it may last but for a +moment, the tranquillity, even the happiness, of years may be given +in exchange. It must be so with her. It had been her own doing, and +if the exchange were a bad one, she must put up with the bargain. He +must never come again. Then Mrs. Roden had entered the room, and she +was forced to utter whatever word of welcome might first come to her +tongue.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Hampstead, trying to smile, as though nothing had +happened which called for special seriousness of manner, "I am here. +I am here, and hope to be here often and often till I shall have +succeeded in taking our Marion to another home."</p> + +<p>"No," said Marion faintly, uttering her little protest ever so +gently.</p> + +<p>"You are very constant, my lord," said Mrs. Roden.</p> + +<p>"I suppose a man is constant to what he really loves best. But what a +history you have brought back with you, Mrs. Roden! I do not know +whether I am to call you Mrs. Roden."</p> + +<p>"Certainly, my lord, you are to call me so."</p> + +<p>"What does it mean?" asked Marion.</p> + +<p>"You have not heard," he said. "I have not been here time enough to +tell her all this, Mrs. Roden."</p> + +<p>"You know it then, Lord Hampstead?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know it;—though Roden has not condescended to write me a +line. What are we to call him?" To this Mrs. Roden made no answer on +the spur of the moment. "Of course he has written to Fanny, and all +the world knows it. It seems to have reached the Foreign Office +first, and to have been sent down from thence to my people at +Trafford. I suppose there isn't a club in London at which it has not +been repeated a hundred times that George Roden is not George Roden."</p> + +<p>"Not George Roden?" asked Marion.</p> + +<p>"No, dearest. You will show yourself terribly ignorant if you call +him so."</p> + +<p>"What is he then, my lord?"</p> + +<p>"Marion!"</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon. I will not do it again this time. But what is +he?"</p> + +<p>"He is the Duca di Crinola."</p> + +<p>"Duke!" said Marion.</p> + +<p>"That's what he is, Marion."</p> + +<p>"Have they made him that over there?"</p> + +<p>"Somebody made one of his ancestors that ever so many hundred years +ago, when the Traffords were—; well, I don't know what the Traffords +were doing then;—fighting somewhere, I suppose, for whatever they +could get. He means to take the title, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"He says not, my lord."</p> + +<p>"He should do so."</p> + +<p>"I think so too, Lord Hampstead. He is obstinate, you know; but, +perhaps, he may consent to listen to some friend here. You will tell +him."</p> + +<p>"He had better ask others better able than I am to explain all the +ins and outs of his position. He had better go to the Foreign Office +and see my uncle. Where is he now?"</p> + +<p>"He has gone to the Post Office. We reached home about noon, and he +went at once. It was late yesterday when we reached Folkestone, and +he let me stay there for the night."</p> + +<p>"Has he always signed the old name?" asked Hampstead.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes. I think he will not give it up."</p> + +<p>"Nor his office?"</p> + +<p>"Nor his office. As he says himself, what else will he have to live +on?"</p> + +<p>"My father might do something." Mrs. Roden shook her head. "My sister +will have money, though it may probably be insufficient to furnish +such an income as they will want."</p> + +<p>"He would never live in idleness upon her money, my lord. Indeed I +think I may say that he has quite resolved to drop the title as idle +lumber. You perhaps know that he is not easily persuaded."</p> + +<p>"The most obstinate fellow I ever knew in my life," said Hampstead, +laughing. "And he has talked my sister over to his own views." Then +he turned suddenly round to Marion, and asked her a question. "Shall +I go now, dearest?" he said.</p> + +<p>She had already told him to go,—to go, and never to return to her. +But the question was put to her in such a manner that were she simply +to assent to his going, she would, by doing so, assent also to his +returning. For the sake of her duty to him, in order that she might +carry out that self-sacrifice in the performance of which she would +now be so resolute, it was necessary that he should in truth be made +to understand that he was not to come back to her. But how was this +to be done while Mrs. Roden was present with them? Had he not been +there then she could have asked her friend to help her in her great +resolution. But before the two she could say nothing of that which it +was in her heart to say to both of them. "If it pleases you, my +lord," she said.</p> + +<p>"I will not be 'my lord.' Here is Roden, who is a real duke, and +whose ancestors have been dukes since long before Noah, and he is +allowed to be called just what he pleases, and I am to have no voice +in it with my own particular and dearest friends! Nevertheless I will +go, and if I don't come to-day, or the day after, I will write you +the prettiest little love-letter I can invent."</p> + +<p>"Don't," she said;—oh so weakly, so vainly;—in a manner so utterly +void of that intense meaning which she was anxious to throw into her +words. She was conscious of her own weakness, and acknowledged to +herself that there must be another interview, or at any rate a letter +written on each side, before he could be made to understand her own +purpose. If it must be done by a letter, how great would be the +struggle to her in explaining herself. But perhaps even that might be +easier than the task of telling him all that she would have to tell, +while he was standing by, impetuous, impatient, perhaps almost +violent, assuring her of his love, and attempting to retain her by +the pressure of his hand.</p> + +<p>"But I shall," he said, as he held her now for a moment. "I am not +quite sure whether I may not have to go to Trafford; and if so there +shall be the love-letter. I feel conscious, Mrs. Roden, of being +incapable of writing a proper love-letter. 'Dearest Marion, I am +yours, and you are mine. Always believe me ever thine.' I don't know +how to go beyond that. When a man is married, and can write about the +children, or the leg of mutton, or what's to be done with his +hunters, then I dare say it becomes easy. Good-bye dearest. Good-bye, +Mrs. Roden. I wish I could keep on calling you Duchess in revenge for +all the 'my lordings.'" Then he left them.</p> + +<p>There was a feeling in the mind of both of them that he had conducted +himself just as a man would do who was in a high good-humour at +having been permanently accepted by the girl to whom he had offered +his hand. Marion Fay knew that it was not so;—knew that it never +could be so. Mrs. Roden knew that it had not been so when she had +left home, now nearly two months since; and knew also that Marion had +pledged herself that it should not be so. The young lord then had +been too strong with his love. A feeling of regret came over her as +she remembered that the reasons against such a marriage were still as +strong as ever. But yet how natural that it should be so! Was it +possible that such a lover as Lord Hampstead should not succeed in +his love if he were constant to it himself? Sorrow must come of +it,—perhaps a tragedy so bitter that she could hardly bring herself +to think of it. And Marion had been so firm in her resolve that it +should not be so. But yet it was natural, and she could not bring +herself to express to the girl either anger or disappointment. "Is it +to be?" she said, putting on her sweetest smile.</p> + +<p>"No!" said Marion, standing up suddenly,—by no means smiling as she +spoke! "It is not to be. Why do you look at me like that, Mrs. Roden? +Did I not tell you before you went that it should never be so?"</p> + +<p>"But he treats you as though he were engaged to you?"</p> + +<p>"How can I help it? What can I do to prevent it? When I bid him go, +he still comes back again, and when I tell him that I can never be +his wife he will not believe me. He knows that I love him."</p> + +<p>"You have told him that?"</p> + +<p>"Told him! He wanted no telling. Of course he knew it. Love him! Oh, +Mrs. Roden, if I could die for him, and so have done with it! And yet +I would not wish to leave my dear father. What am I to do, Mrs. +Roden?"</p> + +<p>"But it seemed to me just now that you were so happy with him."</p> + +<p>"I am never happy with him;—but yet I am as though I were in +heaven."</p> + +<p>"Marion!"</p> + +<p>"I am never happy. I know that it cannot be, that it will not be, as +he would have it. I know that I am letting him waste his sweetness +all in vain. There should be some one else, oh, so different from me! +There should be one like himself, beautiful, strong in health, with +hot eager blood in her veins, with a grand name, with grand eyes and +a broad brow and a noble figure, one who, in taking his name, will +give him as much as she takes—one, above all, who will not pine and +fade before his eyes, and trouble him during her short life with +sickness and doctors and all the fading hopes of a hopeless invalid. +And yet I let him come, and I have told him how dearly I love him. He +comes and he sees it in my eyes. And then it is so glorious, to be +loved as he loves. Oh, Mrs. Roden, he kissed me." That to Mrs. Roden +did not seem to be extraordinary; but, not knowing what to say to it +at the moment, she also kissed the girl. "Then I told him that he +must go, and never come back to me again."</p> + +<p>"Were you angry with him?"</p> + +<p>"Angry with him! With myself I was angry. I had given him the right +to do it. How could I be angry with him? And what does it +matter;—except for his sake? If he could only understand! If he +would only know that I am in earnest when I speak to him! But I am +weak in everything except one thing. He will never make me say that I +will be his wife."</p> + +<p>"My Marion! Dear Marion!"</p> + +<p>"But father wishes it."</p> + +<p>"Wishes you to become his wife?"</p> + +<p>"He wishes it. Why should I not be like any other girl, he says. How +can I tell him? How can I say that I am not like to other girls +because of my darling, my own dearest mother? And yet he does not +know it. He does not see it, though he has seen so much. He will not +see it till I am there, on my bed, unable to come to him when he +wants me."</p> + +<p>"There is nothing now to show him or me that you may not live to be +old as he is."</p> + +<p>"I shall not live to be old. You know that I shall not live to be +more than young. Have any of them lived? For my father,—for my dear +father,—he must find it out for himself. I have sometimes thought +that even yet I might last his time—that I might be with him to the +end. It might be so,—only that all this tortures me."</p> + +<p>"Shall I tell him;—shall I tell Lord Hampstead?"</p> + +<p>"He must at any rate be told. He is not bound to me as my father is. +For him there need be no great sorrow." At this Mrs. Roden shook her +head. "Must it be so?"</p> + +<p>"If he is banished from your presence he will not bear it lightly."</p> + +<p>"Will a young man love me like that;—a young man who has so much in +the world to occupy him? He has his ship, and his hounds, and his +friends, and his great wealth. It is only girls, I think, who love +like that."</p> + +<p>"He must bear his sorrow as others do."</p> + +<p>"But it shall be made as light as I can make it,—shall it not? I +should have done this before. I should have done it sooner. Had he +been made to go away at once, then he would not have suffered. Why +would he not go when I told him? Why would he not believe me when I +spoke to him? I should have heard all his words and never have +answered him even with a smile. I should not have trembled when he +told me that I was there, at his hearth, as a friend. But who thought +then, Mrs. Roden, that this young nobleman would have really cared +for the Quaker girl?"</p> + +<p>"I saw it, Marion."</p> + +<p>"Could you see just by looking at him that he was so different from +others? Are his truth, and his loving heart, and his high honour, and +his pure honesty, all written in his eyes,—to you as they are to me? +But, Mrs. Roden, there shall be an end of it! Though it may kill +me,—though it may for a little time half-break his heart,—it shall +be done! Oh, that his dear heart should be half-broken for me! I will +think of it, Mrs. Roden, to-night. If writing may do it, perhaps I +may write. Or, perhaps, I may say a word that he will at least +understand. If not you shall tell him. But, Mrs. Roden, it shall be +done!"</p> + + +<p><a name="c3-5" id="c3-5"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER V.</h3> +<h4>MARION WILL CERTAINLY HAVE HER WAY.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>On the day but one following there came a letter to Marion from +Hampstead,—the love-letter which he had promised +<span class="nowrap">her;—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dear +Marion</span>—</p> + +<p>It is as I supposed. This affair about Roden has stirred +them up down at Trafford amazingly. My father wants me to +go to him. You know all about my sister. I suppose she +will have her way now. I think the girls always do have +their way. She will be left alone, and I have told her to +go and see you as soon as I have gone. You should tell her +that she ought to make him call himself by his father's +proper name.</p> + +<p>In my case, dearest, it is not the girl that is to have +her own way. It's the young man that is to do just as he +pleases. My girl, my own one, my love, my treasure, think +of it all, and ask yourself whether it is in your heart to +refuse to bid me be happy. Were it not for all that you +have said yourself I should not be vain enough to be happy +at this moment, as I am. But you have told me that you +love me. Ask your father, and he will tell you that, as it +is so, it is your duty to promise to be my wife.</p> + +<p>I may be away for a day or two,—perhaps for a week. Write +to me at Trafford,—Trafford Park, Shrewsbury,—and say +that it shall be so. I sometimes think that you do not +understand how absolutely my heart is set upon you,—so +that no pleasures are pleasant to me, no employments +useful, except in so far as I can make them so by thinking +of your love.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="ind10">Dearest, dearest Marion,</span><br /> +<span class="ind12">Your own,</span></p> + +<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">Hampstead</span>.</p> + +<p class="noindent">Remember there +must not be a word about a lord inside the +envelope. It is very bad to me when it comes from Mrs. +Roden, or from a friend such as she is; but it simply +excruciates me from you. It seems to imply that you are +determined to regard me as a stranger.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>She read the letter a dozen times, pressing it to her lips and to her +bosom. She might do that at least. He would never know how she +treated this only letter that she ever had received from him, the +only letter that she would receive. These caresses were only such as +those which came from her heart, to relieve her solitude. It might be +absurd in her to think of the words he had spoken, and to kiss the +lines which he had written. Were she now on her deathbed that would +be permitted to her. Wherever she might lay her head till the last +day should come that letter should be always within her reach. "My +girl, my own one, my love, my treasure!" How long would it last with +him? Was it not her duty to hope that the words were silly words, +written as young men do write, having no eagerness of purpose,—just +playing with the toy of the moment? Could it be that she should wish +them to be true, knowing, as she did, that his girl, his love, his +treasure, as he called her, could never be given up to him? And yet +she did believe them to be true, knew them to be true, and took an +exceeding joy in the assurance. It was as though the beauty and +excellence of their truth atoned to her for all else that was +troublous to her in the condition of her life. She had not lived in +vain. Her life now could never be a vain and empty space of time, as +it had been consecrated and ennobled and blessed by such a love as +this. And yet she must make the suffering to him as light as +possible. Though there might be an ecstasy of joy to her in knowing +that she was loved, there could be nothing akin to that in him. He +wanted his treasure, and she could only tell him that he might never +have it. "Think of it all, and ask yourself whether it is in your +heart to refuse to bid me be happy." It was in her heart to do it. +Though it might break her heart she would do it. It was the one thing +to do which was her paramount duty. "You have told me that you love +me." Truly she had told him so, and certainly she would never recall +her words. If he ever thought of her in future years when she should +long have been at her rest,—and she thought that now and again he +would think of her, even when that noble bride should be sitting at +his table,—he should always remember that she had given him her +whole heart. He had bade her write to him at Trafford. She would obey +him at once in that; but she would tell him that she could not obey +him in aught else. "Tell me that it shall be so," he had said to her +with his sweet, imperious, manly words. There had been something of +command about him always, which had helped to make him so perfect in +her eyes. "You do not understand," he said, "how absolutely my heart +is set upon you." Did he understand, she wondered, how absolutely her +heart had been set upon him? "No pleasures are pleasant to me, no +employment useful, unless I can make them so by thinking of your +love!" It was right that he as a man,—and such a man,—should have +pleasures and employments, and it was sweet to her to be told that +they could be gilded by the remembrance of her smiles. But for her, +from the moment in which she had known him, there could be no +pleasure but to think of him, no serious employment but to resolve +how best she might do her duty to him.</p> + +<p>It was not till the next morning that she took up her pen to begin +her all-important letter. Though her resolution had been so firmly +made, yet there had been much need for thinking before she could sit +down to form the sentences. For a while she had told herself that it +would be well first to consult her father; but before her father had +returned to her she had remembered that nothing which he could say +would induce her in the least to alter her purpose. His wishes had +been made known to her; but he had failed altogether to understand +the nature of the duty she had imposed upon herself. Thus she let +that day pass by, although she knew that the writing of the letter +would be an affair of much time to her. She could not take her sheet +of paper, and scribble off warm words of love as he had done. To ask, +or to give, in a matter of love must surely, she thought, be easy +enough. But to have given and then to refuse—that was the +difficulty. There was so much to say of moment both to herself and to +him, or rather so much to signify, that it was not at one sitting, or +with a single copy, that this letter could be written. He must be +assured, no doubt, of her love; but he must be made to +understand,—quite to understand, that her love could be of no avail +to him. And how was she to obey him as to her mode of addressing him? +"It simply excruciates me from you," he had said, thus debarring her +from that only appellation which would certainly be the easiest, and +which seemed to her the only one becoming. At last the letter, when +written, ran as <span class="nowrap">follows;—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p>How I am to begin my letter I do not know, as you have +forbidden me to use the only words which would come +naturally. But I love you too well to displease you in so +small a matter. My poor letter must therefore go to you +without any such beginning as is usual. Indeed, I love you +with all my heart. I told you that before, and I will not +shame myself by saying that it was untrue. But I told you +also before that I could not be your wife. Dearest love, I +can only say again what I said before. Dearly as I love +you I cannot become your wife. You bid me to think of it +all, and to ask myself whether it is in my heart to refuse +to bid you to be happy. It is not in my heart to let you +do that which certainly would make you unhappy.</p> + +<p>There are two reasons for this. Of the first, though it is +quite sufficient, I know that you will make nothing. When +I tell you that you ought not to choose such a one as me +for your wife because my manners of life have not fitted +me for such a position, then you sometimes laugh at me, +and sometimes are half angry,—with that fine way you have +of commanding those that are about you. But not the less +am I sure that I am right. I do believe that of all human +beings poor Marion Fay is the dearest to you. When you +tell me of your love and your treasure I do not for a +moment doubt that it is all true. And were I to be your +wife, your honour and your honesty would force you to be +good to me. But when you found that I was not as are other +grand ladies, then I think you would be disappointed. I +should know it by every line of your dear face, and when I +saw it there I should be broken-hearted.</p> + +<p>But this is not all. If there were nothing further, I +think I should give way because I am only a weak girl; and +your words, my own, own love, would get the better of me. +But there is another thing. It is hard for me to tell, and +why should you be troubled with it? But I think if I tell +it you out and out, so as to make you understand the +truth, then you will be convinced. Mrs. Roden could tell +you the same. My dear, dear father could tell you also; +only that he will not allow himself to believe, because of +his love for the only child that remains to him. My mother +died; and all my brothers and sisters have died. And I +also shall die young.</p> + +<p>Is not that enough? I know that it will be enough. Knowing +that it will be enough, may I not speak out to you, and +tell you all my heart? Will you not let me do so, as +though it had been understood between us, that though we +can never be more to each other than we are, yet we may be +allowed to love each other? Oh, my dearest, my only +dearest, just for this once I have found the words in +which I may address you. I cannot comfort you as I can +myself, because you are a man, and cannot find comfort in +sadness and disappointment, as a girl may do. A man thinks +that he should win for himself all that he wants. For a +girl, I think it is sufficient for her to feel that, as +far as she herself is concerned, that would have been +given to her which she most desires, had not Fortune been +unkind. You, dearest, cannot have what you want, because +you have come to poor Marion Fay with all the glory and +sweetness of your love. You must suffer for a while. I, +who would so willingly give my life to serve you, must +tell you that it will be so. But as you are a man, pluck +up your heart, and tell yourself that it shall only be for +a time. The shorter the better, and the stronger you will +show yourself in overcoming the evil that oppresses you. +And remember this. Should Marion Fay live to know that you +had brought a bride home to your house, as it will be your +duty to do, it will be a comfort to her to feel that the +evil she has done has been cured.</p> + +<p class="ind18"><span class="smallcaps">Marion</span>.</p> + +<p class="noindent">I cannot tell +you how proud I should be to see your sister +if she will condescend to come and see me. Or would it not +be better that I should go over to Hendon Hall? I could +manage it without trouble. Do not you write about it, but +ask her to send me one word.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Such was the letter when it was at last finished and despatched. As +soon as it was gone,—dropped irrevocably by her own hand into the +pillar letter-box which stood at the corner opposite to the +public-house,—she told her father what she had done. "And why?" he +said crossly. "I do not understand thee. Thou art flighty and fickle, +and knowest not thy own mind."</p> + +<p>"Yes, father; I have known my own mind always in this matter. It was +not fitting."</p> + +<p>"If he thinks it fitting, why shouldst thou object?"</p> + +<p>"I am not fit, father, to be the wife of a great nobleman. Nor can I +trust my own health." This she said with a courage and firmness which +seemed to silence him,—looking at him as though by her looks she +forbade him to urge the matter further. Then she put her arms round +him and kissed him. "Will it not be better, father, that you and I +shall remain together till the last?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing can be better for me that will not also be best for thee."</p> + +<p>"For me it will be best. Father, let it be so, and let this young man +be no more thought of between us." In that she asked more than could +be granted to her; but for some days Lord Hampstead's name was not +mentioned between them.</p> + +<p>Two days afterwards Lady Frances came to her. "Let me look at you," +said Marion, when the other girl had taken her in her arms and kissed +her. "I like to look at you, to see whether you are like him. To my +eyes he is so beautiful."</p> + +<p>"More so than I am."</p> + +<p>"You are a—lady, and he is a man. But you are like him, and very +beautiful. You, too, have a lover, living close to us?"</p> + +<p>"Well, yes. I suppose I must own it."</p> + +<p>"Why should you not own it? It is good to be loved and to love. And +he has become a great nobleman,—like your brother."</p> + +<p>"No, Marion; he is not that.—May I call you Marion?"</p> + +<p>"Why not? He called me Marion almost at once."</p> + +<p>"Did he so?"</p> + +<p>"Just as though it were a thing of course. But I noticed it. It was +not when he bade me poke the fire, but the next time. Did he tell you +about the fire?"</p> + +<p>"No, indeed."</p> + +<p>"A man does not tell of such things, I think; but a girl remembers +them. It is so good of you to come. You know—do you not?"</p> + +<p>"Know what?"</p> + +<p>"That I,—and your brother,—have settled everything at last?" The +smile of pleasant good humour passed away from the face of Lady +Frances, but at the moment she made no reply. "It is well that you +should know. He knows now, I am sure. After what I said in my letter +he will not contradict me again." Lady Frances shook her head. "I +have told him that while I live he of all the world must be dearest +to me. But that will be all."</p> + +<p>"Why should you—not live?"</p> + +<p>"Lady Frances—"</p> + +<p>"Nay, call me Fanny."</p> + +<p>"You shall be Fanny if you will let me tell you. Oh! I do so wish +that you would understand it all, and make me tell you nothing +further. But you must know,—you must know that it cannot be as your +brother has wished. If it were only less known,—if he would consent +and you would consent,—then I think that I could be happy. What is +it after all,—the few years that we may have to live here? Shall we +not meet again, and shall we not love each other then?"</p> + +<p>"I hope so."</p> + +<p>"If you can really hope it, then why should we not be happy? But how +could I hope it if, with my eyes open, I were to bring a great +misfortune upon him? If I did him an evil here, could I hope that he +would love me in Heaven, when he would know all the secrets of my +heart? But if he shall say to himself that I denied myself,—for his +sake; that I refused to be taken into his arms because it would be +bad for him, then, though there may be some one dearer, then shall +not I also be dear to him?" The other girl could only cling to her +and embrace her. "When he shall have strong boys round his +hearth,—the hearth he spoke of as though it were almost mine,—and +little girls with pink cheeks and bonny brows, and shall know, as he +will then, what I might have done for him, will he not pray for me, +and tell me in his prayers that when we shall meet hereafter I shall +still be dear to him? And when she knows it all, she who shall lie on +his breast, shall I not be dear also to her?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, my sister!"</p> + +<p>"He will tell her. I think he will tell her,—because of his truth, +his honour, and his manliness."</p> + +<p>Lady Frances, before she left the house, had been made to understand +that her brother could not have his way in the matter which was so +near his heart, and that the Quaker's daughter would certainly have +hers.</p> + + +<p><a name="c3-6" id="c3-6"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER VI.</h3> +<h4>"BUT HE IS;—HE IS."<br /> </h4> + + +<p>George Roden had come to a decision as to his title, and had told +every one concerned that he meant to be as he always had +been,—George Roden, a clerk in the Post Office. When spoken to, on +this side and the other, as to the propriety,—or rather +impropriety,—of his decision, he had smiled for the most part, and +had said but little, but had been very confident in himself. To none +of the arguments used against him would he yield in the least. As to +his mother's name, he said, no one had doubted, and no one would +doubt it for a moment. His mother's name had been settled by herself, +and she had borne it for a quarter of a century. She had not herself +thought of changing it. For her to blaze out into the world as a +Duchess,—it would be contrary to her feelings, to her taste, and to +her comfort! She would have no means of maintaining the title,—and +would be reduced to the necessity of still living in Paradise Row, +with the simple addition of an absurd nickname. As to that, no +question had been raised. It was only for him that she required the +new appellation.</p> + +<p>As for herself, the whole thing had been settled at once by her own +good judgment.</p> + +<p>As for himself, he said, the arguments were still stronger against +the absurd use of the grand title. It was imperative on him to earn +his bread, and his only means of doing so was by doing his work as a +clerk in the Post Office. Everybody admitted that it would not be +becoming that a Duke should be a clerk in the Post Office. It would +be so unbecoming, he declared, that he doubted whether any man could +be found brave enough to go through the world with such a fool's cap +on his head. At any rate he had no such courage. Moreover, no +Englishman, as he had been told, could at his own will and pleasure +call himself by a foreign title. It was his pleasure to be an +Englishman. He had always been an Englishman. As an inhabitant of +Holloway he had voted for two Radical members for the Borough of +Islington. He would not stultify his own proceedings, and declare +that everything which he had done was wrong. It was thus that he +argued the matter; and, as it seemed, no one could take upon himself +to prove that he was an Italian, or to prove that he was a Duke.</p> + +<p>But, though he seemed to be, if not logical, at any rate rational, +the world generally did not agree with him. Wherever he was +encountered there seemed to be an opinion that he ought to assume +whatever name and whatever rights belonged to his father. Even at the +Post Office the world was against him.</p> + +<p>"I don't quite know why you couldn't do it," said Sir Boreas, when +Roden put it to him whether it would be practicable that a young man +calling himself Duca di Crinola should take his place as a clerk in +Mr. Jerningham's room. It may be remembered that Sir Boreas had +himself expressed some difficulty in the matter. He had told Mr. +Jerningham that he did not think that they could get on very well +with a real Duke among them. It was thus that the matter had at first +struck him. But he was a brave man, and, when he came to look at it +all round, he did not see that there would be any impossibility. It +would be a nine days' wonder, no doubt. But the man would be there +just the same,—the Post Office clerk inside the Duke. The work would +be done, and after a little time even he would become used to having +a Duke among his subordinates. As to whether the Duke were a +foreigner or an Englishman,—that, he declared, would not matter in +the least, as far as the Post Office was concerned. "I really don't +see why you shouldn't try it," said Sir Boreas.</p> + +<p>"The absurdity would be so great that it would crush me, sir. I +shouldn't be worth my salt," said Roden.</p> + +<p>"That's a kind of thing that wears itself out very quickly. You would +feel odd at first,—and so would the other men, and the messengers. I +should feel a little odd when I asked some one to send the Duca di +Crinola to me, for we are not in the habit of sending for Dukes. But +there is nothing that you can't get used to. If your father had been +a Prince I don't think I should break down under it after the first +month."</p> + +<p>"What good would it do me, Sir Boreas?"</p> + +<p>"I think it would do you good. It is difficult to explain the +good,—particularly to a man who is so violently opposed as you to +all ideas of rank. <span class="nowrap">But—."</span></p> + +<p>"You mean that I should get promoted quicker because of my title?"</p> + +<p>"I think it probable that the Civil Service generally would find +itself able to do something more for a good officer with a high name +than for a good officer without one."</p> + +<p>"Then, Sir Boreas, the Civil Service ought to be ashamed of itself."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps so;—but such would be the fact. Somebody would interfere to +prevent the anomaly of the Duca di Crinola sitting at the same table +with Mr. Crocker. I will not dispute it with you,—whether it ought +to be so;—but, if it be probable, there is no reason why you should +not take advantage of your good fortune, if you have capacity and +courage enough to act up to it. Of course what we all want in life is +success. If a chance comes in your way I don't see why you should +fling it away." This was the wisdom of Sir Boreas; but Roden would +not take advantage of it. He thanked the great man for his kindness +and sympathy, but declined to reconsider his decision.</p> + +<p>In the outer office,—in the room, for instance, in which Mr. +Jerningham sat with Crocker and Bobbin and Geraghty, the feeling was +very much stronger in favour of the title, and was expressed in +stronger language. Crocker could not contain himself when he heard +that there was a doubt upon the subject. On Roden's first arrival at +the office Crocker almost flung himself into his friend's arms, with +just a single exclamation. "Duca, Duca, Duca!" he had said, and had +then fallen back into his own seat overcome by his emotions. Roden +had passed this by without remark. It was very distasteful to him, +and disgusting. He would fain have been able to sit down at his own +desk, and go on with his own work, without any special notice of the +occasion, other than the ordinary greeting occasioned by his return. +It was distressing to him that anything should have been known about +his father and his father's title. But that it should be known was +natural. The world had heard of it. The world had put it into the +newspapers, and the world had talked about it. Of course Mr. +Jerningham also would talk of it, and the two younger clerks,—and +Crocker. Crocker would of course talk of it louder than any one else. +That was to be expected. A certain amount of misconduct was to be +expected from Crocker, and must be forgiven. Therefore he passed over +the ecstatic and almost hysterical repetition of the title which his +father had borne, hoping that Crocker might be overcome by the +effort, and be tranquil. But Crocker was not so easily overcome. He +did sit for a moment or two on his seat with his mouth open; but he +was only preparing himself for his great demonstration.</p> + +<p>"We are very glad to see you again,—sir," said Mr. Jerningham; not +at first quite knowing how it would become him to address his +fellow-clerk.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Mr. Jerningham. I have got back again safe."</p> + +<p>"I am sure we are all delighted to hear—what we have heard," said +Mr. Jerningham cautiously.</p> + +<p>"By George, yes," said Bobbin. "I suppose it's true; isn't it? Such a +beautiful name!"</p> + +<p>"There are so many things are true, and so many are false, that I +don't quite know how to answer you," said Roden.</p> + +<p>"But you are—?" asked Geraghty; and then he stopped, not quite +daring to trust himself with the grand title.</p> + +<p>"No;—that's just what I'm not," replied the other.</p> + +<p>"But he is," shouted Crocker, jumping from his seat. "He is! He is! +It's quite true. He is Duca di Crinola. Of course we'll call him so, +Mr. Jerningham;—eh?"</p> + +<p>"I am sure I don't know," said Mr. Jerningham with great caution.</p> + +<p>"You'll allow me to know my own name," said Roden.</p> + +<p>"No! no!" continued Crocker. "It's all very well for your modesty, +but it's a kind of thing which your friends can't stand. We are quite +sure that you're the Duca." There was something in the Italian title +which was peculiarly soothing to Crocker's ears. "A man has to be +called by what he is, not by what he chooses. If the Duke of +Middlesex called himself Mr. Smith, he'd be Duke all the +same;—wouldn't he, Mr. Jerningham? All the world would call him +Duke. So it must be with you. I wouldn't call your Grace Mr. +<span class="nowrap">——;</span> +you know what I mean, but I won't pronounce it ever again;—not for +ever so much." Roden's brow became very black as he found himself +subjected to the effects of the man's folly. "I call upon the whole +office," continued Crocker, "for the sake of its own honour, to give +our dear and highly-esteemed friend his proper name on all occasions. +Here's to the health of the Duca di Crinola!" Just at that moment +Crocker's lunch had been brought in, consisting of bread and cheese +and a pint of stout. The pewter pot was put to his mouth and the +toast was drank to the honour and glory of the drinker's noble friend +with no feeling of intended ridicule. It was a grand thing to Crocker +to have been brought into contact with a man possessed of so noble a +title. In his heart of hearts he reverenced "The Duca." He would +willingly have stayed there till six or seven o'clock and have done +all the Duca's work for him,—because the Duca was a Duca. He would +not have done it satisfactorily, because it was not in his nature to +do any work well, but he would have done it as well as he did his +own. He hated work; but he would have sooner worked all night than +see a Duca do it,—so great was his reverence for the aristocracy +generally.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Crocker," said Mr. Jerningham severely, "you are making yourself +a nuisance. You generally do."</p> + +<p>"A nuisance!"</p> + +<p>"Yes; a nuisance. When you see that a gentleman doesn't wish a thing, +you oughtn't to do it."</p> + +<p>"But when a man's name is his name!"</p> + +<p>"Never mind. When he doesn't wish it, you oughtn't to do it!"</p> + +<p>"If it's a man's own real name!"</p> + +<p>"Never mind," said Mr. Jerningham.</p> + +<p>"If it shoots a gintleman to be incognito, why isn't he to do as he +plaises?" asked Geraghty.</p> + +<p>"If the Duke of Middlesex did call himself Mr. Smith," said Bobbin, +"any gentleman that was a gentleman would fall in with his views." +Crocker, not conquered, but for the moment silenced, seated himself +in a dudgeon at his desk. It might do very well for poor fellows, +weak creatures like Jerningham, Bobbin, and Geraghty, thus to be done +out of their prey;—but he would not be cheated in that way. The Duca +di Crinola should be Duca di Crinola as far as he, Crocker, could +make his voice heard; and all that heard him should know that the +Duca was his own old peculiar friend.</p> + +<p>In Paradise Row the world was decidedly against Roden; and not only +were the Demijohns and Duffers against him, but also his own mother +and her friend Mrs. Vincent. On the first Monday after Mrs. Roden's +return Mrs. Vincent came to the Row as usual,—on this occasion to +welcome her cousin, and to hear all the news of the family as it had +been at last brought back from Italy. There was a great deal to be +told. Many things had been brought to light which had had their +commencement in Mrs. Vincent's days. There was something of the +continuation of a mild triumph for her in every word that was spoken. +She had been against the Di Crinola marriage, when it had been first +discussed more than a quarter of a century ago. She had never +believed in the Duca di Crinola, and her want of faith had been +altogether justified. She did not, after all those years, bear hardly +on her friend,—but there was still that well-known tone of gentle +censure and of gentle self-applause. "I told you so," said the elder +crow to the younger crow. When does the old crow cease to remind the +younger crow that it was so? "A sad, sad story," said Mrs. Vincent, +shaking her head.</p> + +<p>"All our stories I suppose have much in them that is sad. I have got +my son, and no mother can have more reason to be proud of a son." +Mrs. Vincent shook her head. "I say it is so," repeated the mother; +"and having such a son, I will not admit that it has all been sad."</p> + +<p>"I wish he were more ready to perform his religious duties," said +Mrs. Vincent.</p> + +<p>"We cannot all agree about everything. I do not know that that need +be brought up now."</p> + +<p>"It is a matter that should be brought up every hour and every day, +Mary,—if the bringing of it up is to do any good."</p> + +<p>But it was not on this matter that Mrs. Roden now wished to get +assistance from her cousin;—certainly not with any present view +towards the amelioration of her son's religious faith. That might +come afterwards perhaps. But it was her present object to induce her +cousin to agree with her, that her son should permit himself to be +called by his father's title. "But you think he should take his +father's name?" she asked. Mrs. Vincent shook her head and tried to +look wise. The question was one on which her feelings were very much +divided. It was of course proper that the son should be called by his +father's name. All the proprieties of the world, as known to Mrs. +Vincent, declared that it should be so. She was a woman, too, who by +no means despised rank, and who considered that much reverence was +due to those who were privileged to carry titles. Dukes and lords +were certainly very great in her estimation, and even the humblest +knight was respected by her, as having been in some degree lifted +above the community by the will of his Sovereign. And though she was +always in some degree hostile to George Roden, because of the +liberties he took in regard to certain religious matters, yet she was +good enough and kind enough to wish well to her own cousin. Had there +been a question in regard to an English title she certainly would not +have shaken her head. But as to this outlandish Italian title, she +had her doubts. It did not seem to her to be right that an Englishman +should be called a Duca. If it had been Baron, or even Count, the +name would have been less offensive. And then to her mind hereditary +titles, as she had known them, had been recommended by hereditary +possessions. There was something to her almost irreligious in the +idea of a Duke without an acre. She could therefore only again shake +her head. "He has as much right to it," continued Mrs. Roden, "as has +the eldest son of the greatest peer in England."</p> + +<p>"I dare say he has, my dear, but—."</p> + +<p>"But what?"</p> + +<p>"I dare say you're right, only—; only it's not just like an English +peer, you know."</p> + +<p>"The privilege of succession is the same."</p> + +<p>"He never could sit in the House of Lords, my dear."</p> + +<p>"Of course not. He would assume only what is his own. Why should he +be ashamed to take an Italian title any more than his friend Lord +Hampstead is to take an English one? It is not as though it would +prevent his living here. Many foreign noblemen live in England."</p> + +<p>"I suppose he could live here," said Mrs. Vincent as though she were +making a great admission. "I don't think that there would be any law +to turn him out of the country."</p> + +<p>"Nor out of the Post Office, if he chooses to remain there," said +Mrs. Roden.</p> + +<p>"I don't know how that may be."</p> + +<p>"Even if they did, I should prefer that it should be so. According to +my thinking, no man should fling away a privilege that is his own, or +should be ashamed of assuming a nobility that belongs to him. If not +for his own sake, he should do it for the sake of his children. He at +any rate has nothing to be ashamed of in the name. It belonged to his +father and to his grandfather, and to his ancestors through many +generations. Think how men fight for a title in this country; how +they struggle for it when there is a doubt as to who may properly +have inherited it! Here there is no doubt. Here there need be no +struggle." Convinced by the weight of this argument Mrs. Vincent gave +in her adhesion, and at last expressed an opinion that her cousin +should at once call himself by his father's name.</p> + + +<p><a name="c3-7" id="c3-7"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER VII.</h3> +<h4>THE GREAT QUESTION.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Neither were the arguments of Mrs. Roden nor the adhesion of Mrs. +Vincent of any power in persuading George Roden. He answered his +mother gently, kindly, but very firmly. Had anything, he said, been +necessary to strengthen his own feeling, it would have been found in +his mother's determination to keep his old name. "Surely, mother, if +I may say so without disrespect, what is sauce for the goose is sauce +for the gander." At this the mother smiled, kissing her son to show +that the argument had been taken in good part. "In this matter," he +continued, "we certainly are in a boat together. If I am a Duke you +would be a Duchess. If I am doomed to make an ape of myself at the +Post Office, you must be equally ridiculous in Paradise Row,—unless +you are prepared to go back to Italy and live your life there."</p> + +<p>"And you?"</p> + +<p>"I could not live there. How could I earn my bread there? How could I +pass my days so as to be in any degree useful? What could be more +mean? My uncle, though he has been civil, and to a certain degree +generous, would be specially anxious not to see me in public life. +You and I together would have just means enough for existence. I +should be doomed to walk about the streets of some third-rate Italian +town, and call myself by my grand name. Would a life like that +satisfy your ambition on my behalf?" Then she thought of the girl who +was in love with him, of the friends whom he had made for himself, of +the character which belonged to him, and she was driven to confess +that, by whatever name he might be called, he must continue to live +an Englishman's life, and to live in England. Nevertheless, she told +herself that the title would not be abolished, because it might be in +abeyance. She might, she thought, still live to hear her son called +by the name of which she herself had been proud till she had become +thoroughly ashamed of the husband who had given it to her.</p> + +<p>But there were others besides Crocker and Mrs. Vincent, and his +mother and Sir Boreas, who were much interested by George Roden's +condition. Mrs. Roden returned home on the 2nd of March, and, as may +be remembered, the tidings respecting her son had reached England +before she came. By the end of the month many persons were much +exercised as to the young man's future name, and some people of high +rank had not only discussed the subject at great length, but had +written numerous letters concerning it. It was manifest to Lady +Persiflage that no further attempt should now be made to throw +obstacles in the way of Lady Frances and her lover. Lady Persiflage +had never believed in the obstacles from the first. "Of course +they'll marry," she had said to her one daughter, who was now almost +as good as married herself, and equally trustworthy. "When a girl is +determined like that, of course nothing will stop her. My sister +shouldn't have let her meet the young man at first." But this had +been said before the young man had turned out to be an Italian Duke. +Since the news had come Lady Persiflage had been very eager in +recommending her sister to discontinue the opposition. "Make the most +of him," she had said in one of her letters. "It is all that can be +done now. It is a fine name, and though Italian titles do not count +like ours, yet, when they are as good as this, they go for a good +deal. There are real records of the Di Crinola family, and there is +no manner of doubt but that he is the head of them. Take him by the +hand, and have him down at Trafford if Kingsbury is well enough. They +tell me he is quite presentable, with a good figure and all that;—by +no means a young man who will stand shivering in a room because he +doesn't know how to utter a word. Had he been like that Fanny would +never have set her heart upon him. Persiflage has been talking about +him, and he says that something will be sure to turn up if he is +brought forward properly, and is not ashamed of his family name. +Persiflage will do whatever he can, but that can only be if you will +open your arms to him." Lady Kingsbury did feel that she was called +upon to undergo a terrible revulsion of sentiment. Opening her arms +to the Duca di Crinola might be possible to her. But how was she to +open her arms to Lady Frances Trafford? The man whom she had seen but +once might appear before her with his new title as a young nobleman +of whose antecedents she was not bound to remember anything. She +might seem to regard him as a new arrival, a noble suitor for her +stepdaughter's hand, of whom she had not before heard. But how was +she to receive Fanny Trafford, the girl whom she had locked up at +Königsgraaf, whose letters she had stopped as they came from the Post +Office? Nevertheless she consented,—as far at least as her sister +was concerned. "I shall never like Fanny," she had said, "because she +is so sly." Girls are always called sly by their friends who want to +abuse them. "But of course I will have them both here, as you think +it will be best. What they are to live upon Heaven only knows. But of +course that will be no concern of mine."</p> + +<p>As a first result of this Lady Persiflage asked George Roden down to +Castle Hautboy for the Easter holidays. There was a difficulty about +this. How was he to be addressed? Hampstead was consulted, and he, +though he was not much in heart just then for the arrangement of such +a matter, advised that for the present his friend's old name should +be used. Lady Persiflage therefore wrote to—George Roden, Esq., at +the General Post Office. In this letter it was signified that Lord +Persiflage was very anxious to make the acquaintance of—Mr. Roden. +Lady Persiflage was also very anxious. Lady Persiflage explained that +she was aware of,—Well! Lady Frances Trafford was to be at Castle +Hautboy, and that she thought might act as an inducement to—Mr. +Roden. The letter was very cleverly managed.</p> + +<p>Though it never once mentioned the grand title it made allusions +which implied that the real rank of the Post Office clerk was well +known to every one at Castle Hautboy. And though nothing of course +was said as to any possible relations between Lord Persiflage as a +member of the British Cabinet and the clerk's uncle as a member of +the Italian Cabinet, nevertheless as to this also there were +allusions which were intelligible. This letter was altogether very +gracious,—such a one as few young men would be able to resist coming +from such a person as Lady Persiflage. But the special offer which +prevailed with our Post Office clerk was no doubt the promise of the +presence of Fanny Trafford. In all the rest, gracious as the words +were, there was nothing but trouble for him. It was clear enough to +him that Lady Persiflage was on the same side as Crocker. Lady +Persiflage would no doubt prefer a Duca di Crinola to a Post Office +clerk for Lady Frances. And he could see also that the Secretary of +State for Foreign Affairs was on the same side. The Secretary of +State would not have expressed a special desire to see him, the Post +Office clerk, at Castle Hautboy, and have, as it were, welcomed him +to the possession of his brother-in-law's daughter, had nothing been +told of the Duca di Crinola. He heard as much from Lord Hampstead, +who advised him to go to Castle Hautboy, and make himself acquainted +with Fanny's family friends. It was all manifest. And as it was all +being done in opposition to his own firm resolution, he would not +have gone,—but that the temptation was too great for him. Fanny +Trafford would be there,—and he was quite open to the charm of the +offer which was almost being made to him of Lady Fanny's hand. He +arranged the matter at the office, and wrote to Lady Persiflage +accepting the invitation.</p> + +<p>"So you're going to Castle Hautboy?" said Crocker to him. Crocker was +in torments at the time. He had been made to understand that he would +be doing quite wrong in calling the Duca "Your Grace." Roden, if a +Duke at all, could be only an Italian Duke—and not on that account +"Your Grace." This had been explained by Bobbin, and had disturbed +him. The title "Duca" was still open to him; but he feared Roden's +wrath if he should use it too freely.</p> + +<p>"How do you know?" asked Roden.</p> + +<p>"I have been there myself, you know;—and am in the habit of hearing +from Castle Hautboy." His father was agent on the property, and of +course he heard tidings, if not from his father, at any rate from his +sisters.</p> + +<p>"Yes; I am going to Castle Hautboy."</p> + +<p>"Hampstead will be there probably. I met Hampstead there. A man in +Lord Persiflage's position will, of course, be delighted to welcome +the—the—Duca di Crinola." He shrank as though he feared that Roden +would strike him—but he uttered the words.</p> + +<p>"Of course, if you choose to annoy me, I cannot well help myself," +said Roden as he left the room.</p> + +<p>On his first arrival at the Castle things were allowed to go quietly +with him. Every one called him "Mr. Roden." Lady Persiflage received +him very graciously. Lady Frances was in the house, and her name was +mentioned to him with the whispered intimacy which on such occasions +indicates the triumph of the man's position. She made no allusion +either to his rank or to his office, but treated him just as she +might have done any other suitor,—which was exactly what he wanted. +Lord Llwddythlw had come down for his Easter holidays of two days, +and was very civil to him. Lady Amaldina was delighted to make his +acquaintance, and within three minutes was calling upon him to +promise that he would not get himself married before August in +consideration for her bevy. "If I was to lose Fanny now," she said, +"I really think I should give it up altogether." Then before dinner +he was allowed to find himself alone with Fanny, and for the first +time in his life felt that his engagement was an acknowledged thing.</p> + +<p>All this was made very pleasant to him by the occasional use of his +proper name. He had been almost ashamed of himself because of the +embarrassment which his supposed title had occasioned him. He felt +that he had thought of the matter more than it was worth. The +annoyances of Crocker had been abominable to him. It was not likely +that he should encounter a second Crocker, but still he dreaded he +hardly knew what. It certainly was not probable that these people at +Castle Hautboy should call him by a name he had never used without +consulting him. But still he had dreaded something, and was gratified +that the trouble seemed to pass by him easily. Lady Persiflage and +Lady Amaldina had both used his legitimate name, and Lord Llwddythlw +had called him nothing at all. If he could only be allowed to go away +just as he had come, without an allusion from any one to the Di +Crinola family, then he should think that the people at Castle +Hautboy were very well-bred. But he feared that this was almost too +much to hope. He did not see Lord Persiflage till a moment before +dinner, when he specially remarked that he was introduced as Mr. +Roden. "Very glad to see you, Mr. Roden. I hope you're fond of +scenery. We're supposed to have the finest view in England from the +top of the tower. I have no doubt my daughter will show it you. I +can't say that I ever saw it myself. Beautiful scenery is all very +well when you are travelling, but nobody ever cares for it at home." +Thus Lord Persiflage had done his courtesy to the stranger, and the +conversation became general, as though the stranger were a stranger +no longer. When Roden found that he was allowed to give his arm to +Lady Frances, and go out and eat his dinner quietly and comfortably +without any reference to the peculiarity of his position, he thought +that perhaps no further troubles were in store for him.</p> + +<p>The whole of the next day was devoted to the charms of love and +scenery. The spring weather was delightful, and Roden was allowed to +ramble about where he pleased with Lady Frances. Every one about the +place regarded him as an accepted and recognized lover. As he had +never been in truth accepted by one of the family except by the girl +herself;—as the Marquis had not condescended even to see him when he +had come, but had sent Mr. Greenwood to reject him scornfully; as the +Marchioness had treated him as below contempt; as even his own friend +Lord Hampstead had declared that the difficulties would be +insuperable, this sudden cessation of all impediments did seem to be +delightfully miraculous. Assent on the part of Lord and Lady +Persiflage would, he understood, be quite as serviceable as that of +Lord and Lady Kingsbury. Something had occurred which, in the eyes of +all the family, had lifted him up as it were out of the gutter and +placed him on a grand pedestal. There could be no doubt as to this +something. It was all done because he was supposed to be an Italian +nobleman. And yet he was not an Italian nobleman; nor would he allow +any one to call him so, as far as it might be in his power to prevent +it.</p> + +<p>His visit was limited to two entire days. One was passed amidst all +the sweets of love-making. With the pleasures of that no allusions +were allowed to interfere. On the following morning he found himself +alone with Lord Persiflage after breakfast. "Delighted to have had +you down here, you know," began his lordship. To this Roden simply +bowed. "I haven't the pleasure of knowing your uncle personally, but +there isn't a man in Europe for whom I have a higher respect." Again +Roden bowed. "I've heard all about this romance of yours from D'Ossi. +You know D'Ossi?" Roden declared that he had not the honour of +knowing the Italian Minister. "Ah; well, you must know D'Ossi, of +course. I won't say whether he's your countryman or not, but you must +know him. He is your uncle's particular friend."</p> + +<p>"It's only by accident that I know my uncle, or even learnt that he +was my uncle."</p> + +<p>"Just so. But the accident has taken place, and the result +fortunately remains. Of course you must take your own name."</p> + +<p>"I shall keep the name I have, Lord Persiflage."</p> + +<p>"You will find it to be quite impossible. The Queen will not allow +it." Upon hearing this Roden opened his eyes; but the Secretary of +State for Foreign Affairs looked him full in the face as though to +assure him that, though he had never heard of such a thing before, +such, in fact, was the truth. "Of course there will be difficulties. +I'm not prepared at the present moment to advise how this should be +done. Perhaps you had better wait till Her Majesty has signified her +pleasure to receive you as the Duca di Crinola. When she has done so +you will have no alternative."</p> + +<p>"No alternative as to what I may call myself?"</p> + +<p>"None in the least, I should say. I am thinking now in a great +measure as to the welfare of my own relative, Lady Frances. Something +will have to be done. I don't quite see my way as yet; but something, +no doubt, will be done. The Duca di Crinola will, I have no doubt, +find fitting employment." Then a little bell was rung, and Vivian, +the private secretary, came into the room. Vivian and Roden knew each +other, and a few pleasant words were spoken; but Roden found himself +obliged to take his departure without making any further protests in +regard to Her Majesty's assumed wishes.</p> + +<p>About five o'clock that evening he was invited into a little +sitting-room belonging to Lady Persiflage up-stairs. "Haven't I been +very good to you?" she said, laughing.</p> + +<p>"Very good, indeed. Nothing could be so good as inviting me down here +to Castle Hautboy."</p> + +<p>"That was done for Fanny's sake. But have I said one word to you +about your terrible name?"</p> + +<p>"No, indeed; and now, Lady Persiflage, pray go on and be good to the +end."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, "I will be good to the end,—before all the people +down-stairs. I haven't said a word of it even to Fanny. Fanny is an +angel."</p> + +<p>"According to my thinking."</p> + +<p>"That's of course. But even an angel likes to have her proper rank. +You mustn't allow yourself to suppose that even Fanny Trafford is +indifferent to titles. There are things that a man may expect a girl +to do for him, but there are things which cannot be expected, let her +be ever so much in love. Fanny Trafford has got to become Duchess of +Crinola."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid that that is more than I can do for her."</p> + +<p>"My dear Mr. Roden, it must be done. I cannot let you go away from +here without making you understand that, as a man engaged to be +married, you cannot drop your title. Did you intend to remain single, +I cannot say how far your peculiar notions might enable you to +prevail; but as you mean to marry, she, too, will have rights. I put +it to you whether it would be honest on your part to ask her to +abandon the rank which she will be entitled to expect from you. Just +you think of it, Mr. Roden. And now I won't trouble you any more upon +the subject."</p> + +<p>Not a word more was said on the subject at Castle Hautboy, and on the +next day he returned to the Post Office.</p> + + +<p><a name="c3-8" id="c3-8"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER VIII.</h3> +<h4>"I CANNOT COMPEL HER."<br /> </h4> + + +<p>About the middle of April Lord and Lady Kingsbury came up to London. +From day to day and week to week he had declared that he would never +again be able to move out of his room; and had gone on making up his +mind to die immediately, till people around him began to think that +he was not going to die at all. He was, however, at last persuaded +that he might at any rate as well die in London as at Trafford, and, +therefore, allowed himself to be carried up to Park Lane. The +condition of his own health was, of course, given to him for the +reason of this movement. At this peculiar period of the year, it +would be better for him, they said, to be near his London doctor. No +doubt the Marquis believed that it was so. When a man is ill nothing +is so important to him as his own illness. But it may be a question +whether the anxiety felt by the Marchioness as to other affairs of +the family generally had not an effect with her in inducing her to +persuade her husband. The Marquis had given a modified assent to his +daughter's marriage; and she, in a manner still more modified, had +withdrawn her opposition. Permission had been given to Fanny to marry +the Duca di Crinola. This had been given without any reference to +money, but had certainly implied a promise of a certain amount of +income from the bride's father. How else would it be possible that +they should live? The letter had been written to Lady Frances by her +stepmother at the dictation of the Marquis. But the words absolutely +dictated had not perhaps been religiously followed. The father had +intended to be soft and affectionate, merely expressing his +gratification that his girl's lover should turn out to be the Duca di +Crinola. Out of this the Marchioness had made a stipulation. The +lover should be received as a lover, on condition that he bore the +name and title. Lady Persiflage had told her sister that as a matter +of course the name would be taken. "A man always takes his father's +name as a matter of course," Lady Persiflage had said. She believed +that the man's absurd notions would be overcome by continual social +pressure. Whether the social pressure would or would not prevail, the +man would certainly marry the girl. There could, therefore, be no +better course than that of trusting to social pressure. Lady +Persiflage was quite clear as to her course. But the Marchioness, +though yielding to her sister in much, still thought that a bargain +should be made. It had been suggested that she should invite "the +young man" down to Trafford. Roden was usually called "the young man" +at present in these family conclaves. She had thought that it would +be better to see him up in London. Lady Frances would come to them in +Park Lane, and then the young man should be invited. The Marchioness +would send her compliments to the "Duca di Crinola." Nothing on earth +should induce her to write the name of Roden,—unless it might +happily come to pass that the engagement should be broken.</p> + +<p>Hampstead at this time was still living at Hendon. His sister +remained with him till the Marchioness came up to town about the +middle of April, but no one else except George Roden saw much of him. +Since Roden's return from Italy his visits to Hendon Hall had been +tacitly permitted. The Kingsbury and Persiflage world had taken upon +itself to presume that the young man was the Duca di Crinola, and, so +presuming, had in truth withdrawn all impediments. Lady Frances had +written to her father in answer to the letter which had reached her +from the Marchioness in his name, and had declared that Mr. Roden was +Mr. Roden, and would remain Mr. Roden. She had explained his reasons +at great length, but had probably made them anything but intelligible +to her father. He, however, had simply concealed the letter when he +had half-read it. He would not incur the further trouble of +explaining this to his wife, and had allowed the matter to go on, +although the stipulation made was absolutely repudiated by the +parties who were to have been bound by it.</p> + +<p>For Roden and Lady Frances this was no doubt very pleasant. Even Lady +Amaldina Hauteville with her bevy was not more thoroughly engaged to +her aristocratic lover than was Lady Frances to this precarious +Italian nobleman. But the brother in these days was by no means as +happy as his sister. There had been a terrible scene between him and +Lady Frances after his return from Trafford. He came back with +Marion's letter in his pocket,—with every word contained in it clear +in his memory; but still, still doubting as to the necessity of +obeying Marion's orders. She had declared, with whatever force of +words she had known how to use, that the marriage which he proposed +to himself was impossible. She had told him so more than once before, +and the telling had availed nothing. Her first assertion that she +could not become his wife had hardly served to moderate in the least +the joy which he had felt from the assurances of her affections. It +had meant nothing to him. When she had spoken to him simply of their +differences of rank he had thrown the arguments under his feet, and +had trampled upon them with his masterful imperious determination. +His whole life and energy were devoted to the crushing of arguments +used towards him by those who were daily telling him that he was +severed from other men by the peculiarities of his rank. He certainly +would not be severed from this one woman whom he loved by any such +peculiarity. Fortifying his heart by these reflections, he had +declared to himself that the timid doubtings of the girl should go +for nothing. As she loved him he would of course be strong enough to +conquer all such doubtings. He would take her up in his arms and +carry her away, and simply tell her that she had got to do it. He had +a conviction that a girl when once she had confessed that she loved a +man, belonged to the man, and was bound to obey him. To watch over +her, to worship her, to hover round her, so that no wind should be +allowed to blow too strongly on her, to teach her that she was the +one treasure in the world that could be of real value to him,—but at +the same time to make a property of her, so that she should be +altogether his own,—that had been his idea of the bond which should +unite him and Marion Fay together. As she took a joy in his love it +could not be but that she would come to his call at last.</p> + +<p>She too had perceived something of this,—so much, that it had become +necessary to her to tell him the whole truth. Those minor reasons, +though even they should have been strong enough, were not, she found, +powerful with him. She tried it, and acknowledged to herself that she +failed. The man was too wilful for her guidance,—too strong for the +arguments by which she had hoped to control him. Then it had been +necessary to tell him all the truth. This she had done at last with +very few words. "My mother died; and all my brothers and sisters have +died. And I also shall die young." Very simple, this had been; but, +ah, powerful as it was simple! In it there had been a hard assertion +of facts too strong even for his masterful nature. He could not say, +even to himself, that it was not so,—that it should not be so. It +might be that she might be spared where others had not been spared. +That risk, of course, he was prepared to run. Without turning it much +in his thoughts, without venturing to think of the results or to make +a calculation, he was prepared to tell her that she too must leave +all that in the hand of God, and run her chance as do all human +mortal beings. He certainly would so argue the matter with her. But +he could not tell her that there was no ground for fear. He could not +say that though her mother had died, and though her little brothers +and sisters had died, there was yet no cause for fear. And he felt +that should she persist in her resolution there would be a potency +about her which it might well be that he should fail to dominate. If +we can live, let us live together; and if we must die, let us +die,—as nearly together as may be. That we should come together is +the one thing absolutely essential; and then let us make our way +through our troubles as best we may under the hands of Fate. This was +what he would now say to her. But he knew that he could not say it +with that bright look and those imperious tones which had heretofore +almost prevailed with her. Not replying to Marion's letter by any +written answer, but resolving that the words which would be necessary +might best be spoken, he came back to Hendon. Oh how softly they +should be spoken! With his arm round her waist he would tell her that +still it should be for better or for worse. "I will say nothing of +what may happen except this;—that whatever may befall us we will +take it and bear it together." With such words whispered into her +ear, would he endeavour to make her understand that though it might +all be true, still would her duty be the same.</p> + +<p>But when he reached his house, intending to go on almost at once to +Holloway, he was stopped by a note from the Quaker.</p> + +<p>"My dear young friend," said the note from the Quaker,<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent">I am desired by +Marion to tell thee that we have thought +it better that she should go for a few weeks to the +seaside. I have taken her to Pegwell Bay, whence I can run +up daily to my work in the City. After that thou last saw +her she was somewhat unwell,—not ill, indeed, but +flurried, as was natural, by the interview. And I have +taken her down to the seaside in compliance with medical +advice. She bids me, however, to tell thee that there is +no cause for alarm. It will, however, be better, for a +time at least, that she should not be called upon to +encounter the excitement of meeting thee.</p> + +<p class="ind10">Thy very faithful friend,</p> + +<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">Zachary Fay</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>This made him nervous, and for the moment almost wretched. It was his +desire at first to rush off to Pegwell Bay and learn for himself what +might be the truth of her condition. But on consideration he felt +that he did not dare to do so in opposition to the Quaker's +injunction. His arrival there among the strangers of the little +watering-place would of course flurry her. He was obliged to abandon +that idea, and content himself with a resolve to see the Quaker in +the City on the next morning. But the words spoken to him afterwards +by his sister were heavier to bear than the Quaker's letter. "Dear +John," she had said, "you must give it up."</p> + +<p>"I will never give it up," he had answered. And as he spoke there +came across his brows an angry look of determination.</p> + +<p>"Dear John!"</p> + +<p>"What right have you to tell me to give it up? What would you say to +me if I were to declare that George Roden should be given up?"</p> + +<p>"If there were the same cause!"</p> + +<p>"What do you know of any cause?"</p> + +<p>"Dear, dearest brother."</p> + +<p>"You are taking a part against me. You can be obstinate. I am not +more likely to give a thing up than you are yourself."</p> + +<p>"It is her health."</p> + +<p>"Is she the first young woman that was ever married without being as +strong as a milkmaid? Why should you take upon yourself to condemn +her?"</p> + +<p>"It is not I. It is Marion herself. You told me to go to her, and of +course she spoke to me."</p> + +<p>He paused a moment, and then in a hoarse, low voice asked a question. +"What did she say to you when you spoke to her?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, John!—I doubt I can hardly tell you what she said. But you know +what she said. Did she not write and tell you that because of her +health it cannot be as you would have it."</p> + +<p>"And would you have me yield, because for my sake she is afraid? If +George Roden were not strong would you throw him over and go away?"</p> + +<p>"It is a hard matter to discuss, John."</p> + +<p>"But it has to be discussed. It has at any rate to be thought of. I +don't think that a woman has a right to take the matter into her own +hands, and say that as a certainty God Almighty has condemned her to +an early death. These things must be left to Providence, or Chance, +or Fate, as you may call it."</p> + +<p>"But if she has her own convictions—?"</p> + +<p>"She must not be left to her own convictions. It is just that. She +must not be allowed to sacrifice herself to a fantastic idea."</p> + +<p>"You will never prevail with her," said his sister, taking him by the +arm, and looking up piteously into his face.</p> + +<p>"I shall not prevail? Do you say that certainly I shall not prevail?" +She was still holding his arm, and still looking up into his face, +and now she answered him by slightly shaking her head. "Why should +you speak so positively?"</p> + +<p>"She could say things to me which she could hardly say to you."</p> + +<p>"What was it then?"</p> + +<p>"She could say things to me which I can hardly repeat to you. Oh, +John, believe me,—believe me. It must be abandoned. Marion Fay will +never be your wife." He shook himself free from her hand, and frowned +sternly at her. "Do you think I would not have her for my sister, if +it were possible? Do you not believe that I too can love her? Who can +help loving her?"</p> + +<p>He knew, of course, that as the shoe pinched him it could not pinch +her. What were any other love or any other sadness as compared to his +love or to his sadness? It was to him as though the sun were suddenly +taken out of his heaven, as though the light of day were destroyed +for ever from before his eyes,—or rather as though a threat were +being made that the sun should be taken from his heaven and the light +from his eyes,—a threat under which it might be necessary that he +should succumb. "Marion, Marion, Marion," he said to himself again +and again, walking up and down between the lodge and the hall door. +Whether well or ill, whether living or dying, she surely must be his! +"Marion!" And then he was ashamed of himself, as he felt rather than +heard that he had absolutely shouted her name aloud.</p> + +<p>On the following day he was with the Quaker in London, walking up and +down Old Broad Street in front of the entrance leading up to Pogson +and Littlebird's. "My dear friend," said the Quaker, "I do not say +that it shall never be so. It is in the hands of the Almighty." +Hampstead shook his head impatiently. "You do not doubt the power of +the Almighty to watch over His creatures?"</p> + +<p>"I think that if a man wants a thing he must work for it."</p> + +<p>The Quaker looked him hard in the face. "In the ordinary needs of +life, my young lord, the maxim is a good one."</p> + +<p>"It is good for everything. You tell me of the Almighty. Will the +Almighty give me the girl I love if I sit still and hold my peace? +Must I not work for that as for anything else?"</p> + +<p>"What can I do, Lord Hampstead?"</p> + +<p>"Agree with me that it will be better for her to run her chance. Say +as I do that it cannot be right that she should condemn herself. If +you,—you her father,—will bid her, then she will do it."</p> + +<p>"I do not know."</p> + +<p>"You can try with her;—if you think it right. You are her father."</p> + +<p>"Yes,—I am her father."</p> + +<p>"And she is obedient to you. You do not think that she should—? Eh?"</p> + +<p>"How am I to say? What am I to say else than that it is in God's +hands? I am an old man who have suffered much. All have been taken +from me;—all but she. How can I think of thy trouble when my own is +so heavy?"</p> + +<p>"It is of her that we should think."</p> + +<p>"I cannot comfort her; I cannot control her. I will not even attempt +to persuade her. She is all that I have. If I did think for a moment +that I should like to see my child become the wife of one so high as +thou art, that folly has been crushed out of me. To have my child +alive would be enough for me now, let alone titles, and high places, +and noble palaces."</p> + +<p>"Who has thought of them?"</p> + +<p>"I did. Not she,—my angel; my white one!" Hampstead shook his head +and clenched his fist, shaking it, in utter disregard of the passers +by, as the hot, fast tears streamed down his face. Could it be +necessary that her name should be mentioned even in connection with +feelings such as those which the Quaker owned.</p> + +<p>"Thou and I, my lord," continued Zachary Fay, "are in sore trouble +about this maiden. I believe that thy love is, as mine, true, honest, +and thorough. For her sake I wish I could give her to thee,—because +of thy truth and honesty; not because of thy wealth and titles. But +she is not mine to give. She is her own,—and will bestow her hand or +refuse to do so as her own sense of what is best for thee may direct +her. I will say no word to persuade her one way or the other." So +speaking the Quaker strode quickly up the gateway, and Lord Hampstead +was left to make his way back out of the City as best he might.</p> + + +<p><a name="c3-9" id="c3-9"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER IX.</h3> +<h4>IN PARK LANE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>On Monday, the 20th of April, Lady Frances returned to her father's +roof. The winter had certainly not been a happy time for her. Early +in the autumn she had been taken off to the German castle in great +disgrace because of her plebeian lover, and had, ever since, been +living under so dark a cloud, as to have been considered unfit for +the companionship of those little darlings, the young lords, her +half-brothers. She had had her way no doubt, never having for a +moment wavered in her constancy to the Post Office clerk; but she had +been assured incessantly by all her friends that her marriage with +the man was impossible, and had no doubt suffered under the +conviction that her friends were hostile to her. Now she might be +happy. Now she was to be taken back to her father's house. Now she +was to keep her lover, and not be held to have been disgraced at all. +No doubt in this there was great triumph.</p> + +<p>But her triumph had been due altogether to an accident;—to what her +father graciously called a romance, while her stepmother described it +less civilly as a "marvellous coincidence, for which she ought to +thank her stars on her bended knees." The accident,—or coincidence +or romance as it might be called,—was, of course, her lover's title. +Of this she was by no means proud, and would not at all thank her +stars for it on her bended knees. Though she was happy in her lover's +presence, her happiness was clouded by the feeling that she was +imposing upon her father. She had been allowed to ask her lover to +dine at Kingsbury House because her lover was supposed to be the Duca +di Crinola. But the invitation had been sent under an envelope +addressed to George Roden, Esq., General Post Office. No one had yet +ventured to inscribe the Duke's name and title on the back of a +letter. The Marchioness was assured by her sister that it would all +come right, and had, therefore, submitted to have the young man asked +to come and eat his dinner under the same roof with her darlings. But +she did not quite trust her sister, and felt that after all it might +become her imperative duty to gather her children together in her +bosom, and fly with them from contact with the Post Office +clerk,—the Post Office clerk who would not become a Duke. The +Marquis himself was only anxious that everything should be made to be +easy. He had, while at Trafford, been so tormented by Mr. Greenwood +and his wife that he longed for nothing so much as a reconciliation +with his daughter. He was told on very good authority,—on the +authority of no less a person than the Secretary of State,—that this +young man was the Duca di Crinola. There had been a romance, a very +interesting romance; but the fact remained. The Post Office clerk was +no longer George Roden, and would, he was assured, soon cease to be a +Post Office clerk. The young man was in truth an Italian nobleman of +the highest order, and as such was entitled to marry the daughter of +an English nobleman. If it should turn out that he had been +misinformed, that would not be his fault.</p> + +<p>So it was when George Roden came to dine at Kingsbury House. He +himself at this moment was not altogether happy. The last words which +Lady Persiflage had said to him at Castle Hautboy had disturbed him. +"Would it be honest on your part," Lady Persiflage had asked him, "to +ask her to abandon the rank which she will be entitled to expect from +you?" He had not put the matter to himself in that light before. Lady +Frances was entitled to as much consideration in the matter as was +himself. The rank would be as much hers as his. And yet he couldn't +do it. Not even for her sake could he walk into the Post Office and +call himself the Duca di Crinola. Not even for her sake could he +consent to live an idle, useless life as an Italian nobleman. Love +was very strong with him, but with it there was a sense of duty and +manliness which would make it impossible for him to submit himself to +such thraldom. In doing it he would have to throw over all the strong +convictions of his life. And yet he was about to sit as a guest at +Lord Kingsbury's table, because Lord Kingsbury would believe him to +be an Italian nobleman. He was not, therefore, altogether happy when +he knocked at the Marquis's door.</p> + +<p>Hampstead had refused to join the party. He was not at present in a +condition to join any social gathering. But, omitting him, a family +party had been collected. Lord and Lady Persiflage were there, with +Lady Amaldina and her betrothed. The Persiflages had taken the matter +up very strongly, so that they may have been said to have become +George Roden's special patrons or protectors. Lord Persiflage, who +was seldom much in earnest about anything, had determined that the +Duca di Crinola should be recognized, and was supposed already to +have spoken a word on the subject in a very high quarter indeed. +Vivian, the Private Secretary, was there. The poor Marquis himself +was considered unable to come down into the dining-room, but did +receive his proposed son-in-law up-stairs. They had not met since the +unfortunate visit made by the Post Office clerk to Hendon Hall, when +no one had as yet dreamed of his iniquity; nor had the Marchioness +seen him since the terrible sound of that feminine Christian name had +wounded her ears. The other persons assembled had in a measure become +intimate with him. Lord Llwddythlw had walked round Castle Hautboy +and discussed with him the statistics of telegraphy. Lady Amaldina +had been confidential with him as to her own wedding. Both Lord and +Lady Persiflage had given him in a very friendly manner their ideas +as to his name and position. Vivian and he had become intimate +personal friends. They could, all of them, accept him with open arms +when he was shown into the drawing-room, except Lady Kingsbury +herself. "No; I am not very well just at present," said the Marquis +from his recumbent position as he languidly stretched out his hand. +"You won't see me down at dinner. God knows whether anybody will ever +see me down at dinner again."</p> + +<p>"Not see you down at dinner!" said Lord Persiflage. "In another month +you will be talking treason in Pall Mall as you have done all your +life."</p> + +<p>"I wish you had made Hampstead come with you, Mr.—" But the Marquis +stopped himself, having been instructed that he was not on any +account to call the young man Mr. Roden. "He was here this morning, +but seemed to be in great trouble about something. He ought to come +and take his place at the bottom of the table, seeing how ill I +am;—but he won't."</p> + +<p>Lady Kingsbury waited until her husband had done his grumbling before +she attempted the disagreeable task which was before her. It was very +disagreeable. She was a bad hypocrite. There are women who have a +special gift of hiding their dislikings from the objects of them, +when occasion requires. They can smile and be soft, with bitter +enmity in their hearts, to suit the circumstances of the moment. And +as they do so, their faces will overcome their hearts, and their +enmity will give way to their smiles. They will become almost +friendly because they look friendly. They will cease to hate because +hatred is no longer convenient. But the Marchioness was too rigid and +too sincere for this. She could command neither her features nor her +feelings. It was evident from the moment the young man entered the +room, that she would be unable to greet him even with common +courtesy. She hated him, and she had told every one there that she +hated him. "How do you do?" she said, just touching his hand as soon +as he was released from her husband's couch. She, too, had been +specially warned by her sister that she must not call the young man +by any name. If she could have addressed him by his title, her manner +might perhaps have been less austere.</p> + +<p>"I am much obliged to you by allowing me to come here," said Roden, +looking her full in the face, and making his little speech in such a +manner as to be audible to all the room. It was as though he had +declared aloud his intention of accepting this permission as +conveying much more than a mere invitation to dinner. Her face became +harder and more austere than ever. Then finding that she had nothing +more to say to him she seated herself and held her peace.</p> + +<p>Only that Lady Persiflage was very unlike her sister, the moment +would have been awkward for them all. Poor Fanny, who was sitting +with her hand within her father's, could not find a word to say on +the occasion. Lord Persiflage, turning round upon his heel, made a +grimace to his Private Secretary. Llwddythlw would willingly have +said something pleasant on the occasion had he been sufficiently +ready. As it was he stood still, with his hands in his trousers +pockets and his eyes fixed on the wall opposite. According to his +idea the Marchioness was misbehaving herself. "Dear Aunt Clara," said +Lady Amaldina, trying to say something that might dissipate the +horror of the moment, "have you heard that old Sir Gregory Tollbar is +to marry Letitia Tarbarrel at last?" But it was Lady Persiflage who +really came to the rescue. "Of course we're all very glad to see +you," she said. "You'll find that if you'll be nice to us, we'll all +be as nice as possible to you. Won't we, Lord Llwddythlw?"</p> + +<p>"As far as I am concerned," said the busy Member of Parliament, "I +shall be delighted to make the acquaintance of Mr. Roden." A slight +frown, a shade of regret, passed over the face of Lady Persiflage as +she heard the name. A darker and bitterer cloud settled itself on +Lady Kingsbury's brow. Lord Kingsbury rolled himself uneasily on his +couch. Lady Amaldina slightly pinched her lover's arm. Lord +Persiflage was almost heard to whistle. Vivian tried to look as if it +didn't signify. "I am very much obliged to you for your courtesy, +Lord Llwddythlw," said George Roden. To have called him by his name +was the greatest favour that could have been done to him at that +moment. Then the door was opened and dinner announced.</p> + +<p>"Time and the hour run through the roughest day." In this way that +dinner at Kingsbury House did come to an end at last. There was a +weight of ill-humour about Lady Kingsbury on this special occasion +against which even Lady Persiflage found it impossible to prevail. +Roden, whose courage rose to the occasion, did make a gallant effort +to talk to Lady Frances, who sat next to him. But the circumstances +were hard upon him. Everybody else in the room was closely connected +with everybody else. Had he been graciously accepted by the mistress +of the house, he could have fallen readily enough into the intimacies +which would then have been opened to him. But as it was he was forced +to struggle against the stream, and so to struggle as to seem not to +struggle. At last, however, time and the hour had done its work, and +the ladies went up to the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>"Lord Llwddythlw called him Mr. Roden!" This was said by the +Marchioness in a tone of bitter reproach as soon as the drawing-room +door was closed.</p> + +<p>"I was so sorry," said Lady Amaldina.</p> + +<p>"It does not signify in the least," said Lady Persiflage. "It cannot +be expected that a man should drop his old name and take a new one +all in a moment."</p> + +<p>"He will never drop his old name and take the new one," said Lady +Frances.</p> + +<p>"There now," said the Marchioness. "What do you think of that, +Geraldine?"</p> + +<p>"My dear Fanny," said Lady Persiflage, without a touch of ill-nature +in her tone, "how can you tell what a young man will do?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think it right to deceive Mamma," said Fanny. "I know him +well enough to be quite sure that he will not take the title, as he +has no property to support it. He has talked it over with me again +and again, and I agree with him altogether."</p> + +<p>"Upon my word, Fanny, I didn't think that you would be so foolish," +said her aunt. "This is a kind of thing in which a girl should not +interfere at all. It must be arranged between the young man's uncle +in Italy, and—and the proper authorities here. It must depend very +much <span class="nowrap">upon—."</span> +Here Lady Persiflage reduced her words to the very +lowest whisper. "Your uncle has told me all about it, and of course +he must know better than any one else. It's a kind of thing that must +be settled for a man by,—by—by those who know how to settle it. A +man can't be this or that just as he pleases."</p> + +<p>"Of course not," said Lady Amaldina.</p> + +<p>"A man has to take the name, my dear, which he inherits. I could not +call myself Mrs. Jones any more than Mrs. Jones can call herself Lady +Persiflage. If he is the Duca di Crinola he must be the Duca di +Crinola."</p> + +<p>"But he won't be Duca di Crinola," said Lady Frances.</p> + +<p>"There now!" said the Marchioness.</p> + +<p>"If you will only let the matter be settled by those who understand +it, and not talk about it just at present, it would be so much +better."</p> + +<p>"You heard what Lord Llwddythlw called him," said the Marchioness.</p> + +<p>"Llwddythlw always was an oaf," said Amaldina.</p> + +<p>"He meant to be gracious," said Fanny; "and I am much obliged to +him."</p> + +<p>"And as to what you were saying, Fanny, as to having nothing to +support the title, a foreign title in that way is not like one here +at home. Here it must be supported."</p> + +<p>"He would never consent to be burdened with a great name without any +means," said Fanny.</p> + +<p>"There are cases in which a great name will help a man to get means. +Whatever he calls himself, I suppose he will have to live, and +maintain a wife."</p> + +<p>"He has his salary as a clerk in the Post Office," said Fanny very +boldly. Amaldina shook her head sadly. The Marchioness clasped her +hands together and raised her eyes to the ceiling with a look of +supplication. Were not her darlings to be preserved from such +contamination?</p> + +<p>"He can do better than that, my dear," exclaimed Lady Persiflage; +"and, if you are to be his wife, I am sure that you will not stand in +the way of his promotion. His own Government and ours between them +will be able to do something for him as Duca di Crinola, whereas +nothing could be done for George Roden."</p> + +<p>"The English Government is his Government," said Fanny indignantly.</p> + +<p>"One would almost suppose that you want to destroy all his +prospects," said Lady Persiflage, who was at last hardly able to +restrain her anger.</p> + +<p>"I believe she does," said the Marchioness.</p> + +<p>In the mean time the conversation was carried on below stairs, if +with less vigour, yet perhaps with more judgment. Lord Persiflage +spoke of Roden's Italian uncle as a man possessing intellectual gifts +and political importance of the highest order. Roden could not deny +that the Italian Cabinet Minister was his uncle, and was thus driven +to acknowledge the family, and almost to acknowledge the country. +"From what I hear," said Lord Persiflage, "I suppose you would not +wish to reside permanently in Italy, as an Italian?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not," said Roden.</p> + +<p>"There is no reason why you should. I can imagine that you should +have become too confirmed an Englishman to take kindly to Italian +public life as a career. You could hardly do so except as a follower +of your uncle, which perhaps would not suit you."</p> + +<p>"It would be impossible."</p> + +<p>"Just so. D'Ossi was saying to me this morning that he thought as +much. But there is no reason why a career should not be open to you +here as well as there;—not political perhaps, but official."</p> + +<p>"It is the only career that at present is open to me."</p> + +<p>"There might be difficulty about Parliament certainly. My advice to +you is not to be in a hurry to decide upon anything for a month or +two. You will find that things will shake down into their places." +Not a word was said about the name or title. When the gentlemen went +up-stairs there had been no brilliancy of conversation, but neither +were there any positive difficulties to be incurred. Not a word +further was said in reference to "George Roden" or to the "Duca di +Crinola."</p> + + +<p><a name="c3-10" id="c3-10"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER X.</h3> +<h4>AFTER ALL HE ISN'T.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Six weeks passed by, and nothing special had yet been done to arrange +George Roden's affairs for him in the manner suggested by Lady +Persiflage. "It's a kind of thing that must be settled for a man by, +by, by—those who know how to settle it." That had been her counsel +when she was advocating delay. No doubt "things" often do arrange +themselves better than men or women can arrange them. Objections +which were at first very strong gradually fade away. Ideas which were +out of the question become possible. Time quickly renders words and +names and even days habitual to us. In this Lady Persiflage had not +been unwise. It was quite probable that a young man should become +used to a grand name quicker than he had himself expected. But +nothing had as yet been done in the right direction when the 1st of +June had come.</p> + +<p>Attempts had been made towards increasing the young man's +self-importance, of which he himself had been hardly aware. Lord +Persiflage had seen Sir Boreas Bodkin, and Vivian had seen the +private secretary of the Postmaster-General. As the first result of +these interviews our clerk was put to sit in a room by himself, and +called upon to manage some separate branch of business in which he +was free from contact with the Crockers and Bobbins of the +Department. It might, it was thought, be possible to call a man a +Duke who sat in a separate room, even though he were still a clerk. +But, as Sir Boreas had observed, there were places to be given away, +Secretaryships, Inspectorships, Surveyorships, and suchlike, into one +of which the Duke, if he would consent to be a Duke, might be +installed before long. The primary measure of putting him into a room +by himself had already been carried out. Then a step was taken, of +which George Roden had ground to complain. There was a certain Club +in London called the Foreigners, made up half of Englishmen and half +of men of other nations, which was supposed to stand very high in the +world of fashion. Nearly every member was possessed of either grand +titles before his name, or of grand letters after it. Something was +said by Vivian to George Roden as to this club. But no actual +suggestion was made, and certainly no assent was given. Nevertheless +the name of the Duca di Crinola was put down in the Candidate Book, +as proposed by Baron d'Ossi and seconded by Lord Persiflage. There it +was, so that all the world would declare that the young "Duca" was +the "Duca." Otherwise the name would not have been inserted there by +the Italian Minister and British Secretary of State. Whereas George +Roden himself knew nothing about it. In this way attempts were made +to carry out that line of action which Lady Persiflage had +recommended.</p> + +<p>Letters, too, were delivered to Roden, addressed to the Duca di +Crinola, both at Holloway and at the Post Office. No doubt he refused +them when they came. No doubt they generally consisted of tradesmen's +circulars, and were probably occasioned by manœuvres of which Lady +Persiflage herself was guilty. But they had the effect of spreading +abroad the fact that George Roden was George Roden no longer, but was +the Duca di Crinola. "There's letters coming for the Duker every +day," said the landlady of the Duchess to Mrs. Duffer of Paradise +Row. "I see them myself. I shan't stand on any p's and q's. I shall +call him Duker to his face." Paradise Row determined generally to +call him Duker to his face, and did so frequently, to his great +annoyance.</p> + +<p>Even his mother began to think that his refusal would be in vain. "I +don't see how you're to stand out against it, George. Of course if it +wasn't so you'd have to stand out against it; but as it is the +<span class="nowrap">fact—"</span></p> + +<p>"It is no more a fact with me than with you," he said angrily.</p> + +<p>"Nobody dreams of giving me a title. If all the world agrees, you +will have to yield."</p> + +<p>Sir Boreas was as urgent. He had always been very friendly with the +young clerk, and had now become particularly intimate with him. "Of +course, my dear fellow," he said, "I shall be guided entirely by +yourself."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir."</p> + +<p>"If you tell me you're George Roden, George Roden you'll be to me. +But I think you're wrong. And I think moreover that the good sense of +the world will prevail against you. As far as I understand anything +of the theory of titles, this title belongs to you. The world never +insists on calling a man a Lord or a Count for nothing. There's too +much jealousy for that. But when a thing is so, people choose that it +shall be so."</p> + +<p>All this troubled him, though it did not shake his convictions. But +it made him think again and again of what Lady Persiflage had said to +him down at Castle Hautboy. "Will it be honest on your part to ask +her to abandon the rank which she will be entitled to expect from +you?" If all the world conspired to tell him that he was entitled to +take this name, then the girl whom he intended to marry would +certainly be justified in claiming it. It undoubtedly was the fact +that titles such as these were dear to men,—and specially dear to +women. As to this girl, who was so true to him, was he justified in +supposing that she would be different from others, simply because she +was true to him? He had asked her to come down as it were from the +high pedestal of her own rank, and to submit herself to his lowly +lot. She had consented, and there never had been to him a moment of +remorse in thinking that he was about to injure her. But as Chance +had brought it about in this way, as Fortune had seemed determined to +give back to her that of which he would have deprived her, was it +right that he should stand in the way of Fortune? Would it be honest +on his part to ask her to abandon these fine names which Chance was +putting in her way?</p> + +<p>That it might be so, should he be pleased to accept what was offered +to him, did become manifest to him. It was within his power to call +himself and to have himself called by this new name. It was not only +the party of the Crockers. Others now were urgent in persuading him. +The matter had become so far customary to him as to make him feel +that if he would simply put the name on his card, and cause it to be +inserted in the Directories, and write a line to the officials saying +that for the future he would wish to be so designated, the thing +would be done. He had met Baron D'Ossi, and the Baron had +acknowledged that an Englishman could not be converted into an +Italian Duke without his own consent,—but had used very strong +arguments to show that in this case the Englishman ought to give his +consent. The Baron had expressed his own opinion that the Signorina +would be very much ill-used indeed if she were not allowed to take +her place among the Duchessinas. His own personal feelings were in no +degree mitigated. To be a Post Office clerk, living at Holloway, with +a few hundreds a-year to spend,—and yet to be known all over the +world as the claimant of a magnificently grand title! It seemed as +though a cruel fate had determined to crush him with a terrible +punishment because of his specially democratic views! That he of all +the world should be selected to be a Duke in opposition to his own +wishes! How often had he been heard to declare that all hereditary +titles were, of their very nature, absurd! And yet he was to be +forced to become a penniless hereditary Duke!</p> + +<p>Nevertheless he would not rob her whom he hoped to make his wife of +that which would of right belong to her. "Fanny," he said to her one +day, "you cannot conceive how many people are troubling me about this +title."</p> + +<p>"I know they are troubling me. But I would not mind any of +them;—only for papa."</p> + +<p>"Is he very anxious about it?"</p> + +<p>"I am afraid he is."</p> + +<p>"Have I ever told you what your aunt said to me just before I left +Castle Hautboy?"</p> + +<p>"Lady Persiflage, you mean. She is not my aunt, you know."</p> + +<p>"She is more anxious than your father, and certainly uses the only +strong argument I have heard."</p> + +<p>"Has she persuaded you?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot say that; but she has done something towards persuading me. +She has made me half think that it may be my duty."</p> + +<p>"Then I suppose you will take the name," she said.</p> + +<p>"It shall depend entirely upon you. And yet I ought not to ask you. I +ought to do as these people bid me without even troubling you for an +expression of your wish. I do believe that when you become my wife, +you will have as complete a right to the title as has Lady Kingsbury +to hers. Shall it be so?"</p> + +<p>"No," she said.</p> + +<p>"It shall not?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, no; if it be left to me."</p> + +<p>"Why do you answer in that way when all your friends desire it?"</p> + +<p>"Because I believe that there is one friend who does not desire it. +If you can say that you wish it on your own account, of course I will +yield. Otherwise all that my friends may say on the matter can have +no effect on me. When I accepted the offer which you made me, I gave +up all idea of rank. I had my reasons, which I thought to be strong +enough. At any rate I did so, and now because of this accident I will +not be weak enough to go back. As to what Lady Persiflage says about +me, do not believe a word of it. You certainly will not make me happy +by bestowing on me a name which you do not wish me to bear, and which +will be distasteful to yourself."</p> + +<p>After this there was no longer any hesitation on Roden's part, though +his friends, including Lord Persiflage, the Baron, Sir Boreas, and +Crocker, were as active in their endeavours as ever. For some days he +had doubted, but now he doubted no longer. They might address to him +what letters they would, they might call him by what nickname they +pleased, they might write him down in what book they chose, he would +still keep the name of George Roden, as she had protested that she +was satisfied with it.</p> + +<p>It was through Sir Boreas that he learnt that his name had been +written down in the club Candidate Book as "Duca di Crinola." Sir +Boreas was not a member of the club, but had heard what had been +done, probably at some club of which he was a member. "I am glad to +hear that you are coming up at the Foreigners," said Æolus.</p> + +<p>"But I am not."</p> + +<p>"I was told last night that Baron D'Ossi had put your name down as +Duca di Crinola." Then Roden discovered the whole truth,—how the +Baron had proposed him and the Foreign Secretary had seconded him, +without even going through the ceremony of asking him. "Upon my word +I understood that you wished it," Vivian said to him. Upon this the +following note was written to the Foreign Secretary.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p>Mr. Roden presents his compliments to Lord Persiflage, and +begs to explain that there has been a misunderstanding +about the Foreigners' Club. Mr. Roden feels very much the +honour that has been done him, and is much obliged to Lord +Persiflage; but as he feels himself not entitled to the +honour of belonging to the club, he will be glad that his +name should be taken off. Mr. Roden takes the opportunity +of assuring Lord Persiflage that he does not and never +will claim the name which he understands to have been +inscribed in the club books.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>"He's a confounded ass," said Lord Persiflage to the Baron as he did +as he was bid at the club. The Baron shrugged his shoulders, as +though acknowledging that his young fellow-nobleman certainly was an +ass. "There are men, Baron, whom you can't help, let you struggle +ever so much. This man has had stuff enough in him to win for himself +a very pretty girl with a good fortune and high rank, and yet he is +such a fool that he won't let me put him altogether on his legs when +the opportunity comes!"</p> + +<p>Not long after this Roden called at the house in Park Lane, and asked +to see the Marquis. As he passed through the hall he met Mr. +Greenwood coming very slowly down the stairs. The last time he had +met the gentleman had been in that very house when the gentleman had +received him on behalf of the Marquis. The Marquis had not +condescended to see him, but had deputed his chaplain to give him +whatever ignominious answer might be necessary to his audacious +demand for the hand of Lady Frances. On that occasion Mr. Greenwood +had been very imperious. Mr. Greenwood had taken upon himself almost +the manners of the master of the house. Mr. Greenwood had crowed as +though the dunghill had been his own. George Roden even then had not +been abashed, having been able to remember through the interview that +the young lady was on his side; but he had certainly been severely +treated. He had wondered at the moment that such a man as Lord +Kingsbury should confide so much of his family matters to such a man +as Mr. Greenwood. Since then he had heard something of Mr. +Greenwood's latter history from Lady Frances. Lady Frances had joined +with her brother in disliking Mr. Greenwood, and all that Hampstead +had said to her had been passed on to her lover. Since that last +interview the position of the two men had been changed. The chaplain +had been turned out of the establishment, and George Roden had been +almost accepted into it as a son-in-law. As they met on the foot of +the staircase, it was necessary that there should be some greeting. +The Post Office clerk bowed very graciously, but Mr. Greenwood barely +acknowledged the salutation. "There," said he to himself, as he +passed on, "that's the young man that's done all the mischief. It's +because such as he are allowed to make their way in among noblemen +and gentlemen that England is going to the dogs." Nevertheless, when +Mr. Greenwood had first consented to be an inmate of the present Lord +Kingsbury's house, Lord Kingsbury had, in spite of his Order, +entertained very liberal views.</p> + +<p>The Marquis was not in a good humour when Roden was shown into his +room. He had been troubled by his late chaplain, and he was not able +to bear such troubles easily. Mr. Greenwood had said words to him +which had vexed him sorely, and these words had in part referred to +his daughter and his daughter's lover. "No, I'm not very well," he +said in answer to Roden's inquiries. "I don't think I ever shall be +better. What is it about now?"</p> + +<p>"I have come, my lord," said Roden, "because I do not like to be here +in your house under a false pretence."</p> + +<p>"A false pretence? What false pretence? I hate false pretences."</p> + +<p>"So do I."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by a false pretence now?"</p> + +<p>"I fear that they have told you, Lord Kingsbury, that should you give +me your daughter as my wife, you will give her to the Duca di +Crinola." The Marquis, who was sitting in his arm-chair, shook his +head from side to side, and moved his hands uneasily, but made no +immediate reply. "I cannot quite tell, my lord, what your own ideas +are, because we have never discussed the subject."</p> + +<p>"I don't want to discuss it just at present," said the Marquis.</p> + +<p>"But it is right that you should know that I do not claim the title, +and never shall claim it. Others have done so on my behalf, but with +no authority from me. I have no means to support the rank in the +country to which it belongs; nor as an Englishman am I entitled to +assume it here."</p> + +<p>"I don't know that you're an Englishman," said the Marquis. "People +tell me that you're an Italian."</p> + +<p>"I have been brought up as an Englishman, and have lived as one for +five-and-twenty years. I think it would be difficult now to rob me of +my rights. Nobody, I fancy, will try. I am, and shall be, George +Roden, as I always have been. I should not, of course, trouble you +with the matter were it not that I am a suitor for your daughter's +hand. Am I right in supposing that I have been accepted here by you +in that light?" This was a question which the Marquis was not +prepared to answer at the moment. No doubt the young man had been +accepted. Lady Frances had been allowed to go down to Castle Hautboy +to meet him as her lover. All the family had been collected to +welcome him at the London mansion. The newspapers had been full of +mysterious paragraphs in which the future happy bridegroom was +sometimes spoken of as an Italian Duke and sometimes as an English +Post Office clerk. "Of course he must marry her now," the Marquis had +said to his wife, with much anger. "It's all your sister's doings," +he had said to her again. He had in a soft moment given his +affectionate blessing to his daughter in special reference to her +engagement. He knew that he couldn't go back from it now, and had it +been possible, would have been most unwilling to give his wife such a +triumph. But yet he was not prepared to accept the Post Office clerk +simply as a Post Office clerk. "I am sorry to trouble you at this +moment, Lord Kingsbury, if you are not well."</p> + +<p>"I ain't well at all. I am very far from well. If you don't mind I'd +rather not talk about it just at present. When I can see Hampstead, +then, perhaps, things can be settled." As there was nothing further +to be said George Roden took his leave.</p> + + +<p><a name="c3-11" id="c3-11"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XI.</h3> +<h4>"OF COURSE THERE WAS A BITTERNESS."<br /> </h4> + + +<p>It was not surprising that Lord Kingsbury should have been unhappy +when Roden was shown up into his room, as Mr. Greenwood had been with +him. Mr. Greenwood had called on the previous day, and had been +refused admittance. He had then sent in an appeal, asking so +piteously for an interview that the Marquis had been unable to +repudiate it. Mr. Greenwood knew enough of letter-writing to be able +to be effective on such an occasion. He had, he said, lived under the +same roof with the Marquis for a quarter of a century. Though the +positions of the two men in the world were so different they had +lived together as friends. The Marquis throughout that long period +had frequently condescended to ask the advice of his chaplain, and +not unfrequently to follow it. After all this could he refuse to +grant the favour of a last interview? He had found himself unable to +refuse the favour. The interview had taken place, and consequently +the Marquis had been very unhappy when George Roden was shown up into +his room.</p> + +<p>The Rector of Appleslocombe was dead. The interview was commenced by +a communication to that effect from Mr. Greenwood. The Marquis of +course knew the fact,—had indeed already given the living away,—had +not delayed a minute in giving it away because of some fear which +still pressed upon him in reference to Mr. Greenwood. Nor did Mr. +Greenwood expect to get the living,—or perhaps desire it. But he +wished to have a grievance, and to be in possession of a subject on +which he could begin to make his complaint. "You must have known, Mr. +Greenwood, that I never intended it for you," said the Marquis. Mr. +Greenwood, seated on the edge of his chair and rubbing his two hands +together, declared that he had entertained hopes in that direction. +"I don't know why you should, then. I never told you so. I never +thought of it for a moment. I always meant to put a young man into +it;—comparatively young." Mr. Greenwood shook his head and still +rubbed his hands. "I don't know that I can do anything more for you."</p> + +<p>"It isn't much that you have done, certainly, Lord Kingsbury."</p> + +<p>"I have done as much as I intend to do," said the Marquis, rousing +himself angrily. "I have explained all that by Mr. Roberts."</p> + +<p>"Two hundred a year after a quarter of a century!" Mr. Greenwood had +in truth been put into possession of three hundred a year; but as one +hundred of this came from Lord Hampstead it was not necessary to +mention the little addition.</p> + +<p>"It is very wrong,—your pressing your way in here and talking to me +about it at all."</p> + +<p>"After having expected the living for so many years!"</p> + +<p>"You had no right to expect it. I didn't promise it. I never thought +of it for a moment. When you asked me I told you that it was out of +the question. I never heard of such impertinence in all my life. I +must ask you to go away and leave me, Mr. Greenwood." But Mr. +Greenwood was not disposed to go away just yet. He had come there for +a purpose, and he intended to go on with it. He was clearly resolved +not to be frightened by the Marquis. He got up from his chair and +stood looking at the Marquis, still rubbing his hands, till the sick +man was almost frightened by the persistency of his silence. "What is +it, Mr. Greenwood, that makes you stand thus? Do you not hear me tell +you that I have got nothing more to say to you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my lord; I hear what you say."</p> + +<p>"Then why don't you go away? I won't have you stand there staring +like that." He still shook his head. "Why do you stand there and +shake your head?"</p> + +<p>"It must be told, my lord."</p> + +<p>"What must be told?"</p> + +<p>"The Marchioness!"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean, sir? What have you got to say?"</p> + +<p>"Would you wish to send for her ladyship?"</p> + +<p>"No; I wouldn't. I won't send for her ladyship at all. What has her +ladyship got to do with it?"</p> + +<p>"She promised."</p> + +<p>"Promised what?"</p> + +<p>"Promised the living! She undertook that I should have Appleslocombe +the moment it became vacant."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe a word of it."</p> + +<p>"She did. I don't think that her ladyship will deny it." It might +have been so, certainly; and had there been no chance of truth in the +statement he would hardly have been so ready to send for Lady +Kingsbury. But had she done so the promise would amount to nothing. +Though he was sick and wretched and weak, and in some matters afraid +of his wife, there had been no moment of his life in which he would +have given way to her on such a subject as this. "She promised it +me,—for a purpose."</p> + +<p>"A purpose!"</p> + +<p>"For a purpose, my lord."</p> + +<p>"What purpose?" Mr. Greenwood went on staring and shaking his head +and rubbing his hands, till the Marquis, awestruck and almost +frightened, put out his hand towards the bell. But he thought of it +again. He remembered himself that he had nothing to fear. If the man +had anything to say about the Marchioness it might perhaps be better +said without the presence of servants. "If you mean to say anything, +say it. If not,—go. If you do neither one nor the other very +quickly, I shall have you turned out of the house."</p> + +<p>"Turned out of the house?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly. If you have any threat to make, you had better make it in +writing. You can write to my lawyers, or to me, or to Lord Hampstead, +or to Mr. Roberts."</p> + +<p>"It isn't a threat. It is only a statement. She promised it me,—for +a purpose."</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you mean by a purpose, Mr. Greenwood. I don't +believe Lady Kingsbury made any such promise; but if she did it +wasn't hers to promise. I don't believe it; but had she promised I +should not be bound by it."</p> + +<p>"Not if you have not given it away?"</p> + +<p>"I have given it away, Mr. Greenwood."</p> + +<p>"Then I must suggest—"</p> + +<p>"Suggest what!"</p> + +<p>"Compensation, my lord. It will only be fair. You ask her ladyship. +Her ladyship cannot intend that I should be turned out of your +lordship's house with only two hundred a year, after what has passed +between me and her ladyship."</p> + +<p>"What passed?" said the Marquis, absolutely rousing himself so as to +stand erect before the other man.</p> + +<p>"I had rather, my lord, you should hear it from her ladyship."</p> + +<p>"What passed?"</p> + +<p>"There was all that about Lady Frances."</p> + +<p>"What about Lady Frances?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I was employed to do all that I could to prevent the +marriage. You employed me yourself, my lord. It was you sent me down +to see the young man, and explain to him how impertinent he was. It +isn't my fault, Lord Kingsbury, if things have got themselves changed +since then."</p> + +<p>"You think you ought to make a demand upon me because as my Chaplain +you were asked to see a gentleman who called here on a delicate +matter?"</p> + +<p>"It isn't that I am thinking about. If it had been only that I should +have said nothing. You asked me what it was about, and I was obliged +to remind you of one thing. What took place between me and her +ladyship was, of course, much more particular; but it all began with +your lordship. If you hadn't commissioned me I don't suppose her +ladyship would ever have spoken to me about Lady Frances."</p> + +<p>"What is it all? Sit down;—won't you?—and tell it all like a man if +you have got anything to tell." The Marquis, fatigued with his +exertion, was forced to go back to his chair. Mr. Greenwood also sat +down,—but whether or no like a man may be doubted. "Remember this, +Mr. Greenwood, it does not become a gentleman to repeat what has been +said to him in confidence,—especially not to repeat it to him or to +them from whom it was intended to be kept secret. And it does not +become a Christian to endeavour to make ill-blood between a husband +and his wife. Now, if you have got anything to say, say it." Mr. +Greenwood shook his head. "If you have got nothing to say, go away. I +tell you fairly that I don't want to have you here. You have begun +something like a threat, and if you choose to go on with it, you may. +I am not afraid to hear you, but you must say it or go."</p> + +<p>Mr. Greenwood again shook his head. "I suppose you won't deny that +her ladyship honoured me with a very close confidence."</p> + +<p>"I don't know anything about it."</p> + +<p>"Your lordship didn't know that her ladyship down at Trafford used to +be talking to me pretty freely about Lord Hampstead and Lady +Frances?"</p> + +<p>"If you have got anything to say, say it," screamed the Marquis.</p> + +<p>"Of course his lordship and her ladyship are not her ladyship's own +children."</p> + +<p>"What has that got to do with it?"</p> + +<p>"Of course there was a bitterness."</p> + +<p>"What is that to you? I will hear nothing from you about Lady +Kingsbury, unless you have to tell me of some claim to be made upon +her. If there has been money promised you, and she acknowledges it, +it shall be paid. Has there been any such promise?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Greenwood found it very difficult,—nay, quite impossible,—to +say in accurate language that which he was desirous of explaining by +dark hints. There had, he thought, been something of a compact +between himself and the Marchioness. The Marchioness had desired +something which she ought not to have desired, and had called upon +the Chaplain for more than his sympathy. The Chaplain had been +willing to give her more than his sympathy,—had at one time been +almost willing to give her very much more. He might possibly, as he +now felt, have misinterpreted her wishes. But he had certainly heard +from her language so strong, in reference to her husband's children, +that he had been justified in considering that it was intended to be +secret. As a consequence of this he had been compelled to choose +between the Marquis and the Marchioness. By becoming the confidential +friend of the one he had necessarily become the enemy of the other. +Then, as a further consequence, he was turned out of the house,—and, +as he declared to himself, utterly ruined. Now in this there had +certainly been much hardship, and who was to compensate him if not +the Marquis?</p> + +<p>There certainly had been some talk about Appleslocombe during those +moments of hot passion in which Lady Kingsbury had allowed herself to +say such evil things of Lady Frances and Lord Hampstead. Whether any +absolute promise had been given she would probably not now remember. +There certainly had been a moment in which she had thought that her +husband's life might possibly pass away before that of the old +rector; and reference may have been made to the fact that had her own +darling been the heir, the gift of the living would then have fallen +into her own hands. Mr. Greenwood had probably thought more of some +possible compensation for the living than of the living itself. He +had no doubt endeavoured to frighten her ladyship into thinking that +some mysterious debt was due to him, if not for services actually +rendered, at any rate for extraordinary confidences. But before he +had forced upon her the acknowledgment of the debt, he was turned out +of the house! Now this he felt to be hard.</p> + +<p>What were two hundred a-year as a pension for a gentleman after such +a life-long service? Was it to be endured that he should have +listened for so many years to all the abominable politics of the +Marquis, and to the anger and disappointment of the Marchioness, that +he should have been so closely connected, and for so many years, with +luxury, wealth, and rank, and then arrive at so poor an evening of +his day? As he thought of this he felt the more ashamed of his +misfortune, because he believed himself to be in all respects a +stronger man than the Marquis. He had flattered himself that he could +lead the Marquis, and had thought that he had been fairly successful +in doing so. His life had been idle, luxurious, and full of comfort. +The Marquis had allowed him to do pretty well what he pleased until +in an evil hour he had taken the side of the Marchioness in a family +quarrel. Then the Marquis, though weak in health,—almost to his +death,—had suddenly become strong in purpose, and had turned him +abruptly out of the house with a miserable stipend hardly fit for +more than a butler! Could it be that he should put up with such +usage, and allow the Marquis to escape unscathed out of his hand?</p> + +<p>In this condition of mind, he had determined that he owed it to +himself to do or say something that should frighten his lordship into +a more generous final arrangement. There had been, he said to himself +again and again, such a confidence with a lady of so high a rank, +that the owner of it ought not to be allowed to languish upon two or +even upon three hundred a-year. If the whole thing could really be +explained to the Marquis, the Marquis would probably see it himself. +And to all this was to be added the fact that no harm had been done. +The Marchioness owed him very much for having wished to assist her in +getting rid of an heir that was disagreeable to her. The Marquis owed +him more for not having done it. And they both owed him very much in +that he had never said a word of it all to anybody else. He had +thought that he might be clever enough to make the Marquis understand +something of this without actually explaining it. That some +mysterious promise had been made, and that, as the promise could not +be kept, some compensation should be awarded,—this was what he had +desired to bring home to the mind of the Marquis. He had betrayed no +confidence. He intended to betray none. He was very anxious that the +Marquis should be aware, that as he, Mr. Greenwood, was a gentleman, +all confidences would be safe in his hands; but then the Marquis +ought to do his part of the business, and not turn his confidential +Chaplain out of the house after a quarter of a century with a +beggarly annuity of two hundred a-year!</p> + +<p>But the Marquis seemed to have acquired unusual strength of +character; and Mr. Greenwood found that words were very difficult to +be found. He had declared that there had been "a bitterness," and +beyond that he could not go. It was impossible to hint that her +ladyship had wished to have Lord Hampstead—removed. The horrid +thoughts of a few days had become so vague to himself that he doubted +whether there had been any real intention as to the young lord's +removal even in his own mind. There was nothing more that he could +say than this,—that during the period of this close intimacy her +ladyship had promised to him the living of Appleslocombe, and that, +as that promise could not be kept, some compensation should be made +to him. "Was any sum of money named?" asked the Marquis.</p> + +<p>"Nothing of the kind. Her ladyship thought that I ought to have the +living."</p> + +<p>"You can't have it; and there's an end of it."</p> + +<p>"And you think that nothing should be done for me?"</p> + +<p>"I think that nothing should be done for you more than has been +done."</p> + +<p>"Very well. I am not going to tell secrets that have been intrusted +to me as a gentleman, even though I am so badly used by those who +have confided them to me. Her ladyship is safe with me. Because I +sympathized with her ladyship your lordship turned me out of the +house."</p> + +<p>"No; I didn't."</p> + +<p>"Should I have been treated like this had I not taken her ladyship's +part? I am too noble to betray a secret, or, no doubt, I could compel +your lordship to behave to me in a very different manner. Yes, my +lord, I am quite ready to go now. I have made my appeal, and I have +made it in vain. I have no wish to call upon her ladyship. As a +gentleman I am bound to give her ladyship no unnecessary trouble."</p> + +<p>While this last speech was going on a servant had come into the room, +and had told the Marquis that the "Duca di Crinola" was desirous of +seeing him. The servants in the establishment were of course anxious +to recognize Lady Frances' lover as an Italian Duke. The Marquis +would probably have made some excuse for not receiving the lover at +this moment, had he not felt that he might in this way best insure +the immediate retreat of Mr. Greenwood. Mr. Greenwood went, and Roden +was summoned to Lord Kingsbury's presence; but the meeting took place +under circumstances which naturally made the Marquis incapable of +entering at the moment with much spirit on the great "Duca" question.</p> + + +<p><a name="c3-12" id="c3-12"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XII.</h3> +<h4>LORD HAMPSTEAD AGAIN WITH MRS. RODEN.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Weeks had passed by since Lord Hampstead had walked up and down Broad +Street with Mr. Fay,—weeks which were to him a period of terrible +woe. His passion for Marion had so seized upon him, that it had in +all respects changed his life. The sorrow of her alleged ill-health +had fallen upon him before the hunting had been over, but from that +moment he had altogether forgotten his horses. The time had now come +in which he was wont to be on board his yacht, but of his yacht he +took no notice whatever. "I can tell you nothing about it as yet," he +said in the only line which he wrote to his skipper in answer to +piteous applications made to him. None of those who were near and +dear to him knew how he passed his time. His sister left him and went +up to the house in London, and he felt that her going was a relief to +him. He would not even admit his friend Roden to come to him in his +trouble. He spent his days all alone at Hendon, occasionally going +across to Holloway in order that he might talk of his sorrow to Mrs. +Roden. Midsummer had come upon him before he again saw the Quaker. +Marion's father had left a feeling almost of hostility in his mind in +consequence of that conversation in Broad Street. "I no longer want +anything on your behalf," the Quaker had seemed to say. "I care +nothing now for your name, or your happiness. I am anxious only for +my child, and as I am told that it will be better that you should not +see her, you must stay away." That the father should be anxious for +his daughter was natural enough. Lord Hampstead could not quarrel +with Zachary Fay. But he taught himself to think that their interests +were at variance with each other. As for Marion, whether she were ill +or whether she were well, he would have had her altogether to +himself.</p> + +<p>Gradually there had come upon him the conviction that there was a +real barrier existing between himself and the thing that he desired. +To Marion's own words, while they had been spoken only to himself, he +had given no absolute credit. He had been able to declare to her that +her fears were vain, and that whether she were weak or whether she +were strong, it was her duty to come to him. When they two had been +together his arguments and assurances had convinced at any rate +himself. The love which he had seen in her eyes and had heard from +her lips had been so sweet to him, that their savour had overcome +whatever strength her words possessed. But these protestations, these +assurances that no marriage could be possible, when they reached him +second-hand, as they had done through his sister and through the +Quaker, almost crushed him. He did not dare to tell them that he +would fain marry the girl though she were dying,—that he would +accept any chance or no chance, if he might only be allowed to hold +her in his arms, and tell her that she was all his own. There had +come a blow, he would say to himself, again and again, as he walked +about the grounds at Hendon, there had come a blow, a fatal blow, a +blow from which there could be no recovery,—but, still, it should, +it ought, to be borne together. He would not admit to himself that +because of this verdict there ought to be a separation between them +two. It might be that the verdict had been uttered by a Judge against +whom there could be no appeal; but even the Judge should not be +allowed to say that Marion Fay was not his own. Let her come and die +in his arms if she must die. Let her come and have what of life there +might be left to her, warmed and comforted and perhaps extended by +his love. It seemed to him to be certainly a fact, that because of +his great love, and of hers, she did already belong to him; and yet +he was told that he might not see her;—that it would be better that +she should not be disturbed by his presence,—as though he were no +more than a stranger to her. Every day he almost resolved to +disregard them, and go down to the little cottage in which she was +living. But then he remembered the warnings which were given to him, +and was aware that he had in truth no right to intrude upon the +Quaker's household. It is not to be supposed that during this time he +had no intercourse with Marion. At first there came to be a few +lines, written perhaps once a week from her, in answer to many lines +written by him; but by degrees the feeling of awe which at first +attached itself to the act of writing to him wore off, and she did +not let a day pass without sending him some little record of herself +and her doings. It had come to be quite understood by the Quaker that +Marion was to do exactly as she pleased with her lover. No one +dreamed of hinting to her that this correspondence was improper or +injurious. Had she herself expressed a wish to see him, neither would +the Quaker nor Mrs. Roden have made strong objection. To whatever +might have been her wish or her decision they would have acceded. It +was by her word that the marriage had been declared to be impossible. +It was in obedience to her that he was to keep aloof. She had failed +to prevail with her own soft words, and had therefore been driven to +use the authority of others.</p> + +<p>But at this period, though she did become weaker and weaker from day +to day, and though the doctor's attendance was constant at the +cottage, Marion herself was hardly unhappy. She grieved indeed for +his grief; but, only for that, there would have been triumph and joy +to her rather than grief. The daily writing of these little notes was +a privilege to her and a happiness, of which she had hitherto known +nothing. To have a lover, and such a lover, was a delight to her, a +delight to which there was now hardly any drawback, as there was +nothing now of which she need be afraid. To have him with her as +other girls may have their lovers, she knew was impossible to her. +But to read his words, and to write loving words to him, to talk to +him of his future life, and bid him think of her, his poor Marion, +without allowing his great manly heart to be filled too full with +vain memories, was in truth happiness to her. "Why should you want to +come?" she said. "It is infinitely better that you should not come. +We understand it all now, and acknowledge what it is that the Lord +has done for us. It would not have been good for me to be your wife. +It would not have been good for you to have become my husband. But it +will I think be good for me to have loved you; and if you will learn +to think of it as I do, it will not have been bad for you. It has +given a beauty to my life," she said, "which makes me feel that I +ought to be contented to die early. If I could have had a choice I +would have chosen it so."</p> + +<p>But these teachings from her had no effect whatever upon him. It was +her idea that she would pass away, and that there would remain with +him no more than a fair sweet shade which would have but little +effect upon his future life beyond that of creating for him +occasionally a gentle melancholy. It could not be, she thought, that +for a man such as he,—for one so powerful and so great,—such a +memory should cause a lasting sorrow. But with him, to his thinking, +to his feeling, the lasting biting sorrow was there already. There +could be no other love, no other marriage, no other Marion. He had +heard that his stepmother was anxious for her boy. The way should be +open for the child. It did seem to him that a life, long continued, +would be impossible to him when Marion should have been taken away +from him.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes;—he's there again," said Miss Demijohn to her aunt. "He +comes mostly on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. What he can be +coming about is more than I can guess. Crocker says it's all true +love. Crocker says that the Duca +<span class="nowrap">says—"</span></p> + +<p>"Bother the Duca," exclaimed the old woman. "I don't believe that +Crocker and George Roden ever exchange a word together."</p> + +<p>"Why shouldn't they exchange words, and they fast friends of five +years' standing? Crocker says as Lord Hampstead is to be at Lady +Amaldina's wedding in August. His lordship has promised. And Crocker +<span class="nowrap">thinks—"</span></p> + +<p>"I don't believe very much about Crocker, my young woman. You had +better look to yourself, or, perhaps, you'll find when you have got +yourself married that Crocker has not got a roof to cover you."</p> + +<p>Lord Hampstead had walked over to Paradise Row, and was seated with +Mrs. Roden when this little squabble was going on. "You don't think +that I ought to let things remain as they are," he said to Mrs. +Roden. To all such questions Mrs. Roden found it very difficult to +make any reply. She did in truth think that they ought to be allowed +to remain as they were,—or rather that some severance should be made +more decided even than that which now existed. Putting aside her own +ideas, she was quite sure that Marion would not consent to a +marriage. And, as it was so, and must be so, it was better, she +thought, that the young people should see no more of each other. This +writing of daily letters,—what good could it do to either of them? +To her indeed, to Marion, with her fixed purpose, and settled +religious convictions, and almost certain fate, little evil might be +done. But to Lord Hampstead the result would be, and was, terribly +pernicious. He was sacrificing himself, not only as Mrs. Roden +thought for the present moment, but for many years perhaps,—perhaps +for his future life,—to a hopeless passion. A cloud was falling upon +him which might too probably darken his whole career. From the day on +which she had unfortunately taken Marion to Hendon Hall, she had +never ceased to regret the acquaintance which she had caused. To her +thinking the whole affair had been unfortunate. Between people so +divided there should have been no intimacy, and yet this intimacy had +been due to her. "It is impossible that I should not see her," +continued Lord Hampstead. "I will see her."</p> + +<p>"If you would see her, and then make up your mind to part with +her,—that I think would be good."</p> + +<p>"To see her, and say farewell to her for ever?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my lord."</p> + +<p>"Certainly not. That I will never do. If it should come to pass that +she must go from me for ever, I would have her in my arms to the very +last!"</p> + +<p>"At such a moment, my lord, those whom nature has given to her for +her <span class="nowrap">friends—"</span></p> + +<p>"Has not nature given me too for her friend? Can any friend love her +more truly than I do? Those should be with us when we die to whom our +life is of most importance. Is there any one to whom her life can be +half as much as it is to me? The husband is the dearest to his wife. +When I look upon her as going from me for ever, then may I not say +that she is the same to me as my wife."</p> + +<p>"Why—why,—why?"</p> + +<p>"I know what you mean, Mrs. Roden. What is the use of asking 'why' +when the thing is done? Could I make it so now, as though I had never +seen her? Could I if I would? Would I if I could? What is the good of +thinking of antecedents which are impossible? She has become my +treasure. Whether past and fleeting, or likely to last me for my +life, she is my treasure. Can I make a change because you ask +why,—and why,—and why? Why did I ever come here? Why did I know +your son? Why have I got a something here within me which kills me +when I think that I shall be separated from her, and yet crowns me +with glory when I feel that she has loved me. If she must leave me, I +have to bear it. What I shall do, where I shall go, whether I shall +stand or fall, I do not pretend to say. A man does not know, himself, +of what stuff he is made, till he has been tried. But whatever may be +my lot, it cannot be altered by any care or custody now. She is my +own, and I will not be separated from her. If she were dead, I should +know that she was gone. She would have left me, and I could not help +myself. As yet she is living, and may live, and I will be with her. I +must go to her there, or she must come here to me. If he will permit +it I will take some home for myself close to hers. What will it +matter now, though every one should know it? Let them all know it. +Should she live she will become mine. If she must go,—what will the +world know but that I have lost her who was to have been my wife?"</p> + +<p>Even Mrs. Roden had not the heart to tell him that he had seen Marion +for the last time. It would have been useless to tell him so, for he +would not have obeyed the behest contained in such an assertion. +Ideas of prudence and ideas of health had restrained him +hitherto,—but he had been restrained only for a time. No one had +dared suggest to him that he should never again see his Marion. "I +suppose that we must ask Mr. Fay," she replied. She was herself more +powerful than the Quaker, as she was well aware; but it had become +necessary to her to say something.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Fay has less to say to it even than I have," said Hampstead. "My +belief is that Marion herself is the only one among us who is strong. +If it were not that she is determined, he would yield and you would +yield."</p> + +<p>"Who can know as she knows?" said Mrs. Roden. "Which among us is so +likely to be guided by what is right? Which is so pure, and honest, +and loving? Her conscience tells her what is best."</p> + +<p>"I am not sure of that," said he. "Her conscience may fill her as +well as another with fears that are unnecessary. I cannot think that +a girl should be encouraged by those around her to doom herself after +this fashion. Who has a right to say that God has determined that she +shall die early?" Mrs. Roden shook her head. "I am not going to teach +others what religion demands, but to me it seems that we should leave +these things in God's hands. That she may doubt as to herself may be +natural enough, but others should not have encouraged her."</p> + +<p>"You mean me, my lord?"</p> + +<p>"You must not be angry with me, Mrs. Roden. The matter to me is so +vital that I have to say what I think about it. It does seem to me +that I am kept away from her, whereas, by all the ties which can bind +a man and a woman together, I ought to be with her. Forms and +ceremonies seem to sink to nothing, when I think of all she is to me, +and remember that I am told that she is soon to be taken away from +me."</p> + +<p>"How would it be if she had a mother?"</p> + +<p>"Why should her mother refuse my love for her daughter? But she has +no mother. She has a father who has accepted me. I do believe that +had the matter been left wholly to him, Marion would now be my wife."</p> + +<p>"I was away, my lord, in Italy."</p> + +<p>"I will not be so harsh to such a friend as you, as to say that I +wish you had remained there; but I feel,—I cannot but +<span class="nowrap">feel—"</span></p> + +<p>"My lord, I think the truth is that you hardly know how strong in +such a matter as this our Marion herself can be. Neither have I nor +has her father prevailed upon her. I can go back now, and tell you +without breach of confidence all that passed between her and me. When +first your name was discussed between us; when first I saw that you +seemed to make much of <span class="nowrap">her—"</span></p> + +<p>"Make much of her!" exclaimed Hampstead, angrily.</p> + +<p>"Yes; make much of her! When first I thought that you were becoming +fond of her."</p> + +<p>"You speak as though there had been some idle dallying. Did I not +worship her? Did I not pour out my whole heart into her lap from the +first moment in which I saw her? Did I hide it even from you? Was +there any pretence, any falsehood?"</p> + +<p>"No, indeed."</p> + +<p>"Do not say that I made much of her. The phrase is vile. When she +told me that she loved me, she made much of me."</p> + +<p>"When first you showed us that you loved her," she continued, "I +feared that it would not be for good."</p> + +<p>"Why should it not be for good?"</p> + +<p>"I will not speak of that now, but I thought so. I thought so, and I +told my thoughts to Marion."</p> + +<p>"You did?"</p> + +<p>"I did;—and I think that in doing so, I did no more than my duty to +a motherless girl. Of the reasons which I gave to her I will say +nothing now. Her reasons were so much stronger, that mine were +altogether unavailing. Her resolutions were built on so firm a rock, +that they needed no persuasions of mine to strengthen them. I had +ever known Marion to be pure, unselfish, and almost perfect. But I +had never before seen how high she could rise, how certainly she +could soar above all weakness and temptation. To her there was never +a moment of doubt. She knew from the very first that it could not be +so."</p> + +<p>"It shall be so," he said, jumping up from his chair, and flinging up +his arms.</p> + +<p>"It was not I who persuaded her, or her father. Even you cannot +persuade her. Having convinced herself that were she to marry you, +she would injure you, not all her own passionate love will induce her +to accept the infinite delight of yielding to you. What may be best +for you;—that is present to her mind, and nothing else. On that her +heart is fixed, and so clear is her judgment respecting it, that she +will not allow the words of any other to operate on her for a moment. +Marion Fay, Lord Hampstead, is infinitely too great to have been +persuaded in any degree by me."</p> + + +<div class="center"> +<p class="noindent">*<span class="ind2">*</span><span +class="ind2">*</span><span class="ind2">*</span><span +class="ind2">*</span><span class="ind2">*</span></p> +</div> + + +<p>Nevertheless Mrs. Roden did allow herself to say that in her opinion +the lover should be allowed to see his mistress. She herself would go +to Pegwell Bay, and endeavour to bring Marion back to Holloway. That +Lord Hampstead should himself go down and spend his long hours at the +little seaside place did not seem to her to be fitting. But she +promised that she would do her best to arrange at any rate another +meeting in Paradise Row.</p> + + +<p><a name="c3-13" id="c3-13"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XIII.</h3> +<h4>LORD HAMPSTEAD AGAIN WITH MARION.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>The Quaker had become as weak as water in his daughter's hands. To +whatever she might have desired he would have given his assent. He +went daily up from Pegwell Bay to Pogson and Littlebird's, but even +then he was an altered man. It had been said there for a few days +that his daughter was to become the wife of the eldest son of the +Marquis of Kingsbury, and then it had been said that there could be +no such marriage—because of Marion's health. The glory while it +lasted he had borne meekly, but with a certain anxious satisfaction. +The pride of his life had been in Marion, and this young lord's +choice had justified his pride. But the glory had been very fleeting. +And now it was understood through all Pogson and Littlebird's that +their senior clerk had been crushed, not by the loss of his noble +son-in-law, but by the cause which produced the loss. Under these +circumstances poor Zachary Fay had hardly any will of his own, except +to do that which his daughter suggested to him. When she told him +that she would wish to go up to London for a few days, he assented as +a matter of course. And when she explained that she wished to do so +in order that she might see Lord Hampstead, he only shook his head +sadly, and was silent.</p> + +<p>"Of course I will come as you wish it," Marion had said in her letter +to her lover. "What would I not do that you wish,—except when you +wish things that you know you ought not? Mrs. Roden says that I am to +go up to be lectured. You mustn't be very hard upon me. I don't think +you ought to ask me to do things which you know,—which you know that +I cannot do. Oh, my lover! oh, my love! would that it were all over, +and that you were free!"</p> + +<p>In answer to this, and to other letters of the kind, he wrote to her +long argumentative epistles, in which he strove to repress the +assurances of his love, in order that he might convince her the +better by the strength of his reasoning. He spoke to her of the will +of God, and of the wickedness of which she would be guilty if she +took upon herself to foretell the doings of Providence. He said much +of the actual bond by which they had tied themselves together in +declaring their mutual love. He endeavoured to explain to her that +she could not be justified in settling such a question for herself +without reference to the opinion of those who must know the world +better than she did. Had the words of a short ceremony been spoken, +she would have been bound to obey him as her husband. Was she not +equally bound now, already, to acknowledge his superiority,—and if +not by him, was it not her manifest duty to be guided by her father? +Then at the end of four carefully-written, well-stuffed pages, there +would come two or three words of burning love. "My Marion, my self, +my very heart!" It need hardly be said that as the well-stuffed pages +went for nothing with Marion,—had not the least effect towards +convincing her, so were the few words the very food on which she +lived. There was no absurdity in the language of love that was not to +her a gem so brilliant that it deserved to be garnered in the very +treasure house of her memory! All those long useless sermons were +preserved because they had been made rich and rare by the expression +of his passion.</p> + +<p>She understood him, and valued him at the proper rate, and measured +him correctly in everything. He was so true, she knew him to be so +true, that even his superlatives could not be other than true! But as +for his reasoning, she knew that that came also from his passion. She +could not argue the matter out with him, but he was wrong in it all. +She was not bound to listen to any other voice but that of her own +conscience. She was bound not to subject him to the sorrows which +would attend him were he to become her husband. She could not tell +how weak or how strong might be his nature in bearing the burden of +the grief which would certainly fall upon him at her death. She had +heard, and had in part seen, that time does always mitigate the +weight of that burden. Perhaps it might be best that she should go at +once, so that no prolonged period of his future career should be +injured by his waiting. She had begun to think that he would be +unable to look for another wife while she lived. By degrees there +came upon her the full conviction of the steadfastness, nay, of the +stubbornness, of his heart. She had been told that men were not +usually like that. When first he had become sweet to her, she had not +thought that he would have been like that. Was it not almost +unmanly,—or rather was it not womanly? And yet he,—strong and +masterful as he was,—could he have aught of a woman's weakness about +him? Could she have dreamed that it would be so from the first, she +thought that from the very first she could have abstained.</p> + +<p>"Of course I shall be at home on Tuesday at two. Am I not at home +every day at all hours? Mrs. Roden shall not be there as you do not +wish it, though Mrs. Roden has always been your friend. Of course I +shall be alone. Papa is always in the City. Good to you! Of course I +shall be good to you! How can I be bad to the one being that I love +better than all the world? I am always thinking of you; but I do wish +that you would not think so much of me. A man should not think so +much of a girl,—only just at his spare moments. I did not think that +it would be like that when I told you that you might love me."</p> + +<p>All that Tuesday morning, before he left home, he was not only +thinking of her, but trying to marshal in order what arguments he +might use,—so as to convince her at last. He did not at all +understand how utterly fruitless his arguments had been with her. +When Mrs. Roden had told him of Marion's strength he had only in part +believed her. In all matters concerning the moment Marion was weak +and womanly before him. When he told her that this or the other thing +was proper and becoming, she took it as Gospel because it came from +him. There was something of the old awe even when she looked up into +his face. Because he was a great nobleman, and because she was the +Quaker's daughter, there was still, in spite of their perfect love, +something of superiority, something of inferiority of position. It +was natural that he should command,—natural that she should obey. +How could it be then that she should not at last obey him in this +great thing which was so necessary to him? And yet hitherto he had +never gone near to prevailing with her. Of course he marshalled all +his arguments.</p> + +<p>Gentle and timid as she was, she had made up her mind to everything, +even down to the very greeting with which she would receive him. His +first warm kiss had shocked her. She had thought of it since, and had +told herself that no harm could come to her from such tokens of +affection,—that it would be unnatural were she to refuse it to him. +Let it pass by as an incident that should mean nothing. To hang upon +his neck and to feel and to know that she was his very own,—that +might not be given to her. To hear his words of love and to answer +him with words as warm,—that could be allowed to her. As for the +rest, it would be better that she should let it so pass by that there +need be as little of contention as possible on a matter so trivial.</p> + +<p>When he came into the room he took her at once, passive and +unresisting, into his arms. "Marion," he said. "Marion! Do you say +that you are ill? You are as bright as a rose."</p> + +<p>"Rose leaves soon fall. But we will not talk about that. Why go to +such a subject?"</p> + +<p>"It cannot be helped." He still held her by the waist, and now again +he kissed her. There was something in her passive submission which +made him think at the moment that she had at last determined to yield +to him altogether. "Marion, Marion," he said, still holding her in +his embrace, "you will be persuaded by me? You will be mine now?"</p> + +<p>Gradually,—very gently,—she contrived to extricate herself. There +must be no more of it, or his passion would become too strong for +her. "Sit down, dearest," she said. "You flurry me by all this. It is +not good that I should be flurried."</p> + +<p>"I will be quiet, tame, motionless, if you will only say the one word +to me. Make me understand that we are not to be parted, and I will +ask for nothing else."</p> + +<p>"Parted! No, I do not think that we shall be parted."</p> + +<p>"Say that the day shall come when we may really be joined together; +<span class="nowrap">when—"</span></p> + +<p>"No, dear; no; I cannot say that. I cannot alter anything that I have +said before. I cannot make things other than they are. Here we are, +we two, loving each other with all our hearts, and yet it may not be. +My dear, dear lord!" She had never even yet learned another name for +him than this. "Sometimes I ask myself whether it has been my fault." +She was now sitting, and he was standing over her, but still holding +her by the hand.</p> + +<p>"There has been no fault. Why should either have been in fault?"</p> + +<p>"When there is so great a misfortune there must generally have been a +fault. But I do not think there has been any here. Do not +misunderstand me, dear. The misfortune is not with me. I do not know +that the Lord could have sent me a greater blessing than to have been +loved by you,—were it not that your trouble, your grief, your +complainings rob me of my joy."</p> + +<p>"Then do not rob me," he said.</p> + +<p>"Out of two evils you must choose the least. You have heard of that, +have you not?"</p> + +<p>"There need be no evil;—no such evil as this." Then he dropped her +hand, and stood apart from her while he listened to her, or else +walked up and down the room, throwing at her now and again a quick +angry word, as she went on striving to make clear to him the ideas as +they came to her mind.</p> + +<p>"I do not know how I could have done otherwise," she said, "when you +would make it so certain to me that you loved me. I suppose it might +have been possible for me to go away, and not to say a word in +answer."</p> + +<p>"That is nonsense,—sheer nonsense," he said.</p> + +<p>"I could not tell you an untruth. I tried it once, but the words +would not come at my bidding. Had I not spoken them, you would read +the truth in my eyes. What then could I have done? And yet there was +not a moment in which I have not known that it must be as it is."</p> + +<p>"It need not be; it need not be. It should not be."</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear, it must be. As it is so why not let us have the sweet of +it as far as it will go? Can you not take a joy in thinking that you +have given an inexpressible brightness to your poor Marion's days; +that you have thrown over her a heavenly light which would be all +glorious to her if she did not see that you were covered by a cloud? +If I thought that you could hold up your head with manly strength, +and accept this little gift of my love, just for what it is +worth,—just for what it is worth,—then I think I could be happy to +the end."</p> + +<p>"What would you have me do? Can a man love and not love?"</p> + +<p>"I almost think he can. I almost think that men do. I would not have +you not love me. I would not lose my light and my glory altogether. +But I would have your love to be of such a nature that it should not +conquer you. I would have you remember your name and your +<span class="nowrap">family—"</span></p> + +<p>"I care nothing for my name. As far as I am concerned, my name is +gone."</p> + +<p>"Oh, my lord!"</p> + +<p>"You have determined that my name shall go no further."</p> + +<p>"That is unmanly, Lord Hampstead. Because a poor weak girl such as I +am cannot do all that you wish, are you to throw away your strength +and your youth, and all the high hopes which ought to be before you? +Would you say that it were well in another if you heard that he had +thrown up everything, surrendered all his duties, because of his love +for some girl infinitely beneath him in the world's esteem?"</p> + +<p>"There is no question of above and beneath. I will not have it. As to +that, at any rate we are on a par."</p> + +<p>"A man and a girl can never be on a par. You have a great career, and +you declare that it shall go for nothing because I cannot be your +wife."</p> + +<p>"Can I help myself if I am broken-hearted? You can help me."</p> + +<p>"No, Lord Hampstead; it is there that you are wrong. It is there that +you must allow me to say that I have the clearer knowledge. With an +effort on your part the thing may be done."</p> + +<p>"What effort? What effort? Can I teach myself to forget that I have +ever seen you?"</p> + +<p>"No, indeed; you cannot forget. But you may resolve that, remembering +me, you should remember me only for what I am worth. You should not +buy your memories at too high a price."</p> + +<p>"What is it that you would have me do?"</p> + +<p>"I would have you seek another wife."</p> + +<p>"Marion!"</p> + +<p>"I would have you seek another wife. If not instantly, I would have +you instantly resolve to do so."</p> + +<p>"It would not hurt you to feel that I loved another?"</p> + +<p>"I think not. I have tried myself, and now I think that it would not +hurt me. There was a time in which I owned to myself that it would be +very bitter, and then I told myself, that I hoped,—that I hoped that +you would wait. But now, I have acknowledged to myself the vanity and +selfishness of such a wish. If I really love you am I not bound to +want what may be best for you?"</p> + +<p>"You think that possible?" he said, standing over her, and looking +down upon her. "Judging from your own heart do you think that you +could do that if outward circumstances made it convenient?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, no."</p> + +<p>"Why should you suppose me to be harder-hearted than yourself, more +callous, more like a beast of the fields?"</p> + +<p>"More like a man is what I would have you."</p> + +<p>"I have listened to you, Marion, and now you may listen to me. Your +distinctions as to men and women are all vain. There are those, men +and women both, who can love and do love, and there are those who +neither do nor can. Whether it be for good or evil,—we can, you and +I, and we do. It would be impossible to think of giving yourself to +another?"</p> + +<p>"That is certainly true."</p> + +<p>"It is the same with me,—and will ever be so. Whether you live or +die, I can have no other wife than Marion Fay. As to that I have a +right to expect that you shall believe me. Whether I have a wife or +not you must decide."</p> + +<p>"Oh, dearest, do not kill me."</p> + +<p>"It has to be so. If you can be firm so can I. As to my name and my +family, it matters nothing. Could I be allowed to look forward and +think that you would sit at my hearth, and that some child that +should be my child should lie in your arms, then I could look forward +to what you call a career. Not that he might be the last of a hundred +Traffords, not that he might be an Earl or a Marquis like his +forefathers, not that he might some day live to be a wealthy peer, +would I have it so,—but because he would be yours and mine." Now she +got up, and threw her arms around him, and stood leaning on him as he +spoke. "I can look forward to that and think of a career. If that +cannot be, the rest of it must provide for itself. There are others +who can look after the Traffords,—and who will do so whether it be +necessary or not. To have gone a little out of the beaten path, to +have escaped some of the traditional absurdities, would have been +something to me. To have let the world see how noble a Countess I +could find for it—that would have satisfied me. And I had succeeded. +I had found one that would really have graced the name. If it is not +to be so,—why then let the name and family go on in the old beaten +track. I shall not make another venture. I have made my choice, and +it is to come to this."</p> + +<p>"You must wait, dear;—you must wait. I had not thought it would be +like this; but you must wait."</p> + +<p>"What God may have in store for me, who can tell. You have told me +your mind, Marion; and now I trust that you will understand mine. I +do not accept your decision, but you will accept mine. Think of it +all, and when you see me again in a day or two, then see whether you +will not be able to join your lot to mine and make the best of it." +Upon this he kissed her again, and left her without another word.</p> + + +<p><a name="c3-14" id="c3-14"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XIV.</h3> +<h4>CROCKER'S DISTRESS.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>When Midsummer came Paradise Row was alive with various interests. +There was no one there who did not know something of the sad story of +Marion Fay and her love. It was impossible that such a one as Lord +Hampstead should make repeated visits to the street without notice. +When Marion returned home from Pegwell Bay, even the potboy at The +Duchess of Edinburgh knew why she had come, and Clara Demijohn +professed to be able to tell all that passed at the interview next +day. And there was the great "Duca" matter;—so that Paradise Row +generally conceived itself to be concerned on all questions of +nobility, both Foreign and British. There were the Ducaites and the +anti-Ducaites. The Demijohn faction generally, as being under the +influence of Crocker, were of opinion that George Roden being a Duke +could not rid himself of his ducal nature, and they were loud in +their expression of the propriety of calling the Duke Duke whether he +wished it or no. But Mrs. Grimley at The Duchess was warm on the +other side. George Roden, according to her lights, being a clerk in +the Post Office, must certainly be a Briton, and being a Briton, and +therefore free, was entitled to call himself whatever he pleased. She +was generally presumed to enunciate a properly constitutional theory +in the matter, and, as she was a leading personage in the +neighbourhood, the Duca was for the most part called by his old name; +but there were contests, and on one occasion blows had been struck. +All this helped to keep life alive in the Row.</p> + +<p>But there had arisen another source of intense interest. Samuel +Crocker was now regularly engaged to marry Miss Demijohn. There had +been many difficulties before this could be arranged. Crocker not +unnaturally wished that a portion of the enormous wealth which rumour +attributed to Mrs. Demijohn should be made over to the bride on her +marriage. But the discussions which had taken place between him and +the old lady on the matter had been stormy and unsuccessful. "It's a +sort of thing that one doesn't understand at all, you know," Crocker +had said to Mrs. Grimley, giving the landlady to understand that he +was not going to part with his own possession of himself without +adequate consideration. Mrs. Grimley had comforted the young man by +reminding him that the old lady was much given to hot brandy and +water, and that she could not "take her money with her where she was +going." Crocker had at last contented himself with an assurance that +there should be a breakfast and a trousseau which was to cost £100. +With the promise of this and the hope of what brandy-and-water might +do for him, he had given in, and the match was made. Had there been +no more than this in the matter the Row would not have been much +stirred by it. The Row was so full of earls, marquises, and dukes +that Crocker's love would have awakened no more than a passing +attention, but for a concomitant incident which was touching in its +nature, and interesting in its development. Daniel Tribbledale, +junior clerk at Pogson and Littlebird's, had fought a battle with his +passion for Clara Demijohn like a man; but, manly though the battle +had been, Love had prevailed over him. He had at last found it +impossible to give up the girl of his heart, and he had declared his +intention of "punching Crocker's head" should he ever find him in the +neighbourhood of the Row. With the object of doing this he frequented +the Row constantly from ten in the evening till two in the morning, +and spent a great deal more money than he ought to have done at The +Duchess. He would occasionally knock at No. 10, and boldly ask to be +allowed to see Miss Clara. On one or two of these occasions he had +seen her, and tears had flown in great quantities. He had thrown +himself at her feet, and she had assured him that it was in vain. He +had fallen back at Pogson and Littlebird's to £120 a year, and there +was no prospect of an increase. Moreover the betrothment with Crocker +was complete. Clara had begged him to leave the vicinity of Holloway. +Nothing, he had sworn, should divorce him from Paradise Row. Should +that breakfast ever be given; should these hated nuptials ever take +place; he would be heard of. It was in vain that Clara had threatened +to die on the threshold of the church if anything rash were done. He +was determined, and Clara, no doubt, was interested in the +persistency of his affection. It was, however, specially worthy of +remark that Crocker and Tribbledale never did meet in Paradise Row.</p> + +<p>Monday, 13th of July, was the day fixed for the marriage, and +lodgings for the happy pair had been taken at Islington. It had been +hoped that room might have been made for them at No. 10; but the old +lady, fearing the interference of a new inmate, had preferred the +horrors of solitude to the combined presence of her niece and her +niece's husband. She had, however, given a clock and a small +harmonium to grace the furnished sitting-room;—so that things might +be said to stand on a sound and pleasant footing. Gradually, however, +it came to be thought both by the old and the young lady, that +Crocker was becoming too eager on that great question of the Duca. +When he declared that no earthly consideration should induce him to +call his friend by any name short of that noble title which he was +entitled to use, he was asked a question or two as to his practice at +the office. For it had come round to Paradise Row that Crocker was +giving offence at the office by his persistency. "When I speak of him +I always call him the 'Duca,'" said Crocker, gallantly, "and when I +meet him I always address him as Duca. No doubt it may for a while +create a little coolness, but he will recognize at last the truth of +the spirit which actuates me. He is 'the Duca.'"</p> + +<p>"If you go on doing what they tell you not to do," said the old +woman, "they'll dismiss you." Crocker had simply smiled ineffably. +Not Æolus himself would dismiss him for a loyal adherence to the +constitutional usages of European Courts.</p> + +<p>Crocker was in truth making himself thoroughly disagreeable at the +Post Office. Sir Boreas had had his own view as to Roden's title, and +had been anxious to assist Lord Persiflage in forcing the clerk to +accept his nobility. But when he had found that Roden was determined, +he had given way. No order had been given on the subject. It was a +matter which hardly admitted of an order. But it was understood that +as Mr. Roden wished to be Mr. Roden, he was to be Mr. Roden. It was +declared that good taste required that he should be addressed as he +chose to be addressed. When, therefore, Crocker persisted it was felt +that Crocker was a bore. When Crocker declared to Roden personally +that his conscience would not allow him to encounter a man whom he +believed to be a nobleman without calling him by his title, the +office generally felt that Crocker was an ass. Æolus was known to +have expressed himself as very angry, and was said to have declared +that the man must be dismissed sooner or later. This had been +reported to Crocker. "Sir Boreas can't dismiss me for calling a +nobleman by his right name," Crocker had replied indignantly. The +clerks had acknowledged among themselves that this might be true, but +had remarked that there were different ways of hanging a dog. If +Æolus was desirous of hanging Crocker, Crocker would certainly find +him the rope before long. There was a little bet made between Bobbin +and Geraghty that the office would know Crocker no longer before the +end of the year.</p> + +<p>Alas, alas;—just before the time fixed for the poor fellow's +marriage, during the first week of July, there came to our Æolus not +only an opportunity for dismissing poor Crocker, but an occasion on +which, by the consent of all, it was admitted to be impossible that +he should not do so, and the knowledge of the sin committed came upon +Sir Boreas at a moment of great exasperation caused by another +source. "Sir Boreas," Crocker had said, coming into the great man's +room, "I hope you will do me the honour of being present at my +wedding breakfast." The suggestion was an unpardonable impertinence. +"I am asking no one else in the Department except the Duca," said +Crocker. With what special flea in his ear Crocker was made to leave +the room instantly cannot be reported; but the reader may be quite +sure that neither did Æolus nor the Duca accept the invitation. It +was on that very afternoon that Mr. Jerningham, with the assistance +of one of the messengers, discovered that Crocker had—actually torn +up a bundle of official papers!</p> + +<p>Among many official sins of which Crocker was often guilty was that +of "delaying papers." Letters had to be written, or more probably +copies made, and Crocker would postpone the required work from day to +day. Papers would get themselves locked up, and sometimes it would +not be practicable to trace them. There were those in the Department +who said that Crocker was not always trustworthy in his statements, +and there had come up lately a case in which the unhappy one was +supposed to have hidden a bundle of papers of which he denied having +ever had the custody. Then arose a tumult of anger among those who +would be supposed to have had the papers if Crocker did not have +them, and a violent search was instituted. Then it was discovered +that he had absolutely—destroyed the official documents! They +referred to the reiterated complaints of a fidgety old gentleman who +for years past had been accusing the Department of every imaginable +iniquity. According to this irritable old gentleman, a diabolical +ingenuity had been exercised in preventing him from receiving a +single letter through a long series of years.</p> + +<p>This was a new crime. Wicked things were often done, but anything so +wicked as this had never before been perpetrated in the Department. +The minds of the senior clerks were terribly moved, and the young men +were agitated by a delicious awe. Crocker was felt to be abominable; +but heroic also,—and original. It might be that a new opening for +great things had been invented.</p> + +<p>The fidgety old gentleman had never a leg to stand upon,—not a +stump; but now it was almost impossible that he should not be made to +know that all his letters of complaint had been made away with! Of +course Crocker must be dismissed. He was at once suspended, and +called upon for his written explanation. "And I am to be married next +week!" he said weeping to Mr. Jerningham. Æolus had refused to see +him, and Mr. Jerningham, when thus appealed to, only shook his head. +What could a Mr. Jerningham say to a man who had torn up official +papers on the eve of his marriage? Had he laid violent hands on his +bride, but preserved the papers, his condition, to Mr. Jerningham's +thinking, would have been more wholesome.</p> + +<p>It was never known who first carried the tidings to Paradise Row. +There were those who said that Tribbledale was acquainted with a +friend of Bobbin, and that he made it all known to Clara in an +anonymous letter. There were others who traced a friendship between +the potboy at The Duchess and a son of one of the messengers. It was +at any rate known at No. 10. Crocker was summoned to an interview +with the old woman; and the match was then and there declared to be +broken off. "What are your intentions, sir, as to supporting that +young woman?" Mrs. Demijohn demanded with all the severity of which +she was capable. Crocker was so broken-hearted that he had not a word +to say for himself. He did not dare to suggest that perhaps he might +not be dismissed. He admitted the destruction of the papers. "I never +cared for him again when I saw him so knocked out of time by an old +woman," said Clara afterwards.</p> + +<p>"What am I to do about the lodgings?" asked Crocker weeping.</p> + +<p>"Tear 'em up," said Mrs. Demijohn. "Tear 'em up. Only send back the +clock and the harmonium."</p> + +<p>Crocker in his despair looked about everywhere for assistance. It +might be that Æolus would be softer-hearted than Clara Demijohn. He +wrote to Lord Persiflage, giving him a very full account of the +affair. The papers, he said, had in fact been actually torn by +accident. He was afraid of "the Duca," or he would have applied to +him. "The Duca," no doubt had been his most intimate friend,—so he +still declared,—but in such an emergency he did not know how to +address "the Duca." But he bethought himself of Lord Hampstead, of +that hunting acquaintance, with whom his intercourse had been so +pleasant and so genial, and he made a journey down Hendon. Lord +Hampstead at this time was living there all alone. Marion Fay had +been taken back to Pegwell Bay, and her lover was at the old house +holding intercourse almost with no one. His heart just now was very +heavy with him. He had begun to believe that Marion would in truth +never become his wife. He had begun to think that she would really +die, and that he would never have had the sad satisfaction of calling +her his own. All lightness and brightness had gone from him, all the +joy which he used to take in argument, all the eagerness of his +character,—unless the hungry craving of unsatisfied love could still +be called an eagerness.</p> + +<p>He was in this condition when Crocker was brought out to him in the +garden where he was walking. "Mr. Crocker," he said, standing still +in the pathway and looking into the man's face.</p> + +<p>"Yes, my lord; it's me. I am Crocker. You remember me, my lord, down +in Cumberland?"</p> + +<p>"I remember you,—at Castle Hautboy."</p> + +<p>"And out hunting, my lord,—when we had that pleasant ride home from +Airey Force."</p> + +<p>"What can I do for you now?"</p> + +<p>"I always do think, my lord, that there is nothing like sport to +cement affection. I don't know how you feel about it, my lord."</p> + +<p>"If there is anything to be said—perhaps you will say it."</p> + +<p>"And there's another bond, my lord. We have both been looking for the +partners of our joys in Paradise Row."</p> + +<p>"If you have anything to say, say it."</p> + +<p>"And as for your friend, my lord, the,—the—. You know whom I mean. +If I have given any offence it has only been because I've thought +that as the title was certainly theirs, a young lady who shall be +nameless ought to have the advantage of it. I've only done it because +of my consideration for the family."</p> + +<p>"What have you come here for, Mr. Crocker? I am not just now disposed +to converse,—on, I may say, any subject. If there be +<span class="nowrap">anything—"</span></p> + +<p>"Indeed, there is. Oh, my lord, they are going to dismiss me! For the +sake of Paradise Row, my lord, pray, pray, interfere on my behalf." +Then he told the whole story about the papers, merely explaining that +they had been torn in accident. "Sir Boreas is angry with me because +I have thought it right to call—you know whom—by his title, and now +I am to be dismissed just when I was about to take that beautiful and +accomplished young lady to the hymeneal altar. Only think if you and +Miss Fay was to be divided in the same way!"</p> + +<p>With much lengthened explanation, which was, however, altogether +ineffectual, Lord Hampstead had to make his visitor understand that +there was no ground on which he could even justify a request. "But a +letter! You could write a letter. A letter from your lordship would +do so much." Lord Hampstead shook his head. "If you were just to say +that you had known me intimately down in Cumberland! Of course I am +not taking upon myself to say it was so,—but to save a poor fellow +on the eve of his marriage!"</p> + +<p>"I will write a letter," said Lord Hampstead, thinking of it, turning +over in his mind his own idea of what marriage would be to him. "I +cannot say that we have been intimate friends, because it would not +be true."</p> + +<p>"No;—no; no! Of course not that."</p> + +<p>"But I will write a letter to Sir Boreas. I cannot conceive that it +should have any effect. It ought to have none."</p> + +<p>"It will, my lord."</p> + +<p>"I will write, and will say that your father is connected with my +uncle, and that your condition in regard to your marriage may perhaps +be accepted as a ground for clemency. Good day to you." Not very +quickly, but with profuse thanks and the shedding of some tears, poor +Crocker took his leave. He had not been long gone before the +following letter was +<span class="nowrap">written;—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Sir</span>,</p> + +<p>Though I have not the honour of any acquaintance with you, +I take the liberty of writing to you as to the condition +of one of the clerks in your office. I am perfectly aware +that should I receive a reprimand from your hands, I shall +have deserved it by my unjustifiable interference.</p> + +<p>Mr. Crocker represents to me that he is to be dismissed +because of some act of which you as his superior officer +highly disapprove. He asks me to appeal to you on his +behalf because we have been acquainted with each other. +His father is agent to my uncle Lord Persiflage, and we +have met at my uncle's house. I do not dare to put this +forward as a plea for mercy. But I understand that Mr. +Crocker is about to be married almost immediately, and, +perhaps, you will feel with me that a period in a man's +life which should beyond all others be one of +satisfaction, of joy, and of perfect contentment, may be +regarded with a feeling of mercy which would be +prejudicial if used more generally.</p> + +<p class="ind12">Your faithful servant,</p> + +<p class="ind18"><span class="smallcaps">Hampstead</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>When he wrote those words as to the period of joy and satisfaction +his own heart was sore, sore, sore almost to breaking. There could +never be such joy, never be such satisfaction for him.</p> + + +<p><a name="c3-15" id="c3-15"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XV.</h3> +<h4>"DISMISSAL. B. B."<br /> </h4> + + +<p>By return of post Lord Hampstead received the following answer to his +<span class="nowrap">letter;—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear Lord +Hampstead</span>,—</p> + +<p>Mr. Crocker's case is <span class="u">a very bad one</span>; +but the Postmaster +General shall see your appeal, and his lordship will, I am +sure, sympathize with your humanity—as do I also. I +cannot take upon myself to say what his lordship will +think it right to do, and it will be better, therefore, +that you should abstain for the present from communicating +with Mr. Crocker.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="ind6">I am,</span><br /> +<span class="ind8">Your lordship's very faithful servant,</span></p> + +<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">Boreas +Bodkin</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Any excuse was sufficient to our Æolus to save him from the horror of +dismissing a man. He knew well that Crocker, as a public servant, was +not worth his salt. Sir Boreas was blessed,—or cursed,—with a +conscience, but the stings of his conscience, though they were +painful, did not hurt him so much as those of his feelings. He had +owned to himself on this occasion that Crocker must go. Crocker was +in every way distasteful to him. He was not only untrustworthy and +incapable, but audacious also, and occasionally impudent. He was a +clerk of whom he had repeatedly said that it would be much better to +pay him his salary and let him have perpetual leave of absence, than +keep him even if there were no salary to be paid. Now there had come +a case on which it was agreed by all the office that the man must go. +Destroy a bundle of official papers! Mr. Jerningham had been heard to +declare that the law was in fault in not having provided that a man +should be at once sent to Newgate for doing such a thing. "The stupid +old fool's letters weren't really worth anything," Sir Boreas had +said, as though attempting to palliate the crime! Mr. Jerningham had +only shaken his head. What else could he do? It was not for him to +dispute any matter with Sir Boreas. But to his thinking the old +gentleman's letters had become precious documents, priceless records, +as soon as they had once been bound by the red tape of the +Government, and enveloped by the security of an official pigeon-hole. +To stay away without leave,—to be drunk,—to be obstinately +idle,—to be impudent, were great official sins; but Mr. Jerningham +was used to them, and knew that as they had often occurred before, so +would they re-occur. Clerks are mortal men, and will be idle, will be +reckless, will sometimes get into disreputable rows. A little added +severity, Mr. Jerningham thought, would improve his branch of the +department, but, knowing the nature of men, the nature especially of +Sir Boreas, he could make excuses. Here, however, was a case in which +no superior Civil Servant could entertain a doubt. And yet Sir Boreas +palliated even this crime! Mr. Jerningham shook his head, and Sir +Boreas shoved on one side, so as to avoid for a day the pain of +thinking about them, the new bundle of papers which had already +formed itself on the great Crocker case. If some one would tear up +that, what a blessing it would be!</p> + +<p>In this way there was delay, during which Crocker was not allowed to +show his face at the office, and during this delay Clara Demijohn +became quite confirmed in her determination to throw over her +engagement. Tribbledale with his £120 would be much better than +Crocker with nothing. And then it was agreed generally in Paradise +Row that there was something romantic in Tribbledale's constancy. +Tribbledale was in the Row every day,—or perhaps rather every +night;—seeking counsel from Mrs. Grimley, and comforting himself +with hot gin-and-water. Mrs. Grimley was good-natured, and impartial +to both the young men. She liked customers, and she liked marriages +generally. "If he ain't got no income of course he's out of the +running," Mrs. Grimley said to Tribbledale, greatly comforting the +young man's heart. "You go in and win," said Mrs. Grimley, indicating +by that her opinion that the ardent suitor would probably be +successful if he urged his love at the present moment. "Strike while +the iron is hot," she said, alluding probably to the heat to which +Clara's anger would be warmed by the feeling that the other lover had +lost his situation just when he was most bound to be careful in +maintaining it.</p> + +<p>Tribbledale went in and pleaded his case. It is probable that just at +this time Clara herself was made acquainted with Tribbledale's +frequent visits to The Duchess, and though she may not have been +pleased with the special rendezvous selected, she was gratified by +the devotion shown. When Mrs. Grimley advised Tribbledale to "go in +and win," she was, perhaps, in Clara's confidence. When a girl has +told all her friends that she is going to be married, and has already +expended a considerable portion of the sum of money allowed for her +wedding garments, she cannot sink back into the simple position of an +unengaged young woman without pangs of conscience and qualms of +remorse. Paradise Row knew that her young man was to be dismissed +from his office, and condoled with her frequently and most +unpleasantly. Mrs. Duffer was so unbearable in the matter that the +two ladies had quarrelled dreadfully. Clara from the first moment of +her engagement with Crocker had been proud of the second string to +her bow, and now perceived that the time had come in which it might +be conveniently used.</p> + +<p>It was near eleven when Tribbledale knocked at the door of No. 10, +but nevertheless Clara was up, as was also the servant girl, who +opened the door for the sake of discretion. "Oh, Daniel, what hours +you do keep!" said Clara, when the young gentleman was shown into the +parlour. "What on earth brings you here at such a time as this?"</p> + +<p>Tribbledale was never slow to declare that he was brought thither by +the overwhelming ardour of his passion. His love for Clara was so old +a story, and had been told so often, that the repeating of it +required no circumlocution. Had he chanced to meet her in the High +Street on a Sunday morning, he would have begun with it at once. +"Clara," he said, "will you have me? I know that that other scoundrel +is a ruined man."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Daniel, you shouldn't hit those as are down."</p> + +<p>"Hasn't he been hitting me all the time that I was down? Hasn't he +triumphed? Haven't you been in his arms?"</p> + +<p>"Laws; no."</p> + +<p>"And wasn't that hitting me when I was down, do you think?"</p> + +<p>"It never did you any harm."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Clara;—if you knew the nature of my love you'd understand the +harm. Every time he has pressed your lips I have heard it, though I +was in King's Head Court all the time."</p> + +<p>"That must be a crammer, Daniel."</p> + +<p>"I did;—not with the ears of my head, but with the fibres of my +breast."</p> + +<p>"Oh;—ah. But, Daniel, you and Sam used to be such friends at the +first go off."</p> + +<p>"Go off of what?"</p> + +<p>"When he first took to coming after me. You remember the tea-party, +when Marion Fay was here."</p> + +<p>"I tried it on just then;—I did. I thought that, maybe, I might come +not to care about it so much."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure you acted it very well."</p> + +<p>"And I thought that perhaps it might be the best way of touching that +cold heart of yours."</p> + +<p>"Cold! I don't know as my heart is colder than anybody else's heart."</p> + +<p>"Would that you would make it warm once more for me."</p> + +<p>"Poor Sam!" said Clara, putting her handkerchief up to her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Why is he any poorer than me? I was first. At any rate I was before +him."</p> + +<p>"I don't know anything about firsts or lasts," said Clara, as the +ghosts of various Banquos flitted before her eyes.</p> + +<p>"And as for him, what right has he to think of any girl? He's a poor +mean creature, without the means of getting so much as a bed for a +wife to lie on. He used to talk so proud of Her Majesty's Civil +Service. Her Majesty's Civil Service has sent him away packing."</p> + +<p>"Not yet, Daniel."</p> + +<p>"They have. I've made it my business to find out, and Sir Boreas +Bodkin has written the order to-day. 'Dismissal—B. B.' I know those +who have seen the very words written in the punishment book of the +Post Office."</p> + +<p>"Poor Sam!"</p> + +<p>"Destroying papers of the utmost importance about Her Majesty's Mail +Service! What else was he to expect? And now he's penniless."</p> + +<p>"A hundred and twenty isn't so very much, Daniel."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Fay was saying only the other day that if I was married and +settled they'd make it better for me."</p> + +<p>"You're too fond of The Duchess, Daniel."</p> + +<p>"No, Clara—no; I deny that. You ask Mrs. Grimley why it is I come to +The Duchess so often. It isn't for anything that I take there."</p> + +<p>"Oh; I didn't know. Young men when they frequent those places +generally do take something."</p> + +<p>"If I had a little home of my own with the girl I love on the other +side of the fireplace, and perhaps a baby in her +<span class="nowrap">arms—"</span> Tribbledale +as he said this looked at her with all his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Laws, Daniel; what things you do say!"</p> + +<p>"I should never go then to any Duchess, or any Marquess of Granby, or +to any Angel." These were public-houses so named, all standing thick +together in the neighbourhood of Paradise Row. "I should not want to +go anywhere then,—except where that young woman and that baby were +to be found."</p> + +<p>"Daniel, you was always fine at poetry."</p> + +<p>"Try me, if it isn't real prose. The proof of the pudding's in the +eating. You come and try." By this time Clara was in his arms, and +the re-engagement was as good as made. Crocker was no doubt +dismissed,—or if not dismissed had shown himself to be unworthy. +What could be expected of a husband who could tear up a bundle of Her +Majesty's Mail papers? And then Daniel Tribbledale had exhibited a +romantic constancy which certainly deserved to be rewarded. Clara +understood that the gin-and-water had been consumed night after night +for her sake. And there were the lodgings and the clock and the +harmonium ready for the occasion. "I suppose it had better be so, +Daniel, as you wish it so much."</p> + +<p>"Wish it! I have always wished it. I wouldn't change places now with +Mr. Pogson himself."</p> + +<p>"He married his third wife three years ago!"</p> + +<p>"I mean in regard to the whole box and dice of it. I'd rather have my +Clara with £120, than be Pogson and Littlebird with all the profits." +This gratifying assurance was rewarded, and then, considerably after +midnight, the triumphant lover took his leave.</p> + +<p>Early on the following afternoon Crocker was in Paradise Row. He had +been again with Lord Hampstead, and had succeeded in worming out of +the good-natured nobleman something of the information contained in +the letter from Sir Boreas. The matter was to be left to the +Postmaster-General. Now there was an idea in the office that when a +case was left to his lordship, his lordship never proceeded to +extremities. Kings are bound to pardon if they allow themselves to be +personally concerned as to punishment. There was something of the +same feeling in regard to official discipline. As a fact the letter +from Sir Boreas had been altogether false. He had known, poor man, +that he must at last take the duty of deciding upon himself, and had +used the name of the great chief simply as a mode of escape for the +moment. But Crocker had felt that the mere statement indicated +pardon. The very delay indicated pardon. Relying upon these +indications he went to Paradise Row, dressed in his best frock coat, +with gloves in his hand, to declare to his love that the lodgings +need not be abandoned, and that the clock and harmonium might be +preserved.</p> + +<p>"But you've been dismissed!" said Clara.</p> + +<p>"Never! never!"</p> + +<p>"It has been written in the book! 'Dismissal—B. B.!' I know the eyes +that have seen it."</p> + +<p>"That's not the way they do it at all," said Crocker, who was +altogether confused.</p> + +<p>"It has been written in the book, Sam; and I know that they never go +back from that."</p> + +<p>"Who wrote it? Nothing has been written. There isn't a book;—not at +least like that. Tribbledale has invented it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Sam, why did you tear those papers;—Her Majesty's Mail papers? +What else was there to expect? 'Dismissal—B. B.;' Why did you do +it,—and you engaged to a young woman? No;—don't come nigh to me. +How is a young woman to go and get herself married to a young man, +and he with nothing to support her? It isn't to be thought of. When I +heard those words, 'Dismissal—B. B.,' I thought my very heart would +sink within me."</p> + +<p>"It's nothing of the kind," said Crocker.</p> + +<p>"What's nothing of the kind?"</p> + +<p>"I ain't dismissed at all."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Sam; how dare you?"</p> + +<p>"I tell you I ain't. He's written a letter to Lord Hampstead, who has +always been my friend. Hampstead wasn't going to see me treated after +that fashion. Hampstead wrote, and then Æolus wrote,—that's Sir +Boreas,—and I've seen the letter,—that is, Hampstead told me what +there is in it; and I ain't to be dismissed at all. When I heard the +good news the first thing I did was to come as fast as my legs would +carry me, and tell the girl of my heart."</p> + +<p>Clara did not quite believe him; but then neither had she quite +believed Tribbledale, when he had announced the dismissal with the +terrible corroboration of the great man's initials. But the crime +committed seemed to her to be so great that she could not understand +that Crocker should be allowed to remain after the perpetration of +it. Crocker's salary was £150; and, balancing the two young men +together as she had often done, though she liked the poetry of +Tribbledale, she did on the whole prefer the swagger and audacity of +Crocker. Her Majesty's Civil Service, too, had its charms for her. +The Post Office was altogether superior to Pogson and Littlebird's. +Pogson and Littlebird's hours were 9 to 5. Those of Her Majesty's +Service were much more genteel;—10 namely to 4. But what might not a +man do who had shown the nature of his disposition by tearing up +official papers? And then, though the accidents of the occasion had +enveloped her in difficulties on both sides, it seemed to her that, +at the present moment, the lesser difficulties would be encountered +by adhering to Tribbledale. She could excuse herself with Crocker. +Paradise Row had already declared that the match with Crocker must be +broken off. Crocker had indeed been told that the match was to be +broken off. When Tribbledale had come to her overnight she had felt +herself to be a free woman. When she had given way to the voice of +the charmer, when she had sunk into his arms, softened by that +domestic picture which he had painted, no pricks of conscience had +disturbed her happiness. Whether the "Dismissal—B. B." had or had +not yet been written, it was sure to come. She was as free to "wed +another" as was Venice when her Doge was deposed. She could throw +herself back upon the iniquity of the torn papers were Crocker to +complain. But should she now return to her Crocker, how could she +excuse herself with Tribbledale? "It is all over between you and me, +Sam," she said with her handkerchief up to her eyes.</p> + +<p>"All over! Why should it be all over?"</p> + +<p>"You was told it was all over."</p> + +<p>"That was when all the Row said that I was to be dismissed. There was +something in it,—then; though, perhaps, a girl might have waited +till a fellow had got up upon his legs again."</p> + +<p>"Waiting ain't so pleasant, Mr. Crocker, when a girl has to look +after herself."</p> + +<p>"But I ain't dismissed at all, and there needn't be any waiting. I +thought that you would be suffering as well as me, and so I came +right away to you, all at once."</p> + +<p>"So I have suffered, Sam. No one knows what I have suffered."</p> + +<p>"But it'll come all right now?" Clara shook her head. "You don't mean +that Tribbledale's been and talked you over already?"</p> + +<p>"I knew Mr. Tribbledale before ever I saw you, Sam."</p> + +<p>"How often have I heard you call him a poor mean skunk?"</p> + +<p>"Never, Crocker; never. Such a word never passed my lips."</p> + +<p>"Something very like it then."</p> + +<p>"I may have said he wanted sperrit. I may have said so, though I +disremember it. But if I did,—what of that?"</p> + +<p>"You despised him."</p> + +<p>"No, Crocker. What I despise is a man as goes and tears up Her +Majesty's Mail papers. Tribbledale never tore up anything at Pogson +and Littlebird's,—except what was to be tore. Tribbledale was never +turned out for nigh a fortnight, so that he couldn't go and show his +face in King's Head Court. Tribbledale never made hisself hated by +everybody." That unknown abominable word which Crocker had put into +her mouth had roused all the woman within her, so that she was +enabled to fight her battle with a courage which would not have come +to her aid had he been more prudent.</p> + +<p>"Who hates me?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Jerningham does, and Roden, and Sir Boreas, and Bobbin." She had +learned all their names. "How can they help hating a man that tears +up the mail papers! And I hate you."</p> + +<p>"Clara!"</p> + +<p>"I do. What business had you to say I used that nasty word? I never +do use them words. I wouldn't even so much as look at a man who'd +demean himself to put such words as them into my mouth. So I tell you +what it is, Mr. Crocker; you may just go away. I am going to become +Daniel Tribbledale's wife, and it isn't becoming in you to stand here +talking to a young woman that is engaged to another young man."</p> + +<p>"And this is to be the end of it?"</p> + +<p>"If you please, Mr. Crocker."</p> + +<p>"Well!"</p> + +<p>"If ever you feel inclined to speak your mind to another young woman, +and you carry it as far as we did, and you wishes to hold on to her, +don't you go and tear Her Majesty's Mail papers. And when she tells +you a bit of her mind, as I did just now, don't you go and put nasty +words into her mouth. Now, if you please, you may just as well send +over that clock and that harmonium to Daniel Tribbledale, Esq., +King's Head Court, Great Broad Street." So saying she left him, and +congratulated herself on having terminated the interview without much +unpleasantness.</p> + +<p>Crocker, as he shook the dust off his feet upon leaving Paradise Row, +began to ask himself whether he might not upon the whole congratulate +himself as to the end to which that piece of business had been +brought. When he had first resolved to offer his hand to the young +lady, he had certainly imagined that that hand would not be empty. +Clara was no doubt "a fine girl," but not quite so young as she was +once. And she had a temper of her own. Matrimony, too, was often +followed by many troubles. Paradise Row would no doubt utter jeers, +but he need not go there to hear them. He was not quite sure but that +the tearing of the papers would in the long run be beneficial to him.</p> + + +<p><a name="c3-16" id="c3-16"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XVI.</h3> +<h4>PEGWELL BAY.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>July had come and nearly gone before Lord Hampstead again saw Marion +Fay. He had promised not to go to Pegwell Bay,—hardly understanding +why such a promise had been exacted from him, but still acceding to +it when it had been suggested to him by Mrs. Roden, at the request, +as she said, of the Quaker. It was understood that Marion would soon +return to Holloway, and that on that account the serenity of Pegwell +Bay need not be disturbed by the coming of so great a man as Lord +Hampstead. Hampstead had of course ridiculed the reason, but had +complied with the request,—with the promise, however, that Marion +should return early in the summer. But the summer weeks had passed +by, and Marion did not return.</p> + +<p>Letters passed between them daily in which Marion attempted always to +be cheerful. Though she had as yet invented no familiar name for her +noble lover, yet she had grown into familiarity with him, and was no +longer afraid of his nobility. "You oughtn't to stay there," she +said, "wasting your life and doing nothing, because of a sick girl. +You've got your yacht, and are letting all the summer weather go by." +In answer to this he wrote to her, saying that he had sold his yacht. +"Could you have gone with me, I would have kept it," he wrote. "Would +you go with me I would have another ready for you, before you would +be ready. I will make no assurance as to my future life. I cannot +even guess what may become of me. It may be that I shall come to live +on board some ship so that I may be all alone. But with my heart as +it is now I cannot bear the references which others make to me about +empty pleasures." At the same time he sold his horses, but he said +nothing to her as to that.</p> + +<p>Gradually he did acknowledge to himself that it was her doom to die +early,—almost acknowledged to himself that she was dying. +Nevertheless he still thought that it would have been fit that they +should be married. "If I knew that she were my own even on her +deathbed," he once said to Mrs. Roden, "there would be a comfort to +me in it." He was so eager in this that Mrs. Roden was almost +convinced. The Quaker was willing that it should be so,—but willing +also that it should not be so. He would not even try to persuade his +girl as to anything. It was his doom to see her go, and he, having +realized that, could not bring himself to use a word in opposition to +her word. But Marion herself was sternly determined against the +suggestion. It was unfitting, she said, and would be wicked. It was +not the meaning of marriage. She could not bring herself to disturb +the last thoughts of her life, not only by the empty assumption of a +grand name, but by the sounding of that name in her ears from the +eager lips of those around her. "I will be your love to the end," she +said, "your own Marion. But I will not be made a Countess, only in +order that a vain name may be carved over my grave." "God has +provided a bitter cup for your lips, my love," she wrote again, "in +having put it into your head to love one whom you must lose so soon. +And mine is bitter because yours is bitter. But we cannot rid +ourselves of the bitterness by pretences. Would it make your heart +light to see me dressed up for a bridal ceremony, knowing, as you +would know, that it was all for nothing? My lord, my love, let us +take it as God has provided it. It is only because you grieve that I +grieve;—for you and my poor father. If you could only bring yourself +to be reconciled, then it would be so much to me to have had you to +love me in my last moments,—to love me and to be loved."</p> + +<p>He could not but accept her decision. Her father and Mrs. Roden +accepted it, and he was forced to do so also. He acknowledged to +himself now that there was no appeal from it. Her very weakness gave +her a strength which dominated him. There was an end of all his +arguments and his strong phrases. He was aware that they had been of +no service to him,—that her soft words had been stronger than all +his reasonings. But not on that account did he cease to wish that it +might be as he had once wished, since he had first acknowledged to +himself his love. "Of course I will not drive her," he said to Mrs. +Roden, when that lady urged upon him the propriety of abstaining from +a renewal of his request. "Had I any power of driving her, as you +say, I would not do so. I think it would be better. That is all. Of +course it must be as she shall decide."</p> + +<p>"It would be a comfort to her to think that you and she thought alike +about all things," said Mrs. Roden.</p> + +<p>"There are points on which I cannot alter my convictions even for her +comfort," he answered. "She bids me love some other woman. Can I +comfort her by doing that? She bids me seek another wife. Can I do +that;—or say that I will do it at some future time? It would comfort +her to know that I have no wound,—that I am not lame and sick and +sore and weary. It would comfort her to know that my heart is not +broken. How am I to do that for her?"</p> + +<p>"No;"—said Mrs. Roden—"no."</p> + +<p>"There is no comfort. Her imagination paints for her some future +bliss, which shall not be so far away as to be made dim by +distance,—in enjoying which we two shall be together, as we are +here, with our hands free to grasp each other, and our lips free to +kiss;—a heaven, but still a heaven of this world, in which we can +hang upon each other's necks and be warm to each other's hearts. That +is to be, to her, the reward of her innocence, and in the ecstacy of +her faith she believes in it, as though it were here. I do think,—I +do think,—that if I told her that it should be so, that I trusted to +renew my gaze upon her beauty after a few short years, then she would +be happy entirely. It would be for an eternity, and without the fear +of separation."</p> + +<p>"Then why not profess as she does?"</p> + +<p>"A lie? As I know her truth when she tells me her creed, so would she +know my falsehood, and the lie would be vain."</p> + +<p>"Is there then to be no future world, Lord Hampstead?"</p> + +<p>"Who has said so? Certainly not I. I cannot conceive that I shall +perish altogether. I do not think that if, while I am here, I can +tame the selfishness of self, I shall reach a step upwards in that +world which shall come next after this. As to happiness, I do not +venture to think much of it. If I can only be somewhat +nobler,—somewhat more like the Christ whom we worship,—that will be +enough without happiness. If there be truth in this story, He was not +happy. Why should I look for happiness,—unless it be when the +struggle of many worlds shall have altogether purified my spirit? But +thinking like that,—believing like that,—how can I enter into the +sweet Epicurean Paradise which that child has prepared for herself?"</p> + +<p>"Is it no better than that?"</p> + +<p>"What can be better, what can be purer,—if only it be true? And +though it be false to me, it may be true to her. It is for my sake +that she dreams of her Paradise,—that my wounds may be made whole, +that my heart may be cured. Christ's lesson has been so learned by +her that no further learning seems necessary. I fancy sometimes that +I can see the platform raised just one step above the ground on which +I stand,—and look into the higher world to which I am ascending. It +may be that it is given to her to look up the one rung of the ladder +by mounting which she shall find herself enveloped in the full glory +of perfection."</p> + +<p>In conversations such as these Mrs. Roden was confounded by the depth +of the man's love. It became impossible to bid him not be of a broken +heart, or even to allude to those fresh hopes which Time would bring. +He spoke to her often of his future life, always speaking of a life +from which Marion would have been withdrawn by death, and did so with +a cold, passionless assurance which showed her that he had almost +resolved as to the future. He would see all lands that were to be +seen, and converse with all people. The social condition of God's +creatures at large should be his study. The task would be endless, +and, as he said, an endless task hardly admits of absolute misery. +"If I die there will be an end of it. If I live till old age shall +have made me powerless to carry on my work, time will then probably +have done something to dim the feeling." "I think," he said +again;—"I feel that could I but remember her as my +<span class="nowrap">wife—"</span></p> + +<p>"It is impossible," said Mrs. Roden.</p> + +<p>"But if it were so! It would be no more than a thin threadbare cloak +over a woman's shivering shoulders. It is not much against the cold; +but it would be very cruel to take that little from her." She looked +at him with her eyes flooded with tears, but she could only shake her +head in sign that it was impossible.</p> + +<p>At last, just at the end of July, there came a request that he would +go down to Pegwell Bay. "It is so long since we have seen each +other," she wrote, "and, perhaps, it is better that you should come +than that I should go. The doctor is fidgety, and says so. But my +darling will be good to me;—will he not? When I have seen a tear in +your eyes it has gone near to crush me. That a woman, or even a man, +should weep at some unexpected tidings of woe is natural. But who +cries for spilt milk? Tell me that God's hand, though it be heavy to +you, shall be borne with reverence and obedience and love."</p> + +<p>He did not tell her this, but he resolved that if possible she should +see no tears. As for that cheerfulness, that reconciliation to his +fate which she desired, he knew it to be impossible. He almost +brought himself to believe as he travelled down to Pegwell Bay that +it would be better that they should not meet. To thank the Lord for +all His mercies was in her mind. To complain with all the bitterness +of his heart of the cruelty with which he was treated was in his. He +had told Mrs. Roden that according to his creed there would be a +better world to come for him if he could succeed in taming the +selfishness of self. But he told himself now that the struggle to do +so had hitherto been vain. There had been but the one thing which had +ever been to him supremely desirable. He had gone through the years +of his early life forming some Utopian ideas,—dreaming of some +perfection in politics, in philanthropy, in social reform, and the +like,—something by devoting himself to which he could make his life +a joy to himself. Then this girl had come across him, and there had +suddenly sprung up within him a love so strong that all these other +things faded into littlenesses. They should not be discarded. Work +would be wanted for his life, and for hers. But here he had found the +true salt by which all his work would be vivified and preserved and +made holy and happy and glorious. There had come a something to him +that was all that he wanted it to be. And now the something was +fading from him,—was already all but gone. In such a state how +should he tame the selfishness of self? He abandoned the attempt, and +told himself that difficulties had been prepared for him greater than +any of which he had dreamed when he had hoped that that taming might +be within his power. He could not even spare her in his selfishness. +He declared to himself that it was so, and almost owned that it would +be better that he should not go to her.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, when he sat down beside her on her sofa, at an open +window looking out on the little bay, "put your hand on mine, dear, +and leave it there. To have you with me, to feel the little breeze, +and to see you and to touch you is absolute happiness."</p> + +<p>"Why did you so often tell me not to come?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, why? But I know why it was, my lord." There was something half +of tenderness, half pleasantry in the mode of address, and now he had +ceased to rebel against it.</p> + +<p>"Why should I not come if it be a joy to you?"</p> + +<p>"You must not be angry now."</p> + +<p>"Certainly not angry."</p> + +<p>"We have got through all that,—you and I have for ourselves;—but +there is a sort of unseemliness in your coming down here to see a +poor Quaker's daughter."</p> + +<p>"Marion!"</p> + +<p>"But there is. We had got through all that in Paradise Row. Paradise +Row had become used to you, and I could bear it. But here— They will +all be sure to know who you are."</p> + +<p>"Who cares?"</p> + +<p>"That Marion Fay should have a lover would of itself make a stir in +this little place;—but that she should have a lord for her lover! +One doesn't want to be looked at as a miracle."</p> + +<p>"The follies of others should not ruffle you and me."</p> + +<p>"That's very well, dear;—but what if one is ruffled? But I won't be +ruffled, and you shall come. When I thought that I should go again to +our own house, then I thought we might perhaps dispense with the +ruffling;—that was all."</p> + +<p>There was a something in these words which he could not stand,—which +he could not bear and repress that tear which, as she had said, would +go near to crush her if she saw it. Had she not plainly intimated her +conviction that she would never again return to her old home? Here, +here in this very spot, the doom was to come, and to come quickly. He +got up and walked across the room, and stood a little behind her, +where she could not see his face.</p> + +<p>"Do not leave me," she said. "I told you to stay and let your hand +rest on mine." Then he returned, and laying his hand once again upon +her lap turned his face away from her. "Bear it," she said. "Bear +it." His hand quivered where it lay as he shook his head. "Call upon +your courage and bear it."</p> + +<p>"I cannot bear it," he said, rising suddenly from his chair, and +hurrying out of the room. He went out of the room and from the house, +on to the little terrace which ran in front of the sea. But his +escape was of no use to him; he could not leave her. He had come out +without his hat, and he could not stand there in the sun to be stared +at. "I am a coward," he said, going back to her and resuming his +chair. "I own it. Let there be no more said about it. When a trouble +comes to me, it conquers me. Little troubles I think I could bear. If +it had been all else in all the world,—if it had been my life before +my life was your life, I think that no one would have seen me blench. +But now I find that when I am really tried, I fail."</p> + +<p>"It is in God's hands, dearest."</p> + +<p>"Yes;—it is in God's hands. There is some power, no doubt, that +makes you strong in spirit, but frail in body; while I am strong to +live but weak of heart. But how will that help me?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lord Hampstead, I do so wish you had never seen me."</p> + +<p>"You should not say that, Marion; you shall not think it. I am +ungrateful; because, were it given me to have it all back again, I +would not sell what I have had of you, though the possession has been +so limited, for all other imaginable treasures. I will bear it. Oh, +my love, I will bear it. Do not say again that you wish you had not +seen me."</p> + +<p>"For myself, dear,—for myself—"</p> + +<p>"Do not say it for me. I will struggle to make a joy of it, a joy in +some degree, though my heart bleeds at the widowhood that is coming +on it. I will build up for myself a memory in which there shall be +much to satisfy me. I shall have been loved by her to have possessed +whose love has been and shall be a glory to me."</p> + +<p>"Loved indeed, my darling."</p> + +<p>"Though there might have been such a heaven of joy, even that shall +be counted as much. It shall be to me during my future life as though +when wandering through the green fields in some long-past day, I had +met a bright angel from another world; and the angel had stopped to +speak to me, and had surrounded me with her glorious wings, and had +given me of her heavenly light, and had spoken to me with the music +of the spheres, and I had thought that she would stay with me for +ever. But there had come a noise of the drums and a sound of the +trumpets, and she had flown away from me up to her own abode. To have +been so favoured, though it had been but for an hour, should suffice +for a man's life. I will bear it, though it be in solitude."</p> + +<p>"No, darling; not in solitude."</p> + +<p>"It will be best so for me. The light and the music and the azure of +the wings will so remain with me the purer and the brighter. Oh,—if +it had been! But I will bear it. No ear shall again hear a sound of +complaint. Not yours even, my darling, my own, mine for so short a +time, but yet my very own for ever and ever." Then he fell on his +knees beside her, and hid his face in her dress, while the fingers of +both her hands rambled through his hair. "You are going," he said, +when he rose up to his feet, "you are going whither I cannot go."</p> + +<p>"You will come; you will come to me."</p> + +<p>"You are going now, now soon, and I doubt not that you are going to +joys inexpressible. I cannot go till some chance may take me. If it +be given to you in that further world to see those and to think of +those whom you have left below, then, if my heart be true to your +heart, keep your heart true to mine. If I can fancy that, if I can +believe that it is so, then shall I have that angel with me, and +though my eyes may not see the tints, my ears will hear the +music;—and though the glory be not palpable as is the light of +heaven, there will be an inner glory in which my soul will be +sanctified." After that there were not many words spoken between +them, though he remained there till he was disturbed by the Quaker's +coming. Part of the time she slept with her hand in his, and when +awake she was contented to feel his touch as he folded the scarf +close round her neck and straightened the shawl which lay across her +feet, and now and again stroked her hair and put it back behind her +ears as it strayed upon her forehead. Ever and again she would murmur +a word or two of love as she revelled in the perception of his +solicitude. What was there for her to regret, for her to whom was +given the luxury of such love? Was not a month of it more than a +whole life without it? Then, when the father came, Hampstead took his +leave. As he kissed her lips, something seemed to tell him that it +would be for the last time. It was not good, the Quaker had said, +that she should be disturbed. Yes; he could come again; but not quite +yet.</p> + +<p>At the very moment when the Quaker so spoke she was pressing her lips +to his. "God keep you and take you, my darling," she whispered to +him, "and bring you to me in heaven." She noticed not at all at the +moment the warm tears that were running on to her own face; nor did +the Quaker seem to notice it when Lord Hampstead left the house +without saying to him a word of farewell.</p> + + +<p><a name="c3-17" id="c3-17"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XVII.</h3> +<h4>LADY AMALDINA'S WEDDING.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>The time came round for Lady Amaldina's marriage, than which nothing +more august, nothing more aristocratic, nothing more truly savouring +of the hymeneal altar, had ever been known or was ever to be known in +the neighbourhood of Hanover Square. For it was at last decided that +the marriage should take place in London before any of the +aristocratic assistants at the ceremony should have been whirled away +into autumnal spaces. Lord Llwddythlw himself knew but very little +about it,—except this, that nothing would induce him so to hurry on +the ceremony as to interfere with his Parliamentary duties. A day in +August had been mentioned in special reference to Parliament. He was +willing to abide by that, or to go to the sacrifice at any earlier +day of which Parliament would admit. Parliament was to sit for the +last time on Wednesday, 12th August, and the marriage was fixed for +the 13th. Lady Amaldina had prayed for the concession of a week. +Readers will not imagine that she based her prayers on the impatience +of love. Nor could a week be of much significance in reference to +that protracted and dangerous delay to which the match had certainly +been subjected. But the bevy might escape. How were twenty young +ladies to be kept together in the month of August when all the young +men were rushing off to Scotland? Others were not wedded to their +duties as was Lord Llwddythlw. Lady Amaldina knew well how completely +Parliament became a mere affair of Governmental necessities during +the first weeks of August. "I should have thought that just on this +one occasion you might have managed it," she said to him, trying to +mingle a tone of love with the sarcasm which at such a crisis was +natural to her. He simply reminded her of the promise which he had +made to her in the spring. He thought it best not to break through +arrangements which had been fixed. When she told him of one very +slippery member of the bevy,—slippery, not as to character, but in +reference to the movements of her family,—he suggested that no one +would know the difference if only nineteen were to be clustered round +the bride's train. "Don't you know that they must be in pairs?" "Will +not nine pairs suffice?" he asked. "And thus make one of them an +enemy for ever by telling her that I wish to dispense with her +services!"</p> + +<p>But it was of no use. "Dispense with them altogether," he said, +looking her full in the face. "The twenty will not quarrel with you. +My object is to marry you, and I don't care twopence for the +bridesmaids." There was something so near to a compliment in this, +that she was obliged to accept it. And she had, too, begun to +perceive that Lord Llwddythlw was a man not easily made to change his +mind. She was quite prepared for this in reference to her future +life. A woman, she thought, might be saved much trouble by having a +husband whom she was bound to obey. But in this matter of her +marriage ceremony,—this last affair in which she might be presumed +to act as a free woman,—she did think it hard that she might not be +allowed to have her own way. The bridegroom, however, was firm. If +Thursday, the 13th, did not suit her, he would be quite ready on +Thursday, the 20th. "There wouldn't be one of them left in London," +said Lady Amaldina. "What on earth do you think that they are to do +with themselves?"</p> + +<p>But all the bevy were true to her. Lady Amelia Beaudesert was a +difficulty. Her mother insisted on going to a far-away Bavarian lake +on which she had a villa;—but Lady Amelia at the last moment +surrendered the villa rather than break up the bevy, and consented to +remain with a grumpy old aunt in Essex till an opportunity should +offer. It may be presumed, therefore, that it was taken to be a great +thing to be one of the bevy. It is, no doubt, a pleasant thing for a +girl to have it asserted in all the newspapers that she is, by +acknowledgment, one of the twenty most beautiful unmarried ladies in +Great Britain.</p> + +<p>Lady Frances was of course one of the bevy. But there was a member of +the family,—a connection rather,—whom no eloquence could induce to +show himself either in the church or at the breakfast. This was Lord +Hampstead. His sister came to him and assured him that he ought to be +there. "Sorrows," she said, "that have declared themselves before the +world are held as sufficient excuse; but a man should not be hindered +from his duties by secret grief."</p> + +<p>"I make no secret of it. I do not talk about my private affairs. I do +not send a town-crier to Charing Cross to tell the passers-by that I +am in trouble. But I care not whether men know or not that I am +unfitted for joining in such festivities. My presence is not wanted +for their marriage."</p> + +<p>"It will be odd."</p> + +<p>"Let it be odd. I most certainly shall not be there." But he +remembered the occasion, and showed that he did so by sending to the +bride the handsomest of all the gems which graced her exhibition of +presents, short of the tremendous set of diamonds which had come from +the Duke of Merioneth.</p> + +<p>This collection was supposed to be the most gorgeous thing that had +ever as yet been arranged in London. It would certainly not be too +much to say that the wealth of precious toys brought together would, +if sold at its cost price, have made an ample fortune for a young +newly-married couple. The families were noble and wealthy, and the +richness of the wedding presents was natural. It might perhaps have +been better had not the value of the whole been stated in one of the +newspapers of the day. Who was responsible for the valuation was +never known, but it seemed to indicate that the costliness of the +gifts was more thought of than the affection of the givers; and it +was undoubtedly true that, in high circles and among the clubs, the +cost of the collection was much discussed. The diamonds were known to +a stone, and Hampstead's rubies were spoken of almost as freely as +though they were being exhibited in public. Lord Llwddythlw when he +heard of all this muttered to his maiden sister a wish that a gnome +would come in the night and run away with everything. He felt himself +degraded by the publicity given to his future wife's ornaments. But +the gnome did not come, and the young men from Messrs. Bijou and +Carcanet were allowed to arrange the tables and shelves for the +exhibition.</p> + +<p>The breakfast was to take place at the Foreign Office, at which the +bride's father was for the time being the chief occupant. Lord +Persiflage had not at first been willing that it should be so, +thinking that his own more modest house might suffice for the +marriage of his own daughter. But grander counsels had been allowed +to prevail. With whom the idea first arose Lord Persiflage never +knew. It might probably have been with some of the bevy, who had felt +that an ordinary drawing-room would hardly suffice for so magnificent +an array of toilets. Perhaps the thought had first occurred to +Messrs. Bijou and Carcanet, who had foreseen the glory of spreading +out all that wealth in the magnificent saloon intended for the +welcoming of ambassadors. But it travelled from Lady Amaldina to her +mother, and was passed on from Lady Persiflage to her husband. "Of +course the Ambassadors will all be there," the Countess had said, +"and, therefore, it will be a public occasion." "I wish we could be +married at Llanfihangel," Lord Llwddythlw said to his bride. Now +Llanfihangel church was a very small edifice, with a thatched roof, +among the mountains in North Wales, with which Lady Amaldina had been +made acquainted when visiting the Duchess, her future mother-in-law. +But Llwddythlw was not to have his way in everything, and the +preparations at the Foreign Office were continued.</p> + +<p>The beautifully embossed invitations were sent about among a large +circle of noble and aristocratic friends. All the Ambassadors and all +the Ministers, with all their wives and daughters, were, of course, +asked. As the breakfast was to be given in the great Banqueting Hall +at the Foreign Office it was necessary that the guests should be +many. It is sometimes well in a matter of festivals to be saved from +extravagance by the modest size of one's rooms. Lord Persiflage told +his wife that his daughter's marriage would ruin him. In answer to +this she reminded him that Llwddythlw had asked for no fortune. Lord +Llwddythlw was one of those men who prefer giving to taking. He had a +feeling that a husband should supply all that was wanted, and that a +wife should owe everything to the man she marries. The feeling is +uncommon just at present,—except with the millions who neither have +nor expect other money than what they earn. If you are told that the +daughter of an old man who has earned his own bread is about to marry +a young man in the same condition of life, it is spoken of as a +misfortune. But Lord Llwddythlw was old-fashioned, and had the means +of acting in accordance with his prejudices. Let the marriage be ever +so gorgeous, it would not cost the dowry which an Earl's daughter +might have expected. That was the argument used by Lady Persiflage, +and it seemed to have been effectual.</p> + +<p>As the day drew near it was observed that the bridegroom became more +sombre and silent even than usual. He never left the House of Commons +as long as it was open to him as a refuge. His Saturdays and his +Sundays and his Wednesdays he filled up with work so various and +unceasing that there was no time left for those pretty little +attentions which a girl about to be married naturally expects. He did +call, perhaps, every other day at his bride's house, but never +remained there above two minutes. "I am afraid he is not happy," the +Countess said to her daughter.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, mamma, he is."</p> + +<p>"Then why does he go on like that?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, mamma, you do not know him."</p> + +<p>"Do you?"</p> + +<p>"I think so. My belief is that there isn't a man in London so anxious +to be married as Llwddythlw."</p> + +<p>"I am glad of that."</p> + +<p>"He has lost so much time that he knows it ought to be got through +and done with without further delay. If he could only go to sleep and +wake up a married man of three months' standing, he would be quite +happy. If it could be administered under chloroform it would be so +much better! It is the doing of the thing, and the being talked about +and looked at, that is so odious to him."</p> + +<p>"Then why not have had it done quietly, my dear?"</p> + +<p>"Because there are follies, mamma, to which a woman should never give +way. I will not have myself made humdrum. If I had been going to +marry a handsome young man so as to have a spice of romance out of it +all, I would have cared nothing about the bridesmaids and the +presents. The man then would have stood for everything. Llwddythlw is +not young, and is not handsome."</p> + +<p>"But he is thoroughly noble."</p> + +<p>"Quite so. He's as good as gold. He will always be somebody in +people's eyes because he's great and grand and trustworthy all round. +But I want to be somebody in people's eyes, too, mamma. I'm all very +well to look at, but nothing particular. I'm papa's daughter, which +is something,—but not enough. I mean to begin and be magnificent. He +understands it all, and I don't think he'll oppose me when once this +exhibition day is over. I've thought all about it, and I think that I +know what I'm doing."</p> + +<p>At any rate, she had her way, and thoroughly enjoyed the task she had +on hand. When she had talked of a possible romance with a handsome +young lover she had not quite known herself. She might have made the +attempt, but it would have been a failure. She could fall in love +with a Master of Ravenswood in a novel, but would have given herself +by preference,—after due consideration,—to the richer, though less +poetical, suitor. Of good sterling gifts she did know the value, and +was therefore contented with her lot. But this business of being +married, with all the most extravagant appurtenances of the hymeneal +altar, was to her taste.</p> + +<p>That picture in one of the illustrated papers which professed to give +the hymeneal altar at St. George's, with the Bishop and the Dean and +two Queen's Chaplains officiating, and the bride and the bridegroom +in all their glory, with a Royal Duke and a Royal Duchess looking on, +with all the Stars and all the Garters from our own and other Courts, +and especially with the bevy of twenty, standing in ten distinct +pairs, and each from a portrait, was manifestly a work of the +imagination. I was there, and to tell the truth, it was rather a +huddled matter. The spaces did not seem to admit of majestic +grouping, and as three of these chief personages had the gout, the +sticks of these lame gentlemen were to my eyes very conspicuous. The +bevy had not room enough, and the ladies in the crush seemed to feel +the intense heat. Something had made the Bishop cross. I am told that +Lady Amaldina had determined not to be hurried, while the Bishop was +due at an afternoon meeting at three. The artist, in creating the +special work of art, had soared boldly into the ideal. In depicting +the buffet of presents and the bridal feast, he may probably have +been more accurate. I was not myself present. The youthful appearance +of the bridegroom as he rose to make his speech may probably be +attributed to a poetic license, permissible, nay laudable, nay +necessary on such an occasion. The buffet of presents no doubt was +all there; though it may be doubted whether the contributions from +Royalty were in truth so conspicuous as they were made to appear. +There were speeches spoken by two or three Foreign Ministers, and one +by the bride's father. But the speech which has created most remark +was from the bridegroom. "I hope we may be as happy as your kind +wishes would have us," said he;—and then he sat down. It was +declared afterwards that these were the only words which passed his +lips on the occasion. To those who congratulated him he merely gave +his hand and bowed, and yet he looked to be neither fluttered nor ill +at ease. We know how a brave man will sit and have his tooth taken +out, without a sign of pain on his brow,—trusting to the relief +which is to come to him. So it was with Lord Llwddythlw. It might, +perhaps, have saved pain if, as Lady Amaldina had said, chloroform +could have been used.</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear, it is done at last," Lady Persiflage said to her +daughter, when the bride was taken into some chamber for the +readjustment of her dress.</p> + +<p>"Yes, mamma, it is done now."</p> + +<p>"And are you happy?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly I am. I have got what I wanted."</p> + +<p>"And you can love him?" Coming from Lady Persiflage this did seem to +be romantic; but she had been stirred up to some serious thoughts as +she remembered that she was now surrendering to a husband the girl +whom she had made, whom she had tutored, whom she had prepared either +for the good or for the evil performance of the duties of life.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, mamma," said Lady Amaldina. It is so often the case that +the pupils are able to exceed the teaching of their tutors! It was so +in this case. The mother, as she saw her girl given up to a silent +middle-aged unattractive man, had her misgivings; but not so the +daughter herself. She had looked at it all round, and had resolved +that she could do her duty—under certain stipulations which she +thought would be accorded to her. "He has more to say for himself +than you think;—only he won't trouble himself to make assertions. +And if he is not very much in love, he likes me better than anybody +else, which goes a long way." Her mother blessed her, and led her +away into a room where she joined her husband in order that she might +be then taken down to the carriage.</p> + +<p>The bride herself had not quite understood what was to take place, +and was surprised to find herself quite alone for a moment with her +husband. "My wife," he said; "now kiss me."</p> + +<p>She ran into his arms and put up her face to him. "I thought you were +going to forget that," she said, as he held her for a moment with his +arm round her waist.</p> + +<p>"I could not dare," he said, "to handle all that gorgeous drapery of +lace. You were dressed up then for an exhibition. You look now as my +wife ought to look."</p> + +<p>"It had to be done, Llwddythlw."</p> + +<p>"I make no complaint, dearest. I only say that I like you better as +you are, as a girl to kiss, and to embrace, and to talk to, and to +make my own." Then she curtsied to him prettily, and kissed him +again; and after that they walked out arm-in-arm down to the +carriage.</p> + +<p>There were many carriages drawn up within the quadrangle of which the +Foreign Office forms a part, but the carriage which was to take the +bride and the bridegroom away was allowed a door to itself,—at any +rate till such time as they should have been taken away. An effort +had been made to keep the public out of the quadrangle; but as the +duties of the four Secretaries of State could not be suspended, and +as the great gates are supposed to make a public thoroughfare, this +could only be done to a certain extent. The crowd, no doubt, was +thicker out in Downing Street, but there were very many standing +within the square. Among these there was one, beautifully arrayed in +frock coat and yellow gloves, almost as though he himself was +prepared for his own wedding. When Lord Llwddythlw brought Lady +Amaldina out from the building and handed her into the carriage, and +when the husband and wife had seated themselves, the well-dressed +individual raised his hat from his head, and greeted them. "Long life +and happiness to the bride of Castle Hautboy!" said he at the top of +his voice. Lady Amaldina could not but see the man, and, recognizing +him, she bowed.</p> + +<p>It was Crocker,—the irrepressible Crocker. He had been also in the +church. The narrator and he had managed to find standing room in a +back pew under one of the galleries. Now would he be able to say with +perfect truth that he had been at the wedding, and had received a +parting salute from the bride; whom he had known through so many +years of her infancy. He probably did believe that he was entitled to +count the future Duchess of Merioneth among his intimate friends.</p> + + +<p><a name="c3-18" id="c3-18"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XVIII.</h3> +<h4>CROCKER'S TALE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>A thing difficult to get is the thing mostly prized, not the thing +that is valuable. Two or three additional Kimberley mines found +somewhere among the otherwise uninteresting plains of South Africa +would bring down the price of diamonds amazingly. It could hardly +have been the beauty, or the wit, or the accomplishments of Clara +Demijohn which caused Mr. Tribbledale to triumph so loudly and with +so genuine an exultation, telling all Broad Street of his success, +when he had succeeded in winning the bride who had once promised +herself to Crocker. Were it not that she had all but slipped through +his fingers he would never surely have thought her to be worthy of +such a pæan. Had she come to his first whistle he might have been +contented enough,—as are other ordinary young men with their +ordinary young women. He would probably have risen to no enthusiasm +of passion. But as things had gone he was as another Paris who had +torn a Helen from her Menelaus,—only in this case an honest Paris, +with a correct Helen, and from a Menelaus who had not as yet made +good his claim. But the subject was worthy of another Iliad, to be +followed by another Æneid. By his bow and his spear he had torn her +from the arms of a usurping lover, and now made her all his own. +Another man would have fainted and abandoned the contest, when +rejected as he had been. But he had continued the fight, even when +lying low on the dust of the arena. He had nailed his flag to the +mast when all his rigging had been cut away;—and at last he had won +the battle. Of course his Clara was doubly dear to him, having been +made his own after such difficulties as these.</p> + +<p>"I'm not one of those who easily give way in an affair of the heart," +he said to Mr. Littlebird, the junior partner in the firm, when he +told that gentleman of his engagement.</p> + +<p>"So I perceive, Mr. Tribbledale."</p> + +<p>"When a man has set his affection on a young lady,—that is, his real +affection,—he ought to stick to it,—or die." Mr. Littlebird, who +was the happy father of three or four married and marriageable +daughters, opened his eyes with surprise. The young men who had come +after his young ladies had been pressing enough, but they had not +died. "Or die!" repeated Tribbledale. "It is what I should have done. +Had she become Mrs. Crocker, I should never again have been seen in +the Court,"—"the Court" was the little alley in which Pogson and +Littlebird's office was held,—"unless they had brought my dead body +here to be identified." He was quite successful in his enthusiasm. +Though Mr. Littlebird laughed when he told the story to Mr. Pogson, +not the less did they agree to raise his salary to £160 on and from +the day of his marriage.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mr. Fay," he said to the poor old Quaker, who had lately been +so broken by his sorrow as hardly to be as much master of Tribbledale +as he used to be, "I have no doubt I shall be steady now. If anything +can make a young man steady it is—success in love."</p> + +<p>"I hope thou wilt be happy, Mr. Tribbledale."</p> + +<p>"I shall be happy enough now. My heart will be more in the +business,—what there isn't of it at any rate with that dear creature +in our mutual home at Islington. It was lucky about his having taken +those lodgings, because Clara had got as it were used to them. And +there are one or two things, such as a clock and the like, which need +not be moved. If anything ever should happen to you, Mr. Fay, Pogson +and Littlebird will find me quite up to the business."</p> + +<p>"Something will happen some day, no doubt," said the Quaker.</p> + +<p>On one occasion Lord Hampstead was in the Court having a word to say +to Marion's father, or, perhaps, a word to hear. "I'm sure you'll +excuse me, my lord," said Tribbledale, following him out of the +office.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said Hampstead, with a smile,—for he had been there often +enough to have made some acquaintance with the junior clerk. "If +there be anything I can do for you, I will do it willingly."</p> + +<p>"Only just to congratulate me, my lord. You have heard of—Crocker?" +Lord Hampstead owned that he had heard of Crocker. "He has been +interfering with me in the tenderest of parts." Lord Hampstead looked +serious. "There is a young woman"—the poor victim frowned, he knew +not why; but remitted his frown and smiled again; "who had promised +herself to me. Then that rude assailant came and upset all my joy." +Here, as the narrator paused, Lord Hampstead owned to himself that he +could not deny the truth of the description. "Perhaps," continued +Tribbledale,—"perhaps you have seen Clara Demijohn." Lord Hampstead +could not remember having been so fortunate. "Because I am aware that +your steps have wandered in the way of Paradise Row." Then there came +the frown again,—and then the smile. "Well;—perhaps it may be that +a more perfect form of feminine beauty may be ascribed to another." +This was intended as a compliment, more civil than true, paid to +Marion Fay on Lord Hampstead's behalf. "But for a combination of +chastity and tenderness I don't think you can easily beat Clara +Demijohn." Lord Hampstead bowed, as showing his readiness to believe +such a statement coming from so good a judge. "For awhile the +interloper prevailed. Interlopers do prevail;—such is the female +heart. But the true rock shows itself always at last. She is the true +rock on which I have built the castle of my happiness."</p> + +<p>"Then I may congratulate you, Mr. Tribbledale."</p> + +<p>"Yes;—and not only that, my lord. But Crocker is nowhere. You must +own that there is a triumph in that. There was a time! Oh! how I felt +it. There was a time when he triumphed; when he talked of 'my Clara,' +as though I hadn't a chance. He's up a tree now, my lord. I thought +I'd just tell you as you are so friendly, coming among us, here, my +lord!" Lord Hampstead again congratulated him, and expressed a hope +that he might be allowed to send the bride a small present.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my lord," said Tribbledale, "it shall go with the clock and the +harmonium, and shall be the proudest moment of my life."</p> + +<p>When Miss Demijohn heard that the salary of Pogson and Littlebird's +clerk,—she called it "Dan's screw" in speaking of the matter to her +aunt,—had been raised to £160 per annum, she felt that there could +be no excuse for a further change. Up to that moment it had seemed to +her that Tribbledale had obtained his triumph by a deceit which it +still might be her duty to frustrate. He had declared positively that +those fatal words had been actually written in the book, +"Dismissal—B. B." But she had learned that the words had not been +written as yet. All is fair in love and war. She was not in the least +angry with Tribbledale because of his little ruse. A lie told in such +a cause was a merit. But not on that account need she be led away by +it from her own most advantageous course. In spite of the little +quarrel which had sprung up between herself and Crocker, Crocker, +still belonging to Her Majesty's Civil Service, must be better than +Tribbledale. But when she found that Tribbledale's statement as to +the £160 was true, and when she bethought herself that Crocker would +probably be dismissed sooner or later, then she determined to be +firm. As to the £160, old Mrs. Demijohn herself went to the office, +and learned the truth from Zachary Fay. "I think he is a good young +man," said the Quaker, "and he will do very well if he will cease to +think quite so much of himself." To this Mrs. Demijohn remarked that +half-a-dozen babies might probably cure that fault.</p> + +<p>So the matter was settled, and it came to pass that Daniel +Tribbledale and Clara Demijohn were married at Holloway on that very +Thursday which saw completed the alliance which had been so long +arranged between the noble houses of Powell and De Hauteville. There +were two letters written on the occasion which shall be given here as +showing the willingness to forget and forgive which marked the +characters of the two persons. A day or two before the marriage the +following invitation was +<span class="nowrap">sent;—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dear Sam</span>,—</p> + +<p>I hope you will quite forget what is past, at any rate +what was unpleasant, and come to our wedding on Thursday. +There is to be a little breakfast here afterwards, and I +am sure that Dan will be very happy to shake your hand. I +have asked him, and he says that as he is to be the +bridegroom he would be proud to have you as best man.</p> + +<p class="ind6">Your old sincere friend,</p> + +<p class="ind8"><span class="smallcaps">Clara +Demijohn</span>,—for the present.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>The answer was as follows:—<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dear +Clara</span>,—</p> + +<p>There's no malice in me. Since our little tiff I have been +thinking that, after all, I'm not the man for matrimony. +To sip the honey from many flowers is, perhaps, after all +my line of life. I should have been happy to be Dan +Tribbledale's bottle-holder, but that there is another +affair coming off which I must attend. Our Lady Amaldina +is to be married, and I must be there. Our families have +been connected, as you know, for a great many years, and I +could not forgive myself if I did not see her turned off. +No other consideration would have prevented me from +accepting your very kind invitation.</p> + +<p class="ind10">Your loving old friend,</p> + +<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">Sam +Crocker</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>There did come a pang of regret across Clara's heart, as she read +this as to the connection of the families. Of course Crocker was +lying. Of course it was an empty boast. But there was a savour of +aristocracy even in the capability of telling such a lie. Had she +made Crocker her husband she also would have been able to drag Castle +Hautboy into her daily conversations with Mrs. Duffer.</p> + +<p>At the time of these weddings, the month of August, Æolus had not +even yet come to a positive and actual decision as to Crocker's fate. +Crocker had been suspended;—by which act he had been temporarily +expelled from the office, so that his time was all his own to do what +he pleased with it. Whether when suspended he would receive his +salary, no one knew as a certainty. The presumption was that a man +suspended would be dismissed,—unless he could succeed in explaining +away or diminishing the sin of which he had been supposed to be +guilty. Æolus himself could suspend, but it required an act on the +part of the senior officer to dismiss,—or even to deprive the sinner +of any part of his official emoluments. There had been no explanation +possible. No diminishing of the sin had been attempted. It was +acknowledged on all sides that Crocker had,—as Miss Demijohn +properly described it,—destroyed Her Majesty's Mail papers. In order +that unpardonable delay and idleness might not be traced home to him, +he had torn into fragments a bundle of official documents. His +character was so well known that no one doubted his dismissal. Mr. +Jerningham had spoken of it as a thing accomplished. Bobbin and +Geraghty had been congratulated on their rise in the department. +"Dismissal—B. B." had been recorded, if not in any official book, at +any rate in all official minds. But B. B. himself had as yet decided +nothing. When Crocker attended Lady Amaldina's wedding in his best +coat and gloves he was still under suspension; but trusting to the +conviction that after so long a reprieve capital punishment would not +be carried out.</p> + +<p>Sir Boreas Bodkin had shoved the papers on one side, and, since that, +nothing further had been said on the matter. Weeks had passed, but no +decision had been made public. Sir Boreas was a man whom the +subordinates nearest to him did not like to remind as to any such +duty as this. When a case was "shoved on one side" it was known to be +something unpalateable. And yet, as Mr. Jerningham whispered to +George Roden, it was a thing that ought to be settled. "He can't come +back, you know," he said.</p> + +<p>"I dare say he will," said the Duca.</p> + +<p>"Impossible! I look upon it as impossible!" This Mr. Jerningham said +very seriously.</p> + +<p>"There are some people, you know," rejoined the other, "whose bark is +so much worse than their bite."</p> + +<p>"I know there are, Mr. Roden, and Sir Boreas is perhaps one of them; +but there are cases in which to pardon the thing done seems to be +perfectly impossible. This is one of them. If papers are to be +destroyed with impunity, what is to become of the Department? I for +one should not know how to go on with my duties. Tearing up papers! +Good Heavens! When I think of it I doubt whether I am standing on my +head or my heels."</p> + +<p>This was very strong language for Mr. Jerningham, who was not +accustomed to find fault with the proceedings of his superiors. He +went about the office all these weeks with a visage of woe and the +air of a man conscious that some great evil was at hand. Sir Boreas +had observed it, and knew well why that visage was so long. +Nevertheless when his eyes fell on that bundle of papers,—on the +Crocker bundle of papers,—he only pushed it a little further out of +sight than it was before.</p> + +<p>Who does not know how odious a letter will become by being shoved on +one side day after day? Answer it at the moment, and it will be +nothing. Put it away unread, or at least undigested, for a day, and +it at once begins to assume ugly proportions. When you have been weak +enough to let it lie on your desk, or worse again, hidden in your +breast-pocket, for a week or ten days, it will have become an enemy +so strong and so odious that you will not dare to attack it. It +throws a gloom over all your joys. It makes you cross to your wife, +severe to the cook, and critical to your own wine-cellar. It becomes +the Black Care which sits behind you when you go out a riding. You +have neglected a duty, and have put yourself in the power of perhaps +some vulgar snarler. You think of destroying it and denying it, +dishonestly and falsely,—as Crocker did the mail papers. And yet you +must bear yourself all the time as though there were no load lying +near your heart. So it was with our Æolus and the Crocker papers. The +papers had become a great bundle. The unfortunate man had been called +upon for an explanation, and had written a blundering long letter on +a huge sheet of foolscap paper,—which Sir Boreas had not read, and +did not mean to read. Large fragments of the torn "mail papers" had +been found, and were all there. Mr. Jerningham had written a +well-worded lengthy report,—which never certainly would be read. +There were former documents in which the existence of the papers had +been denied. Altogether the bundle was big and unholy and +distasteful. Those who knew our Æolus well were sure that he would +never even undo the tape by which the bundle was tied. But something +must be done. One month's pay-day had already passed since the +suspension, and the next was at hand. "Can anything be settled about +Mr. Crocker?" asked Mr. Jerningham, one day about the end of August. +Sir Boreas had already sent his family to a little place he had in +the West of Ireland, and was postponing his holiday because of this +horrid matter. Mr. Jerningham could never go away till Æolus went. +Sir Boreas knew all this, and was thoroughly ashamed of himself. +"Just speak to me about it to-morrow and we'll settle the matter," he +said, in his blandest voice. Mr. Jerningham retreated from the room +frowning. According to his thinking there ought to be nothing to +settle. <span class="nowrap">"D——</span> the +fellow," said Sir Boreas, as soon as the door was +closed; and he gave the papers another shove which sent them off the +huge table on to the floor. Whether it was Mr. Jerningham or Crocker +who was damned, he hardly knew himself. Then he was forced to stoop +to the humility of picking up the bundle.</p> + +<p>That afternoon he roused himself. About three o'clock he sent, not +for Mr. Jerningham, but for the Duca. When Roden entered the room the +bundle was before him, but not opened. "Can you send for this man and +get him here to-day?" he asked. The Duca promised that he would do +his best. "I can't bring myself to recommend his dismissal," he said. +The Duca only smiled. "The poor fellow is just going to be married, +you know." The Duca smiled again. Living in Paradise Row himself, he +knew that the lady, <i>née</i> Clara +Demijohn, was already the happy wife +of Mr. Tribbledale. But he knew also that after so long an interval +Crocker could not well be dismissed, and he was not ill-natured +enough to rob his chief of so good an excuse. He left the room, +therefore, declaring that he would cause Crocker to be summoned +immediately.</p> + +<p>Crocker was summoned, and came. Had Sir Boreas made up his mind +briefly to dismiss the man, or briefly to forgive him, the interview +would have been unnecessary. As things now were the man could not +certainly be dismissed. Sir Boreas was aware of that. Nor could he be +pardoned without further notice. Crocker entered the room with that +mingling of the bully and the coward in his appearance which is +generally the result when a man who is overawed attempts to show that +he is not afraid. Sir Boreas passed his fingers through the hairs on +each side of his head, frowned hard, and, blowing through his +nostrils, became at once the Æolus that he had been named;</p> + + +<div class="center"> +<table class="sm" style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="3"><tr><td align="left"> +<p class="noindent"><span class="ind2">Assumes the god,</span><br /> +<span class="ind2">Affects to nod,</span><br /> +And seems to shake the spheres.</p> +</td></tr></table> +</div> + + +<p>"Mr. Crocker," said the god, laying his hand on the bundle of papers +still tied up in a lump. Then he paused and blew the wrath out of his +nostrils.</p> + +<p>"Sir Boreas, no one can be more sorry for an accident than I am for +that."</p> + +<p>"An accident!"</p> + +<p>"Well, Sir Boreas; I am afraid I shall not make you understand it +all."</p> + +<p>"I don't think you will."</p> + +<p>"The first paper I did tear up by accident, thinking it was something +done with."</p> + +<p>"Then you thought you might as well send the others after it."</p> + +<p>"One or two were torn by accident. Then—"</p> + +<p>"Well!"</p> + +<p>"I hope you'll look it over this time, Sir Boreas."</p> + +<p>"I have done nothing but look it over, as you call it, since you came +into the Department. You've been a disgrace to the office. You're of +no use whatsoever. You give more trouble than all the other clerks +put together. I'm sick of hearing your name."</p> + +<p>"If you'll try me again I'll turn over a new leaf, Sir Boreas."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe it for a moment. They tell me you're just going to +be married." Crocker was silent. Could he be expected to cut the +ground from under his own feet at such a moment? "For the young +lady's sake, I don't like turning you adrift on the world at such a +time. I only wish that she had a more secure basis for her +happiness."</p> + +<p>"She'll be all right," said Crocker. He will probably be thought to +have been justified in carrying on the delusion at such a crisis of +his life.</p> + +<p>"But you must take my assurance of this," said Æolus, looking more +like the god of storms, "that no wife or baby,—no joy or +trouble,—shall save you again if you again deserve dismissal." +Crocker with his most affable smile thanked Sir Boreas and withdrew. +It was said afterwards that Sir Boreas had seen and read that smile +on Roden's face, had put two and two together in regard to him, and +had become sure that there was to be no marriage. But, had he lost +that excuse, where should he find another?</p> + + +<p><a name="c3-19" id="c3-19"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XIX.</h3> +<h4>"MY MARION."<br /> </h4> + + +<p>The blow came very suddenly at last. About the middle of September +the spirit of Marion Fay flitted away from all its earthly joys and +all its earthly troubles. Lord Hampstead saw her alive for the last +time at that interview which was described a few pages back. Whenever +he proposed to go down again to Pegwell Bay some objection was made, +either by the Quaker or by Mrs. Roden on the Quaker's behalf. The +doctor, it was alleged, had declared that such visits were injurious +to his patient,—or perhaps it was that Marion had herself said that +she was unable to bear the excitement. There was, no doubt, some +truth in this. And Marion had seen that though she herself could +enjoy the boundless love which her lover tendered to her, telling +herself that though it was only for a while, it was very sweet to +have it so, yet for him these meetings were full of agony. But in +addition to this there was, I think, a jealousy on the part of +Zachary Fay as to his daughter. When there was still a question +whether the young lord should be his son-in-law, he had been willing +to give way and to subordinate himself, even though his girl were the +one thing left to him in all the world. While there was an idea that +she should be married, there had accompanied that idea a hope, almost +an expectation, that she might live. But when it was brought home to +him as a fact that her marriage was out of the question because her +life was waning, then unconsciously there grew up in his heart a +feeling that the young lord ought not to rob him of what was left. +Had Marion insisted, he would have yielded. Had Mrs. Roden told him +that it was cruel to separate them, he would have groaned and given +way. As it was, he simply leaned to that view of the matter which +gave him the greatest preponderance with his own child. It may be +that she saw it too, and would not wound him by asking for her +lover's presence.</p> + +<p>About the middle of September she died, having written to Hampstead +the very day before her death. Her letters lately had become but a +few words each, which Mrs. Roden would put into an envelope and send +to their destination. He wrote daily, assuring her that he would not +leave his home for a day in order that he might go to her instantly +when she would send for him. To the last she never gave up the idea +of seeing him again;—but at last the little light flickered out +quicker than had been expected.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Roden was at Pegwell Bay when the end came; and to her fell the +duty of making it known to Lord Hampstead. She went up to town +immediately, leaving the Quaker in the desolate cottage, and sent +down a note from Holloway to Hendon Hall. "I must see you as soon as +possible. Shall I go to you, or will you come to me?" When she wrote +the words she was sure that he would understand their purport, and +yet it was easier to write so than to tell the cruel truth plainly. +The note was sent down by a messenger, but Lord Hampstead in person +was the answer.</p> + +<p>There was no need of any telling. When he stood before her dressed +from head to foot in black, she took him by the two hands and looked +into his face. "It is all over for her," he said,—"the trouble and +the anguish, and the sense of long dull days to come. My Marion! How +infinitely she has the best of it! How glad I ought to be that it is +so."</p> + +<p>"You must wait, Lord Hampstead," she said.</p> + +<p>"Pray, pray, let me have no consolation. Waiting in the sense you +mean there will be none. For the one relief which will finally come +to me I must of course wait. Did she say any word that you would wish +to tell me!"</p> + +<p>"Many, many."</p> + +<p>"Were they for my ears?"</p> + +<p>"What other words should she have spoken to me? They were prayers for +your health."</p> + +<p>"My health needs not her prayers."</p> + +<p>"Prayers for your soul's health."</p> + +<p>"Such praying will be efficacious there,—or would be were anything +needed to make her fit for those angels among whom she has gone. For +me they can do nothing,—unless it be that in knowing how much she +loved me I may strive to be as she was."</p> + +<p>"And for your happiness."</p> + +<p>"Psha!" he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"You must let me do her commission, Lord Hampstead. I was to bid you +remember that God in His goodness has ordained that the dead after +awhile shall be remembered only with a softened sorrow. I was to tell +you that as a man you should give your thoughts to other things. It +is not from myself;—it is from her."</p> + +<p>"She did not know. She did not understand. As regards good and evil +she was, to my eyes, perfect;—perfect as she was in beauty, in +grace, and feminine tenderness. But the character of others she had +not learned to read. But I need not trouble you as to that, Mrs. +Roden. You have been good to her as though you were her mother, and I +will love you for it while I live." Then he was going away; but he +turned again to ask some question as to the funeral. Might he do it. +Mrs. Roden shook her head. "But I shall be there?" To this she +assented, but explained to him that Zachary Fay would admit of no +interference with that which he considered to be his own privilege +and his own duty.</p> + +<p>Lord Hampstead had driven himself over from Hendon Hall, and had +driven fast. When he left Mrs. Roden's house the groom was driving +the dog-cart up and down Paradise Row, waiting for his master. But +the master walked on out of the Row, forgetting altogether the horse +and the cart and the man, not knowing whither he was going.</p> + +<p>The blow had come, and though it had been fully expected, though he +had known well that it was coming, it struck him now as hard, almost +harder than if it had not been expected. It seemed to himself that he +was unable to endure his sorrow now because he had been already +weakened by such a load of sorrow. Because he had grieved so much, he +could not now bear this further grief. As he walked on he beat his +hands about, unconscious that he was in the midst of men and women +who were gazing at him in the streets. There was nothing left to +him,—nothing, nothing, nothing! He felt that if he could rid himself +of his titles, rid himself of his wealth, rid himself of the very +clothes upon his back, it would be better for him, so that he might +not seem to himself to think that comfort could be found in +externals. "Marion," he said, over and over again, in little +whispered words, but loud enough for his own ears to hear the sound. +And then he uttered phrases which were almost fantastic in their woe, +but which declared what was and had been the condition of his mind +towards her since she had become so inexpressibly dear to him. "My +wife," he said, "my own one! Mother of my children. My woman; my +countess; my princess. They should have seen. They should have +acknowledged. They should have known whom it was that I had brought +among them;—of what nature should be the woman whom a man should set +in a high place. I had made my choice;—and then that it should come +to this!" "There is no good to be done," he said again. "It all turns +to ashes and to dust. The low things of the world are those which +prevail." "Oh, Marion, that I could be with you! Though it were to be +nowhere,—though the great story should have no pathetic ending, +though the last long eternal chapter should be a blank,—still to +have wandered away with you would have been something." As soon as he +reached his house he walked straight into the drawing-room, and +having carefully closed the door, he took the poker in his hand and +held it clasped there as something precious. "It is the only thing of +mine," he said, "that she has touched. Even then I swore to myself +that this hearth should be her hearth; that here we would sit +together, and be one flesh and one bone." Then surreptitiously he +took the bit of iron away with him, and hid it among his +treasures,—to the subsequent dismay of the housemaid.</p> + +<p>There came to him a summons from the Quaker to the funeral, and on +the day named, without saying a word to any one, he took the train +and went down to Pegwell Bay. From the moment on which the messenger +had come from Mrs. Roden he had dressed himself in black, and he now +made no difference in his garments. Poor Zachary said but little to +him; but that little was very bitter. "It has been so with all of +them," he said. "They have all been taken. The Lord cannot strike me +again now." Of the highly-born stranger's grief, or of the cause +which brought him there, he had not a word to say; nor did Lord +Hampstead speak of his own sorrow. "I sympathize and condole with +you," he said to the old man. The Quaker shook his head, and after +that there was silence between them till they parted. To the few +others who were there Lord Hampstead did not address himself, nor did +they to him. From the grave, when the clod of earth had been thrown +on it, he walked slowly away, without a sign on his face of that +agony which was rending his heart. There was a carriage there to take +him to the railway, but he only shook his head when he was invited to +enter it. He walked off and wandered about for hours, till he thought +that the graveyard would be deserted. Then he returned, and when he +found himself alone he stood over the newly heaped-up soil. "Marion," +he said to himself over and over again, whispering as he stood there. +"Marion,—Marion; my wife; my woman." As he stood by the grave side, +one came softly stealing up to him, and laid a hand upon his +shoulder. He turned round quickly, and saw that it was the bereaved +father. "Mr. Fay," he said, "we have both lost the only thing that +either of us valued."</p> + +<p>"What is it to thee, who are young, and hardly knew her twelve months +since?"</p> + +<p>"Months make no difference, I think."</p> + +<p>"But old age, my lord, and childishness, and solitude—"</p> + +<p>"I, too, am alone."</p> + +<p>"She was my daughter, my own. Thou hadst seen a pretty face, and that +was all. She had remained with me when those others died. Had thou +not <span class="nowrap">come—"</span></p> + +<p>"Did my coming kill her, Mr. Fay'?"</p> + +<p>"I do not say that. Thou hast been good to her, and I would not say a +hard word to thee."</p> + +<p>"I did think that nothing could have added to my sorrow."</p> + +<p>"No, my lord; no, no. She would have died. She was her dear mother's +child, and she was doomed. Go away, and be thankful that thou, too, +hast not become the father of children born only to perish in your +sight. I will not say an unkind word, but I would wish to have my +girl's grave to myself." Upon this Lord Hampstead walked off, and +went back to his own home, hardly knowing how he reached it.</p> + +<p>It was a month after this that he returned to the churchyard, and +might have been seen sitting on the small stone slab which the Quaker +had already caused to be laid over the grave. It was a fine October +evening, and the sombre gloom of the hours was already darkening +everything around. He had crept into the enclosure silently, almost +slily, so as to insure himself that his presence should not be noted; +and now, made confident by the coming darkness, he had seated himself +on the stone. During the long hours that he sat there no word was +formed within his lips, but he surrendered himself entirely to +thoughts of what his life might have been had she been spared to him. +He had come there for a purpose, the very opposite of that; but how +often does it come to pass that we are unable to drive our thoughts +into that channel in which we wish them to flow? He had thought much +of her last words, and was minded to attempt to do something as she +would have had him do it;—not that he might enjoy his life, but that +he might make it useful. But as he sat there, he could not think of +the real future,—not of the future as it might be made to take this +or that form by his own efforts; but of the future as it would have +been had she been with him, of the glorious, bright, beautiful future +which her love, her goodness, her beauty, her tenderness would have +illuminated.</p> + +<p>Till he had seen her his heart had never been struck. Ideas, +sufficiently pleasant in themselves, though tinged with a certain +irony and sarcasm, had been frequent with him as to his future +career. He would leave that building up of a future family of +Marquises,—if future Marquises there were to be,—to one of those +young darlings whose bringing-up would manifestly fit them for the +work. For himself he would perhaps philosophize, perhaps do something +that might be of service,—would indulge at any rate his own views as +to humanity;—but he would not burden himself with a Countess and a +nursery full of young lords and ladies. He had often said to Roden, +had often said to Vivian, that her ladyship, his stepmother, need not +trouble herself. He certainly would not be guilty of making either a +Countess or a Marchioness. They, of course, had laughed at him, and +had bid him bide his time. He had bided his time,—as they had +said,—and Marion Fay had been the result.</p> + +<p>Yes;—life would have been worth the having if Marion Fay had +remained to him. It was thus he communed with himself as he sat there +on the tomb. From the moment in which he had first seen her in Mrs. +Roden's house he had felt that things were changed with him. There +had come a vision before him which filled him full of delight. As he +learned to know the tones of her voice, and the motion of her limbs, +and to succumb to the feminine charms with which she enveloped him, +all the world was brightened up to his view. Here there was no +pretence of special blood, no assumption of fantastic titles, no +claim to superiority because of fathers and mothers who were in +themselves by no means superior to their neighbours. And yet there +had been all the grace, all the loveliness, all the tenderness, +without which his senses would not have been captivated. He had never +known his want;—but he had in truth wanted one who should be at all +points a lady, and yet not insist on a right to be so esteemed on the +strength of inherited privileges. Chance, good fortune, providence +had sent her to him,—or more probably the eternal fitness of things, +as he had allowed himself to argue when things had fallen out so well +to his liking. Then there had arisen difficulties, which had seemed +to him to be vain and absurd,—though they would not allow themselves +to be at once swept away. They had talked to him of his station and +of hers, making that an obstacle which to him had been a strong +argument in favour of her love. Against this he had done battle with +the resolute purpose which a man has who is sure of his cause. He +would have none of their sophistries, none of their fears, none of +their old-fashioned absurdities. Did she love him? Was her heart to +him as was his to her? That was the one question on which it must all +depend. As he thought of it all, sitting there on the tombstone, he +put out his arm as though to fold her form to his bosom when he +thought of the moment in which he became sure that it was so. There +had been no doubt of the full-flowing current of her love. Then he +had aroused himself, and had shaken his mane like a lion, and had +sworn aloud that this vain obstacle should be no obstacle, even +though it was pleaded by herself. Nature had been strong enough +within him to assure him that he would overcome the obstacle.</p> + +<p>And he had overcome it,—or was overcoming it,—when that other +barrier gradually presented itself, and loomed day by day terribly +large before his affrighted eyes. Even to that he would not +yield,—not only as regarded her but himself also. Had there been no +such barrier, the possession of Marion would have been to him an +assurance of perfect bliss which the prospect of far-distant death +would not have effected. When he began to perceive that her condition +was not as that of other young women, he became aware of a great +danger,—of a danger to himself as well as to her, to himself rather +than to her. This increased rather than diminished his desire for the +possession. As the ardent rider will be more intent to take the fence +when it looms before him large and difficult, so with him the +resolution to make Marion his wife became the stronger when he knew +that there were reasons of prudence, reasons of caution, reasons of +worldly wisdom, why he should not do so. It had become a religion to +him that she should be his one. Then gradually her strength had +become known to him, and slowly he was made aware that he must bow to +her decision. All that he wanted in all the world he must not +have,—not that the love which he craved was wanting, but because she +knew that her own doom was fixed.</p> + +<p>She had bade him retrick his beams, and take the light and the +splendour of his sun elsewhere. The light and the splendour of his +sun had all passed from him. She had absorbed them altogether. He, +while he had been boasting to himself of his power and his manliness, +in that he would certainly overcome all the barriers, had found +himself to be weak as water in her hands. She, in her soft feminine +tones, had told him what duty had required of her, and, as she had +said so she had done. Then he had stood on one side, and had remained +looking on, till she had—gone away and left him. She had never been +his. It had not been allowed to him even to write his name, as +belonging also to her, on the gravestone.</p> + +<p>But she had loved him. There was nothing in it all but this to which +his mind could revert with any feeling of satisfaction. She had +certainly loved him. If such love might be continued between a +disembodied spirit and one still upon the earth,—if there were any +spirit capable of love after that divorce between the soul and the +body,—her love certainly would still be true to him. Most assuredly +his should be true to her. Whatever he might do towards obeying her +in striving to form some manly purpose for his life, he would never +ask another woman to be his wife, he would never look for other love. +The black coat should be laid aside as soon as might be, so that the +world around him should not have cause for remark; but the mourning +should never be taken from his heart.</p> + +<p>Then, when the darkness of night had quite come upon him, he arose +from his seat, and flinging himself on his knees, stretched his arms +wildly across the grave. "Marion," he said; "Marion; oh, Marion, will +you hear me? Though gone from me, art thou not mine?" He looked up +into the night, and there, before his eyes, was her figure, beautiful +as ever, with all her loveliness of half-developed form, with her +soft hair upon her shoulders; and her eyes beamed on him, and a +heavenly smile came across her face, and her lips moved as though she +would encourage him. "My Marion;—my wife!"</p> + +<p>Very late that night the servants heard him as he opened the door and +walked across the hall, and made his way up to his own room.</p> + + +<p><a name="c3-20" id="c3-20"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XX.</h3> +<h4>MR. GREENWOOD'S LAST BATTLE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>During the whole of that long summer nothing was absolutely arranged +as to Roden and Lady Frances, though it was known to all London, and +to a great many persons outside of London, that they were certainly +to become man and wife. The summer was very long to Lord and Lady +Trafford because of the necessity incumbent on them of remaining +through the last dregs of the season on account of Lady Amaldina's +marriage. Had Lady Amaldina thrown herself away on another Roden the +aunt would have no doubt gone to the country; but her niece had done +her duty in life with so much propriety and success that it would +have been indecent to desert her. Lady Kingsbury therefore remained +in Park Lane, and was driven to endure frequently the sight of the +Post Office clerk.</p> + +<p>For George Roden was admitted to the house even though it was at last +acknowledged that he must be George Roden, and nothing more. And it +was found also that he must be a Post Office clerk, and nothing more. +Lord Persiflage, on whom Lady Kingsbury chiefly depended for seeing +that her own darlings should not be disgraced by being made +brothers-in-law to anything so low as a clerk in the Post Office, was +angry at last, and declared that it was impossible to help a man who +would not help himself. "It is no use trying to pick a man up who +will lie in the gutter." It was thus he spoke of Roden in his anger; +and then the Marchioness would wring her hands and abuse her +stepdaughter. Lord Persiflage did think that something might be done +for the young man if the young man would only allow himself to be +called a Duke. But the young man would not allow it, and Lord +Persiflage did not see what could be done. Nevertheless there was a +general idea abroad in the world that something would be done. Even +the mysterious savour of high rank which attached itself to the young +man would do something for him.</p> + +<p>It may be remembered that the Marquis himself, when first the fact +had come to his ears that his daughter loved the young man, had been +almost as ferociously angry as his wife. He had assented to the +carrying of her away to the Saxon castle. He had frowned upon her. He +had been a party to the expelling her from his own house. But +gradually his heart had become softened towards her; in his illness +he had repented of his harshness; he had not borne her continued +absence easily, and had of late looked about for an excuse for +accepting her lover. When the man was discovered to be a Duke, though +it was only an Italian Duke, of course he accepted him. Now his wife +told him daily that Roden was not a Duke, because he would not accept +his Dukedom,—and ought therefore again to be rejected. Lord +Persiflage had declared that nothing could be done for him, and +therefore he ought to be rejected. But the Marquis clung to his +daughter. As the man was absolutely a Duke, according to the laws of +all the Heralds, and all the Courts, and all the tables of precedency +and usages of peerage in Christendom, he could not de-grade himself +even by any motion of his own. He was the eldest and the legitimate +son of the last Duca di Crinola,—so the Marquis said,—and as such +was a fitting aspirant for the hand of the daughter of an English +peer. "But he hasn't got a shilling," said Lady Kingsbury weeping. +The Marquis felt that it was within his own power to produce some +remedy for this evil, but he did not care to say as much to his wife, +who was tender on that point in regard to the interest of her three +darlings. Roden continued his visits to Park Lane very frequently all +through the summer, and had already arranged for an autumn visit to +Castle Hautboy,—in spite of that angry word spoken by Lord +Persiflage. Everybody knew he was to marry Lady Frances. But when the +season was over, and all the world had flitted from London, nothing +was settled.</p> + +<p>Lady Kingsbury was of course very unhappy during all this time; but +there was a source of misery deeper, more pressing, more crushing +than even the Post Office clerk. Mr. Greenwood, the late chaplain, +had, during his last interview with the Marquis, expressed some noble +sentiments. He would betray nothing that had been said to him in +confidence. He would do nothing that could annoy the Marchioness, +because the Marchioness was a lady, and as such, entitled to all +courtesy from him as a gentleman. There were grounds no doubt on +which he could found a claim, but he would not insist on them, as his +doing so would be distasteful to her ladyship. He felt that he was +being ill-treated, almost robbed; but he would put up with that +rather than say a word which would come against his own conscience as +a gentleman. With these high assurances he took his leave of the +Marquis as though he intended to put up with the beggarly stipend of +£200 a year which the Marquis had promised him. Perhaps that had been +his intention;—but before two days were over he had remembered that +though it might be base to tell her ladyship's secrets, the +penny-post was still open to him.</p> + +<p>It certainly was the case that Lady Kingsbury had spoken to him with +strong hopes of the death of the heir to the title. Mr. Greenwood, in +discussing the matter with himself, went beyond that, and declared to +himself that she had done so with expectation as well as hope. +Fearful words had been said. So he assured himself. He thanked his +God that nothing had come of it. Only for him something,—he assured +himself,—would have come of it. The whisperings in that up-stairs +sitting-room at Trafford had been dreadful. He had divulged nothing. +He had held his tongue,—like a gentleman. But ought he not to be +paid for holding his tongue? There are so many who act honestly from +noble motives, and then feel that their honesty should be rewarded by +all those gains which dishonesty might have procured for them! About +a fortnight after the visit which Mr. Greenwood made to the Marquis +he did write a letter to the Marchioness. "I am not anxious," he +said, "to do more than remind your ladyship of those peculiarly +confidential discussions which took place between yourself and me at +Trafford during the last winter; but I think you will acknowledge +that they were of a nature to make me feel that I should not be +discarded like an old glove. If you would tell his lordship that +something should be done for me, something would be done." Her +ladyship when she received this was very much frightened. She +remembered the expressions she had allowed herself to use, and did +say a hesitating, halting word to her husband, suggesting that Mr. +Greenwood's pension should be increased. The Marquis turned upon her +in anger. "Did you ever promise him anything?" he asked. No;—she had +promised him nothing. "I am giving him more than he deserves, and +will do no more," said the Marquis. There was something in his voice +which forbade her to speak another word.</p> + +<p>Mr. Greenwood's letter having remained for ten days without an +answer, there came another. "I cannot but think that you will +acknowledge my right to expect an answer," he said, "considering the +many years through which I have enjoyed the privilege of your +ladyship's friendship, and the <i>very confidential terms</i> on +which we have been used to discuss matters of the highest interest +to us both." The "matters" had no doubt been the probability of the +accession to the title of her own son through the demise of his elder +brother! She understood now all her own folly, and something of her +own wickedness. To this second appeal she wrote a short answer, +having laid awake over it one entire night.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dear Mr. +Greenwood</span>—I have spoken to the Marquis, and he +will do nothing.</p> + +<p class="ind12">Yours truly,</p> + +<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">C. Kingsbury</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>This she did without saying a word to her husband.</p> + +<p>Then, after the interval of a few days, there came a +third letter.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear +Lady Kingsbury</span>,—</p> + +<p>I cannot allow myself to think that this should be the end +of it all, after so many years of social intimacy and +confidential intercourse. Can you yourself imagine the +condition of a gentleman of my age reduced after a life of +ease and comfort to exist on a miserable pension of £200 a +year? It simply means death,—death! Have I not a right to +expect something better after the devotion of a life?</p> + +<p>Who has known as well as I the stumbling-blocks to your +ladyship's ambition which have been found in the +existences of Lord Hampstead and Lady Frances Trafford? I +have sympathized with you no doubt,—partly because of +their peculiarities, partly from sincere affection for +your ladyship. It cannot surely be that your ladyship +should now treat me as an enemy because I could do no more +than sympathize!</p> + +<p>Dig I cannot. To beg I am ashamed. You will hardly wish +that I should perish from want. I have not as yet been +driven to open out my sad case to any one but yourself. Do +not force me to it,—for the sake of those darling +children for whose welfare I have ever been so anxious.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="ind4">Believe me to be,</span><br /> +<span class="ind6">Your ladyship's most devoted and +faithful friend,</span></p> + +<p class="ind12"><span class="smallcaps">Thomas +Greenwood</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>This epistle so frightened her that she began to consider how she +might best collect together a sufficient sum of money to satisfy the +man. She did succeed in sending him a note for £50. But this he was +too wary to take. He returned it, saying that he could not, though +steeped in poverty, accept chance eleemosynary aid. What he +required.—and had he thought a right to ask,—was an increase to the +fixed stipend allowed him. He must, he thought, again force himself +upon the presence of the Marquis, and explain the nature of the +demand more explicitly.</p> + +<p>Upon this Lady Kingsbury showed all the letters to her husband. "What +does he mean by stumbling-blocks?" asked the Marquis in his wrath. +Then there was a scene which was sad enough. She had to confess that +she had spoken very freely to the chaplain respecting her +step-children. "Freely! What does freely mean? Do you want them out +of the way?" What a question for a husband to have to ask his wife! +But she had a door by which she could partly escape. It was not that +she had wanted them out of the way, but that she had been so +horrified by what she had thought to be their very improper ideas as +to their own rank of life. Those marriages which they had intended +had caused her to speak as she had done to the chaplain. When alone +at Trafford she had no doubt opened her mind to the clergyman. She +rested a great deal on the undoubted fact that Mr. Greenwood was a +clergyman. Hampstead and Fanny had been stumbling-blocks to her +ambition because she had desired to see them married properly into +proper families. She probably thought that she was telling the truth +as she said all this. It was at any rate accepted as truth, and she +was condoned. As to Hampstead, it was known by this time that that +marriage could never take place; and as to Lady Frances, the +Marchioness was driven, in her present misery, to confess, that as +the Duca was in truth a Duca, his family must be held to be proper.</p> + +<p>But the Marquis sent for Mr. Cumming, his London solicitor, and put +all the letters into his hand,—with such explanation as he thought +necessary to give. Mr. Cumming at first recommended that the pension +should be altogether stopped; but to this the Marquis did not +consent. "It would not suit me that he should starve," said the +Marquis. "But if he continues to write to her ladyship something must +be done."</p> + +<p>"Threatening letters to extort money!" said the lawyer confidently. +"I can have him before a magistrate to-morrow, my lord, if it be +thought well." It was, however, felt to be expedient that Mr. Cumming +should in the first case send for Mr. Greenwood, and explain to that +gentleman the nature of the law.</p> + +<p>Mr. Cumming no doubt felt himself that it would be well that Mr. +Greenwood should not starve, and well also that application should +not be made to the magistrate, unless as a last resort. He, too, +asked himself what was meant by "stumbling-blocks." Mr. Greenwood was +a greedy rascal, descending to the lowest depth of villany with the +view of making money out of the fears of a silly woman. But the silly +woman, the lawyer thought, must have been almost worse than silly. It +seemed natural to Mr. Cumming that a stepmother should be anxious for +the worldly welfare of her own children;—not unnatural, perhaps, +that she should be so anxious as to have a feeling at her heart +amounting almost to a wish that "chance" should remove the obstacle. +Chance, as Mr. Cumming was aware, could in such a case mean +only—death. Mr. Cumming, when he put this in plain terms to himself, +felt it to be very horrid; but there might be a doubt whether such a +feeling would be criminal, if backed up by no deed and expressed by +no word. But here it seemed that words had been spoken. Mr. Greenwood +had probably invented that particular phrase, but would hardly have +invented it unless something had been said to justify it. It was his +business, however, to crush Mr. Greenwood, and not to expose her +ladyship. He wrote a very civil note to Mr. Greenwood. Would Mr. +Greenwood do him the kindness to call in Bedford Row at such or such +an hour,—or indeed at any other hour that might suit him. Mr. +Greenwood thinking much of it, and resolving in his mind that any +increase to his pension might probably be made through Mr. Cumming, +did as he was bid, and waited upon the lawyer.</p> + +<p>Mr. Cumming, when the clergyman was shown in, was seated with the +letters before him,—the various letters which Mr. Greenwood had +written to Lady Kingsbury,—folded out one over another, so that the +visitor's eye might see them and feel their presence; but he did not +intend to use them unless of necessity. "Mr. Greenwood," he said, "I +learn that you are discontented with the amount of a retiring +allowance which the Marquis of Kingsbury has made you on leaving his +service."</p> + +<p>"I am, Mr. Cumming; certainly I am.—£200 a year is +<span class="nowrap">not—"</span></p> + +<p>"Let us call it £300, Mr. Greenwood."</p> + +<p>"Well, yes; Lord Hampstead did say something—"</p> + +<p>"And has paid something. Let us call it £300. Not that the amount +matters. The Marquis and Lord Hampstead are determined not to +increase it."</p> + +<p>"Determined!"</p> + +<p>"Quite determined that under no circumstances will they increase it. +They may find it necessary to stop it."</p> + +<p>"Is this a threat?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly it is a threat,—as far as it goes. There is another +threat which I may have to make for the sake of coercing you; but I +do not wish to use it if I can do without it."</p> + +<p>"Her ladyship knows that I am ill-treated in this matter. She sent me +£50 and I returned it. It was not in that way that I wished to be +paid for my services."</p> + +<p>"It was well for you that you did. But for that I could not certainly +have asked you to come and see me here."</p> + +<p>"You could not?"</p> + +<p>"No;—I could not. You will probably understand what I mean." Here +Mr. Cumming laid his hands upon the letters, but made no other +allusion to them. "A very few words more will, I think, settle all +that there is to be arranged between us. The Marquis, from certain +reasons of humanity,—with which I for one hardly sympathize in this +case,—is most unwilling to stop, or even to lessen, the ample +pension which is paid to you."</p> + +<p>"Ample;—after a whole lifetime!"</p> + +<p>"But he will do so if you write any further letters to any member of +his family."</p> + +<p>"That is tyranny, Mr. Cumming."</p> + +<p>"Very well. Then is the Marquis a tyrant. But he will go further than +that in his tyranny. If it be necessary to defend either himself or +any of his family from further annoyance, he will do so by criminal +proceedings. You are probably aware that the doing this would be very +disagreeable to the Marquis. Undoubtedly it would. To such a man as +Lord Kingsbury it is a great trouble to have his own name, or worse, +that of others of his family, brought into a Police Court. But, if +necessary, it will be done. I do not ask you for any assurance, Mr. +Greenwood, because it may be well that you should take a little time +to think of it. But unless you are willing to lose your income, and +to be taken before a police magistrate for endeavouring to extort +money by threatening letters, you had better hold your hand."</p> + +<p>"I have never threatened."</p> + +<p>"Good morning, Mr. Greenwood."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Cumming, I have threatened no one."</p> + +<p>"Good morning, Mr. Greenwood." Then the discarded chaplain took his +leave, failing to find the words with which he could satisfactorily +express his sense of the injury which had been done him.</p> + +<p>Before that day was over he had made up his mind to take his £300 a +year and be silent. The Marquis, he now found, was not so infirm as +he had thought, nor the Marchioness quite so full of fears. He must +give it up, and take his pittance. But in doing so he continued to +assure himself that he was greatly injured, and did not cease to +accuse Lord Kingsbury of sordid parsimony in refusing to reward +adequately one whose services to the family had been so faithful and +long-enduring.</p> + +<p>It may, however, be understood that in the midst of troubles such as +these Lady Kingsbury did not pass a pleasant summer.</p> + + +<p><a name="c3-21" id="c3-21"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXI.</h3> +<h4>THE REGISTRAR OF STATE RECORDS.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Although Lord Persiflage had seemed to be very angry with the +recusant Duke, and had made that uncivil speech about the gutter, +still he was quite willing that George Roden should be asked down to +Castle Hautboy. "Of course we must do something for him," he said to +his wife; "but I hate scrupulous men. I don't blame him at all for +making such a girl as Fanny fall in love with him. If I were a Post +Office clerk I'd do the same if I could."</p> + +<p>"Not you. You wouldn't have given yourself the trouble."</p> + +<p>"But when I had done it I wouldn't have given her friends more +trouble than was necessary. I should have known that they would have +had to drag me up somewhere. I should have looked for that. But I +shouldn't have made myself difficult when chance gave a helping hand. +Why shouldn't he have taken his title?"</p> + +<p>"Of course we all wish he would."</p> + +<p>"Fanny is as bad as he is. She has caught some of Hampstead's +levelling ideas and encourages the young man. It was all Kingsbury's +fault from the first. He began the world wrong, and now he cannot get +himself right again. A radical aristocrat is a contradiction in +terms. It is very well that there should be Radicals. It would be a +stupid do-nothing world without them. But a man can't be oil and +vinegar at the same time." This was the expression made by Lord +Persiflage of his general ideas on politics in reference to George +Roden and his connection with the Trafford family; but not the less +was George Roden asked down to Castle Hautboy. Lady Frances was not +to be thrown over because she had made a fool of herself,—nor was +George Roden to be left out in the cold, belonging as he did now to +Lady Frances. Lord Persiflage never approved very much of +anybody,—but he never threw anybody over.</p> + +<p>It was soon after the funeral of Marion Fay that Roden went down to +Cumberland. During the last two months of Marion's illness Hampstead +and Roden had been very often together. Not that they had lived +together, as Hampstead had declared himself unable to bear continued +society. His hours had been passed alone. But there had not been many +days in which the friends had not seen each other for a few minutes. +It had become a habit with Hampstead to ride over to Paradise Row +when Roden had returned from the office. At first Mrs. Roden also had +been there;—but latterly she had spent her time altogether at +Pegwell Bay. Nevertheless Lord Hampstead would come, and would say a +few words, and would then ride home again. When all was over at +Pegwell Bay, when the funeral was at hand, and during the few days of +absolutely prostrating grief which followed it, nothing was seen of +him;—but on the evening before his friend's journey down to Castle +Hautboy he again appeared in the Row. On this occasion he walked +over, and his friend returned with him a part of the way. "You must +do something with yourself," Roden said to him.</p> + +<p>"I see no need of doing anything special. How many men do nothing +with themselves!"</p> + +<p>"Men either work or play."</p> + +<p>"I do not think I shall play much."</p> + +<p>"Not for a time certainly. You used to play; but I can imagine that +the power of doing so will have deserted you."</p> + +<p>"I shan't hunt, if you mean that."</p> + +<p>"I do not mean that at all," said Roden;—"but that you should do +something. There must be some occupation, or life will be +insupportable."</p> + +<p>"It is insupportable," said the young man looking away, so that his +countenance should not be seen.</p> + +<p>"But it must be supported. Let the load be ever so heavy, it must be +carried. You would not destroy yourself?"</p> + +<p>"No;"—said the other slowly; "no. I would not do that. If any one +would do it for me!"</p> + +<p>"No one will do it for you. Not to have some plan of active life, +some defined labour by which the weariness of the time may be +conquered, would be a weakness and a cowardice next door to that of +suicide."</p> + +<p>"Roden," said the lord, "your severity is brutal."</p> + +<p>"The question is whether it be true. You shall call it what you +like,—or call me what you like; but can you contradict what I say? +Do you not feel that it is your duty as a man to apply what intellect +you have, and what strength, to some purpose?"</p> + +<p>Then, by degrees, Lord Hampstead did explain the purpose he had +before him. He intended to have a yacht built, and start alone, and +cruise about the face of the world. He would take books with him, and +study the peoples and the countries which he visited.</p> + +<p>"Alone?" asked Roden.</p> + +<p>"Yes, alone;—as far as a man may be alone with a crew and a captain +around him. I shall make acquaintances as I go, and shall be able to +bear them as such. They will know nothing of my secret wound. Had I +you with me,—you and my sister let us suppose,—or Vivian, or any +one from here who had known me, I could not even struggle to raise my +head."</p> + +<p>"It would wear off."</p> + +<p>"I will go alone; and if occasion offers I will make fresh +acquaintances. I will begin another life which shall have no +connection with the old one,—except that which will be continued by +the thread of my own memory. No one shall be near me who may even +think of her name when my own ways and manners are called in +question." He went on to explain that he would set himself to work at +once. The ship must be built, and the crew collected, and the stores +prepared. He thought that in this way he might find employment for +himself till the spring. In the spring, if all was ready, he would +start. Till that time came he would live at Hendon Hall,—still +alone. He so far relented, however, as to say that if his sister was +married before he began his wanderings he would be present at her +marriage.</p> + +<p>Early in the course of the evening he had explained to Roden that his +father and he had conjointly arranged to give Lady Frances £40,000 on +her wedding. "Can that be necessary?" asked Roden.</p> + +<p>"You must live; and as you have gone into a nest with the drones, you +must live in some sort as the drones do."</p> + +<p>"I hope I shall never be a drone."</p> + +<p>"You cannot touch pitch and not be defiled. You'll be expected to +wear gloves and drink fine wine,—or, at any rate, to give it to your +friends. Your wife will have to ride in a coach. If she don't people +will point at her, and think she's a pauper, because she has a handle +to her name. They talk of the upper ten thousand. It is as hard to +get out from among them as it is to get in among them. Though you +have been wonderfully stout about the Italian title, you'll find that +it will stick to you." Then it was explained that the money, which +was to be given, would in no wise interfere with the "darlings." +Whatever was to be added to the fortune which would naturally have +belonged to Lady Frances, would come not from her father but from her +brother.</p> + +<p>When Roden arrived at Castle Hautboy Lord Persiflage was there, +though he remained but for a day. He was due to be with the Queen for +a month,—a duty which was evidently much to his taste, though he +affected to frown over it as a hardship. "I am sorry, Roden," he +said, "that I should be obliged to leave you and everybody else;—but +a Government hack, you know, has to be a Government hack." This was +rather strong from a Secretary of State to a Clerk in the Post +Office; but Roden had to let it pass lest he should give an opening +to some remark on his own repudiated rank. "I shall be back before +you are gone, I hope, and then perhaps we may arrange something." The +only thing that Roden wished to arrange was a day for his own +wedding, as to which, as far as he knew, Lord Persiflage could have +nothing to say.</p> + +<p>"I don't think you ought to be sorry," Lady Frances said to her lover +as they were wandering about on the mountains. He had endeavoured to +explain to her that this large income which was now promised to him +rather impeded than assisted the scheme of life which he had +suggested to himself.</p> + +<p>"Not sorry,—but disappointed, if you know the difference."</p> + +<p>"Not exactly."</p> + +<p>"I had wanted to feel that I should earn my wife's bread."</p> + +<p>"So you shall. If a man works honestly for his living, I don't think +he need inquire too curiously what proportion of it may come from his +own labour or from some other source. If I had had nothing we should +have done very well without the coach,—as poor Hampstead calls it. +But if the coach is there I don't see why we shouldn't ride in it."</p> + +<p>"I should like to earn the coach too," said Roden.</p> + +<p>"This, sir, will be a lesson serviceable in teaching you that you are +not to be allowed to have your own way in everything."</p> + +<p>An additional leave of absence for a month had been accorded to +Roden. He had already been absent during a considerable time in the +spring of the year, and in the ordinary course of events would not +have been entitled to this prolonged indulgence. But there were +reasons deemed to be sufficient. He was going to meet a Cabinet +Minister. He was engaged to marry the daughter of a Marquis. And it +was known that he was not simply George Roden, but in truth the Duca +di Crinola. He had suffered some qualms of conscience as to the +favour to be thus shown him, but had quieted them by the idea that +when a man is in love something special ought to be done for him. He +remained, therefore, till the Foreign Secretary returned from his +royal service, and had by that time fixed the period of his marriage. +It was to take place in the cold comfortless month of March. It would +be a great thing, he had said, to have Hampstead present at it, and +it was Hampstead's intention to start on his long travels early in +April. "I don't see why people shouldn't be married in cold weather +as well as in hot," said Vivian. "Brides need not go about always in +muslin."</p> + +<p>When Lord Persiflage returned to Castle Hautboy, he had his plan +ready arranged for relieving his future half-nephew-in-law,—if there +be such a relationship,—from the ignominy of the Post Office. "I +have Her Majesty's permission," he said to Roden, "to offer you the +position of Registrar of State Records to the Foreign Office."</p> + +<p>"Registrar of State Records to the Foreign Office!"</p> + +<p>"Fifteen hundred a year," said his lordship, going off at once to +this one point of true vital importance. "I am bound to say that I +think I could have done better for you had you consented to bear the +title, which is as completely your own, as is that mine by which I am +called."</p> + +<p>"Don't let us go back to that, my lord."</p> + +<p>"Oh no;—certainly not. Only this; if you could be brought to think +better of it,—if Fanny could be induced to make you think better of +it,—the office now offered to you would, I think, be more +comfortable to you."</p> + +<p>"How so?"</p> + +<p>"I can hardly explain, but it would. There is no reason on earth why +it should not be held by an Italian. We had an Italian for many years +librarian at the Museum. And as an Italian you would of course be +entitled to call yourself by your hereditary title."</p> + +<p>"I shall never be other than an Englishman."</p> + +<p>"Very well. One man may lead a horse to water, but a thousand cannot +make him drink. I only tell you what would be the case. The title +would no doubt give a prestige to the new office. It is exactly that +kind of work which would fall readily into the hands of a foreigner +of high rank. One cannot explain these things, but it is so. The +£1500 a year would more probably become £2000 if you submitted to be +called by your own proper name." Everybody knew that Lord Persiflage +understood the Civil Service of his country perfectly. He was a man +who never worked very hard himself, or expected those under him to do +so; but he liked common sense, and hated scruples, and he considered +it to be a man's duty to take care of himself,—of himself first of +all, and then, perhaps, afterwards, of the Service.</p> + +<p>Neither did Roden nor did Lady Frances give way a bit the more for +this. They were persistent in clinging to their old comparatively +humble English name. Lady Frances would be Lady Frances to the end, +but she would be no more than Lady Frances Roden. And George Roden +would be George Roden, whether a clerk in the Post Office or +Registrar of State Records to the Foreign Office. So much the next +new bride declared with great energy to the last new bride who had +just returned from her short wedding tour, having been hurried home +so that her husband might be able to lay the first stone of the new +bridge to be built over the Menai Straits. Lady Llwddythlw, with all +the composed manners of a steady matron, was at Castle Hautboy, and +used all her powers of persuasion. "Never mind, my dear, what he +says," Lady Llwddythlw urged. "What you should think of is what will +be good for him. He would be somebody,—almost as good as an Under +Secretary of State,—with a title. He would get to be considered +among the big official swells. There is so much in a name! Of course, +you've got your rank. But you ought to insist on it for his sake."</p> + +<p>Lady Frances did not give way in the least, nor did any one venture +to call the Duca by his title, formally or openly. But, as Lord +Hampstead had said, "it stuck to him." The women when they were alone +with him would call him Duca, joking with him; and it was out of the +question that he should be angry with them for their jokes. He became +aware that behind his back he was always spoken of as The Duke, and +that this was not done with any idea of laughing at him. The people +around him believed that he was a Duke and ought to be called a Duke. +Of course it was in joke that Lady Llwddythlw always called Lady +Frances Duchessina when they were together, because Lady Frances had +certainly not as yet acquired her right to the name; but it all +tended to the same point. He became aware that the very servants +around him understood it. They did not call him "your grace" or "my +Lord," or make spoken allusion to his rank; but they looked it. All +that obsequiousness due to an hereditary nobleman, which is dear to +the domestic heart, was paid to him. He found himself called upon by +Lady Persiflage to go into the dining-room out of his proper place. +There was a fair excuse for this while the party was small, and +confined to few beyond the family, as it was expected that the two +declared lovers should sit together. But when this had been done with +a larger party he expostulated with his hostess. "My dear Mr. Roden," +she said,—"I suppose I must call you so."</p> + +<p>"It's my name at any rate."</p> + +<p>"There are certain points on which, as far as I can see, a man may be +allowed to have his way,—and certain points on which he may not."</p> + +<p>"As to his own name—"</p> + +<p>"Yes; on the matter of your name. I do not see my way how to get the +better of you just at present, though on account of my near +connection with Fanny I am very anxious to do so. But as to the fact +of your rank, there it is. Whenever I see you,—and I hope I shall +see you very often,—I shall always suppose that I see an Italian +nobleman of the first class, and shall treat you so." He shrugged his +shoulders, feeling that he had nothing else to do. "If I were to find +myself in the society of some man calling himself by a title to which +I knew that he had no right,—I should probably call him by no name; +but I should be very careful not to treat him as a nobleman, knowing +that he had no right to be so treated. What can I do in your case but +just reverse the position?"</p> + +<p>He never went back to the Post Office,—of course. What should a +Registrar of State Records to the Foreign Office do in so humble an +establishment? He never went back for the purposes of work. He called +to bid farewell to Sir Boreas, Mr. Jerningham, Crocker, and others +with whom he had served. "I did not think we should see much more of +you," said Sir Boreas, laughing.</p> + +<p>"I intended to live and die with you," said Roden.</p> + +<p>"We don't have dukes; or at any rate we don't keep them. Like to like +is a motto which I always find true. When I heard that you were +living with a young lord, and were going to marry the daughter of a +marquis, and had a title of your own which you could use as soon as +you pleased, I knew that I should lose you." Then he added in a +little whisper, "You couldn't get Crocker made a duke, could you,—or +a Registrar of Records?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Jerningham was full of smiles and bows, pervaded thoroughly by a +feeling that he was bidding farewell to an august nobleman, though, +for negative reasons, he was not to be allowed to gratify his tongue +by naming the august name. Crocker was a little shy;—but he plucked +up his courage at last. "I shall always know what I know, you know," +he said, as he shook hands with the friend to whom he had been so +much attached. Bobbin and Geraghty made no allusions to the title, +but they, too, as they were severally greeted, were evidently under +the influence of the nobility of their late brother clerk.</p> + +<p>The marriage was duly solemnized when March came in the parish church +of Trafford. There was nothing grand,—no even distant imitation of +Lady Amaldina's glorious cavalcade. Hampstead did come down, and +endeavoured for the occasion to fit himself for the joy of the day. +His ship was ready for him, and he intended to start now in a week or +two. As it happened that the House was not sitting, Lord Llwddythlw, +at the instigation of his wife, was present. "One good turn deserves +another," Lady Llwddythlw had said to him. And the darlings were +there in all their glory, loud, beautiful, and unruly. Lady Kingsbury +was of course present; but was too much in abeyance to be able to +arouse even a sign of displeasure. Since that reference to the +"stumbling blocks" had reached her husband, and since those fears +with which Mr. Greenwood had filled her, she had been awed into +quiescence.</p> + +<p>The bridegroom was of course married under the simple name of George +Roden,—and we must part with him under that name; but it is the +belief of the present chronicler that the aristocratic element will +prevail, and that the time will come soon in which the Registrar of +State Records to the Foreign Office will be known in the purlieus of +Downing Street as the Duca di Crinola.</p> + + +<p> </p> +<hr class="narrow" /> +<p> </p> + +<h4>Transcriber's note:</h4> + +<div class="small"> +<p class="noindent">Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.</p> + +<p class="noindent">Volume I, Chapter I, paragraph 9. +Trollope refers here and elsewhere +to Lord Hampstead as Lady Kingsbury's son-in-law, although he is +actually her stepson. This is not a example of carelessness by the +author but an archaic use of "son-in-law" which persisted into the +mid-nineteenth century.</p> + +<p class="noindent">Volume I, Chapter XIX, paragraph 1. +The astute reader might +wonder how a two-day visit can last from Wednesday to the +following Tuesday, as stated in the sentence: Lady Amaldina +and he were both to arrive there on Wednesday, December 3rd, +and remain till the Tuesday morning.</p> + +<p class="noindent">Specific changes in wording of the +text are listed below.</p> + +<p class="noindentind">Volume I, Chapter XII, paragraph 42. +"On" was changed to "Oh" in the sentence: "OH, no doubt!</p> + +<p class="noindentind">Volume I, Chapter III, paragraph 62. +The word "began" was +changed to "begun" in the sentence: In the horror of the +first revelation he had yielded, but had since BEGUN to +feel that too much was being done in withdrawing him from +Parliament.</p> + +<p class="noindentind">Volume II, Chapter III, paragraph 82. +A comma was changed to a +semi-colon in the sentence: This was on a Tuesday; on the Wednesday +he did not speak to her on the subject.</p> + +<p class="noindentind">Volume II, Chapter VI, paragraph 17. +The word "live" was changed to +"life" in the sentence: I have had to ask myself, and I have told +myself that I do not dare to love above my station in LIFE.</p> + +<p class="noindentind">Volume II, Chapter VI, paragraph 31. +The word "to" was added +to the sentence: It may be that you should drive me away +from you, and TO beg you never to trouble me any further.</p> + +<p class="noindentind">Volume II, Chapter XII, paragraph 6. +The word "conviction" was +changed to the plural form in the sentence: The CONVICTIONS of the +world since the days of Cain have all gone in that direction.</p> + +<p class="noindentind">Volume II, Chapter XIII, paragraph 47. +"Roden" was changed to +"Trafford" in the sentence: I have seen Lady Frances TRAFFORD.</p> + +<p class="noindentind">Volume II, Chapter XV, paragraph 61. +"10" was changed to "11" in the +sentence: Marion Fay and her father live at No. 17, Paradise Row, +Holloway, and Mrs. Roden and George Roden live at No. 11. The reader +will recall that Mrs. Demijohn and her niece Clara resided at No. 10.</p> + +<p class="noindentind">Volume II, Chapter XX, paragraph 19. +"17" was changed to "15" in the +sentence: I hope you'll let me introduce you to Mrs. Duffer of No. +15. The reader will recall that Mrs. Duffer lives at No. 15, while +No. 17 is the home of Marion Fay and her father.</p> + +<p class="noindentind">Volume III, Chapter III, paragraph 25. +The Baron's name appears eight +times in the text; this, the first, occurrence was spelled "d'Osse," +and the other seven spelled "d'Ossi" or "D'Ossi." "d'Osse" was +changed to "d'Ossi" in the sentence beginning: When Lord Persiflage +spoke of the matter to Baron d'OSSI, the Italian Minister in +<span class="nowrap">London, …</span></p> + +<p class="noindentind">Volume III, Chapter VI, paragraph 1. +The word "fame" was changed to +"name" in the sentence: As to his mother's NAME, he said, no one had +doubted, and no one would doubt it for a moment.</p> +</div> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30100 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |