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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Trevlyn Hold, by Mrs. Henry Wood
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Trevlyn Hold
+
+Author: Mrs. Henry Wood
+
+Release Date: May 14, 2011 [EBook #36106]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TREVLYN HOLD ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Delphine Lettau, Mary Meehan and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                             TREVLYN HOLD
+
+                               A Novel
+
+                          BY MRS. HENRY WOOD
+
+     AUTHOR OF "EAST LYNNE," "THE CHANNINGS," "JOHNNY LUDLOW," ETC.
+
+
+    _ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTH THOUSAND_
+
+    London
+    MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
+    NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
+
+    1904
+
+    _All rights reserved_
+
+
+
+
+TREVLYN HOLD
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+THOMAS RYLE
+
+
+The fine summer had faded into autumn, and the autumn would soon be
+fading into winter. All signs of harvest had disappeared. The farmers
+had gathered the golden grain into their barns; the meads looked bare,
+and the partridges hid themselves in the stubble left by the reapers.
+
+Perched on the top of a stile which separated one field from another,
+was a boy of some fifteen years. Several books, a strap passed round to
+keep them together, were flung over his shoulder, and he sat throwing
+stones into a pond close by, softly whistling as he did so. The stones
+came out of his pocket. Whether stored there for the purpose to which
+they were now being put, was best known to himself. He was a slender,
+well-made boy, with finely-shaped features, a clear complexion, and eyes
+dark and earnest. A refined face; a good face--and you have not to learn
+that the face is the index of the mind. An index that never fails for
+those gifted with the power to read the human countenance.
+
+Before him at a short distance, as he sat on the stile, lay the village
+of Barbrook. A couple of miles beyond the village was the large town of
+Barmester. But you could reach the town without taking the village _en
+route_. As to the village itself, there were several ways of reaching
+it. There was the path through the fields, right in front of the stile
+where that schoolboy was sitting; there was the green and shady lane
+(knee-deep in mud sometimes); and there were two high-roads. From the
+signs of vegetation around--not that the vegetation was of the richest
+kind--you would never suspect that the barren and bleak coal-fields lay
+so near. Only four or five miles away in the opposite direction--that
+is, behind the boy and the stile--the coal-pits flourished. Farmhouses
+were scattered within view, had the boy on the stile chosen to look at
+them; a few gentlemen's houses, and many cottages and hovels. To the
+left, glancing over the field and across the upper road--the road which
+did not lead to Barbrook, but to Barmester--on a slight eminence, rose
+the fine old-fashioned mansion called Trevlyn Hold. Rather to the right,
+behind him, was the less pretentious but comfortable dwelling called
+Trevlyn Farm. Trevlyn Hold, formerly the property and residence of
+Squire Trevlyn, had passed, with that gentleman's death, into the hands
+of Mr. Chattaway, who now lived in it; his wife having been the Squire's
+second daughter. Trevlyn Farm was tenanted by Mr. Ryle; and the boy
+sitting on the stile was Mr. Ryle's eldest son.
+
+There came, scuffling along the field-path from the village, as fast as
+her dilapidated shoes permitted her, a wan-looking, undersized girl. She
+had almost reached the pond, when a boy considerably taller and stronger
+than the boy on the stile came flying down the field on the left, and
+planted himself in her way.
+
+"Now then, little toad! Do you want another buffeting?"
+
+"Oh, please, sir, don't stop me!" she cried, beginning to sob loudly.
+"Father's dying, and mother said I was to run and tell them at the farm.
+Please let me go by."
+
+"Did I not order you yesterday to keep out of these fields?" asked the
+tall boy. "The lane and roads are open to you; how dare you come this
+way? I promised you I'd shake the inside out of you if I caught you here
+again, and now I'll do it."
+
+"I say," called out at this juncture the lad on the stile, "keep your
+hands off her."
+
+The child's assailant turned sharply at the sound. He had not seen that
+any one was there. For one moment he relaxed his hold, but the next
+appeared to change his mind, and began to shake the girl. She turned her
+face, in its tears and dirt, towards the stile.
+
+"Oh, Master George, make him let me go! I'm hasting to your house,
+Master George. Father's lying all white upon the bed; and mother said I
+was to come off and tell of it."
+
+George leaped off the stile, and advanced. "Let her go, Cris Chattaway!"
+
+Cris Chattaway turned his anger upon George. "Mind your own business,
+you beggar! It is no concern of yours."
+
+"It is, if I choose to make it mine. Let her go, I say. Don't be a
+coward."
+
+"What's that you call me?" asked Cris Chattaway. "A coward? Take that!"
+
+He had picked up a clod of earth, and dashed it in George Ryle's face.
+The boy was not one to stand a gratuitous blow, and Mr. Christopher,
+before he knew what was coming, found himself on the ground. The girl,
+released, flew to the stile and scrambled over it. George stood his
+ground, waiting for Cris to get up; he was less tall and strong, but he
+would not run away.
+
+Christopher Chattaway slowly gathered himself up. He _was_ a coward; and
+fighting, when it came to close quarters, was not to his liking.
+Stone-throwing, water-squirting, pea-shooting--any annoyance that might
+safely be carried on at a distance--he was an adept in; but hand-to-hand
+fighting--Cris did not relish that.
+
+"See if you don't suffer for this, George Ryle!"
+
+George laughed good-humouredly, and sat down on the stile as before.
+Cris was dusting the earth off his clothes.
+
+"You have called me a coward, and you have knocked me down. I'll enter
+it in my memorandum-book, George Ryle."
+
+"Do," equably returned George. "I never knew any _but_ cowards set upon
+girls."
+
+"I'll set upon her again, if I catch her using this path. There's not a
+more impudent little wretch in the whole parish. Let her try it, that's
+all."
+
+"She has a right to use this path as much as I have."
+
+"Not if I choose to say she sha'n't use it. _You_ won't have the right
+long."
+
+"Oh, indeed!" said George. "What is to take it from me?"
+
+"The Squire says he shall cause this way through the fields to be
+closed."
+
+"_Who_ says it?" asked George, with marked emphasis--and the sound
+grated on Cris Chattaway's ear.
+
+"The Squire says so," he roared. "Are you deaf?"
+
+"Ah," said George. "But Mr. Chattaway can't close it. My father says he
+has not the power to do so."
+
+"_Your_ father!" contemptuously rejoined Cris Chattaway. "He would like
+his leave asked, perhaps. When the Squire says he shall do a thing, he
+means it."
+
+"At any rate, it is not done yet," was the significant answer. "Don't
+boast, Cris."
+
+Cris had been making off, and was some distance up the field. He turned
+to address George.
+
+"You know, you beggar, that if I don't go in and polish you off it's
+because I can't condescend to tarnish my hands. When I fight, I like to
+fight with gentlefolk." And with that he turned tail, and decamped
+quicker than before.
+
+"Just so," shrieked George. "Especially if they wear petticoats."
+
+A sly shower of earth came back in answer. But it happened, every bit of
+it, to steer clear of him, and George kept his seat and his equanimity.
+
+"What has he been doing now, George?"
+
+George turned his head; the question came from one behind him. There
+stood a lovely boy of some twelve years old, his beautiful features set
+off by dark blue eyes and bright auburn curls.
+
+"Where did you spring from, Rupert?"
+
+"I came down by the hedge. You were calling after Cris and did not hear
+me. Has he been threshing you, George?"
+
+"Threshing me!" returned George, throwing back his handsome head with a
+laugh. "I don't think he would try that on, Rupert. He could not thresh
+me with impunity, as he does you."
+
+Rupert Trevlyn laid his cheek on the stile, and fixed his eyes on the
+clear blue evening sky--for the sun was drawing towards its setting. He
+was a sensitive, romantic, strange sort of boy; gentle and loving by
+nature, but given to violent fits of passion. People said he inherited
+the latter from his grandfather, Squire Trevlyn. Other of the Squire's
+descendants had inherited the same. Under happier auspices, Rupert might
+have learnt to subdue these bursts of passion. Had he possessed a kind
+home and loving friends, how different might have been his destiny!
+
+"George, I wish papa had lived!"
+
+"The whole parish has need to wish that," returned George. "I wish you
+stood in his shoes! That's what I wish."
+
+"Instead of Uncle Chattaway. Old Canham says I ought to stand in them.
+He says he thinks I shall, some time, because justice is sure to come
+uppermost in the end."
+
+"Look here, Rupert!" gravely returned George Ryle. "Don't go listening
+to old Canham. He talks nonsense, and it will do neither of you any
+good. If Chattaway heard a tithe of what he sometimes says, he'd turn
+him from the lodge, neck and crop, in spite of Miss Diana. What _is_,
+can't be helped, you know, Rupert."
+
+"But Cris has no right to inherit Trevlyn over me."
+
+"He has legal right, I suppose," answered George; "at least, he will
+have it. Make the best of it, Ru. There are lots of things I have to
+make the best of. I had a caning yesterday for another boy, and I had to
+make the best of that."
+
+Rupert still looked up at the sky. "If it were not for Aunt Edith,"
+quoth he, "I'd run away."
+
+"You little stupid! Where would you run to?"
+
+"Anywhere. Mr. Chattaway gave me no dinner to-day."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Because Cris carried a tale to him. But it was false, George."
+
+"Did you tell Chattaway it was false?"
+
+"Yes. But where's the use? He always believes Cris before me."
+
+"Have you had no dinner?"
+
+Rupert shook his head. "I took some bread off the tray as they were
+carrying it through the hall. That's all I have had."
+
+"Then I'd advise you to make double haste home to your tea," said
+George, jumping over the stile, "as I am going to do to mine."
+
+George ran swiftly across the back fields towards his home. Looking
+round when he was well on his way, he saw Rupert still leaning on the
+stile with his face turned upward.
+
+Meanwhile the little tatterdemalion had scuffled along to Trevlyn
+Farm--a very moderately-sized house with a rustic porch covered with
+jessamine, and a large garden, more useful than ornamental, intervening
+between it and the high-road. The garden path, leading to the porch, was
+straight and narrow; on either side rose alternately cabbage-rose trees
+and hollyhocks. Gooseberries, currants, strawberries, raspberries, and
+other plain fruit-trees grew amidst vegetables of various sorts. A
+productive if not an elegant garden. At the side of the house the
+fold-yard palings and a five-barred gate separated it from the public
+road, and behind the house were the barns and other outdoor buildings
+belonging to the farm.
+
+From the porch the entrance led direct into a room, half sitting-room,
+half kitchen, called "Nora's room." Nora generally sat in it; George and
+his brother did their lessons there; the actual kitchen being at the
+back of it. A parlour opening from this room on the right, whose window
+looked into the fold-yard, was the general sitting-room. The best
+sitting-room, a really handsome apartment, was on the other side of the
+house. As the girl scuffled up to the porch, an active, black-eyed,
+talkative little woman, of five or six-and-thirty saw her approaching
+from the window of the best kitchen. That was Nora. What with her ragged
+frock and tippet, broken straw bonnet, and slipshod shoes, the child
+looked wretched enough. Her father, Jim Sanders, was carter to Mr. Ryle.
+He had been at home ill the last day or two; or, as the phrase ran in
+the farm, was "off his work."
+
+"If ever I saw such an object!" was Nora's exclamation. "How _can_ her
+mother keep her in that state? Just look at Letty Sanders, Mrs. Ryle!"
+
+Sorting large bunches of sweet herbs on a table at the back of the room
+was a tall, upright woman. Her dress was plain, but her manner and
+bearing betrayed the lady. Those familiar with the district would have
+recognised in her handsome but somewhat masculine face a likeness to the
+well-formed, powerful features of the late Squire Trevlyn. She was that
+gentleman's eldest daughter, and had given mortal umbrage to her family
+when she quitted Trevlyn Hold to become the second wife of Mr. Ryle.
+George Ryle was not her son. She had only two children; Trevlyn, a boy
+two years younger than George; and a little girl of eight, named
+Caroline.
+
+Mrs. Ryle turned, and glanced at the path and Letty Sanders. "She is
+indeed an object! See what she wants, Nora."
+
+Nora, who had no patience with idleness and its signs, flung open the
+door. The girl halted a few paces from the porch, and dropped a curtsey.
+
+"Please, father be dreadful bad," began she. "He be lying on the bed and
+don't stir, and his face is white; and, please, mother said I was to
+come and tell the missus, and ask her for a little brandy."
+
+"And how dare your mother send you up to the house in this trim?"
+demanded Nora. "How many crows did you frighten as you came along?"
+
+"Please," whimpered the child, "she haven't had time to tidy me to-day,
+father's been so bad, and t'other frock was tored in the washin'."
+
+"Of course," assented Nora. "Everything is 'tored' that she has to do
+with, and never gets mended. If ever there was a poor, moithering,
+thriftless thing, it's that mother of yours. She has no needles and no
+thread, I suppose, and neither soap nor water?"
+
+Mrs. Ryle came forward to interrupt the colloquy. "What is the matter
+with your father, Letty? Is he worse?"
+
+Letty dropped several curtseys in succession. "Please, 'm, his inside's
+bad again, but mother's afeared he's dying. He fell back upon the bed,
+and don't stir nor breathe. She says, will you please send him some
+brandy?"
+
+"Have you brought anything to put it into?" inquired Mrs. Ryle.
+
+"No, 'm."
+
+"Not likely," chimed in Nora. "Madge Sanders wouldn't think to send so
+much as a cracked teacup. Shall I put a drop in a bottle, and give it to
+her?" continued Nora, turning to Mrs. Ryle.
+
+"No," replied Mrs. Ryle. "I must know what's the matter with him before
+I send brandy. Go back to your mother, Letty. Tell her I shall be going
+past her cottage presently, and will call in."
+
+The child turned and scuffled off. Mrs. Ryle resumed:
+
+"Should it be another attack of internal inflammation, brandy would be
+the worst thing he could take. He drinks too much, does Jim Sanders."
+
+"His inside's like a barrel--always waiting to be filled," remarked
+Nora. "He'd drink the sea dry, if it ran beer. What with his drinking,
+and her untidiness, small wonder the children are in rags. I am
+surprised the master keeps him on!"
+
+"He only drinks by fits and starts, Nora. His health will not let him do
+more."
+
+"No, it won't," acquiesced Nora. "And I fear this bout may be the ending
+of him. That hole was not dug for nothing."
+
+"Nonsense," said Mrs. Ryle. "How can you be so foolishly superstitious,
+Nora? Find Treve, will you, and get him ready."
+
+"Treve," a young gentleman given to having his own way, and to be kept
+very much from school on account of "delicate health," a malady less
+real than imaginary, was found somewhere about the farm, and put into
+visiting condition. He and his mother were invited to take tea at
+Barbrook. In point of fact, the invitation had been for Mrs. Ryle only;
+but she could not bear to stir anywhere without her darling boy Trevlyn.
+
+They had barely departed when George entered. Nora had then laid the
+tea-table, and was standing cutting bread-and-butter.
+
+"Where are they all?" asked George, depositing his books upon a
+sideboard.
+
+"Your mother and Treve are off to tea at Mrs. Apperley's," replied Nora.
+"And the master rode over to Barmester this afternoon, and is not back
+yet. Sit down, George. Would you like some pumpkin pie?"
+
+"Try me," responded George. "Is there any?"
+
+"I saved it from dinner,"--bringing forth a plate from a closet. "It is
+not much. Treve's stomach craves for pies as much as Jim Sanders's for
+beer; and Mrs. Ryle would give him all he wanted, if it cleared the
+larder----Is some one calling?" she broke off, going to the window.
+"George, it's Mr. Chattaway! See what he wants."
+
+A gentleman on horseback had reined in close to the gate: a spare man,
+rather above the middle height, with a pale, leaden sort of complexion,
+small, cold light eyes and mean-looking features. George ran down the
+path.
+
+"Is your father at home?"
+
+"No. He is gone to Barmester."
+
+A scowl passed over Mr. Chattaway's brow. "That's the third time I have
+been here this week, and cannot get to see him. Tell your father that I
+have had another letter from Butt, and will trouble him to attend to it.
+And further tell your father I will not be pestered with this business
+any longer. If he does not pay the money right off, I'll make him pay
+it."
+
+Something not unlike an ice-bolt shot through George Ryle's heart. He
+knew there was trouble between his house and Mr. Chattaway; that his
+father was, in pecuniary matters, at Mr. Chattaway's mercy. Was this
+message the result of his recent encounter with Cris Chattaway? A hot
+flush dyed his face, and he wished--for his father's sake--that he had
+let Mr. Cris alone. For his father's sake he was now ready to eat
+humble-pie, though there never lived a boy less inclined to humble-pie
+in a general way than George Ryle. He went close up to the horse and
+raised his honest eyes fearlessly.
+
+"Has Christopher been complaining to you, Mr. Chattaway?"
+
+"No. What has he to complain of?"
+
+"Not much," answered George, his fears subsiding. "Only I know he does
+carry tales."
+
+"Were there no tales to carry he could not carry them," coldly remarked
+Mr. Chattaway. "I have not seen Christopher since dinner-time. It seems
+to me that you are always suspecting him of something. Take care you
+deliver my message correctly, sir."
+
+Mr. Chattaway rode away, and George returned to his pumpkin pie. He had
+scarcely finished it--with remarkable relish, for the cold dinner he
+took with him to school daily was little more than a luncheon--when Mr.
+Ryle entered by the back-door, having been round to the stables with his
+horse. He was a tall, fine man, with light curling hair, mild blue eyes,
+and a fair countenance pleasant to look at in its honest simplicity.
+George delivered the message left by Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"He left me that message, did he?" cried Mr. Ryle, who, if he could be
+angered by anything, it was on this very subject of Chattaway's claims
+against him. "He might have kept it until he saw me himself."
+
+"He bade me tell you, papa."
+
+"Yes; it is no matter to Chattaway how he browbeats me and exposes my
+affairs. He has been at it for years. Has he gone home?"
+
+"I think so," replied George. "He rode that way."
+
+"I'll stand it no longer, and I'll tell him so to his face," continued
+Mr. Ryle. "Let him do his best and his worst."
+
+Taking up his hat, Mr. Ryle strode out of the house, disdaining Nora's
+invitation to tea, and leaving on the table a scarf of soft scarlet
+merino, which he had worn into Barmester. Recently suffering from sore
+throat, Mrs. Ryle had induced him to put it on when he rode out that
+afternoon.
+
+"Look there!" cried Nora. "He has left his cravat on the table."
+
+Snatching it up, she ran after Mr. Ryle, catching him half-way down the
+path. He took the scarf from her with a hasty movement, and went along
+swinging it in his hand. But he did not attempt to put it on.
+
+"It is just like the master," grumbled Nora to George. "He has worn that
+warm woollen thing for hours, and now goes off without it! His throat
+will be bad again."
+
+"I am afraid papa's gone to have it out with Mr. Chattaway," said
+George.
+
+"And serve Chattaway right if he has," returned Nora. "It is what the
+master has threatened this many a day."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+SUPERSTITION
+
+
+Later, when George was working diligently at his lessons, and Nora was
+sewing--both by the help of the same candle: for an array of candles was
+not more indulged in than other luxuries in Mr. Ryle's house--footsteps
+were heard approaching the porch, and a modest knock came to the door.
+
+"Come in," called out Nora.
+
+A very thin woman, in a washed-out cotton gown, with a thin face and
+inflamed eyes, came in, curtseying. It was an honest face, a meek face;
+although it looked as if its owner had a meal about once a week.
+
+"Evening, Miss Dickson; evening, Master George. I have stepped round to
+ask the missis whether I shall be wanted on Tuesday."
+
+"The missis is out," said Nora. "She has been talking of putting off the
+wash till the week after, but I don't know that she will do so. If you
+sit down a bit, Ann Canham, she'll come in, perhaps."
+
+Ann Canham seated herself respectfully on the edge of a remote chair.
+And Nora, who liked gossiping above every earthly thing, began to talk
+of Jim Sanders's illness.
+
+"He has dreadful bouts, poor fellow!" observed Ann Canham.
+
+"But six times out of seven he brings them on through his own fault,"
+tartly returned Nora. "Many and many a time I have told him he'd do for
+himself, and now I think he has done it. This bout, it strikes me, is
+his last."
+
+"Is he so ill as that?" exclaimed Ann Canham. And George looked up from
+his exercise-book in surprise.
+
+"I don't know that he is," said Nora; "but----"
+
+Nora broke suddenly off, dropped her work, and bent her head towards Ann
+Canham.
+
+"We have had a strange thing happen here," she continued, her voice
+falling to a whisper; "and if it's not a warning of death, never believe
+me again. This morning----George, did you hear the dog in the night?"
+
+"No," answered George.
+
+"Boys sleep soundly," she remarked to Ann Canham. "You might drive a
+coach-and-six through their room, and not wake them. His room's at the
+back, too. Last night the dog got round to the front of the house, and
+there he was, all night long, sighing and moaning like a human creature.
+You couldn't call it a howl; there was too much pain in it. He was at it
+all night long; I couldn't sleep for it. The missis says she couldn't
+sleep for it. Well, this morning I was up first, the master next, Molly
+next; but the master went out by the back-way and saw nothing. By-and-by
+I spied something out of this window on the garden path, as if some one
+had been digging there; so out I went. It was for all the world like a
+grave!--a great hole, with the earth thrown up on either side of it.
+That dog had done it in the night!"
+
+Ann Canham, possibly feeling uncomfortably aloof from the company when
+graves became the topic, drew her chair nearer the table. George sat,
+his pen arrested; his large wide-open eyes turned on Nora--not with
+fear, but merriment.
+
+"A great hole, twice the length of our rolling-pin, and wide in
+proportion, all hollowed and scratched out," went on Nora. "I called the
+cow-boy, and asked him what it looked like. 'A grave,' said he, without
+a moment's hesitation. Molly came out, and they two filled it in again,
+and trod the path down. The marks have been plain enough all day. The
+master has been talking a long while of having that path gravelled, but
+it has not been done."
+
+"And the hole was scratched by the dog?" proceeded Ann Canham, unable to
+get over the wonder.
+
+"It was scratched by the dog," answered Nora. "And every one knows it's
+a sign that death's coming to the house, or to some one belonging to the
+house. Whether it's your own dog scratches it, or somebody else's dog,
+no matter; it's a sure sign that a real grave is about to be dug. It may
+not happen once in fifty years--no, not in a hundred; but when it does
+come, it's a warning not to be neglected."
+
+"It's odd how the dogs can know!" remarked Ann Canham, meekly.
+
+"Those dumb animals possess an instinct we can't understand," said Nora.
+"We have had that dog ever so many years, and he never did such a thing
+before. Rely upon it, it's Jim Sanders's warning. How you stare,
+George!"
+
+"I may well stare, to hear you," was George's answer. "How can you put
+faith in such rubbish, Nora?"
+
+"Just hark at him!" exclaimed Nora. "Boys are half heathens. I wouldn't
+laugh in that irreverent way, if I were you, George, because Jim
+Sanders's time has come."
+
+"I am not laughing at that," said George; "I am laughing at you. Nora,
+your argument won't hold water. If the dog had meant to give notice that
+he was digging a hole for Jim Sanders, he would have dug it before his
+own door, not before ours."
+
+"Go on!" cried Nora, sarcastically. "There's no profit arguing with
+unbelieving boys. They'd stand it to your face the sun never shone."
+
+Ann Canham rose, and put her chair back in its place with much humility.
+Indeed, humility was her chief characteristic. "I'll come round in the
+morning, and know about the wash, if you please, ma'am," she said to
+Nora. "Father will be wanting his supper, and will wonder where I'm
+staying."
+
+She departed. Nora gave George a lecture upon unbelief and irreverence
+in general, but George was too busy with his books to take much notice
+of it.
+
+The evening went on. Mrs. Ryle and Trevlyn returned, the latter a
+diminutive boy, with dark curls and a handsome face.
+
+"Jim Sanders is much better," remarked Mrs. Ryle. "He is all right again
+now, and will be at work in a day or two. It must have been a sort of
+fainting-fit he had this afternoon, and his wife got frightened. I told
+him to rest to-morrow, and come up the next day if he felt strong
+enough."
+
+George turned to Nora, his eyes dancing. "What of the hole now?" he
+asked.
+
+"Wait and see," snapped Nora. "And if you are impertinent, I'll never
+save you pie or pudding again."
+
+Mrs. Ryle went into the sitting-room, but came back speedily when she
+found it dark and untenanted. "Where's the master?" she exclaimed.
+"Surely he has returned from Barmester!"
+
+"Papa came home ages ago," said George. "He has gone up to the Hold."
+
+"The Hold?" repeated Mrs. Ryle in surprise, for there was something like
+deadly feud between Trevlyn Hold and Trevlyn Farm.
+
+George explained; telling of Mr. Chattaway's message, and the subsequent
+proceedings. Nora added that "as sure as fate, he was having it out with
+Chattaway." Nothing else would keep him at Trevlyn Hold.
+
+But Mrs. Ryle knew that her easy-natured husband was not one to "have it
+out" with any one, even his enemy Chattaway. He might say a few words,
+but it was all he would say, and the interview would end almost as soon
+as begun. She took off her things, and Molly carried the supper-tray
+into the parlour.
+
+But still there was no Mr. Ryle. Ten o'clock struck, and Mrs. Ryle grew,
+not exactly uneasy, but curious as to what could have become of him.
+What _could_ be detaining him at the Hold?
+
+"It wouldn't surprise me to hear that he has been taken too bad to come
+back," said Nora. "He unwound his scarlet cravat from his throat, and
+went away swinging it in his hand. John Pinder's waiting all this time
+in the kitchen."
+
+"Have you finished your lessons, George?" asked Mrs. Ryle, perceiving
+that he was putting his books away.
+
+"Every one," answered George.
+
+"Then you shall go up to the Hold, and walk home with your father. I
+cannot think what is delaying his return."
+
+"Perhaps he has gone somewhere else," said George.
+
+"He would neither go anywhere else nor remain at Chattaway's," said Mrs.
+Ryle. "This is Tuesday evening."
+
+A conclusive argument. Tuesday evening was invariably devoted by Mr.
+Ryle to his farm accounts, and he never suffered anything to interfere
+with that evening's work. George put on his cap and started on his
+errand.
+
+It was a starlight night, cold and clear, and George went along
+whistling. A quarter of an hour's walk up the turnpike road brought him
+to Trevlyn Hold. The road rose gently the whole way, for the land was
+higher at Trevlyn Hold than at Trevlyn Farm. A white gate, by the side
+of a lodge, opened to the shrubbery or avenue--a dark walk wide enough
+for two carriages to pass, with the elm trees nearly meeting overhead.
+The shrubbery wound up to a lawn stretched before the windows of the
+house: a large, old-fashioned stone-built house, with gabled roofs, and
+a flight of steps leading to the entrance-hall. George ascended the
+steps and rang the bell.
+
+"Is my father ready to come home?" he asked, not very ceremoniously, of
+the servant who answered it.
+
+The man paused, as though he scarcely understood. "Mr. Ryle is not here,
+sir," was the answer.
+
+"How long has he been gone?"
+
+"He has not been here at all, sir, that I know of. I don't think he
+has."
+
+"Just ask, will you?" said George. "He came here to see Mr. Chattaway.
+It was about five o'clock."
+
+The man went away and returned. "Mr. Ryle has not been here at all, sir.
+I thought he had not."
+
+George wondered. Could he be out somewhere with Chattaway? "Is Mr.
+Chattaway at home?" he inquired.
+
+"Master is in bed," said the servant. "He came home to-day about five,
+or thereabouts, not feeling well, and he went to bed as soon as tea was
+over."
+
+George turned away. Where could his father have gone to? Where to look
+for him? As he passed the lodge, Ann Canham was locking the gate, of
+which she and her father were the keepers. It was a whim of Mr.
+Chattaway's that the larger gate should be locked at night; but not
+until after ten. Foot-passengers could enter by the side-gate.
+
+"Have you seen my father anywhere, since you left our house this
+evening?" he asked.
+
+"No, I have not, Master George."
+
+"I can't imagine where he can be. I thought he was at Chattaway's, but
+they say he has not been there."
+
+"At Chattaway's! He wouldn't go there, would he, Master George?"
+
+"He started to do so this afternoon. It's very odd! Good night, Ann."
+
+"Master George," she interrupted, "do you happen to have heard how it's
+going with Jim Sanders?"
+
+"He is much better," said George.
+
+"Better!" slowly repeated Ann Canham. "Well, I hope he is," she added,
+in doubting tones. "But, Master George, I didn't like what Nora told us.
+I can't bear tokens from dumb animals, and I never knew them fail."
+
+"Jim Sanders is all right, I tell you," said heathen George. "Mamma has
+been there, and he is coming to his work the day after to-morrow. Good
+night."
+
+"Good night, sir," answered Ann Canham, as she retreated within the
+lodge. And George went through the gate, and stood in hesitation,
+looking up and down the road. But it was apparently of no use to search
+elsewhere in the uncertainty; and he turned towards home, wondering
+much.
+
+What had become of Mr. Ryle?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+IN THE UPPER MEADOW
+
+
+The stars shone bright and clear as George Ryle walked down the slight
+descent of the turnpike-road, wondering what had become of his father.
+Any other night but this, he might not have wondered about it; but
+George could not remember the time when Tuesday evening had been devoted
+to anything but the farm accounts. John Pinder, who acted as a sort of
+bailiff, had been in the kitchen some hours with his weekly memoranda,
+to go through them as usual with his master; and George knew his father
+would not willingly keep the man waiting.
+
+George went along whistling a tune; he was given to whistling. About
+half-way between Trevlyn Hold and his own house, the sound of another
+whistle struck upon his ear. A turn in the road brought a lad into view,
+wearing a smock-frock. It was the waggoner's boy at Trevlyn Hold. He
+ceased when he came up to George, and touched his hat in rustic fashion.
+
+"Have you seen anything of my father, Bill?"
+
+"Not since this afternoon, Master George," was the answer. "I see him,
+then, turning into that field of ours, next to where the bull be. Going
+up to the Hold, mayhap; else what should he do there?"
+
+"What time was that?" asked George.
+
+The boy considered a moment. "'Twas afore the sun set," he said at
+length, "I am sure o' that. He had some'at red in his hand, and the sun
+shone on it fit to dazzle one's eyes."
+
+The boy went his way; George stood and thought. If his father had turned
+into the field indicated, there could be no doubt that he was hastening
+to Chattaway's. Crossing this field and the one next to it, both large,
+would bring one close to Trevlyn Hold, cutting off, perhaps, two minutes
+of the high-road, which wound round the fields. But the fields were
+scarcely ever favoured, on account of the bull. This bull had been a
+subject of much contention in the neighbourhood, and was popularly
+called "Chattaway's bull." It was a savage animal, and had once got out
+of the field and frightened several people almost to death. The
+neighbours said Mr. Chattaway ought to keep it under lock and key. Mr.
+Chattaway said he should keep it where he pleased: and he generally
+pleased to keep it in the field. This barred it to pedestrians; and Mr.
+Ryle must undoubtedly have been in hot haste to reach Trevlyn Hold to
+choose the route.
+
+A hundred fears darted through George Ryle's mind. He was more
+thoughtful, it may be said more imaginative, than boys of his age
+generally are. George and Cris Chattaway had once had a run from the
+bull, and only saved themselves by desperate speed. Venturing into the
+field one day when the animal was apparently grazing quietly in a remote
+corner, they had not anticipated his running at them. George remembered
+this; he remembered the terror excited when the bull had broken loose.
+Had his father been attacked by the bull?--perhaps killed by it?
+
+His heart beating, George retraced his steps, and turned into the first
+field. He hastened across it, glancing on all sides as keenly as the
+night allowed him. Not in this field would the danger be; and George
+reached the gate of the other, and stood looking into it.
+
+Apparently it was quite empty. The bull was probably safe in its shed
+then, in Chattaway's farmyard. George could see nothing--nothing except
+the grass stretched out in the starlight. He threw his eyes in every
+direction, but could not perceive his father, or any trace of him. "What
+a simpleton I am," thought George, "to fear that such an out-of-the-way
+thing could have happened! He must----"
+
+What was that? George held his breath. A sound, not unlike a groan, had
+smote upon his ear. And there it came again! "Holloa!" shouted George,
+and cleared the gate with a bound. "What's that? Who is it?"
+
+A moan answered him; and George Ryle, guided by the sound, hastened to
+the spot. It was only a little way off, down by the hedge separating the
+fields. All the undefined fear George, not a minute ago, had felt
+inclined to treat as groundless, was indeed but a prevision of the
+terrible reality. Mr. Ryle lay in a narrow, dry ditch: and, but for that
+friendly ditch, he had probably been gored to death on the spot.
+
+"Who is it?" he asked feebly, as his son bent over him, trying to
+distinguish what he could in the darkness. "George?"
+
+"Oh, papa! what has happened?"
+
+"Just my death, lad."
+
+It was a sad tale. One that is often talked of in the place, in
+connection with Chattaway's bull. In crossing the second field--indeed,
+as soon as he entered it--Mr. Ryle was attacked by the furious beast,
+and tossed into the ditch, where he lay helpless. The people said then,
+and say still, that the red cravat he carried excited the anger of the
+bull.
+
+George raised his voice in a shout for help, hoping it might reach the
+ears of the boy whom he had recently encountered. "Perhaps I can get you
+out, papa," he said, "though I may not be able myself to get you home."
+
+"No, George; it will take stronger help than yours to get me out of
+this."
+
+"I had better go up to the Hold, then. It is nearer than our house."
+
+"You will not go to the Hold," said Mr. Ryle, authoritatively. "I will
+not be beholden to Chattaway. He has been the ruin of my peace, and now
+his bull has done for me."
+
+George bent down closer. There was no room for him to get into the
+ditch, which was very narrow. "Papa, are you shivering with cold?"
+
+"With cold and pain. The frost strikes keenly upon me, and my pain is
+great."
+
+George instantly took off his jacket and waistcoat, and laid them gently
+on his father, his tears dropping silently in the dark night. "I'll run
+home for help," he said, speaking as bravely as he could. "John Pinder
+is there, and we can call up one or two of the men."
+
+"Ay, do," said Mr. Ryle. "They must bring a shutter, and carry me home
+on it. Take care you don't frighten your mother, George. Tell her at
+first that I am a little hurt, and can't walk; break it to her so that
+she may not be alarmed."
+
+George flew away. At the end of the second field, staring over the gate
+near the high-road, stood the boy Bill, whose ears George's shouts had
+reached. He was not a sharp-witted lad, and his eyes and mouth opened
+with astonishment to see George Ryle come flying along in his
+shirt-sleeves.
+
+"What's a-gate?" asked he. "Be that bull loose again?"
+
+"Run for your life to the second field," panted George, seizing him in
+his desperation. "In the ditch, a few yards along the hedge to the
+right, my father is lying. Go and stay by him, until I come back with
+help."
+
+"Lying in the ditch!" repeated Bill, unable to collect his startled
+senses. "What's done it, Master George?"
+
+"Chattaway's bull has done it. Hasten down to him, Bill. You might hear
+his groans all this way off, if you listened."
+
+"Is the bull there?" asked Bill.
+
+"I have seen no bull. The bull must have been in its shed hours ago.
+Stand by him, Bill, and I'll give you sixpence to-morrow."
+
+They separated. George tore down the road, wondering how he should
+fulfil his father's injunction not to frighten Mrs. Ryle in telling the
+news. Molly, very probably looking after her sweetheart, was standing at
+the fold-yard gate as he passed. George sent her into the house the
+front way, and bade her whisper to Nora to come out; to tell her
+"somebody" wanted to speak to her. Molly obeyed; but executed her
+commission so bunglingly, that not only Nora, but Mrs. Ryle and Trevlyn
+came flocking to the porch. George could only go in then.
+
+"Don't be frightened, mamma," he said, in answer to their questions. "My
+father has had a fall, and--and says he cannot walk home. Perhaps he has
+sprained his ankle."
+
+"What has become of your jacket and waistcoat?" cried Nora, amazed to
+see George standing in his shirt-sleeves.
+
+"They are safe enough. Is John Pinder still in the kitchen?" continued
+George, escaping from the room.
+
+Trevlyn ran after him. "George, have you been fighting?" he asked. "Is
+your jacket torn to ribbons?"
+
+George drew the boy into a dark angle of the passage. "Treve," he
+whispered, "if I tell you something about papa, you won't cry out?"
+
+"No, I won't cry out," answered Treve.
+
+"We must get a stretcher of some sort up to him, to bring him home. I am
+going to consult John Pinder."
+
+"Where is papa?" interrupted Treve.
+
+"Lying in a ditch in the large meadow. Chattaway's bull has attacked
+him. I am not sure but he will die."
+
+The first thing Treve did _was_ to cry out. George put his hand over his
+mouth. But Mrs. Ryle and Nora, who were full of curiosity, both as to
+George's jacketless state and George's news, had followed into the
+passage. Treve began to cry.
+
+"He has dreadful news about papa, he says," sobbed Treve. "Thinks he's
+dead."
+
+It was all over. George must tell now, and he could not help himself.
+"No, no, Treve, you should not exaggerate," he said, turning to Mrs.
+Ryle in his pain and earnestness. "There is an accident, mamma; but it
+is not so bad as that."
+
+Mrs. Ryle retained perfect composure; very few people had seen _her_
+ruffled. It was not in her nature to be so, and her husband had little
+need to caution George as he had done. She laid her hand upon George's
+shoulder and looked calmly into his face. "Tell me the truth," she said
+in tones of quiet command. "What is the injury?"
+
+"I do not know yet----"
+
+"The truth, boy, I said," she sternly interposed.
+
+"Indeed I do not yet know what it is. He has been attacked by
+Chattaway's bull."
+
+It was Nora's turn now. "By Chattaway's bull?" she shrieked.
+
+"Yes," said George. "It must have happened immediately after he left
+here at tea-time, and he has been lying ever since in the ditch in the
+upper meadow. I put my jacket and waistcoat over him; he was shivering
+with cold and pain."
+
+While George was talking, Mrs. Ryle was acting. She sought John Pinder
+and issued her orders clearly and concisely. Men were got together; a
+mattress with holders was made ready; and the procession started under
+the convoy of George, who had been made to put on another jacket. Bill,
+the waggoner's boy, had been faithful, and was found by the side of Mr.
+Ryle.
+
+"I'm glad you be come," was the boy's salutation. "He's been groaning
+and shivering awful. It set me shivering too."
+
+As if to escape from the evil, Bill ran off, there and then, across the
+field, and never drew in until he reached Trevlyn Hold. In spite of his
+somewhat stolid propensities, he felt a sort of pride in being the first
+to impart the story there. Entering the house by the back, or farmyard
+door--for farming was carried on at Trevlyn Hold as well as at Trevlyn
+Farm--he passed through sundry passages to the well-lighted hall. There
+he seemed to hesitate at his temerity, but at length gave an awkward
+knock at the door of the general sitting-room.
+
+A large, handsome room. Reclining in an easy-chair was a pretty and
+pleasing woman, looking considerably younger than she really was. Small
+features, a profusion of curling auburn hair, light blue eyes, a soft,
+yielding expression, and a gentle voice, were the adjuncts of a young
+woman, rather than of one approaching middle-age. A stranger, entering,
+might have taken her for a young unmarried woman; and yet she was
+mistress of Trevlyn Hold, the mother of that great girl of sixteen at
+the table, now playing backgammon and quarrelling with her brother
+Christopher. Mistress in name only. Although the wife of its master, Mr.
+Chattaway, and daughter of its late master, Squire Trevlyn; although
+universally called _Madam_ Chattaway--as from time immemorial it had
+been customary to designate the mistress of Trevlyn Hold--she was in
+fact no better than a nonentity in it, possessing little authority, and
+assuming less. She has been telling her children several times that
+their hour for bed has passed; she has begged them not to quarrel; she
+has suggested that if they will not go to bed, Maude should do so; but
+she may as well talk to the winds.
+
+Miss Chattaway possesses a will of her own. She has the same
+insignificant features, pale leaden complexion, small, sly, keen light
+eyes that characterise her father. She would like to hold undisputed
+sway as the house's mistress; but the inclination has to be concealed;
+for the real mistress of Trevlyn Hold may not be displaced. She is
+sitting in the background, at a table apart, bending over her desk. A
+tall, majestic lady, in a stiff green silk dress and an imposing cap, in
+person very like Mrs. Ryle. It is Miss Trevlyn, usually called Miss
+Diana, the youngest daughter of the late Squire. You would take her to
+be at least ten years older than her sister, Mrs. Chattaway, but in
+point of fact she is that lady's junior by a year. Miss Trevlyn is, to
+all intents and purposes, mistress of Trevlyn Hold, and she rules its
+internal economy with a firm sway.
+
+"Maude, you should go to bed," Mrs. Chattaway had said for the fourth or
+fifth time.
+
+A graceful girl of thirteen turned her dark, violet-blue eyes and pretty
+light curls upon Mrs. Chattaway. She had been leaning on the table
+watching the backgammon. Something of the soft, sweet expression visible
+in Mrs. Chattaway's face might be traced in this child's; but in Maude
+it was blended with greater intellect.
+
+"It is not my fault, Aunt Edith," she gently said. "I should like to go.
+I am tired."
+
+"Be quiet, Maude!" broke from Miss Chattaway. "Mamma, I wish you
+wouldn't worry about bed! I don't choose Maude to go up until I go. She
+helps me to undress."
+
+Poor Maude looked sleepy. "I can be going on, Octave," she said to Miss
+Chattaway.
+
+"You can hold your tongue and wait, and not be ungrateful," was the
+response of Octavia Chattaway. "But for papa's kindness, you would not
+have a bed to go to. Cris, you are cheating! that was not sixes!"
+
+It was at this juncture that the awkward knock came to the door. "Come
+in!" cried Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+Either her gentle voice was not heard, for Cris and his sister were
+disputing just then, or the boy's modesty would not allow him to
+respond. He knocked again.
+
+"See who it is, Cris," came forth the ringing voice of Miss Trevlyn.
+
+Cris did not choose to obey. "Open the door, Maude," said he.
+
+Maude did as she was bid: she had little chance allowed her in that
+house of doing otherwise. Opening the door, she saw the boy standing
+there. "What is it, Bill?" she asked in surprise.
+
+"Please, is the Squire there, Miss Maude?"
+
+"No," answered Maude. "He is not well, and has gone to bed."
+
+This appeared to be a poser for Bill, and he stood considering. "Is
+Madam in there?" he presently asked.
+
+"Who is it, Maude?" came again in Miss Trevlyn's commanding tones.
+
+Maude turned her head. "It is Bill Webb, Aunt Diana."
+
+"What does he want?"
+
+Bill stepped in. "Please, Miss Diana, I came to tell the Squire the
+news. I thought he might be angry with me if I did not, seeing as I
+knowed of it."
+
+"The news?" repeated Miss Diana, looking imperiously at Bill.
+
+"The mischief the bull have done. He's gone and gored Farmer Ryle."
+
+The words arrested the attention of all. They came forward, as with one
+impulse. Cris and his sister, in their haste, upset the
+backgammon-board.
+
+"_What_ do you say, Bill?" gasped Mrs. Chattaway, with white face and
+faltering voice.
+
+"It's true, ma'am," said Bill. "The bull set on him this afternoon, and
+tossed him into the ditch. Master George found him there a short while
+agone, groaning awful."
+
+There was a startled pause. "I--I--hope he is not much injured?" said
+Mrs. Chattaway at last, in her consternation.
+
+"He says it's his death, ma'am. John Pinder and others have brought a
+bed, and be carrying of him home on it."
+
+"What brought Mr. Ryle in that field?" asked Miss Diana.
+
+"He telled me, ma'am, he was a-coming up here to see the Squire, and
+took that way to save time."
+
+Mrs. Chattaway fell back a little. "Cris," said she to her son, "go down
+to the farm and see what the injury is. I cannot sleep in the
+uncertainty. It may be fatal."
+
+Cris tossed his head. "You know, mother, I'd do almost anything to
+oblige you," he said, in his smooth accents, which had ever a false
+sound in them, "but I can't go to the farm. Mrs. Ryle might insult me:
+there's no love lost between us."
+
+"If the accident happened this afternoon, why was it not discovered when
+the bull was brought to his shed to-night?" cried Miss Trevlyn.
+
+Bill shook his head. "I dun know, ma'am. For one thing, Mr. Ryle was in
+the ditch, and couldn't be seen. And the bull, maybe, had gone to the
+top o' the field again, where the groaning wouldn't be heard."
+
+"If I had only been listened to!" exclaimed Mrs. Chattaway, in wailing
+accents. "How many a time have I asked that the bull should be parted
+with, before he did some fatal injury. And now it has come!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+LIFE OR DEATH?
+
+
+Mr. Ryle was carried home on the mattress, and laid on the large table
+in the sitting-room, by the surgeon's directions. Mrs. Ryle,
+clear-headed and of calm judgment, had sent for medical advice even
+before sending for her husband. The only doctor available for immediate
+purposes was Mr. King, who lived about half-way between the farm and the
+village. He attended at once, and was at the house before his patient.
+Mrs. Ryle had sent also to Barmester for another surgeon, but he could
+not arrive just yet. It was by Mr. King's direction that the mattress
+was placed on the large table in the parlour.
+
+"Better there; better there," acquiesced the sufferer, when he heard the
+order given. "I don't know how they'd get me up the stairs."
+
+Mr. King, a man getting in years, was left alone with his patient. The
+examination over, he came forth from the room and sought Mrs. Ryle, who
+was waiting for the report.
+
+"The internal injuries are extensive, I fear," he said. "They lie
+chiefly here"--touching his chest and right side.
+
+"Will he _live_, Mr. King?" she interrupted. "Do not temporise, but let
+me know the truth. Will he live?"
+
+"You have asked me a question I cannot yet answer," returned the
+surgeon. "My examination has been hasty and superficial: I was alone,
+and knew you were anxiously waiting. With the help of Mr. Benage, we may
+be able to arrive at some decisive opinion. I fear the injuries are
+serious."
+
+Yes, they were serious; and nothing could be done, as it seemed, to
+remedy them or alleviate the pain. Mr. Ryle lay helpless on the bed,
+giving vent to his regret and anguish in somewhat homely phraseology. It
+was the phraseology of this simple farmhouse; that to which he had been
+accustomed; and he was not likely to change it now. Gentlemen by birth
+and pedigree, he and his father had been content to live as plain
+farmers only, in language as well as work.
+
+He lay groaning, lamenting his imprudence, now that it was too late, in
+venturing within the reach of that dangerous animal. The rest waited
+anxiously and restlessly the appearance of the surgeon. For Mr. Benage
+of Barmester had a world-wide reputation, and such men seem to bring
+consolation with them. If any one could apply healing remedies and save
+his life, it was Mr. Benage.
+
+George Ryle had taken up his station at the garden gate. His hands
+clasped, his head lying lightly upon them, he was listening for the
+sound of the gig which had been despatched to Barmester. Nora at length
+came out to him.
+
+"You'll catch cold, George, out here in the keen night air."
+
+"The air won't hurt me to-night. Listen, Nora! I thought I heard
+something. They might be back again by this."
+
+He was right. The gig was bowling swiftly along, containing the
+well-known surgeon and messenger despatched for him. The surgeon, a
+little man, quick and active, was out of the gig before it had well
+stopped, passed George and Nora with a nod, and entered the house.
+
+A short time, and the worst was known. There would be but a few more
+hours of life for Mr. Ryle.
+
+Mr. King would remain, doing what he could to comfort, to soothe pain.
+Mr. Benage must return to Barmester, for he was wanted there.
+Refreshment was offered him, but he declined it. Nora waylaid him in the
+garden as he was going down.
+
+"Will the master see to-morrow's sun, sir?"
+
+"It's rising now; he may do so. He will not see its setting."
+
+Can you picture to yourselves what that night was for the house and its
+inmates? In the parlour, gathered round the table on which lay the dying
+man supported by pillows and covered with blankets, were Mrs. Ryle,
+George and Trevlyn, the surgeon, and sometimes Nora. In the outer room
+was collected a larger group: John Pinder, the men who had borne him
+home, and Molly; with a few others whom the news of the accident had
+brought together.
+
+Mrs. Ryle stood near her husband. George and Trevlyn seemed scarcely to
+know what to do with themselves; and Mr. King sat in a chair in the
+recess of the bay window. Mr. Ryle looked grievously wan, and the
+surgeon administered medicine from time to time.
+
+"Come here, my boys," he suddenly said. "Come close to me."
+
+They approached as he spoke, and leaned over him. He took a hand of
+each. George swallowed down his tears in the best way that he could.
+Trevlyn looked frightened.
+
+"Children, I am going. It has pleased God to cut me off in the midst of
+my career, just when I had least thought of death. I don't know how it
+will be with you, my dear ones, or how it will be with the old home.
+Chattaway can sell up everything if he chooses; and I fear there's
+little hope but he will do it. If he would let your mother stay on, she
+might keep things together, and get clear of him in time. George will be
+growing into more of a man every day, and may soon learn to be useful in
+the farm, if his mother thinks well to trust him. Maude, you'll do your
+best for them? For him, as for the younger ones?"
+
+"I will," said Mrs. Ryle.
+
+"Ay, I know you will. I leave them all to you, and you will act for the
+best. I think it's well George should be upon the farm, as I am taken
+from it; but you and he will see to that. Treve, you must do the best
+you can in whatever station you may be called to. I don't know what it
+will be. My boys, there's nothing before you but work. Do you understand
+that?"
+
+"Fully," was George's answer. Treve seemed too bewildered to give one.
+
+"To work with all your might; your shoulders to the wheel. Do your best
+in all ways. Be honest and single-hearted in the sight of God; work for
+Him whilst you are working for yourselves, and then He will prosper you.
+I wish I had worked for Him more than I have done!"
+
+A pause, broken only by George, who could no longer control his sobs.
+
+"My days seem to have been made up of nothing but struggling, and
+quarrelling, and care. Struggling to keep my head above water, and
+quarrelling with Chattaway. The end seemed far-off, ages away, something
+as heaven seems. And now the end's come, and heaven's come--that is, I
+must set out upon the journey that leads to it. I fear the end comes to
+many as suddenly; cutting them off in their carelessness and their sins.
+Do not spend your days in quarrelling, my boys; be working on a bit for
+the end whilst time is given you. I don't know how it will be in the
+world I am about to enter. Some fancy that when once we have entered it,
+we shall see what is going on here, in our families and homes. For that
+thought, if for no other, I would ask you to try and keep right. If you
+were to go wrong, think how it would grieve me! I should always be
+thinking that I might have trained you better, and had not done so.
+Children! it is only when we come to lie here that we see all our
+shortcomings. You would not like to grieve me, George?"
+
+"Oh, no! no!" said George, his sobs deepening. "Indeed I will try to do
+my best. I shall be always thinking that perhaps you are watching me."
+
+"One greater than I is always watching you, George. And that is God. Act
+well in His sight; not in mine. Doctor, I must have some more of that
+stuff. I feel a strange sinking."
+
+Mr. King rose, poured some drops into a wine-glass of water, and
+administered them. The patient lay a few moments, and then took his
+sons' hands, as before.
+
+"And now, children, for my last charge to you. Reverence and love your
+mother. Obey her in all things. George, she is not your own mother, but
+you have never known another, and she has been as one to you. Listen to
+her always, and she will lead you aright. If I had listened to her, I
+shouldn't be lying where I am now. A week or two ago I wanted the
+character of that outdoor man from Chattaway. 'Don't go through that
+field,' she said before I started. 'Better keep where the bull can't
+touch you.' Do you remember, Maude?"
+
+Mrs. Ryle simply bowed her head in reply. She was feeling the scene
+deeply, but emotion she would not show.
+
+"I heeded what your mother said, and went up to Chattaway's, avoiding
+the fields," resumed Mr. Ryle. "This last afternoon, when I was going up
+again and had got to the field gate, I turned into it, for it cut off a
+few steps, and my temper was up. I thought of what your mother would
+say, as I swung in, but it didn't stop me. It must have been that red
+neckerchief that put him up, for I was no sooner over the gate than he
+bellowed savagely and butted at me. It was all over in a minute; I was
+in the ditch, and he went on, bellowing and tossing and tearing at the
+cloth. If you go there to-morrow, you'll see it in shreds about the
+field. Children, obey your mother; there'll be still greater necessity
+for it when I am gone."
+
+The boys had been obedient hitherto. At least, George had been: Trevlyn
+was too indulged to be perfectly so. George promised that he would be so
+still.
+
+"I wish I could have seen the little wench," resumed the dying man, the
+tears gathering on his eyelashes. "But it may be for the best that she's
+away, for I should hardly have borne parting with her. Maude! George!
+Treve! I leave her to you all. Do the best you can by her. I don't know
+that she'll be spared to grow up, for she's a delicate little mite: but
+that is as God pleases. I wish I could have stayed with you all a bit
+longer--if it's not sinful to wish contrary to God's will. Is Mr. King
+there?"
+
+Mr. King had resumed his seat in the bay window, and was partially
+hidden by the curtain. He came forward. "Is there anything I can do for
+you, Mr. Ryle?"
+
+"You would oblige me by writing out a few directions. I should like to
+write them myself, but it is impossible; you'll enter the sentences just
+as I speak them. I have not made my will. I put it off, and put it off,
+thinking I could do it at any time; but now the end's come, and it is
+not done. Death surprises a great many, I fear, as he has surprised me.
+It seems that if I could only have one day more of health, I would do
+many things I have left undone. You shall write down my wishes, doctor.
+It will do as well; for there's only themselves, and they won't dispute
+one with the other. Let a little table be brought, and pen, ink, and
+paper."
+
+He lay quiet whilst these directions were obeyed, and then began again.
+
+"I am in very little pain, considering that I am going; not half as much
+as when I lay in that ditch. Thank God for it! It might have been that I
+could not have left a written line, or said a word of farewell to you.
+There's sure to be a bit of blue sky in the darkest trouble; and the
+more implicitly we trust, the more blue sky we shall find. I have not
+been what I ought to be, especially in the matter of disputing with
+Chattaway--not but that Chattaway's hardness has been in fault. But God
+is taking me from a world of care, and I trust He will forgive all my
+shortcomings for our Saviour's sake. Is everything ready?"
+
+"All is ready," said Mr. King.
+
+"Then leave me alone with the doctor a short time, dear ones," he
+resumed. "We shall not keep you out long."
+
+Nora, who had brought in the things required, held the door open for
+them to pass through. The pinched look that the face, lying there, was
+assuming, struck upon her ominously.
+
+"After all, the boy was right," she murmured. "The scratched hole was
+not meant for Jim Sanders."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+MAUDE TREVLYN
+
+
+The sun rose gloriously, dispersing the early October frost, and
+brightening the world. But the sunbeams fall upon dark scenes sometimes;
+perhaps more often than upon happy ones.
+
+George Ryle was leaning on the fold-yard gate. He had strolled out
+without his hat, and his head was bent in grief. Not that he was
+shedding tears now. He had shed plenty during the night; but tears
+cannot flow for ever, even from an aching heart.
+
+Hasty steps were heard approaching down the road, and George raised his
+head. They were Mr. Chattaway's. He stopped suddenly at sight of George.
+
+"What is this about your father? What has happened? Is he dead?"
+
+"He is dying," replied George. "The doctors are with him. Mr. King has
+been here all night, and Mr. Benage has just come again from Barmester.
+They have sent us out of the room; me and Treve. They let my mother
+remain with him."
+
+"But how on earth did it happen?" asked Chattaway. "I cannot make it
+out. The first thing I heard when I woke this morning was that Mr. Ryle
+had been gored to death by the bull. What brought him near the bull?"
+
+"He was passing through the field up to your house, and the bull
+attacked him----"
+
+"But when? when?" hastily interrupted Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"Yesterday afternoon. My father came in directly after you rode away,
+and I gave him your message. He said he would go up to the Hold at once,
+and speak to you; and took the field way instead of the road."
+
+"Now, how could he take it? He knew it was hardly safe for strangers.
+Not but that the bull ought to have known him."
+
+"He had a red cravat in his hand, and he thinks that excited the bull.
+It tossed him into the ditch, and he lay there, undiscovered, until past
+ten at night."
+
+"And he is badly hurt?"
+
+"He is dying," replied George, "dying now. I think that is why they sent
+us from the room."
+
+Mr. Chattaway paused in dismay. Though a hard, selfish man, who had
+taken delight in quarrelling with Mr. Ryle and putting upon him, he did
+possess some feelings of humanity as well as his neighbours; and the
+terrible nature of the case naturally called them forth. George strove
+manfully to keep down his tears; relating the circumstances was almost
+too much for him, but he did not care to give way before the world,
+especially before that unit in it represented by Mr. Chattaway. Mr.
+Chattaway rested his elbow on the gate, and looked down at George.
+
+"This is very shocking, lad. I am sorry to hear it. What will the farm
+do without him? How shall you all get on?"
+
+"Thinking of that has been troubling him all night," said George. "He
+said we might get a living at the farm, if you would let us do it. If
+you would not be hard," he added, determined to speak out.
+
+"Hard, he called me, did he?" said Mr. Chattaway. "It's not my hardness
+that has been in fault, but his pride. He has been as saucy and
+independent as if he did not owe me a shilling; always making himself
+out my equal."
+
+"He is your equal," said George, speaking gently in his sadness.
+
+"My equal! Working Tom Ryle the equal of the Chattaways! A man who rents
+two or three hundred acres and does half the work himself, the equal of
+the landlord who owns them and ever so many more to them!--equal to the
+Squire of Trevlyn Hold! Where did you pick up those notions, boy?"
+
+George had a great mind to say that in strict justice Mr. Chattaway had
+no more right to be Squire of Trevlyn Hold, or to own those acres, than
+his father had; not quite so much right, if it came to that. He had a
+great mind to say that the Ryles were gentlemen, and once owners of what
+his father now rented. But George remembered they were in Chattaway's
+power; he could sell them up, and turn them from the farm, if he
+pleased; and he held his tongue.
+
+"Not that I blame you for the notions," Mr. Chattaway resumed, in the
+same thin, unpleasant tones--never was there a voice more thin and wiry
+than his. "It's natural you should have got them from Ryle, for they
+were his. He was always----But there! I won't say any more, with him
+lying there, poor fellow. We'll let it drop, George."
+
+"I do not know how things are between you and my father," said George,
+"except that there's money owing to you. But if you will not press us,
+if you will let my mother remain on the farm, I----"
+
+"That's enough," interrupted Mr. Chattaway. "Never trouble your head
+about business that's above you. Anything between me and your father, or
+your mother either, is no concern of yours; you are not old enough to
+interfere yet. I should like to see him. Do you think I may go in?"
+
+"We can ask," answered George; some vague and indistinct idea floating
+to his mind that a death-bed reconciliation might help to smooth future
+difficulties.
+
+He led the way through the fold-yard. Nora was coming out at the
+back-door as they advanced.
+
+"Nora, do you think Mr. Chattaway may go in to see my father?" asked
+George.
+
+"If it will do Mr. Chattaway any good," responded Nora, who ever
+regarded that gentleman in the light of a common enemy, and could with
+difficulty bring herself to be commonly civil to him. "It's all over;
+but Mr. Chattaway can see what's left of him."
+
+"Is he dead?" whispered Mr. Chattaway; whilst George lifted his white
+and startled face.
+
+"He is dead!" broke forth Nora; "and perhaps there may be some that will
+wish now they had been less hard with him in life. The doctors and Mrs.
+Ryle have just come out, and the women have gone in to put him straight
+and comfortable. Mr. Chattaway can go in also, if he would like it."
+
+Mr. Chattaway, it appeared, did not like it. He turned from the door,
+drawing George with him.
+
+"George, tell your mother I am grieved at her trouble, and wish that
+beast of a bull had been stuck before he had done this. Tell her if
+there's any little thing she could fancy from the Hold, to let Edith
+know, and she'll gladly send it to her. Good-bye, lad. You and Treve
+must keep up, you know."
+
+He passed out by the fold-yard gate, as he had entered, and George
+leaned upon it again, with his aching heart; an orphan now. Treve and
+Caroline had their mother left, but he had no one. It is true he had
+never known a mother, and Mrs. Ryle, his father's second wife, had
+supplied the place of one. She had done her duty by him; but it had not
+been in love; nor very much in gentleness. Of her own children she was
+inordinately fond; she had not been so of George--which perhaps was in
+accordance with human nature. It had never troubled George much; but the
+fact now struck upon him with a sense of intense loneliness. His father
+had loved him deeply and sincerely: but--he was gone.
+
+In spite of his heavy sorrow, George was awake to sounds in the
+distance, the everyday labour of life. The cow-boy was calling to his
+cows; one of the men, acting for Jim Sanders, was going out with the
+team. And now there came a butcher, riding up from Barmester, and George
+knew he had come about some beasts, all unconscious that the master was
+no longer here to command, or deal with. Work, especially farm work,
+must go on, although death may have accomplished its mission.
+
+The butcher, riding fast, had nearly reached the gate, and George was
+turning away to retire indoors, when the unhappy thought came upon
+him--Who is to see this man? His father no longer there, who must
+represent him?--must answer comers--must stand in his place? It brought
+the fact of what had happened more practically before George Ryle's mind
+than anything else had done. He stood where he was, instead of turning
+away. That day he must rise superior to grief, and be useful; must rise
+above his years in the future, for his step-mother's sake.
+
+"Good morning, Mr. George," cried the butcher, as he rode up. "Is the
+master about?"
+
+"No," answered George, speaking as steadily as he could. "He will never
+be about again. He is dead."
+
+The butcher thought it a boy's joke. "None of that, young gentleman!"
+said he, with a laugh. "Where shall I find him?"
+
+"Mr. Cope," said George, raising his grave face--and its expression
+struck a chill to the man's heart--"I should not joke upon the subject
+of death. My father was attacked by Chattaway's bull yesterday evening,
+and has died of the injuries."
+
+"Lawk-a-mercy!" uttered the startled man. "Attacked by Chattaway's bull!
+and--and--died of the injuries! Surely it can't be so!"
+
+George had turned his face away; the strain was getting too much for
+him.
+
+"Has Chattaway killed the bull?" was the man's next question.
+
+"I suppose not."
+
+"Then he is no man and no gentleman if he don't do it. If a beast of
+mine injured a neighbour, I'd stay him from injuring another, no matter
+what its value. Dear me! Mr. George, I'd rather have heard any news than
+this."
+
+George's head was quite turned away now. The butcher roused himself to
+think of business. His time was short, for he had to be in the town
+again before his shop opened for the day.
+
+"I came up about the beasts," he said. "The master as good as sold 'em
+to me yesterday; it was only a matter of a few shillings split us. But
+I'll give in sooner than not have 'em. Who is going to carry on the
+dealings in Mr. Ryle's place? Who can I speak to?"
+
+"You can see John Pinder," answered George. "He knows most about
+things."
+
+The man guided his horse through the fold-yard, scattering the cocks and
+hens, and reached the barn. John Pinder came out to him; and George
+escaped indoors.
+
+It was a sad day. The excitement over, the doctors departed, the
+gossipers and neighbours dispersed, the village carpenter having come
+and taken certain measures, the house was left to its monotonous quiet;
+that distressing quiet which tells upon the spirits. Nora's voice was
+subdued, Molly went about on tiptoe. The boys wished it was over; that,
+and many more days to come. Treve fairly broke bounds about twelve, said
+he could not bear it, and went out amongst the men. In the afternoon
+George was summoned upstairs to the chamber of Mrs. Ryle, where she had
+remained since the morning.
+
+"George, you must go to Barmester," she said. "I wish to know how
+Caroline bears the news, poor child! Mr. Benage said he would call and
+break it to her; but I cannot get her grief out of my head. You can go
+over in the gig; but don't stay. Be home by tea-time."
+
+It is more than probable that George felt the commission as a relief,
+and he started as soon as the gig was ready. As he went out of the yard,
+Nora called after him to be careful how he drove. Not that he had never
+driven before; but Mr. Ryle, or some one else, had always been in the
+gig with him. Now he was alone; and it brought his loss again more
+forcibly before him.
+
+He reached Barmester, and saw his sister Caroline, who was staying there
+on a visit. She was not overwhelmed with grief, but, on the contrary,
+appeared to have taken the matter coolly and lightly. The fact was, the
+little girl had no definite ideas on the subject of death. She had never
+been brought into contact with it, and could not at all realise the fact
+told her, that she would never see papa again. Better for the little
+heart perhaps that it was so; sorrow enough comes with later years; and
+Mrs. Ryle judged wisely in deciding to keep the child where she was
+until after the funeral.
+
+When George reached home, he found Nora at tea alone. Master Treve had
+chosen to take his with his mother in her chamber. George sat down with
+Nora. The shutters were closed, and the room was bright with fire and
+candle; but to George all things were dreary.
+
+"Why don't you eat?" asked Nora, presently, perceiving the
+bread-and-butter remained untouched.
+
+"I'm not hungry," replied George.
+
+"Did you have tea in Barmester?"
+
+"I did not have anything," he said.
+
+"Now, look you here, George. If you are going to give way to----Mercy on
+us! What's that?"
+
+Some one had entered hastily. A lovely girl in a flowing white evening
+dress and blue ribbons in her hair. A heavy shawl fell from her
+shoulders to the ground, and she stood panting, as one who has run
+quickly, her fair curls falling, her cheeks crimson, her dark blue eyes
+glowing. On the pretty arms were coral bracelets, and a thin gold chain
+was on her neck. It was Maude Trevlyn, whom you saw at Trevlyn Hold last
+night. So out of place did she look in that scene, that Nora for once
+was silent, and could only stare.
+
+"I ran away, Nora," said Maude, coming forward. "Octave has a party, but
+they won't miss me if I stay only a little time. I have wanted to come
+all day, but they would not let me."
+
+"Who would not?" asked Nora.
+
+"Not any of them. Even Aunt Edith. Nora, is it _true_? Is it true that
+he is dead?" she reiterated, her pretty hands clasped with emotion, her
+great blue eyes cast upwards at Nora, waiting for the answer.
+
+"Oh, Miss Maude! you might have heard it was true enough up at the Hold.
+And so they have a party! Some folk in Madam Chattaway's place might
+have had the grace to put it off, when their sister's husband was lying
+dead!"
+
+"It is not Aunt Edith's fault. You know it is not, Nora. George, you
+know it also. She has cried very much to-day; and she asked long and
+long ago for the bull to be sent off. But he was not sent. Oh, George, I
+am so sorry! I wish I could have seen him before he died. There was no
+one I liked so well as Mr. Ryle."
+
+"Will you have some tea?" asked Nora.
+
+"No, I must not stay. Should Octave miss me she will tell of me, and
+then I should be punished. What do you think? Rupert displeased Cris in
+some way, and Miss Diana sent him to bed away from all the pleasure. It
+is a shame!"
+
+"It is all a shame together, up at Trevlyn Hold--all that concerns
+Rupert," said Nora, not, perhaps, very judiciously.
+
+"Nora, where did he die?" asked Maude, in a whisper. "Did they take him
+up to his bedroom when they brought him home?"
+
+"They carried him in there," said Nora, pointing to the sitting room
+door. "He is lying there now."
+
+"I want to see him," she continued.
+
+Nora received the intimation dubiously.
+
+"I don't know whether you had better," said she, after a pause.
+
+"Yes, I must, Nora. What was that about the dog scratching a grave
+before the porch?"
+
+"Who told you anything about that?" asked Nora, sharply.
+
+"Ann Canham came up to the Hold and spoke about it. Was it so, Nora?"
+
+Nora nodded. "A hole, Miss Maude, nearly big enough to lay the master
+in. Not that I thought it a token for _him_! I thought only of Jim
+Sanders. And some folk laugh at these warnings!" she added. "There sits
+one," pointing to George.
+
+"Well, never mind it now," said George, hastily. Never was a boy less
+given to superstition; but, with his father lying where he was, he
+somehow did not care to hear much about the mysterious hole.
+
+Maude moved towards the door. "Take me in to see him," she pleaded.
+
+"Will you promise not to be frightened?" asked Nora. "Some young people
+can't bear the sight of death."
+
+"What should I fear?" returned Maude. "He cannot hurt me."
+
+Nora rose in acquiescence, and took up the candle. But George laid his
+hand on the girl.
+
+"Don't go, Maude. Nora, you must not let her go in. She might regret it.
+It would not be right."
+
+Now, of all things, Nora disliked being dictated to, especially by those
+she called children. She saw no reason why Maude should not look upon
+the dead if she wished to do so, and gave a sharp word of reprimand to
+George, in an undertone. How could they speak aloud, entering that
+presence?
+
+"Maude, Maude!" he whispered. "I would advise you not to go in."
+
+"Let me go!" she pleaded. "I should like to see him once again. I did
+not see him for a whole week before he died. The last time I ever saw
+him was one day in the copse, and he got down some hazel-nuts for me. I
+never thanked him," she added, tears in her eyes. "In a hurry to get
+home, I never stayed to thank him. I shall always be sorry for it.
+George, I must see him."
+
+Nora was already in the room with the candle. Maude advanced on tiptoe,
+her heart beating with awe. She halted at the foot of the table and
+looked eagerly upwards.
+
+Maude Trevlyn had never seen the dead, and her heart gave a bound of
+terror, and she fell back with a cry. Before Nora knew well what had
+occurred, George had her in the other room, his arms wound about her
+with a sense of protection. Nora came out and closed the door, vexed
+with herself for having allowed her to enter.
+
+"You should have told me you had never seen any one dead before, Miss
+Maude," cried she, testily. "How was I to know? And you ought to have
+come right up to the top before looking."
+
+Maude was clinging tremblingly to George, sobbing hysterically. "Don't
+be angry with me," she whispered. "I did not think he would look like
+that."
+
+"Oh, Maude, I am not angry; I am only sorry," he said soothingly.
+"There's nothing really to be frightened at. Papa loved you very much;
+almost as much as he loved me."
+
+"Shall I take you back, Maude?" said George, when she was ready to go.
+
+"Yes, please," she eagerly answered. "I should not dare to go alone now.
+I should be fancying I saw--it--looking out at me from the hedges."
+
+Nora folded her shawl well over her again, and George drew her closer to
+him that she might feel his presence as well as see it. Nora watched
+them down the path, right over the hole the restless dog had favoured
+the house with a night or two ago.
+
+They went up the road. An involuntary shudder shook George's frame as he
+passed the turning which led to the fatal field. He seemed to see his
+father in the unequal conflict. Maude felt the movement.
+
+"It is never going to be out again," she whispered.
+
+"What?" he asked, his thoughts buried deeply just then.
+
+"The bull. I heard Aunt Diana talking to Mr. Chattaway. She said it must
+not be set at liberty again, or we might have the law down upon Trevlyn
+Hold."
+
+"Yes; that's all Miss Trevlyn and he care for--the law," returned
+George, in tones of pain. "What do they care for the death of my
+father?"
+
+"George, he is better off," said she, in a dreamy manner, her face
+turned towards the stars. "I am very sorry; I have cried a great deal
+over it; and I wish it had never happened; I wish he was back with us;
+but still he is better off; Aunt Edith says so. You don't know how she
+has felt it."
+
+"Yes," answered George, his heart very full.
+
+"Mamma and papa are better off," continued Maude. "Your own mother is
+better off. The next world is a happier one than this."
+
+George made no rejoinder. Favourite though Maude was with George Ryle,
+those were heavy moments for him. They proceeded in silence until they
+turned in at the great gate by the lodge: a round building, containing
+two rooms upstairs and two down. Its walls were not very substantial,
+and the sound of voices could be heard within. Maude stopped in
+consternation.
+
+"George, that is Rupert talking!"
+
+"Rupert! You told me he was in bed."
+
+"He was sent to bed. He must have got out of the window again. I am sure
+it is his voice. Oh, what will be done if it is found out?"
+
+George Ryle swung himself on to the very narrow ledge under the window,
+contriving to hold on by his hands and toes, and thus obtained a view of
+the room.
+
+"Yes, it is Rupert," said he, as he jumped down. "He is sitting talking
+to old Canham."
+
+But the slightness of structure which allowed voices to be heard within
+the lodge also allowed them to be heard without. Ann Canham came
+hastening to the door, opened it a few inches, and stood peeping. Maude
+took the opportunity to slip past her into the room.
+
+But no trace of her brother was there. Mark Canham was sitting in his
+usual invalid seat by the fire, smoking a pipe, his back towards the
+door.
+
+"Where has he gone?" cried Maude.
+
+"Where's who gone?" roughly spoke old Canham, without turning his head.
+"There ain't nobody here."
+
+"Father, it's Miss Maude," interposed Ann Canham, closing the outer
+door, after allowing George to enter. "Who be you taking the young lady
+for?"
+
+The old man, partly disabled by rheumatism, put down his pipe, and
+contrived to turn in his chair. "Eh, Miss Maude! Why, who'd ever have
+thought of seeing you to-night?"
+
+"Where is Rupert?" asked Maude.
+
+"Rupert?" composedly returned old Canham. "Is it Master Rupert you're
+asking after? How should we know where he is, Miss Maude?"
+
+"We saw him here," interposed George Ryle. "He was sitting on that
+bench, talking to you. We both heard his voice, and I saw him."
+
+"Very odd!" said the old man. "Fancy goes a great way. Folks is ofttimes
+deluded by it."
+
+"Mark Canham, I tell you----"
+
+"Wait a minute!" interrupted Maude. She opened the door leading into the
+inner room, and stood looking into its darkness. "Rupert!" she called;
+"it is only George and I. You need not hide."
+
+It brought forth Rupert; that lovely boy, with his large blue eyes and
+auburn curls. There was a great likeness between him and Maude; but
+Maude's hair was lighter.
+
+"I thought it was Cris," he said. "He is learning to be as sly as a fox:
+though I don't know that he was ever anything else. When I am ordered to
+bed before my time, he has taken to dodging into the room every ten
+minutes to see that I am safe in it. Have they missed me, Maude?"
+
+"I don't know," she answered. "I also came away without their knowing
+it. I have been down to Aunt Ryle's, and George has brought me home
+again."
+
+"Will you be pleased, to sit down, Miss, Maude?" asked Ann Canham,
+dusting a chair.
+
+"Eh, but that's a pretty picture!" cried old Canham, gazing at Maude,
+who had slipped off her heavy shawl, and stood warming her hands at the
+fire.
+
+Mark Canham was right. A very pretty picture. He extended the hand that
+was not helpless towards her.
+
+"Miss Maude, I mind me seeing your mother looking just as you look now.
+The Squire was out, and the young ladies at the Hold thought they'd give
+a dance, and Parson Dean and Miss Emily were invited to it. I don't know
+that they'd have been asked if the Squire had been at home, matters not
+being smooth between him and parson. She was older than you be; but she
+was dressed just as you be now; and I could fancy, as I look at you,
+that it was her over again. I was in the rooms, helping to wait. It
+doesn't seem so long ago! Miss Emily was the sweetest-looking of 'em all
+present; and the young heir seemed to think so. He opened the ball with
+Miss Emily in spite of his sisters; they wanted him to choose somebody
+grander. Ah, me! and both of 'em lying low so soon after, leaving you
+two behind 'em!"
+
+"Mark!" cried Rupert, throwing his eyes on the old man--eyes sparkling
+with excitement--"if they had lived, papa and mamma, I should not have
+been sent to bed to-night because there's another party at Trevlyn
+Hold."
+
+Mark's only answer was to put up his hands with an indignant gesture.
+Ann Canham was still offering the chair to Maude. Maude declined it.
+
+"I cannot stay, Ann. They will miss me if I don't return. Rupert, you
+will come?"
+
+"To be boxed up in my bedroom, whilst the rest of you are enjoying
+yourselves," cried Rupert. "They would like to take the spirit out of
+me; have been trying at it a long time."
+
+Maude wound her arm within his. "Do come, Rupert!" she whispered
+coaxingly. "Think of the disturbance if Cris should find you here and
+tell!"
+
+"And tell!" repeated Rupert, mockingly. "_Not_ to tell would be
+impossible to Cris Chattaway. It's what he'd delight in more than in
+gold. I wouldn't be the sneak Cris Chattaway is for the world."
+
+But Rupert appeared to think it well to depart with his sister. As they
+were going out, old Canham spoke to George.
+
+"And Mrs. Ryle, sir--how does she bear it?"
+
+"She bears it very well, Mark," answered George, as the tears rushed to
+his eyes unbidden. The old man marked them.
+
+"There's one comfort for ye, Master George," he said, in low tones:
+"that he has took all his neighbours' sorrow with him. And as much
+couldn't be said if every gentleman round about here was cut off by
+death."
+
+The significant tone was not needed to tell George that he alluded to
+Mr. Chattaway. The master of Trevlyn Hold was, in fact, no greater
+favourite with old Canham than he was with George Ryle.
+
+"Mind how you get in, Master Rupert, so they don't fall upon you,"
+whispered Ann Canham, as she held open the lodge door.
+
+"I'll mind," was the boy's answer. "Not that I should care much if they
+did," he added. "I am getting tired of it."
+
+She stood and watched them up the dark walk until a turn in the road hid
+them from view, and then closed the door. "If they don't take to treat
+him kinder, I misdoubt me but he'll do something desperate, as the
+dead-and-gone heir, Rupert, did," she remarked, sitting down near her
+father.
+
+"Like enough," was the old man's reply, taking up his pipe again. "He
+has the true Trevlyn temper, have young Rupert."
+
+"Maude," began Rupert, as they wound their way up the dark avenue,
+"don't they know you came out?"
+
+"They would not have let me come if they had known it," replied Maude.
+"I have been wanting to go down all day, but Aunt Diana and Octave kept
+me in. I begged to go down last night when Bill Webb brought the news;
+and they were angry with me."
+
+"Do you know what I should have done in Chattaway's place, George?"
+cried the boy, impulsively. "I should have loaded my gun the minute I
+heard of it, and shot the beast between the eyes. Chattaway would, if he
+were half a man."
+
+"It is of no use talking of it, Rupert," answered George, in sadly
+subdued tones. "That would not mend the evil."
+
+"Only fancy their having this rout to-night, while Mr. Ryle is lying
+dead!" indignantly resumed Rupert. "Aunt Edith ought to have interfered
+for once, and stopped it."
+
+"Aunt Edith did interfere," spoke up Maude. "She said it must be put
+off. But Octave would not hear of it, and Miss Diana said Mr. Ryle was
+no real rela----"
+
+Maude dropped her voice. They were now in view of the house and its
+lighted windows; and some one, probably hearing their footsteps, came
+bearing down upon them with a fleet step. It was Cris Chattaway. Rupert
+stole into the trees, and disappeared: Maude, holding George's arm, bore
+bravely on, and met him.
+
+"Where have you been, Maude? The house has been searched for you. What
+brings _you_ here?" he roughly added to George.
+
+"I came because I chose to come," was George's answer.
+
+"None of your insolence," returned Cris. "We don't want you here
+to-night. Just be off from this."
+
+Was Cris Chattaway's motive a good one, under his rudeness? Did he feel
+ashamed of the gaiety going on, whilst Mr. Ryle, his uncle by marriage,
+was lying dead, under circumstances so unhappy? Was he anxious to
+conceal the unseemly proceeding from George? Perhaps so.
+
+"I shall go back when I have taken Maude to the hall-door," said George.
+"Not before."
+
+Anything that might have been said further by Cris, was interrupted by
+the appearance of Miss Trevlyn. She was standing on the steps.
+
+"Where have you been, Maude?"
+
+"To Trevlyn Farm," was Maude's truthful answer. "You would not let me go
+during the day, so I have been now. It seemed to me that I must see him
+before he was put underground."
+
+"See _him_!" cried Miss Trevlyn.
+
+"Yes. It was all I went for. I did not see my aunt. George, thank you
+for bringing me home," she continued, stepping in. "Good-night. I would
+have given all I possess for it never to have happened."
+
+She burst into a flood of tears as she spoke--the result, no doubt, of
+her previous fright and excitement, as well as her sorrow for Mr. Ryle's
+unhappy fate. George wrung her hand, and lifted his hat to Miss Trevlyn
+as he turned away.
+
+But ere he had well plunged into the dark avenue, there came swift and
+stealthy steps behind him. A soft hand was laid upon him, and a soft
+voice spoke, broken by tears:
+
+"Oh, George, I am so sorry! I have felt all day as if it would almost be
+my death. I think I could have given my own life to save his."
+
+"I know, I know! I know how _you_ will feel it," replied George, utterly
+unmanned by the true and unexpected sympathy.
+
+It was Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+THE ROMANCE OF TREVLYN HOLD
+
+
+It is impossible to go on without a word of retrospect. The Ryles,
+gentlemen by a long line of ancestry, had once been rich men, but they
+were open-handed and heedless, and in the time of George's grandfather,
+the farm (not called the farm then) passed into the possession of the
+Trevlyns of the Hold, who had a mortgage on it. They named it Trevlyn
+Farm, and Mr. Ryle and his son remained on as tenants where they had
+once been owners.
+
+After old Mr. Ryle's death, his son married the daughter of the curate
+of Barbrook, the Reverend George Berkeley, familiarly known as Parson
+Berkeley. In point of fact, the parish knew no other pastor, for its
+Rector was an absentee. Mary Berkeley was an only child. She had been
+petted, and physicked, and nursed, after the manner of only children,
+and grew up sickly as a matter of course. A delicate, beautiful girl in
+appearance, but not strong. People (who are always fond, you know, of
+settling everybody else's business for them) deemed that she made a poor
+match in marrying Thomas Ryle. It was whispered, however, that he
+himself might have made a greater match, had he chosen--no other than
+Squire Trevlyn's eldest daughter. There was not so handsome, so
+attractive a man in all the country round as Thomas Ryle.
+
+Soon after the marriage, Parson Berkeley died--to the intense grief of
+his daughter, Mrs. Ryle. He was succeeded in the curacy and parsonage by
+a young clergyman just in priest's orders, the Reverend Shafto Dean. A
+well-meaning man, but opinionated and self-sufficient in the highest
+degree, and before he had been one month at the parsonage, he and Squire
+Trevlyn were at issue. Mr. Dean wished to introduce certain new fashions
+and customs into the church and parish; Squire Trevlyn held to the old.
+Proud, haughty, overbearing, but honourable and generous, Squire Trevlyn
+had known no master, no opposer; _he_ was lord of the neighbourhood, and
+was bowed down to accordingly. Mr. Dean would not give way, the Squire
+would not give way; and the little seed of dissension grew and spread.
+Obstinacy begets obstinacy. That which a slight yielding on either side,
+a little mutual good-feeling, might have removed at first, became at
+length a terrible breach, the talk of a county.
+
+Meanwhile Thomas Ryle's fair young wife died, leaving an infant
+boy--George. In spite of her husband's loving care, in spite of having
+been shielded from all work and management, so necessary on a farm, she
+died. Nora Dickson, a humble relative of the Ryle family, who had been
+partially brought up on the farm, was housekeeper and manager. She saved
+all trouble to young Mrs. Ryle: but she could not save her life.
+
+The past history of Trevlyn Hold was a romance in itself. Squire Trevlyn
+had five children: Rupert, Maude, Joseph, Edith and Diana. Rupert, Maude
+and Diana were imperious as their father; Joseph and Edith were mild,
+yielding, and gentle, as had been their mother. Rupert was of course
+regarded as the heir: but the property was not entailed. An ancestor of
+Squire Trevlyn's coming from some distant part--it was said
+Cornwall--bought it and settled down upon it. There was not a great deal
+of grass land on the estate, but the coal-mines in the distance made it
+very valuable. Of all his children, Rupert, the eldest, was the Squire's
+favourite: but poor Rupert did not live to come into the estate. He had
+inherited the fits of passion characteristic of the Trevlyns; was of a
+thoughtless, impetuous nature; and he fell into trouble and ran away
+from his country. He embarked for a distant port, which he did not live
+to reach. And Joseph became the heir.
+
+Very different, he, from his brother Rupert. Gentle and yielding, like
+his sister Edith, the Squire half despised him. The Squire would have
+preferred him passionate, haughty, and overbearing--a true Trevlyn. But
+the Squire had no intention of superseding him in the succession of
+Trevlyn Hold. Provided Joseph lived, none other would be its inheritor.
+_Provided_. Joseph--always called Joe--appeared to have inherited his
+mother's constitution; and she had died early, of decline.
+
+Yielding, however, as Joe Trevlyn was naturally, on one point he did not
+prove himself so--that of his marriage. He chose Emily Dean; the pretty
+and lovable sister of Squire Trevlyn's _bête noire_, the obstinate
+parson. "I would rather you took a wife out of the parish workhouse,
+Joe," the Squire said, in his anger. Joe said little in reply, but he
+held to his choice; and one fine morning the marriage was celebrated by
+the obstinate parson himself in the church at Barbrook.
+
+The Squire and Thomas Ryle were close friends, and the former was fond
+of passing his evenings at the farm. The farm was not a productive one.
+The land, never of the richest, had become poorer and poorer: it wanted
+draining and nursing; it wanted, in short, money laid out upon it; and
+that money Mr. Ryle did not possess. "I shall have to leave it, and try
+and take a farm in better condition," he said at length to the Squire.
+
+The Squire, with all his faults and his overbearing temper, was generous
+and considerate. He knew what the land wanted; money spent on it; he
+knew Mr. Ryle had not the money to spend, and he offered to lend it him.
+Mr. Ryle accepted it, to the amount of two thousand pounds. He gave a
+bond for the sum, and the Squire on his part promised to renew the lease
+upon the present terms, when the time of renewal came, and not raise the
+rent. This promise was not given in writing: but none ever doubted the
+word of Squire Trevlyn.
+
+The first of Squire Trevlyn's children to marry had been Edith: some
+years before she had married Mr. Chattaway. The two next to marry had
+been Maude and Joseph. Joseph, as you have heard, married Emily Dean;
+Maude, the eldest daughter, became the second wife of Mr. Ryle. A
+twelvemonth after the death of his fair young wife Mary, Miss Trevlyn of
+the Hold stepped into her shoes, and became the step-mother of the
+little child, George. The youngest daughter Diana, never married.
+
+Miss Trevlyn, in marrying Thomas Ryle, gave mortal offence to some of
+her kindred. The Squire himself would have forgiven it; nay, perhaps
+have grown to like it--for he never could do otherwise than like Thomas
+Ryle--but he was constantly incited against it by his family. Mr.
+Chattaway, who had no great means of living of his own, was at the Hold
+on a long, long visit, with his wife and two little children,
+Christopher and Octavia. They were always saying they must leave; but
+they did _not_ leave; they stayed on. Mr. Chattaway made himself useful
+to the Squire on business matters, and whether they ever would leave was
+a question. She, Mrs. Chattaway, was too gentle-spirited and loving to
+speak against her sister and Mr. Ryle; but Chattaway and Miss Diana
+Trevlyn kept up the ball. In point of fact, they had a motive--at least,
+Chattaway had--for making permanent the estrangement between the Squire
+and Mr. Ryle, for it was thought that Squire Trevlyn would have to look
+out for another heir.
+
+News had come home of poor Joe Trevlyn's failing health. He had taken up
+his abode in the south of France on his marriage: for even then the
+doctors had begun to say that a more genial climate than this could
+alone save the life of the heir to Trevlyn. Bitterly as the Squire had
+felt the marriage, angry as he had been with Joe, he had never had the
+remotest thought of disinheriting him. He was the only son left: and
+Squire Trevlyn would never, if he could help it, bequeath Trevlyn Hold
+to a woman. A little girl, Maude, was born in due time to Joe Trevlyn
+and his wife; and not long after this, there arrived the tidings that
+Joe's health was rapidly failing. Mr. Chattaway, selfish, mean, sly,
+covetous, began to entertain hopes that _he_ should be named the heir;
+he began to work on it in stealthy determination. He did not forget
+that, were it bequeathed to the husband of one of the daughters, Mr.
+Ryle, as the husband of the eldest, might be considered to possess most
+claim to it. No wonder then that he did all he could, secretly and
+openly, to incite the Squire against Mr. Ryle and his wife. And in this
+he was joined by Miss Diana Trevlyn. She, haughty and imperious,
+resented the marriage of her sister with one of inferior position, and
+willingly espoused the cause of Mr. Chattaway as against Thomas Ryle. It
+was whispered about, none knew with what truth, that Miss Diana made a
+compact with Chattaway, to the effect that she should reign jointly at
+Trevlyn Hold with him and enjoy part of its revenues, if he came into
+the inheritance.
+
+Before the news came of Joe Trevlyn's death--and it was some months in
+coming--Squire Trevlyn had taken to his bed. Never did man seem to fade
+so rapidly as the Squire. Not only his health, but his mind failed him;
+all its vigour seemed gone. He mourned poor Joe excessively. In rude
+health and strength, he would not have mourned him; at least, would not
+have shown that he did so; never a man less inclined than the Squire to
+allow his private emotions to be seen: but in his weakened state he gave
+way to lamentation for his heir (his _heir_, note you, more than his
+son) every hour in the day. Over and over again he regretted that the
+little child, Maude, left by Joe, was not a boy. Nay, had it not been
+for his prejudice against her mother, he would have willed the estate to
+her, girl though she was. Now was Mr. Chattaway's time: he put forth in
+glowing colours his own claims, as Edith's husband; he made golden
+promises; he persuaded the poor Squire, in his wrecked mind, that black
+was white--and his plans succeeded.
+
+To the will which had bequeathed the estate to the eldest son, dead
+Rupert, the Squire added a codicil, to the effect that, failing his two
+sons, James Chattaway was the inheritor. But all this was kept a
+profound secret.
+
+During the time the Squire lay ill, Mr. Ryle went to Trevlyn Hold, and
+succeeded in obtaining an interview. Mr. Chattaway was out that day, or
+he had never accomplished it. Miss Diana Trevlyn was out. All the
+Squire's animosity departed the moment he saw Thomas Ryle's
+long-familiar face. He lay clasping his hand, and lamenting their
+estrangement; he told him he should cancel the two-thousand-pound bond,
+giving the money as his daughter's dowry; he said his promise of
+renewing the lease of the farm to him on the same terms would be held
+sacred, for he had left a memorandum to that effect amongst his papers.
+He sent for a certain box, in which the bond for the two thousand pounds
+had been placed, and searched for it, intending to give it to him then;
+but the bond was not there, and he said that Mr. Chattaway, who managed
+all his affairs now, must have placed it elsewhere. But he would ask him
+for it when he came in, and it should be destroyed before he slept.
+Altogether, it was a most pleasant and satisfactory interview.
+
+But strange news arrived from abroad ere the Squire died. Not strange,
+certainly, in itself; only strange because it was so very unexpected.
+Joseph Trevlyn's widow had given birth to a boy! On the very day that
+little Maude was twelve months old, exactly three months after Joe's
+death, this little fellow was born. Mr. Chattaway opened the letter, and
+I will leave you to judge of his state of mind. A male heir, after he
+had made everything so safe and sure!
+
+But Mr. Chattaway was not a man to be thwarted. _He_ would not be
+deprived of the inheritance if he could by any possible scheming retain
+it, no matter what wrong he dealt out to others. James Chattaway had as
+little conscience as most people. The whole of that day he never spoke
+of the news; he kept it to himself; and the next morning there arrived a
+second letter, which rendered the affair a little more complicated.
+Young Mrs. Trevlyn was dead. She had died, leaving the two little ones,
+Maude and the infant.
+
+Squire Trevlyn was always saying, "Oh, that Joe had left a boy; that Joe
+had left a boy!" And now, as it was found, Joe _had_ left one. But Mr.
+Chattaway determined that the fact should never reach the Squire's ears
+to gladden them. Something had to be done, however, or the little
+children would be coming to Trevlyn. Mr. Chattaway arranged his plans,
+and wrote off hastily to stop their departure. He told the Squire that
+Joe's widow had died, leaving Maude; but he never said a word about the
+baby boy. Had the Squire lived, perhaps it could not have been kept from
+him; but he did not live; he went to his grave all too soon, never
+knowing that a male heir was born to Trevlyn.
+
+The danger was over then. Mr. Chattaway was legal inheritor. Had Joe
+left ten boys, they could not have displaced him. Trevlyn Hold was his
+by the Squire's will, and could not be wrested from him. The two
+children, friendless and penniless, were brought home to the Hold. Mrs.
+Trevlyn had lived long enough to name the infant "Rupert," after the old
+Squire and the heir who had run away and died. Poor Joe had always said
+that if ever he had a boy, it should be named after his brother.
+
+There they had been ever since, these two orphans, aliens in the home
+that ought to have been theirs; lovely children, both of them; but
+Rupert had the passionate Trevlyn temper. It was not made a
+systematically unkind home to them; Miss Diana would not have allowed
+that; but it was a very different home from that they ought to have
+enjoyed. Mr. Chattaway was at times almost cruel to Rupert; Christopher
+exercised upon him all sorts of galling and petty tyranny, as Octave
+Chattaway did upon Maude; and the neighbourhood, you may be quite sure,
+did not fail to talk. But it was known only to one or two that Mr.
+Chattaway had kept the fact of Rupert's birth from the Squire.
+
+He stood tolerably well with his fellow-men, did Chattaway. In himself
+he was not liked; nay, he was very much disliked; but he was owner of
+Trevlyn Hold, and possessed sway in the neighbourhood. One thing, he
+could not get the title of Squire accorded to him. In vain he strove for
+it; he exacted it from his tenants; he wrote notes in the third person,
+"Squire Chattaway presents his compliments," etc.; or, "the Squire of
+Trevlyn Hold desires," etc., etc., all in vain. People readily accorded
+his wife the title of Madam--as it was the custom to call the mistress
+of Trevlyn Hold--she was the old Squire's daughter, and they recognised
+her claim to it, but they did not give that of Squire to her husband.
+
+These things had happened years ago, for Maude and Rupert were now aged
+respectively thirteen and twelve, and all that time James Chattaway had
+enjoyed his sway. Never, never; no, not even in the still night when the
+voice of conscience in most men is so suggestive; never giving a thought
+to the wrong dealt out to Rupert.
+
+And it must be mentioned that the first thing Mr. Chattaway did, after
+the death of Squire Trevlyn, was to sue Mr. Ryle upon the bond; which he
+had _not_ destroyed, although ordered to do so by the Squire. The next
+thing he did was to raise the farm to a ruinous rent. Mr. Ryle,
+naturally indignant, remonstrated, and there had been ill-feeling
+between them from that hour to this; but Chattaway had the law on his
+own side. Some of the bond was paid off; but altogether, what with the
+increased rent, the bond and its interest, and a succession of ill-luck
+on the farm, Mr. Ryle had scarcely been able to keep his head above
+water. As he said to his wife and children, when the bull had done its
+work--he was taken from a world of care.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+MR. RYLE'S LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT
+
+
+Etiquette, touching the important ceremonies of buryings and
+christenings, is much more observed in the country than in towns. To
+rural districts this remark especially applies. In a large town people
+don't know their next-door neighbours, don't care for their neighbours'
+opinions. In a smaller place the inhabitants are almost as one family,
+and their actions are chiefly governed by that pertinent remark, "What
+will people say?" In these narrow communities, numbers of which are
+scattered about England, it is considered necessary on the occasion of a
+funeral to invite all kith and kin. Omit to do so, and it would be set
+down as a slight; affording the parish a theme of gossip for weeks
+afterwards. Hence Mr. Chattaway, being a connection--brother-in-law, in
+fact, of the deceased gentleman's wife--was invited to follow the
+remains of Thomas Ryle to the grave. In spite of the bad terms they had
+been on; in spite of Mrs. Ryle's own bitter feelings against Chattaway
+and Trevlyn Hold generally; in spite of Mr. Ryle's death having been
+caused by Chattaway's bull--Mr. Chattaway received a formal invitation
+to attend as mourner the remains to the grave. And it would never have
+entered into Mr. Chattaway's ideas of manners to decline it.
+
+An inquest had been held at the nearest inn. The verdict returned was
+"Accidental Death," with a deodand of five pounds upon the bull. Which
+Mr. Chattaway had to pay.
+
+The bull was already condemned. Not to annihilation; but to be taken to
+a distant fair, and there sold; whence he would be conveyed to other
+pastures, where he might possibly gore somebody else. It was not
+consideration for the feelings of the Ryle family which induced Mr.
+Chattaway to adopt this step, and so rid the neighbourhood of the
+animal; but consideration for his own pocket. Feeling ran high in the
+vicinity; fear also; the stoutest hearts could feel no security that the
+bull might not have a tilt at them: and Chattaway, on his part, was as
+little certain that an effectual silencer would not be dealt out to the
+bull some quiet night. Therefore he resolved to part with him. Apart
+from his misdoings, he was a valuable animal, worth a great deal more
+than Mr. Chattaway cared to lose; and the bull was dismissed.
+
+The day of the funeral arrived, and those bidden to it began to assemble
+about one o'clock: that is, the undertaker's men, the clerk, and the
+bearers. Of the latter, Jim Sanders made one. "Better he had gone than
+his master," said Nora, in a matter-of-fact, worldly spirit of
+reasoning, as her thoughts went back to the mysterious hole she had
+gratuitously, and the reader will say absurdly, coupled with Jim's fate.
+A table was laid out in the entrance-room groaning under an immense cold
+round of beef, bread-and-cheese, and large supplies of ale. To help to
+convey a coffin to church without being first regaled with a good meal,
+was a thing Barbrook had never heard of, and never wished to hear of.
+The select members of the company were shown to the drawing-room, where
+the refreshment consisted of port and sherry, and "pound" cake. These
+were the established rules of hospitality at all well-to-do funerals:
+wine and cake for the gentry; cold beef and ale for the men. They had
+been observed at Squire Trevlyn's; at Mr. Ryle's father's; at every
+substantial funeral within the memory of Barbrook. Mr. Chattaway, Mr.
+Berkeley (a distant relative of Mr. Ryle's first wife), Mr. King the
+surgeon, and Farmer Apperley comprised the assemblage in the
+drawing-room.
+
+At two o'clock, after some little difficulty in getting it into order,
+the sad procession started. It had then been joined by George and
+Trevlyn Ryle. A great many spectators had collected to view and attend
+it. The infrequency of a funeral in the respectable class, combined with
+the circumstances attending the death, drew them together: and before
+the church was reached, where it was met by the clergyman, it had a
+train half-a-mile long after it; chiefly women and children. Many
+dropped a tear for the premature death of one who had lived amongst them
+as a good master and kind neighbour.
+
+They left him in his grave, by the side of his long-dead wife, Mary
+Berkeley. As George stood at the head of his father's coffin, during the
+ceremony in the churchyard, the gravestone with its name was in front of
+him; his mother's name: "Mary, the wife of Thomas Ryle, and only
+daughter of the Rev. George Berkeley." None knew with what feeling of
+loneliness the orphan boy turned from the spot, as the last words of the
+minister died away.
+
+Mrs. Ryle, in her widow's weeds, was seated in the drawing-room on their
+return, as the gentlemen filed into it. In Barbrook custom, the
+relatives of the deceased, near or distant, were expected to assemble
+together for the remainder of the day; or for a portion of it. The
+gentlemen would sometimes smoke, and the ladies in their deep mourning
+sat with their hands folded in their laps, resting on their snow-white
+handkerchiefs. The conversation was only allowed to run on family
+matters, future prospects, and the like; and the voices were amicable
+and subdued.
+
+As the mourners entered, they shook hands severally with Mrs. Ryle.
+Chattaway put out his hand last, and with perceptible hesitation. It was
+many a year since his hand had been given in fellowship to Mrs. Ryle, or
+had taken hers. They had been friendly once, and in the old days he had
+called her "Maude": but that was over now.
+
+Mrs. Ryle turned from the offered hand. "No," she said, speaking in
+quiet but decisive tones. "I cannot forget the past sufficiently for
+that, James Chattaway. On this day it is forcibly present to me."
+
+They sat down. Trevlyn next his mother, called there by her. The
+gentlemen disposed themselves on the side of the table facing the fire,
+and George found a chair a little behind them; no one seemed to notice
+him. And so much the better; the boy's heart was too full to bear much
+notice then.
+
+On the table was placed the paper which had been written by the surgeon,
+at the dictation of Mr. Ryle, the night when he lay in extremity. It had
+not been unfolded since. Mr. King took it up; he knew that he was
+expected to read it. They were waiting for him to do so.
+
+"I must premise that the dictation of this is Mr. Ryle's," he said. "He
+expressly requested me to write down his _own words_, just as they came
+from his lips. He----"
+
+"Is it a will?" interrupted Farmer Apperley, a little man, with a red
+face and a large nose. He had come to the funeral in top boots, which
+constituted his idea of full dress.
+
+"You can call it a will, if you please," replied Mr. King. "I am not
+sure that the law would do so. It was in consequence of his not having
+made a will that he requested me to write down these few directions."
+
+The farmer nodded; and Mr. King began to read.
+
+"In the name of God: Amen. I, Thomas Ryle.
+
+"First of all, I bequeath my soul to God: trusting that He will pardon
+my sins, for the sake of Jesus Christ our Saviour. Amen.
+
+"It's a dreadful blow, this meeting my death by Chattaway's bull. The
+more so, that I am unable to leave things straightforward for my wife
+and children. They know--at least, my wife knows, and all the parish
+knows--the pressure that has been upon me, through Chattaway coming down
+upon me as he has done. I have been as a bird with its wings clipped. As
+soon as I tried to get up, I was pulled down again.
+
+"Ill luck has been upon me besides. Beasts have died off, crops have
+failed. The farm's not good for much, for all the money that has been
+laid out upon it, and I alone know the labour it has cost. When you
+think of these things, my dear wife and boys, you'll know why I do not
+leave you better provided for. Many and many a night have I lain awake
+upon my bed, fretting, and planning, and hoping, all for your sakes.
+Perhaps if that bull had spared me to old age, I might have left you
+better off.
+
+"I should like to bequeath the furniture and all that is in the house,
+the stock, the beasts, and all that I die possessed of, to my dear wife,
+Maude--but it's not of any use, for Chattaway will sell up--except the
+silver tankard, and that should go to Trevlyn. But for having 'T.R.'
+upon it, it should go to George, for he is the eldest. T.R. stood for my
+father, and T.R. has stood for me, and T.R. will stand for Trevlyn.
+George, though he is the eldest, won't grudge it him, if I know anything
+of his nature. And I give to George my watch, and I hope he'll keep it
+for his dead father's sake. It is only a silver one; but it's a very
+good one, and George can have his initials engraved on the shield. The
+three seals, and the gold key, I give to him with it. The red cornelian
+has our arms on it. For we had arms once, and my father and I have
+generally sealed our letters with them: not that they have done him or
+me any good. And let Treve keep the tankard faithfully, and never part
+with it. And remember, my dear boys, that your poor father would have
+left you better keepsakes had it been in his power. You must prize these
+for the dead giver's sake. But there! it's of no use talking, for
+Chattaway will sell up, watch and tankard, and all.
+
+"And I should like to leave that bay foal to my dear little Caroline. It
+will be a pretty creature when it's bigger. You must let it have the run
+of the three cornered paddock, and I should like to see her on it, sweet
+little soul!--but Chattaway's bull has stopped it. And don't grudge the
+cost of a little saddle for her; and Roger can break it in; and mind you
+are all true and tender with my dear little girl. You are good
+lads--though Treve is hasty when his temper's put out--and I know you'll
+be to her what brothers ought to be. I always meant that foal for Carry,
+since I saw how pretty it was likely to grow, though I didn't say so;
+and now I give it to her. But where's the use? Chattaway will sell up.
+
+"If he does sell up, to the last stick and stone, he won't get his debt
+in full. Perhaps not much above half of it; for things at a forced sale
+don't bring their value. You have put down 'his debt,' I suppose; but it
+is not his debt. I am on my death-bed, and I say that the two thousand
+pounds was made a present of to me by the Squire on _his_ death-bed. He
+told me it was made all right with Chattaway; that Chattaway understood
+the promise given to me, not to raise the rent; and that he'd be the
+same just landlord to me that the Squire had been. The Squire could not
+lay his hand on the bond, or he would have given it me then; but he said
+Chattaway should burn it as soon as he entered, which would be in an
+hour or two. Chattaway knows whether he has acted up to this; and now
+his bull has done for me.
+
+"And I wish to tell Chattaway that if he'll act a fair part as a man
+ought, and let my wife and the boys stop on the farm, he'll stand a much
+better chance of getting the money, than he would if he turns them out
+of it. I don't say this for their sakes more than for his; but because
+from my heart I believe it to be the truth. George has his head on his
+shoulders the right way, and I would advise his mother to keep him on
+the farm; he will be getting older every day. Not but that I wish her to
+use her own judgment in all things, for her judgment is good. In time,
+they may be able to pay off Chattaway; in time they may be able even to
+buy back the farm, for I cannot forget that it belonged to my
+forefathers, and not to the Squire. That is, if Chattaway will be
+reasonable, and let them stop on it, and not be hard and pressing. But
+perhaps I am talking nonsense, for he may turn them off and do for them,
+as his bull has done for me.
+
+"And now, my dear George and Treve, I repeat it to you, be good boys to
+your mother. Obey her in all things. Maude, I have left all to you in
+preference to dividing it between you and them, for which there is no
+time; but I know you'll do the right thing by them: and when it comes to
+your turn to leave--if Chattaway don't sell up--I wish you to bequeath
+to them in equal shares what you die possessed of. George is not your
+son, but he is mine, and----But perhaps I'd better not say what I was
+going to say. And, my boys, work while it's day. In that Book which I
+have not read so much as I ought to have read, it says, 'The night
+cometh when no man can work.' When we hear that read in church, or when
+we get the Book out on a Sunday evening and read it to ourselves, that
+night seems a long, long way off. It seems so far off that it can hardly
+ever be any concern of ours; and it is only when we are cut off suddenly
+that we find how very near it is. That night has come for me; and that
+night will come for you before you are aware of it. So, _work_--and
+score that, doctor. God has placed us in this world to work, and not to
+be ashamed of it; and to work for Him as well as for ourselves. It was
+often in my mind that I ought to work more for God--that I ought to
+think more of Him; and I used to say, 'I will do so when a bit of this
+bother's off my mind.' But the bother was always there, and I never did
+it. And now the end's come; and I can see things would have been made
+easier to me if I _had_ done it--score it again, doctor--and I say it as
+a lesson to you, my children.
+
+"And I think that's about all; and I am much obliged to you, doctor, for
+writing this. I hope they'll be able to manage things on the farm, and I
+would ask my neighbour Apperley to give them his advice now and then,
+for old friendship's sake, until George shall be older, and to put him
+in a way of buying and selling stock. If Chattaway don't sell up, that
+is. If he does, I hardly know how it will be. Perhaps God will put them
+in some other way, and take care of them. And I would leave my best
+thanks to Nora, for she has been a true friend to us all, and I don't
+know how the house would have got on without her. And now I'm growing
+faint, doctor, and I think the end is coming. God bless you all, my dear
+ones. Amen."
+
+A deep silence fell on the room as Mr. King ceased. He folded the paper,
+and laid it on the table near Mrs. Ryle. The first to speak was Farmer
+Apperley.
+
+"Any help that I can be of to you and George, Mrs. Ryle, and to all of
+you, is heartily at your service. It will be yours with right goodwill
+at all times and seasons. The more so, that you know if I had been cut
+off in this way, my poor friend Ryle would have been the first to offer
+to do as much for my wife and boys, and have thought no trouble of it.
+George, you can come over and ask me about things, just as you would ask
+your father; or send for me up here to the farm; and whatever work I may
+be at at home, though it was putting out a barn on fire, I'd come."
+
+"And now it is my turn to speak," said Mr. Chattaway. "And, Mrs. Ryle, I
+give you my promise, in the presence of these gentlemen, that if you
+choose to remain on the farm, I will put no hindrance upon it. Your
+husband thought me hard--unjust; he said it before my face and behind my
+back. My opinion always has been that he entirely mistook Squire Trevlyn
+in that last interview he had with him. I do not think it was ever the
+Squire's intention to cancel the bond; Ryle must have misunderstood him
+altogether: at any rate, I heard nothing of it. As successor to the
+estate, the bond came into my possession; and in my wife and children's
+interest I could not consent to destroy it. No one but a soft-hearted
+man--and that's what Ryle was, poor fellow--would have thought of asking
+such a thing. But I was willing to give him every facility for paying
+it, and I did do so. No! It was not my hardness that was in fault, but
+his pride and nonsense, and his thinking I ought not to ask for my own
+money----"
+
+"If you bring up these things, James Chattaway, I must answer them,"
+interrupted Mrs. Ryle. "I would prefer not to be forced to do it
+to-day."
+
+"I do not want to bring them up in any unpleasant spirit," answered Mr.
+Chattaway; "or to say it was his fault or my fault. We'll let bygones be
+bygones. He is gone, poor man; and I wish that savage beast of a bull
+had been in four quarters before he had done the mischief! All I would
+now say, is, that I'll put no impediment to your remaining on the farm.
+We will not go into business details this afternoon, but I will come in
+any day you like to appoint, and talk it over. If you choose to keep on
+the farm at its present rent--it is well worth it--to pay me interest
+for the money owing, and a yearly sum towards diminishing the debt, you
+are welcome to do it."
+
+Just what Nora had predicted! Mr. Chattaway loved money far too much to
+run the risk of losing part of the debt--as he probably would do if he
+turned them from the farm. Mrs. Ryle bowed her head in cold
+acquiescence. She saw no way open to her but that of accepting the
+offer. Mr. Chattaway probably knew there was no other.
+
+"The sooner things are settled, the better," she remarked. "I will name
+eleven o'clock to-morrow morning."
+
+"Very good; I'll be here," he answered. "And I am glad it is decided
+amicably."
+
+The rest of those present also appeared glad. Perhaps they had feared
+some unpleasant recrimination might take place between Mrs. Ryle and
+James Chattaway. Thus relieved, they unbent a little, and crossed their
+legs as if inclined to become more sociable.
+
+"What shall you do with the boys, Mrs. Ryle?" suddenly asked Farmer
+Apperley.
+
+"Treve, of course, will go to school as usual," she replied.
+"George----I have not decided about George."
+
+"Shall I have to leave school?" cried George, looking up with a start.
+
+"Of course you will," said Mrs. Ryle.
+
+"But what will become of my Latin; my studies altogether?" returned
+George, in tones of dismay. "You know, mamma----"
+
+"It cannot be helped, George," she interrupted, speaking in the
+uncompromising, decisive manner, so characteristic of her; as it was of
+her sister, Diana Trevlyn. "You must turn your attention to something
+more profitable than schooling, now."
+
+"If a boy of fifteen has not had schooling enough, I'd like to know when
+he has had it?" interposed Farmer Apperley, who neither understood nor
+approved of the strides education and intellect had made since he was a
+boy. Substantial people in his day had been content to learn to read and
+write and cipher, and deem that amount of learning sufficient to grow
+rich upon. As did the Dutch professor, to whom George Primrose wished to
+teach Greek, but who declined the offer. He had never learned Greek; he
+had lived, and ate, and slept without Greek; and therefore he did not
+see any good in Greek. Thus was it with Farmer Apperley.
+
+"What do you learn at school, George?" questioned Mr. Berkeley.
+
+"Latin and Greek, and mathematics, and----"
+
+"But, George, where will be the good of such things to you?" cried
+Farmer Apperley, not allowing him to end the catalogue. "Latin and Greek
+and mathematics! What next, I wonder!"
+
+"I don't see much good in giving a boy that sort of education myself,"
+put in Mr. Chattaway, before any one else had time to speak. "Unless he
+is to take up a profession, the classics only lie fallow in the mind. I
+hated them, I know that; I and my brother, too. Many and many a caning
+we have had over our Latin, until we wished the books at the bottom of
+the sea. Twelve months after we left school we could not have construed
+a page, had it been put before us. That's all the good Latin did for
+us."
+
+"I shall keep up my Latin and Greek," observed George, very
+independently, "although I may have to leave school."
+
+"Why need you keep it up?" asked Mr. Chattaway, turning full upon
+George.
+
+"Why?" echoed George. "I like it, for one thing. And a knowledge of the
+classics is necessary to a gentleman."
+
+"Necessary to what?" cried Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"To a gentleman," repeated George.
+
+"Oh," said Mr. Chattaway. "Do you think of being one?"
+
+"Yes, I do," repeated George, in tones as decisive as any ever used by
+his step-mother.
+
+This bold assertion nearly took away the breath of Farmer Apperley. Had
+George Ryle announced his intention of becoming a convict, Mr.
+Apperley's consternation had been scarcely less. The same word bears
+different constructions to different minds. That of "gentleman" in the
+mouth of George, could only bear one to the simple farmer.
+
+"Hey, lad! What wild notions have ye been getting into your head?" he
+asked.
+
+"George," said Mrs. Ryle almost at the same moment, "are you going to
+give me trouble at the very outset? There is nothing for you to look
+forward to but work. Your father said it."
+
+"Of course I look forward to work," returned George, as cheerfully as he
+could speak that sad afternoon. "But that will not prevent my being a
+gentleman."
+
+"George, I fancy you may be somewhat misusing terms," remarked the
+surgeon, who was an old inhabitant of that rustic district, and a little
+more advanced than the rest. "What you meant to say was, that you would
+be a good man, honourable and upright; nothing mean about you. Was it
+not?"
+
+"Yes," said George, after an imperceptible hesitation. "Something of
+that sort."
+
+"The boy did not express himself clearly, you see," said Mr. King,
+looking round on the rest. "He means well."
+
+"Don't you ever talk about being a gentleman again, my lad," cried
+Farmer Apperley, with a sagacious nod. "It would make the neighbours
+think you were going in for bad ways. A gentleman is one who follows the
+hounds in white smalls and scarlet coat, goes to dinners and drinks
+wine, and never puts his hands to anything, but leads an idle life."
+
+"That is not the sort of gentleman I meant," said George.
+
+"It is to be hoped not," replied the farmer. "A man may do this if he
+has a good fat balance at his banker's, but not else."
+
+George made no remark. To have explained how very different his ideas of
+a gentleman were from those of Farmer Apperley might have involved him
+in a long conversation. His silence was looked suspiciously upon by Mr.
+Chattaway.
+
+"Where idle and roving notions are taken up, there's only one cure for
+them!" he remarked, in short, uncompromising tones. "And that is hard
+work."
+
+But that George's spirit was subdued, he might have hotly answered that
+he had taken up neither idle nor roving notions. As it was, he sat in
+silence.
+
+"I doubt whether it will be prudent to keep George at home," said Mrs.
+Ryle, speaking generally, but not to Mr. Chattaway. "He is too young to
+do much on the farm. And there's John Pinder."
+
+"John Pinder would do his best, no doubt," said Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"The question is--if I do resolve to put George out, what can I put him
+to?" resumed Mrs. Ryle.
+
+"My father thought it best I should remain on the farm," interposed
+George, his heart beating a shade faster.
+
+"He thought it best that I should exercise my own judgment in the
+matter," corrected Mrs. Ryle. "The worst is, it takes money to place a
+lad out," she added, looking at Farmer Apperley.
+
+"It does that," replied the farmer.
+
+"There's nothing like a trade for boys," said Mr. Chattaway,
+impressively. "They earn a living, and are kept out of mischief. It
+appears to me that Mrs. Ryle will have expense enough upon her hands,
+without the cost and keep of George added to it. What good can so young
+a boy do the farm?"
+
+"True," mused Mrs. Ryle, agreeing for once with Mr. Chattaway. "He could
+not be of much use at present. But the cost of placing him out?"
+
+"Of course he could not," repeated Mr. Chattaway, with an eagerness
+which might have betrayed his motive, but that he coughed it down.
+"Perhaps I may be able to put him out for you without cost. I know of an
+eligible place where there's a vacancy. The trade is a good one, too."
+
+"I am not going to any trade," said George, looking Mr. Chattaway full
+in the face.
+
+"You are going where Mrs. Ryle thinks fit to send you," returned Mr.
+Chattaway, in his hard, cold tones. "If I can get you into the
+establishment of Wall and Barnes without premium, it will be a
+first-rate thing for you."
+
+All the blood in George Ryle's body seemed to rush to his face. Poor
+though they had become, trade had been unknown in their family, and its
+sound in George's ears, as applied to himself, was something terrible.
+"That is a retail shop!" he cried, rising from his seat.
+
+"Well?" said Mr. Chattaway.
+
+They remained gazing at each other. George with his changing face
+flushing to crimson, fading to paleness; Mr. Chattaway with his composed
+leaden features. His light eyes were sternly directed to George, but he
+did not glance at Mrs. Ryle. George was the first to speak.
+
+"You shall never force me there, Mr. Chattaway."
+
+Mr. Chattaway rose from his seat, took George by the shoulder, and
+turned him towards the window. The view did not take in much of the road
+to Barbrook; but a glimpse of it might be caught sight of here and
+there, winding along in the distance.
+
+"Boy! Do you remember what was carried down that road this
+afternoon--what you followed next to, with your younger brother? _He_
+said that you were not to oppose your mother, but obey her in all
+things. These are early moments to begin to turn against your father's
+dying charge."
+
+George sat down, heart and brain throbbing. He did not see his duty very
+distinctly before him then. His father certainty had charged him to obey
+his mother's requests; he had left him entirely subject to her control;
+but George felt perfectly sure that his father would never have placed
+him in a shop; would not have allowed him to enter one.
+
+Mr. Chattaway continued talking, but the boy heard him not. He was
+bending towards Mrs. Ryle, enlarging persuasively upon the advantages of
+the plan. He knew that Wall and Barnes had taken a boy into their house
+without premium, he said, and he believed he could induce them to waive
+it in George's case. He and Wall had been at school together; had passed
+many an impatient hour over the Latin previously spoken of; had often
+called in to have a chat with him in passing. Wall was a
+ten-thousand-pound man now; and George might become the same in time.
+
+"How would you like to place Christopher at it, Mr. Chattaway?" asked
+George, his heart beating rebelliously.
+
+"Christopher!" indignantly responded Mr. Chattaway. "Christopher's heir
+to Trev----Christopher isn't you," he concluded, cutting his first
+retort short. In the presence of Mrs. Ryle it might not be altogether
+prudent to allude to the heirship of Cris to Trevlyn Hold.
+
+The sum named conciliated the ear of Mr. Apperley, otherwise he had not
+listened with any favour to the plan. "Ten thousand pounds! And Wall
+hardly a middle-aged man! That's worth thinking of, George."
+
+"I could never live in a shop; the close air, the confinement, the
+pettiness of it, would stifle me," said George, with a groan, putting
+aside for the moment his more forcible objections.
+
+"You'd rather live in a thunder-storm, with the rain coming down on your
+head in bucketfuls," said Mr. Chattaway, sarcastically.
+
+"A great deal," said George.
+
+Farmer Apperley did not detect the irony of Mr. Chattaway's remark, or
+the bitterness of the answer. "You'll say next, boy, that you'd rather
+turn sailor, exposed to the weather night and day, perched midway
+between sky and water!"
+
+"A thousand times," was George's truthful answer. "Mother, let me stay
+at the farm!" he cried, the nervous motion of his hands, the strained
+countenance, proving how momentous was the question to his grieved
+heart. "You do not know how useful I should soon become! And my father
+wished it."
+
+Mrs. Ryle shook her head. "You are too young, George, to be of use. No."
+
+George seemed to turn white. He was approaching Mrs. Ryle with an
+imploring gesture; but Mr. Chattaway caught his arm and pushed him
+towards his seat again. "George, if I were you, I would not, on this
+day, cross my mother."
+
+George glanced at her. Not a shade of love, of relenting, was there on
+her countenance. Cold, haughty, self-willed, it always was; but more
+cold, more haughty, more self-willed than usual now. He turned and left
+the room, crossed the kitchen, and passed into the room whence his
+father had been carried only two hours before.
+
+"Oh, father! father!" he sobbed; "if you were only back again!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+REBELLION
+
+
+Borne down by the powers above him, George Ryle could only succumb to
+their will. Persuaded by the eloquence of Mr. Chattaway, Mrs. Ryle
+became convinced that placing George in the establishment of Wall and
+Barnes was the most promising thing that could be found for him. The
+wonder was, that she should have brought herself to listen to Chattaway
+at all, or have entertained for a moment any proposal emanating from
+him. There could have been but one solution to the riddle: that of her
+own anxiety to get George settled in something away from home. Deep down
+in the heart of Mrs. Ryle, there was seated a keen sense of injury--of
+injustice--of wrong. It had been seated there ever since the death of
+Squire Trevlyn, influencing her actions, warping her temper--the
+question of the heirship of Trevlyn. Her father had bequeathed Trevlyn
+Hold to Chattaway; and Chattaway's son was now the heir; whereas, in her
+opinion, it was her son, Trevlyn Ryle, who should be occupying that
+desirable distinction. How Mrs. Ryle reconciled it to her conscience to
+ignore the claims of young Rupert Trevlyn, she best knew.
+
+Ignore them she did. She gave no more thought to Rupert in connection
+with the succession to Trevlyn, than if he had not existed. He had been
+barred from it by the Squire's will, and there it ended. But, failing
+heirs to her two dead brothers, it was _her_ son who should have come
+in. Was she not the eldest daughter? What right had that worm,
+Chattaway, to have insinuated himself into the Squire's home? into--it
+may be said--his heart? and so willed over to himself the inheritance?
+
+A bitter fact to Mrs. Ryle; a fact which rankled in her heart night and
+day; a turning from the path of justice which she firmly intended to see
+turned back again. She saw not how it was to be accomplished; she knew
+not by what means it could be brought about; she divined not yet how she
+should help in it; but she was fully determined that it should be
+Trevlyn Ryle eventually to possess Trevlyn Hold. Never Cris Chattaway.
+
+A determination immutable as the rock: a purpose in the furtherance of
+which she never swerved or faltered; there it lay in the archives of her
+most secret thoughts, a part and parcel of herself, not the less
+indulged because never alluded to. It may be that in the death of her
+husband she saw her way to the end somewhat more clearly; his removal
+was one impediment taken from the path. She had never but once given
+utterance to her ambitious hopes for Trevlyn: and that had been to her
+husband. His reception of them was a warning never to speak of them
+again to him. No son of his, he said, should inherit Trevlyn Hold whilst
+the children of Joseph Trevlyn lived. If Chattaway chose to wrest their
+rights from them, make his son Cris usurper after him, he, Thomas Ryle,
+could not hinder it; but his own boy Treve should never take act or part
+in so crying a wrong. So long as Rupert and Maud Trevlyn lived, he could
+never recognise other rights than theirs. From that time forward Mrs.
+Ryle kept silence with her husband, as she did with others; but the
+roots of the project grew deeper and deeper in her heart, overspreading
+all its healthy fibres.
+
+With this destiny in view for Treve, it will readily be understood why
+she did not purpose bringing him up to any profession, or sending him
+out in the world. Her intention was, that Treve should live at home, as
+soon as his school-days were over; should be master of Trevlyn Farm,
+until he became master of Trevlyn Hold. And for this reason, and this
+alone, she did not care to keep George with her. Trevlyn Farm might be a
+living for one son; it would not be for two; neither would two masters
+on it answer, although they were brothers. It is true, a thought at
+times crossed her whether it might not be well, in the interests of the
+farm, to retain George. He would soon become useful; would be
+trustworthy; her interests would be his; and she felt dubious about
+confiding all management to John Pinder. But these suggestions were
+overruled by the thought that it would not be desirable for George to
+acquire a footing on the farm as its master, and be turned from it when
+the time came for Treve. As much for George's sake as for Treve's, she
+felt this; and she determined to place George at something away, where
+his interests and Treve's would not clash with each other.
+
+Wall and Barnes were flourishing and respectable silk-mercers and
+linen-drapers; their establishment a large one, the oldest and
+best-conducted in Barmester. Had it been suggested to Mrs. Ryle to place
+Treve there, she would have retorted in haughty indignation. And yet
+there she was sending George.
+
+What Mr. Chattaway's precise object could be in wishing to get George
+away from home, he alone knew. That he had such an object, there could
+be no shadow of doubt about; and Mrs. Ryle's usual clear-sightedness
+must have been just then obscured not to perceive it. Had his own
+interests or pleasure not been in some way involved, Chattaway would
+have taken no more heed as to what became of George than he did of a
+clod of earth in that miserable field just rendered famous by the
+ill-conditioned bull. It was Chattaway who did it all. He negotiated
+with Wall and Barnes; he brought news of his success to Mrs. Ryle; he
+won over Farmer Apperley. Wall and Barnes had occasionally taken a youth
+without premium--the youth being expected to perform an unusual variety
+of work for the favour, to be at once an apprentice and a general
+factotum, at the beck and call of the establishment. Under those
+concessions, Wall and Barnes had been known to forego the usual premium;
+and this great boon was, through Mr. Chattaway, offered to George Ryle.
+Chattaway boasted of it; enlarged upon his luck to George; and Mrs.
+Ryle--accepted it.
+
+And George? Every pulse in his body coursed on in fiery indignation
+against the measure, every feeling of his heart rebelled. But of
+opposition he could make none: none that served him. Chattaway quietly
+put him down; Mrs. Ryle met all remonstrances with the answer that she
+had _decided_; and Farmer Apperley laboured to convince him that it was
+a slice of good fortune, which any one (under the degree of a gentleman
+who rode to cover in a scarlet coat and white smalls) might jump at. Was
+not Wall, who had not yet reached his five-and-fortieth year, a
+ten-thousand pound man? Turn where George would, there appeared to be no
+escape for him. He must give up all the dreams of his life--not that the
+dreams had been as yet particularly defined--and become what his mind
+revolted at, what he knew he should ever dislike bitterly. Had he been a
+less right-minded boy, he would have defied Chattaway, and declined to
+obey Mrs. Ryle. But that sort of rebellion George did not enter upon.
+The injunction of his dead father lay on him all too forcibly--"Obey and
+reverence your mother." And so the agreement was made, and George Ryle
+was to go to Wall and Barnes, to be bound to them for seven years.
+
+He stood leaning out of the casement window the night before he was to
+enter; his aching brow bared to the cold air, cloudy as the autumn sky.
+Treve was fast asleep, in his own little bed in the far corner, shaded
+and sheltered by its curtains; but there was no such peaceful sleep for
+George. The thoughts he was indulging were not altogether profitable;
+and certain questions which arose in his mind had been better left out
+of it.
+
+"What _right_ have they so to dispose of me?" he soliloquised, alluding,
+it must be confessed, to the trio, Chattaway, Mrs. Ryle, and Apperley.
+"They _know_ that if my father had lived, they would not have dared to
+urge my being put to it. I wonder what it will end in? I wonder whether
+I shall have to be at it always? It is _not_ right to put a poor fellow
+to what he hates most of all in life, and will hate for ever and for
+ever."
+
+He gazed out at the low stretch of land lying under the night sky,
+looking as desolate as he. "I'd rather go for a sailor!" broke from him
+in his despair; "rather----"
+
+A hand on his shoulder caused him to start and turn. There stood Nora.
+
+"If I didn't say one of you boys was out of bed! What's this, George?
+What are you doing?--trying to catch your death at the open window."
+
+"As good catch my death, for all I see, as live in the world, now," was
+George's answer.
+
+"As good be a young simpleton and confess it," retorted Nora, angrily.
+"What's the matter?"
+
+"Why should they force me to that horrible place at Barmester?" cried
+George, following up his thoughts, rather than answering Nora. "I wish
+Chattaway had been a thousand miles away first! What business has he to
+interfere about me?"
+
+"I wish I was queen at odd moments, when work seems coming in seven ways
+at once, and only one pair of hands to do it," quoth Nora.
+
+George turned from the window. "Nora, look here! You know I am a
+gentleman born and bred: _is_ it right to put me to it?"
+
+Nora evaded an answer. She felt nearly as much as the boy did; but she
+saw no way of escape for him, and therefore would not oppose it.
+
+There was no way of escape. Chattaway had decided it, Mrs. Ryle had
+acquiesced, and George was conducted to the new house, and took up his
+abode in it, rebellious feelings choking his heart, rebellious words
+rising to his lips.
+
+But he did his utmost to beat down rebellion. The charge of his dead
+father was ever before him, and George was mindful of it. He felt as one
+crushed under a weight of despair; as one who had been rudely thrust
+from his proper place on earth: but he constantly battled with himself
+and his wrongs, and strove to make the best of it. How bitter the
+struggle, none save himself knew: its remembrance would never die out
+from memory.
+
+The new work seemed terrible; not for its amount, though that was great;
+but from its nature. To help make up this parcel, to undo that; to take
+down these goods, to put up others. He ran to the post with letters--and
+that was a delightful phase of his life, compared with the rest--he
+carried out brown paper parcels. He had to stand behind the counter, and
+roll and unroll goods, and measure tapes and ribbons. You will readily
+conceive what all this was to a proud boy. George might have run away
+from it altogether, but that the image of that table in the
+sitting-room, and of him who lay upon it, was ever before him,
+whispering to him not to shrink from his duty.
+
+Not a moment's idleness was George allowed; however the shopmen might
+enjoy leisure intervals when customers were few, there was no such
+interval for him. He was the new scapegoat of the establishment; often
+doing the work that of right did not belong to him. It was perfectly
+well known to the young men that he had entered as a working apprentice;
+one who was not to be particular in work he did, or its quantity; and
+therefore he was not spared. He had taken his books with him, classics
+and others; he soon found he might as well have left them at home. Not
+one minute in the twenty-four hours could he devote to them. His hands
+were full of work until bed-time; and no reading was permitted in the
+chambers. "Where is the use of my having gone to school at all?" he
+would sometimes ask himself. He would soon become as oblivious of Latin
+and Greek as Mr. Chattaway could wish; and his prospects of adding to
+his stock of learning were such as would have gladdened Farmer
+Apperley's heart.
+
+One Saturday, when George had been there about three weeks, and the day
+was drawing near for the indentures to be signed, binding him to the
+business for years, Mr. Chattaway rode up in the very costume that was
+the subject of Farmer Apperley's ire, when worn by those who ought not
+to afford to wear it. The hounds had met that day near Barmester, had
+found their fox, and been led a round-about chase, the fox bringing them
+back to their starting-point to resign his brush; and the master of
+Trevlyn Hold, on his splashed hunter, in his scarlet coat, white smalls
+and boots, splashed also, rode through Barmester on his return, and
+pulled up at the door of Wall and Barnes. Giving his horse to a street
+boy to hold, he entered the shop, whip in hand.
+
+The scarlet coat, looming in unexpectedly, caused a flutter in the
+establishment. Saturday was market-day, and the shop was unusually full.
+The customers looked round in admiration, the shopmen with envy. Little
+chance thought those hard-worked, unambitious young men, that they
+should ever wear a scarlet coat, and ride to cover on a blood hunter.
+Mr. Chattaway, of Trevlyn Hold, was an object of consideration just
+then. He shook hands with Mr. Wall, who came forward from some remote
+region; then turned and shook hands condescendingly with George.
+
+"And how does he suit?" blandly inquired Mr. Chattaway. "Can you make
+anything of him?"
+
+"He does his best," was the reply. "Awkward at present; but we have had
+others who have been as awkward at first, I think, and who have turned
+out valuable assistants in the long run. I am willing to take him."
+
+"That's all right then," said Mr. Chattaway. "I'll call in and tell Mrs.
+Ryle. Wednesday is the day he is to be bound, I think?"
+
+"Wednesday," assented Mr. Wall.
+
+"I shall be here. I am glad to take this trouble off Mrs. Ryle's hands.
+I hope you like your employment, George."
+
+"I do not like it at all," replied George. And he spoke out fearlessly,
+although his master stood by.
+
+"Oh, indeed!" said Mr. Chattaway, with a false-sounding laugh. "Well, I
+did not suppose you would like it too well at first."
+
+Mr. Wall laughed also, a hearty, kindly laugh. "Never yet did an
+apprentice like his work too well," said he. "It's their first taste of
+the labour of life. George Ryle will like it better when he is used to
+it."
+
+"I never shall," thought George. But he supposed it would not quite do
+to say so; neither would it answer any end. Mr. Chattaway shook hands
+with Mr. Wall, nodded to George, and he and his scarlet coat loomed out
+again.
+
+"Will it last for ever?--will this dreadful slavery last throughout my
+life?" broke from George Ryle's rebellious heart.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+EMANCIPATION
+
+
+On the following day, Sunday, George walked home: Mrs. Ryle had told him
+to come and spend the day at the Farm. All were at church except Molly,
+and George went to meet them. Several groups were coming along; and
+presently he met Cris Chattaway, Rupert Trevlyn, and his brother Treve,
+walking together.
+
+"Where's my mother?" asked George.
+
+"She stepped indoors with Mrs. Apperley," answered Treve. "Said she'd
+follow me on directly."
+
+"How do you relish linen-drapering?" asked Cris Chattaway, in a chaffing
+sort of manner, as George turned with them. "Horrid, isn't it?"
+
+"There's only about one thing in this world more horrid," answered
+George.
+
+"My father said you expressed fears before you went that you'd find the
+air stifling," went on Cris, not asking what the one exception might be.
+"Is it hopelessly so?"
+
+"The black hole in Calcutta must have been cool and pleasant in
+comparison with it," returned George.
+
+"I wonder you are alive," continued Cris.
+
+"I wonder I am," said George, equably. "I was quite off in a faint one
+day, when the shop was at the fullest. They thought they must have sent
+for you, Cris; that the sight of you might bring me to again."
+
+"There you go!" exclaimed Treve Ryle. "I wonder if you _could_ let each
+other alone if you were bribed to do it?"
+
+"Cris began it," said George.
+
+"I didn't," said Cris. "I _should_ like to see you at your work, though,
+George! I'll come some day. The Squire paid you a visit yesterday
+afternoon, he told us. He says you are getting to be quite the counter
+cut; one can't serve out yards of calico without it, you know."
+
+George Ryle's face burnt. He knew Mr. Chattaway had ridiculed him at
+Trevlyn Hold, in connection with his new occupation. "It would be a more
+fitting situation for you than for me, Cris," said he. "And now you hear
+it."
+
+Cris laughed scornfully. "Perhaps it might, if I wanted one. The master
+of Trevlyn won't need to go into a linen-draper's shop."
+
+"Look here, Cris. That shop is horrid, and I don't mind telling you that
+I find it so; not an hour in the day goes over my head but I wish myself
+out of it; but I would rather bind myself to it for twenty years than be
+master of Trevlyn Hold, if I came to it as you will come to it--by
+wrong."
+
+Cris broke into a shrill, derisive whistle. It was being prolonged to an
+apparently interminable length, when he found himself rudely seized from
+behind.
+
+"Is that the way you walk home from church, Christopher Chattaway?
+Whistling!"
+
+Cris looked round and saw Miss Trevlyn. "Goodness, Aunt Diana! are you
+going to shake me?"
+
+"Walk along as a gentleman should, then," returned Miss Trevlyn.
+
+She went on. Miss Chattaway walked by her side, not deigning to cast a
+word or a look to the boys as she swept past. Gliding up behind them,
+holding the hand of Maude, was gentle Mrs. Chattaway. They all wore
+black silk dresses and white silk bonnets: the apology for mourning
+assumed for Mr. Ryle. But the gowns were not new; and the bonnets were
+the bonnets of the past summer, with the coloured flowers removed.
+
+Mrs. Chattaway slackened her pace, and George found himself at her side.
+She seemed to linger, as if she would speak with him unheard by the
+rest.
+
+"Are you pretty well, my dear?" were her first words. "You look taller
+and thinner, and your face is pale."
+
+"I shall look paler before I have been much longer in the shop, Mrs.
+Chattaway."
+
+Mrs. Chattaway glanced her head timidly round with the air of one who
+fears she may be heard. But they were alone now.
+
+"Are you grieving, George?"
+
+"How can I help it?" he passionately answered, feeling that he could
+open his heart to Mrs. Chattaway as he could to no one else in the wide
+world. "Is it a proper thing to put me to, dear Mrs. Chattaway?"
+
+"I said it was not," she murmured. "I remarked to Diana that I wondered
+Maude should place you there."
+
+"It was not my mother so much as Mr. Chattaway," he answered, forgetting
+possibly that it was Mr. Chattaway's wife to whom he spoke. "At times,
+do you know, I feel as though I would almost rather be--be----"
+
+"Be what, dear?"
+
+"Be dead, than remain there."
+
+"Hush, George!" she cried, almost with a shudder. "Random figures of
+speech never do any good! I have learnt it. In the old days, when----"
+
+She suddenly broke off and glided forward without further notice. As she
+passed she caught up the hand of Maude, who was then walking by the side
+of the boys. George looked round for the cause of desertion, and found
+it in Mr. Chattaway. That gentleman was coming along with a quick step,
+one of his younger children in his hand.
+
+The Chattaways turned off towards Trevlyn Hold, and George walked on
+with Treve.
+
+"Do you know how things are going on at home, Treve, between my mother
+and Chattaway?" asked George.
+
+"Chattaway's a miserable screw," was Treve's answer. "He'd like to grind
+down the world, and doesn't let a chance escape him. Mamma says it's a
+dreadful sum he has put upon her to pay yearly, and she does not see how
+the farm will do it, besides keeping us. I wish we were clear of him! I
+wish I was as big as you, George! I'd work my arms off, but I'd get
+together the money to pay him!"
+
+"I'm not allowed to work," said George. "They have thrust me away from
+the farm."
+
+"I wish you were back at it; I know that! Nothing goes on as it used to,
+when you were there and papa was alive. Nora's cross, and mamma's cross;
+and I have not a soul to speak to. What do you think Chattaway did this
+week?"
+
+"Something mean, I suppose!"
+
+"Mean! We killed a pig, and while it was being cut up, Chattaway marched
+in. 'That's fine meat, John Pinder,' said he, when he had looked at it a
+bit; 'as fine as ever I saw. I should like a bit of this meat; I think
+I'll take a sparerib; and it can go against Mrs. Ryle's account with
+me.' With that, he laid hold of a sparerib, the finest of the two,
+called a boy who was standing by, and sent him up with it at once to
+Trevlyn Hold. What do you think of that?"
+
+"Think! That it's just the thing Chattaway would do every day of his
+life, if he could. Mamma should have sent for the meat back again."
+
+"And enrage Chattaway! It might be all the worse for us if she did."
+
+"Is it not early to begin pig-killing?"
+
+"Yes. John Pinder killed this one on his own authority; never so much as
+asking mamma. She was so angry. She told him, if ever he acted for
+himself again, without knowing what her pleasure might be, she should
+discharge him. But it strikes me John Pinder is fond of doing things on
+his own head," concluded Treve, sagaciously; "and will do them, in spite
+of everyone, now there's no master over him."
+
+The day soon passed. George told his mother how terribly he disliked
+being where he was placed; worse than that, how completely unsuited he
+was to the business. Mrs. Ryle coldly said we all had to put up with
+what we disliked, and he would grow reconciled to it in time. There was
+evidently no hope for him; and he returned to Barmester at night,
+feeling there was not any.
+
+On the following afternoon, Monday, some one in deep mourning entered
+the shop of Wall and Barnes, and asked if she could speak to Mr. Ryle.
+George was at the upper end of the shop. A box of lace had been
+accidentally upset on the floor, and he had been called to set it
+straight. Behind him hung two shawls, and, hidden by those shawls, was a
+desk, belonging to Mr. Wall. The visitor approached George and saluted
+him.
+
+"Well, you _are_ busy!"
+
+George lifted his head at the well-known voice--Nora's. Her attention
+appeared chiefly attracted by the lace.
+
+"What a mess it is in! And you don't go a bit handy to work, towards
+putting it tidy."
+
+"I shall never be handy at this sort of work. Oh, Nora! I cannot tell
+you how I dislike it!" he exclaimed, with a burst of feeling that
+betrayed its own pain. "I would rather be with my father in his coffin!"
+
+"Don't talk nonsense!" said Nora.
+
+"It is not nonsense. I shall never care for anything again in life, now
+they have put me here. It was Chattaway's doing; you know it was, Nora.
+My mother never would have thought of it. When I remember that my father
+would have objected to this for me just as strongly as I object to it
+myself, I can hardly _bear_ my thoughts. I think how he will grieve, if
+he can see what goes on in this world. You know he said something about
+that when he was dying--the dead retaining their consciousness of what
+is passing here."
+
+"Have you objected to be bound?"
+
+"I have not objected. I don't mean to object. My father charged me to
+obey Mrs. Ryle, and not cross her--and I won't forget that; therefore I
+shall remain, and do my duty to the very best of my power. But it was a
+cruel thing to put me to it. Chattaway has some motive for getting me
+off the farm; there's no doubt about it. I shall stay if--if----"
+
+"Why do you hesitate?" asked Nora.
+
+"Well, there are moments," he answered, "when a fear comes over me
+whether I _can_ bear and stay on. You see, Nora, it is Chattaway and my
+mother's will balancing against all the hopes and prospects of my life.
+I know that my father charged me to obey my mother; but, on the other
+hand, I know that if he were alive he would be pained to see me here;
+would be the first to take me away. When these thoughts come forcibly
+upon me, I doubt whether I can remain."
+
+"You must not encourage them," said Nora.
+
+"I don't encourage them; they come in spite of me. The fear comes; it is
+always coming. Don't say anything at home, Nora. I have made up my mind
+to stop, and I'll try hard to do it. As soon as I am out of my time I'll
+go off to India, or somewhere, and forget the old life in the new one."
+
+"My goodness!" uttered Nora. But having no good arguments at hand, she
+thought it as well to leave him, and took her departure.
+
+The day arrived on which George was to be bound. It was a gloomy
+November day, and the tall chimneys of Barmester rose dark and dismal
+against the outlines of the grey sky. The previous night had been
+hopelessly wet, and the mud in the streets was ankle-deep. People who
+had no urgent occasion to be abroad, drew closer to their comfortable
+fire-sides, and wished the dreary month of November was over.
+
+George stood at the door of the shop, having snatched a moment to come
+to it. A slender, handsome boy, with his earnest eyes and dark chestnut
+hair, looking far too gentlemanly to belong to that place. Belong to it!
+Ere the stroke of another hour should have been told on the dial of the
+church clock of Barmester, he would be irrevocably bound to it--have
+become as much a part and parcel of it as the silks displayed in its
+windows, the shawls exhibited in their gay and gaudy colours. As he
+stood there, he was feeling that no fate on earth was ever so hopelessly
+dark as his: feeling that he had no friend either in earth or heaven.
+
+One, two; three, four! chimed out over the town through the leaden
+atmosphere. Half-past eleven! It was the hour fixed for signing the
+indentures which would bind him to servitude for years; and he, George
+Ryle, looked to the extremity of the street, expecting the appearance of
+Mr. Chattaway.
+
+Considering the way in which Mr. Chattaway had urged on the matter,
+George had thought he would be half-an-hour before the time, rather than
+five minutes behind it. He looked eagerly to the extremity of the
+street, at the same time dreading the sight he sought for.
+
+"George Ryle!" The call came ringing in sharp, imperative tones, and he
+turned in obedience to it. He was told to "measure those trimmings, and
+card them."
+
+An apparently interminable task. About fifty pieces of ribbon-trimmings,
+some scores of yards in each piece, all off their cards. George sighed
+as he singled out one and began upon it--he was terribly awkward at the
+work.
+
+It advanced slowly. In addition to the inaptitude of his fingers for the
+task, to his intense natural distaste for it--and so intense was that
+distaste, that the ribbons felt as if they burnt his fingers--in
+addition to this, there were frequent interruptions. Any of the shopmen
+who wanted help called to George Ryle; and once he was told to open the
+door for a lady who was departing.
+
+As she walked away, George leaned out, and took another gaze. Mr.
+Chattaway was not in sight. The clocks were then striking a quarter to
+twelve. A feeling of something like hope, but vague and faint and
+terribly unreal, dawned over his heart. Could the delay augur good for
+him?--was it possible that there could be any change?
+
+How unreal it was, the next moment proved. There came round that far
+corner a horseman at a hand-gallop, his horse's hoofs scattering the mud
+in all directions. It was Mr. Chattaway. He reined up at the private
+door of Wall and Barnes, dismounted, and consigned his horse to his
+groom, who had followed at the same pace. The false, faint hope was
+over; and George walked back to his cards and his trimmings, as one from
+whom all spirit has gone out.
+
+A message was brought to him almost immediately by one of the house
+servants: Squire Chattaway waited in the drawing-room. Squire Chattaway
+had sent the message himself, not to George, to Mr. Wall; but Mr. Wall
+was engaged at the moment with a gentleman, and sent the message on to
+George. George went upstairs.
+
+Mr. Chattaway, in his top boots and spurs, stood warming his hands over
+the fire. He had not removed his hat. When the door opened, he raised
+his hand to do so; but seeing it was only George who entered, he left it
+on. He was much given to the old-fashioned use of boots and spurs when
+out riding.
+
+"Well, George, how are you?"
+
+George went up to the fireplace. On the centre table, as he passed it,
+lay an official-looking parchment rolled up, an inkstand by its side.
+George had not the least doubt that the parchment was no other than that
+formidable document, his Indentures.
+
+Mr. Chattaway had taken up the same opinion. He extended his riding whip
+towards the parchment, and spoke in a significant tone, turning his eye
+on George.
+
+"Ready?"
+
+"It is no use attempting to say I am not," replied George. "I would
+rather you had forced me to become one of the lowest boys in your
+coal-mines, Mr. Chattaway."
+
+"What's this?" asked Mr. Chattaway.
+
+He was pointing now to the upper part of the sleeve of George's jacket.
+Some ravellings of cotton had collected there unnoticed. George took
+them off, and put them in the fire.
+
+"It is only a badge of my trade, Mr. Chattaway."
+
+Whether Mr. Chattaway detected the bitterness of the words--not the
+bitterness of sarcasm, but of despair--cannot be told. He laughed
+pleasantly, and before the laugh was over, Mr. Wall came in. Mr.
+Chattaway removed his hat now, and laid it with his riding-whip beside
+the indentures.
+
+"I am later than I ought to be," observed Mr. Chattaway, as they shook
+hands. "The fact is, I was on the point of starting, when my colliery
+manager came up. His business was important, and it kept me the best
+part of an hour."
+
+"Plenty of time; plenty of time," said Mr. Wall. "Take a seat."
+
+They sat down near the table. George, apparently unnoticed, remained
+standing on the hearth-rug. A few minutes were spent conversing on
+different subjects, and then Mr. Chattaway turned to the parchment.
+
+"These are the indentures, I presume?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I called on Mrs. Ryle last evening. She requested me to say that should
+her signature be required, as the boy's nearest relative and
+guardian--as his only parent, it may be said, in fact--she should be
+ready to affix it at any given time."
+
+"It will not be required," replied Mr. Wall, in a clear voice. "I shall
+not take George Ryle as an apprentice."
+
+A stolid look of surprise struggled to Mr. Chattaway's leaden face. At
+first, he scarcely seemed to take in the full meaning of the words. "Not
+take him?" he rejoined, staring helplessly.
+
+"No. It is a pity these were made out," continued Mr. Wall, taking up
+the indentures. "It has been so much time and parchment wasted. However,
+that is not of great consequence. I will be at the loss, as the refusal
+comes from my side."
+
+Mr. Chattaway found his tongue--found it volubly. "Won't he do? Is he
+not suitable? I--I don't understand this."
+
+"Not at all suitable, in my opinion," answered Mr. Wall.
+
+Mr. Chattaway turned sharply upon George, a strangely evil look in his
+dull grey eye, an ominous curl in his thin, dry lip. Mr. Wall likewise
+turned; but on his face there was a reassuring smile.
+
+And George? George stood there as one in a dream; his face changing to
+perplexity, his eyes strained, his fingers intertwined with the nervous
+grasp of emotion.
+
+"What have you been guilty of, sir, to cause this change of intentions?"
+shouted Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"He has not been guilty of anything," interposed Mr. Wall, who appeared
+to be enjoying a smile at George's astonishment and Mr. Chattaway's
+discomfiture. "Don't blame the boy. So far as I know and believe, he has
+striven to do his best ever since he has been here."
+
+"Then why won't you take him? You _will_ take him," added Mr. Chattaway,
+in a more agreeable voice, as the idea dawned upon him that Mr. Wall had
+been joking.
+
+"Indeed, I will not. If Mrs. Ryle offered me a thousand pounds premium
+with him, I should not take him."
+
+Mr. Chattaway's small eyes opened to their utmost width. "And why not?"
+
+"Because, knowing what I know now, I believe that I should be committing
+an injustice upon the boy; an injustice which nothing could repair. To
+condemn a youth to pass the best years of his life at an uncongenial
+pursuit, to make the pursuit his calling, is a cruel injustice wherever
+it is knowingly inflicted. I myself was a victim to it. My boy," added
+Mr. Wall, laying his hand on George's shoulder, "you have a marked
+distaste to the mercery business. Is it not so? Speak out fearlessly.
+Don't regard me as your master--I shall never be that, you hear--but as
+your friend."
+
+"Yes, I have," replied George.
+
+"You think it a cruel piece of injustice to have put you to it: you will
+never more feel an interest in life; you'd as soon be with poor Mr. Ryle
+in his coffin! And when you are out of your time, you mean to start for
+India or some out-of-the-world place, and begin life afresh!"
+
+George was too much confused to answer. His face turned scarlet.
+Undoubtedly Mr. Wall had overheard his conversation with Nora.
+
+Mr. Chattaway was looking red and angry. When his face did turn red, it
+presented a charming brick-dust hue. "It is only scamps who take a
+dislike to what they are put to," he exclaimed. "And their dislike is
+all pretence."
+
+"I differ from you in both propositions," replied Mr. Wall. "At any
+rate, I do not think it the case with your nephew."
+
+Mr. Chattaway's brick-dust grew deeper. "He is no nephew of mine. What
+next will you say, Wall?"
+
+"Your step-nephew, then, to be correct," equably rejoined Mr. Wall. "You
+remember when we left school together, you and I, and began to turn our
+thoughts to the business of life? Your father wished you to go into the
+bank as clerk, you know; and mine----"
+
+"But he did not get his wish, more's the luck," again interposed Mr.
+Chattaway, not pleased at the allusion. "A poor start in life that would
+have been for the future Squire of Trevlyn Hold."
+
+"Pooh!" rejoined Mr. Wall, in a good-tempered, matter-of-fact tone. "You
+did not expect then to be exalted to Trevlyn Hold. Nonsense, Chattaway!
+We are old friends, you know. But, let me continue. I overheard a
+certain conversation of this boy's with Nora Dickson, and it seemed to
+bring my own early life back to me. With every word he spoke, I had a
+fellow-feeling. My father insisted that I should follow the business he
+was in; this one. He carried on a successful trade for years, in this
+very house, and nothing would do but I must succeed to it. In vain I
+urged my repugnance to it, my dislike; in vain I said I had formed other
+views for myself; I was not listened to. In those days it was not the
+fashion for sons to run counter to their fathers' will; at least, such
+was my experience; and into the business I came. I have reconciled
+myself to it by dint of time and habit; liked it, I never have; and I
+have always felt that it was--as I heard this boy express it--a cruel
+wrong to force me into it. You cannot, therefore, be surprised that I
+decline so to force another. I will never do it knowingly."
+
+"You decline absolutely to take him?" asked Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"Absolutely and positively. He can remain in the house a few days longer
+if it will suit his convenience, or he can leave to-day. I am not
+displeased with you," added Mr. Wall, turning to George, and holding out
+his hand. "We shall part good friends."
+
+George seized it and grasped it, his countenance glowing, a whole world
+of gratitude shining from his eyes as he lifted them to Mr. Wall. "I
+shall always think you have been the best friend I ever had, sir, next
+to my father."
+
+"I hope it will prove so. I trust you will find some pursuit in life
+more congenial to you than this."
+
+Mr. Chattaway took up his hat and whip. "This will be fine news for your
+mother, sir!" cried he, severely.
+
+"It may turn out well for her," replied George, boldly. "My belief is
+the farm never would have got along with John Pinder as manager."
+
+"You think you would make a better?" said Mr. Chattaway, his thin lip
+curling.
+
+"I can be true to her, at any rate," said George. "And I can have my
+eyes about me."
+
+"Good morning," resumed Mr. Chattaway to Mr. Wall, putting out
+unwillingly the tips of two fingers.
+
+Mr. Wall laughed. "I do not see why you should be vexed, Mr. Chattaway.
+The boy is no son of yours. For myself, all I can say is, that I have
+been actuated by motives of regard for his interest."
+
+"It remains to be proved whether it will be for his interest," coldly
+rejoined Mr. Chattaway. "Were I his mother, and this check were dealt
+out to me, I should send him off to break stones on the road. Good
+morning, Wall. And I beg you will not bring me here again upon a fool's
+errand."
+
+George went into the shop, to get from it some personal trifles he had
+left there. He deemed it well to depart at once, and carry the news home
+to Mrs. Ryle himself. The cards and trimmings lay in the unfinished
+state he had left them. What a change, that moment and this! One or two
+of the employés noticed his radiant countenance.
+
+"Has anything happened?" they asked.
+
+"Yes," answered George. "I have been suddenly lifted into paradise."
+
+He started on his way, leaving his things to be sent after him. His
+footsteps scarcely touched the ground. Not a rough ridge of the road
+felt he; not a sharp stone; not a hill. Only when he turned in at the
+gate did he remember there was his mother's displeasure to be met and
+grappled with.
+
+Nora gave a shriek when he entered the house. "_George!_ What brings you
+here?"
+
+"Where's my mother?" was George's only answer.
+
+"In the best parlour," said Nora. "And I can tell you she's not in the
+best of humours just now, so I'd advise you not to go in."
+
+"What about?" asked George, taking it for granted she had heard the news
+about himself, and that was the grievance. But he was agreeably
+undeceived.
+
+"It's about John Pinder. He has been having two of the meads ploughed
+up, and he never asked the missis first. She _is_ angry."
+
+"Has Chattaway been here to see my mother, Nora?"
+
+"He came up on horseback in a desperate hurry half-an-hour ago; but she
+was out on the farm, so he said he'd call again. It was through going
+out this morning that she discovered what they were about with the
+fields. She says she thinks John Pinder must be going out of his mind,
+to take things upon himself in the way he is doing."
+
+George bent his steps to the drawing-room. Mrs. Ryle was seated before
+her desk, writing a note. The expression of her face as she looked up at
+George between the white lappets of her widow's cap was resolutely
+severe. It changed to astonishment.
+
+Strange to say, she was writing to Mr. Wall to stop the signing of the
+indentures, or to desire that they might be cancelled if signed. She
+could not do without George at home, she said; and she told him why she
+could not.
+
+"Mamma," said George, "will you be angry if I tell you something that
+has struck me in all this?"
+
+"Tell it," said Mrs. Ryle.
+
+"I feel quite certain Chattaway has been acting with a motive; he has
+some private reason for wishing to get me away from home. That's what he
+has been working for; otherwise he would never have troubled himself
+about me. It is not in his nature."
+
+Mrs. Ryle gazed at George steadfastly, as if weighing his words, and
+presently knit her brow. George could read her countenance tolerably
+well. He felt sure she had arrived at a similar conclusion, and that it
+irritated her. He resumed.
+
+"It looks bad for you, mother; but you must not think I say this
+selfishly. Twenty minutes I have asked myself the question, Why does he
+wish me away? And I can only think that he would like the farm to go to
+rack and ruin, so that you may be driven from it."
+
+"Nonsense, George."
+
+"Well, what else can it be?"
+
+"If so, he is defeated," said Mrs. Ryle. "You will take your place as
+master of the farm from to-day, George, under me. Deferring to me in all
+things, you understand; giving no orders on your own responsibility,
+taking my pleasure upon the merest trifle."
+
+"I should not think of doing otherwise," replied George. "I will do my
+best for you in all ways, mother. You will soon see how useful I can
+be."
+
+"Very well. But I may as well mention one thing to you. When Treve shall
+be old enough, it is he who will be master here, and you must resign the
+place to him. It is not that I wish to set the younger of your father's
+sons unjustly above the head of the elder. This farm will be a living
+but for one of you; barely that; and I prefer that Treve should have it;
+he is my own son. We will endeavour to find a better farm for you before
+that time shall come."
+
+"Just as you please," said George, cheerfully. "Now that I am
+emancipated from that dreadful nightmare, my prospects look very bright
+to me. I'll do the best I can on the farm, remembering that I do it for
+Treve's future benefit; not for mine. Something else will turn up for
+me, no doubt, before I'm ready for it."
+
+"Which will not be for some years to come," said Mrs. Ryle, feeling
+pleased with the boy's acquiescent spirit. "Treve will not be old enough
+for----"
+
+Mrs. Ryle was interrupted. The door had opened, and there appeared Mr.
+Chattaway, showing himself in. Nora never affected to be too courteous
+to that gentleman; and on his coming to the house to ask for Mrs. Ryle a
+second time, she had curtly answered that Mrs. Ryle was in the best
+parlour (the more familiar name for the drawing-room in the farmhouse),
+and allowed him to find his own way to it.
+
+Mr. Chattaway looked surprised at seeing George; he had not bargained
+for his arriving home so soon. Extending his hand towards him, he turned
+to Mrs. Ryle.
+
+"There's a dutiful son for you! You hear what he has done?--returned on
+your hands as a bale of worthless goods."
+
+"Yes, I hear that Mr. Wall has declined to take him," was her composed
+answer. "It has happened for the best. When he arrived just now, I was
+writing to Mr. Wall requesting that he might _not_ be bound."
+
+"And why?" asked Mr. Chattaway in considerable amazement.
+
+"I find I am unable to do without him," said Mrs. Ryle, her tone harder
+and firmer than ever; her eyes, stern and steady, thrown full on
+Chattaway. "I have tried the experiment, and it has failed. I cannot do
+without one by my side devoted to my interests; and John Pinder cannot
+get on without a master."
+
+"And do you think you'll find what you want in him!--in that
+inexperienced schoolboy?" burst forth Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"I do," replied Mrs. Ryle, her tone so significantly decided, as to be
+almost offensive. "He takes his standing from this day as master of
+Trevlyn Farm; subject only to me."
+
+"I wish you joy of him!" angrily returned Chattaway. "But you must
+understand, Mrs. Ryle, that your having a boy at the head of affairs
+will oblige me to look more keenly after my interests."
+
+"My arrangements with you are settled," she said. "So long as I fulfil
+my part, that is all that concerns you, James Chattaway."
+
+"You'll not fulfil it, if you put him at the head of things."
+
+"When I fail you can come here and tell me of it. Until then, I prefer
+that you should not intrude on Trevlyn Farm."
+
+She rang the bell sharply as she spoke, and Molly, who was passing along
+the passage, immediately appeared. Mrs. Ryle extended her hand
+imperiously, the forefinger pointed.
+
+"The door for Mr. Chattaway."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+MADAM'S ROOM
+
+
+Leading out of Mrs. Chattaway's dressing-room was a comfortable
+apartment, fitted up as a sitting-room, with chintz hangings and
+maple-wood furniture. It was called in the household "Madam's Room," and
+here Mrs. Chattaway frequently sat. Yes; the house and the neighbourhood
+accorded her readily the title which usage had long given to the
+mistress of Trevlyn Hold: but they would not give that of "Squire" to
+her husband. I wish particularly to repeat this. Strive for it as he
+would, force his personal servants to observe the title as he did, he
+could not get it recognised or adopted. When a written invitation came
+to the Hold--a rare event, for the old-fashioned custom of inviting
+verbally was chiefly followed there--it would be worded, "Mr. and Madam
+Chattaway," and Chattaway's face would turn green as he read it. No,
+never! He enjoyed the substantial good of being proprietor of Trevlyn
+Hold, he received its revenues, he held sway as its lord and master; but
+its honours were not given to him. It was so much gall and wormwood to
+Chattaway.
+
+Mrs. Chattaway stood at this window on that dull morning in November
+mentioned in the last chapter, her eyes strained on the distance. What
+was she gazing at? Those lodge chimneys?--The dark, almost bare trees
+that waved to and fro in the wintry wind?--The extensive landscape
+stretching out in the distance, not fine to-day, but dull and
+cheerless?--Or on the shifting clouds in the grey skies? Not on any of
+these; her eyes, though apparently bent on all, in reality saw nothing.
+They were fixed on vacancy; buried, like her thoughts.
+
+She wore a muslin gown, with dark purple spots upon it; her collar was
+fastened with a bow of black ribbon, her sleeves were confined with
+black ribbons at the wrist. She was passing a finger under one of these
+wrist-ribbons, round and round, as if the ribbon were tight; in point of
+fact, it was only a proof of her abstraction. Her smooth hair fell in
+curls on her fair face, and her blue eyes were bright as with a slight
+touch of inward fever.
+
+Some one opened the door, and peeped in. It was Maude Trevlyn. Her frock
+was of the same material as Mrs. Chattaway's gown, and a sash of black
+ribbon encircled her waist. Mrs. Chattaway did not turn, and Maude came
+forward.
+
+"Are you well to-day, Aunt Edith?"
+
+"Not very, dear." Mrs. Chattaway took the pretty young head within her
+arm as she answered, and fondly stroked the bright curls. "You have been
+crying, Maude!"
+
+Maude shook back her curls with a smile, as if she meant to be brave;
+make light of the accusation. "Cris and Octave went on so shamefully,
+Aunt Edith, ridiculing George Ryle; and when I took his part, Cris hit
+me a sharp blow. It was stupid of me to cry, though."
+
+"Cris did?" exclaimed Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+"I know I provoked him," candidly acknowledged Maude. "I'm afraid I flew
+into a passion; and you know, Aunt Edith, I don't mind what I say when I
+do that. I told Cris that he would be placed at something not half as
+good as a linen-draper's some time, for he'd want a living when Rupert
+came into Trevlyn Hold."
+
+"Maude! Maude! hush!" exclaimed Mrs. Chattaway in tones of terror. "You
+must not say that."
+
+"I know I must not, Aunt Edith; I know it is wrong; wrong to think it,
+and foolish to say it. It was my temper. I am very sorry."
+
+She nestled close to Mrs. Chattaway, caressing and penitent. Mrs.
+Chattaway stooped and kissed her, a strangely marked expression of
+tribulation, shrinking and hopeless, upon her countenance.
+
+"Oh, Maude! I am so ill!"
+
+Maude felt awed; and somewhat puzzled. "Ill, Aunt Edith?"
+
+"There is an illness of the mind worse than that of the body, Maude. I
+feel as though I should sink under my weight of care. Sometimes I wonder
+why I am kept on earth."
+
+"Oh, Aunt Edith!"
+
+A knock at the room door, followed by the entrance of a female servant.
+She did not observe Mrs. Chattaway; only Maude.
+
+"Is Miss Diana here, Miss Maude?"
+
+"No. Only Madam."
+
+"What is it, Phoebe?" asked Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+"Master Cris wants to know if he can take the gig out, ma'am?"
+
+"I cannot tell anything about it. You must ask Miss Diana. Maude, see;
+that is your Aunt Diana's step on the stairs now."
+
+Miss Trevlyn came in. "The gig?" she repeated. "No; Cris cannot take it.
+Go and tell him so, Maude. Phoebe, return to your work."
+
+Maude ran away, and Phoebe went off grumbling, not aloud, but to
+herself; no one dared grumble in the hearing of Miss Trevlyn. She had
+spoken in sharp tones to Phoebe, and the girl did not like sharp
+tones. As Miss Trevlyn sat down opposite Mrs. Chattaway, the feverish
+state of that lady's countenance arrested her attention.
+
+"What is the matter, Edith?"
+
+Mrs. Chattaway buried her elbow on the sofa-cushion, and pressed her
+hand to her face, half covering it, before she spoke. "I cannot get over
+this business," she answered in low tones. "To-day--perhaps naturally--I
+am feeling it more than is good for me. It makes me ill, Diana."
+
+"What business?" asked Miss Trevlyn.
+
+"This apprenticing of George Ryle."
+
+"Nonsense," said Miss Diana.
+
+"It is not the proper thing for him, Diana; you admitted so yesterday.
+The boy says it is the blighting of his whole future life; and I feel
+that it is nothing less. I could not sleep last night for thinking about
+it. Once I dozed off, and fell into an ugly dream," she shivered. "I
+thought Mr. Ryle came to me, and asked whether it was not enough that we
+had heaped care upon him in life, and then sent him to his death, but
+must also pursue his son."
+
+"You always were weak, you know, Edith," was the composed rejoinder of
+Miss Trevlyn. "Why Chattaway should be interfering with George Ryle, I
+cannot understand; but it surely need not give concern to you. The
+proper person to put a veto on his being placed at Barmester, as he is
+being placed, was Mrs. Ryle. If she did not think fit to do it, it is no
+business of ours."
+
+"It seems to me as if he had no one to stand up for him. It seems,"
+added Mrs. Chattaway, with more passion in her tone, "as if his father
+must be looking down at us, and condemning us."
+
+"If you will worry yourself over it, you must," was the rejoinder of
+Miss Trevlyn. "It is very foolish, Edith, and it can do no earthly good.
+He is bound by this time, and the thing is irrevocable."
+
+"Perhaps that is the reason--because it is irrevocable--that it presses
+upon me to-day with greater weight. It has made me think of the past,
+Diana," she added in a whisper. "Of that other wrong, which I cheat
+myself sometimes into forgetting; a wrong----"
+
+"Be silent!" imperatively interrupted Miss Trevlyn, and the next moment
+Cris Chattaway bounded into the room.
+
+"What's the reason I can't have the gig?" he began. "Who says I can't
+have it?"
+
+"I do," said Miss Trevlyn.
+
+Cris insolently turned from her, and walked up to Mrs. Chattaway. "May I
+not take the gig, mother?"
+
+If there was one thing irritated the sweet temper of Mrs. Chattaway, it
+was being appealed to against any decision of Diana's. She knew that she
+possessed no power; was a nonentity in the house; and though she bowed
+to her dependency, and had no resource but to bow to it, she did not
+like it brought palpably before her.
+
+"Don't apply to me, Cris. I know nothing about things downstairs; I
+cannot say one way or the other. The horses and vehicles are specially
+the things that your father will not have meddled with. Do you remember
+taking out the dog-cart without leave, and the result?"
+
+Cris looked angry; perhaps the reminiscence was not agreeable. Miss
+Diana interfered.
+
+"You will _not_ take out the gig, Cris. I have said it."
+
+"Then see if I don't walk! And if I am not home to dinner, Aunt Diana,
+you can just tell the Squire the thanks are due to you."
+
+"Where do you wish to go?" asked Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+"I am going to Barmester. I want to wish that fellow joy of his
+indentures," added Cris, a glow of triumph lighting up his face. "He is
+bound by this time. I wonder the Squire is not back again!"
+
+The Squire was back again. As Cris spoke, his tread was heard on the
+stairs, and he came into the room. Cris was too full of his own concerns
+to note the expression of his face.
+
+"Father, may I take out the gig? I want to go to Barmester, to pay a
+visit of congratulation to George Ryle."
+
+"No, you will not take out the gig," said Mr. Chattaway, the allusion
+exciting his anger almost beyond bearing.
+
+Cris thought he might have been misunderstood. Cris deemed that his
+proclaimed intention would find favour with Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"I suppose you have been binding that fellow, father. I want to go and
+ask him how he likes it."
+
+"No, sir, I have not been binding him," thundered Mr. Chattaway. "What's
+more, he is not going to be bound. He has left it, and is at home
+again."
+
+Cris gave a blank stare of amazement, and Mrs. Chattaway let her hands
+fall silently upon her lap and heaved a gentle sigh, as though some
+great good had come to her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+RUPERT
+
+
+None of us can stand still in life. Everything rolls on its course
+towards the end of all things. In noting down a family's or a life's
+history, its periods will be differently marked. Years will glide
+quietly on, giving forth few events worthy of record; again, it will
+happen that occurrences, varied and momentous, will be crowded into an
+incredibly short space of time. Events, sufficient to fill up the
+allotted life of man, will follow one another in rapid succession in the
+course of as many months; nay, of as many days.
+
+Thus it was with the Trevlyns, and those connected with them. After the
+lamentable death of Mr. Ryle, the new agreement touching money-matters
+between Mr. Chattaway and Mrs. Ryle, and the settling of George Ryle
+into his own home, it may be said in his father's place, little occurred
+for some years worthy of note. Time seemed to pass uneventfully. Girls
+and boys grew into men and women; children into girls and boys. Cris
+Chattaway lorded it in his own offensive manner as the Squire's son--as
+the future Squire; his sister Octavia was not more amiable than of yore,
+and Maude Trevlyn was governess to Mr. and Mrs. Chattaway's younger
+children. Miss Diana Trevlyn had taken care that Maude should be well
+educated, and she paid the cost of it out of her own pocket, in spite of
+Mr. Chattaway's sneers. When Maude was eighteen years of age, the
+question arose, What shall be done with her? "She shall go out and be a
+governess," said Mr. Chattaway. "Of what profit her fine education, if
+it's not to be made use of?" "No," dissented Miss Diana; "a Trevlyn
+cannot be sent out into the world to earn her own living: our family
+have not come to that." "I won't keep her in idleness," growled
+Chattaway. "Very well," said Miss Diana; "make her governess to your
+girls, Edith and Emily: it will save the cost of schooling." The advice
+was taken; and Maude for the past three years had been governess at
+Trevlyn Hold.
+
+But Rupert? Rupert was found not to be so easily disposed of. There's no
+knowing what Chattaway, in his ill-feeling, might have put Rupert to,
+had he been at liberty to place him as he pleased. If he had not shown
+any superfluous consideration in placing out George Ryle--or rather in
+essaying to place him out--it was not likely he would show it to one
+whom he hated as he hated Rupert. But here Miss Diana again stepped in.
+Rupert was a Trevlyn, she said, and consequently could not be converted
+into a chimney-sweep or a shoe-black: he must get his living at
+something befitting his degree. Chattaway demurred, but he knew better
+than run counter to any mandate issued by Diana Trevlyn.
+
+Several things were tried for Rupert. He was placed with a clergyman to
+study for the Church; he went to an LL.D. to read for the Bar; he was
+consigned to a wealthy grazier to be made into a farmer; he was posted
+off to Sir John Rennet, to be initiated into the science of civil
+engineering. And he came back from all. As one venture after the other
+was made, so it failed, and a very short time would see Rupert return as
+ineligible to Trevlyn Hold. Ineligible! Was he deficient in capacity?
+No. He was only deficient in that one great blessing, without which life
+can bring no enjoyment--health. In his weakness of chest--his liability
+to take cold--his suspiciously delicate frame, Rupert Trevlyn was
+ominously like his dead father. The clergyman, the doctor, the hearty
+grazier, and the far-famed engineer, thought after a month's trial they
+would rather not take charge of him. He had a fit of illness--it may be
+better to say of weakness--in the house of each; and they, no doubt, one
+and all, deemed that a pupil predisposed to disease--it may be almost
+said to death--as Rupert Trevlyn appeared to be, would bring with him
+too much responsibility.
+
+So, times and again, Rupert was returned on the hands of Mr. Chattaway.
+To describe that gentleman's wrath would take a pen dipped in gall. Was
+Rupert _never_ to be got rid of? It was like the Eastern slippers which
+persisted in turning up. And, in like manner, up came Rupert Trevlyn.
+The boy could not help his ill-health; but you may be sure Mr.
+Chattaway's favour was not increased by it. "I shall put him in the
+office at Blackstone," said he. And Miss Diana acquiesced.
+
+Blackstone was the locality where Mr. Chattaway's mines were situated.
+An appropriate name, for the place was black enough, and stony enough,
+and dreary enough for anything. A low, barren, level country, its
+flatness alone broken by signs of the pits, its uncompromising gloom
+enlivened only by ascending fires which blazed up at night, and
+illumined the country for miles round. The pits were not all coal: iron
+mines and other mines were scattered with them. On Chattaway's property,
+however, there was coal alone. Long rows of houses, as dreary as the
+barren country, were built near: occupied by the workers in the mines.
+The overseer or manager for Mr. Chattaway was named Pinder, a brother to
+John Pinder, who was on Mrs. Ryle's farm: but Chattaway chose to
+interfere very much with the executive himself, and may almost have been
+called his own overseer. He had an office near the pits, in which
+accounts were kept, the men paid, and other business items transacted: a
+low building, of one storey only, consisting of three or four rooms. In
+this office he kept one regular clerk, a young man named Ford, and into
+this same office he put Rupert Trevlyn.
+
+But many and many and many a day was Rupert ailing; weak, sick,
+feverish, coughing, and unable to go to it. But for Diana Trevlyn,
+Chattaway might have driven him there ill or well. Not that Miss Diana
+possessed any extraordinary affection for Rupert: she did not keep him
+at home out of love, or from motives of indulgence. But hard, cold, and
+imperious though she was, Miss Diana owned somewhat of the large
+open-handedness of the Trevlyns: she could not be guilty of trivial
+spite, or petty meanness. She ruled the servants with an iron hand; but
+in case of their falling into sickness or trouble, she had them
+generously cared for. So with respect to Rupert. It may be that she
+regarded him as an interloper; that she would have been better pleased
+were he removed elsewhere. She had helped to deprive him of his
+birthright, but she did not treat him with personal unkindness; and she
+would have been the last to say he must go out to his daily occupation,
+if he felt ill or incapable of it. She deplored his ill-health; but, ill
+health upon him, Miss Diana was not one to ignore it, to reproach him
+with it, or put hindrances in the way of his being nursed.
+
+It was a tolerably long walk for Rupert in a morning to Blackstone. Cris
+Chattaway, when he chose to go over, rode on horseback; and Mr. Cris did
+not infrequently choose to go over, for he had the same propensity as
+his father--that of throwing himself into every petty detail, and
+interfering unwarrantably. In disposition, father and son were
+alike--mean, stingy, grasping. To save a sixpence, Chattaway would
+almost have sacrificed a miner's life. Improvements which other mine
+owners had introduced into their pits, into the working of them,
+Chattaway held aloof from. In his own person, however, Cris was not
+disposed to be saving. He had his horse, and he had his servant, and he
+favoured an extensive wardrobe, and was given altogether to various
+little odds and ends of self-indulgence.
+
+Yes, Cris Chattaway rode to Blackstone; with his groom behind him
+sometimes, when he chose to make a dash; and Rupert Trevlyn walked.
+Better that the order of travelling had been reversed, for that walk,
+morning and evening, was not too good for Rupert in his weakly state. He
+would feel it particularly in an evening. It was a gradual ascent nearly
+all the way from Blackstone to Trevlyn Hold, almost imperceptible to a
+strong man, but sufficiently apparent to Rupert Trevlyn, who would be
+fatigued with the day's work.
+
+Not that he had hard work to do. But even sitting on the office stool
+tired him. Another thing that tired him--and which, no doubt, was
+excessively bad for him--was the loss of his regular meals. Excepting on
+Sundays, or on days when he was not well enough to leave Trevlyn Hold,
+he had no dinner: what he had at Blackstone was only an apology for one.
+The clerk, Ford, who lived at nearly as great a distance from the place
+as Rupert, used to cook himself a chop or steak at the office grate. But
+that the coals were lying about in heaps and cost nothing, Chattaway
+might have objected to the fire being used for such a purpose. Rupert
+occasionally cooked himself some meat; but he more frequently dined upon
+bread and cheese, or scraps brought from Trevlyn Hold. It was not often
+that Rupert had the money to buy meat or anything else, his supply of
+that indispensable commodity, the current coin of the realm, being very
+limited. Deprived of his dinner, deprived of his tea--tea being
+generally over when he got back to the Hold--that, of itself, was almost
+sufficient to bring on the disease feared for Rupert Trevlyn. One sound
+in constitution, revelling in health and strength, might not have been
+much the worse in the long-run; but Rupert did not come under the head
+of that favoured class of humanity.
+
+It was a bright day in that mellow season when summer is merging into
+autumn. A few fields of the later grain were lying out yet, but most of
+the golden store had been gathered into barns. The sunlight glistened on
+the leaves of the trees, lighting up their rich tints of brown and
+red--tints which never come until the season of passing away.
+
+Halting at a stile which led to a field white with stubble, were two
+children and a young lady. Not very young children, either, for the
+younger of the two must have been thirteen. Pale girls both, with light
+hair, and just now a disagreeable expression of countenance. They were
+insisting upon crossing that stile to pass through the field: one of
+them, in fact, had already mounted, and they did not like to be thwarted
+in their wish.
+
+"You cross old thing!" cried she on the stile. "You always object to our
+going where we want to go. What dislike have you to the field, pray,
+that we may not cross it?"
+
+"I have no dislike to it, Emily. I am only obeying your father's
+injunctions. You know he has forbidden you to go on Mrs. Ryle's lands."
+
+She spoke in calm tones; a sweet, persuasive voice. She had a sweet and
+gentle face, too, with delicate features, and large blue eyes. It is
+Maude Trevlyn. Eight years have passed since you last saw her, and she
+is twenty-one. In spite of her girlish, graceful figure, which scarcely
+reaches middle height, she bears a look of the Trevlyns. Her head is
+well set upon her shoulders, thrown somewhat back, as you may see in
+Miss Diana Trevlyn. She wears a grey flowing cloak, and pretty blue
+bonnet.
+
+"The lands are not Mrs. Ryle's," retorted the girl on the stile. "They
+are papa's."
+
+"They are Mrs. Ryle's as long as she rents them. It is all the same. Mr.
+Chattaway has forbidden you to cross them. Come down from the stile,
+Emily."
+
+"No. I shall jump over it."
+
+It was ever thus. Except in the presence of Miss Diana Trevlyn, the
+girls were openly rude and disobedient to Maude. Expected to teach them,
+she was denied the ordinary authority vested in a governess. And Maude
+could not emancipate herself: she must suffer and submit.
+
+Emily Chattaway put her foot over the top bar of the stile, preparatory
+to jumping over it, when the sound of a horse was heard, and she turned
+her head. Riding along the lane at a quick pace was a gentleman of some
+three or four-and-twenty years: a tall man, as far as could be seen, who
+sat his horse well. He reined in when he saw them, and bent down a
+pleasant face, with a pleasant smile upon it. The sun shone into his
+fine dark eyes, as he stooped to shake hands with Maude.
+
+Maude's cheeks had turned crimson. "Quite well," she stammered, in
+answer to his greeting, somewhat losing her self-possession. "When did
+you return home?"
+
+"Last night. I was away two days only, instead of the four anticipated.
+Emily, you'll fall backwards if you don't mind."
+
+"No, I sha'n't," said Emily. "Why did you not stay longer?"
+
+"I found Treve away when I reached Oxford, so I came back again, and got
+home last night--to Nora's discomfiture."
+
+Maude looked into his face with a questioning glance. She had quite
+recovered her self-possession. "Why?" she asked.
+
+George Ryle laughed. "Nora had turned my bedroom inside out, and accused
+me, in her vexation, of coming back on purpose."
+
+"Where did you sleep?" asked Emily.
+
+"In Treve's room. Take care, Edith!"
+
+Maude hastily drew back Edith Chattaway, who had gone too near the
+horse. "How is Mrs. Ryle?" asked Maude. "We heard yesterday she was not
+well."
+
+"She is suffering from a cold. I have scarcely seen her. Maude," leaning
+down and whispering, "are things any brighter than they were?"
+
+Again the soft colour came into her face, and she threw him a glance
+from her dark blue eyes. If ever glance spoke of indignation, hers did.
+"What change can there be?" she breathed. "Rupert is ill again," she
+added in louder tones.
+
+"Rupert!"
+
+"At least, he is not well, and is at home to-day. But he is better than
+he was yesterday----"
+
+"Here comes Octave," interrupted Emily.
+
+George Ryle gathered up his reins. Shaking hands with Maude, he said a
+hasty good-bye to the other two, and cantered down the lane, lifting his
+hat to Miss Chattaway, who was coming up from a distance.
+
+She was advancing quickly across the common, behind the fence on the
+other side of the lane. A tall, thin young woman, looking her full age
+of four or five-and-twenty, with the same leaden complexion as of yore,
+and the disagreeably sly grey eyes. She wore a puce silk paletot, and a
+brown hat trimmed with black lace; an unbecoming costume for one so
+tall.
+
+"That was George Ryle!" she exclaimed, as she came up. "What brings him
+back already?"
+
+"He found his brother away when he reached Oxford," was Maude's reply.
+
+"I think he was very rude not to stop and speak to you, Octave,"
+observed Emily Chattaway. "He saw you coming."
+
+Octave made no reply. She mounted the stile and gazed after the
+horseman, apparently to see what direction he would take on reaching the
+end of the lane. Patiently watching, she saw him turn into another lane,
+which branched off to the left. Octave Chattaway jumped over the stile,
+and went swiftly across the field.
+
+"She's gone to meet him," was Emily's comment.
+
+It was precisely what Miss Chattaway _had_ gone to do. Passing through a
+copse after quitting the field, she emerged from it just as George was
+riding quietly past. He halted and stopped to shake hands, as he had
+done with Maude.
+
+"You are out of breath, Octave. Have you been hastening to catch me?"
+
+"I need not have done so but for your gallantry in riding off the moment
+you saw me," she answered, resentfully.
+
+"I beg your pardon. I did not know you wanted me. And I am in a hurry."
+
+"It seems so--stopping to speak so long to the children and Maude," she
+returned, with irony. And George Ryle's laugh was a conscious one.
+
+Latent antagonism was seated in the minds of both, and a latent
+consciousness of it running through their hearts. When George Ryle saw
+Octave hastening across the common, he knew she was speeding to reach
+him ere he should be gone; when Octave saw him ride away, a voice
+whispered that he did so to avoid meeting her; and each felt that their
+secret thoughts and motives were known to the other. Yes, there was
+constant antagonism between them; if the word may be applied to Octave
+Chattaway, who had learnt to value the society of George Ryle more
+highly than was good for her. Did he so value hers? Octave wore out her
+heart, hoping for it. But in the midst of her unwise love for him, her
+never-ceasing efforts to be in his presence, near to him, there
+constantly arose the bitter conviction that he did not care for her.
+
+"I wished to ask you about the book you promised to get me," she said.
+"Have you procured it?"
+
+"No; and I am sorry to say that I cannot meet with it," replied George.
+"I thought of it at Oxford, and went into nearly every bookseller's shop
+in the place, unsuccessfully. I told you it was difficult to find. I
+must get them to write to London for it from Barmester."
+
+"Will you come to the Hold this evening?" she asked, as he was riding
+away.
+
+"Thank you. I am not sure that I can. My day or two's absence has made
+me busy."
+
+Octave Chattaway drew back under cover of the trees and halted: never
+retreating until every trace of that fine young horseman had passed out
+of sight.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+UNANSWERED
+
+
+It is singular to observe how lightly the marks of Time occasionally
+pass over the human form and face. An instance of this might be seen in
+Mrs. Chattaway. It was strange that it should be so in her case. Her
+health was not good, and she certainly was not a happy woman. Illness
+was frequently her portion; care ever seemed to follow her; and it is
+upon these sufferers in mind and body that Time is fond of leaving his
+traces. He had not left them on Mrs. Chattaway; her face was fair and
+fresh as it had been eight years ago; her hair fell in its mass of
+curls; her eyes were still blue, and clear, and bright.
+
+And yet anxiety was her constant companion. It may be said that remorse
+never left her. She would sit at the window of her room
+upstairs--Madam's room--for hours, apparently contemplating the outer
+world; in reality seeing nothing.
+
+As she was sitting now. The glories of the bright day had faded into
+twilight; the sun no longer lit up the many hues of the autumn foliage;
+all the familiar points in the landscape had faded to indistinctness;
+old Canham's lodge chimneys were becoming obscure, and the red light
+from the mines and works was beginning to show out on the right in the
+extreme distance. Mrs. Chattaway leaned her elbow on the old-fashioned
+armchair, and rested her cheek upon her hand. Had you looked at her
+eyes, gazing out so upon the fading landscape, you might have seen that
+they were deep in the world of thought.
+
+That constitutional timidity of hers had been nothing but a blight to
+her throughout life. Reticence in a woman is good; but not that timid,
+shrinking reticence which is the result of fear; which dare not speak up
+for itself, even to oppose a wrong. Every wrong inflicted upon Rupert
+Trevlyn--every unkindness shown him--every pang, whether of mind or
+body, which happier circumstances might have spared him, was avenged
+over and over again in the person of Mrs. Chattaway. It may be said that
+she lived only in pain; her life was one never-ending sorrow--sorrow for
+Rupert.
+
+In the old days, when her husband had chosen to deceive Squire Trevlyn
+as to the existence of Rupert, she had not dared to avow the truth, and
+say to her father, "There is an heir born." She dared not fly in the
+face of her husband, and say it; and, it may be, that she was too
+willingly silent for her husband's sake. It would seem strange, but that
+we know what fantastic tricks our passions play us, that pretty, gentle
+Edith Trevlyn should have _loved_ that essentially disagreeable man,
+James Chattaway. But so it was. And, while deploring the fact of the
+wrong dealt out to Rupert--it may almost be said _expiating_ it--Mrs.
+Chattaway never visited that wrong upon her husband, even in thought, as
+it ought to have been visited. None could realise more intensely its
+consequences than she realised them in her secret heart. Expiate it? Ay,
+she expiated it again and again, if her sufferings could only have been
+reckoned as atonement.
+
+But they could not. _They_ were enjoying Trevlyn Hold and its
+advantages, and Rupert was little better than an outcast on the face of
+the earth. Every dinner put upon their table, every article of attire
+bought for their children, every honour or comfort their position
+brought them, seemed to rise up reproachfully before the face of Mrs.
+Chattaway, and say, "The money to procure all this is not yours and your
+husband's; it is stolen from Rupert." And she could do nothing to remedy
+it; could only wage ever-constant battle with the knowledge, and the
+sting it brought. No remedy existed. They had not come into the
+inheritance by legal fraud; had succeeded to it fairly and openly,
+according to the will of Squire Trevlyn. If the whole world ranged
+itself on Rupert's side, pressing that the property should be resigned
+to him, Mr. Chattaway had only to point to the will, and say, "You
+cannot act against that."
+
+It may be that this very fact brought remorse home with greater force to
+Mrs. Chattaway. It may be that incessantly dwelling upon it caused a
+morbid state of feeling, which increased the malady. Certain it is, that
+night and day the wrongs of Rupert pressed on her mind. She loved him
+with that strange intensity which brings an aching to the heart. When
+the baby orphan was brought home to her from its foreign birthplace,
+with its rosy cheeks and its golden curls--when it put out its little
+arms to her, and gazed at her with its large blue eyes, her heart went
+out to it there and then, and she caught it to her with a love more
+passionate than any ever given to her own children. The irredeemable
+wrong inflicted on the unconscious child, fixed itself on her conscience
+in that hour, never to be lifted from it.
+
+If ever a woman lived a dual life, that woman was Mrs. Chattaway. Her
+true aspect--that in which she saw herself as she really was--was as
+different from the one presented to the world as light from darkness. Do
+not blame her. It was difficult to help it. The world and her own family
+saw in Mrs. Chattaway a weak, gentle, apathetic woman, who did not take
+upon herself even the ordinary authority of the head of a household.
+They little imagined that that weak woman, remarkable for nothing but
+indifference, passed her days in sadness, in care, in thought. The
+hopeless timidity (inherited from her mother) which had been her bane in
+former days, was her bane still. She had not dared to rise up against
+her husband when the wrong was inflicted upon Rupert Trevlyn; she did
+not dare openly rise up now against the petty tyrannies daily dealt out
+to him. There may have been a latent consciousness in her mind that if
+she did interfere it would not change things for the better, and might
+make them worse for Rupert. Probably it would have done so.
+
+There were many things she could have wished for Rupert, and went so far
+as to hint some of them to Mr. Chattaway. She wished he could be
+altogether relieved from Blackstone; she wished greater indulgences for
+him at home; she wished he might be transported to a warmer climate. A
+bare suggestion she dropped, once in a way, to Mr. Chattaway, but they
+fell unheeded on his ear. He replied to the hint of the warmer climate
+with a prolonged stare and a demand as to what romantic absurdity she
+could be thinking of. Mrs. Chattaway had never mentioned it again. In
+these cases of constitutional timidity, a rebuff, be it ever so slight,
+is sufficient to close the lips for ever. Poor lady! she would have
+sacrificed her own comfort to give peace and comfort to the unhappy
+Rupert. He was miserably put upon; treated with less consideration than
+the servants; made to feel his dependent state daily and hourly by petty
+annoyances; and yet she could not openly interfere!
+
+Even now, as she sat watching the deepening shades, she was dwelling on
+this; resenting it in her heart, for his sake. It was the evening of the
+day when the girls had met George Ryle in the lane. She could hear
+sounds of merriment downstairs from her children and their visitors, and
+felt sure Rupert did not make one of them. It had long been the pleasure
+of Cris and Octave to exclude Rupert from the evening gatherings of the
+family, as far as they could do so; and if, through the presence of
+herself or Miss Diana, they could not absolutely deny his entrance, they
+treated him with studied indifference. She sat on, revolving these
+bitter thoughts in the gloom, until roused by the entrance of an
+intruder.
+
+It was Rupert himself. He approached Mrs. Chattaway, and she fondly
+threw her arm round him, and drew him down to a chair by her side. Only
+when they were alone could she show him these marks of affection, or
+prove to him that he did not stand in the world entirely isolated from
+all love.
+
+"Do you feel better to-night, Rupert?"
+
+"Oh, I am a great deal better. I feel quite well. Why are you sitting in
+the dark, Aunt Edith?"
+
+"It is not quite dark yet. What are they doing below, Rupert? I hear
+plenty of laughter."
+
+"They are playing at some game, I think."
+
+"At what?"
+
+"I don't know. I was joining them, when Octave, as usual, said they were
+enough without me; so I came away."
+
+Mrs. Chattaway made no reply. She never spoke a reproachful word of her
+children to Rupert, whatever she might feel; she never, by so much as a
+breathing, cast a reproach on her husband to living mortal. Rupert
+leaned his head on her shoulder, as though weary. Sufficient light was
+left to show how delicate his features, how attractive his face. The
+lovely countenance of his boyhood characterised him still--the
+suspiciously bright cheeks and silken hair. Of middle height, slender
+and fragile, he scarcely looked his twenty years. There was a
+resemblance in his face to Mrs. Chattaway: and it was not surprising,
+for Joe Trevlyn and his sister Edith had been remarkably alike when they
+were young.
+
+"Is Cris come in?" asked Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+"Not yet."
+
+Rupert rose as he spoke, and stretched himself. The verb _s'ennuyer_ was
+one he often felt obliged to conjugate, in his evenings at the Hold.
+
+"I think I shall go down for an hour to the farm."
+
+Mrs. Chattaway started: shrank from the words, as it seemed. "Not
+to-night, Rupert!"
+
+"It is so dull at home, Aunt Edith."
+
+"They are merry enough downstairs."
+
+"Yes. But Octave takes care that I shall not be merry with them."
+
+What could she answer?
+
+"Then, Rupert, you will _be sure_ to be home," she said, after a while.
+And the pained emphasis with which she spoke no pen could express. The
+words evidently conveyed some meaning, understood by Rupert.
+
+"Yes," was all he answered, the tones of his voice betraying his
+resentment.
+
+Mrs. Chattaway caught him to her, and hid her face upon his shoulder.
+"For my sake, Rupert, darling, for my sake!"
+
+"Yes, yes, dear Aunt Edith: I'll be sure to be in time," he reiterated.
+"I won't forget it, as I did the other night."
+
+She stood at the window, and watched him away from the house and down
+the avenue, praying that he might _not_ forget. It had pleased Mr.
+Chattaway lately to forbid Rupert the house, unless he returned to it by
+half-past ten. That this motive was entirely that of ill-naturedly
+crossing Rupert, there could be little doubt about. Driven by unkindness
+from the Hold, Rupert had taken to spending his evenings with George
+Ryle; sometimes at the houses of other friends; now and then he would
+invade old Canham's. Rupert's hour for coming in from these visits was
+about eleven; he had generally managed to be in by the time the clock
+struck; but the master of Trevlyn Hold suddenly issued a mandate that he
+must be in by half-past ten; failing strict obedience as to time, he was
+not to be let in at all. Rupert resented it, and one or two unpleasant
+scenes had ensued. A similar rule was not applied to Cris, who might
+come in at any hour he pleased.
+
+Mrs. Chattaway went down to the drawing-room. Two girls, the daughters
+of neighbours, were spending the evening there, and they were playing at
+proverbs with great animation: Maude Trevlyn, the guests, and the Miss
+Chattaways. Octave alone joined in it listlessly, as if her thoughts
+were far away. Her restless glances towards the door seemed to say she
+was watching for the entrance of one who did not come.
+
+By-and-by Mr. Chattaway came home, and they sat down to supper.
+Afterwards, the guests departed, and the younger children went to bed.
+Ten o'clock struck, and the time went on again.
+
+"Where's Rupert?" Mr. Chattaway suddenly asked his wife.
+
+"He went down to Trevlyn Farm," she said, unable, had it been to save
+her life, to speak without deprecation.
+
+He made no reply, but rang the bell, and ordered the household to bed.
+Miss Diana Trevlyn was out upon a visit.
+
+"Cris and Rupert are not in," observed Octave, as she lighted her
+mother's candle and her own.
+
+Mr. Chattaway took out his watch. "Twenty-five minutes past ten," he
+said, in his hard, impassive manner--a manner which imparted the idea
+that he was utterly destitute of sympathy for the whole human race. "Mr.
+Rupert must be quick if he intends to be admitted to-night; Give your
+mother her bed-candle."
+
+It may appear almost incredible that Mrs. Chattaway should meekly take
+her candle and follow her daughter upstairs without remonstrance, when
+she would have given the world to sit up longer. She was becoming quite
+feverish on Rupert's account, and would have wished to wait in that room
+until his ring was heard. But to oppose her own will to her husband's
+was a thing she had never yet done; in small things, as in great, she
+had bowed to his wishes without making the faintest shadow of
+resistance.
+
+Octave wished her mother good-night, went into her room, and closed the
+door. Mrs. Chattaway was turning into hers when she saw Maude creeping
+down the upper stairs. She came noiselessly along the corridor, her face
+pale with agitation, and her heart beating.
+
+"Oh, Aunt Edith, what will be done?" she murmured. "It is half-past ten,
+and he is not home."
+
+"Maude, my poor child, you can do nothing," was the whispered answer,
+the tone as full of pain as Maude's. "Go back to your room, dear; your
+uncle may come up."
+
+The great clock in the hall struck the half-hour, its sound falling as a
+knell. Hot tears were falling from the eyes of Maude.
+
+"What will become of him, Aunt Edith? Where will he sleep?"
+
+"Hush, Maude! Run back."
+
+It was time to run; and Mrs. Chattaway spoke the words in startled
+tones. The master's heavy footstep was heard crossing the hall. Maude
+stole back, and Mrs. Chattaway passed into her dressing-room.
+
+She sat down on a chair, and pressed her hands upon her bosom to still
+its beating. Her suspense and agitation were terrible. A sensitive
+nature, such as Mrs. Chattaway's, feels emotion in a most painful
+degree. Every sense was strung to its utmost tension. She listened for
+Rupert's footfall outside; waited with a sort of horror for the ringing
+of the house-bell announcing his arrival, her whole frame sick and
+faint.
+
+At last one came running up the avenue at a fleet pace, and the echoes
+of the bell were heard resounding through the house.
+
+Not daring to defy her husband by going down to let him in she knocked
+at his door and entered.
+
+"Shall I go down and open the door, James?"
+
+"No."
+
+"It is only five minutes past the half-hour."
+
+"Five minutes are the same in effect as five hours," answered Mr.
+Chattaway. "Unless he can be in before the half-hour, _he does not come
+in at all_."
+
+"It may be Cris," she resumed.
+
+"Nonsense! You know it is not Cris. Cris has his latch-key."
+
+Another alarming peal.
+
+"He can see the light in my dressing-room," she urged, with parched
+lips. "Oh, James, let me go down."
+
+"I tell you--No."
+
+There was no appeal against it. She knew there might be none. But she
+clasped her hands in agony, and gave utterance to the distress at her
+heart.
+
+"Where will he sleep? Where can he go, if we deny him entrance?"
+
+"Where he chooses. He does not enter here."
+
+And Mrs. Chattaway went back to her dressing-room, and listened in
+despair to further appeals from the bell. Appeals which she might not
+answer.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+OPINIONS DIFFER
+
+
+The nights were chilly in the early autumn, and a blazing fire lighted
+up the drawing-room at Trevlyn Farm. On a comfortable sofa, drawn close
+to it, sat Mrs. Ryle, a warm shawl thrown over her black silk gown--soft
+cushions heaped around her. A violent cold had made an invalid of her
+for some days past, but she was recovering. Her face was softened by a
+white cap of delicate lace; but its lines had grown haughtier and firmer
+with her years. She wore well, and was handsome still.
+
+Trevlyn Farm had prospered. It was a lucky day for Mrs. Ryle when she
+decided upon her step-son's remaining on it. He had brought energy and
+goodwill to bear on his work; a clear head and calm intelligence; and
+time had contributed judgment and experience. Mrs. Ryle knew that she
+could not have been more faithfully served, and gradually grew to feel
+his value. Had they been really mother and son, they could not have been
+better friends. In the beginning she was inclined to discountenance
+sundry ways and habits George favoured. He did not turn himself into a
+_working_ farmer, as his father had done, and as Mrs. Ryle thought he
+ought to do. George objected. A man who worked on his own farm must give
+it a less general supervision, he urged: and after all, it was only the
+cost of an additional day-labourer. His argument carried reason with it;
+and keen and active Farmer Apperley, who deemed idleness the greatest
+sin (next, perhaps, to hunting) a young farmer could commit, nodded
+approval. George did not put aside his books; his classics, and his
+studies in general literature; quite the contrary. In short, George Ryle
+appeared to be going in for a gentleman--as Cris Chattaway chose to term
+it--a great deal more than Mrs. Ryle considered would be profitable for
+him or for her. But George had held on his course, in a quiet,
+undemonstrative way; and Mrs. Ryle had at length fallen in with it.
+Perhaps she now saw its wisdom. That he was essentially a gentleman, in
+person and manners, in mind and conduct, she could only acknowledge, and
+she felt a pride in him she had never dreamed she should feel for any
+one but Treve.
+
+Could she feel pride in Treve? Not much, with all her partiality.
+Trevlyn Ryle was not turning out quite satisfactorily. There was nothing
+very objectionable to be urged against him; but Mrs. Ryle was accustomed
+to measure by a high standard of excellence; and of that Treve fell
+exceedingly short. She had not deemed it well that George Ryle should be
+too much of a gentleman, but she had determined Trevlyn should be one.
+Upon the completion of his school life, he was sent to Oxford. The cost
+might have been imprudently heavy for Mrs. Ryle, had she borne it
+unassisted; but Trevlyn had gained a scholarship at Barmester Grammar
+School, and the additional cost was light. Treve, once at Oxford, did
+not get on quite so fast as he might have done. Treve spent; Treve
+seemed to have plenty of wild-oats to sow; Treve thought he should like
+a life of idleness better than farming. His mother had foolishly
+whispered the fond hope that he might some time be owner of Trevlyn
+Hold, and Treve reckoned upon its fulfilment more confidently than was
+good for him. Meanwhile, until the lucky chance arrived which should
+give him the inheritance (though by what miracle the chance was to fall
+was at present hidden in the womb of mystery), Treve, upon leaving
+college, was to assume the mastership of Trevlyn Farm, in accordance
+with the plan originally decided upon by Mrs. Ryle. He would not be
+altogether unqualified for this: having been about the farm since he was
+a child, and seen how it should be worked. Whether he would give
+sufficient personal attention to it was another matter.
+
+Mrs. Ryle expressed herself as not being too confident of him--whether
+of his industry or qualifications she did not state. George had given
+one or two hints that when Treve came home for good, he must look out
+for something else; but Mrs. Ryle had waived away the hints as if they
+were unpleasant to her. Treve must prove what metal he was made of,
+before assuming the management, she briefly said. And George suffered
+the subject to drop.
+
+Treve had now but one more term to keep at the university. At the
+conclusion of the previous term he had not returned home: remaining on a
+visit to a friend, who had an appointment in one of the colleges. But
+Treve's demand for money had become somewhat inconvenient to Mrs. Ryle,
+and she had begged George to pay Oxford a few days' visit, that he might
+see how Treve was really going on. George complied, and proceeded to
+Oxford, where he found Treve absent--as in the last chapter you heard
+him say to Maude Trevlyn.
+
+Mrs. Trevlyn sat by the drawing-room fire, enveloped in her shawl, and
+supported by her pillows. The thought of these things was bringing a
+severe look to her proud face. She had scarcely seen George since his
+return; had not exchanged more than ten words with him. But those ten
+words had not been of a cheering nature; and she feared things were not
+going on satisfactorily with Treve. With that hard look on her features,
+how wonderfully her face resembled that of her dead father!
+
+Presently George came in. Mrs. Ryle looked up eagerly at his entrance.
+
+"Are you better?" he asked, advancing, and bending with a kindly smile.
+"It is long since you had such a cold as this."
+
+"I shall be all right in a day or two," she answered. "Yesterday I
+thought I was going to have a long illness, my chest was so painful. Sit
+down, George. What about Treve?"
+
+"Treve was not at Oxford. He had gone to London."
+
+"You told me so. What had he gone there for?"
+
+"A little change, Ferrars said. He had been gone a week."
+
+"A little change? In plain English, a little pleasure, I suppose. Call
+it what you will, it costs money."
+
+George had seated himself opposite to her, his arm resting on the centre
+table, and the red blaze lighting up his frank, pleasant face. In figure
+he was tall and slight; his father, at his age, had been so before him.
+
+"Why did you not follow him to London?" resumed Mrs. Ryle. "It would
+have been less than a two hours' journey from Oxford."
+
+George turned his large dark eyes upon her, some surprise in them. "How
+was I to know where to look for him, if I had gone?"
+
+"Could Mr. Ferrars not give you his address?"
+
+"No. I asked him. Treve had not told him where he should put up. In
+fact, Ferrars did not think Treve knew himself. Under these
+circumstances, my going to town would have been only waste of time and
+money."
+
+"It is of no use your keeping things from me," resumed Mrs. Ryle, after
+a pause. "Has Treve contracted fresh debts at Oxford?"
+
+"I fancy he has. A few."
+
+"A 'few'--and you 'fancy!' George, tell me the truth. That you know he
+has, and that they are not a few."
+
+"That he has, I believe to be true: I gathered as much from Ferrars. But
+I do not think they are serious; I do not indeed."
+
+"Why did you not inquire? I would have gone to every shop in the town,
+in order to ascertain. If he is contracting more debts, who is to pay
+them?"
+
+George was silent.
+
+"When shall we be clear of Chattaway?" she abruptly resumed. "When will
+the last payment be due?"
+
+"In a month or two's time. Principal and interest will all be paid off
+then."
+
+"It will take all your efforts to make up the sum."
+
+"It will be ready, mother. It shall be."
+
+"I don't doubt it. But it will not be ready, George, if a portion is to
+be taken from it for Treve."
+
+George knit his brow. He was falling into thought.
+
+"I _must_ get rid of Chattaway," she resumed. "He has been weighing us
+down all these years like an incubus; and now that emancipation has
+nearly come, were anything to delay it, I should--I think I should go
+mad."
+
+"I hope and trust nothing will delay it," answered George. "I am more
+anxious to get rid of Chattaway than, I think, even you can be. As to
+Treve, his debts must wait."
+
+"But it would be more desirable that he should not contract them."
+
+"Of course. But how are we to prevent his contracting them?"
+
+"He ought to prevent it himself. _You_ did not contract debts."
+
+"I!" he rejoined, in surprise. "I had no opportunity of doing so. Work
+and responsibility were thrown upon me before I was old enough to think
+of pleasure: and they kept me steady."
+
+"You were not naturally inclined to spend, George."
+
+"There's no knowing what I might have acquired, had I been sent out into
+the world, as Treve has," he rejoined.
+
+"It was necessary that Treve should go to college," said Mrs. Ryle,
+quite sharply.
+
+"I am not saying anything to the contrary," George quietly answered. "It
+was right that he should go--as you wished it."
+
+"I shall live--I hope I shall live--I pray that I may live--to see
+Trevlyn lawful possessor of the Hold. A gentleman's education was
+essential to him: hence I sent him to Oxford."
+
+George made no reply. Mrs. Ryle felt vexed. She knew George disapproved
+her policy in regard to Trevlyn, and charged him with it now. George
+would not deny it.
+
+"What I think unwise is your having led Treve to build hopes upon
+succeeding to Trevlyn Hold," he said.
+
+"Why?" she haughtily asked. "He will come into it."
+
+"I do not see how."
+
+"He has far more right to it than he who is looked upon as its
+successor--Cris Chattaway," she said, with flashing eyes. "You know
+that."
+
+George could have answered that neither of them had a just right to it,
+whilst Rupert Trevlyn lived; but Rupert and his claims had been so
+completely ignored by Mrs. Ryle, as by others, that his advancing them
+would have been waived away as idle talk. Mrs. Ryle resumed, her voice
+unsteady. It was most rare that she suffered herself to speak of these
+past grievances; but when she did, her vehemence mounted to agitation.
+
+"When my boy was born, the news that Joe Trevlyn's health was failing
+had come home to us. I knew the Squire would never leave the property to
+Maude, and I expected that my son would inherit. Was it not natural that
+I should do so?--was it not his right?--I was the Squire's eldest
+daughter. I had him named Trevlyn; I wrote a note to my father, saying
+he would not now be at fault for a male heir, in the event of poor Joe's
+not leaving one----"
+
+"He did leave one," interrupted George, speaking impulsively.
+
+"Rupert was not born then, and his succession was afterwards barred by
+my father's will. Through deceit, I grant you: but I had no hand in that
+deceit. I named my boy Trevlyn; I regarded him as the heir; and when the
+Squire died and his will was opened, it was found he had bequeathed all
+to Chattaway. If you think I have ever once faltered in my hope--my
+resolve--to see Trevlyn some time displace the Chattaways, you do not
+know much of human nature."
+
+"I grant what you say," replied George; "that, of the two, Trevlyn has
+more right to it than Cris Chattaway. But has it ever occurred to you to
+ask, _how_ Cris is to be displaced?"
+
+Mrs. Ryle did not answer. She sat beating her foot upon the ottoman, as
+one whose mind is not at ease. George continued:
+
+"It appears to me the wildest possible fallacy, the bare idea of
+Trevlyn's being able to displace Cris Chattaway in the succession. If we
+lived in the barbarous ages, when inheritances were wrested by force of
+arms, when the turn of a battle decided the ownership of a castle, then
+there might be a chance that Cris might lose Trevlyn Hold. As it is,
+there is none. There is not the faintest shadow of a chance that it can
+go to any one beside Cris. Failing his death--and he is strong and
+healthy--he _must_ succeed. Why, even were Rupert--forgive my alluding
+to him again--to urge _his_ claims, there would be no hope for him. Mr.
+Chattaway legally holds the estate; he has willed it to his son; and
+that son cannot be displaced by others."
+
+Her foot beat more impatiently; a heavier line settled on her brow.
+Often and often had the arguments now stated by her step-son occurred to
+her aching brain. George spoke again.
+
+"And therefore, the improbability--I may say the impossibility--of
+Treve's ever succeeding renders it unwise that he should have been
+taught to build upon it. Far better, mother, the thought had never been
+so much as whispered to him."
+
+"Why do you look at it in this unfavourable light?" she cried angrily.
+
+"Because it is the correct light. The property is Mr.
+Chattaway's--legally his, and it cannot be taken from him. It will be
+Cris's after him. It is simply madness to think otherwise."
+
+"Cris may die," said Mrs. Ryle sharply.
+
+"If Cris died to-morrow, Treve would be no nearer succession. Chattaway
+has daughters, and would will it to each in turn rather than to Treve.
+He can will it away as he pleases. It was left to him absolutely."
+
+"My father was mad when he made such a will in favour of Chattaway! He
+could have been nothing less. I have thought so many times."
+
+"But it was made, and cannot now be altered. Will you pardon me for
+saying that it would have been better had you accepted the state of
+affairs, and endeavoured to reconcile yourself to them?"
+
+"_Better?_"
+
+"Yes; much better. To rebel against what cannot be remedied can only do
+harm. I would a great deal rather Treve succeeded to Trevlyn Hold than
+Cris Chattaway: but I know Treve never will succeed: and, therefore, it
+is a pity it was ever suggested to him. He might have settled down more
+steadily had he never become possessed of the idea that he might some
+time supersede Cris Chattaway."
+
+"He _shall_ supersede him----"
+
+The door opened to admit a visitor, and he who entered was no other than
+Rupert Trevlyn. Ignore his claims as she would, Mrs. Ryle felt it would
+not be seemly to discuss before him Treve's chance of succession. She
+had in truth completely put from her all thought of the claims of
+Rupert. He had been deprived of his right by Squire Trevlyn's will, and
+there was an end to it. Mrs. Ryle rather liked Rupert; or, it may be
+better to say, she did not _dis_like him; really to like any one except
+Treve, was not in her nature. She liked Rupert in a negative sort of
+way; but would not have helped him to his inheritance by lifting a
+finger. In the event of her possessing no son to be jealous for, she
+might have taken up the wrongs of Rupert--just to thwart Chattaway.
+
+"Why, Rupert," said George, rising, and cordially shaking hands, "I
+heard you were ill again. Maude told me so to-day."
+
+"I am better to-night. Aunt Ryle, they said you were in bed."
+
+"I am better, too, Rupert. What has been the matter with you?"
+
+"Oh, my chest again," said Rupert, pushing the waving hair from his
+bright and delicate face. "I could hardly breathe this morning."
+
+"Ought you to have come out to-night?"
+
+"I don't think it matters," carelessly answered Rupert. "For all I see,
+I am as well when I go out as when I don't. There's not much to stay in
+for, there."
+
+Painfully susceptible to cold, he edged himself closer to the hearth
+with a slight shiver. George took the poker and stirred the fire, and
+the blaze went flashing up, playing on the familiar objects of the room,
+lighting up the slender figure, the well-formed features, the large blue
+eyes of Rupert, and bringing out all the signs of constitutional
+delicacy. The transparent fairness of complexion and the bloom of the
+cheeks, might have whispered a warning.
+
+"Octave thought you were going up there to-night, George."
+
+"Did she?"
+
+"The two Beecroft girls are there, and they turned me out of the
+drawing-room. Octave said 'I wasn't wanted.' Will you play chess
+to-night, George?"
+
+"If you like; after supper."
+
+"I must be home by half-past ten, you know. I was a minute over the
+half-hour the other night, and one of the servants opened the door for
+me. Chattaway pretty nearly rose the roof off, he was so angry; but he
+could not decently turn me out again."
+
+"Chattaway is master of Trevlyn Hold for the time being," remarked Mrs.
+Ryle. "Not Squire; never Squire"--she broke off, straying abruptly from
+her subject, and as abruptly resuming it. "You will do well to obey him,
+Rupert. When I make a rule in this house, I _never permit it to be
+broken_."
+
+A valuable hint, if Rupert had only taken it for guidance. He meant
+well: he never meant, for all his light and careless speaking, to
+disobey Mr. Chattaway's mandate. And yet it happened that very night!
+
+The chess-board was attractive, and the time slipped on to half-past
+ten. Rupert said a hasty good night, snatched up his hat, tore through
+the entrance-room and made the best speed his lungs allowed him to
+Trevlyn Hold. His heart was beating as he gained it, and he rang that
+peal at the bell which had sent its echoes through the house; through
+the trembling frame and weak heart of Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+He rang--and rang. There came back no sign that the ring was heard. A
+light shone in Mrs. Chattaway's dressing-room; and Rupert took up some
+gravel, and gently threw it against the window. No response was accorded
+in answer to it; not so much as the form of a hand on the blind; the
+house, in its utter stillness, might have been the house of the dead.
+Rupert threw up some more gravel as silently as he could.
+
+He had not to wait very long this time. Cautiously, slowly, as though
+the very movement feared being heard, the blind was drawn aside, and the
+face of Mrs. Chattaway appeared looking down at him. He could see that
+she had not begun to undress. She shook her head; raised her hands and
+clasped them with a gesture of despair; and her lips formed themselves
+into the words, "I may not let you in."
+
+He could not hear the words, but read the expression of the whole all
+too clearly--Chattaway would not suffer him to be admitted. Mrs.
+Chattaway, dreading possibly that her husband might cast his eyes within
+her dressing-room, quietly let the blind fall again, and removed her
+shadow from the window.
+
+What was Rupert to do? Lie on the grass that skirted the avenue, and
+take his night's rest under the trees in the freezing air and night
+dews? A strong frame, revelling in superfluous health, might possibly
+risk that; but not Rupert Trevlyn.
+
+A momentary thought come over him that he would go back to Trevlyn Farm,
+and ask for a night's shelter there. He would have done so, but for the
+recollection of Mrs. Ryle's stern voice and sterner face when she
+remarked that, as he knew the rule made for his going in, he must not
+break it. Rupert had never got on too cordially with Mrs. Ryle. He
+remembered shrinking from her haughty face when he was a child; and
+somehow he shrank from it still. No; he would not knock them up at
+Trevlyn Farm.
+
+What must he do? Should he walk about until morning? Suddenly a thought
+came to him--were the Canhams in bed? If not, he could go there, and lie
+on their settle. The Canhams never went to bed very early. Ann Canham
+sat up to lock the great gate--it was Chattaway's pleasure that it
+should not be done until after ten o'clock; and old Canham liked to sit
+up, smoking his pipe.
+
+With a brisk step, now that he had decided on his course, Rupert walked
+down the avenue. At the first turning he ran against Cris Chattaway, who
+was coming leisurely up it.
+
+"Oh, Cris! I am so glad! You'll let me in. They have shut me out
+to-night."
+
+"Let you in!" repeated Cris. "I can't."
+
+Rupert's blue eyes opened in the starlight. "Have you not your
+latch-key?"
+
+"What should hinder me?" responded Cris. "_I'm_ going in; but I can't
+let you in."
+
+"Why not?" hotly asked Rupert.
+
+"I don't choose to fly in the Squire's face. He has ordered you to be in
+before half-past ten, or not to come in at all. It has gone half-past
+ten long ago: is hard upon eleven."
+
+"If you can go in after half-past ten, why can't I?" cried Rupert.
+
+"It's not my affair," said Cris, with a yawn. "Don't bother. Now look
+here. It's of no use following me, for I shall not let you in."
+
+"Yes you will, Cris."
+
+"_I will not_," responded Cris, emphatically. Rupert's temper was
+getting up.
+
+"Cris, I wouldn't show myself such a hangdog sneak as you to be made
+king of England. If every one had their rights, Trevlyn Hold would be
+mine, to shut you out of it if I pleased. But I wouldn't please. If only
+a dog were turned out of his kennel at night, I would let him into the
+Hold for shelter."
+
+Cris put his latch-key into the lock. "_I_ don't turn you out. You must
+settle that question with the Squire. Keep off. If he says you may be
+let in at eleven, well and good; but I'm not going to encourage you in
+disobeying orders."
+
+He opened the door a few inches, wound himself in, and shut it in
+Rupert's face. He made a great noise in putting up the bar, which was
+not in the least necessary. Rupert had given him his true
+appellation--that of sneak. He was one: a false-hearted, plausible,
+cowardly sneak. As he stood at a table in the hall, and struck a match
+to light his candle, his puny face and dull light eyes betrayed the most
+complaisant enjoyment.
+
+He went upstairs smiling. He had to pass the angle of the corridor where
+his mother's rooms were situated. She glided silently out as he was
+going by. Her dress was off, and she had apparently thrown a shawl over
+her shoulders to come out to Cris: an old-fashioned spun-silk shawl,
+with a grey border and white centre: not so white, however, as the face
+of Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+"Cris!" she said, laying her hand upon his arm, and speaking in the most
+timid whisper, "why did you not let him in?"
+
+"I thought we had been ordered not to let him in," returned he of the
+deceitful nature. "_I_ have been ordered, I know that."
+
+"You might have done it just for once, Cris," his mother answered. "I
+know not what will become of him, out of doors this sharp night."
+
+Cris disengaged his arm, and continued his way up to his room. He slept
+on the upper floor. Maude was standing at the door of her chamber when
+he passed--as Mrs. Chattaway had been.
+
+"Cris--wait a minute," she said, for he was hastening by. "I want to
+speak a word to you. Have you seen Rupert?"
+
+"Seen him and heard him too," boldly avowed Cris. "He wanted me to let
+him in."
+
+"Which, of course, you would not do?" answered Maude, bitterly. "I
+wonder if you ever performed a good-natured action in your life?"
+
+"Can't remember," mockingly retorted Cris.
+
+"Where is Rupert? What is he going to do?"
+
+"You know where he is as well as I do: I suppose you could hear him. As
+to what he is going to do, I didn't ask him. Roost in a tree with the
+birds, perhaps."
+
+Maude retreated into her room and closed the door. She flung herself
+into a chair, and burst into a passionate flood of tears. Her heart
+ached for her brother with pain that amounted to agony: she could have
+forced down her proud spirit and knelt to Mr. Chattaway for him: almost
+have sacrificed her own life to bring comfort to Rupert, whom she loved
+so well.
+
+He--Rupert--stamped off when the door was closed against him, feeling he
+would like to stamp upon Cris himself. Arrived in front of the lodge, he
+stood and whistled, and presently Ann Canham looked from the upper
+casement in her nightcap.
+
+"Why, it's never you, Master Rupert!" she exclaimed, in intense
+surprise.
+
+"They have locked me out, Ann. Can you manage to come down and open the
+door without disturbing your father? If you can, I'll lie on the settle
+for to-night."
+
+Once inside, there ensued a contest. In her humble way, begging pardon
+for the presumption, Ann Canham proposed that Master Rupert should
+occupy her room, and she'd make herself contented with the settle.
+Rupert would not hear of it. He threw himself on the narrow bench they
+called the settle, and protested that if Ann said another word about
+giving up her room, he would go out and spend the night in the avenue.
+So she was fain to go back to it herself.
+
+A dreary night on that hard bench; and the morning found him cold and
+stiff. He was stamping one foot on the floor to stamp life into it, when
+old Canham entered, leaning on a crutch. Ann had told him the news, and
+the old man was up before his time.
+
+"But who shut you out, Master Rupert?" he asked.
+
+"Chattaway."
+
+"Ann says Mr. Cris went in pretty late last night. After she had locked
+the big gate."
+
+"Cris came up whilst I was ringing to be let in. He went in himself, but
+would not let me enter."
+
+"He's a reptile," said old Canham in his anger. "Eh me!" he added,
+sitting down with difficulty in his armchair, and extending the crutch
+before him, "what a mercy it would have been if Mr. Joe had lived!
+Chattaway would never have been stuck up in authority then. Better the
+Squire had left Trevlyn Hold to Miss Diana."
+
+"They say he would not leave it to a woman."
+
+"That's true, Master Rupert. And of his children there were but his
+daughters left. The two sons had gone. Rupert the heir first: he died on
+the high seas; and Mr. Joe next."
+
+"Mark, why did Rupert the heir go to sea?"
+
+Old Canham shook his head. "Ah, it was a bad business, Master Rupert,
+and it's as well not to talk of it."
+
+"But _why_ did he go?" persisted Rupert.
+
+"It was a bad business, I say. He, the heir, had fallen into wild ways,
+got to like bad company, and that. He went out one night with some
+poachers--just for the fun of it. It wasn't on these lands. He meant no
+harm, but he was young and random, and he went out and put a gauze over
+his face as they did,--just, I say, for the fun of it. Master Rupert,
+that night they killed a gamekeeper."
+
+A shiver passed through Rupert's frame. "_He_ killed him?--my uncle,
+Rupert Trevlyn?"
+
+"No, it wasn't he that killed him--as was proved a long while
+afterwards. But you see at the time it wasn't known exactly who had done
+it: they were all in league together, all in a mess, as may be said. Any
+way, the young heir, whether in fear or shame, went off in secret, and
+before many months had gone over, the bells were tolling for him. He had
+died far away."
+
+"But people never could have believed that a Trevlyn killed a man?" said
+Rupert, indignantly.
+
+Old Canham paused. "You have heard of the Trevlyn temper, Master
+Rupert?"
+
+"Who hasn't?" returned Rupert. "They say I have a touch of it."
+
+"Well, those that believed it laid it to that temper, you see. They
+thought the heir had been overtook by a fit of passion, and might have
+done the mischief in it. In those fits of passion a man is mad."
+
+"Is he?" abstractedly remarked Rupert, falling into a reverie. He had
+never before heard this episode in the history of the uncle whose name
+he bore--Rupert Trevlyn.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+NO BREAKFAST
+
+
+Old Canham stood at the door of his lodge, gazing after one who was
+winding through the avenue, in the direction of Trevlyn Hold, one whom
+old Canham delighted to patronise and make much of in his humble way;
+whom he encouraged in all sorts of vain and delusive notions--Rupert
+Trevlyn. Could Mr. Chattaway have divined the treason talked against him
+nearly every time Rupert dropped into the lodge, he might have tried
+hard to turn old Canham out of it. Harmless treason, however; consisting
+of rebellious words only. There was neither plotting nor hatching; old
+Canham and Rupert never glanced at that; both were perfectly aware that
+Chattaway held his place by a tenure which could not be disturbed.
+
+Many years ago, before Squire Trevlyn died, Mark Canham had grown ill in
+his service. In his service he had caught the cold which ended in an
+incurable rheumatic affection. The Squire settled him in the lodge, then
+just vacant, and allowed him five shillings a week. When the Squire
+died, Chattaway would have undone this. He wished to turn the old man
+out again (but it must be observed in a parenthesis that, though
+universally styled old Canham, the man was less old in years than in
+appearance), and place some one else in the lodge. I think, when there
+is no love lost between people, as the saying runs, each side is
+conscious of it. Chattaway disliked Mark Canham, and had a shrewd
+suspicion that Mark returned the feeling with interest. But he found he
+could not dismiss him from the lodge, for Miss Trevlyn put her veto upon
+it. She openly declared that Squire Trevlyn's act in placing his old
+servant there should be observed; she promised Mark he should not be
+turned out of it as long as he lived. Chattaway had no resource but to
+bow to it; he might not cross Diana Trevlyn; but he did succeed in
+reducing the weekly allowance. Half-a-crown a week was all the regular
+money enjoyed by the lodge since the time of Squire Trevlyn. Miss Diana
+sometimes gave him a trifle from her private purse; and the gardener was
+allowed to make an occasional present of vegetables in danger of
+spoiling: at the beginning of winter, too, a load of wood would be
+stacked in the shed behind the lodge, through the forethought of Miss
+Diana. But it was not much altogether to keep two people upon; and Ann
+Canham was glad to accept a day's hard work offered her at any of the
+neighbouring houses, or do a little plain sewing at home. Very fine
+sewing she could not do, for she suffered from weak eyes.
+
+Old Canham watched Rupert until the turnings of the avenue hid him from
+view, and then drew back into the room. Ann was busy with the breakfast.
+A loaf of oaten bread and a basin of skim milk, she had just heated, was
+placed before her father. A smaller cup served for her own share: and
+that constituted their breakfast. Three mornings a week Ann Canham had
+the privilege of fetching a quart of skim milk from the dairy at the
+Hold. Chattaway growled at the extravagance of the gift, but he did no
+more, for it was Miss Diana's pleasure that it should be supplied.
+
+"Chattaway'll go a bit too far, if he don't mind," observed old Canham
+to his daughter, in relation to Rupert. "He must be a bad nature, to
+lock him out of his own house. For the matter of that, however, he's a
+very bad one; and it's known he is."
+
+"It is not his own, father," Ann Canham ventured to retort. "Poor Master
+Rupert haven't no right to it now."
+
+"It's a shame but he had. Why, Chattaway has no more moral right to that
+fine estate than I have!" added the old man, holding up his left hand in
+the heat of argument. "If Master Rupert and Miss Maude were dead,--if
+Joe Trevlyn had never left a child at all,--others would have a right to
+it before Chattaway."
+
+"But Chattaway has it, father, and nobody can't alter it, or hinder it,"
+sensibly returned Ann. "You'll have your milk cold."
+
+The breakfast hour at Trevlyn Hold was early, and when Rupert entered,
+he found most of the family downstairs. Rupert ran up to his bedroom,
+where he washed and refreshed himself as much as was possible after his
+weary night. He was one upon whom only a night out of bed would tell
+seriously. When he went down to the breakfast-room, they were all
+assembled except Cris and Mrs. Chattaway. Cris was given to lying in bed
+in a morning, and the self-indulgence was permitted. Mrs. Chattaway also
+was apt to be late, coming down generally when breakfast was nearly
+over.
+
+Rupert took his place at the breakfast-table. Mr. Chattaway, who was at
+that moment raising his coffee-cup to his lips, put it down and stared
+at him. As he might have stared at some stranger who had intruded and
+sat down amongst them.
+
+"What do you want?" asked Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"Want?" repeated Rupert, not understanding. "My breakfast."
+
+"Which you will not get here," calmly and coldly returned Mr. Chattaway.
+"If you cannot come home to sleep at night, you shall not have your
+breakfast here in the morning."
+
+"I did come home," said Rupert; "but I was not let in."
+
+"Of course you were not. The household had retired."
+
+"Cris came home after I did, and was allowed to enter," objected Rupert
+again.
+
+"That is no business of yours," said Mr. Chattaway. "All you have to do
+is to obey the rules I lay down. And I will have them obeyed," he added,
+more sternly.
+
+Rupert sat on. Octave, who was presiding at the table, did not give him
+any coffee; no one attempted to hand him anything. Maude was seated
+opposite to him, and he could see that the unpleasantness was agitating
+her painfully; her colour went and came; she toyed with her breakfast,
+but could not swallow it: least of all, dared _she_ interfere to give
+even so much as bread to her ill-fated brother.
+
+"Where did you sleep last night, pray?" inquired Mr. Chattaway, pausing
+in the midst of helping himself to some pigeon-pie, as he looked at
+Rupert.
+
+"Not in this house," curtly replied Rupert. The unkindness seemed to be
+changing his very nature. It had continued long and long; had been shown
+in many and various forms.
+
+The master of Trevlyn Hold finished helping himself to the pie, and
+began eating it with apparent relish. He was about half-way through the
+plateful when he again stopped to address Rupert, who was sitting in
+silence, nothing but the table-cloth before him.
+
+"You need not wait. If you stop there until mid-day you'll get no
+breakfast. Gentlemen who sleep outside do not break their fasts in my
+house."
+
+Rupert pushed back his chair, and rose. Happening to glance across at
+Maude, he saw that her tears were dropping silently. It was a most
+unhappy home for both! He crossed the hall to the door: and thought he
+might as well depart at once for Blackstone. Fine as the morning was,
+the air, as he passed out, struck coldly upon him, and he turned back
+for an overcoat.
+
+It was in his bedroom. As he came down with it on his arm, Mrs.
+Chattaway was crossing the corridor, and she drew him inside her
+sitting-room.
+
+"I could not sleep," she murmured. "I was awake nearly all night,
+grieving and thinking of you. Just before daylight I dropped into a
+sleep, and then dreamt you were running up to the door from the waves of
+the sea, which were rushing onwards to overtake you. I thought you were
+knocking at the door, and we could not get down to it in time, and the
+waters came on and on. Rupert, darling, all this is telling upon me. Why
+did you not come in?"
+
+"I meant to be in, Aunt Edith; indeed I did; but I was playing chess
+with George Ryle, and did not notice the time. It was only just turned
+half-past when I got here; Mr. Chattaway might have let me in without
+any great stretch of indulgence," he added, bitterly. "So might Cris."
+
+"What did you do?" she asked.
+
+"I got in at old Canham's, and lay on the settle. Don't repeat this, or
+it may get the Canhams into trouble."
+
+"Have you breakfasted?"
+
+"I am not to have any."
+
+The words startled her. "Rupert!"
+
+"Mr. Chattaway ordered me from the table. The next thing, I expect, he
+will order me from the house. If I knew where to go I wouldn't stop in
+it another hour. I would not, Aunt Edith."
+
+"Have you had nothing--nothing?"
+
+"Nothing. I would go round to the dairy and get some milk, but I should
+be reported. I'm off to Blackstone now. Good-bye."
+
+Tears were filling her eyes as she lifted them in their sad yearning. He
+stooped and kissed her.
+
+"Don't grieve, Aunt Edith. You can't make it better for me. I have got
+the cramp like anything," he carelessly observed as he went off. "It is
+through lying on the cold, hard settle."
+
+"Rupert! Rupert!"
+
+He turned back, half in alarm. The tone was one of wild, painful
+entreaty.
+
+"You will come home to-night, Rupert?"
+
+"Yes. Depend upon me."
+
+She remained a few minutes longer watching him down the avenue. He had
+put on his coat, and went along with slow and hesitating steps; very
+different from the firm, careless steps of a strong frame, springing
+from a happy heart. Mrs. Chattaway pressed her hands to her brow, lost
+in a painful vision. If his father, her once dearly-loved brother Joe,
+could look on at the injustice done on earth, what would he think of the
+portion meted out to Rupert?
+
+She descended to the breakfast-room. Mr. Chattaway had finished his
+breakfast and was rising. She kissed her children one by one; sat down
+patiently and silently, smiling without cheerfulness. Octave passed her
+a cup of coffee, which was cold; and then asked her what she would take
+to eat. But she said she was not hungry that morning, and would eat
+nothing.
+
+"Rupert's gone away without his breakfast, mamma," cried Emily. "Papa
+would not let him have it. Serve him right! He stayed out all night."
+
+Mrs. Chattaway stole a glance at Maude. She was sitting pale and quiet;
+her air that of one who has to bear some long, wearing pain.
+
+"If you have finished your breakfast, Maude, you can be getting ready to
+take the children for their walk," said Octave, speaking with her usual
+assumption of authority--an assumption Maude at least might not dispute.
+
+Mr. Chattaway left the room, and ordered his horse to be got ready. He
+was going to ride over his land for an hour before proceeding to
+Blackstone. Whilst the animal was being saddled, he rejoiced his eyes
+with his rich stores; the corn in his barns, the hay-ricks in his yard.
+All very satisfactory, very consoling to the covetous master of the
+Hold.
+
+He went out, riding hither and thither. Half-an-hour afterwards, in the
+lane skirting Mrs. Ryle's lands on the one side and his on the other, he
+saw another horseman before him. It was George Ryle. Mr. Chattaway
+touched his horse with the spur, and rode up to him. George turned his
+head and continued his way. Chattaway had been better pleased had George
+stopped.
+
+"Are you hastening on to avoid me, Mr. Ryle?" he called out, sullenly.
+"You might have seen that I wished to speak to you, by the pace at which
+I urged my horse."
+
+George reined in, and turned to face Mr. Chattaway. "I saw nothing of
+the sort," he answered. "Had I known you wanted me, I should have
+stopped; but it is no unusual circumstance to see you riding fast about
+your land."
+
+"Well, what I have to say is this: that I'd recommend you not to get
+Rupert Trevlyn to your house at night, and keep him there to
+unreasonable hours."
+
+George paused. "I don't understand you, Mr. Chattaway."
+
+"Don't you?" retorted that gentleman. "I'm not talking Dutch. Rupert
+Trevlyn has taken to frequenting your house of late; it's not altogether
+good for him."
+
+"Do you fear he will get any harm in it?" quietly asked George.
+
+"I think it would be better that he should stay away. Is the Hold not
+sufficient for him to spend his evenings in, but he must seek amusement
+elsewhere? I shall be obliged to you not to encourage his visits."
+
+"Mr. Chattaway," said George, his face full of earnestness, "it appears
+to me that you are labouring under some mistake, or you would certainly
+not speak to me as you are now doing. I do not encourage Rupert to my
+mother's house, in one sense of the word; I never press for his visits.
+When he does come, I show myself happy to see him and make him
+welcome--as I should do by any other visitor. Common courtesy demands
+this of me."
+
+"You do press for his visits," said Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"I do not," firmly repeated George. "Shall I tell you why I do not? I
+have no wish but to be open in the matter. An impression has seated
+itself in my mind that his visits to our house displease you, and
+therefore I have not encouraged them."
+
+Perhaps Mr. Chattaway was rather taken back by this answer. At any rate,
+he made no reply to it.
+
+"But to receive him courteously when he does come, I cannot help doing,"
+continued George. "I shall do it still. If Trevlyn Farm is to be a
+forbidden house to Rupert, it is not from our side the veto shall come.
+As long as Rupert pays us these visits of friendship--and what harm you
+can think they do him, or why he should not pay them, I am unable to
+conceive--so long he will be met with a welcome."
+
+"Do you say this to oppose me?"
+
+"Far from it. If you look at the case in an unprejudiced light, you may
+see that I speak in accordance with the commonest usages of civility. To
+close the doors of our house to Rupert when there exists no reason why
+they should be closed--and most certainly he has given us none--would be
+an act we might blush to be guilty of."
+
+"You have been opposing me all the later years of your life. From that
+time when I wished to place you with Wall and Barnes, you have done
+nothing but act in opposition to me."
+
+"I have forgiven that," said George, pointedly, a glow rising to his
+face at the recollection. "As to any other opposition, I am unconscious
+of it. You have given me advice occasionally respecting the farm; but
+the advice has not in general tallied with my own opinion, and therefore
+I have not taken it. If you call that opposing you, Mr. Chattaway, I
+cannot help it."
+
+"I see you have been mending that fence in the three-cornered paddock,"
+remarked Mr. Chattaway, passing to another subject, and speaking in a
+different tone. Possibly he had had enough of the last.
+
+"Yes," said George. "You would not mend it, and therefore I have had it
+done. I cannot let my cattle get into the pound. I shall deduct the
+expense from the rent."
+
+"You'll not," said Mr. Chattaway. "I won't be at the cost of a
+penny-piece of it."
+
+"Oh yes, you will," returned George, equably. "The damage was done by
+your team, through your waggoner's carelessness, and the cost of making
+it good lies with you. Have you anything more to say to me?" he asked,
+after a pause. "I am very busy this morning."
+
+"Only this," replied Mr. Chattaway significantly. "That the more you
+encourage Rupert Trevlyn, by making a companion of him, the worse it
+will be for him."
+
+George lifted his hat in salutation. The master of Trevlyn Hold replied
+by an ungracious nod, and turned his horse back down the lane. As George
+rode on, he met Edith and Emily Chattaway--the children, as Octave had
+styled them--running towards him. They had seen their father, and were
+hastening after him. Maude came up more leisurely. George stopped to
+shake hands with her.
+
+"You look pale and ill, Maude," he said, his low voice full of sympathy,
+his hand retaining hers. "Is it about Rupert?"
+
+"Yes," she replied, striving to keep back her tears. "He was not allowed
+to come in last night, and has been sent away without breakfast this
+morning."
+
+"I know all about it," said George. "I met Rupert just now, and he told
+me. I asked him if he would go to Nora for some breakfast--I could not
+do less, you know," he added musingly, as if debating the question with
+himself. "But he declined. I am almost glad he did."
+
+Maude was surprised. "Why?" she asked.
+
+"Because I have had an idea--have felt it for some time--that any
+attention shown to Rupert, no matter by whom, only makes his position
+worse with Chattaway. And Chattaway has now confirmed it by telling me
+so."
+
+Maude's eyelids drooped. "How sad it is!" she exclaimed with
+emotion--"and for one in his weak state! If he were only strong as the
+rest of us are, it would matter less. I fear--I do fear he must have
+slept under the trees in the avenue," she continued. "Mr. Chattaway
+inquired where he had passed the night, and Rupert answered----"
+
+"I can so far relieve your fears, Maude," interrupted George, glancing
+round, as if to make sure no ears were near. "He was at old Canham's."
+
+Maude gave a deep sigh in her relief. "You are certain, George?"
+
+"Yes, yes. Rupert told me so just now. He said how hard he found the
+settle. Here come your charges, Maude; so I will say good-bye."
+
+She suffered her hand to linger in his, but her heart was too full to
+speak. George bent lower.
+
+"Do not make the grief weightier than you can bear, Maude. It is real
+grief; but happier times may be in store for Rupert--and for you."
+
+He released her hand, and cantered down the lane; and the two girls came
+up, telling Maude they should go home now, for they had walked long
+enough.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+TORMENTS
+
+
+There appeared to be no place on earth for Rupert Trevlyn. Most people
+have some little nook they can fit themselves into and call their own;
+but he had none. He was only on sufferance at the Hold, and was made to
+feel more of an interloper in it day by day.
+
+What could be the source of this ill-feeling towards Rupert? Did some
+latent dread exist in the heart of Mr. Chattaway, and from thence reach
+that of Cris, whispering that he, Rupert, the true heir of Trevlyn Hold,
+might at some future day, through some unforeseen and apparently
+impossible chance, come into his rights? No doubt it was so. There are
+no other means of accounting for it. It may be, they deemed, that the
+more effectually he was kept under, treated as an object to be despised,
+lowered from his proper station, the less chance would there be of that
+covert dread growing into a certainty. Whatever its cause, Rupert was
+shamefully put upon. It is true that he sat at their table, occupied the
+same sitting-room. But at table he was placed below the rest, was served
+last, and from the plainest dish. Mrs. Chattaway's heart would ache; it
+had ached for many a year; but she could not alter it. In their
+evenings, when the rest were gathered round the fire, Rupert would be
+left out in the cold. Nothing in the world did he so covet as a warm
+seat near the fire. It had been sought by his father when he was
+Rupert's age, and perhaps Miss Diana remembered this, for she would call
+Rupert forward, and sharply rebuke those who would have kept him from
+it.
+
+But Miss Diana was not always in the room; not often, in fact. She had
+her own sitting-room upstairs, as Mrs. Chattaway had hers; and both
+ladies more frequently retired to them in an evening, leaving the
+younger ones to enjoy themselves, with their books and work, their music
+and games, unrestrained by their presence. And poor Rupert was condemned
+to remote quarters, where no one noticed him.
+
+From that point alone, the cold, it was a severe trial. Of weakly
+constitution, a chilly nature, warmth was to Rupert Trevlyn almost an
+essential of existence. And it was what he rarely had at Trevlyn Hold.
+No wonder he was driven out. Even old Canham's wood fire, that he might
+get right into if he pleased, was an improvement upon the drawing-room
+at the Hold.
+
+After parting with George Ryle, Maude Trevlyn, in obedience to the
+imperious wills of her pupils, turned her steps homewards. Emily was a
+boisterous, troublesome, disobedient girl; Edith was more gentle and
+amiable, in looks and disposition resembling her mother; but the example
+of her sisters was infectious, and spoiled her. There was another
+daughter, Amelia, older than they were, and at school at Barmester: a
+very disagreeable girl indeed.
+
+"What was George Ryle saying to you, Maude?" somewhat insolently asked
+Emily.
+
+"He was talking of Rupert," she incautiously answered, her mind buried
+in thought.
+
+When they reached the Hold, Mr. Chattaway's horse was being led about by
+a groom, waiting for its master, who had returned, and was indoors. As
+they crossed the hall, they met him coming out of the breakfast-room.
+Octave was with him, talking.
+
+"Cris would have waited, no doubt, papa, had he known you wanted him. He
+ate his breakfast in a hurry, and went out. I suppose he has gone to
+Blackstone."
+
+"I particularly wanted him," grumbled Mr. Chattaway, who was never
+pleasant at the best of times, but would be unbearable if put out. "Cris
+knew I should want him this morning. First Rupert, and then Cris! Are
+you all going to turn disobedient?"
+
+He made a halt at the door, putting on his riding-glove. They stood
+grouped around him--Octave, Maude, and Emily. Edith had run out, and was
+near the horse.
+
+"I would give a crown-piece to know what Mr. Rupert did with himself
+last night," he savagely uttered. "John," exalting his voice, "have you
+any idea where Rupert Trevlyn hid himself all night?"
+
+The locking-out had been known to the household, and afforded
+considerable gossip. John had taken part in it; joined in its surmises
+and comments; therefore he was not at fault for a ready answer.
+
+"I don't know nothing certain, sir. It ain't unlikely he went down to
+the Sheaf o' Corn, and slept there."
+
+"No, no, he did not," involuntarily burst from Maude.
+
+It was an unlucky admission, for its tone was decisive, implying that
+she knew where he did sleep. She spoke in the moment's impulse. The
+Shear of Corn was the nearest public-house; notorious for its irregular
+doings; and Maude felt shocked at the bare suggestion that Rupert would
+enter such a place.
+
+Mr. Chattaway turned to her. "Where _did_ he sleep? What do you know
+about it?" Maude's face grew hot and cold. She opened her lips to
+answer, but closed them again without speaking, the words dying away in
+her uncertainty and hesitation.
+
+Mr. Chattaway may have felt surprised. He knew perfectly well that Maude
+had held no communication with Rupert that morning. He had seen Rupert
+come in and go out; and Maude had not stirred from his presence. He bent
+his cold grey eyes upon her.
+
+"From whom have you been hearing of Rupert's doings?"
+
+It is very probable that Maude would have been at a loss for an answer,
+but she was saved a reply, for Emily spoke up before she had time to
+give one, ill-nature in her tone and words.
+
+"Maude must have heard it from George Ryle. You saw her talking to him,
+papa. She said he had been speaking of Rupert."
+
+Mr. Chattaway did not ask another question. It would have been
+superfluous to do so, in the conclusion he had come to. He believed
+Rupert had slept at Trevlyn Farm. How else could George Ryle have become
+acquainted with his movements?
+
+"They'll be hatching a plot to try to over-throw me," he muttered to
+himself as he went out to his horse: for his was one of those mean,
+suspicious natures that are always fancying the world is antagonistic to
+them. "Maude Ryle has been wanting to get me out of Trevlyn Hold ever
+since I came into it. From the very hour she heard the Squire's will
+read, and found I had inherited, she has been planning and plotting for
+it. She would rather see Rupert in it than me; and rather see her
+pitiful Treve in it than anyone. Yes, yes, Mr. Rupert, we know what you
+frequent Trevlyn Farm for. But it won't answer. It's waste of time. They
+must change England's laws before they can upset Squire Trevlyn's will.
+But it's not less annoying to know that my tenure is constantly being
+hauled over and peered into, to see if they can't find a flaw in it, or
+insert one of their own making."
+
+It was strange that these fears should continually trouble the master of
+Trevlyn Hold. A man who legally holds an estate, on which no shade of a
+suspicion can be cast, need not dread its being wrested from him. It was
+in Squire Trevlyn's power to leave the Hold and its revenues to whom he
+would. Had he chosen to bequeath it to an utter stranger, it was in his
+power to do so: and he had bequeathed it to James Chattaway. Failing
+direct male heirs, it may be thought that Mr. Chattaway had as much
+right to it as anyone else. At any rate, it had been the Squire's
+pleasure to bequeath it to him, and there the matter ended. That the
+master of Trevlyn Hold was ever conscious of a dread his tenure was to
+be some time disturbed, was indisputable. He never betrayed it to any
+living being by so much as a word; he strove to conceal it even from
+himself; but there it was, deep in his secret heart. There it remained,
+and there it tormented him; however unwilling he might have been to
+acknowledge the fact.
+
+Could it be that a prevision of what was really to take place was cast
+upon him?--a mysterious foreshadowing of the future? There are people
+who tell us such warnings come.
+
+The singularity of the affair was, that no grounds could exist for this
+latent fear. Whence then should it arise? Why, from that source whence
+it arises in many people--a bad conscience. It was true the estate had
+been legally left to him; but he knew that his own handiwork, his
+deceit, had brought it to him; he knew that when he suppressed the news
+of the birth of Rupert, and suffered Squire Trevlyn to go to his grave
+uninformed of the fact, he was guilty of nothing less than a crime in
+the sight of God. Mr. Chattaway had heard of that inconvenient thing,
+retribution, and his fancy suggested that it might possibly overtake
+_him_.
+
+If he had only known that he might have set his mind at rest as to the
+plotting and planning, he would have cared less to oppose Rupert's
+visits to the Farm. Nothing could be further from the thoughts of
+Rupert, or George Ryle, than any plotting against Chattaway. Their
+evenings, when together, were spent in harmless conversation, in chess,
+without so much as a reference to Chattaway. But that gentleman did not
+know it, and tormented himself accordingly.
+
+He mounted his horse, and rode away. As he was passing Trevlyn Farm,
+buried in unpleasant thoughts, he saw Nora Dickson at the fold-yard
+gate, and turned his horse's head towards her.
+
+"How came your people to give Rupert Trevlyn a bed last night? They must
+know it would very much displease me."
+
+"Give Rupert Trevlyn a bed!" repeated Nora, regarding Mr. Chattaway with
+the uncompromising stare she was fond of according to that gentleman.
+"He did not sleep here."
+
+"No!" replied Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"No," reiterated Nora. "What should he want with a bed here? Has he not
+his own at Trevlyn Hold? A bed there isn't much for him, when he ought
+to have owned the whole place; but I suppose he can at least count upon
+that."
+
+Mr. Chattaway turned his horse short round, and rode away without
+another word. He always got the worst of it with Nora. A slight
+explosion of his private sentiments with regard to her was given to the
+air, and he again became absorbed on the subject of Rupert.
+
+"Where, then, _did_ he pass the night?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+MR. CHATTAWAY'S OFFICE
+
+
+It was Nora's day for churning. The butter was made twice a week at
+Trevlyn Farm, and the making fell to Nora. She was sole priestess of the
+dairy. It was many and many a long year since any one else had
+interfered in it: except, indeed, in the actual churning. One of the men
+on the farm did that for her in a general way; but to-day they were not
+forthcoming.
+
+When Nora was seen at the fold-yard gate by Mr. Chattaway, idly staring
+up and down the road, she was looking for Jim Sanders, to order him in
+to churn. Not the Jim Sanders mentioned in the earlier portion of our
+history, but Jim's son. Jim the elder was dead: he had brought on rather
+too many attacks of inflammation (a disease to which he was predisposed)
+by his love of beer; and at last one attack worse than the rest came,
+and proved too much for him. The present Jim, representative of his
+name, was a youth of fourteen, not over-burdened with brains, but strong
+and sound, and was found useful on the farm, where he was required to be
+willing to do any work that came first to hand.
+
+Just now he was wanted to churn. The man who usually performed that duty
+was too busy to be spared to-day; therefore it fell to Jim. But Jim
+could not be seen anywhere, and Nora returned indoors and commenced the
+work herself.
+
+The milk at the right temperature--for Nora was too experienced a
+dairy-woman not to know that if she attempted to churn at the wrong one,
+it would be hours before the butter came--she took out the thermometer,
+and turned the milk into the churn. As she was doing this, the servant,
+Nanny, entered: a tall, stolid girl, remarkable for little except
+height.
+
+"Is nobody coming in to churn?" asked she.
+
+"It seems not," answered Nora.
+
+"Shall I do it?"
+
+"Not if I know it," returned Nora. "You'd like to quit your work for
+this pastime, wouldn't you? Have you the potatoes on for the pigs?"
+
+"No," said Nanny.
+
+"Then go and see about, it. You know it was to be done to-day. And I
+suppose the fire's burning away under the furnace."
+
+Fanny stalked out of the dairy. Nora churned away steadily, and turned
+her butter on to the making-up board in about three-quarters of an hour.
+As she was proceeding with it, she saw George ride into the fold-yard,
+and leave his horse in the stable. Another minute and he came in.
+
+"Has Mr. Callaway not come yet, Nora?"
+
+"I have seen nothing of him, Mr. George."
+
+George took out his watch: the one bequeathed him by his father. It was
+only a silver one--as Mr. Ryle had remarked--but George valued it as
+though it had been set in diamonds. He would wear that watch and no
+other as long as he lived. His initials were engraved on it now: G. B.
+R. standing for George Berkeley Ryle.
+
+"If Callaway cannot keep his appointment better than this, I shall beg
+him not to make any more with me," he remarked. "The last time he kept
+me waiting three-quarters of an hour."
+
+"Have you seen Jim Sanders this morning?" asked Nora.
+
+"I saw him in the stables as I rode out."
+
+"I should like to find him!" said Nora. "He is skulking somewhere. I
+have had to churn myself."
+
+"Where's Roger?"
+
+"Roger couldn't hinder his time indoors to-day. Mr. George, what's up at
+Trevlyn Hold again about Rupert?" resumed Nora, turning from her butter
+to glance at George.
+
+"Why do you ask?"
+
+"Chattaway rode by an hour ago when I was outside looking after Jim
+Sanders. He stopped his horse and asked how we came to give Rupert a bed
+last night, when we knew that it would displease him. Like his
+insolence!"
+
+"What answer did you make?" said George, after a pause.
+
+"I gave him one," replied Nora, significantly. "Chattaway needn't fear
+not getting an answer when he comes to me. He knows that."
+
+"But what did you say about Rupert?"
+
+"I said that he had not slept here. If Chattaway----"
+
+Nora was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Chattaway's daughter,
+Octave. She had come to the farm, and, attracted by the sound of voices
+in the dairy, made her way to it. Miss Chattaway had taken it into her
+head lately to be friendly, to honour the farm with frequent visits.
+Mrs. Ryle neither encouraged nor repulsed her. She was civilly
+indifferent: but the young lady chose to take that as a welcome. Nora
+did not show her much greater favour than she was in the habit of
+showing her father. She bent her head over her butter-board, as if
+unaware that any one had entered.
+
+George removed his hat which he had been wearing, as she stepped on to
+the cold floor of the dairy, and took the hand held out to him.
+
+"Who would have thought of seeing you at home at this hour?" she
+exclaimed, in the winning manner which she could put on at times, and
+always did put on for George Ryle.
+
+"And in Nora's dairy, watching her make up the butter!" he answered,
+laughing. "The fact is, I have an appointment with a gentleman this
+morning, and he is keeping me waiting, and making me angry. I can't
+spare the time."
+
+"You look angry!" exclaimed Octave, laughing at him.
+
+"Looks go for nothing," returned George.
+
+"Is your harvest nearly in?"
+
+"If this fine weather only lasts four or five days longer, it will be
+all in. We have had a glorious harvest this year. I hope every one's as
+thankful as I am."
+
+"You have some especial cause for thankfulness?" she observed.
+
+"I have."
+
+She had spoken lightly, and was struck by the strangely earnest answer.
+George could have said that but for that harvest they might not quite so
+soon have discharged her father's debt.
+
+"When shall you hold your harvest home?"
+
+"Next Thursday; this day week," replied George. "Will you come to it?"
+
+"Thank you," said Octave. "Yes, I will."
+
+Had it been to save his life, George Ryle could not have helped the
+surprise in his eyes, as he turned them on Octave Chattaway. He had
+asked the question in the careless gaiety of the moment; really not
+intending it as an invitation. Had he proffered it in all earnestness,
+he never would have supposed it one to be accepted by Octave. Mr.
+Chattaway's family were not in the habit of visiting at Trevlyn Farm.
+
+"In for a penny, in for a pound," thought George. "I don't know what
+Mrs. Ryle will say to this; but if _she_ comes, some of the rest shall
+come also."
+
+It almost seemed as if Octave had divined part of his thoughts. "I must
+ask my aunt Ryle whether she will have me. By way of bribe, I shall tell
+her that I delight in harvest-homes."
+
+"We must have you all," said George. "Your sisters and Maude. Treve will
+be home I expect, and the Apperleys will be here."
+
+"Who else?" asked Octave. "But I don't know about my sisters and Maude."
+
+"Mr. and Mrs. Freeman. They and the Apperleys always come."
+
+"Our starched old parson!" uttered Octave. "He is not a favourite with
+us at the Hold."
+
+"I think he is with your mother."
+
+"Oh, mamma's nobody. Of course we are civil to the Freemans, and
+exchange dull visits with them occasionally. You must be passably civil
+to the parson you sit under."
+
+There was a pause. Octave advanced to Nora, who had gone on diligently
+with her work, never turning her head, or noticing Miss Chattaway by so
+much as a look. Octave drew close and watched her.
+
+"How industrious you are, Nora!--just as if you enjoyed the occupation.
+I should not like to soil my hands, making up butter."
+
+"There are some might make it up in white kid gloves," retorted Nora.
+"The butter wouldn't be any the better for it, Miss Chattaway."
+
+At this juncture Mrs. Ryle's voice was heard, and Octave left the dairy
+in search of her. George was about to follow when Nora stopped him.
+
+"What is the meaning of this new friendship--these morning calls and
+evening visits?" she asked; her eyes thrown keenly on George's face.
+
+"How should I know?" he carelessly replied.
+
+"If you don't, I do," she said. "Can you take care of yourself, George?"
+
+"I believe I can."
+
+"Then do," said Nora, with an emphatic nod. "And don't despise my
+caution: you may want it."
+
+He laughed in his light-heartedness: but he did not tell Nora how
+unnecessary her warning was.
+
+Later in the day, George Ryle had business which took him to Blackstone.
+It was not an inviting ride. The place, as he drew near, had that dreary
+aspect peculiar to the neighbourhood of mines. Rows of black, smoky huts
+were to be seen, the dwellings of the men who worked in the pits; and
+little children ran about with naked legs and tattered clothing, their
+thin faces white and squalid.
+
+"Is it the perpetual dirt they live in makes these children look so
+unhealthy?" thought George--a question he had asked himself a hundred
+times. "I believe the mothers never wash them. Perhaps think it would be
+superfluous, where even the very atmosphere is black."
+
+Black, indeed! Within George's view at that moment might be seen high
+chimneys congregating in all directions, throwing out volumes of smoke
+and flame. Numerous works were around, connected with iron and other
+rich mines abounding in the neighbourhood. Valuable areas for the
+furtherance of civilisation, the increase of wealth; but not pleasant to
+the eye, as compared with green meadows and blossoming trees.
+
+The office belonging to Mr. Chattaway's colliery stood in a particularly
+dreary offshoot from the main road. It was a low but not very small
+building, facing the road on one side, looking to those tall chimneys
+and the dreary country on two of the others. On the fourth was a sort of
+waste ground, which appeared to contain nothing but various heaps of
+coal, a peculiar description of barrow, and some round shallow baskets.
+The building looked like a great shed; it was roofed over, and divided
+into partitions.
+
+As George rode by, he saw Rupert standing at the narrow entrance door,
+leaning against it, as if in fatigue or idleness. Ford, the clerk, a
+young man accustomed to taking life easily, and to give himself little
+concern as to how it went, was standing near, his hands in his pockets.
+To see them doing nothing was sufficient to tell George that Chattaway
+was not about, and he rode up to the office.
+
+"You look tired, Rupert."
+
+"I am tired," answered Rupert. "If things are to go on like this, I
+shall grow tired of life altogether."
+
+"Not yet," said George, cheeringly. "You may talk of that some fifty
+years hence."
+
+Rupert made no answer. The sunlight fell on his fair features and golden
+hair. There was a haggardness in those features, a melancholy in the
+dark blue eyes, George did not like to see. Ford, the clerk, who was
+humming the verse of a song, cut short the melody, and addressed George.
+
+"He has been in this gay state all the afternoon, sir. A charming
+companion for a fellow! It's a good thing I'm pretty jolly myself, or we
+might get consigned to the county asylum as two cases of melancholy. I
+hope he won't make a night of it again, that's all. Nothing wears out a
+chap like a night without bed, and no breakfast at the end of it."
+
+"It isn't that," said Rupert. "I'm sick of it altogether. There has been
+nothing but a row here all day, George--ask Ford. Chattaway has been on
+at all of us. First, he attacked me. He demanded where I slept, and I
+wouldn't tell him. Next, he attacked Cris--a most unusual thing--and
+Cris hasn't got over it yet. He has gone galloping off, to gallop his
+ill-temper away."
+
+"Chattaway has?"
+
+"Not Chattaway; Cris. Cris never came here until one o'clock, and
+Chattaway wanted him, and a row ensued. Next, Ford came in for it: he
+had made a mistake in his entries. Something had uncommonly put out
+Chattaway--that is certain. And to improve his temper, the inspector of
+collieries came to-day and found fault, ordering things to be done that
+Chattaway says he won't do."
+
+"Where's Chattaway now?"
+
+"Gone home. I wish I was there, without the trouble of walking," added
+Rupert. "Chattaway has been ordering a load of coals to the Hold. If
+they were going this evening instead of to-morrow morning, I protest I'd
+take my seat upon them, and get home that way."
+
+"Are you so very tired?" asked George.
+
+"Dead beat."
+
+"It's the sitting up," put in Ford again. "I don't think much of that
+kind of thing will do for Mr. Rupert Trevlyn."
+
+"Perhaps it wouldn't do for you," grumbled Rupert.
+
+George prepared to ride away. "Have you had any dinner, Rupert?" he
+asked.
+
+"I made an attempt, but my appetite had gone by. Chattaway was here till
+past two o'clock, and after that I wasn't hungry."
+
+"He tried some bread-and-cheese," said Ford. "I told him if he'd get a
+chop I'd cook it for him; but he didn't."
+
+"I must be gone," said George. "You will not have left in half-an-hour's
+time, shall you, Rupert?"
+
+"No; nor in an hour either."
+
+George rode off over the stony ground, and they looked after him. Then
+Ford bethought himself of a message he was charged to deliver at one of
+the pits, and Rupert went indoors and sat down to the desk on his high
+stool.
+
+Within the half-hour George Ryle was back again. He rode up to the door,
+and dismounted. Rupert came forward, a pen in hand.
+
+"Are you ready to go home now, Rupert?"
+
+Rupert shook his head. "Ford went to the pit and is not back yet; and I
+have a lot of writing to do. Why?"
+
+"I thought we would have gone home together. You shall ride my horse,
+and I'll walk; it will tire you less than going on foot."
+
+"You are very kind," said Rupert. "Yes, I should like to ride. I was
+thinking just now, that if Cris were worth anything, he'd let me ride
+his horse home. But he's not worth anything, and would no more let me
+ride his horse and walk himself, than he'd let me ride him."
+
+"Has Cris not gone home?"
+
+"I fancy not. Unless he has gone by without calling in. Will you wait,
+George?"
+
+"No. I must walk on. But I'll leave you the horse. You can leave it at
+the Farm, Rupert, and walk the rest of the way."
+
+"I can ride on to the Hold, and send it back."
+
+George hesitated a moment. "I would rather you left it at the Farm,
+Rupert. It will not be far to walk after that."
+
+Rupert acquiesced. Did he wonder why he might not ride the horse to the
+Hold? George would not say, "Because even that slight attention must, if
+possible, be kept from Chattaway."
+
+He fastened the bridle to a hook in the wall, where Mr. Chattaway often
+tied his horse, where Cris sometimes tied his. There was a stable near;
+but unless they were going to remain in the office or about the pits,
+Mr. Chattaway and his son seldom put up their horses.
+
+George Ryle walked away with a quick step, and Rupert returned to his
+desk. A quarter-of-an-hour passed on, and the clerk did not return.
+Rupert grew impatient for his arrival, and went to the door to look out
+for him. He did not see Ford; but he did see Cris Chattaway. Cris was
+approaching on foot, at a snail's pace, leading his horse, which was
+dead lame.
+
+"Here's a nice bother!" called out Cris. "How I am to get back home, I
+don't know."
+
+"What has happened?" returned Rupert.
+
+"Can't you see what has happened? How it happened, I am unable to tell
+you. All I know is, the horse fell suddenly lame, and whined like a
+child. Something must have run into his foot, I conclude. Whose horse is
+that? Why, it's George Ryle's," Cris exclaimed as he drew sufficiently
+near to recognise it. "What brings his horse here?"
+
+"He has lent it to me, to save my walking home," said Rupert.
+
+"Where is he? Here?"
+
+"He has gone home on foot. I can't think where Ford's lingering," added
+Rupert, walking into the yard, and mounting one of the smaller heaps of
+coal for a better view of the road by which Ford might be expected to
+arrive. "He has been gone this hour."
+
+Cris was walking off in the direction of the stable, carefully leading
+his horse. "What are you going to do with him?" asked Rupert. "To leave
+him in the stable?"
+
+"Until I can get home and send the groom for him. _I'm_ not going to
+cool my heels, dragging him home," retorted Cris.
+
+Rupert retired indoors, and sat down on the high stool. He still had
+some accounts to make up. They had to be done that evening; and as Ford
+did not come in to do them, he must. Had Ford been there, Rupert would
+have left him to do it, and gone home at once.
+
+"I wonder how many years of my life I am to wear out in this lively
+place?" thought Rupert, after five minutes of uninterrupted attention
+given to his work, which slightly progressed in consequence. "It's a
+shame that I should be put to it. A paid fellow at ten shillings a week
+would do it better than I. If Chattaway had a spark of good feeling in
+him, he'd put me into a farm. It would be better for me altogether, and
+more fitting for a Trevlyn. Catch him at it! He wouldn't let me be my
+own master for----"
+
+A sound as of a horse trotting off interrupted Rupert's cogitations. He
+came down from his stool. A thought crossed him that George Ryle's horse
+might have got loose, and be speeding home riderless, at his own will
+and pleasure.
+
+It was George Ryle's horse, but not riderless. To Rupert's intense
+astonishment, he saw Mr. Cris mounted on him, and leisurely riding away.
+
+"Halloa!" called Rupert, speeding after the horse and his rider. "What
+are you going to do with that horse, Cris?"
+
+Cris turned his head, but did not stop. "I'm going to ride him home. His
+having been left here just happens right for me."
+
+"You get off," shouted Rupert. "The horse was lent to me, not to you. Do
+you hear, Cris?"
+
+Cris heard, but did not stop: he was urging the horse on. "_You_ don't
+want him," he roughly said. "You can walk, as you always do."
+
+Further remonstrance, further following, was useless. Rupert's words
+were drowned in the echoes of the horse's hoofs, galloping away in the
+distance. Rupert stood, white with anger, impotent to stop him, his
+hands stretched out on the empty air, as if their action could arrest
+the horse and bring him back again. Certainly the mortification was
+bitter; the circumstance precisely one of those likely to affect an
+excitable nature; and Rupert was on the point of going into that
+dangerous fit known as the Trevlyn passion, when its course was turned
+aside by a hand laid upon his shoulder.
+
+He turned, it may almost be said, savagely. Ford was standing there out
+of breath, his good-humoured face red with the exertion of running.
+
+"I say, Mr. Rupert, you'll do a fellow a service, won't you? I have had
+a message that my mother's taken suddenly ill; a fit, they say, of some
+sort. Will you finish what there is to do here, and lock up for once, so
+that I can go home directly?"
+
+Rupert nodded. In his passionate disappointment, at having to walk home
+when he expected to ride, at being treated as of no moment by Cris
+Chattaway, it seemed of little consequence to him how long he remained,
+or what work he had to do: and the clerk, waiting for no further
+permission, sped away with a fleet foot. Rupert's face was losing its
+deathly whiteness--there is no whiteness like that born of passion or of
+sudden terror; and when he sat down again to the desk, the hectic flush
+of reaction was shining in his cheeks and lips.
+
+Well, oh, well for him, could these dangerous fits of passion have been
+always arrested on the threshold, as this had been arrested now! The
+word is used advisedly: they brought nothing less than danger in their
+train.
+
+But, alas! this was not to be.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+DEAD BEAT
+
+
+Nora was at some business or other in the fold-yard, when the servant at
+Trevlyn Hold more especially devoted to the service of Cris Chattaway
+entered the gate with George Ryle's horse. As he passed Nora on his way
+to the stables, she turned, and the man spoke.
+
+"Mr. Ryle's horse, ma'am. Shall I take it on?"
+
+"You know the way," was Nora's short answer. She did not regard the man
+with any favour, reflecting upon him, in her usual partial fashion, the
+dislike she entertained for his master and Trevlyn Hold in general. "Mr.
+Trevlyn has sent it, I suppose."
+
+"Mr. Trevlyn!" repeated the groom, betraying some surprise.
+
+Now, it was a fact that at Trevlyn Hold Rupert was never called "Mr.
+Trevlyn." That it was his proper title was indisputable; but Mr.
+Chattaway had as great a dislike to hear Rupert called by it as he had a
+wish to hear himself styled "the Squire." At the Hold, Rupert was "Mr.
+Rupert" only, and the neighbourhood generally had fallen into the same
+familiar mode when speaking of him. Nora supposed the man's repetition
+of the name had insolent reference to this; as much as to say, "Who's
+Mr. Trevlyn?"
+
+"Yes, Mr. Trevlyn," she resumed in sharp tones of reprimand. "He is Mr.
+Trevlyn, Sam Atkins, and you know he is, however some people may wish it
+forgotten. He is not Mr. Rupert, and he is not Mr. Rupert Trevlyn, but
+he is Mr. Trevlyn; and if he had his rights, he'd be Squire Trevlyn.
+There! you may go and tell your master that I said so."
+
+Sam Atkins, a civil, quiet young fellow, was overpowered with
+astonishment at Nora's burst of eloquence. "I'm not saying naught
+against it, ma'am," cried he, when he had sufficiently recovered. "But
+Mr. Rupert didn't send me with the horse at all. It was young Mr.
+Chattaway."
+
+"What had he to do with it?" resentfully asked Nora.
+
+"He rode it home from Blackstone."
+
+"_He_ rode it? Cris Chattaway!"
+
+"Yes," said the groom. "He has just got home now, and told me to bring
+the horse back at once."
+
+Nora desired the man to take the horse to the stable, and went indoors.
+She could not understand it. When George returned home on foot, and she
+inquired what he had done with his horse, he told her that he had left
+it at Blackstone for Rupert Trevlyn. To hear now that Cris had reaped
+the benefit of it, and not Rupert, excited Nora's indignation. But the
+indignation would have increased fourfold had she known that Mr. Cris
+had ridden the horse hard and made a _détour_ of some five miles out of
+his way, to transact a private matter of business of his own. She went
+straight to George, who was seated at tea with Mrs. Ryle.
+
+"Mr. George, I thought you told me you had left your horse at Blackstone
+for Rupert Trevlyn, to save his walking home?"
+
+"So I did," replied George.
+
+"Then it's Cris Chattaway who has come home on it. I'd see _him_ far
+enough before he should have the use of my horse!"
+
+"It can't be," returned George. "You must be mistaken, Nora; Cris had
+his own horse there."
+
+"You can go and ask for yourself," rejoined Nora, crustily, not at all
+liking to be told she was mistaken. "Sam Atkins is putting the horse in
+the stable, and says Cris Chattaway rode it from Blackstone."
+
+George did go and ask for himself. He could not understand it at all;
+and he had no more fancy for allowing Cris Chattaway the use of his
+horse than Nora had. He supposed they had exchanged steeds; though why
+they should do so, he could not imagine.
+
+Sam Atkins was in the stable, talking to Roger, one of the men about the
+farm. George saw at a glance that his horse had been ridden hard.
+
+"Who rode this horse home?" he inquired, as the groom touched his hat to
+him.
+
+"Young Mr. Chattaway, sir."
+
+"And Mr. Rupert: what did he ride?"
+
+"Mr. Rupert, sir? I don't think he is come home."
+
+"Where's Mr. Cris Chattaway's own horse?"
+
+"He left it at Blackstone, sir. It fell dead lame, he says. I be going
+for it now."
+
+George paused. "I lent my horse to Mr. Rupert," he said. "Do you know
+why he did not use it himself?"
+
+"I don't know nothing about it, sir. Mr. Cris came home just now on your
+horse, told me to bring it down here, go on to Blackstone for his, and
+mind I led it gently home. He never mentioned Mr. Rupert."
+
+Considerably later--in fact, it was past nine o'clock--Rupert Trevlyn
+appeared. George Ryle was leaning over the gate at the foot of his
+garden in a musing attitude, the bright stars above him, the slight
+frost of the autumn night rendering the air clear, though not cold, when
+he saw a figure slowly winding up the road. It was Rupert Trevlyn. The
+same misfortune seemed to have befallen him that had befallen the horse,
+for he limped as he walked.
+
+"Are you lame, Rupert?" asked George.
+
+"Lame with fatigue; nothing else," answered Rupert in that low,
+half-inaudible voice which a very depressed physical state will induce.
+"Let me come in and sit down half-an-hour, George, or I shall never get
+to the Hold."
+
+"How came you to let Cris Chattaway ride my horse home? I left it for
+you."
+
+"_Let_ him! He mounted and galloped off without my knowing--the sneak! I
+should be ashamed to be guilty of such a trick. I declare I had half a
+mind to ride his horse home, lame as it was. But that the poor animal is
+evidently in pain, I would have done so."
+
+"You are very late."
+
+"I have been such a time coming. The truth is, I sat down when I was
+half-way here, so dead tired I couldn't stir a step further; and I
+dropped asleep."
+
+"A wise proceeding!" cried George, in pleasant though mocking tones. He
+did not care to say more plainly how _un_wise it might be for Rupert
+Trevlyn. "Did you sleep long?"
+
+"Pretty well. The stars were out when I awoke; and I felt ten times more
+tired when I got up than I had felt when I sat down."
+
+George placed him in a comfortable armchair, and got him a glass of
+wine, Nora brought some refreshment, but Rupert could not eat.
+
+"Try it," urged George.
+
+"I can't," said Rupert; "I am completely done up."
+
+He leaned back in the chair, his fair hair falling on the cushions, his
+bright face--bright with a touch of inward fever--turned upwards to the
+light. Gradually his eyelids closed, and he dropped into a calm sleep.
+
+George sat watching him. Mrs. Ryle, who was still poorly, had retired to
+her chamber for the night, and they were alone. Very unkindly, as may be
+thought, George woke him soon, and told him it was time to go.
+
+"Do not deem me inhospitable, Rupert; but it will not do for you to be
+locked out again to-night."
+
+"What's the time?" asked Rupert.
+
+"Considerably past ten."
+
+"I was in quite a nice dream. I thought I was being carried along in a
+large sail belonging to a ship. The motion was pleasant and soothing.
+Past ten! What a bother! I shall be half dead again before I get to the
+Hold."
+
+"I'll lend you my arm, Ru, to help you along."
+
+"That's a good fellow!" exclaimed Rupert.
+
+He got up and stretched himself, and then fell back in his chair, like a
+leaden weight. "I'd give five shillings to be there without the trouble
+of walking," quoth he.
+
+"Rupert, you will be late."
+
+"I can't help it," returned Rupert, folding his arms and leaning back
+again in the chair. "If Chattaway locks me out again, he must. I'll sit
+down in the portico until morning, for I sha'n't be able to stir another
+step from it."
+
+Rupert was in that physical depression which reacts upon the mind.
+Whether he got in or not, whether he passed the night in a comfortable
+bed, or under the trees in the avenue, seemed of very little moment in
+his present state of feeling. Altogether he was some time getting off;
+and they heard the far-off church clock at Barbrook chime the half-past
+ten before they were half-way to the Hold. The sound came distinctly to
+their ears on the calm night air.
+
+"I was somewhere about this spot when the half-hour struck last night,
+for your clocks were fast," remarked Rupert. "I ran all the way home
+after that--with what success, you know. I can't run to-night."
+
+"I'll do my best to get you in," said George. "I hope I sha'n't be
+tempted, though, to speak my mind too plainly to Chattaway."
+
+The Hold was closed for the night. Lights appeared in several of the
+windows. Rupert halted when he saw the light in one of them. "Aunt Diana
+must have returned," he said; "that's her room."
+
+George Ryle rang a loud, quick peal at the bell. It was not answered. He
+rang again, a sharp, urgent peal, and shouted with his stentorian voice;
+a prolonged shout that could not have come from the lungs of Rupert; and
+it brought Mr. Chattaway to the window of his wife's dressing-room in
+surprise. One or two more windows in different parts of the house were
+thrown up.
+
+"It is I, Mr. Chattaway. I have been assisting Rupert home. Will you be
+good enough to have the door opened?"
+
+Mr. Chattaway was nearly struck dumb with the insolence of the demand,
+coming from the quarter it did. He could scarcely speak at first, even
+to refuse.
+
+"He does not deserve your displeasure to-night," said George, in his
+clear, ringing tones, which might be heard distinctly ever so far off.
+"He could scarcely get here from fatigue and illness. But for taking a
+rest at my mother's house, and having the help of my arm up here, I
+question if he would have got as far. Be so good as to let him in, Mr.
+Chattaway."
+
+"How dare you make such a request to me?" roared Mr. Chattaway,
+recovering himself a little. "How dare you come disturbing the peace of
+my house at night, like any house-breaker--except that you make more
+noise about it!"
+
+"I came to bring Rupert," was George's answer. "He is waiting to be let
+in; tired and ill."
+
+"I will not let him in," raved Mr. Chattaway. "How dare you, I ask?"
+
+"What _is_ all this?" broke from the amazed voice of Miss Diana Trevlyn.
+"What does it mean? I don't comprehend it in the least."
+
+George looked up at her window. "Rupert could not get home by the hour
+specified by Mr. Chattaway--half-past ten. I am asking that he may be
+admitted now, Miss Trevlyn."
+
+"Of course he can be admitted," said Miss Diana.
+
+"Of course he sha'n't," retorted Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"Who says he couldn't get home in time if he had wanted to come?" called
+out Cris from a window on the upper story. "Does it take him five or six
+hours to walk from Blackstone?"
+
+"Is that you, Christopher?" asked George, falling back a little that he
+might see him better. "I want to speak to you. By what right did you
+take possession of my horse at Blackstone this afternoon, and ride him
+home?"
+
+"I chose to do it," said Cris.
+
+"I lent that horse to Rupert, who was unfit to walk. It would have been
+more generous--though you may not understand the word--had you left it
+for him. He was not in bed last night; has gone without food to-day--you
+were more capable of walking home than he."
+
+Miss Diana craned forth her neck. "Chattaway, I must inquire into this.
+Let that front-door be opened."
+
+"I will not," he answered. And he banged down his window with a resolute
+air, as if to avoid further colloquy.
+
+But in that same moment the lock of the front-door was turned, and it
+was thrown open by Octave Chattaway.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+AN OLD IMPRESSION
+
+
+It was surely a scene to excite some interest, if only the interest of
+curiosity, that was presented at Trevlyn Hold that night. Octave
+Chattaway in evening dress--for she had not begun to prepare for bed,
+although some time in her chamber--standing at the hall-door which she
+had opened; Miss Diana pressing forward from the back of the hall in a
+hastily assumed dressing gown; Mr. Chattaway in a waistcoat; Cris in
+greater déshabille; and Mrs. Chattaway dressed as was Octave.
+
+Rupert came in, coughing with the night air, and leaning on the arm of
+George Ryle. There was no light, except such as was afforded by a candle
+carried by Miss Trevlyn; but she stepped forward and lighted the lamp.
+
+"Now then," said she. "What is all this?"
+
+"It is this," returned the master of Trevlyn Hold: "that I make rules
+for the proper regulation of my household, and a beardless boy chooses
+to break them. I should think"--turning shortly upon Miss Diana--"that
+you are not the one to countenance that."
+
+"No," said she; "when rules are made they must be kept. What is your
+defence, Rupert?"
+
+Rupert had thrown himself upon a bench against the wall in utter
+weariness of mind and body. "I don't care to make any defence," said he,
+in his apathy, as he leaned his cheek upon his hand, and fixed his blue
+eyes on Miss Trevlyn; "I don't know that there's much defence to make.
+Mr. Chattaway orders me to be in by half-past ten. I was at George
+Ryle's last night, and I a little exceeded the time, getting here five
+minutes or so after it, so I was locked out. Cris let himself in with
+his latch-key, but he would not let me in."
+
+Miss Diana glanced at Cris, but said nothing. Mr. Chattaway interrupted.
+George, erect, fearless, was standing opposite the group, and it was to
+him that Chattaway turned.
+
+"What I want to know is this--by what right _you_ interfere, George
+Ryle?"
+
+"I am not aware that I have interfered--except by giving Rupert my arm
+up the hill, and asking you to admit him. No very unjustifiable
+interference, surely, Mr. Chattaway."
+
+"But it is, sir. And I ask why you presume to do it?"
+
+"Presume? I saw Rupert to-night, accidentally, as he was coming from
+Blackstone. It was about nine o'clock. He appeared terribly tired, and
+wished to come into the house and rest. There he fell asleep. I awoke
+him in time, but he seemed too weary to get here himself, and I came
+with him to help him along. He walked slowly--painfully I should say;
+and it made him later than he ought to have arrived. Will you be so
+good, Mr. Chattaway, as to explain what part of this was unjustifiable
+interference? I do not see that I could have done less."
+
+"You will see that you do less in future," growled Mr. Chattaway. "I
+will have no interference of yours between the Hold and Rupert Trevlyn."
+
+"You may make yourself perfectly easy," returned George, some sarcasm in
+his tone. "Nothing could be farther from my intention than to interfere
+in any way with you, or with the Hold, or with Rupert in connection with
+you and the Hold. But, as I told you this morning, until you show me
+good and sufficient reason for the contrary, I shall observe common
+courtesy to Rupert when he comes in my way."
+
+"Nonsense!" interposed Miss Diana. "Who says you are not to show
+courtesy to Rupert? Do you?" wheeling sharply round on Chattaway.
+
+"There's one thing requires explanation," said Mr. Chattaway, turning to
+Rupert, and drowning Miss Diana's voice. "How came you to stop at
+Blackstone till this time of night? Where had you been loitering?"
+
+Rupert answered the questions mechanically, never lifting his head. "I
+didn't leave until late. Ford wanted to go home, and I had to stop.
+After that I sat down on the way and dropped asleep."
+
+"Sat down on your way and dropped asleep!" echoed Miss Diana. "What made
+you do that?"
+
+"I don't know. I had been tired all day. I had no bed, you hear, last
+night. I suppose I can go to mine now?" he added, rising. "I want it
+badly enough."
+
+"You can go--for this time," assented the master of Trevlyn Hold. "But
+you will understand that it is the last night I shall suffer my rules to
+be set at naught. You shall be in to time, or you do not come in at
+all."
+
+Rupert shook hands with George Ryle, spoke a general "Good night" to the
+rest collectively, and went towards the stairs. At the back of the hall,
+lingering there in her timidity, stood Mrs. Chattaway. "Good night, dear
+Aunt Edith," he whispered.
+
+She gave no answer: only laid her hand upon his as he passed: and so
+momentary was the action that it escaped unobserved, except by one pair
+of eyes--those of Octave Chattaway.
+
+George was the next to go. Octave put out her hand to him. "Does
+Caroline come to the harvest-home?" she inquired.
+
+"Yes, I think so. Good night."
+
+"Good night," replied Octave, amiably. "I am glad you took care of
+Rupert."
+
+"She's as false as her father," thought George, as he went down the
+avenue.
+
+They were all dispersing. There was nothing now to remain up for.
+Chattaway was turning to the staircase, when Miss Diana stepped inside
+one of the sitting-rooms, carrying her candle, and beckoned to him.
+
+"What do you want, Diana?" he asked, not in pleasant tones, as he
+followed her in.
+
+"Why did you shut out Rupert last night?"
+
+"Because I chose to do it!"
+
+"But suppose I chose that he should not be shut out?"
+
+"Then we shall split," angrily rejoined the master of Trevlyn Hold. "I
+say that half-past ten is quite late enough for Rupert. He is younger
+than Cris; you and Edith say he is not strong; _is_ it too early?"
+
+Mr. Chattaway was so far right. It was a sufficiently late hour; and
+Miss Diana, after a pause, pronounced it to be so. "I shall talk to
+Rupert," she said. "There's no harm in his going to spend an hour or two
+with George Ryle, or with any other friend, but he must be home in good
+time."
+
+"Just so; he must be home in good time," acquiesced Chattaway. "He shall
+be home by half-past ten. And the only way to insure that, is to lock
+him out at first when he transgresses. Therefore, Diana, I shall follow
+my own way in this, and I beg you not to interfere."
+
+Miss Diana went up to Rupert's room. He had taken off his coat, and
+thrown himself on the bed, as if the fatigue of undressing were too much
+for him.
+
+"What's that for?" asked Miss Diana, as she entered. "Is that the way
+you get into bed?"
+
+Rupert rose and sat down on a chair. "Only coming upstairs seems to tire
+me," he said in tones of apology. "I should not have lain a minute."
+
+Miss Diana threw back her head a little, and looked at Rupert: the
+determined will of the Trevlyns shining out in every line of her face.
+
+"I have come to ask where you slept last night. I mean to know, Rupert."
+
+"I don't mind your knowing," replied Rupert; "I have told Aunt Edith. I
+decline to tell Chattaway, and I hope that no one else will tell him."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because he might lay blame where no blame is due. Chattaway turned me
+from the door, Aunt Diana, and Cris, who came up just after, turned me
+from it also. I went down to the lodge, and Ann Canham let me in; and I
+lay part of the night on their hard settle, and part of the night I sat
+upon it. That's where I was. But if Chattaway knew it, he'd turn old
+Canham and Ann from the lodge, as he turned me from the door."
+
+"Oh no, he wouldn't," said Miss Diana, "if it were my pleasure to keep
+them in it. Do you feel ill, Rupert?"
+
+"I feel middling. It is that I am tired, I suppose. I shall be all right
+in the morning."
+
+Miss Diana descended to her own room. Waiting there for her was Mrs.
+Chattaway. In spite of a shawl thrown over her shoulders, she seemed to
+be shivering. She slipped the bolt of the door--what was she afraid
+of?--and turned to Miss Trevlyn, her hands clasped.
+
+"Diana, this is killing me!" she wailed. "Why should Rupert be treated
+as he is? I know I am but a poor creature, that I have been one all my
+life--a very coward; but sometimes I think that I must speak out and
+protest against the injustice, though I should die in the effort."
+
+"Why, what's the matter?" uttered Miss Diana, whose intense composure
+formed a strange contrast to her sister's agitated words and bearing.
+
+"Oh, you know!--you know! I have not dared to speak out much, even to
+you, Diana; but it's killing me--it's killing me! Is it not enough that
+we despoiled Rupert of his inheritance, but we must also----"
+
+"Be silent!" sharply interrupted Miss Diana, glancing around and
+lowering her voice to a whisper. "Will you never have done with that
+folly, Edith?"
+
+"I shall never have done with its remembrance. I don't often speak of
+it; once, it may be, in seven years, not more. Better for me that I
+could speak of it; it would prey less upon my heart!"
+
+"You have benefited by it as much as any one has."
+
+"I cannot help myself. Heaven knows that if I could retire to some poor
+hut, and live upon a crust of bread, and benefit by it no more, I should
+do so--oh, how willingly! But there's no escape. I am hemmed in by its
+consequences; we are all hemmed in by them--and there's no escape."
+
+Miss Diana looked at her. Steadfastly, keenly; not angrily, but
+searchingly and critically, as a doctor looks at a patient supposed to
+be afflicted with mania.
+
+"If you do not take care, Edith, you will become insane upon this point,
+as I believe I have warned you before," she said, with calmness. "I am
+not sure but you are slightly touched now!"
+
+"I do not think I am," replied poor Mrs. Chattaway, passing her hand
+over her brow. "I feel confused enough sometimes, but there's no fear
+that madness will really come. If thinking could have turned me mad, I
+should have gone mad years ago."
+
+"The very act of your coming here in this excited state, when you should
+be going to bed, and saying what you do say, must be nothing less than a
+degree of madness."
+
+"I would go to bed, if I could sleep," said Mrs. Chattaway. "I lie awake
+night after night, thinking of the past; of the present; thinking of
+Rupert and of what we did for him; the treatment we deal out to him now.
+I think of his father, poor Joe; I think of his mother, Emily Dean, whom
+we once so loved; and I--I cannot sleep, Diana!"
+
+There really did seem something strange in Mrs. Chattaway to-night. For
+once in her life, Diana Trevlyn's heart beat a shade faster.
+
+"Try and calm yourself, Edith," she said soothingly.
+
+"I wish I could! I should be more calm if you and my husband would allow
+it. If you would only allow Rupert to be treated with common
+kindness----"
+
+"He is not treated with unkindness," interrupted Miss Diana.
+
+"It appears to me that he is treated with nothing but great unkindness.
+He----"
+
+"Is he beaten?--is he starved?"
+
+"The system pursued towards him is altogether unkind," persisted Mrs.
+Chattaway. "Indulgences dealt out to our own children are denied to him.
+When I think that he might be the true master of Trevlyn Hold----"
+
+"I will not listen to this," interrupted Miss Diana. "What has come to
+you to-night?"
+
+A shiver passed over the frame of Mrs. Chattaway. She was sitting on a
+low toilette chair covered with white drapery, her head bent on her
+hand. By her reply, which she did not look up to give, it appeared that
+she took the question literally.
+
+"I feel the pain more than usual; nothing else. I do feel it so
+sometimes."
+
+"What pain?" asked Miss Diana.
+
+"The pain of remorse: the pain of the wrong dealt out to Rupert. It
+seems greater than I can bear. Do you know," raising her feverish eyes
+to Miss Diana, "that I scarcely closed my eyelids last night? All the
+long night through I was thinking of Rupert: fancying him lying outside
+on the damp grass; fancying----"
+
+"Stop a minute, Edith. Are you seeking to blame your husband to me?"
+
+"No, no; I don't wish to blame any one. But I wish it could be altered."
+
+"If Rupert knows the hour for coming in--and it is not an unreasonable
+hour--it is he who is to blame if he exceeds it."
+
+Mrs. Chattaway could not gainsay this. In point of fact, though she
+found things grievously uncomfortable, wrong altogether, she had not the
+strength of mind to say _where_ the fault lay, or how it should be
+altered. On this fresh agitation, the coming in at half-past ten, she
+could only judge as a vacillating woman. The hour, as Miss Diana said,
+was not unreasonable, and Mrs. Chattaway would have fallen in with it,
+and approved her husband's judgment, if Rupert had only obeyed the
+mandate. If Rupert did not obey it--if he somewhat exceeded its
+bounds--she would have liked the door to be still open to him, and no
+scolding given. It was the discomfort that worried her; mixing itself up
+with the old feeling of the wrong done to Rupert, rendering things, as
+she aptly expressed it, more miserable than she could bear.
+
+"I'll talk to Rupert to-morrow morning," said Miss Diana. "I shall add
+my authority to Chattaway's, and tell him that he _must_ be in."
+
+It may be that a shadow of the future was casting itself over the mind
+of Mrs. Chattaway, dimly and vaguely pointing to the terrible events
+hereafter to arise--events which would throw their consequences on the
+remainder of Rupert's life, and which had their origin in this new and
+ill-omened order, touching his coming home at night.
+
+"Edith," said Miss Diana, "I would recommend you to become less
+sensitive on the subject of Rupert. It is growing into a morbid
+feeling."
+
+"I wish I could! It does grow upon me. Do you know," sinking her voice
+and looking feverishly at her sister, "that old impression has come
+again! I thought it had worn itself out. I thought it had left me for
+ever."
+
+Miss Diana almost lost patience. Her own mind was a very contrast to her
+sister's; the two were as opposite in their organisation as the poles.
+Fanciful, dreamy, vacillating, weak, the one; the other strong,
+practical, matter-of-fact.
+
+"I don't know what you mean by the 'old impression,'" she rejoined, with
+a contempt she did not seek to disguise. "Is it not some new folly?"
+
+"I told you of it in the old days, Diana. I used to feel
+certain--certain--that the wrong we inflicted on Rupert would avenge
+itself--that in some way he would come into his inheritance, and we
+should be despoiled of it. I felt so certain of it, that every morning
+of my life when I got up I seemed to expect its fulfilment before the
+day closed. But the time went on and on, and it never came. It went on
+so long that the impression wore itself out, I say, and now it has come
+again. It is stronger than ever. For some weeks past it has been growing
+more present with me day by day, and I cannot shake it off."
+
+"The best thing you can do now is to go to bed, and try and sleep off
+your folly," cried Miss Trevlyn, with the stinging contempt she allowed
+herself at rare times to show to her sister. "I feel more provoked with
+you than I can express. A child might be pardoned for indulging in such
+absurdities; a woman, never!"
+
+Mrs. Chattaway rose. "I'll go to bed," she meekly answered, "and get
+what sleep I can. I remember that you ridiculed this feeling of mine in
+the old days----"
+
+"Pray did anything come of it then?" interrupted Miss Diana,
+sarcastically.
+
+"I have said it did not. And the impression left me. But it has come
+again. Good night, Diana."
+
+"Good night, and a more sensible frame of mind to you!" was the retort
+of Miss Diana.
+
+Mrs. Chattaway crept softly along the corridor to her own dressing-room,
+hoping that her husband by that time was in bed and asleep. What was her
+surprise, then, to see him sitting at the table when she entered, not
+undressed, and as wide awake as she was.
+
+"You have business late with Diana," he remarked.
+
+Mrs. Chattaway felt wholly and entirely subdued; she had felt so since
+the previous night, when Rupert was denied admittance. The painful
+shyness, clinging to her always, seemed partially to have left her for a
+time. It was as though she had not strength left to be timid; almost as
+Rupert felt in his weariness of body, she was past caring for anything
+in her utter weariness of mind. Otherwise, she might not have spoken to
+Miss Diana as she had just done: most certainly she could never have
+spoken as she was about to speak to Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"What may your business with her have been?" he resumed.
+
+"It was not much, James," she answered. "I was saying how ill I felt."
+
+"Ill! With what?"
+
+"Ill in mind, I think," said Mrs. Chattaway, putting her hand to her
+brow. "I was telling her that the old fear had come upon me; the
+impression that used to cling to me always that some change was at hand
+regarding Rupert. I lost it for a great many years, but it has come
+again."
+
+"Try and speak lucidly, if you can," was Mr. Chattaway's answer. "What
+has come again?"
+
+"It seems to have come upon me in the light of a warning," she resumed,
+so lucidly that Mr. Chattaway, had he been a few steps lower in social
+grade, might have felt inclined to strike her. "I have ever felt that
+Rupert would in some manner regain his rights--I mean what he was
+deprived of," she hastily added, condoning the word which had slipped
+from her. "That he will regain Trevlyn Hold, and we shall lose it."
+
+Mr. Chattaway listened in consternation, his mouth gradually opening in
+bewilderment. "What makes you think that?" he asked, when he found his
+voice.
+
+"I don't exactly _think_ it, James. Think is not the right word. The
+feeling has come upon me again within the last few weeks, and I cannot
+shake it off. I believe it to be a presentiment; a warning."
+
+Paler and paler grew Mr. Chattaway. He did not understand. Like Miss
+Diana Trevlyn, he was very matter-of-fact, comprehending nothing but
+what could be seen and felt; and his wife might as well have spoken in
+an unknown tongue as of "presentiments." He drew a rapid conclusion that
+some unpleasant fact, bearing upon the dread _he_ had long felt, must
+have come to his wife's knowledge.
+
+"What have you heard?" he gasped.
+
+"I have heard nothing; nothing whatever. I----"
+
+"Then what on earth are you talking about?"
+
+"Did you understand me, James? I say the impression was once firmly
+seated in my mind that Rupert would somehow be restored to what--to
+what"--she scarcely knew how to frame her words with the delicacy she
+deemed due to her husband's feelings--"to what would have been his but
+for his father's death. And that impression has now returned to me."
+
+"But you have not heard anything? Any plot?--any conspiracy that's being
+hatched against us?"
+
+"No, no."
+
+Mr. Chattaway stared searchingly at his wife. Did he fancy, as Miss
+Diana had done, that her intellect was becoming disordered?
+
+"Then, what do you mean?" he asked, after a pause. "Why should such an
+idea arise?"
+
+Mrs. Chattaway was silent. She could not tell him the truth; could not
+say she believed it was the constant dwelling upon the wrong and
+injustice, which had first suggested the notion that the wrong would
+inevitably recoil on its workers. They had broken alike the laws of God
+and man; and those who do so cannot be sure of immunity from punishment
+in this world. That they had so long enjoyed unmolested the inheritance
+gained by fraud, gave no certainty that they would enjoy it to the end.
+She felt it, if her husband and Diana Trevlyn did not. Too often there
+were certain verses of Holy Writ spelling out their syllables upon her
+brain. "Remove not the old landmark; and enter not into the fields of
+the fatherless; for their Redeemer is mighty; he shall plead their cause
+with thee."
+
+All this she could not say to Mr. Chattaway. She could give him no good
+reason for what she had said; he did not understand imaginative fancies,
+and he went to rest after bestowing upon her a sharp lecture for
+indulging them.
+
+Nevertheless, in spite of her denial, the master of Trevlyn Hold could
+not divest himself of the impression that she must have picked up some
+scrap of news, or heard a word dropped in some quarter, which had led
+her to say what she did. And it gave him terrible discomfort.
+
+Was the haunting shadow, the latent dread in his heart, about to be
+changed into substance? He lay on his bed, turning uneasily from side to
+side until the morning, wondering from what quarter the first glimmer of
+mischief would come.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+A FIT OF AMIABILITY
+
+
+Rupert came down to breakfast the next morning. He was cold, sick,
+shivery; little better than he had felt the previous night; his chest
+sore, his breathing painful. A good fire burnt in the grate of the
+breakfast-room--Miss Diana was a friend to fires, and caused them to be
+lighted as soon as the heat of summer had passed--and Rupert bent over
+it. He cared for it more than for food; and yet it was no doubt having
+gone without food the previous day which was causing the sensation of
+sickness within him now.
+
+Miss Diana glided in, erect and majestic. "How are you this morning?"
+she asked of Rupert.
+
+"Pretty well," he answered, as he warmed his thin white hands over the
+blaze. "I have the old pain here a bit"--touching his chest. "It will go
+off by-and-by, I dare say."
+
+Miss Diana had her eyes riveted on him. The extreme delicacy of his
+countenance--its lines of fading health--struck upon her greatly. Was he
+looking worse? or was it that her absence from home for three weeks had
+caused her to notice it more than she had done when seeing him daily?
+She asked herself the question, and could not decide.
+
+"You don't look very well, Rupert."
+
+"Don't I? I have not felt well for this week or two. I think the walking
+to Blackstone and back is too much for me."
+
+"You must have a pony," she continued after a pause.
+
+"Ah! that would be a help to me," he said, his countenance brightening.
+"I might get on better with what I have to do there. Mr. Chattaway
+grumbles, and grumbles, but I declare, Aunt Diana, that I do my best.
+The walk there seems to take away all my energy, and, by the time I sit
+down, I am unfit for work."
+
+Miss Diana went nearer to him, and spoke in lower tones. "What was the
+reason that you disobeyed Mr. Chattaway with regard to coming in?"
+
+"I did not do it intentionally," he replied. "The time slipped on, and
+it got late without my noticing it. I think I told you so last night,
+Aunt Diana."
+
+"Very well. It must not occur again," she said, peremptorily and
+significantly. "If you are locked out in future, I shall not interfere."
+
+Mr. Chattaway came in, with a discontented gesture and a blue face. He
+was none the better for his sleepless night, and the torment which had
+caused it. Rupert drew away from the fire, leaving the field clear for
+him: as a schoolboy does at the entrance of his master.
+
+"Don't let us have this trouble repeated," he roughly said to Rupert.
+"As soon as you have breakfasted, make the best of your way to
+Blackstone: and don't lag on the road."
+
+"Rupert's not going to Blackstone to-day," said Miss Diana.
+
+Mr. Chattaway turned upon her: no very pleasant expression on his
+countenance. "What's that for?"
+
+"I shall keep him at home for a week, and have him nursed. After that, I
+dare say he'll be stronger, and can attend better to his duty in all
+ways."
+
+Mr. Chattaway could willingly have braved Miss Diana, if he had only
+dared. But he did not dare. He strode to the breakfast-table and took
+his seat, leaving those who liked to follow him.
+
+It has been remarked that there was a latent antagonism ever at work in
+the hearts of George Ryle and Octave Chattaway; and there was certainly
+ever constant and visible antagonism between the actions of Mr.
+Chattaway and Miss Diana Trevlyn, as far as they related to the ruling
+economy of Trevlyn Hold. She had the open-heartedness of the
+Trevlyns--he, the miserly selfishness of the Chattaways. She was liberal
+on the estate and in the household--he would have been niggardly to the
+last degree. Miss Diana, however, was the one to reign paramount, and he
+was angered every hour of his life by seeing some extravagance--as he
+deemed it--which might have been avoided. He could indemnify himself at
+the mines; and there he did as he pleased.
+
+Breakfast over, Mr. Chattaway went out. Cris went out. Rupert, as the
+day grew warm and bright, strolled into the garden, and basked on a
+bench in the sun. He very much enjoyed these days of idleness. To sit as
+he was doing now, feeling that no exertion whatever was required of him;
+that he might stay where he was for the whole day, and gaze up at
+the blue sky as he fell into thought; or watch the light fleecy
+clouds that rose above the horizon, and form them into fantastic
+pictures--constituted one of the pleasures of Rupert Trevlyn's life. Not
+for the bright blue of the sky, the ever-changing clouds, the warm
+sunshine and balmy air--not for all these did he care so much as for the
+_rest_. The delightful consciousness that he might be as quiet as he
+pleased; that no Blackstone or any other far-off place would demand him;
+that for a whole day he might be at _rest_--there lay the charm. Nothing
+could possibly have been more suggestive of his want of strength--as
+anyone might have guessed possessed of sufficient penetration.
+
+No. Mr. Chattaway need not have feared that Rupert was hatching plots
+against him, whenever he was out of his sight. Had poor Rupert possessed
+the desire, he lacked the energy.
+
+The dinner hour at Trevlyn Hold, nominally early, was frequently
+regulated by the will or movements of the master. When he said he could
+only be home at a given hour--three, four, five, six, as the case might
+be--the cook had her orders accordingly. To-day it was fixed for four
+o'clock. At two (the more ordinary dinner hour) Cris came in.
+
+Strictly speaking, it was ten minutes past two, and Cris burst into the
+dining-room with a heated face, afraid lest he should come in for the
+end of the meal. Whatever might be the hour fixed, dinner had to be on
+the table to the minute; and it generally was so. Miss Diana was an
+exacting mistress. Cris burst in, hair untidy, hands unwashed,
+desperately afraid of losing his share.
+
+He drew a long face. Not a soul was in the room, and the dining-table
+showed its bright mahogany. Cris rang the bell.
+
+"What time do we dine to-day?" he asked sharply of the servant who
+answered it.
+
+"At four, sir."
+
+"What a nuisance! And I am as hungry as a hunter. Get me something to
+eat. Here--stop--where are they all?"
+
+"Madam's at home, sir; and I think Miss Octave's at home. The rest are
+out."
+
+Cris muttered something which was not heard, which perhaps he did not
+intend should be heard; and when his luncheon was brought in, he sat
+down to it with great satisfaction. After he had finished, he went to
+the stables, and by-and-by came in to find his sister.
+
+"Octave, I want to take you for a drive. Will you go?"
+
+The unwonted attention on her brother's part quite astonished Octave.
+Before now she had asked him to drive her out, and been met with a rough
+refusal. Cris was of that class of young men who see no good in
+overpowering their sisters with attention.
+
+"Get your things on at once," said Cris.
+
+Octave felt dubious. She was writing letters to some particular friends
+with whom she kept up a correspondence, and did not care to be
+interrupted.
+
+"Where is it to go, Cris?"
+
+"Anywhere. We can drive through Barmester, and so home by the
+cross-roads. Or we'll go down the lower road to Barbrook, and go on to
+Barmester that way."
+
+The suggestion did not offer sufficient attraction to Octave. "No," said
+she, "I am busy, and shall not go out this afternoon. I don't care to
+drive out when there's nothing to go for."
+
+"You may as well come. It isn't often I ask you."
+
+"No, that it is not," returned Octave, with emphasis. "You have some
+particular motive in asking me now, I know. What is it, Cris?"
+
+"I want to try my new horse. They say he goes beautifully in harness."
+
+"What! that handsome horse you took a fancy to the other day?--that papa
+said you should not buy?"
+
+Cris nodded. "They let me have him for forty-five pounds."
+
+"Where did you get the money?" wondered Octave.
+
+"Never you mind. I have paid ten pounds down, and they'll wait for the
+rest. Will you come?"
+
+"No," said Octave. "I sha'n't go out to-day."
+
+The refusal perhaps was somewhat softened by the dashing up to the door
+of the dog-cart with the new purchase in it; and Cris ran out. A
+handsome animal certainly, but apparently restive. Mrs. Chattaway came
+through the hall, dressed for walking. Cris seized upon her.
+
+"Mother, dear, you'll go for a drive with me," cried he, caressingly.
+"Octave won't--ill-natured thing!"
+
+It was so unusual a circumstance to find herself made much of by her
+son, spoken to affectionately, that Mrs. Chattaway, in surprise and
+gratitude, forthwith ascended the dog-cart. "I am glad to accompany you,
+dear," she softly said. "I was only going to walk in the garden."
+
+But before Cris had gathered the reins in his hand and taken his place
+beside her, George Ryle came up, and somewhat hindered the departure.
+
+"I have been to Barmester to see Caroline this morning, Mrs. Chattaway,
+and have brought you a message from Amelia," he said, keeping his hold
+on the dog-cart as he spoke--as much as he could do so, for the restive
+animal.
+
+"That she wants to come home, I suppose?" said Mrs. Chattaway, smiling.
+
+"The message I was charged with was, that she _would_ come home," he
+said, smiling in answer. "The fact is, Caroline is coming home for a few
+days: and Amelia thinks she will be cruelly used unless she is allowed
+holiday also."
+
+"Caroline is coming to the harvest-home?"
+
+"Yes. I told Amelia----"
+
+Holding on any longer became impossible; and George drew back, and took
+a critical survey of the new horse. "Why, it is the horse Allen has had
+for sale!" he exclaimed.
+
+"What brings him here, Cris?"
+
+"I have bought him," shortly answered Cris.
+
+"Have you? Mrs. Chattaway, I would advise you not to venture out behind
+that horse. He has not been broken in for driving."
+
+"He has," returned Cris. "You mind your own business. Do you think I
+should drive him if he were not safe? He's only skittish. I understand
+horses, I hope, as well as you do."
+
+George turned to Mrs. Chattaway. "Do not go with him," he urged. "Let
+Cris try him first alone."
+
+"I am not afraid, George," she said, in loving accents. "It is not often
+Cris finds time to drive me. Thank you all the same."
+
+Cris gave the horse its head, and the animal dashed off. George stood
+watching until a turn in the avenue hid them from view, and then gave
+utterance to an involuntary exclamation:
+
+"Cris has no right to risk the life of his mother."
+
+Not very long afterwards, the skittish horse was flying along the road,
+with nothing of the dog-cart left behind him, but its shafts.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+AN INVASION AT THE PARSONAGE
+
+
+On the lower road, leading from Trevlyn Farm to Barbrook, stood Barbrook
+Rectory. A pretty house, covered with ivy, standing in the midst of a
+flourishing garden, and surrounded by green fields. An exceedingly
+pretty place for its size, that parsonage--it was never styled anything
+else--but very small. Fortunately the parsons inhabiting it had none of
+them owned large families, or they would have been at fault for room.
+
+The present occupant was the Reverend John Freeman. Occupant of the
+parsonage house, but not incumbent of the living. The living, in the
+gift of a neighbouring cathedral, was held by one of the chapter; and he
+delegated his charge (beyond an occasional sermon) to a curate. It had
+been so in the old time when Squire Trevlyn flourished, and it was so
+still. Whispers were abroad that when the death of this canon should
+take place--a very old man, both as to years and occupancy of his
+prebendal stall--changes would be made, and the next incumbent would
+have to reside on the living. But this has nothing to do with us, and I
+don't know why I have alluded to it.
+
+Mr. Freeman had been curate of the place for more than twenty years. He
+succeeded the Reverend Shafto Dean, of whom you have heard. Mr. Dean had
+remained at Barbrook only a very short time after his sister's marriage
+to Joe Trevlyn. That event had not tended to allay the irritation
+existing between Trevlyn Hold and the parsonage, and on some promotion
+being offered to Mr. Dean he accepted it. The promotion given him was in
+the West Indies: he would not have chosen a residence there under
+happier auspices; but he felt sick of the ceaseless contention of Squire
+Trevlyn. Mr. Dean went out to the West Indies, and died of fever within
+six months of his arrival. Mr. Freeman had succeeded him at Barbrook,
+and Mr. Freeman was there still: a married man, without children.
+
+The parsonage household was very modest. One servant only was kept; and
+if you have the pleasure of making both ends meet at the end of the year
+upon the moderate sum of one hundred pounds sterling, you will wonder
+how even that servant could be retained. But a clergyman has advantages
+in some points over the rest of the world: at least this one had; his
+house was rent-free, and his garden supplied more vegetables and fruit
+than his household could consume. Some of the choicer fruit he sold. His
+superfluous vegetables he gave away; and many and many a cabbage leaf
+full of gooseberries and currants did the little parish children look
+out for, and receive. He was a quiet, pleasant little man of fifty, with
+a fair face and a fat double chin. Never an ill word had he had with any
+one in the parish since he came into it. His wife was pleasant, too, and
+talkative; and would as soon be caught by visitors making puddings in
+the kitchen, or shelling peas for dinner, as sitting in state in the
+drawing-room.
+
+At the back of the house, detached from it, was a room called the
+brewhouse, where sundry abnormal duties, quite out of the regular
+routine of things, were performed. A boiler was in one corner, a large
+board or table which would put up or let down at will was under the
+casement, and the floor was paved. On the morning of the day when Mr.
+Cris Chattaway contrived to separate his dog-cart from its shafts, or to
+let his new horse do it for him, of which you will hear more presently,
+this brewhouse was so filled with steam that you could not see across
+it. A tall, strong, rosy-faced woman, looking about thirty years of age,
+was standing over a washing-tub; and in the boiler, bubbling and
+seething, white linen heaved up and down like the waves of a small sea.
+
+You have seen the woman before, though the chances are you have
+forgotten all about her. It is Molly, who once lived at Trevlyn Farm.
+Some five years ago she came to an issue with the ruling potentates,
+Mrs. Ryle and Nora, and the result was a parting. Since then Molly had
+been living at the parsonage, and had grown to be valued by her master
+and mistress. She looks taller than ever, but wears pattens to keep her
+feet from the wet flags.
+
+Molly was rubbing vigorously at her master's surplice--which shared the
+benefits of the wash with more ignoble things, when the church-clock
+striking caused her to pause and glance up through the open window. She
+was counting the strokes.
+
+"Twelve o'clock, as I'm alive! I knew it must have gone eleven, but
+never thought it was twelve yet! And nothing out but a handful o'
+coloured things and the flannels! If missis was at home, she'd say I'd
+been wasting all my morning gossiping."
+
+An accusation Mrs. Freeman might have made with great truth. There was
+not a more inveterate gossip than Molly in the parish; and her
+propensity had lost her her last place.
+
+She turned to the boiler, seized the rolling-pin, and poked down the
+rising clothes with a fierceness which seemed to wish to make up for the
+lost hours. Then she dashed open the little iron door underneath, threw
+on a shovel of coals, and shut it again.
+
+"This surplice is wearing as thin as anything in front," soliloquised
+she, recommencing at the tub. "I'd better not rub it too much. But it's
+just in the very place where master gets 'em most dirty. If I were
+missis, I should line 'em in front. His other one's going worse. They
+must cost a smart penny, these surplices. Now, who's that?"
+
+Molly's interjection was caused by a flourishing knock at the
+front-door. It did not please her. She was too busy to answer useless
+visitors; unless because her master and mistress were out.
+
+"I won't go to the door," decided she, in her vexation. "Let 'em knock
+again, or go away."
+
+The applicant preferred the former course, for a second knock, louder
+than the first, echoed through the house. Molly brought her wet arms out
+of the water, dried them, and went on her way grumbling.
+
+"It's that bothering Mother Hurnall, I know! And ten to one but she'll
+walk in, under pretence of resting, and poke her nose into my brewhouse,
+and see how my work's getting on. An interfering, mischief-making old
+toad, and if she _does_ come in, I'll----"
+
+Molly had opened the door, and her words came to an abrupt conclusion.
+Instead of the interfering mischief-maker, there stood a gentleman; a
+stranger: a tall, oldish man, with a white beard and white whiskers,
+jet-black eyes, a kindly but firm expression on his sallow face, a
+carpet-bag in one hand, a large red umbrella in the other.
+
+Molly dropped a dubious curtsey. Beards were not much in fashion in that
+simple country place, neither were red umbrellas, and her opinion
+vacillated. Was the gentleman before her some venerable,
+much-to-be-respected patriarch; or one of those conjurers who frequented
+fairs in a caravan? Molly had had the gratification of seeing the one
+perform who came to the last fair, and he wore a white beard.
+
+"I have been directed to this house as the residence of the Reverend Mr.
+Freeman," began the stranger. "Is he at home?"
+
+"No, sir, he's not," replied Molly, dropping another and more assured
+curtsey. There was something about the stranger's voice and
+straightforward glance which quieted her fears. "My master and mistress
+are both gone out for the day, and won't be home till night."
+
+This seemed a poser for the stranger. He looked at Molly, and Molly
+looked at him. "It is very unfortunate," he said at length. "I have come
+a great many hundred miles, and reckoned very much upon seeing my old
+friend Freeman. I shall be leaving England again in a few days."
+
+Molly opened her eyes. "Come a great many hundred miles, all to see
+master!" she exclaimed.
+
+"Not to see him," answered the stranger, with a smile at Molly's
+simplicity--not that he looked like a smiling man in general, but a very
+sad one. "I had to come to England on business, and I travelled a long
+way to get here, and shall have to travel the same long way to get back
+again. I have come from London on purpose to see Mr. Freeman. It is many
+years since we met, and I thought, if quite agreeable, I would sleep a
+couple of nights here. Did you ever happen to hear him mention an old
+friend of his, named Daw?"
+
+The name struck on Molly's memory: it was a somewhat peculiar one.
+"Well, yes, I have, sir," she answered. "I have heard him speak of a Mr.
+Daw to my mistress. I think--I think--he lived somewhere over in France,
+that Mr. Daw. And he was a clergyman. My master lighted upon a lady's
+death a short time ago in the paper, while I was in the parlour helping
+my missis with some bed-furniture, and he exclaimed and said it must be
+Mr. Daw's wife."
+
+"Right--right in all," said the gentleman. "I am Mr. Daw."
+
+He took a small card-case from his pocket, and held out one of its cards
+to Molly; deeming it well, no doubt, that the woman should be convinced
+he was really the person he professed to be. "I can see but one thing to
+do," he said, "you must give me house-room until Mr. Freeman comes home
+this evening."
+
+"You are welcome, sir. But my goodness! there's nothing in the house for
+dinner, and I'm in the midst of a big wash."
+
+He shook his head as he walked into the parlour--a sunny apartment,
+redolent of mignonette, boxes of which stood outside the windows. "I
+don't in the least care about dinner," he carelessly observed. "A crust
+of bread, a little fresh butter, and a cup of milk, will do as well for
+me as anything more substantial."
+
+Molly left him, to see what she could do in the way of entertainment,
+and take counsel with herself. "If it doesn't happen on purpose!" she
+ejaculated. "Anything that upsets the order of the house is sure to come
+on washing day! Well, it's no good worrying. The wash must go. If I
+can't finish to-day, I must finish to-morrow. I think he's what he says
+he is; and I've heard them red umbrellas is used in France."
+
+She carried in a tray of refreshment--bread, butter, cheese, milk, and
+honey, and had adjusted the sleeves of her gown, straightened her hair,
+put on a clean apron, and taken off her pattens. Mr. Daw detained her
+whilst he helped himself, asking divers questions; and Molly, nothing
+loth, ever ready for a gossip, remembered not her exacting brewhouse.
+
+"There is a place called Trevlyn Hold in this neighbourhood, is there
+not?"
+
+"Right over there, sir," replied Molly, extending her hand. "You might
+see its chimneys but for them trees."
+
+"I suppose the young master of Trevlyn has grown into a fine man?"
+
+Molly turned up her nose, never supposing but the question alluded to
+Cris, and Cris was no favourite of hers: a prejudice possibly imbibed
+during her service at Trevlyn Farm.
+
+"I don't call him so," said she, shortly. "A weazened-face fellow, with
+an odd look in his eyes as good as a squint! He's not much liked about
+here, sir."
+
+"Indeed! That's a pity. Is he married? I suppose not though, yet. He is
+young."
+
+"There's many a one gets married younger than he is. But I don't know
+who'd have him," added Molly, in her prejudice. "I wouldn't, if I was a
+young lady."
+
+"Who has acted as his guardian?" resumed Mr. Daw.
+
+Molly scarcely understood the question. "A guardian, sir? That's
+somebody that takes care of a child's money, who has no parents, isn't
+it? _He_ has no guardian that I ever heard of, except it's his father."
+
+Mr. Daw laid down his knife. "The young master of Trevlyn has no
+father," he exclaimed.
+
+"Indeed he has, sir," returned Molly. "What should hinder him?"
+
+"My good woman, you cannot know what I am talking about. His father died
+years and years ago. I was at his funeral."
+
+Molly opened her mouth in very astonishment. "His father is alive now,
+sir, at any rate," cried she, after a pause. "I saw him ride by this
+house only yesterday."
+
+They stared at each other, as people at cross-purposes often do. "Of
+whom are you speaking?" asked Mr. Daw, at length.
+
+"Of Cris Chattaway, sir. You asked me about the young master of Trevlyn
+Hold. Cris will be its master after his father. Old Chattaway's its
+master now."
+
+"Chattaway? Chattaway?" repeated the stranger, as if recalling the name.
+"I remember. It was he who----Is Rupert Trevlyn dead?" he hastily asked.
+
+"Oh, no, sir."
+
+"Then why is he not master of Trevlyn Hold?"
+
+"Well, I don't know," replied Molly, after some consideration. "I
+suppose because Chattaway is."
+
+"But surely Rupert Trevlyn inherited it on the death of his grandfather,
+Squire Trevlyn?"
+
+"No, he didn't inherit it, sir. It was Chattaway."
+
+So interested in the argument had the visitor become, that he neglected
+his plate, and was looking at Molly with astonished eyes. "Why did he
+not inherit it? He was the heir."
+
+"It's what folks can't rightly make out," answered the woman. "Chattaway
+came in for it, that's certain. But folks have never called him the
+Squire, though he's as sick as a dog for it."
+
+"Who is Mr. Chattaway? What is his connection with the Trevlyns? I
+forget."
+
+"His wife was Miss Edith Trevlyn, the Squire's daughter. There was but
+three of 'em,--Mrs. Ryle, and her, and Miss Diana. Miss Diana was never
+married, and I suppose won't be now."
+
+"Miss Diana?--Miss Diana? Yes, yes, I recollect," repeated the stranger.
+"It was Miss Diana whom Mrs. Trevlyn----Does Rupert Trevlyn live with
+Miss Diana?" he broke off again.
+
+"Yes, sir; they all live at the Hold. The Chattaways, and Miss Diana,
+and young Mr. Rupert. Miss Diana has been out on a visit these two or
+three weeks past, but I heard this morning that she had come home."
+
+"There was a pretty little girl--Maude--a year older than her brother,"
+proceeded the questioner. "Where is she?"
+
+"She's at the Hold, too, sir. They were brought to the Hold quite little
+babies, those two, and they have lived at it ever since, except when
+they've been at school. Miss Maude's governess to Chattaway's children."
+
+Mr. Daw looked at Molly doubtingly. "Governess to Chattaway's children?"
+he mechanically repeated.
+
+Molly nodded. She was growing quite at home with her guest. "Miss Maude
+has had the best of educations, they say: plays and sings wonderful; and
+so they made her the governess."
+
+"But has she no fortune--no income?" reiterated the stranger, lost in
+wonder.
+
+"Not a penny-piece," returned Molly, decisively. "Her and Mr. Rupert
+haven't a halfpenny between 'em of their own. He's clerk, or something
+of that sort, at Chattaway's coal mine, down yonder."
+
+"But they were the heirs to the estate," the stranger persisted. "Their
+father was son and heir to Squire Trevlyn, and they are his children!
+How is it? How can it be?"
+
+The words were spoken in the light of a remark. Mr. Daw was evidently
+debating the question with himself. Molly thought the question was put
+to her.
+
+"I don't know the rights of it, sir," was all she could answer. "All I
+can tell you is, the Chattaways have come in for it, and the inheritance
+is theirs. But there's many a one round about here calls Mr. Rupert the
+heir to this day, and will call him so, in spite of Chattaway."
+
+"He is the heir--he is the heir!" reiterated Mr. Daw. "I can prove----"
+
+Again came that break in his discourse which had occurred before. Molly
+resumed.
+
+"Master will be able to tell you better than me, sir, why the property
+should have went from Master Rupert to Chattaway. It was him that buried
+the old Squire, sir, and he was at the Hold after, and heard the
+Squire's will read. Nora told me once that he, the parson, cried shame
+upon it when he came away. But she was in a passion with Chattaway when
+she said it, so perhaps it wasn't true. I asked my missis about it one
+day that we was folding clothes together, but she said she knew nothing
+about it. She wasn't married then."
+
+"Who is Nora?" inquired Mr. Daw.
+
+"She's housekeeper and manager at Trevlyn Farm; a sort of relation. It
+was where I lived before I come here, sir; four year turned I was at
+that one place. I have always been one to keep my places a good while,"
+added Molly, with pride.
+
+Apparently the boast was lost upon him; he did not seem to hear it. "Not
+heir to Trevlyn!" he muttered; "not heir to Trevlyn! It puzzles me."
+
+"I'm sorry master's out," repeated Molly, with sympathy. "But you can
+hear all about it to-night. They'll be home by seven o'clock. Twice a
+year, or thereabouts, they both go over to stop a day with missis's
+sister. Large millers they be, fourteen mile off, and live in a great
+big handsome house, and keep three or four indoor servants. The name's
+Whittaker, sir."
+
+Mr. Daw did not show himself very much interested in the name, or in the
+worthy millers themselves. He was lost in a reverie. Molly made a
+movement about the plates and cheese and butter; insinuated the glass of
+milk under his very nose. All in vain.
+
+"Not the heir!" he reiterated again; "not the heir! And I have been
+picturing him in my mind as the heir all through these long years!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+THE STRANGER
+
+
+When Mrs. Chattaway and Cris drove off in the dog-cart, George Ryle did
+not follow them down the avenue, but turned to pursue his way round the
+house, which would take him to the fields: a shorter cut to his own land
+than the road. For a long time after his father's death, George could
+not bear to go through the field which had been so fatal to him; but he
+had lived down the feeling with the aid of that great reconciler--Time.
+
+Happening to cast his eyes on the grounds as he skirted them, which lay
+on this side the Hold, he saw Rupert Trevlyn. Leaping a dwarf hedge of
+azaroles, he hastened to him.
+
+"Well, old fellow! Taking a nap?"
+
+Rupert opened his half-closed eyes, and looked round. "I thought it was
+Cris again!" he exclaimed. "He was here just now."
+
+"Cris has gone out with his mother in the dog-cart. I don't like the
+horse he is driving, though."
+
+"Is it that new horse he has been getting?"
+
+"Yes; the one Allen had to sell."
+
+"What's the matter with it?" asked Rupert. "I saw it carrying Allen one
+day, and thought it a beautiful animal!"
+
+"It has a vicious temper, as I have been given to understand. And I
+believe it has never been properly broken in for driving. How do you
+feel to-day, Rupert?"
+
+"No great shakes. I wish I was as strong as you, George."
+
+George laughed pleasantly; and his voice, when he spoke, had a soothing
+sound in it. "So you may be, by the time you are as old as I am. Why,
+you have hardly done growing yet, Rupert. There's plenty of time for you
+to get strong."
+
+"What brings you up here, George? Anything particular?"
+
+"I saw Amelia to-day, and brought a message from her to her mother.
+Caroline is coming to us for the harvest-home, and Amelia wants to come
+too."
+
+"Oh, they'll let her," cried Rupert. "The girls can do just as they
+like."
+
+He, Rupert, leaned his chin on his hand, and began thinking of Amelia
+Chattaway. She was the oldest of the three younger children, and was at
+first under the tuition of Maude. But Maude could do nothing with her,
+the girl liking and taking; in fact she was too old both for Maude's
+control and instruction, and it was thought well to place her at a good
+school at Barmester, the school at which Caroline Ryle was being
+educated. Somehow Rupert's comforts were never added to by the presence
+of Amelia in the house, and he might have given way to a hope that she
+would not come home, had he been of a disposition to encourage such
+feelings.
+
+Octave, who had discerned George Ryle from the windows of the Hold, came
+out to them, her pink parasol shading her face from the sun. A short
+time and Miss Trevlyn came home and joined them; next came Maude and her
+charges. It was quite a merry gathering. Miss Trevlyn unbent from her
+coldness, as she could do sometimes; Octave was all smiles and suavity,
+and every one, except Rupert, seemed at ease. Altogether, George Ryle
+was beguiled into doing what could not be often charged upon
+him--spending a good part of an afternoon in idleness.
+
+But he went away at last. And as he was turning into the first
+field--never called anything but "the Bull field," by the country
+people, from the hour of Mr. Ryle's accident--he encountered Jim
+Sanders, eager and breathless.
+
+"What's the matter?" asked George. "What do you want here?"
+
+"I was speeding up to the Hold to tell 'em, sir. There's been an
+accident with Mr. Cris's dog-cart. I thought I'd warn the men up at his
+place."
+
+"What accident?" hastily asked George, mentally beholding one sole
+object, and that was Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+"I don't know yet, sir, what it is. I was in the road by the gate, when
+a horse came tearing along with broken shafts after it. It was that
+horse of Allen's which I saw Mr. Cris driving out an hour ago in his
+dog-cart, and Madam along of him. So I cut across the fields at once."
+
+"You can go on," said George; "some of the men will be about. Should you
+see Miss Diana, or any of the young ladies, take care you say nothing to
+them. Do you hear?"
+
+"I'll mind, sir."
+
+Jim Sanders hastened out of the field on his way to the back premises of
+the Hold, and George flew onwards. When he gained the road, he looked up
+and down, but could see no traces of the accident. Nothing was in sight.
+Which way should he turn? Where had it occurred? He began reproaching
+himself for not asking Jim Sanders which way the horse had been coming
+from. As he halted in indecision some one suddenly came round the
+turning of the road lower down. It was Cris Chattaway, with a rueful
+expression and a gig-whip in his hand.
+
+George made but few strides towards him. "What is the worst, Cris? Let
+me know it."
+
+"I'll have him taken in charge and prosecuted, as sure as a gun," raved
+Cris. "I will. It's infamous that these things should be allowed in the
+public road."
+
+"What--the horse?" exclaimed George.
+
+"Horse be hanged!" politely returned Cris, whose irritation was
+excessive. "It wasn't the horse's fault. Nothing could go steadier and
+better than he went all the way and back again, as far as this----"
+
+"Where's Mrs. Chattaway?" interrupted George.
+
+"On the bank, down there. She's all right; only shaken a bit. The
+fellow's name was on the thing, and I have copied it down, and I've sent
+a man off for a constable. I'll teach him that he can't go about the
+country, plying his trade and frightening gentlemen's horses with
+impunity."
+
+In spite of Cris's incoherence and passion, George contrived to gather
+an inkling of the facts. They had taken a short, easy drive down the
+lower road and through Barbrook, the horse going (according to Cris)
+beautifully. But on the road home, in that lonely part between the Hold
+and Trevlyn Farm, there stood a razor-grinder with his machine, grinding
+a knife. Whether the whirr of the wheel did not please the horse;
+whether it was the aspect of the machine; or whether it might be the
+razor-grinder himself, a somewhat tattered object in a fur cap, the
+animal no sooner came near, than he began to dance and backed towards
+the ditch. Cris did his best. He was a good whip and a fearless one; but
+he could not conquer. The horse turned Mrs. Chattaway into the ditch,
+relieved his mind by a few kicks, and started off with part of the
+shafts behind him.
+
+"Are you much hurt, dear Mrs. Chattaway?" asked George, tenderly, as he
+bent over her.
+
+She looked up with a smile, but her face was of a death-like whiteness.
+Fortunately, the ditch, a wide one, was dry; and she sat on the sloping
+bank, her feet resting in it. The dog-cart lay near, and several gazers,
+chiefly labouring men, stood around, helplessly staring. The
+razor-grinder was protesting _his_ immunity from blame, and the hapless
+machine remained in its place untouched, drawn close to the pathway on
+the opposite side of the road.
+
+"You need not look at me so anxiously, George," Mrs. Chattaway replied,
+the smile still on her face. "I don't believe I am hurt. One of my
+elbows is smarting, but I really feel no pain anywhere. I am shaken, of
+course; but that's not much. I wish I had taken your advice, not to sit
+behind that horse."
+
+"Cris says he went beautifully, until he was frightened."
+
+"Did Cris say so? It appeared to me that he had trouble with him all the
+way; but Cris knows, of course. He has gone to the Hold to bring the
+carriage for me, but I don't care to sit here to be stared at longer
+than I can help," she added, with a half-smile.
+
+George leaped into the ditch, and partly helped and partly lifted her up
+the bank, and took her on his arm. She walked slowly, however, and
+leaned heavily upon him. When they reached the lodge, old Canham was
+gazing up and down the road, and Ann came out, full of consternation.
+They had seen the horse with the broken shafts gallop past.
+
+"Then there's no bones broke, thank Heaven!" said Ann, with tears in her
+meek eyes.
+
+She drew forward her father's armchair before the open door, and Mrs.
+Chattaway sat down in it, feeling she must have air, she said. "If I had
+but a drop o' brandy for Madam!" cried old Canham, as he stood near
+leaning all his weight on his stick.
+
+George caught up the words. "I will go to the Hold and get some." And
+before Mrs. Chattaway could stop him, or say that she would prefer not
+to take the brandy he was away.
+
+Almost at the same moment they heard the fast approach of a horse, and
+the master of Trevlyn Hold rode in at the gates. To describe his
+surprise when he saw his wife sitting, an apparent invalid, in old
+Canham's chair, and old Canham and Ann standing in evident
+consternation, almost as pale as she was, would be a difficult task. He
+reined in so quickly that his horse was flung back on its haunches.
+
+"Is anything the matter? Has Madam been taken ill?"
+
+"There has been an accident, sir," answered Ann Canham, with a meek
+curtsey. "Mr. Christopher was driving out Madam in the dog-cart, and
+they were thrown out."
+
+Mr. Chattaway got off his horse. "How did it happen?" he asked his wife,
+an angry expression crossing his face. "Was it Cris's fault? I hate that
+random driving of his!"
+
+"I am not hurt, James; only a little shaken," she replied, with
+gentleness. "Cris was not to blame. There was a razor-grinder in the
+road, grinding knives, and it frightened the horse."
+
+"Which horse was he driving?" demanded Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"A new one. One he bought from Allen."
+
+The reply did not please Mr. Chattaway. "I told Cris he should not buy
+that horse," he angrily said. "Is the dog-cart injured?"
+
+It was apparent from the question that Mr. Chattaway had not passed the
+_débris_ on the road. He must have come the other way, or perhaps across
+the common. Mrs. Chattaway did not dare to say she believed the dog-cart
+was very much injured. "The shafts are broken," she said, "and something
+more."
+
+"Where did it occur?" growled Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"A little lower down the road. George Ryle came up soon after it
+happened, and I walked here with him. Cris went on to the Hold to send
+the carriage, but I shall get home without it."
+
+"It might have been worse, Squire," interposed old Canham, who, as a
+dependant of Trevlyn Hold, felt compelled sometimes to give the "Squire"
+his title to his face, though he never would, or did, behind his back.
+"Nothing hardly happens to us, sir, in this world, but what's more eased
+to us than it might be."
+
+Mr. Chattaway had stood with his horse's bridle over his arm. "Would you
+like to walk home with me now?" he asked his wife. "I can lead the
+horse."
+
+"Thank you, James. I think I must rest here a little longer. I had only
+just got here when you came up."
+
+"I'll send for you," said Mr. Chattaway. "Or come back myself when I
+have left the horse at home. Mr. Cris will hear more than he likes from
+me about this business."
+
+"Such an untoward thing has never happened to Mr. Cris afore, sir,"
+observed Mark Canham. "There's never a better driver than him for miles
+round. The young heir, now, he's different: a bit timid, I fancy,
+and----"
+
+"Who?" burst forth Mr. Chattaway, taking his foot from the stirrup, for
+he was about to mount, and hurling daggers at Mark Canham. "The young
+heir! To whom do you dare apply that title!"
+
+Had the old man purposely launched a sly shaft at the master of Trevlyn
+Hold, or had he spoken inadvertently? He hastened to repair the damage
+as he best could.
+
+"Squire, I be growing old now--more by sickness, though, than by
+age--and things and people gets moithered together in my mind. In the
+bygone days, it was a Rupert Trevlyn that was the heir, and I can't at
+all times call to mind that this Rupert Trevlyn is not so: the name is
+the same, you see. What has set me to make such a stupid mistake this
+afternoon, I can't tell, unless it was the gentleman's words that was
+here but an hour ago. He kept calling Master Rupert the heir; and he
+wouldn't call him nothing else."
+
+Mr. Chattaway's face grew darker. "What gentleman was that, pray?"
+
+"I never see him before in my life, sir," returned old Canham. "He was a
+stranger to the place, and asked all manner of questions about it. He
+called Master Rupert the heir, and I stopped him, saying he made a
+mistake, for Master Rupert was not the heir. And he answered I was right
+so far, that Master Rupert, instead of being the heir of Trevlyn Hold,
+was its master and owner. I couldn't help staring at him when he said
+it."
+
+Chattaway felt as if his blood were curdling. Was this the first act in
+the great drama he had so long dreaded? "Where did he come from? What
+sort of a man was he?" he mechanically asked, all symptoms of anger
+dying away in his sudden fear.
+
+Old Canham shook his head. "I don't know nothing about where he's from,
+sir. He came strolling inside the gates, as folks strange to a place
+will do, looking about 'em just for curiosity's sake. He saw me sitting
+at the open window, and he asked what place this was, and I told him it
+was Trevlyn Hold. He said he thought so, that he had been walking about
+looking for Trevlyn Hold, and he leaned his arm upon the sill, and put
+nigh upon a hundred questions to me."
+
+"What were the questions?" eagerly rejoined Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"I should be puzzled to tell you half of 'em, sir, but they all bore
+upon Trevlyn Hold. About the Squire's death, and the will, and the
+succession; about everything in short. At last I told him that I didn't
+know the rightful particulars myself, and he'd better go to you or Miss
+Diana."
+
+Mrs. Chattaway stole a glance at her husband. Her face was paler than
+the accident had made it; with a more alarmed pallor. The impression
+clinging to her mind, and of which she had spoken to her husband the
+previous night--that Rupert Trevlyn was on the eve of being restored to
+his rights--seemed terribly strong upon her now.
+
+"He was a tall, thin, strange-looking man, with a foreign look about
+him, and a red umberella," continued old Canham. "A long white beard he
+had, sir, like a goat, and an odd hat made of cloth or crape, or some
+mourning stuff. His tongue wasn't quite like an English tongue, either.
+I shouldn't wonder but he was a lawyer, Squire: no one else wouldn't
+surely think of putting such a string of questions----"
+
+"Did he--did he put the questions as an official person might put them?"
+rapidly interrupted Mr. Chattaway.
+
+Old Canham hesitated; at a loss what precise reply to give. "He put 'em
+as though he wanted answers to 'em," returned he at length. "He said a
+word or two, sir, that made me think he'd been intimate once with the
+young Squire, Mr. Joe, and he asked whether his boy or his girl had
+growed up most like him. He wondered, he said, whether he should know
+either of 'em by the likeness, when he came to meet 'em, as he should do
+to-day or to-morrow."
+
+"And what more?" gasped Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"There was nothing more, Squire, in particular. He took his elbow off
+the window-sill, and went through the gates again down the road. It
+seemed to me as if he had come into the neighbourhood for some special
+purpose connected with the questions."
+
+It seemed so to some one else also. When the master of Trevlyn Hold
+mounted his horse and rode him slowly through the avenue towards home, a
+lively fear, near and terrible, had replaced that vague dread which had
+so long lain latent in his heart.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+COMMOTION
+
+
+The beauty of the calm autumn afternoon was marred by the hubbub in the
+road. The rays of the sun came filtering through the foliage of the
+trees, the deep blue sky was without a cloud, the air was still and
+balmy: imparting an idea of peace. But in that dusty highway, so lonely
+at other times, a crowd of people had gathered, and they talked and
+swayed, and made much clatter and disturbance.
+
+The affair had got wind. How these affairs do get wind who can tell? It
+had been exaggerated in the usual fashion. "Madam was killed; the
+dog-cart smashed to pieces; the horse lamed; and Mr. Cris wounded." Half
+the gaping people who came up believed it all: and the chief hubbub was
+caused, not so much by discussing the accident, as by endeavouring to
+explain that its effects were not very disastrous.
+
+The news had travelled with its embellishments to Trevlyn Farm, amidst
+other places; and it brought out Nora. Without waiting to put anything
+on, she took her way to the spot. Mrs. Ryle was expecting company that
+afternoon, and Nora was at leisure and _en grande toilette_: a black
+silk gown, its flounces edged with velvet, and a cap of blonde lace
+trimmed with white flowers. The persons who were gathered on the spot
+made way for her. The wrecked dog-cart lay partly in the ditch, partly
+out of it. Opposite was the grinding-machine, its owner now silent and
+crestfallen, as he inwardly speculated upon what the law could do to
+him.
+
+"Then it's not true that Madam's killed?" cried Nora, after listening to
+the various explanations.
+
+A dozen voices answered. "Madam wasn't hurt to speak of, only a bit
+shook: she had told them so herself. She had walked off on Mr. George
+Ryle's arm, without waiting for the carriage that Mr. Cris had gone to
+fetch."
+
+"I'll be about that Jim Sanders," retorted Nora, wrathfully. "How dare
+he come in with such tales? He said Madam was lying dead in the road."
+
+She had barely spoken, when the throng standing over the dog-cart was
+invaded by a new-arrival, one who had been walking in a neighbouring
+field, and wondered what the collection could mean. The rustics fell
+back and stared at him: first, because he was a stranger; secondly,
+because his appearance was somewhat out of the common way; thirdly,
+because he carried a red umbrella. A tall man with a long white beard, a
+hat, the like of which had never been seen by country eyes, and a
+foreign look.
+
+You will at once recognise him for the traveller who had introduced
+himself at the parsonage as the Reverend Mr. Daw, a friend of its owner.
+The crowd, having had no such introduction, could only stare, marvelling
+whether he had dropped from the clouds. He had been out all the
+afternoon, taking notes of the neighbourhood, and since his conversation
+with old Canham--which you heard related afterwards to Mr. Chattaway, to
+that gentleman's intense dread--he had plunged into the fields on the
+opposite side of the way. There he had remained, musing and wandering,
+until aroused by the commotion which he speedily joined.
+
+"What has happened?" he exclaimed. "An accident?"
+
+The assemblage fell back. Rustics are prone to be suspicious of
+strangers, if their appearance is peculiar, and not one of them found a
+ready answer. Nora, however, whose tongue had, perhaps, never been at
+fault in its whole career, stood her ground.
+
+"There's not much damage done, as far as I can learn," she said, in her
+usual free manner. "The dog-cart's the worst of it. There it lies. It
+was Cris Chattaway's own; and I should think it will be a lesson to him
+not to be so fond of driving strange horses."
+
+"Is it to the Chattaways the accident has occurred?" asked the stranger.
+
+Nora nodded. She was stooping down to survey more critically the damages
+done to the dog-cart. "Cris Chattaway was driving his mother out," she
+said, rising. "He was trying a strange horse, and this was the result,"
+touching the wheel with her foot. "Madam was thrown into the ditch
+here."
+
+"And hurt?" laconically asked Mr. Daw.
+
+"Only shaken--as they say. But a shaking may be dangerous for one so
+delicate as Madam Chattaway. A pity but it had been _him_."
+
+Nora spoke the last word with emphasis so demonstrative that her hearer
+raised his eyes in wonderment. "Of whom do you speak?" he said.
+
+"Of Chattaway: Madam's husband. A shaking might do him good."
+
+"You don't like him, apparently," observed the stranger.
+
+"I don't know who does," freely spoke Nora.
+
+"Ah," said Mr. Daw, quietly. "Then I am not singular. _I_ don't."
+
+"Do you know him?" she rejoined.
+
+But to this the stranger gave no reply; he had evidently no intention of
+giving any; and the silence whetted Nora's curiosity more than any
+answer could have done, however obscure or mysterious. Perhaps no living
+woman within a circuit of five miles possessed curiosity equal to that
+of Nora Dickson.
+
+"Where have you known Chattaway?" she exclaimed.
+
+"It does not matter," said the stranger. "He is in the enjoyment of
+Trevlyn Hold, I hear."
+
+To say "I hear," as applied to the subject, imparted the idea that the
+stranger had only just gained the information. Nora threw her quick
+black eyes searchingly upon him.
+
+"Have you lived in a wood not to know that James Chattaway was possessor
+of Trevlyn Hold?" she said, with her characteristic plainness of speech.
+"He has enjoyed it these twenty years to the exclusion of Rupert
+Trevlyn."
+
+"Rupert Trevlyn is its rightful owner," said the stranger, almost as
+demonstratively as Nora herself could have spoken.
+
+"Ah," said Nora, with a sort of indignant groan, "the whole parish knows
+that. But Chattaway has possession of it, you see."
+
+"Why doesn't some one help Rupert Trevlyn to his rights?"
+
+"Who's to do it?" crossly responded Nora. "Can you?"
+
+"Possibly," returned the stranger.
+
+Had the gentleman asserted that he might possibly cause the moon to
+shine by day instead of by night, Nora could not have shown more intense
+surprise. "Help--him--to--his--rights?" she slowly repeated. "Do you
+mean to say you could displace Chattaway?"
+
+"Possibly," was the repeated answer.
+
+"Why--who are you?" uttered the amazed Nora.
+
+A smile flitted for a moment over Mr. Daw's countenance, the first
+symptom of a break to its composed sadness. But he gave no reply.
+
+"Do you know Rupert Trevlyn?" she reiterated.
+
+But even to that there was no direct answer. "I came to this place
+partly to see Rupert Trevlyn," were the words that issued from his lips.
+"I knew his father; he was my dear friend."
+
+"Who can he be?" was the question reiterating itself in Nora's active
+brain. "Are you a lawyer?" she asked, the idea suddenly occurring to
+her: as it had, you may remember, to old Canham.
+
+Mr. Daw coughed. "Lawyers are keen men," was his answering remark, and
+Nora could have beaten him for its vagueness. But before she could say
+more, an interruption occurred.
+
+This conversation had been carried on aloud; neither the stranger nor
+Nora having deemed it necessary to speak in undertones. The consequence
+of which was, that those in the midst of whom they stood had listened
+with open ears, drawing their own deductions--and very remarkable
+deductions some of them were. The knife-grinder--though a stranger to
+the local politics, and totally uninterested in them--had listened with
+the rest. One conclusion _he_ hastily came to, was, that the
+remarkable-looking gentleman with the white beard _was_ a lawyer; and he
+pushed himself to the front.
+
+"You be a lawyer, master," he broke in, with some excitement. "Would you
+mind telling of me whether they _can_ harm me. If I ain't at liberty to
+ply my trade under a roadside hedge but I must be took up and punished
+for it, why, it's a fresh wrinkle I've got to learn. I've done it all my
+life; others in the same trade does it; can the law touch us?"
+
+Mr. Daw had turned in wonderment. He had heard nothing of the
+grinding-machine in connection with the accident, and the man's address
+was unintelligible. A score of voices hastened to enlighten him, but
+before it was well done, the eager knife-grinder's voice rose above the
+rest.
+
+"Can the laws touch me for it, master?"
+
+"I cannot tell you," was the answer.
+
+The man's low brow scowled fitfully: he was somewhat ill-looking to the
+eye of a physiognomist. "What'll it cost?" he roughly said, taking from
+his pocket a bag in which was a handful of copper money mixed with a
+sprinkling of small silver. "I might know. A lawyer wouldn't give
+nothing for nothing, but I'll pay. If the laws can be down upon me for
+grinding a knife in the highway open to the world, all I can say is,
+that the laws is infamous."
+
+He stood looking at the stranger, with an air of demand, not of
+supplication--and rather insulting demand, too. Mr. Daw showed no signs
+of resenting the incipient insolence; on the contrary, his voice took a
+kind and sympathising tone.
+
+"My good man, you may put up your money. I can give you no information
+about the law, simply because I am ignorant of its bearing on these
+cases. In the old days, when I was an inhabitant of England, I have seen
+many a machine such as yours plying its trade in the public roads, and
+the law, as I supposed, could not touch them, neither did it attempt to.
+But that may be altered now: there has been time enough for it; years
+and years have passed since I last set foot on English soil."
+
+The razor-grinder thrust his bag into his pocket again, and began to
+push back to the spot whence he had come. The mob had listened with open
+ears, but had gained little further information. Whether he was a lawyer
+or whether he was not; where he had come from, and what his business was
+amongst them, unless it was the placing of young Rupert Trevlyn in
+possession of his "rights," they could not tell.
+
+Nora could not tell--and the fact did not please her. If there was one
+thing provoked Nora Dickson more than all else, it was to have her
+curiosity unsatisfied. She felt that she had been thwarted now. Turning
+away in a temper, speaking not a syllable to the stranger by way of
+polite adieu, she began to retrace her steps to Trevlyn Farm, holding up
+the flounces of her black silk gown, that they might not come into
+contact with the dusty road.
+
+But--somewhat to her surprise--she found the mysterious stranger had
+also extricated himself from the mob, and was following her. Nora was
+rather on the high ropes just then, and would not notice him. He,
+however, accosted her.
+
+"By what I gathered from a word or two you let fall, I should assume
+that you are a friend of Rupert Trevlyn's, ma'am?"
+
+"I hope I am," said Nora, mollified at the prospect of enlightenment.
+"Few folks about here but are friends to him, unless it's Chattaway and
+his lot at the Hold."
+
+"Then perhaps you will have no objection to inform me--if you can inform
+me--how it was that Mr. Chattaway came into possession of the Hold, in
+place of young Rupert Trevlyn. I cannot understand how it could possibly
+have been. Until I came here to-day, I never supposed but the lad,
+Rupert, was Squire of Trevlyn Hold."
+
+"Perhaps you'll first of all tell me what you want the information for?"
+returned Nora. "I don't know who you are, sir, remember."
+
+"You heard me say I was a friend of his father's; I should like to be a
+friend to the boy. It appears to me to be a monstrous injustice that he
+should not have succeeded to the estate of his ancestors. Has he been
+_legally_ deprived of it?"
+
+"As legally as a properly-made will could deprive him," was the reply of
+Nora. "Legality and justice don't always go together in our parts: I
+don't know what they may do in yours."
+
+"Joe Trevlyn--my friend--was the direct heir to Trevlyn Hold. Upon his
+death his son became the heir. Why did he not succeed?"
+
+"There are folks that say he was cheated out of it," replied Nora, in
+very significant tones.
+
+"Cheated out of it?"
+
+"It is said the news of Rupert's birth was never suffered to reach the
+ears of Squire Trevlyn. That the Squire went to his grave, never knowing
+he had a grandson in the direct male line--went to it after willing the
+estate to Chattaway."
+
+"Kept from it by whom?" eagerly cried Mr. Daw.
+
+"By those who had an interest in keeping it from him--Chattaway and Miss
+Diana Trevlyn. It is so said, I say: _I_ don't assert it. There may be
+danger in speaking too openly to a stranger," candidly added Nora.
+
+"There is no danger in speaking to me," he frankly said. "I have told
+you the truth--that I am a friend of young Rupert Trevlyn's. Chattaway
+is not a friend of mine, and I never saw him in my life."
+
+Nora, won over to forget caution and ill-temper, opened her heart to the
+stranger. She told him all she knew of the fraud; told him of Rupert's
+friendlessness, his undesirable position at the Hold. Nora's tongue, set
+going upon any grievance she felt strongly, could not be stopped. They
+walked on until the fold-yard gate of Trevlyn Farm was reached. There
+Nora came to a halt. And there she was in the midst of a concluding
+oration, delivered with forcible eloquence, and there the stranger was
+listening eagerly, when they were interrupted by George Ryle.
+
+Nora ceased suddenly. The stranger looked round, and seeing a
+gentleman-like man who evidently belonged in some way to Nora, lifted
+his hat. George returned it.
+
+"It's somebody strange to the place," unceremoniously pronounced Nora,
+by way of introducing him to George. "He was asking about Rupert
+Trevlyn."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+COMING VERY CLOSE
+
+
+If they had possessed extraordinarily good eyes, any one of the three,
+they might have detected a head peering at them over a hedge about two
+fields off, in the direction of Trevlyn Hold. The head was Mr.
+Chattaway's. That gentleman rode home from the lodge, after hearing old
+Canham's account of the mysterious visit, in a state not to be
+described. Encountering Miss Diana, he despatched her with Octave to the
+lodge to see after his wife; he met George Ryle, and told him _his_
+services were no further needed--Madam wanted neither him nor the
+brandy; he sent his horse to the stable, and went indoors: all in a
+confused state of agitation, as if he scarcely knew what he was about.
+
+Dinner was ready; the servants were perplexed at no one's coming in for
+it, and they asked if the Squire would sit down without Madam. _He_ sit
+down to dinner--in that awful uncertainty? No; rather would he steal out
+and poke and pry about until he had learned something.
+
+He left the house and plunged into the fields. He did not go back down
+the avenue, openly past the lodge into the road: cowards, with their
+fear upon them, prowl about stealthily--as Chattaway was doing now. Very
+grievously was the fear upon him.
+
+He walked hither and thither: he stood for some minutes in the field
+which had once been so fatal to poor Mr. Ryle; his arms were folded, his
+head was bent, his newly-awakened imagination was in full play. He crept
+to the outer field, and walked under cover of its hedge until he came
+opposite all that hubbub and confusion. There he halted, found himself a
+peep-hole, and took in by degrees all that was to be seen: the
+razor-grinder and his machine, the dog-cart and its dilapidations, and
+the mob. Eagerly, anxiously did his restless eyes scan that mob; but he,
+upon whom they hoped to rest, was not amongst them. For you may be sure
+Mr. Chattaway was searching after none but the dreaded stranger. Miserly
+as he was, he would have given a ten-pound note out of his pocket to
+obtain only a moment's look at him. He had been telling over all the
+enemies he had ever made, as far as he could remember them. Was it one
+of those?--some one who owed him a grudge, and was taking this way of
+paying it? Or was it a danger coming from a totally unknown quarter? Ten
+pounds! Chattaway would have given fifty then for a good view of the
+stranger; and his eyes were unmindful of the unfriendly thorns, in their
+feverish anxiety to penetrate to the very last of that lazy throng,
+idling away the summer's afternoon.
+
+The stranger was certainly not amongst them. Chattaway knew every
+chattering soul there. Some of his unconscious labourers made a part,
+and he only wished he dared appear and send them flying. But he did not
+care to do so. If ever there was a cautious man where he and his
+interests were concerned, it was Chattaway; and he would not run the
+risk of meeting this man face to face. No, no; rather let him get a
+bird's-eye view of him first, that he might be upon his guard.
+
+The state of the dog-cart did not by any means tend to soothe his
+feelings; neither did the sight of George Ryle, who passed through the
+crowd in the direction of his own home. He could see what a pretty penny
+it would take to repair the one; he knew not how many pounds it might
+take to set right any mischief being hatched by the other. Mr. Chattaway
+turned away. He bore along noiselessly by the side of the hedge, and
+then over a stile into a lower field, and then into another. That
+brought Trevlyn Farm under his vision, and--and--what did his restless
+eyes catch sight of?
+
+Leaning on the fold-yard gate, dressed in a style not often seen, stood
+Nora Dickson; on the other side was George Ryle, and with him one who
+might be recognised at the first glance--the strange-looking man, with
+his white hair, his red umbrella, and his queer hat, as described by old
+Canham. There could be no mistake about it; he it was: and the
+perspiration poured off the master of Trevlyn Hold in his mortal fear.
+
+What were they hatching, those three? That it looked suspicious must be
+confessed, to one whose fears were awakened as were Chattaway's; for
+their heads were in close contact, and their attention was absorbed. Was
+he stopping at Trevlyn Farm, this man of treason? Undoubtedly: or why
+should Nora Dickson be decked out in company attire? Chattaway had
+always believed George Ryle to be a rogue, but now he knew him to be
+one.
+
+It was a pity Chattaway could not be listening as well as peeping. He
+would only have heard the gentleman explain to George Ryle who he was;
+his name, his calling, and where he was visiting in Barbrook. So far,
+Chattaway's doubts would have been at rest; but he would have heard no
+worse. George was less impulsive than Nora, and would not be likely to
+enter on the discussion of the claims of Rupert Trevlyn _versus_
+Chattaway, with a new acquaintance.
+
+A very few minutes, and they separated. The conversation had been
+general since George came up; not a word having been said that could
+have alarmed intruding ears. Nora hastened indoors; George turned off to
+his rick-yard; and the stranger stood in the road and gazed leisurely
+about him, as though considering the points for a sketch. Presently he
+disappeared from Chattaway's view.
+
+That gentleman, taking a short time to recover himself, came to the
+conclusion that he might as well disappear also, in the direction of his
+home; where no doubt dinner was arrested, and its hungry candidates
+speculating upon what could have become of the master. It was of no use
+remaining where he was. He had ascertained one point--the dreaded enemy
+was an utter stranger to him. More than that he did not see that he
+could ascertain, in this early stage.
+
+He wiped his damp face and set forth on his walk home, stepping out
+pretty briskly. It was as inadvisable to make known his fears abroad as
+to proclaim them at home. Were only an inkling to become known, it
+seemed to Chattaway that it would be half the business towards wresting
+Trevlyn Hold from him.
+
+As he walked on, his courage partially came back to him, and the
+reaction once set in, his hopes went up, until he almost began to
+despise his recent terror. It was absurd to suppose this stranger could
+have anything to do with himself and Rupert Trevlyn. He was merely an
+inquisitive traveller looking about the place for his amusement, and in
+so doing had picked up bits of gossip, and was seeking further
+information about them--all to while away an idle hour. What a fool he
+had been to put himself into a fever for nothing.
+
+These consoling thoughts drowning the mind's latent dread--or rather
+making pretence to do so, for that the dread was there still, Chattaway
+was miserably conscious--he went on increasing his speed. At last, in
+turning into another field, he nearly knocked down a man running in the
+same direction, who had come up at right angles with him: a labourer
+named Hatch, who worked on his farm.
+
+It was a good opportunity to let off a little of his ill-humour, and he
+demanded where the man had been skulking, and why he was away from his
+work. Hatch answered that, hearing of the accident to Madam and the
+young Squire, he and his fellow-labourers had been induced to run to the
+spot in the hope of affording help.
+
+"Help!" said Mr. Chattaway. "You went off to see what there was to be
+seen, and for nothing else, leaving the rick half made. I have a great
+mind to dock you of a half-day's pay. Is there so much to look at in a
+broken dog-cart, that you and the rest of you must neglect my work?"
+
+The man took off his hat and rubbed his head gently: his common resort
+in a quandary. They _had_ hindered a great deal more time than was
+necessary; and had certainly not bargained for its coming to the
+knowledge of the Squire. Hatch, too simple or too honest to invent
+excuses, could only make the best of the facts as they stood.
+
+"'Twasn't the dog-cart kept us, Squire. 'Twas listening to a
+strange-looking gentleman; a man with a white beard and a red
+umberellar. He were talking about Trevlyn Hold, saying it belonged to
+Master Rupert, and he were going to help him to it."
+
+Chattaway turned away his face. Instinct taught him that even this
+stolid serf should not see the cold moisture that suddenly oozed from
+every pore. "_What_ did he say?" he cried, in accents of scorn.
+
+Hatch considered. And you must not too greatly blame the exaggerated
+reply. Hatch did not purposely deceive his master; but he did what a
+great many of us are apt to do--he answered according to the impression
+made on his imagination. He and the rest of the listeners had drawn
+their own conclusions, and in accordance with those conclusions he now
+spoke.
+
+"He said for one thing, Squire, as he didn't like you----"
+
+"How does he know me?" Mr. Chattaway interrupted.
+
+"Nora Dickson asked him, but he wouldn't answer. He's a lawyer, and----"
+
+"How do you know he's a lawyer?" again interrupted Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"Because he said it," was the prompt reply. And the man had no idea that
+it was an incorrect one. He as much believed the white-bearded stranger
+to be a lawyer as that he himself was a day-labourer. "He said he had
+come to help Master Rupert to his rights, and displace you from 'em. Our
+hairs stood on end to hear him, Squire."
+
+"Who is he?--where does he come from?" And to save his very life
+Chattaway could not have helped the words issuing forth in gasps.
+
+"He never said where he come from--save he hadn't been in England for
+many a year. We was a wondering among ourselves where he come from,
+after he walked off with Nora Dickson."
+
+"Does she know?"
+
+"No, she don't, Squire. He come up while she were standing there, and
+she wondered who he were, as we did. 'Twere through her asking him
+questions that he said so much."
+
+"But--what has he to do with my affairs?--what has he to do with Rupert
+Trevlyn?" passionately rejoined Mr. Chattaway.
+
+It was a query Hatch was unable to answer. "He said he were a friend of
+the dead heir, Mr. Joe--I mind well he said that--and he had come to
+this here place partly to see Master Rupert. He didn't seem to know
+afore as Master Rupert had not got the Hold, and Nora Dickson asked if
+he'd lived in a wood not to know that. So then he said he should help
+him to his rights, and Nora said, 'What! displace Chattaway?' and he
+said, 'Yes.' We was took aback, Squire, and stopped a bit longer maybe
+than we ought. It was that kep' us from the rick."
+
+Every pulse beating, every drop of blood coursing in fiery heat, the
+master of Trevlyn Hold reached his home. He went in, and left his hat in
+the hall, and entered the dining-room, as a man in some awful dream. A
+friend of Joe Trevlyn's!--come to help Rupert to his rights!--to
+displace _him_! The words rang their changes on his brain.
+
+They had not waited dinner. It had been Miss Diana's pleasure that it
+should be commenced, and Mr. Chattaway took a seat mechanically.
+Mechanically he heard that his wife had declined partaking of it--had
+been ill when she reached home; that Rupert, after a hasty meal, had
+gone upstairs to lie down, at the recommendation of Miss Diana; that
+Cris had now gone off to the damaged dog-cart. He was as a man stunned,
+and felt utterly unnerved. He sat down, but found he could not swallow a
+mouthful.
+
+The cloth was removed and dessert placed upon the table. After taking a
+little fruit, the younger ones dispersed; Maude went upstairs to see how
+Mrs. Chattaway was; the rest to the drawing-room. The master of Trevlyn
+Hold paced the carpet, lost in thought. The silence was broken by Miss
+Diana.
+
+"Squire, I am not satisfied with the appearance of Rupert Trevlyn. I
+fear he may be falling into worse health than usual. It must be looked
+to, and more care taken of him. I intend to buy him a pony to ride to
+and fro between here and Blackstone."
+
+Had Miss Diana expressed her intention of purchasing ten ponies for
+Rupert, it would have made no impression then on Chattaway. In his
+terrible suspense and fear, a pony more or less was an insignificant
+thing, and he received the announcement in silence, to the intense
+surprise of Miss Diana, who had expected to see him turn round in a
+blaze of anger.
+
+"Are you not well?" she asked.
+
+"Well? Quite well. I--I over-heated myself riding, and--and feel quite
+chilly now. What should hinder my being well?" he continued,
+resentfully.
+
+"I say I shall buy a pony for Rupert. Those walks to Blackstone are too
+much for him. I think it must be that which is making him feel so ill."
+
+"I wish you'd not bother me!" peevishly rejoined Chattaway. "Buy it, if
+you like. What do I care?"
+
+"I'll thank you to be civil to _me_, Mr. Chattaway," said Miss Diana,
+with emphasis. "It is of no use your being put out about this business
+of Cris and the accident; and that's what you are, I suppose. Fretting
+over it won't mend it."
+
+Mr. Chattaway caught at the mistake. "It was such an idiotic trick, to
+put an untried horse into harness, and let it smash the dog-cart!" he
+cried. "Cris did it in direct disobedience, too. I had told him he
+should not buy that horse."
+
+"Cris does many things in disobedience," calmly rejoined Miss Diana. "I
+hope it has not injured Edith."
+
+"She must have been foolish----"
+
+A ring at the hall-bell--a loud, long, imperative ring--and Mr.
+Chattaway's voice abruptly stopped. _He_ stopped: stopped and stood
+stock still in the middle of the room, eyes and ears open, his whole
+senses on the alert. A prevision rushed over him that the messenger of
+evil had come.
+
+"Are you expecting any one?" inquired Miss Diana.
+
+"Be still, can't you?" almost shrieked Chattaway. Her voice hindered his
+listening.
+
+They were opening the hall-door, and Chattaway's face was turning livid.
+James came into the room.
+
+"A gentleman, sir, is asking to see Mr. Rupert."
+
+"What gentleman?" interposed Miss Diana, before Chattaway could move or
+look.
+
+"I don't know him, ma'am. He seems strange to the place; has a white
+beard, and looks foreign."
+
+"He wants Mr. Rupert, did you say?"
+
+"When I opened the door, first, ma'am, he asked if he could see young
+Squire Trevlyn; so I wanted to know who he meant, and said my master,
+Mr. Chattaway, was the Squire, and he replied that he meant Master
+Rupert, the son of Squire Trevlyn's heir, Mr. Joe, who had died abroad.
+He is waiting, ma'am."
+
+Chattaway turned his white face upon the man. His trembling hands, his
+stealthy movements, showed his abject terror; even his very voice, which
+had dropped to a whisper.
+
+"Mr. Rupert's in bed, and can't be seen, James. Go and say so."
+
+Miss Diana had stood in amazement--first, at James's message; secondly,
+at Mr. Chattaway's strange demeanour. "Why, who is it?" she cried to the
+servant.
+
+"He didn't give his name, ma'am."
+
+"Will you go, James?" hoarsely cried Mr. Chattaway. "Go and get rid of
+the man."
+
+"But he shall not get rid of him," interrupted Miss Diana. "I shall see
+the man. It is the strangest message I ever heard in my life. What are
+you thinking of, Squire?"
+
+"Stop where you are!" returned Mr. Chattaway, arresting Miss Diana's
+progress. "Do you hear, James? Go and get rid of this man. Turn him out,
+at any cost."
+
+Did Mr. Chattaway fear the visitor had come to take possession of the
+house in Rupert's name? Miss Diana could only look at him in
+astonishment. His face wore the hue of death; he was evidently almost
+beside himself with terror. For once in her life she did not assert her
+will, but suffered James to leave the room and "get rid" of the visitor
+in obedience to Mr. Chattaway.
+
+He appeared to have no trouble in accomplishing it. A moment, and the
+hall-door was heard to close. Chattaway opened that of the dining-room.
+
+"What did he say?"
+
+"He said nothing, sir, except that he'd call again."
+
+"James, does he--does he look like a madman?" cried Mr. Chattaway, his
+tone changing to what might almost be called entreaty. "Is he insane, do
+you think? I could not let a madman enter the house, you know."
+
+"I don't know, sir, I'm sure. His words were odd, but he didn't seem
+mad."
+
+Mr. Chattaway closed the door and turned to his sister-in-law, who was
+more puzzled than she had ever been in her life.
+
+"I think it is you who are mad, Chattaway."
+
+"Hush, Diana! I have heard of this man before. Sit down, and I will tell
+you about him."
+
+He had come to a rapid conclusion that it would be better to confide to
+her the terrible news come to light. Not his own fears, or the dread
+which had lain deep in his heart: only this that he had heard.
+
+We have seen how the words of the stranger had been exaggerated by Hatch
+to Mr. Chattaway, and perhaps he now unconsciously exaggerated Hatch's
+report. Miss Diana listened in consternation. A lawyer!--come down to
+depose them from Trevlyn Hold, and institute Rupert in it! "I never
+heard of such a thing!" she exclaimed. "He can't do it, you know,
+Chattaway."
+
+Chattaway coughed ruefully. "Of course he can't. At least I don't see
+how he can, or how any one else can. My opinion is that the man must be
+mad."
+
+Miss Diana was falling into thought. "A friend of Joe's?" she mused
+aloud. "Chattaway, could Joe have left a will?"
+
+"Nonsense!" said Chattaway. "If Joe Trevlyn did leave a will, it would
+be null and void. He died in his father's lifetime, and the property was
+not his to leave."
+
+"True. There can be no possibility of danger," she added, after a pause.
+"We may dismiss all fear as the idle wind."
+
+"I wonder whether Rupert knows anything about this?"
+
+"Rupert! What should he know about it?"
+
+"I can't say," returned Mr. Chattaway, significantly. "I think I'll go
+up and ask him," he added, in a sort of feverish impulse.
+
+Without a moment's pause he hastened upstairs to Rupert's room. But the
+room was empty!
+
+Mr. Chattaway stood transfixed. He had fully believed Rupert to be in
+bed, and the silent bed, impressed, seemed to mock him. A wild fear came
+over him that Rupert's pretence of going to bed had been a _ruse_--he
+had gone out to meet that dangerous stranger.
+
+He flew down the stairs as one possessed; shouting "Rupert! Rupert!" The
+household stole forth to look at him, and the walls echoed the name. But
+from Rupert himself there came no answer. He was not in the Hold.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+A MEETING AT MARK CANHAM'S
+
+
+Rupert's leaving the Hold, however, had been a very innocent matter. The
+evening sun was setting gloriously, and he thought he would stroll out
+for a few minutes before going to his room. When he reached the lodge he
+went in and flung himself down on the settle, opposite old Canham and
+his pipe.
+
+"How's Madam?" asked the old man. "What an accident it might have been!"
+
+"So it might," assented Rupert, "Madam will be better after a night's
+rest. Cris might have killed her. I wonder how he'd have felt then?"
+
+When Rupert came to an anchor, no matter where, he was somewhat
+unwilling to move from it. The settle was not a comfortable seat; rather
+the contrary; but Rupert kept to it, talking and laughing with old
+Canham. Ann was at the window, catching what remained of the fading
+light for her sewing.
+
+"Here's that strange gentleman again, father!" she suddenly exclaimed in
+a whisper.
+
+Old Canham turned his head, and Rupert turned his. The gentleman with
+the beard was going by in the direction of Trevlyn Hold as if about to
+make a call there.
+
+"Ay, that's him," cried old Canham.
+
+"What a queer-looking chap!" exclaimed Rupert. "Who is he?"
+
+"I can't make out," was old Canham's reply. "Me and Ann have been
+talking about him. He came strolling inside the gates this afternoon
+with a red umberellar, looking here and looking there, and at last he
+see us, and come up and asked what place this was; and when I told him
+it was Trevlyn Hold, he said Trevlyn Hold was what he had been seeking
+for, and he stood there talking a matter o' twenty minutes, leaning his
+arms on the window-sill. He thought you was the Squire, Master Rupert.
+He had a red umberellar," repeated old Canham, as if the fact were
+remarkable.
+
+Rupert glanced up in surprise. "Thought I was the Squire?"
+
+"He came into this neighbourhood, he said, believing nothing less but
+that you were the rightful Squire, and couldn't make out why you were
+not: he had been away from England a many years, and had believed it all
+the while. He said you were the true Squire, and you should be helped to
+your right."
+
+"Why! who can he be?" exclaimed Rupert, in excitement.
+
+"Ah, that's it--who can he be?" returned old Canham. "Me and Ann have
+been marvelling. He said that he used to be a friend of the dead heir,
+Mr. Joe. Master Rupert, who knows but he may be somebody come to place
+you in the Hold?"
+
+Rupert was leaning forward on the settle, his elbow on his knee, his eye
+fixed on old Canham.
+
+"How could he do that?" he asked after a pause. "How could any one do
+it?"
+
+"It's not for us to say how, Master Rupert. If anybody in these parts
+could have said, maybe you'd have been in it long before this. That
+there stranger is a cute 'un, I know. White beards always is a sign of
+wisdom."
+
+Rupert laughed. "Look here, Mark. It is no good going over that ground
+again. I have heard about my 'rights' until I am tired. The subject
+vexes me; it makes me cross from its very hopelessness. I wish I had
+been born without rights."
+
+"This stranger, when he called you the heir of Trevlyn Hold, and I told
+him you were not the heir, said I was right; you were not the heir, but
+the owner," persisted old Canham.
+
+"Then he knew nothing about it," returned Rupert. "It's _impossible_ that
+Chattaway can be put out of Trevlyn Hold."
+
+"Master Rupert, there has always been a feeling upon me that he will be
+put out of it," resumed old Canham. "He came to it by wrong, and wrong
+never lasts to the end without being righted. Who knows that the same
+feeling ain't on Chattaway? He turned the colour o' my Sunday smock when
+I told him of this stranger's having been here and what he'd said."
+
+"Did you tell him?" quickly cried Rupert.
+
+"I did, sir. I didn't mean to, but it come out incautious-like. I called
+you the young heir to his face, and excused myself by saying the
+stranger had been calling you so, and I spoke out the same without
+thought. Then he wanted to know what stranger, and all about him. It was
+when Madam was resting here after the accident. Chattaway rode by and
+saw her, and got off his horse: it was the first he knew of the
+accident. If what I said didn't frighten him, I never had a day's
+rheumatiz in my life. His face went as white as Madam's."
+
+"Chattaway go white!" scoffed Rupert. "What next? I tell you what it is,
+Mark; you fancy things. Aunt Edith may have been white; she often is;
+but not he. Chattaway knows that Trevlyn Hold is his, safe and sure.
+Nothing can take it from him--unless Squire Trevlyn came to life again,
+and made a fresh will. He's not likely to do that, Mark."
+
+"No; he's not likely to do that," assented the old man. "Once we're out
+of this world, Master Rupert, we don't come back again. The injustice we
+have left behind us can't be repaired that way."
+
+Rupert rose. He went to the window, opened it, and leaned out whistling.
+He was tired of the subject as touching himself; had long looked upon it
+as an unprofitable theme. As he stood there enjoying the calmness of the
+evening the tall man with the white beard came back again down the
+avenue.
+
+Mr. Daw, for he it was, had the red umbrella in his hand. He turned his
+head to the window as he passed it, looked steadily at Rupert, paused,
+went close up, and put his hand on Rupert's arm.
+
+"You are Rupert Trevlyn?"
+
+"Yes," replied Rupert.
+
+"I should have known you anywhere from your resemblance to your father;
+I should have known you had I met you in the crowded streets of London.
+You are wonderfully like him."
+
+"Where did you know my father?" inquired Rupert.
+
+Instead of answering, the stranger opened the house-door and stepped
+into the room. Ann curtseyed; old Canham rose and stood with his hat in
+his hand--that white beard seemed to demand respect. He--the
+stranger--took Rupert's hand in his.
+
+"I have been up to the house to inquire for you: but they told me you
+were not well, and had gone to rest."
+
+"Did they?" said Rupert. "I had intended to lie down, but the evening
+was so pleasant that I came out instead. You spoke of my father: did you
+know him?"
+
+"I knew him very well," said the stranger, taking the seat Ann had been
+dusting before offering; a ceremony she apparently considered a mark of
+respect. "Though my acquaintance with him was short, it was close. Do
+you know who baptized you?"
+
+"No," replied Rupert, rather astonished at the question.
+
+"I did. I christened your sister Maude; I baptized you. You were to be
+christened in England, your mother said, but she wished you baptized ere
+the journey commenced, and I did it when you were only a day old. Ah,
+poor thing! she hoped to make the journey with you when she should be
+strong enough; but another journey claimed her--that of death! Before
+you were two days old she died. It was I who wrote to announce your
+birth to Squire Trevlyn; it was I who, by the next post, announced your
+mother's death. It was I--my young friend, it was I--who buried your
+father and your mother."
+
+"You are a clergyman, then?" said Rupert, somewhat dubious about the
+beard, and the very unclerical cut of the stranger altogether.
+
+It may be that Mr. Daw noticed the doubtful glances, and entered upon an
+explanation. How, when a working curate, he had married a young lady of
+fortune, but of delicate health, and had gone abroad with her, throwing
+up for the time his clerical preferment. The doctors had said that a
+warm climate was essential to her; as they had said, if you remember, in
+the case of Joe Trevlyn. It happened that both parties sought the same
+place--the curate and his wife, Joe and Mrs. Trevlyn--and a close
+friendship sprang up between them. A short time and Joe Trevlyn died; a
+shorter time still, and his wife died. There was no English clergyman
+near the spot, and Mr. Daw gave his services. He baptized the children;
+he buried the parents. His own fate was a happier one, for his wife
+lived. She lived, but did not grow strong. It may be said--you have
+heard of such cases--that she only existed from day to day. She had so
+existed all through those long years; from that time until within a few
+months of this. "If you attempt to take her back to England, she will
+not live a month," the local medical men had said; and perhaps they were
+right. He had gone to the place for a few months' sojourn, and never
+left it for over twenty years. It reads like a romance. His wife's
+fortune had enabled him to live comfortably, and in a pecuniary point of
+view there was no need to seek preferment or exercise his calling. He
+would never seek it now. Habit and use are second nature, and the
+Reverend William Daw had learnt to be an idle man; to love the country
+of his adoption, his home in the Pyrenees; to believe that its genial
+climate had become necessary to himself. His business in England
+concluded (it was connected with his late wife's will), he was hastening
+back to it. Had preferment been offered him, he would have doubted his
+ability to fulfil its duties after so many years of leisure. The money
+that was his wife's would be his for the remainder of his days; so on
+that score he was at rest. In short, the Reverend William Daw had
+degenerated into a useless man; one to whom all exertion had become a
+trouble. He honestly confessed to it now, as he sat before Rupert
+Trevlyn; told him he had been content to live wholly for the country of
+his adoption, almost completely ignoring his own; had kept up no
+correspondence with it. Of friends he could, as a young curate, boast
+but few, and he had been at no pains to keep them. At first he had
+believed that six or twelve months would be the limit of his absence
+from England, and he was content to let friendships await his return.
+But he did not return; and the lapsed correspondence was too pleasant to
+his indolent tastes to be reopened. He told all this quietly now to
+Rupert Trevlyn, and said that to it he owed his ignorance of the
+deposition of Rupert from Trevlyn Hold. Mr. Freeman was one of his few
+old college friends, and he might have heard all about it years ago had
+he only written to him.
+
+"I cannot understand how Mr. Chattaway should have succeeded," he cried,
+bending his dark eyes upon Rupert. "I can scarcely believe the fact now;
+it has amazed me, as one may say. Had there been no direct male heir;
+had your father left only Maude, for instance, I could have understood
+its being left away from her, although it would have been unjust."
+
+"The property is not entailed," said Rupert.
+
+"I am aware of that. During the last few months of your father's life,
+we were like brothers, and I knew all particulars as well as he did. He
+had married in disobedience to his father's will, but he never for a
+moment glanced at the possibility of disinheritance. I cannot understand
+why Squire Trevlyn should have willed the estate from his son's
+children."
+
+"He only knew of Maude--as they say."
+
+"Still less can I understand how Mr. Chattaway can keep it. Were an
+estate willed to me, away from those who had a greater right to it, I
+should never retain it. I could not reconcile it to my conscience to do
+so. How can Mr. Chattaway?"
+
+Rupert laughed--he believed that conscience and Mr. Chattaway had not a
+great deal to do with each other. "It is not much Mr. Chattaway would
+give up voluntarily," he observed. "Were my grandfather alive, Chattaway
+would not resign Trevlyn Hold to him, unless forced to it."
+
+Old Canham could contain himself no longer. The conversation did not
+appear to be coming to the point. "Be you going to help young Master
+Rupert to regain his rights, sir?" he eagerly asked.
+
+"I would--if I knew how to do it," said Mr. Daw. "I shall certainly
+represent to Mr. Chattaway the injustice--the wicked injustice--of the
+present state of things. When I wrote to the Squire on the occasion of
+your birth and Mrs. Trevlyn's death," looking at Rupert, "the answers to
+me were signed 'J. Chattaway,'--the writer being no doubt this same Mr.
+Chattaway. He wrote again, after Squire Trevlyn's death, requesting me
+to despatch the nurse and children to England."
+
+"Oh, yes," said Rupert carelessly, "it was safe enough for us to come
+then. Squire Trevlyn dead, and the estate willed to Chattaway, there was
+no longer danger from me. If my grandfather had got to know that I was
+in existence, there would have been good-bye to Chattaway's ambition. At
+least people say so; _I_ don't know."
+
+The indifferent tone forcibly struck Mr. Daw. "Don't _you_ feel the
+injustice?" he asked. "Don't you care that Trevlyn Hold should be
+yours?"
+
+"I have grown up seeing the estate Chattaway's, and I suppose I don't
+feel it as I ought to. Of course, I should like it to be mine, but as it
+never can be mine, it is as well not to think about it. Have you heard
+of the Trevlyn temper?" he continued, a merry smile dancing in his eyes
+as he threw them on the stranger.
+
+"I have."
+
+"They tell me I have inherited it, as I suppose a true Trevlyn ought to
+do. Were I to think too much of the injustice, it might rouse the
+temper; and it would answer no end, you know."
+
+"Yes, I have heard of the Trevlyn temper," repeated the stranger. "I
+have heard what it did for the first heir, Rupert Trevlyn."
+
+"But it did not do it for him," passionately returned Rupert. "I never
+heard until the other day--not so many hours ago--of the slur that was
+cast upon his name. It was not he who shot the man; he had no hand in
+it: it was proved so later. Ask old Canham."
+
+"Well, well," said the stranger, "it's all past and done with. Poor Joe
+reposed every confidence in me; treating me as a brother. It was a
+singular coincidence that the Squire's sons should both die abroad. I
+hope," he added, looking kindly at Rupert, "that yours will be a long
+life. Are you--are you strong?"
+
+The question was put hesitatingly. He had heard from Nora that Rupert
+was not strong; and now that he saw him he was painfully struck with his
+delicate appearance. Rupert answered bravely.
+
+"I should be very well if it were not for that confounded Blackstone
+walk night and morning. It's that knocks me up."
+
+"Chattaway had no call to put him to it, sir," interrupted Mark Canham
+again. "It's not work for a Trevlyn."
+
+"Not for the heir of Trevlyn Hold," acquiesced the stranger. "But I must
+be going. I have not seen my friend Freeman yet, and should like to be
+at the railway station when he arrives. What time shall I see you in the
+morning?" he added, to Rupert. "And what time can I see Mr. Chattaway?"
+
+"You can see me at any time," replied Rupert. "But I can't answer for
+him. He breakfasts early, and generally goes out afterwards."
+
+Had the Reverend William Daw been able to glance through a few trunks of
+trees, he might have seen Mr. Chattaway then. For there, hidden amidst
+the trees of the avenue, only a few paces from the lodge, was he.
+
+Mr. Chattaway was pretty nearly beside himself that night. When he found
+that Rupert Trevlyn was not in the house, vague fears, to which he did
+not wait to give a more tangible name, rushed over his imagination. Had
+Rupert stolen from the house to meet this dangerous stranger
+clandestinely? He--Chattaway--scarcely knowing what he did, seized his
+hat and followed the stranger down the avenue, when he left the Hold
+after his fruitless visit.
+
+Not to follow him openly and say, "What is your business with Rupert
+Trevlyn?" Cords would not have dragged Mr. Chattaway into that dreaded
+presence until he was sure of his ground.
+
+He stole down with a fleet foot on the soft grass beside the avenue, and
+close upon the lodge he overtook the stranger. Mr. Chattaway glided into
+the trees.
+
+Peeping from his hiding-place, he saw the stranger pause before the
+lodge window: heard him accost Rupert Trevlyn; watched him enter. And
+there he had been since,--altogether in an agony both of mind and body.
+
+Do as he would, he could not hear their conversation. The sound of
+voices came upon him through the open window, but not the words spoken:
+and nearer he dared not go.
+
+Hark! they were coming out. Chattaway's eyes glared and his teeth were
+set, as he cautiously looked round. The man's ugly red umbrella was in
+one hand; the other was laid on Rupert's shoulder. "Will you walk with
+me a little way?" he heard the stranger say.
+
+"No, not this evening," was Rupert's reply. "I must go back to the
+Hold."
+
+But he, Rupert, turned to walk with him to the gate, and Mr. Chattaway
+took the opportunity to hasten back toward the Hold. When Rupert, after
+shaking hands with the stranger and calling out a good evening to the
+inmates of the lodge as he passed, went up the avenue, he met the master
+of Trevlyn Hold pacing leisurely down it, as if he had come out for a
+stroll.
+
+"Halloa!" he cried, with something of theatrical amazement. "I thought
+you were in bed!"
+
+"I came out instead," replied Rupert. "The evening was so fine."
+
+"Who was that queer-looking man just gone out at the gates?" asked Mr.
+Chattaway, with well-assumed indifference.
+
+Rupert answered readily. His disposition was naturally open to a fault,
+and he saw no reason for concealing what he knew of the stranger. He was
+not aware that Chattaway had ever seen him until this moment.
+
+"It is some one who has come on a visit to the parsonage: a clergyman.
+It's a curious name, though--Daw."
+
+"Daw? Daw?" repeated Mr. Chattaway, biting his lips to get some colour
+into them. "Where have I heard that name--in connection with a
+clergyman?"
+
+"He said he had some correspondence with you years ago: at the time my
+mother died, and I was born. He knew my father and mother well: has been
+telling me this at old Canham's."
+
+All that past time, its events, its correspondence, flashed over Mr.
+Chattaway's memory--flashed over it with a strange dread. "What has he
+come here for?" he asked quickly.
+
+"I don't know," replied Rupert. "He said----Whatever's this?"
+
+A tremendous shouting from people who appeared, dragging something
+behind them. Both turned simultaneously--the master of Trevlyn Hold in
+awful fear. Could it be the stranger coming back with constables at his
+heels, to wrest the Hold from him? And if, my reader, you deem these
+fears exaggerated, you know very little of this kind of terror.
+
+It was nothing but a procession of those idlers you saw in the road,
+dragging home the unlucky dog-cart: Mr. Cris at their head.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+NEWS FOR MISS DIANA
+
+
+In that pleasant room at the parsonage, with its sweet-scented
+mignonette boxes, and vases of freshly-cut flowers, sat the Reverend Mr.
+Freeman at breakfast, with his wife and visitor. It was a simple meal.
+All meals were simple at Barbrook Parsonage: as they generally are where
+means are limited. And you have not yet to learn, I dare say, that
+comfort and simplicity frequently go together: whilst comfort and
+grandeur are often separated. There was no lack of comfort and homely
+fare at Mr. Freeman's. Coffee and rich milk: home-made bread and the
+freshest of butter, new-laid eggs and autumn watercress. It was by no
+means starvation.
+
+Mr. Daw, however, paid less attention to the meal than he might have
+done had his mind been less preoccupied. The previous evening, when he
+and Mr. Freeman had first met, after an absence of more than twenty
+years, their conversation had naturally run on their own personal
+interests: past events had to be related. But this morning they could go
+to other subjects, and Mr. Daw was not slow to do so. They were
+talking--you may have guessed it--of the Trevlyns.
+
+Mr. Daw grew warm upon the subject. As on the previous day, when Molly
+placed the meal before him, he almost forgot to eat. And yet Mr. Daw, in
+spite of his assurance that he was contented with a crust of bread and a
+cup of milk knew how to appreciate good things. In plainer words, he
+liked them. Men who have no occupation for their days and years
+sometimes grow into epicureans.
+
+"You are sparing the eggs," said Mrs. Freeman, a good-natured woman with
+a large nose, thin cheeks, and prominent teeth. Mr. Daw replied by
+taking another egg from the stand and chopping off its top. But there it
+remained. He was enlarging on the injustice dealt out to Rupert Trevlyn.
+
+"It ought to be remedied, you know, Freeman. It must be remedied. It is
+a wrong in the sight of God and man."
+
+The curate--Mr. Freeman was nothing more, for all his many years'
+services--smiled good-humouredly. He never used hard words: preferring
+to let wrongs, which were no business of his, right themselves, or
+remain wrongs, and taking life as it came, easily and pleasantly.
+
+"We can't alter it," he said. "We have no power to interfere with
+Chattaway. He has enjoyed Trevlyn Hold these twenty years, and must
+enjoy it still."
+
+"I don't know about that," returned Mr. Daw. "I don't know that he must
+enjoy it still. At any rate, he ought not to do so. Had I lived in this
+neighbourhood as you have, Freeman, I should have tried to get him out
+of it before this."
+
+The parson opened his eyes in surprise.
+
+"There's such a thing as shaming people out of injustice," continued Mr.
+Daw. "Has any one represented to Chattaway the fearful wrong he is
+guilty of in his conduct towards Rupert Trevlyn?"
+
+"I can't say," equably answered the parson. "I have not."
+
+"Will you go with me and do it to-day?"
+
+"Well--no; I think I'd rather not, Daw. If any good could come of it,
+perhaps I might do so; but nothing could come of it. And I find it
+answers best not to meddle with the affairs of other folk."
+
+"The wrongs dealt out to him are so great," persisted Mr. Daw. "Not
+content with having wrested Trevlyn Hold from the boy, Chattaway
+converts him into a common labourer in some coal office of his, making
+him walk to and fro night and morning. You know him?"
+
+"Know him?" repeated Mr. Freeman. "I have known him since he first came
+here, a child in arms." In truth, it was a superfluous question.
+
+"Did you know his father?"
+
+"No; I came to Barbrook after his father went abroad."
+
+"I was going to ask, if you had known him, whether you did not remark
+the extraordinary resemblance the young man bears to his father. The
+likeness is great; and he has the same suspiciously delicate complexion.
+I should fear that the boy will go off as his father did, and----"
+
+"I have long said he ought to take cod-liver oil," interposed Mrs.
+Freeman, who was doctor in ordinary to her husband's parish, and very
+decided in her opinions.
+
+"Well, ma'am, that boy must die--if he is to die--Squire of Trevlyn
+Hold. I shall use all my means while I am here to induce this Chattaway
+to resign his possessions to the rightful owner. The boy seems to have
+had no friend in the world to take up his cause. What this Miss Diana
+can have been about, to stand tamely by and not interfere, I cannot
+conceive. She is the sister of his father."
+
+"Better let it alone, Daw," said the parson. "Rely upon it, you will
+make no impression on Chattaway. You must excuse me for saying it, but
+it's quite foolish to think that you will; quixotic and absurd.
+Chattaway possesses Trevlyn Hold--is not likely to resign it."
+
+"I could not let it alone now," impulsively answered Mr. Daw. "The boy
+seems to have no friend, I say; and I have a right to constitute myself
+his friend. I should not be worthy the name of man were I not to do it.
+I intended to stay with you only two nights; you'll give me house-room a
+little longer, won't you?"
+
+"We'll give it you for two months, and gladly, if you can put up with
+our primitive mode of living," was the hospitable answer.
+
+Mr. Daw shook his head. "Two months I could not remain; two weeks I
+might. I cannot go away leaving things in this unsatisfactory state. The
+first thing I shall do this morning will be to call at the Hold, and
+seek an interview with Chattaway."
+
+But Mr. Daw did not succeed in obtaining the interview with Chattaway.
+When he arrived at Trevlyn Hold, he was told the Squire was out. It was
+correct; Chattaway had ridden out immediately after breakfast. The
+stranger next asked for Miss Diana, and was admitted.
+
+Chattaway had said to Miss Diana in private, before starting, "Don't
+receive him should he come here; don't let his foot pass over the
+door-sill." Very unwise advice, as Miss Diana judged; and she did not
+take it. Miss Diana had the sense to remember that an unknown evil is
+more to be feared than an open one. No one can fight in the dark. The
+stranger was ushered into the drawing-room by order of Miss Diana, and
+she came to him.
+
+It was not a satisfactory interview, since nothing came of it; but it
+was a decently civil one. Miss Diana was cold, reserved, somewhat
+haughty, but courteous; Mr. Daw was pressing, urgent, but respectful and
+gentlemanly. Rupert Trevlyn was by right the owner of Trevlyn Hold, was
+the substance of the points urged by the one; Squire Trevlyn was his own
+master, made his own will, and it was not for his children and
+dependants to raise useless questions, still less for a stranger, was
+the answer of the other.
+
+"Madam," said Mr. Daw, "did the enormity of the injustice never strike
+you?"
+
+"Will you be so good as to tell me by what right you interfere?"
+returned Miss Diana. "I cannot conceive what business it can be of
+yours."
+
+"I think the redressing of the injustice should be made the business of
+everyone."
+
+"What a great deal everyone would have to do!" exclaimed Miss Diana.
+
+"With regard to my right of interference, Miss Trevlyn, the law might
+not give me any; but I assume it by the bond of friendship. I was with
+his father when he died; I was with his mother. Poor thing! it was only
+within the last six or seven hours of her life that danger was
+apprehended. They both died in the belief that their children would
+inherit Trevlyn Hold. Madam," quite a blaze of light flushing from his
+dark eyes, "I have lived all the years since, believing they were in the
+enjoyment of it."
+
+"You believed rightly," equably rejoined Miss Diana. "They have been in
+the enjoyment of it. It has been their home."
+
+"As it may be the home of any of your servants," returned Mr. Daw; and
+Miss Diana did not like the comparison.
+
+"May I ask," she continued, "if you came into this neighbourhood for the
+express purpose of putting this 'injustice' to rights?"
+
+"No, madam, I did not. But it is unnecessary for you to be sarcastic
+with me. I wish to urge the matter upon you in a friendly rather than an
+adverse spirit. Business connected with my own affairs brought me to
+London some ten days ago, from the place where I had lived so long. As I
+was so near, I thought I would come down and see my former friend
+Freeman, before starting homewards; for I dare say I shall never again
+return to England. I knew Barbrook Parsonage and Trevlyn Hold were not
+very far apart, and I anticipated the pleasure of meeting Joe Trevlyn's
+children, whom I had known as infants. I never supposed but that Rupert
+was in possession of Trevlyn Hold. You may judge of my surprise when I
+arrived yesterday and heard the true state of the case."
+
+"You have a covert motive in this," suddenly exclaimed Miss Diana, in a
+voice that had turned to sharpness.
+
+"Covert motive?" he repeated, looking at her.
+
+"Yes. Had you been, as you state, so interested in the welfare of Rupert
+Trevlyn and his sister, does it stand to reason that you would never
+have inquired after them through all these long years?"
+
+"I beg your pardon, Miss Trevlyn: the facts are precisely as I have
+stated them. Strange as it may seem, I never once wrote to inquire after
+them, and the neglect strikes me forcibly now. But I am naturally inert,
+and all correspondence with my own country had gradually ceased. I did
+often think of the little Trevlyns, but it was always to suppose them as
+being at Trevlyn Hold, sheltered by their appointed guardian."
+
+"What appointed guardian?" cried Miss Diana.
+
+"Yourself."
+
+"I! I was not the appointed guardian of the Trevlyns."
+
+"Indeed you were. You were appointed by their mother. The letter--the
+deed, I may say, for I believe it to have been legally worded--was
+written when she was dying."
+
+Miss Trevlyn had never heard of any deed. "Who wrote it?" she asked,
+after a pause.
+
+"I did. When dangerous symptoms set in, and she was told she might not
+live, Mrs. Trevlyn sent for me. She had her little baby baptized Rupert,
+for it had been her husband's wish that the child, if a boy, should be
+so named, and then I sat down by her bedside at her request, and wrote
+the document. She entreated Miss Diana Trevlyn--you, madam--to reside at
+Trevlyn Hold as its mistress, when it should lapse to Rupert, and be the
+guardian and protector of her children, until Rupert came of age. She
+besought you to love them, and be kind to them for their father's sake;
+for her sake; for the sake, also, of the friendship which had once
+existed between you and her. This will prove to you," he added in a
+different tone, "that poor Mrs. Trevlyn, at least, never supposed there
+was a likelihood of any other successor to the estate."
+
+"I never heard of it," exclaimed Miss Diana, waking up as from a
+reverie. "Was the document sent to me?"
+
+"It was enclosed in the despatch which acquainted Squire Trevlyn with
+Mrs. Trevlyn's death. I wrote them both, and I enclosed them together,
+and sent them."
+
+"Directed to whom?"
+
+"To Squire Trevlyn."
+
+Miss Diana sent her thoughts into the past. It was Chattaway who had
+received that despatch. Could he have dared to suppress any
+communication intended for her? Her haughty brow grew crimson at the
+thought; but she suppressed all signs of annoyance.
+
+"Will you allow me to renew my acquaintance with little Maude?" resumed
+Mr. Daw. "Little Maude then, and a lovely child; a beautiful girl, as I
+hear, now."
+
+Miss Diana hesitated--a very uncommon thing for her to do. It is strange
+what trifles turn the current of feelings: and this last item of
+intelligence had wonderfully softened her towards this stranger. But she
+remembered the interests at stake, and thought it best to be prudent.
+
+"You must pardon the refusal," she said. "I quite appreciate your wish
+to serve Rupert Trevlyn, but it can only fail, and further intercourse
+will not be agreeable to either party. You will allow me to wish you
+good morning, and to thank you."
+
+She rang the bell, and bowed him out, with all the grand courtesy
+belonging to the Trevlyns. As he passed through the hall, he caught a
+glimpse of a lovely girl with a delicate bloom on her cheeks and large
+blue eyes. Instinct told him it was Maude; and he likewise thought he
+traced some resemblance to her mother. He took a step forward
+involuntarily, to accost her, but recollecting himself, drew back again.
+
+It was scarcely the thing to do: in defiance of Miss Diana Trevlyn's
+recent refusal.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+AN IMPROMPTU JOURNEY
+
+
+The dew was lying upon the grass in the autumn morning as the Squire of
+Trevlyn Hold rode from his door. He had hurried over his breakfast, his
+horse waiting for him, and he spurred him impatiently along the avenue.
+Ann Canham had not yet opened the gate. Upon hearing a horse's hoofs,
+she ran out to do so; and stood holding it back, dropping her humble
+curtsey as Mr. Chattaway rode past. He vouchsafed not the slightest
+notice: neither by glance nor nod did he appear conscious of her
+presence. It was his usual way.
+
+"He's off to Blackstone early," thought Ann, as she fastened back the
+gate.
+
+But Mr. Chattaway did not turn towards Blackstone. He turned in the
+opposite direction and urged his horse to a gallop. Ann Canham looked
+after him.
+
+"He has business at Barmester, maybe," was the conclusion to which she
+came.
+
+Nothing more sure. He rode briskly to the town, and pulled up his horse
+almost at the same spot where you once saw him pull it up before--the
+house of Messrs. Wall and Barnes.
+
+Not that he was about to visit that flourishing establishment this
+morning. Next to it was a private house, on the door-plate of which
+might be read, "Mr. Flood, Solicitor": and he was the gentleman Mr.
+Chattaway had come to see.
+
+Attracted probably by the clatter of the horse--for Chattaway had pulled
+up suddenly, and with more noise than he need have done, there came one
+to the shop-door and looked out. It was Mr. Wall, and he stepped forth
+to shake hands with Chattaway.
+
+"Good morning, Chattaway. You are in Barmester betimes. What lovely
+weather we are having for the conclusion of the harvest!"
+
+"Very; it has been a fine harvest altogether," replied Chattaway; and
+from his composure no one could have dreamt of the terrible care and
+perplexity running riot in his heart. "I want to say a word to Flood
+about a lease that is falling in, so I thought I'd start early and make
+a round of it on my way to Blackstone."
+
+"An accident occurred yesterday to your son and Madam Chattaway, did it
+not?" asked Mr. Wall. "News of it was flying about last night. I hope
+they are not much hurt."
+
+"Not at all. Cris was so stupid as to attempt to drive a horse unbroken
+for driving--a vicious temper, too. The dog-cart is half smashed. Here,
+you! come here."
+
+The last words were addressed to a boy in a tattered jacket, who was
+racing after a passing carriage. Mr. Chattaway wanted him to hold his
+horse; and the boy quickly changed his course, believing the office
+would be good for sixpence at least.
+
+The lawyer's outer door was open. There was a second door in the
+passage, furnished with a knocker: the office opened on the left. Mr.
+Chattaway tried the office-door; more as a matter of form than anything
+else. It was locked, as he expected, and would be until nine o'clock. So
+he gave an imposing knock at the other.
+
+"I shall just catch him after breakfast," soliloquised he, "and can have
+a quiet quarter-of-an-hour with him, undisturbed by----Is Mr. Flood at
+home?"
+
+He had tried the door as a matter of form, and in like manner put the
+question, passing in without ceremony: the servant arrested him.
+
+"Mr. Flood's out, sir. He is gone to London."
+
+"Gone to London!" ejaculated Chattaway.
+
+"Yes, sir, not an hour ago. Went by the eight o'clock train."
+
+It was so complete a check to all his imaginings, that for a minute the
+master of Trevlyn Hold found speech desert him. Many a bad man on the
+first threat of evil flies to a lawyer, in the belief that he can, by
+the exercise of his craft, bring him out of it. Chattaway, after a night
+of intolerable restlessness, had come straight off to his lawyer, Flood,
+with the intention of confiding the whole affair to him, and asking what
+was to be done in it; never so much as glancing at the possibility of
+that legal gentleman's absence.
+
+"Went up by the eight o'clock train?" he repeated when he found his
+voice.
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"And when's he coming home?"
+
+"He expects to be away about a week, sir."
+
+A worse check still. Chattaway's terrible fear might have waited a day;
+but a week!--he thought suspense would drive him mad. He was a great
+deal too miserly to spend money upon an unnecessary journey, yet there
+appeared nothing for it but to follow Mr. Flood to London. That
+gentleman had heard perplexing secrets of Chattaway's before, had always
+given him the best advice, and remained faithful to the trust; and
+Chattaway believed he might safely confide this new danger to him. Not
+to any other would he have breathed a word. In short, Flood was the only
+confidential adviser he possessed in the world.
+
+"Where will Mr. Flood put up in London?"
+
+"I can't say, sir. I don't know anything about where he stays. He goes
+up pretty often."
+
+"At the old place, I daresay," muttered Chattaway to himself. "If not, I
+shall learn where, through his agents in Essex Street."
+
+He stood a moment on the pavement before mounting. A slow and cheap
+train would leave Barmester in half-an-hour for London. Should he go by
+that train?--go from Barmester, instead of returning home and taking the
+train at the little station near his own home? Was there need of so much
+haste? In Chattaway's present frame of mind the utmost haste he could
+make was almost a necessary relief: but, on the other hand, would his
+sudden departure excite suspicion at home, or draw unwelcome attention
+to his movements abroad? Deep in thought was he, when a hand was laid
+upon his shoulder. Turning sharply, he saw the honest face of the
+linen-draper close to his.
+
+"The queerest thing was said to me last night, Chattaway. I stepped into
+Robbins, the barber's, to have my hair and whiskers trimmed, and he told
+me a great barrister was down here, a leading man from the Chancery
+court, come upon some business connected with you and the late Squire
+Trevlyn. With the property, I mean."
+
+Chattaway's heart leaped into his mouth.
+
+"I thought it a queer tale," continued Mr. Wall. "His mission here being
+to restore Rupert Trevlyn to the estates of his grandfather, Robbins
+said. Is there anything in it?"
+
+Had the public already got hold of it, then? Was the awful thing no
+longer a fear but a reality? Chattaway turned his face away, and tried
+to be equal to the emergency.
+
+"You are talking great absurdity, Wall. Who's Robbins? Were I you, I
+should be ashamed to repeat the lies propagated by that chattering old
+woman."
+
+Mr. Wall laughed. "He certainly deals in news, does Robbins; it's part
+of his trade. Of course one only takes his marvels for what they are
+worth. He got _this_ from Barcome, the tax-collector. The man had
+arrived at the scene of the dog-cart accident shortly after its
+occurrence, and heard this barrister--who, as it seems, was also
+there--speaking publicly of the object of his mission."
+
+Chattaway snatched the reins from the ragged boy's hands and mounted;
+his air expressing all the scorn he could command. "When they impound
+Squire Trevlyn's will, then they may talk about altering the succession.
+Good morning, Wall."
+
+A torrent of howls, accompanied by words a magistrate on the bench must
+have treated severely, saluted his ears as he rode off. They came from
+the aggrieved steed-holder. Instead of the sixpence he fondly reckoned
+on, Chattaway had flung him a halfpenny.
+
+He rode to an inn near the railway station, went in and called for pen
+and ink. The few words he wrote were to Miss Diana. He found himself
+obliged to go up unexpectedly to London on the business _which she knew
+of_, and requested her to make any plausible excuse for his absence that
+would divert suspicion from the real facts. He should be home on the
+morrow. Such was the substance of the note.
+
+He addressed it to Miss Trevlyn of Trevlyn Hold, sealed it with his own
+seal, and marked it "private." A most unnecessary additional security,
+the last. No inmate of Trevlyn Hold would dare to open the most simple
+missive, bearing the address of Miss Trevlyn. Then he called one of the
+stable-men.
+
+"I want this letter taken to my house," he said. "It is in a hurry. Can
+you go at once?"
+
+The man replied that he could.
+
+"Stay--you may ride my horse," added Mr. Chattaway, as if the thought
+that moment struck him. "You will get there in half the time that you
+would if you walked."
+
+"Very well, sir. Shall I bring him back for you?"
+
+"Um--m--m, no, I'll walk," decided Mr. Chattaway, stroking his chin as
+if to help his decision. "Leave the horse at the Hold."
+
+The man mounted the horse and rode away, never supposing Mr. Chattaway
+had been playing off a little _ruse_ upon him, and had no intention of
+going to Trevlyn Hold that day, but was bound for a place rather farther
+off. In this innocent state he reached the Hold, while Mr. Chattaway
+made a _détour_ and gained the station by a cross route, where he took
+train for London.
+
+Cris Chattaway's groom, Sam Atkins, was standing with his young master's
+horse before the house, in waiting for that gentleman, when the
+messenger arrived. Not the new horse of the previous day's notoriety,
+nor the one lamed at Blackstone, but a despised and steady old animal
+sometimes used in the plough.
+
+"There haven't been another accident surely!" exclaimed Sam Atkins, in
+his astonishment at seeing Mr. Chattaway's steed brought home. "Where's
+the Squire?"
+
+"He's all right; and has sent me up here with this," was the man's
+reply, producing the note. And at that moment Miss Diana Trevlyn
+appeared at the hall-door. Miss Diana was looking out for Mr. Chattaway.
+After the communication made to her that morning by Mr. Daw, she could
+only come to the conclusion that the paper had been suppressed by
+Chattaway, and was waiting in much wrath to demand his explanation of
+it.
+
+"What brings the Squire's horse back?" she imperiously demanded.
+
+Sam Atkins handed her the note, which she opened and read. Read it twice
+attentively, and then turned indoors. "Chattaway's a fool!" she angrily
+decided, "and is allowing this mare's nest to prey on his fears. He
+ought to know that while my father's will is in existence no earthly
+power can deprive him of Trevlyn Hold."
+
+She went upstairs to Mrs. Chattaway's sitting-room. That lady,
+considerably recovered from the shock of the fall, was writing an
+affectionate letter to her daughter Amelia, telling her she might come
+home with Caroline Ryle. Miss Diana went straight up to the table, took
+a seat, and without the least apology closed Mrs. Chattaway's desk.
+
+"I want your attention for a moment, Edith. You can write afterwards.
+Carry your memory back to the morning, so many years ago, when we
+received the news of Rupert's birth?"
+
+"No effort is need to do that, Diana. I think of it all too often."
+
+"Very good. Then perhaps, without effort, you can recall the day
+following, when the letter came announcing Mrs. Trevlyn's death?"
+
+"Yes, I remember it also."
+
+"The minute details? Could you, for instance, relate any of the
+circumstances attending the arrival of that letter, if required to do so
+in a court of law? What time of the day it came, who opened it, where it
+was opened, and so forth?"
+
+"Why do you ask me?" returned Mrs. Chattaway, surprised at the
+questions.
+
+"I ask you to be answered. I have a reason for wishing to recall these
+past things. Think it over."
+
+"Both letters, so far as I can recollect, were given to Mr. Chattaway,
+and he opened them. He was in the habit then of opening papa's business
+letters. I have no doubt they were opened in the steward's room; James
+used to be there a great deal with the accounts and other matters
+connected with the estate."
+
+"I have always known that James Chattaway did open those letters," said
+Miss Diana; "but I thought you might have been present when he did so.
+Were you?"
+
+"No. I remember his coming into my chamber later, and telling me Mrs.
+Trevlyn was dead. I never shall forget the shock I felt."
+
+"Attend to me, Edith. I have reason to believe that the last of those
+letters contained an inclosure for me. It never reached me. Do you know
+what became of it?"
+
+The blank surprise on Mrs. Chattaway's countenance, her open questioning
+gaze, was a sufficient denial.
+
+"I see you do not. And now I am going to ask you something else. Did you
+ever hear that Emily Trevlyn, when she was dying, left a request that I
+should be guardian to her children?"
+
+"Never. Have you been dreaming these things, Diana? Why should you ask
+about them now?"
+
+"I leave dreams to you," was Miss Diana's reply. "My health is too sound
+to admit of sleeping dreams; my mind too practical to indulge in waking
+ones. Never mind why I asked: it was only as a personal matter of my
+own. By the way, I have had a line from your husband, written from
+Barmester. A little business has taken him out, and he may not be home
+until to-morrow. We are not to sit up for him."
+
+"Has he gone to Nettleby hop-fair?" hastily rejoined Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+"Perhaps so," said Miss Diana, carelessly. "At any rate, say nothing
+about his absence to any one. The children are unruly if they know he is
+away. I suppose he will be home to-morrow."
+
+But Mr. Chattaway was not home on the morrow. Miss Diana was burning
+with impatience for his return; that explanation was being waited for,
+and she was one who brooked not delay: but she was obliged to submit to
+it now. Day after day passed on, and Mr. Chattaway was still absent from
+Trevlyn Hold.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+A WALK BY STARLIGHT
+
+
+A harvest-home used to be a great _fête_ in farmhouses; chiefly so, as
+you are aware, for its servants and labourers. It is so in some houses
+still. A rustic, homely gathering; with plenty of good fare in a plain
+way, and where the masters and mistresses and their guests enjoy
+themselves as freely as their dependants.
+
+Trevlyn Farm was lighted up to-night. The best kitchen, where you have
+seen Nora sitting sometimes, and never used for kitchen purposes, was
+set out with a long table. Cold beef and ham, substantial and savoury
+meat pies, fruit pies, cakes, cheese, ale and cider, were being placed
+on it. Benches lined the walls, and the rustic labourers were coming
+sheepishly in. Some of them had the privilege of bringing their wives,
+who came in a great deal less sheepishly than the men.
+
+Nanny was in full attire, a new green stuff gown and white apron; Molly
+from the parsonage was flaunting in a round cap, patronised by the
+fashionable servants in Barmester, with red streamers; Ann Canham had a
+new Scotch plaid kerchief, white and purple, crossed on her shoulders;
+and Jim Sanders's mother, being rather poorly off for smart caps, wore a
+bonnet. These four were to do the waiting; and Nora was casting over
+them all the superintending eye of a mistress. George Ryle liked to make
+his harvest-homes liberal and comfortable, and Mrs. Ryle seconded it
+with the open-handed nature of the Trevlyns.
+
+What Mrs. Ryle would have done but for Nora Dickson it was impossible to
+say. She really took little more management in the house than a visitor
+would take. Her will, it is true, was law: she gave orders, but left
+their execution to others. Though she had married Thomas Ryle, of
+Trevlyn Farm, she never forgot that she was the daughter of Trevlyn
+Hold.
+
+She sat in the small room opening from the supper-room--small in
+comparison with the drawing-room, but still comfortable. On harvest-home
+night, Mrs. Ryle's visitors were received in that ordinary room and sat
+there, forming as it were part of the supper-room company, for the door
+was kept wide, and the great people went in and out, mixing with the
+small. George Ryle and Mr. Freeman would be more in the supper-room than
+in the other; they were two who liked to see the hard-working people
+happy now and then.
+
+Mrs. Ryle had taken up her place in the sitting-room; her rich black
+silk gown and real lace cap contrasting with the more showy attire of
+Mrs. Apperley, who sat next her. Mrs. Apperley was in a stiff brocade,
+yellow satin stripes flanking wavy lines of flowers. It had been her
+gala robe for years and years, and looked new yet. Mrs. Apperley's two
+daughters, in cherry-coloured ribbons and cherry-coloured nets, were as
+gay as she was; they were whispering to Caroline Ryle, a graceful girl
+in dark-blue silk, with the blue eyes and the fair hair of her deceased
+father. Farmer Apperley, in top-boots, was holding an argument on the
+state of the country with a young man of middle height and dark hair,
+who sat carelessly on the arm of the old-fashioned sofa. It was Trevlyn
+Ryle. George had set his back against the wall, and was laughingly
+quizzing the Miss Apperleys, of which they were blushingly conscious.
+Were you to believe Nora, there was scarcely a young lady within the
+circuit of a couple of leagues but was privately setting her cap at
+handsome George.
+
+A bustle in the outer room, and Nanny appeared with an announcement:
+"Parson and Mrs. Freeman." I am not responsible for the style of the
+introduction: you may hear it for yourselves if you choose to visit some
+of our rural districts.
+
+Parson and Mrs. Freeman came in without ceremony; the parson with his
+hat and walking stick, Mrs. Freeman in a green calico hood and an old
+cloak. George, with laughing gallantry, helped her to take them off, and
+handed them to Nanny, and Mrs. Freeman went up to the pier-glass and
+settled the white bows in her cap to greater effect.
+
+"But I thought you were to have brought your friend," said Mrs. Ryle.
+
+"He will come in presently," replied the parson. "A letter arrived by
+this evening's post, and he wished to answer it."
+
+Farmer Apperley turned from his debate with Trevlyn. "D'ye mean that
+droll-looking man who walks about with a red umbrella and a beard,
+parson?"
+
+"The same," said Mr. Freeman, settling his double chin more comfortably
+in his white cravat. "He has been staying with us for a week past."
+
+"Ay. Some foreign folk, isn't he, named Daw? There's all sorts of tales
+abroad in the neighbourhood as to what he is doing down here. I don't
+know whether they be correct."
+
+"I don't know much about it myself either," said Mr. Freeman. "I am glad
+to entertain him as an old friend, but as for any private affairs or
+views of his, I don't meddle with them."
+
+"Best plan," nodded the farmer. And the subject, thus indistinctly
+hinted at, was allowed to drop, owing probably to the presence of Mrs.
+Ryle.
+
+"The Chattaways are coming here to-night," suddenly exclaimed Caroline
+Ryle. She spoke only to Mary Apperley, but there was a pause in the
+general conversation just then, and Mr. Apperley took it up.
+
+"Who's coming? The Chattaways! Which of the Chattaways?" he said in some
+surprise, knowing they had never been in the habit of paying evening
+visits to Trevlyn Farm.
+
+"All the girls, and Maude. I don't know whether Rupert will come; and I
+don't think Cris was asked."
+
+"Eh, but that's a new move," cried Farmer Apperley, his long intimacy
+with the Farm justifying the freedom. "Did you invite them?"
+
+"In point of fact, they invited themselves," interposed Mrs. Ryle,
+before George, to whom the question had been addressed, could speak. "At
+least, Octave did so: and then George, I believe, asked the rest of the
+girls."
+
+"They won't come," said Farmer Apperley.
+
+"Not come!" interrupted Nora, sharply, who kept going in and out between
+the two rooms. "That's all you know about it, Mr. Apperley. Octave
+Chattaway is sure to be here to-night----"
+
+"Nora!"
+
+The interruption came from George. Was he afraid of what she might say
+impulsively? Or did he see, coming in at the outer door, Octave herself,
+as though to refute the opinion of Mr. Apperley?
+
+But only Amelia was with her. A tall girl with a large mouth and very
+light hair, always on the giggle. "Where are the rest?" impulsively
+asked George, his accent too unguarded to conceal its disappointment.
+
+Octave detected it. She had thrown off her cloak and stood in attire
+scarcely suited to the occasion--a pale blue evening dress of damask, a
+silver necklace, silver bracelets, and a wreath of silver flowers in her
+hair. "What 'rest'?" asked Octave.
+
+"Your sisters and Maude. They promised to come."
+
+Octave tossed her head good-humouredly. "_Do_ you think we could inflict
+the whole string on Mrs. Ryle? Two of us are sufficient to represent the
+family."
+
+"Inflict! On a harvest-home night!" called out Trevlyn. "You know,
+Octave, the more the merrier on these occasions."
+
+"Why, I really believe that's Treve!" exclaimed Octave. "When did you
+arrive?"
+
+"This morning. You have grown thinner, Octave."
+
+"It is nothing to you if I have," retorted Octave, offended at the
+remark. The point was a sore one; Octave being unpleasantly conscious
+that she was thin to plainness. "_You_ have grown plump enough, at any
+rate."
+
+"To be sure," said Treve. "I'm always jolly. It was too bad of you,
+Octave, not to bring the rest."
+
+"So it was," said Amelia. "They had dressed for it, and at the last
+moment Octave made them stay at home."
+
+But George was not going to take this quietly. Saying nothing, he left
+the room and made the best of his way to Trevlyn Hold. The rooms seemed
+deserted. At length he found Maude in the schoolroom, correcting
+exercises, and shedding a few quiet tears. After they had dressed for
+the visit, Octavia had placed her veto upon it, and Emily and Edith had
+retired to bed in vexation. Miss Diana was spending the evening out with
+Mrs. Chattaway, and Octave had had it all her own way.
+
+"I have come for you, Maude," said George.
+
+Maude's heart beat with anticipation. "I don't know whether I may dare
+to go," she said, glancing shyly at him.
+
+"Has anyone except Octave forbidden you?"
+
+"Only Octave."
+
+Lying on a chair, George saw a bonnet and a cloak which he recognised as
+Maude's. In point of fact, she had thrown them off when forbidden the
+visit by Miss Chattaway. His only answer was to fold the cloak around
+her. And she put on the bonnet, and went out with him, shocked at her
+own temerity, but unable to resist the temptation.
+
+"You are trembling," he cried, drawing her closer to him as he bent his
+head.
+
+"I am afraid of Octave. I know she will be so angry. What if she should
+meet me with angry words?"
+
+"Then--Maude--you will give me leave to answer her?"
+
+"Yes. Oh yes."
+
+"It will involve more than you think," said George, laughing at her
+eager tones. "I must tell her, if necessary, that I have a right to
+defend you."
+
+Maude stopped in her surprise, and half drew her arm from his as she
+looked up at him in the starlight. His pointed tone stirred all the
+pulses of her heart.
+
+"You cannot have mistaken me, Maude, this long time past," he quietly
+said. "If I have not spoken to you more openly; if I do not yet speak
+out to the world, it is that I see at present little prospect before us.
+I would prefer not to speak to others until that is more assured."
+
+Maude, in spite of the intense happiness which was rising within her,
+felt half sick with fear. What of the powers at Trevlyn Hold?
+
+"Yes, there might be opposition," said George, divining her thoughts,
+"and the result--great unpleasantness altogether. I am independent
+enough to defy them, but you are not, Maude. For that reason I will not
+speak if I can help it. I hope Octave will not provoke me to excess."
+
+Maude started as a thought flashed over her, and she looked up at
+George, a terrified expression in her face. "You _must not_ speak,
+George; you must not, for my sake. Were Octave only to suspect this,
+she----"
+
+"Might treat you to a bowl of poison--after the stage fashion of the
+good old days," he laughed. "Maude, do you think I have been blind? I
+understand."
+
+"You will be silent, then?"
+
+"Yes," he answered, after a pause. "For the present."
+
+They had taken the way through the fields--it was the nearest way--and
+George spoke of his affairs as he walked; more confidentially than he
+had ever in his life entered upon them to any one. That he had been in a
+manner sacrificed to the interests of Treve, there was no denying, and
+though he did not allude to it in so many words, it was impossible to
+ignore the fact entirely to Maude. One more term at Oxford, and Treve
+was to enter officially upon his occupation of Trevlyn Farm. The lease
+would be transferred to his name; he would be its sole master; and
+George must look out for another home: but until then he was bound to
+the farm--and bound most unprofitably. To the young, however, all things
+wear a hopeful _couleur-de-rose_. What would some of us give for it in
+after-life!
+
+"By the spring I may be settled in a farm of my own, Maude. I have been
+giving a longing eye to the Upland. Its lease will be out at Lady-day,
+and Carteret leaves it. An unwise man in my opinion to leave a certain
+competency here for uncertain riches in the New World. But that is his
+business; not mine. I should like the Upland Farm."
+
+Maude's breath was nearly taken away. It was the largest farm on the
+Trevlyn estate. "You surely would not risk that, George! What an
+undertaking!"
+
+"Especially with Chattaway for a landlord, you would say. I shall take
+it if I can get it. The worst is, I should have to borrow money, and
+borrowed money weighs one down like an incubus. Witness what it did for
+my father. But I daresay we should manage to get along."
+
+Maude opened her lips, wishing to say something she did not quite well
+know how to say. "I--I fear----" and there she stopped timidly.
+
+"What do you fear, Maude?"
+
+"I don't know how I should ever manage in a farm," she said, feeling
+she ought to speak out her doubts, but blushing vividly under cover
+of the dark night at having to do it. "I have been brought up
+so--so--uselessly--as regards domestic duties."
+
+"Maude, if I thought I should marry a wife only to make her work, I
+should not marry at all. We will manage better than that. You have been
+brought up a lady; and, in truth, I should not care for my wife to be
+anything else. Mrs. Ryle has never done anything of the sort, you know,
+thanks to good Nora. And there are more Noras in the world. Shall I tell
+you a favourite scheme of mine, one that has been in my mind for some
+time now?"
+
+She turned--waiting to hear it.
+
+"To give a home to Rupert. You and I. We could contrive to make him
+happier than he is now."
+
+Maude's heart leaped at the vision. "Oh, George! if it could only be!
+How good you are! Rupert----"
+
+"Hush, Maude!" For he had become conscious of the proximity of others
+walking and talking like themselves. Two voices were contending with
+each other; or, if not contending, speaking as if their opinions did not
+precisely coincide. To George's intense astonishment he recognised one
+of the voices as Mr. Chattaway's, and uttered a suppressed exclamation.
+
+"It cannot be," Maude whispered. "He is miles and miles away. Even
+allowing that he had returned, what should bring him here?--he would
+have gone direct to the Hold."
+
+But George was positive that it was Chattaway. The voices were advancing
+down the path on the other side the hedge, and would probably come
+through the gate, right in front of George and Maude. To meet Chattaway
+was not particularly coveted by either of them, even at the most
+convenient times, and just now it was not convenient at all. George drew
+Maude under one of the great elm trees, which overshadowed the hedge on
+this side.
+
+"Just for a moment, Maude, until they have passed. I am certain it is
+Chattaway!"
+
+The gate swung open and someone came through it. Only one. Sure enough
+it was Chattaway. He strode onwards, muttering to himself, a brown paper
+parcel in his hand. But ere he had gone many steps, he halted, turned,
+came creeping back and stood peering over the gate at the man who was
+walking away. A little movement to the right, and Mr. Chattaway might
+have seen George and Maude standing there.
+
+But he did not. He was grinding his teeth and working his disengaged
+hand, altogether too much occupied with the receding man, to pay
+attention to what might be around himself. Finally, his display of anger
+somewhat cooling down, he turned again and continued his way towards
+Trevlyn Hold.
+
+"Who can it be that he is so angry with?" whispered Maude.
+
+"Hush!" cautioned George. "His ears are sharp."
+
+Very still they remained until he was at a safe distance, and then they
+went through the gate. Almost beyond their view a tall man was pacing
+slowly along in the direction of Trevlyn Farm, whirling an umbrella
+round and round in his hand.
+
+"Just as I thought," was George's comment to himself.
+
+"Who is it, George?"
+
+"That stranger who is visiting at the parsonage."
+
+"He seemed to be quarrelling with Mr. Chattaway."
+
+"I don't know. Their voices were loud. I wonder if Rupert has found his
+way to the Farm?"
+
+"Octave forbade him to go."
+
+"Were I Ru I should break through _her_ trammels at any rate, and show
+myself a man," remarked George. "He may have done so to-night."
+
+They turned in at the garden-gate, and reached the porch. All signs of
+the stranger had disappeared, and sounds of merriment came from within.
+
+George turned Maude's face to his. "You will not forget, Maude?"
+
+"Forget what?" she shyly answered.
+
+"That from this night we begin a new life. Henceforth we belong to each
+other. Maude! you will not forget!" he feverishly continued.
+
+"I shall not forget," she softly whispered.
+
+And, possibly by way of reminder, Mr. George, under cover of the silent
+porch, took his first lover's kiss from her lips.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII
+
+AT DOCTORS' COMMONS
+
+
+But where had Mr. Chattaway been all that time? And how came he to be
+seen by George Ryle and Maude hovering about his own ground at night,
+when he was supposed to be miles away? The explanation can be given.
+
+Mr. Chattaway found, as many of us do, that lets and hindrances intrude
+themselves into the most simple plans. When he took the sudden
+resolution that morning to run up to London from Barmester after Flood
+the lawyer, he never supposed that his journey would be prolonged.
+Nothing more easy, as it appeared, than to catch Flood at his hotel, get
+a quarter-of-an-hour's conversation with him, take his advice, and
+return home again. But a check intervened.
+
+Upon arriving at the London terminus, Mr. Chattaway got into a cab, and
+drove to the hotel ordinarily used by Mr. Flood. After a dispute with
+the cab-driver he entered the hotel, and asked to see Mr. Flood.
+
+"Mr. Flood?" repeated the waiter. "There's no gentleman of that name
+staying here, sir."
+
+"I mean Mr. Flood of Barmester," irritably rejoined the master of
+Trevlyn Hold. "Perhaps you don't know him personally. He came up an hour
+or two ago."
+
+The waiter, a fresh one, was not acquainted with Mr. Flood. He went to
+another waiter, and the latter came forward. But the man's information
+was correct; Mr. Flood of Barmester had not arrived.
+
+"He travelled by the eight-o'clock train," persisted Mr. Chattaway, as
+if he found the denial difficult to reconcile with that fact. "He must
+be in London."
+
+"All I can say, sir, is that he has not come here," returned the
+head-waiter.
+
+Mr. Chattaway was considerably put out. In his impatience, the delay
+seemed most irritating. He left the hotel, and bent his steps towards
+Essex Street, where Mr. Flood's agents had their offices. Chattaway went
+in hoping that the first object his eyes rested upon would be his
+confidential adviser.
+
+His eyes did not receive that satisfaction. Some clerks were in the
+room, also one or two persons who seemed to be clients; but there was no
+Mr. Flood, and the clerks could give no information concerning him. One
+of the firm, a Mr. Newby, appeared and shook hands with Mr. Chattaway,
+whom he had once or twice seen.
+
+"Flood? Yes. We had a note from Flood yesterday morning, telling us to
+get some accounts prepared, as he should be in town in the course of a
+day or two. He has not come yet; up to-morrow perhaps."
+
+"But he has come," reiterated Chattaway. "I have followed him up to
+town, and want to see him upon a matter of importance."
+
+"Oh, has he?" carelessly replied Mr. Newby, the indifferent manner
+appearing almost like an insult to Chattaway's impatient frame of mind.
+"He'll be in later, then."
+
+"He is sure to come here?" inquired Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"Quite sure. We shall have a good bit of business to transact with him
+this time."
+
+"Then, if you'll allow me, I'll wait here. I must see him, and I want to
+get back to Barbrook as soon as possible."
+
+Mr. Chattaway was told that he was welcome to wait, if it pleased him to
+do so. A chair was handed him in the entrance room, where the clerks
+were writing, and he took his seat in it: sat there until he was nearly
+driven wild. The room was in a continual bustle; persons constantly
+coming in and going out. For the first hour or so, to watch the swaying
+door afforded Chattaway a sort of relief, for in every fresh visitor he
+expected to see Mr. Flood. But this grew tedious at last, and the
+ever-recurring disappointment told upon his temper.
+
+Evening came, the hour for closing the office, and the country lawyer
+had not made his appearance. "It is most extraordinary," remarked
+Chattaway to Mr. Newby.
+
+"He has been about some other business, and couldn't get to us to-day, I
+suppose," rejoined Mr. Newby, in the most provokingly matter-of-fact
+tone. "If he has come up for a week, as you say, he must have some
+important affair on hand; in which case it may be a day or two before he
+finds his way here."
+
+A most unsatisfactory conclusion for Mr. Chattaway; but that gentleman
+was obliged to put up with it, in the absence of any more tangible hope.
+He went back to the hotel, and there found that Mr. Flood was still
+amongst the non-arrivals.
+
+It was bad enough, that day and night's disappointment and suspense; but
+when it came to be extended over more days and nights, you may judge how
+it was increased. Mr. Flood did not make his appearance. Chattaway, in a
+state of fume, divided his time between the hotel, Essex Street, and
+Euston Square station, in the wild hope of coming upon the lawyer. All
+to no purpose. He telegraphed to Barmester, and received for reply that
+Mr. Flood was in London, and so he redoubled his hauntings, and worked
+himself into a fever.
+
+It appeared absolutely necessary that he should consult Flood before
+venturing back to home quarters, where he should inevitably meet that
+dangerous enemy. But how see Flood?--where look for him? Barmester
+telegraphed up that Mr. Flood was in London; the agents persisted in
+asserting that they expected him hourly, at their office, and yet
+Chattaway could not come upon him. He visited all the courts open in the
+long vacation; prowled about the Temple, Lincoln's Inn, and other places
+where lawyers congregated, in the delusive hope that he might by good
+luck meet with him. All in vain; and Chattaway had been very nearly a
+week from home, when his hopes were at length realised. There were other
+lawyers whom he might have consulted--Mr. Newby himself, for
+instance--but he shrank from laying bare his dread to a stranger.
+
+He was walking slowly up Ludgate Hill, his hands in his pockets, his
+brow knit, altogether in a disconsolate manner, some vague intention in
+his mind of taking a peep inside Doctors' Commons, when, by the merest
+accident, he happened to turn his eyes on the string of vehicles passing
+up and down. In that same moment a cab, extricating itself from the long
+line, whirled past him in the direction of Fleet Street; and its
+occupant was Flood the lawyer.
+
+All his listlessness was gone. Chattaway threw himself into the midst of
+the traffic, and tore after the cab. Sober pedestrians thought he had
+gone mad: but bent on their own business, had only time for a wondering
+glance. Chattaway bore on his way, and succeeded in keeping the cab in
+view. It soon stopped at an hotel, and by the time the lawyer had
+alighted, a portmanteau in hand, and was paying the driver, Chattaway
+was up with him, breathless, excited, grasping his arm as one demented.
+
+"What on earth's the matter?" exclaimed Mr. Flood, in astonishment. "You
+here, Chattaway? Do you want me?"
+
+"I followed you to town by the next train a week ago; I have been
+looking for you ever since," gasped Chattaway, unable to regain his
+breath between racing and excitement. "Where have you been hiding
+yourself? Your agents have been expecting you all this time."
+
+"I dare say they have. I wrote to say I should be with them in a day or
+two. I thought I should be, then."
+
+"But where have you been?"
+
+"Over in France. A client wrote to me from Paris----"
+
+"France!" interrupted Mr. Chattaway in his anger, feeling the
+announcement as a special and personal grievance. What right had his
+legal adviser to be cooling his heels in France, when he was searching
+for him in London?
+
+"I meant to return without delay," continued Mr. Flood; "but when I
+reached my client, I found the affair on which he wanted me was
+complicated, and I had to wait the dilatoriness of French lawyers."
+
+"You have been lingering over the seductions of Paris; nothing else,"
+growled Chattaway.
+
+The lawyer laughed pleasantly. "No, on my honour. I did go about to some
+of the sights whilst waiting for my business; but they did not detain me
+by one unnecessary hour. What is it that you want with me?"
+
+They entered the hotel, and Chattaway took him into a private room,
+unwashed and unrefreshed as the traveller was, and laid the case before
+him: the sudden appearance of the mysterious stranger at Barbrook, his
+open avowal that he had come to depose Chattaway from the Hold in favour
+of Rupert Trevlyn.
+
+"But who is he?" inquired Mr. Flood.
+
+"A lawyer," was the reply--for you must remember that Chattaway could
+only speak in accordance with the supposed facts; facts that had been
+exaggerated to him. "I know nothing more about the man, except that he
+avows he has come to Barbrook to deprive me of my property, and take up
+the cause of Rupert Trevlyn. But he can't do it, you know, Flood. The
+Hold is mine, and must remain mine."
+
+"Of course he can't," acquiesced the lawyer. "Why need you put yourself
+out about it?"
+
+Mr. Chattaway was wiping the moisture from his face. He sat looking at
+the lawyer.
+
+"I can't deny that it has troubled me," he said: "that it is troubling
+me still. What would my family do--my children--if we lost the Hold?"
+
+It was the lawyer's turn to look. He could not make out Chattaway. No
+power on earth, so far as his belief and knowledge went, could wrest
+Trevlyn Hold from its present master. Why, then, these fears? Were they
+born of nervousness? But Chattaway was not a nervous man.
+
+"Trevlyn Hold is as much yours as this hat"--touching the one at his
+elbow--"is mine," he resumed. "It came to you by legal bequest; you have
+enjoyed it these twenty years, and to deprive you of it is beyond human
+power. Unless," he added, after a pause, "unless indeed----"
+
+"Unless what?" eagerly interrupted Chattaway, his heart thumping against
+his side.
+
+"Unless--it was only an idea that crossed me--there should prove to be a
+flaw in Squire Trevlyn's will. But that's not probable."
+
+"It's impossible," gasped Chattaway, his fears taking a new and
+startling turn. "It's impossible that there could have been anything
+defective in the will, Flood."
+
+"It's next to impossible," acquiesced the lawyer; "though such mistakes
+have been known. Who drew it up?"
+
+"The Squire's solicitors, Peterby and Jones."
+
+"Then it's all right, you may be sure. Peterby and Jones are not men
+likely to insert errors in their deeds. I should not trouble myself
+about the matter."
+
+Mr. Chattaway sat in silence, revolving many things. How he wished he
+_could_ take the advice and not "trouble himself" about the matter!
+"What made you think there might be a flaw in the will?" he presently
+asked.
+
+"Nay, I did not think there was: only that it was just possible there
+might be. When a case is offered to me for consideration, it is my habit
+to glance at it in all its bearings. You tell me a stranger has made his
+appearance at Barbrook, avowing an intention of displacing you from
+Trevlyn Hold."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Well, then, whilst you were speaking, I began to grasp that case, turn
+it about in my mind; and I see that there is no possible way by which
+you can be displaced, so far as I know and believe. You enjoy it in
+accordance with Squire Trevlyn's will, and so long as that will remains
+in force, you are safe--provided the will has no flaw in it."
+
+Mr. Chattaway sat biting his lips. Never for a moment in the wildest
+flight of fear had he glanced at the possibility of a flaw in the will.
+The idea now suggested by Mr. Flood was perhaps the most alarming that
+could have been presented to him.
+
+"If there were any flaw in the will," he began--and the very mention of
+the cruel words almost rent his heart in two--"could you detect it, by
+reading the will over?"
+
+"Yes," replied Flood.
+
+"Then let us go at once, and set this awful uncertainty at rest."
+
+He had risen from his seat so eagerly and hastily that Mr. Flood
+scarcely understood.
+
+"Go where?" he asked.
+
+"To Doctors' Commons. We can see it there by paying a shilling."
+
+"Oh--ay, I'll go if you like. But I must have a wash first, and some
+refreshment. I have had neither since leaving Paris, and the
+crossing--ugh! I don't want to think of it."
+
+Mr. Chattaway controlled his impatience in the best manner he was able.
+At length they were fairly on their way--to the very spot for which
+Chattaway had been making once before that morning.
+
+Difficulties surmounted, Flood was soon deep in the perusal of Squire
+Trevlyn's will. He read it over slowly and thoughtfully, eyes and head
+bent, all his attention absorbed in the task. At its conclusion, he
+turned and looked full at Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"You are perfectly safe," he said. "The will is right and legal in every
+point."
+
+The relief brought a glow into Chattaway's dusky face. "I thought it
+strange if it could be wrong," he cried, drawing a deep breath.
+
+"It is only the codicil, you see, which affects you," continued Mr.
+Flood, pointing to the deed before them. "The will appears to have been
+made years before the codicil, and leaves the estate to the eldest son
+Rupert, and failing him, to Joseph. Rupert died; Joe died; and then the
+codicil was drawn up, willing it to you. You come in, you see, _after_
+the two sons; contingent on their death; no mention whatever is made of
+the child Rupert."
+
+Chattaway coughed. He did not deem it necessary to repeat that Squire
+Trevlyn had never known the child Rupert was in existence: but Flood
+was, no doubt, aware of that fact.
+
+"It's a good thing for you Joe Trevlyn died before his father,"
+carelessly remarked Mr. Flood, as he glanced again at the will.
+
+"Why?" cried Chattaway.
+
+"Because, had he not, this codicil would be valueless. It is----"
+
+"But he was dead, and it gives the estate to me," fiercely interrupted
+Chattaway, going into a white heat again.
+
+"Yes, yes. But it was a good thing, I say, for you. Had Joe been alive,
+he would have come in, in spite of this codicil; and he could have
+bequeathed the property to his boy after him."
+
+"Do you suppose I don't know all that?" retorted Chattaway. "It was only
+in consequence of Joe Trevlyn's death that the estate was willed to me.
+Had he lived, I never should have had it, or expected it."
+
+The peevish tone betrayed how sore was the subject altogether, and Mr.
+Flood smiled. "You need not be snappy over it, Chattaway," he said;
+"there's no cause for that. And now you may go back to the Hold in
+peace, without having your sleep disturbed by dreams of ejection. And if
+that unknown friend of yours should happen to mention in your hearing
+his kind intention of deposing you for Rupert Trevlyn, tell him, with my
+compliments, to come up here and read Squire Trevlyn's will."
+
+Partially reassured, Mr. Chattaway lost little time in taking his
+departure from London. He quitted it that same afternoon, and arrived at
+Barbrook just after dark, whence he started for the Hold.
+
+But he did not proceed to it as most other travellers in his rank of
+life would have done. He did not call a fly and drive to it; he
+preferred to go on foot. He did not even walk openly along the broad
+highway, but turned into by-paths, where he might be pretty sure of not
+meeting a soul, and stole cautiously along, peering on all sides, as if
+looking out for something he either longed or dreaded to see.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX
+
+A WELCOME HOME
+
+
+Was there a fatality upon the master of Trevlyn Hold?--was he never to
+be at rest?--could not even one little respite be allowed him in this,
+the first hour of his return home? It seemed not. He was turning into
+the first of those fields you have so often heard of, next to the one
+which had been the scene of poor Mr. Ryle's unhappy ending, when a tall
+man suddenly pounced upon him, came to a standstill, and spoke.
+
+"I believe I am not mistaken in supposing that I address Mr. Chattaway?"
+
+In his panic Mr. Chattaway nearly dropped a small parcel he held. An
+utter fear had taken possession of him: for in the speaker he recognised
+his dreaded enemy; the man who had proclaimed that he was about to work
+evil against him. It seemed like a terrible omen, meeting him the first
+moment of his arrival.
+
+"I have been wishing to see you for some days past," continued the
+stranger, "and have been to the Hold three or four times to ask if you
+had come home. I was a friend of the late Joe Trevlyn's. I am a friend
+now of his son."
+
+"Yes," stammered Chattaway--for in his fear he did not follow his first
+impulse, to meet the words with a torrent of anger. "May I ask what you
+want with me?"
+
+"I wish to converse upon the subject of Rupert Trevlyn. I would
+endeavour to impress upon you the grievous wrong inflicted upon him in
+keeping him out of the property of his forefathers. I do not think you
+can ever have reflected upon the matter, Mr. Chattaway, or have seen it
+in its true light--otherwise you would surely never deprive him of what
+is so indisputably his."
+
+Mr. Chattaway, his fears taking deeper and deeper possession of him, had
+turned into the field, in the hope of getting rid of the stranger. In
+any direction, no matter what, so that he could shake him off--for what
+to answer he did not know. It must be conciliation or defiance; but in
+that hurried moment he could not decide which would be the better
+policy. The stranger also turned and kept up with him.
+
+"My name is Daw, Mr. Chattaway. You may possibly remember it, for I had
+the honour of a little correspondence with you about the time of Mrs.
+Trevlyn's death. It was I who transmitted to you the account of the
+birth of the boy Rupert. I am now informed that that fact was not
+suffered to reach the ears of Squire Trevlyn."
+
+"I wish to hear nothing about it, sir; I desire to hold no communication
+with you at all," cried Mr. Chattaway, bearing on his way.
+
+"But it may be better for you that you should do so, and I ask it in
+courtesy," persisted Mr. Daw, striding beside him. "Appoint your own
+time and place, and I will wait upon you. These things are always better
+settled amicably than the reverse: litigation generally brings a host of
+evil in its train; and Rupert Trevlyn has no money to risk. Not but that
+his costs could come out of the estate," equably concluded Mr. Daw.
+
+The master of Trevlyn Hold turned passionately, arresting his course for
+an instant. "Litigation! what do you mean? How dare you speak to me in
+this manner? Who but a footpad would accost a gentleman by night, as you
+are accosting me?"
+
+The discourteous thrust did not seem to put out Mr. Daw. "I only wish
+you to appoint a time to see me--at your own home, or anywhere else you
+may please," he reiterated, not losing his manners. "But I am not to be
+balked in this, Mr. Chattaway. I have taken up the cause of Rupert
+Trevlyn, and shall try to carry it through."
+
+A blaze of anger burst from Mr. Chattaway, words and tones alike fierce,
+and Mr. Daw turned away. "I will see you when you are in a reasonable
+mood," he said. "To-morrow I will call at the Hold, and I hope you will
+meet me more amicably than you have done to-night."
+
+"I will never meet you; I will never see or listen to you," retorted
+Chattaway, his anger mastering him and causing him to forget prudence.
+"If you want to know by what right I retain the Hold over the boy,
+Rupert Trevlyn, go and consult Squire Trevlyn's will. That is the only
+answer you will get from me."
+
+Panting with the anger he could not restrain, Mr. Chattaway stood and
+watched the calm, retreating steps of the stranger, and then turned his
+own in the direction of home; unconscious that he in his turn was also
+watched, and by two who were very close to him--George Ryle and Maude
+Trevlyn.
+
+They--as you remember--proceeded immediately to Trevlyn Farm; and words
+were spoken between them which no time could efface. Impulsive words,
+telling of the love that had long lain in the heart of each, almost as
+suppressed, quite as deep, as the great dread which had made the
+skeleton in Mr. Chattaway's.
+
+The hilarity of the evening had progressed, as they found on entering.
+The company were seated round the table eating the good things, and
+evidently enjoying themselves heartily. The parlour-door was crowded
+with merry faces. Mrs. Ryle and others were at one end of the large
+room; George steered Maude direct to the parlour; the group made way for
+her, and welcomed her noisily.
+
+But there came no smile to the face of Octave Chattaway. With a severe
+eye and stern tones, she confronted Maude, her lips drawn with anger.
+
+"Maude, what do you do here? How dare you come?"
+
+"Is there any harm in it, Octave?"
+
+"Yes, there is," said Miss Chattaway, with flashing eyes. "There is harm
+because I desired you not to come. A pretty thing for Mrs. Ryle to be
+invaded by half-a-dozen of us! Have you no sense of propriety?"
+
+"Not a bit of it," gaily interrupted George. "No one understands that in
+connection with a harvest-home. I have been to the Hold for Maude,
+Octave; and should have brought Edith and Emily, but they were in bed."
+
+"In bed!" exclaimed Caroline Ryle, in surprise.
+
+"Having retired in mortification and tears at being excluded from the
+delights of a harvest-home," continued George, with mock gravity. "Miss
+Chattaway had preached propriety to them, and they could only bow to it.
+We must manage things better another time."
+
+Octave's cheeks burnt. Was George Ryle speaking in ridicule? To stand
+well with him, she would have risked much.
+
+"They are better at home," she quietly said: "and I have no doubt Mrs.
+Ryle thinks so. Two of us are sufficient to come. Quite sufficient, in
+my opinion," she pointedly added, turning a reproving look on Maude. "I
+am surprised you should have intruded----"
+
+"Blame me, if you please, Miss Chattaway--if you deem blame due
+anywhere," interrupted George. "I have a will of my own, you know, and I
+took possession of Maude and brought her, whether she would or no."
+
+Octave pushed her hair back with an impatient movement. Her eyes fell
+before his; her voice, as she addressed him, turned to softness. George
+was not a vain man; but it was next to impossible to mistake these
+signs; though neither by word nor look would he give the faintest
+colouring of hope to them. If Octave could only have read the
+indifference at his heart! nay, more--his positive dislike!
+
+"Did you see anything of Rupert?" she asked, recalling his attention to
+herself.
+
+"I saw nothing of any one but Maude. I might have laid hands on all I
+found; but there was no one to meet, Maude excepted. What makes you so
+cross about it, Octave?"
+
+She laughed pleasantly. "I am not cross, George," lowering her tones,
+"sometimes I think you do not understand me. You seem to----"
+
+Octave's words died away. Coming in at the door was the tall,
+conspicuous form of the parsonage guest, Mr. Daw. Maude was just then
+standing apart, and he went deliberately up to her and kissed her
+forehead.
+
+Startled and resentful, a half-cry escaped her lips; but Mr. Daw laid
+his hand gently on her arm.
+
+"My dear young lady, I may almost claim that as a right. I believe I was
+the first person, except your mother, who ever pressed a kiss upon your
+little face. Do you know me?"
+
+Maude faltered in her answer. His appearance and salutation had
+altogether been so sudden, that she was taken by surprise; but she did
+not fail to recognise him now. Yet she hesitated to acknowledge that she
+knew him, on account of Octave Chattaway. Rupert had told her all about
+the stranger; but it might be inconvenient to say so much to an inmate
+of Trevlyn Hold.
+
+"It was I who christened you," he resumed. "It was I who promised your
+father to--to sometimes watch over you. But I could not keep my promise;
+circumstances worked against it. And now that I am brought for a short
+time into the same neighbourhood, I may not call to see you."
+
+"Why not?" exclaimed Maude, wondering much.
+
+"Because those who are your guardians forbid me. I went to the Hold and
+asked for you, and then became aware that in doing so I had committed
+something like a crime, or what was looked upon as one. Should Rupert,
+your brother, regain possession of his father's inheritance and his
+father's home, then, perhaps, I may be a more welcome visitor."
+
+The room stood in consternation. To some of them, at any rate, these
+words were new; to the ears of Octave Chattaway they were tainted with
+darkest treason. Octave had never heard anything of this bold stranger's
+business at Barbrook, and she gazed at him with defiant eyes and parted
+lips.
+
+"Were you alluding to the Hold, sir?" she asked in a cold, hard voice,
+which might have been taken for Chattaway's own.
+
+"I was. The Hold was the inheritance of Rupert Trevlyn's father: it
+ought to be that of Rupert."
+
+"The Hold is the inheritance of my father," haughtily spoke Octave. "Is
+he mad?" she added in a half-whisper, turning to George.
+
+"Hush, Octave. No."
+
+It was not a pleasant or even an appropriate theme to be spoken of in
+the presence of Mr. Chattaway's daughters. George Ryle, at any rate,
+thought so, and was glad that a burst of rustic merriment came
+overpoweringly at that moment from the feasting in the other room.
+
+Under cover of the noise, Octave approached Nora. Nora immediately drew
+an apple-pie before her, and began to cut unlimited helpings, pretending
+to be absorbed in her work. She had not the least inclination for a
+private interview with Miss Chattaway. Miss Chattaway was one, however,
+not easily repulsed.
+
+"Nora, tell me--who is that man, and what brings him here?"
+
+"What man, Miss Chattaway?" asked Nora, indifferently, unable to quite
+help herself. "Ann Canham, how many are there to be served with pie
+still?"
+
+"_That_ man. That bold, bad man who has been speaking so strangely."
+
+"Does he speak strangely?" retorted Nora.
+
+"His voice is gruff certainly. And what a lot of plum-pudding he is
+eating! He is our young master's new waggoner, Miss Chattaway."
+
+"Not _he_!" shrieked Octave, in her anger. "Do you suppose I concern
+myself with those stuffing clodhoppers? I speak of that tall, strange
+man amongst the guests."
+
+"Oh, he!" said Nora, carelessly glancing over her shoulder. "Nanny,
+here's unlimited pie, if it's wanted. What about him, Miss Chattaway?"
+
+"I asked you who he was, and what brought him here."
+
+"Then you had better ask himself, Miss Chattaway. He goes about with a
+red umbrella; and that's about all I know of him."
+
+"Why does Mrs. Ryle invite suspicious characters to her house?"
+
+"Suspicious characters! Is he one? Madge Sanders, if you let Jim cram
+himself with pie in that style, you'll have something to do to get him
+home. He is staying at the parsonage, Miss Chattaway; an acquaintance of
+Mr. Freeman's. I suppose they brought him here to-night out of
+politeness; it wouldn't have been good manners to leave him at home. He
+is an old friend of the Trevlyns, I hear; has always believed, until
+now, that Master Rupert enjoyed the Hold--can't be brought to believe he
+doesn't. It is a state of things that does sound odd to a stranger, you
+know."
+
+Octave might rest assured she would not get the best of it with Nora.
+She turned away with a displeased gesture, and regained the
+sitting-room, where refreshments for Mrs. Ryle's friends were being
+laid. But somehow the sunshine of the evening had gone out for her. What
+had run away with it? The stranger's ominous words? No; for those she
+had nothing but contempt. It was George Ryle's unsatisfactory manner, so
+intensely calm and equable. And those calm, matter-of-fact manners, in
+one beloved, tell sorely upon the heart.
+
+The evening passed, and it grew time to leave. Cris Chattaway and Rupert
+had come in, and they all set off in a body to Trevlyn Hold--those who
+had to go there. George went out with them.
+
+"Are you coming?" asked Octave.
+
+"Yes, part of the way."
+
+So Octave stood, ready to take his arm, never supposing that he would
+not offer it; and her pulses began to beat. But he turned round as if
+waiting for something, and Octave could only walk on a few steps. Soon
+she heard him coming up and turned to him. And then her heart seemed to
+stand still and bound on again with fiery speed, and a flush of anger
+dyed her brow. He was escorting Maude on his arm!
+
+"Oh, George, do not let Maude trouble you," she exclaimed. "Cris will
+take care of her. Cris, come and relieve George of Maude Trevlyn."
+
+"Thank you, Octave; it's no trouble," replied George, his tone one of
+indifference. "As I brought Maude out, it is only fair that I should
+take her home--the task naturally falls to me, you see."
+
+Octave did not see it at all, and resentfully pursued her way; something
+very like hatred for Maude taking possession of her breast. It is not
+pleasant to write of these things; but I know of few histories in which
+they can be quite avoided, if the whole truth is adhered to, for many
+and evil are the passions assailing the undisciplined human heart.
+
+"Good-bye!" George whispered to Maude as he left her. "This night begins
+a new era in our lives."
+
+The Hold was busy when they entered. Mrs. Chattaway and her sister had
+just returned from Barmester, and were greeted by Mr. Chattaway. They
+had expected him for so many days past, and been disappointed, that his
+appearance now brought surprise with it. He answered the questions
+evasively put to him by Mrs. Chattaway and Diana, as to where he had
+been. Business had kept him, was all they could obtain from him.
+
+"I cannot think what you have done for clothes, James," said Mrs.
+Chattaway.
+
+"I have done very well," he retorted. "Bought what I wanted."
+
+But it was not upon the score of his wardrobe, or what had kept him so
+long, that Miss Diana Trevlyn required Chattaway. She had been waiting
+since the first morning of his absence, for information on a certain
+point, and now demanded it in a peremptory manner.
+
+"Chattaway," she began, when the rest had dispersed, and she waited with
+him, "I have had a strange communication made to me. In that past
+time--carry your thoughts back to it, if you please--when there came to
+this house the news of Rupert Trevlyn's birth and his mother's death--do
+you remember it?"
+
+"Yes, I do," said Mr. Chattaway. "What should hinder me?"
+
+"The tidings were conveyed by letter. Two letters came, the second a day
+after the first."
+
+"Well?" returned Chattaway, believing the theme, in some shape or other,
+was to haunt him for ever. "What of the letters?"
+
+"In that last letter, which must have been a heavy one, there was a
+communication enclosed for me."
+
+"I don't remember it," said Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"It was no doubt there. A document written at the request of Mrs.
+Trevlyn; appointing me guardian to the two children. What did you do
+with it?"
+
+"I?" returned Chattaway, speaking with apparent surprise, and looking
+full at Miss Diana with an unmoved face. "I did nothing with it. I don't
+know anything about it."
+
+"You must have taken it out and suppressed it," observed Miss Diana.
+
+"I never saw it or heard of it," obstinately persisted Chattaway. "Why
+should I? You might have been their appointed guardian, and welcome, for
+me: you have chiefly acted as guardian. I tell you, Diana, I neither saw
+nor heard of it: you need not look so suspiciously at me."
+
+"Is he telling the truth?" thought Miss Diana, and her keen eyes were
+not lifted from Mr. Chattaway's face. But that gentleman was remarkably
+inscrutable, and never appeared more so than at this moment.
+
+"If he did _not_ do anything with it," continued Miss Diana in her train
+of thought, "what could have become of the thing? Where can it be?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX
+
+MR. CHATTAWAY COMES TO GRIEF
+
+
+A few days passed on, and strange rumours began to be rife in the
+neighbourhood. Various rumours, vague at the best; but all tending to
+one point--the true heir was coming to his own again. They penetrated
+even to the ears of Mr. Chattaway, throwing that gentleman into a state
+not to be described. Some said a later will of the Squire's had been
+found; some said a will of Joe Trevlyn's; some that it was now
+discovered the estate could only descend in the direct male line, and
+consequently it had been Rupert's all along. Chattaway was in a raging
+fever; it preyed upon him, and turned his days to darkness. He seemed to
+look upon Rupert with the most intense suspicion, as if it were from him
+alone--his plotting and working--that the evil would come. He feared to
+trust him out of his sight; to leave him alone for a single instant.
+When he went to Blackstone he took Rupert with him; he hovered about all
+day, keeping Rupert in view, and brought him back in the evening.
+
+Miss Diana had not yet bought the pony she spoke of, and Chattaway
+either mounted him on an old horse that was good for little now, and
+rode by his side, or drove him over. Rupert was intensely puzzled at
+this new consideration, and could not make it out.
+
+One morning Mr. Chattaway so far sacrificed his own ease as to
+contemplate walking over: the horses were wanted that day. "Very well,"
+Rupert answered, in his half-careless, half-obedient fashion, "it was
+all the same to him." And so they started. But as they were going down
+the avenue a gentleman was discerned coming up it. Mr. Chattaway knit
+his brows and peered at him; his sight for distance was not quite as
+good as it had been.
+
+"Who's this?" asked he of Rupert.
+
+"It is Mr. Peterby," replied Rupert.
+
+"Peterby!" ejaculated Chattaway. "What Peterby?"
+
+"Peterby of Barmester, the lawyer," explained Rupert, wondering that
+there was any need to ask.
+
+For only one gentleman of the name of Peterby was known to Trevlyn Hold,
+and Mr. Chattaway was, so to say, familiar with him. He had been
+solicitor to Squire Trevlyn, and though Mr. Chattaway had not continued
+him in that post when he succeeded to the estate, preferring to employ
+Mr. Flood, he yet knew him well. The ejaculation had not escaped him so
+much in doubt as to the man, as to what he could want with him. But Mr.
+Peterby was solicitor for some of his tenants, and he supposed it was
+business touching the renewal of leases.
+
+They met. Mr. Peterby was an active little man of more than sixty years,
+with a healthy colour and the remains of auburn hair. He had walked all
+the way from Barmester, and enjoyed the walk as much as a schoolboy.
+"Good morning, Mr. Chattaway," he said, holding out his hand, "I am
+fortunate in meeting you. I came early, to catch you before you went to
+Blackstone. Can you give me half-an-hour's interview?"
+
+Mr. Chattaway thought he should not like to give the interview. He was
+in a bad temper, in no mood for business, and he really wanted to be at
+Blackstone. Besides all that he had no love for Mr. Peterby. "I am
+pressed for time this morning," he replied, "am much later than I ought
+to have been. Is it anything particular you want me for?"
+
+"Yes, very particular," was the answer, delivered in uncompromising
+tones. "I must request you to accord me the interview, Mr. Chattaway."
+
+Mr. Chattaway turned back to the house with his visitor, and marshalled
+him into the drawing-room. Rupert remained at the hall-door.
+
+"I have come upon a curious errand, Mr. Chattaway, and no doubt an
+unwelcome one; though, from what I hear, it may not be altogether
+unexpected," began the lawyer, as they took seats opposite each other.
+"A question has been arising of late, whether Rupert Trevlyn may not
+possess some right to the Hold. I am here to demand if you will give it
+up to him."
+
+Was the world coming to an end? Chattaway thought it must be. He sat and
+stared at the speaker as if he were in a dream. Was _every one_ turning
+against him? He rubbed his handkerchief over his hot face, and
+imperiously demanded of Mr. Peterby what on earth he meant, and where he
+could have picked up his insolence.
+
+"I am not about to wrest the estate from you, Mr. Chattaway, or to
+threaten to do so," was the answer. "You need not fear that. But--you
+must be aware that you have for the last twenty years enjoyed a position
+that ought in strict justice to belong to the grandson of Squire
+Trevlyn."
+
+"I am not aware of anything of the sort," groaned Chattaway. "What do
+you mean by 'wresting the estate'?"
+
+"Softly, my good sir; there's no need to put yourself out with me. I am
+come on a straightforward, peaceable errand; not one of war. A friendly
+errand, if you will allow me so to express myself."
+
+The master of the Hold could only marvel at the words. A friendly
+errand! requiring him to give up his possessions!
+
+Mr. Peterby proceeded to explain; and as there is no time to give the
+interview in detail, it shall be condensed. It appeared that the
+Reverend Mr. Daw had in his zeal sought out the solicitors of the late
+Squire Trevlyn. He had succeeded in impressing upon them a sense of the
+great injustice dealt out to Rupert; had avowed his intention of
+endeavouring, by any means in his power, to remedy this injustice; but
+at this point he had been somewhat obscure, and had, in fact, caused the
+lawyers to imagine that this power was real and tangible. Could there
+be, they asked themselves afterwards, any late will of Squire Trevlyn's
+which would supersede the old one? It was the only hinge on which the
+matter could turn; and Mr. Daw's mysterious hints certainly encouraged
+the thought. But Mr. Daw had said, "Perhaps Chattaway will give up
+amicably, if you urge it upon him," and Mr. Peterby had now come for
+that purpose.
+
+"What you say is utterly absurd," urged Chattaway; the long explanation,
+which Mr. Peterby had given openly and candidly, having afforded him
+time to recover somewhat of his fears and his temper. "I can take upon
+myself most positively to assert that no will or codicil was made, or
+attempted to be made, by Squire Trevlyn, subsequently to the one on
+which I inherit. Your firm drew that up."
+
+"I know we did," replied the lawyer. "But that does not prove that none
+was drawn up after it."
+
+"But I tell you there was not any. I am certain upon the point."
+
+"Well, it was the only conclusion we could come to," rejoined Mr.
+Peterby. "This Mr. Daw must have some grounds for urging the thing on;
+he wouldn't be so stupid as to do so if he had none."
+
+"He has none," said Chattaway.
+
+"Ah, but I am sure he has. But for being convinced of this, do you
+suppose I should have come to you now, asking you to give up an estate
+which you have so long enjoyed? I assure you I came as much in your
+interests as in his. If there is anything in existence by which you can
+be disturbed, it is only fair you should know of it."
+
+Fair! In Mr. Chattaway's frame of mind, he could scarcely tell what was
+fair and what was not fair. The interview was prolonged, but it brought
+forth no satisfactory conclusion. Perhaps none could be expected. Mr.
+Peterby took his departure, impressed with the conviction that the
+present owner of Trevlyn Hold would retain possession to the end,
+contesting it inch by inch; and as he walked down the avenue he asked
+himself whether he had not been induced to enter upon a foolish errand,
+in coming to suggest that it should be voluntarily resigned.
+
+The master of Trevlyn Hold watched him away, and then opened the
+breakfast-room door. "Where's Rupert?" he inquired, not seeing Rupert
+there.
+
+"Rupert?" answered Mrs. Chattaway, looking up. "I think he has gone to
+Blackstone. He wished me good morning; and I saw him walk down the
+avenue."
+
+All things seemed to be against Mr. Chattaway. Here was Rupert out of
+sight now; it was hard to say where he might have gone, or what mischief
+he might be up to. As he turned from the door, Cris Chattaway's
+horse--the unlucky new one which had damaged the dog-cart--was brought
+up, and Cris appeared, prepared to mount him.
+
+"Where are you going, Cris?"
+
+"Nowhere in particular this morning," answered Cris. "I have a nasty
+headache, and a canter may take it away."
+
+"Then I'll ride your horse to Blackstone," returned Mr. Chattaway.
+"Alter the stirrups, Sam."
+
+"Why, where's your own horse?" cried Cris, with a blank look.
+
+"In the stable," shortly returned Chattaway.
+
+He mounted the horse and rode away, his many cares perplexing him. A
+hideous wall separating him from all good fortune seemed to be rising up
+round about him; and the catastrophe he so dreaded--a contest between
+himself and Rupert Trevlyn for possession of the Hold--appeared to be
+drawing within the range of probability. In the gloomy prospect before
+him, only one loophole of escape presented itself to his
+imagination--the death of Rupert.
+
+But you must not think worse of Mr. Chattaway than he deserves. He did
+not deliberately contemplate such a calamity; or set himself to hope for
+it. The imagination is rebelliously evil, often uncontrollable; and the
+thought rose up unbidden and unwished for. Mr. Chattaway could not help
+it; could not at first drive it away again; the somewhat dangerous
+argument, "Were Rupert dead I should be safe, and it is the only means
+by which I can feel assured of safety," did linger with him longer than
+was expedient; but he never for one moment contemplated the possibility
+as likely to take place; most certainly it never occurred to him that he
+could be accessory to it. Though not a good man, especially in the way
+of temper and covetousness, Chattaway would have started with horror had
+he supposed he could ever be so bad as that.
+
+He rode swiftly along in the autumn morning, urging his horse to a hard
+gallop. Was his haste merely caused by his anxiety to be at Blackstone,
+or that he would escape from his own thoughts? He rode directly to the
+coal mine, up to the mouth of the pit. Two or three men, looking like
+blackamoors, were standing about.
+
+"Why are you not down at work?" angrily demanded Mr. Chattaway. "What do
+you do idling here!"
+
+They had been waiting for Pennet, the men replied. But word had just
+been brought that Pennet was not coming.
+
+"Where is he?" asked Mr. Chattaway. "Skulking again?"
+
+"I dunna think he be skulking, sir," was the reply of one. "He's bad
+a-bed."
+
+An angry frown darkened Mr. Chattaway's countenance. Truth to say, this
+man, Pennet, though a valuable workman from his great strength, his
+perseverance when in the pit, did occasionally absent himself from it,
+to the wrath of his overseers; and Mr. Chattaway knew that illness might
+be only an excuse for taking a holiday in the drinking shop.
+
+"I'll soon see that," he cried. "Bring that horse back. If Pennet is
+skulking, I'll discharge him this very day."
+
+He had despatched his horse round to the stable; but now mounted him
+again, and was riding away, after ordering the men down to their work,
+when he stopped to ask a question respecting one of his overseers.
+
+"Is Bean down the shaft?"
+
+No; the men thought not. They believed he was round at the office.
+
+Mr. Chattaway turned his horse's head towards the office, and galloped
+off, reining in at the door. The clerk Ford and Rupert Trevlyn both came
+out.
+
+"Oh, so you have got here!" ungraciously grunted Mr. Chattaway to
+Rupert. "I want Bean."
+
+"Bean's in the pit, sir," replied Ford.
+
+"The man told me he was not in the pit," returned Mr. Chattaway. "They
+said he was here."
+
+"Then they knew nothing about it," observed Ford. "Bean has been down
+the pit all the morning."
+
+Mr. Chattaway turned to Rupert. "Go down the shaft and tell Bean to come
+up. I want him."
+
+He rode off as he spoke, and Rupert departed for the pit. The man Pennet
+lived in a hovel, one of many, about a mile and a half away. Chattaway,
+between haste and temper, was in a heat when he arrived. A
+masculine-looking woman with tangled hair came out to salute him.
+
+"Where's Pennet?"
+
+"He's right bad, master."
+
+Mr. Chattaway's lip curled. "Bad from drink?"
+
+"No," replied the woman, defiantly; for the owner of the mine was held
+in no favour, and this woman was of too independent a nature to conceal
+her sentiments when provoked. "Bad from rheumatiz."
+
+He got off his horse, rudely pushed her aside, and went in. Pennet was
+dressed, but was lying on a wooden settle, as the benches were called in
+that district.
+
+"I be too bad for the pit to-day, sir; I be, indeed. This, rheumatiz
+have been a-flying about me for weeks; and now it's settled in my loins,
+and I can't stir."
+
+"Let's see you walk," responded Chattaway.
+
+Pennet got off the bench with difficulty, and walked across the brick
+floor slowly, his arms behind him.
+
+"I thought so," said Chattaway. "I knew you were skulking. You are as
+well able to walk as I am. Be off to the pit."
+
+The man lifted his face. "If you was in the pain I be, master, you
+wouldn't say so. I mote drag myself down to 'im, but I couldn't work."
+
+"We will see about that," said Mr. Chattaway, in his determined manner.
+"You work to-day, my man, or you never work again for me: so take your
+choice."
+
+There was a pause. Pennet looked irresolute, the woman bitter. Perhaps
+what these people hated most of all in Chattaway was his personal
+interference and petty tyranny. What he was doing now--looking up the
+hands--was the work of an overseer; not of the owner.
+
+"Come," he authoritatively repeated. "I shall see you start before me.
+We are too busy for half of you to be basking in idleness. Are you
+going? Work to-day, or leave the pit, just which you please."
+
+The man glanced at his children--a ragged little group, cowering in
+silence in a corner, awed by the presence of the master; took his cap
+without a word, and limped slowly away, though apparently scarcely able
+to drag one foot before the other.
+
+"Where be your bowels of compassion?" cried the woman, in her audacity,
+placing herself before Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"I know where my whip will be if you don't get out of my way and change
+your tone," was his answer. "What do you mean, woman, by speaking so to
+me?"
+
+"Them as have no compassion for their men, but treads 'em down like
+beasts o' burden, may come, perhaps, to be treaded down themselves," was
+the woman's retort, as she withdrew out of Mr. Chattaway's vicinity.
+
+He made no answer, except that he lifted his whip significantly. As he
+rode off, he saw Pennet pursuing his way to the mine by the nearest
+path--one inaccessible to horses. When he was near the man, he lifted
+his whip as significantly at him as he had done at the wife, and then
+urged his horse to a gallop. It was a busy day, both in the office and
+in the mine; and Chattaway, taking as you perceive a somewhat practical
+part in his affairs, had wished to be present some two hours before.
+Consequently, these delays had not improved his temper.
+
+About midway between the Pennets' hut and the mine were the decaying
+walls of what had once been a shed. Part of the wall was still standing,
+about four feet high. It lay right in Mr. Chattaway's way: one single
+minute given to turning either to the right or left, and he would have
+avoided it. But he saw no reason for avoiding it: he had leaped it
+often: it was not likely that he would in his hurry turn from it now.
+
+He urged his horse to it, and the animal was in the very act of taking
+the leap, when a sudden obstacle interposed. A beggar, who had been
+quietly ensconced on the other side, basking in the sun and eating his
+dinner, heard the movement, and not wishing to be run over started up to
+escape the danger. The movement frightened the horse, causing him to
+strike the wall instead of clearing it: he fell, and his master with
+him.
+
+The horse was not hurt, and soon found its legs. If the animal had
+misbehaved himself a few days previously, under the hands of Mr. Cris,
+he appeared determined to redeem his character now. He stood patient and
+silent, turning his head to Mr. Chattaway, as if waiting for him to get
+up.
+
+Which that gentleman strove to do. But he found he could not. Something
+was the matter with one of his ankles, and he was in a towering passion.
+The offending beggar scampered off, frightened at his unbounded rage and
+threats of vengeance.
+
+The intemperate words did him no good; you may be very sure of that;
+they never do any one good. For more than an hour Mr. Chattaway lay
+there, his horse patiently standing by him, and no one coming to his
+aid. It would have seemed that he lay three times as long, but that he
+had his watch, and could consult it as often as he pleased. It was an
+unfrequented by-road, leading nowhere in particular, except to the
+hovels; and Chattaway had therefore full benefit of the solitude.
+
+The first person to come up was no other than Mrs. Pennet--Meg Pennet,
+as she was familiarly called. Her tall, gaunt form came striding along,
+and her large eyes grew larger as she saw who was lying there.
+
+"Ah, master! what's it your turn a'ready! Have you been there ever sin'?
+Can't you get up?"
+
+"Find assistance," he cried in curt tones of authority. "Mount my horse
+and you'll go the quicker."
+
+"Na, na; I mount na horse. The brute might be flinging me, as it seems
+he ha' flinged you. Women and horses be best apart. Shall I help you
+up?"
+
+His haughty, ill-conditioned spirit would have prompted him to say "No";
+his helplessness and impatience obliged him to say "Yes." The powerful
+woman took him by the shoulders and raised him. So far, so good. But his
+ankle gave him intense pain; was, in short, almost useless; and a cry
+escaped him. In his agony, he flung her rudely from him with his elbow.
+"Go and get assistance, woman."
+
+"Be that'n the thanks I get? Ah! it be coming home to ye, be it! Ye sent
+my man off to work in pain; he couldn't hardly crawl: how d'you like
+pain yerself? If the leg's broke, Squire, you'll ha' time to lie and
+think on't."
+
+She strode on, Chattaway sending an ugly word after her, and soon came
+in sight of the mine--which appeared to be in an unusual bustle. A crowd
+had collected round the mouth of the pit, and people were running to it
+from all quarters. Loud talking, gesticulating, confusion prevailed:
+what could be causing it?
+
+"Happen they be looking for him as is lying yonder!" quoth she. But
+scarcely were the words out of her mouth when a group of women running,
+filling the air with cries and lamentations, came in sight. Her coarse
+face grew white and her heart turned sick as the fatal truth burst upon
+her conviction. There had been an accident in the mine!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI
+
+DOWN THE SHAFT
+
+
+It was only too true. Whether from fire-damp, the rushing in of water,
+or some other mischief to which coal-pits are liable, was as yet
+scarcely known: nothing was certain except the terrible calamity itself.
+Of the men who had gone down the mine that morning, some were dead,
+others dying. Meg Pennet echoed the shrieks of the women as she flew
+forward and pushed through the crowd collected round the mouth of the
+pit. The same confusion prevailed there that prevails in similar scenes
+of distress and disaster elsewhere.
+
+"And Mr. Chattaway himself was down the shaft, you say? He went down
+this morning? My friends, it is altogether an awful calamity."
+
+The woman pushed in yet further and confronted the speaker, her white
+face drawn with anguish. He was the minister of a dissenting chapel, a
+Mr. Lloyd, and well known to the miners, some of whom went regularly to
+hear him preach.
+
+"No, sir; Chattaway was na down the shaft; he is na one of the dead,
+more luck to him," she said, her words brought out brokenly, her bosom
+heaving. "Chattaway have this morning made me a widda and my young
+children fatherless. My man was stiff with rheumatiz, he was--no more
+fit to go to work nor I be to go down that shaft and carry up his poor
+murdered body. I knowed his errand as soon as I heerd his horse's feet.
+He made him get off the settle, and druv him out to work as he'd drive a
+dog; and when I told him of his hardness, he lifted up his whip agin me.
+Yes! Pennet's down with the rest of 'em; sent by him: and I be a lone
+widda."
+
+"Her says right," interposed a voice. "It wasn't the master as went down
+the shaft; it were young Rupert Trevlyn."
+
+"Rupert Trevlyn," uttered the minister in startled tones. "I hope he is
+not down."
+
+"Yes, he's down, sir."
+
+"But where can Mr. Chattaway be?" exclaimed Ford, the clerk, who made
+one of the throng. "Do you know, Meg Pennet?"
+
+"He's where ill-luck have overtook him for his cruelty to us," answered
+Meg Pennet, flinging her hair from her sorrowful face. "I telled him the
+ill he forced on others might happen come home to him--that he might
+soon be lying in his pain, for aught he knew. And he went right off to
+the ill then and there--and he's a-lying in it."
+
+The sympathies of the hearers were certainly not given to Mr. Chattaway.
+He was no favourite with his dependants at Blackstone, any more than
+with his neighbours around the Hold. But the woman's words were strange,
+and they pressed for an explanation.
+
+"He be lying under the wall o' the old ruin," was her reply. "I come
+upon him there, and I guess his brave horse had flung him. When I'd ha'
+lifted him, he cried out with pain--as my poor man was a-crying in the
+night with his back--and I saw him lay hisself down again after I'd left
+him. And Chattaway he swore at me for my help--and you can go to him and
+be swore at too. Happen his leg be broke."
+
+The minister turned away to seek Mr. Chattaway. Unless completely
+disabled, it was necessary that he should be at the scene; no one of any
+particular authority was there to give orders; and the inevitable
+confusion attendant on such a calamity was thereby increased. Ford, the
+clerk, sped after Mr. Lloyd, and one or two stragglers followed him; but
+the rest were chained to the more exciting scene of the disaster.
+
+Mr. Chattaway had raised himself when they reached him, and was holding
+on by the wall. He broke into a storm of grumbling, especially at Ford,
+and asked why he could not have found him out sooner. As if Ford could
+divine what had befallen him! Mr. Lloyd stooped and touched the ankle,
+which was a good deal swollen. It was sprained, Chattaway said; but he
+thought he could manage to get on his horse with their assistance. He
+abused the beggar unmercifully, and expressed his intention of calling a
+meeting of his brother-magistrates, that measures might be taken to rid
+the country of tramps and razor-grinders; and he finished up in the heat
+of argument by calling the accident which had befallen him a cursed
+misfortune.
+
+"Hush!" quietly interrupted Mr. Lloyd. "I should call it a blessing."
+
+Chattaway stared at him and deemed that he was carrying religion rather
+too far. As he looked, it struck him that both his rescuers wore very
+sad countenances; Ford in particular was excessively crestfallen. A
+sarcastic smile crossed his face.
+
+"A blessing! to have my ankle sprained, and waste my morning in this
+fashion? Thank you, Mr. Lloyd! You gentlemen who have nothing better to
+do with your time than preach it away may think little of such an
+interruption, but to men of business it is not agreeable. A blessing!"
+
+"Yes, I believe it to have come to you as such--sent direct from God.
+Were you not going into the pit this morning?"
+
+"Yes, I was," impatiently answered Mr. Chattaway. "I should be there
+now, but for this--blessing! I wish you would not----"
+
+"Just so," interrupted Mr. Lloyd, calmly. "And this fall has no doubt
+saved your life. There has been an accident in the pit, and the poor
+fellows who went down a few hours ago full of health and life, are about
+to be carried up dead."
+
+The words brought Mr. Chattaway to his senses. "An accident!" he
+repeated. "What accident?--of what nature?" turning hastily to Ford.
+
+"Fire-damp, I believe, sir."
+
+"Who was down?" was the next eager question.
+
+"The usual men, sir. And--and--Mr. Rupert Trevlyn."
+
+Chattaway with some difficulty repressed a shout. Idea after idea
+crowded upon his brain, one chasing another. Foremost amongst them rose
+distinctly the one thought of the morning from which he had striven to
+escape and could not: "Nothing can bring me security save the death of
+Rupert." Had the half-encouraged wish brought its realisation.
+
+"Rupert Trevlyn down the shaft!" he repeated, the moisture breaking over
+his face. "I know he went down; I sent him; but--but--did he not come up
+again?"
+
+"No," gloomily replied Ford, who really liked Rupert; "he is down now.
+There's no hope that he'll come up alive."
+
+Whether consternation deadened his physical suffering, or his ankle,
+from the rest it had had, was really less painful, Mr. Chattaway
+contrived to get pretty comfortably to the scene of action. The crowd
+had increased; people were coming up from far and near. Medical men had
+arrived, ready to give their services in case any sufferers were brought
+up alive. One of them examined Mr. Chattaway's ankle, and bound it up;
+the hurt, he said, was only a temporary one.
+
+He, the owner of that pit, sat down on the side of a hand-barrow, for he
+could not stand, and issued his orders in sharp, concise tones; and the
+bodies began to be brought to the surface. One of the first to appear
+was that of the unfortunate man, Bean, to whom he had sent the message
+by Rupert. Chattaway looked on, half-dazed. Would Rupert's body be the
+next? He could not realise the fact that he, from whom he had dreaded he
+knew not what, should soon be laid at his feet, cold and lifeless. Was
+he glad or sorry? Did grief for Rupert predominate? Or did the intense
+relief the death must bring overpower any warmer feeling? Perhaps Mr.
+Chattaway could not yet tell.
+
+They were being brought up pretty quickly now, and were laid on the
+ground beside him, to be recognised by the unhappy relatives. The men to
+whom Chattaway had spoken that morning were amongst them: he had ordered
+them down as he rode off, and one and all had obeyed the mandate. Did he
+regret their fate? Did he compassionate the weeping wives and children?
+In a degree, perhaps, yes; but not as most men would have done.
+
+A tall form interposed between him and the mouth of the pit--that of Meg
+Pennet. She had been watching for a body which had not yet been brought
+up. Suddenly she turned to Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"You have killed him, master; you have made my children orphans. But for
+your coming in your hardness to drive him out when he warn't fit to go,
+we should ha' had somebody still to work for us. Happen you may have
+heered of a curse? I'd like to give ye one now."
+
+"Somebody take this woman away," cried Chattaway. "She'll be better at
+home."
+
+"Ay, take her away," retorted Meg; "don't let her plaints be heered,
+lest folk might say they be just. Send her home to her fatherless
+children, and send her dead man after her to lie among 'em till his
+burial. Happen, when you come to your death, Mr. Chattaway, you'll have
+us all afore your mind, to comfort you!"
+
+She stopped. Another ill-fated man was being drawn up, and she turned to
+wait for it, her hands clenched, her face white and haggard in its
+intensity. The burden came, and was laid near the rest; but it was not
+the one for which she waited. Another woman darted forward; _she_ knew
+it too well; and she clasped her hands round it, and sobbed in agony.
+Meg Pennet turned resolutely to the mouth of the pit again, watching
+still.
+
+"Be they all dead? How many was down?"
+
+The voice came from behind Meg Pennet, and she screamed and started.
+There stood her husband. How had he escaped from the pit?
+
+"I haven't been a-nigh it," he answered. "I couldn't get down to the
+pit, try as I would, without a rest, and I halted at Green's. Who's dead
+among 'em, and who's alive?"
+
+"God be thanked!" exclaimed Meg Pennet, with a sob of emotion.
+
+All Mr. Chattaway's faculties were strained on the mouth of that yawning
+pit, and what it might yield up. As body after body was brought to the
+surface--seven of them were up now--he cast his anxious looks upon it,
+expecting to recognise the fair face of Rupert Trevlyn. Expecting and
+yet dreading--don't think him worse than he was; with the frightened,
+half-shrinking dread ordinarily experienced by women, or by men of
+nervous and timid temperament. So utterly did this suspense absorb him
+as to make him almost oblivious to the painful features of the scene,
+the wails of woe and bursts of lamentation.
+
+Happening for a minute to turn his eyes from the pit, he saw in the
+distance a pony-carriage approaching, which looked uncommonly like that
+of Miss Diana Trevlyn. Instinct told him that the two figures seated in
+it were his wife and Miss Diana, although as yet he could not see
+whether they were women or men. It was slowly winding down a distant
+hill, and would have to ascend another and come over the flat stretch of
+country ere it could reach them. He beckoned his clerk Ford to him in a
+sort of terror.
+
+"Run, Ford! Make all speed. I think I see Miss Trevlyn's pony-carriage
+yonder with the ladies in it. Don't let them approach. Tell them to turn
+aside, to the office, and I'll come to them. Anywhere; anywhere but
+here."
+
+Ford ran with all his might. He met the carriage just at the top of the
+nearest hill, and unceremoniously laid his hand upon the pony, giving
+Mr. Chattaway's message as well as his breathless state would
+allow--begging they would turn aside and not approach the pit.
+
+It was evident that they were strangers as yet to the news, but the
+crowd and excitement round the pit had been causing them apprehension
+and a foreshadowing of the truth. Miss Diana, paying, as it appeared,
+little heed to the message, extended her whip in the direction of the
+scene.
+
+"I see what it is, Ford. Don't beat about the bush. How many were down
+the shaft?"
+
+"A great many, ma'am," was Ford's reply. "The pit was in full work
+to-day."
+
+"Was it fire-damp?"
+
+"I believe so."
+
+"Mr. Chattaway's safe, you say? He was not down? I suppose he was not
+likely to be down?"
+
+"No," answered Ford. But the thought of Mr. Chattaway's accident from
+another source, which he did not know whether to disclose or not, and
+the consciousness of a worse calamity, caused him to speak hesitatingly.
+Miss Diana was quick of apprehension, and awoke it.
+
+"Was any one down the shaft besides the men? Was--where's Rupert
+Trevlyn?"
+
+Ford looked as if he dared not answer.
+
+Mrs. Chattaway caught the alarm. She half rose in the low carriage, and
+stretched out her hands in a pleading attitude; as though Ford held the
+issues of life and death.
+
+"Oh, speak, speak! He was not down the shaft! Surely Rupert was not down
+the shaft!"
+
+"He had gone down but a short time before," said the young man in a
+whisper--for where was the use of denying the fact, now that they had
+guessed it? "We shall all mourn him, ma'am. I had almost as soon it had
+been me."
+
+"Gone down the shaft but a short time before!" mechanically repeated
+Miss Diana in her horror. But she was interrupted by a cry from Ford.
+Mrs. Chattaway had fallen back on her seat in a fainting-fit.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII
+
+A SHOCK FOR MR. CHATTAWAY
+
+
+The brightness of the day was turning to gloom, as if the heavens
+sympathised with the melancholy scene upon earth. Quietly pushing his
+way through the confusion, moans and lamentations, the mass of human
+beings surrounding the mouth of the pit, was a tall individual whose
+acquaintance you have made before. It was Mr. Daw with his red umbrella:
+the latter an unvarying appendage, whether the sun was shining or the
+clouds dropped rain. He went straight up to certain pale faces lying
+there in a row, and glanced at them one by one.
+
+"They are saying that Rupert Trevlyn is amongst the sufferers," he
+observed to those nearest to him.
+
+"So he is, master."
+
+"I do not see him here."
+
+"No; he ain't up yet."
+
+"Is there no hope that he may be brought to the surface alive?"
+
+They shook their heads. "Not now. He have been down too long. There's
+not a chance for him."
+
+Something like emotion passed over Mr. Daw's features.
+
+"How came _he_ to be down the pit?" he asked. "Was it his business to go
+down?"
+
+"Not in ord'nary. No: 'tworn't once in six months as there was aught to
+take him there."
+
+"Then what took him there to-day?" was Mr. Daw's next question.
+
+"The master sent him," replied the man, pointing towards Chattaway.
+
+Apparently Mr. Daw had not observed Chattaway before, and he turned and
+walked towards him. Vexation at the loss of Rupert--it may surely be
+called vexation rather than grief, since he had not known Rupert
+sufficiently long to _love_ him--a loss so sudden and terrible, was
+rendering Mr. Daw unjust. Chattaway's worst enemy could not fairly blame
+him with reference to the fate of Rupert: but Mr. Daw was in a hasty
+mood.
+
+"Is it true that you sent Rupert Trevlyn down the shaft only a few
+minutes before this calamity occurred?"
+
+The address and the speaker equally took Mr. Chattaway by surprise. His
+attention was riveted on something then being raised from the shaft, and
+he had not noticed the stranger. Hastily turning his head, he saw, first
+the conspicuous red umbrella, next its obnoxious and dangerous owner.
+
+Ah, but no longer dangerous now. That terrible fear was over for ever.
+With the first glimpse, Mr. Chattaway's face had turned to a white heat,
+from the force of habit; but the next moment's reflection reassured him,
+and he retained his equanimity.
+
+"What did you say, sir?"
+
+"Was there no one else, Mr. Chattaway, to serve your turn, but you must
+send down your wronged and unhappy nephew?" reiterated Mr. Daw, in tones
+that penetrated to every ear. "I have heard it said, since I came into
+this neighbourhood, that Mr. Chattaway would be glad, if by some lucky
+chance Squire Trevlyn's grandson and legal heir could be put out of his
+path. It seems he has succeeded in accomplishing it."
+
+Mr. Chattaway's face grew dark and frowning. "Take care what you say,
+sir, or you shall answer for your words. I ask you what you mean."
+
+"And I ask you--Was there no one you could despatch this morning into
+that dangerous mine, then on the very eve of exploding, but that
+helpless boy, Rupert, who might not resist your authority, and so went
+to his death? Was there no one, I ask?"
+
+Mr. Daw's zeal was decidedly outrunning his discretion. It is the
+province of exaggeration to destroy its cause, and the unfounded
+charge--which, temperately put, might have inflicted its sting--fell
+comparatively harmless on the ear of Mr. Chattaway. He could only stare
+and wonder--as if a proposition had been put to him in some foreign
+language.
+
+"Why--bless my heart!--are you mad?" he presently exclaimed. His tone
+was sufficiently equable. "Could _I_ tell the mine was going to explode?
+Had but the faintest warning reached me, do you suppose I should not
+have emptied the pit of all human souls? I am as sorry for Rupert as you
+can be: but the blame is not mine. It is not any one's--unless it be his
+own. There was plenty of time to leave the pit after he had delivered
+the message I sent him down with, had he chosen to do so. But I suppose
+he stopped gossiping with the men. This land belongs to me, sir. Unless
+you have any business here, I must request you to leave it."
+
+There was so much truth in what Mr. Chattaway urged that the stranger
+began to be a little ashamed of his heat. "Nevertheless, it is a thorn
+removed from your path," he cried aloud. "And you would have removed him
+from it yourself long ago, could you have done it without sin."
+
+A half murmur of assent arose from the crowd. The stranger had hit the
+exact facts. Could the master of Trevlyn Hold have removed Rupert
+Trevlyn from his path without "sin," without danger or trouble, it had
+been done long ago. In short, were it as easy to put some obnoxious
+individual out of life, as it is to stow away an offending piece of
+furniture, Mr. Chattaway had most assuredly not waited until now to rid
+himself of Rupert: and those listeners knew it.
+
+Mr. Chattaway turned his frowning face on the murmurers; but before more
+could be said by any one, the circle was penetrated by some new-comers,
+one of them in distress of mind that could not be hidden or controlled.
+Mrs. Chattaway having recovered from her apparent fainting-fit--though
+in reality she had not lost consciousness, and her closed eyes and
+intense pallor had led to the mistake--the pony-carriage had been urged
+with all speed to the scene of action. In vain the clerk Ford reiterated
+Mr. Chattaway's protest against their approach. Miss Diana Trevlyn was
+not one to attend against her will to the protests of Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"I would have saved his life with my own; I would have gone down in his
+place had it been possible," wailed poor Mrs. Chattaway, wringing her
+hands, and wholly forgetting the reticence usually imparted by the
+presence of her husband.
+
+_Her_ grief was genuine; and the crowd sympathised with her almost as it
+did with those despairing women, weeping in their new widowhood. But the
+neighbours had not now to learn that Madame Chattaway loved her dead
+brother's children, if her husband did not.
+
+"For Heaven's sake don't make a scene here!" growled Mr. Chattaway, in
+impotent anger. "Have you no sense of the fitness of things?"
+
+But his wife, however meekly submissive at other times, was not in a
+state for submission then. Unable to define the sensations that
+oppressed her, she only felt that all was over; the unhappy boy had gone
+from them for ever; the cruel wrongs inflicted on him throughout life
+were now irreparable.
+
+"He has gone with all our unkindness on his head," she wailed, partially
+unconscious, no doubt, of what she said; "gone to meet his father, my
+poor lost brother, bearing to him the tale of his wrongs! Oh, if----"
+
+"Be silent, will you?" shrieked Chattaway. "Are you going mad?"
+
+Mrs. Chattaway covered her face with her hands, and leaned against the
+barrow on which her husband was sitting. Miss Diana Trevlyn, who had
+been gathering various particulars from the crowd, who had said a word
+of comfort--though it was little comfort they could listen to yet--to
+the miserable women, came up at this moment to Chattaway.
+
+"It was a very unhappy thing that you should have sent Rupert into the
+pit this morning," she said, her face wearing its most haughty
+expression.
+
+"Yes," he answered. "But I could not foresee what was about to happen.
+It--it might have been Cris. Had Cris been in the way at the time, and
+not Rupert, I should have despatched him."
+
+"Chattaway, I would give all my fortune to have him back again. I----"
+
+A strange commotion on the outskirts of the crowd attracted their
+attention, and Miss Diana brought her sentence to an abrupt conclusion,
+and turned sharply towards it, for the shouts bore the sound of triumph;
+and a few voices were half breaking into hurrahs. Strange sounds, in
+that awful death-scene!
+
+Who was this advancing towards them? The crowd had parted to give him
+place, and he came leaping to the centre, all haste and excitement--a
+fair, gentlemanly young man, his silken hair uncovered, his cheeks
+hectic with excitement. Mrs. Chattaway cried aloud with a joyful cry,
+and her husband's eyes and mouth slowly opened as though he saw a
+spectre.
+
+It was Rupert Trevlyn. Rupert, it appeared, had not been down the pit at
+all. Sufficiently obedient to Mr. Chattaway, but not obedient to the
+letter, Rupert, when he reached the pit's mouth, had seen the last of
+those men descending whom Chattaway had imperiously ordered down, and
+sent the message to Bean by him. His chief inducement was that he had
+just met an acquaintance who had come to tell him of a pony for
+sale--for Rupert, commissioned by Miss Trevlyn, had been making
+inquiries for one. It required little pressing to induce Rupert to
+abandon the office and Blackstone for some hours, and start off to see
+this pony. And that was where he had been. Mrs. Chattaway clasped her
+arms around his neck, in utter defiance of her husband's prejudices,
+unremembered then, and sobbed forth her emotion.
+
+"Why, Aunt Edith, you never thought I was one of them, did you? Bless
+you! I am never down the pit. I should not be likely to fall into such a
+calamity as that. Poor fellows! I must go and ascertain who was there."
+
+The crowd, finding Rupert safe, broke into a cheer, and a voice
+shouted--could it have been Mr. Daw's?--"Long live the heir! long live
+young Squire Trevlyn!" and the words were taken up and echoed in the
+air.
+
+And Mr. Chattaway? If you want me to describe his emotions to you, I
+cannot do it. They were of a mixed nature. We must not go so far as to
+say he _regretted_ to see Rupert back in life; felt no satisfaction at
+his escape; but with his reappearance all the old fears returned. They
+returned tenfold from the very fact of his short immunity from them, and
+the audacious words of the crowd turned his face livid. In conjunction
+with the yet more audacious words previously spoken by the stranger and
+the demonstrative behaviour of his wife, they were as a sudden blow to
+Mr. Chattaway.
+
+Those shouters saw his falling countenance, his changed look, and drew
+their own conclusions. "Ah! he'd put away the young heir if he could,"
+they whispered one to another. "But he haven't got shut of him this
+time."
+
+No; Mr. Chattaway certainly had not.
+
+"God has been merciful to your nephew," interposed the peaceful voice of
+Mr. Lloyd, drawing near. "He has been pleased to save him, though He has
+seen fit to take others. We know not why it should be--some struck down,
+others spared. His ways are not as our ways."
+
+They lay there, a long line of them, and the minister pointed with his
+finger as he spoke. Most of the faces looked calm and peaceful. Oh! were
+they ready? Had they lived to make God their friend? Trusting in Christ
+their Saviour? My friends, this sudden call comes to others as well as
+to miners: it behoves us all to be ready for it.
+
+As the day drew on, the excitement did not lessen; and Mr. Chattaway
+almost forgot the hurt, which he would have made a great deal of at
+another time. But the ankle was considerably swollen and inflamed,
+giving him pain still, and it caused him to quit the scene for home
+earlier than he might otherwise have done.
+
+He left Cris to superintend. Cris was not incompetent for the task; but
+he might have displayed a little more sympathy with the sufferers
+without compromising his dignity. Cris had arrived in much bustle and
+excitement at the scene of action: putting eager questions about Rupert,
+as to how he came to be down the shaft, and whether he was really dead.
+The report that he was dead had reached Cris Chattaway's ears at some
+miles' distance, as it had reached those of many others.
+
+It reached Maude Trevlyn's. The servants at the Hold heard it, and
+foolishly went to her. "There had been an explosion in the pit, and
+Master Rupert was amongst the killed." Maude was as one stricken with
+horror. She did not faint or cry; putting on a shawl and bonnet
+mechanically, as she would for any ordinary walk, she left the house on
+her way to Blackstone. "Don't go, Maude; it will only be more painful to
+you," Octave had said in kindly tones, as she saw her departing; but
+Maude, as though she heard not, bore swiftly on with a dry eye and
+burning brow. Turning from the fields into the road, she met George
+Ryle.
+
+"Where are you going, Maude?"
+
+"Oh, George, don't stop me! I had no one but him."
+
+But George did stop her. He saw her countenance of despair, and
+suspected what was wrong. Putting his arm gently round her, he held her
+to him. Maude supposed he had heard the tidings, and was unwilling that
+she should approach the terrible scene.
+
+"My darling, be comforted. You have been hearing that Rupert shared the
+calamity, but the report was a false one. Rupert is alive and well. It
+is the happy truth, Maude."
+
+Overcome by emotion, Maude leaned upon him and sobbed out more blissful
+tears than perhaps she had ever shed. Mr. George would have had no
+objection to apply himself to the task of soothing her until the shades
+of night fell; but scarcely a minute had they so stood when an
+interruption, in the shape of some advancing vehicle, was heard. These
+envious interruptions will occur at the most unwelcome moments, as
+perhaps your own experience may bear witness to.
+
+It proved to be the pony-carriage of Miss Diana Trevlyn. Mr. Chattaway
+with his lame foot sat beside her, and Mrs. Chattaway occupied the
+groom's place behind. Miss Diana, who chose to drive her own pony,
+although she had a gentleman at hand, drew up in surprise at the sight
+of Maude.
+
+"I had heard that Rupert was killed," she explained, advancing to the
+carriage, her face still wet with tears. "But George Ryle has told me
+the truth."
+
+"And so you were starting for Blackstone!" returned Miss Diana. "Would
+it have done any good, child? But that is just like you, Maude. You will
+act upon impulse to the end of life."
+
+Mrs. Chattaway bent forward with her sweet smile. "Rupert is on his way
+home, Maude, alive and well. I am sorry you should have heard what you
+did."
+
+"It seems to me the whole parish has heard it," ejaculated Mr.
+Chattaway.
+
+Room was made for Maude beside Mrs. Chattaway, and the pony-carriage
+went on. It had gone only a few paces when the Reverend Mr. Daw came in
+sight. Was the man gifted with ubiquity! But an hour or two, as it
+seemed, and he had been bearding Mr. Chattaway at the mine. He lifted
+his hat as he passed, and Miss Diana and Maude bowed in return. He did
+not approach the carriage, or attempt to stop it; but went on with long
+strides, as one in a hurry.
+
+Mr. Chattaway, who had never looked towards the man, never moved a
+muscle of his face, turned his head to steal a glance when he deemed him
+at a safe distance. There stood Mr. Daw, talking to George Ryle, one
+hand stretched out in the heat of argument, the other grasping the red
+umbrella, which was turned over his shoulder.
+
+"Treason, treason!" mentally ejaculated the master of Trevlyn Hold, as
+he raised his handkerchief to his heated face. "How I might have laughed
+at them now, if--if--if that had turned out to be true about Rupert!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII
+
+THE OLD TROUBLE AGAIN
+
+
+From ten days to a fortnight went by, and affairs were resuming their
+ordinary routine. All outward indications of the accident were over; the
+bodies of the poor sufferers were buried; the widows, mothers, orphans,
+had begun to realise their destitution. It was not all quite done with,
+however. The inquest, adjourned from time to time, was not yet
+concluded; and popular feeling ran high against Mr. Chattaway. Certain
+precautions, having reference to the miners' safety, which ought to have
+been observed in the pit, had not been observed; hence the calamity.
+Other mine owners in the vicinity had taken these precautions long ago;
+but Mr. Chattaway, whether from inertness, or regard to expense, had not
+done so. People spoke out freely now, not only in asserting that these
+safeguards must no longer be delayed--and of that Mr. Chattaway was
+himself sensible, in a sullen sort of way--but also that it was
+incumbent on him to do something for the widows and orphans. A most
+distasteful hint to a man of so near a disposition. Miss Diana Trevlyn
+had gone down to the desolate homes and rendered them glad with her
+bounty; but to make anything like a permanent provision for them was Mr.
+Chattaway's business, and not hers. The sufferers believed Mr. Chattaway
+was not likely to make even the smallest for them; and they were not far
+wrong. His own hurt, the sprained ankle, had speedily recovered, and he
+was now well again.
+
+And the officious stranger, and his interference for the welfare of
+Rupert? That also was falling to the ground, and he, Mr. Daw, was now on
+the eve of departure. However well meant these efforts had been, they
+could only be impotent in the face of Squire Trevlyn's will. Mr. Daw
+himself was at length convinced of the fact, and began to doubt whether
+his zeal had not outrun his discretion. Messrs. Peterby and Jones
+angrily told him that it had, when he acknowledged, in answer to their
+imperative question, that he had had no grounds whatever to go upon,
+save goodwill to Rupert. Somewhat of this changed feeling may have
+prompted him to call at Trevlyn Hold to pay a farewell visit of
+civility; which he did, and got into hot water.
+
+He asked for Miss Diana Trevlyn. But Miss Diana happened to be out, and
+Octave, who was seated at the piano when he was shown in, whirled round
+upon the stool in anger. She had taken the most intense dislike to this
+officious man: possibly a shadow of the same dread which filled her
+father's heart had penetrated to hers.
+
+"Miss Trevlyn! If Miss Trevlyn were at home, she would not receive you,"
+was her haughty salutation, as she rose from her stool. "It is
+impossible that you can be received at the Hold. Unless I am mistaken,
+sir, you had an intimation of this from Squire Chattaway."
+
+"My visit, young lady, was not to Mr. Chattaway, but to Miss Trevlyn. So
+long as the Hold is Miss Trevlyn's residence, her friends must call
+there--although it may happen to be also that of Mr. Chattaway. I am
+sorry she is out: I wish to say a word to her before my departure. I
+leave to-night for good."
+
+"And a good thing too," said angry Octave, forgetting her manners. But
+this answer had not conciliated her, especially the very pointed tone
+with which he had called her father _Mr._ Chattaway.
+
+She rang the bell loudly to recall the servant. She did not ask him to
+sit down, but stood pointing to the door; and Mr. Daw had no resource
+but to obey the movement and go out--somewhat ignominously it must be
+confessed.
+
+In the avenue he met Miss Trevlyn, and she was more civil than Octave
+had been. "I leave to-night," he said to her. "I go back to my residence
+abroad, never in all probability to quit it again. I should have been
+glad to serve poor Rupert by helping him to his rights--Miss Trevlyn, I
+cannot avoid calling them so--but I find the law and Mr. Chattaway
+stronger than my wishes. It was, perhaps, foolish ever to take up the
+notion, and I feel half inclined to apologise to Mr. Chattaway."
+
+"Of all visionary notions, that was about the wildest I ever heard of,"
+said Miss Diana.
+
+"Yes, utterly vain and useless. I see it now. I do not the less feel
+Rupert Trevlyn's position, you must understand; the injustice dealt out
+to him lies on my mind with as keen a sense as ever: but I do see how
+hopeless, and on my part how foolish, was any attempt at remedy. I
+should be willing to say this to Mr. Chattaway if I saw him, and to tell
+him I had done with it. Mr. Freeman hints that I was not justified in
+thus attempting to disturb the peace of a family, and he may be right.
+But, Miss Trevlyn, may I ask you to be kind to Rupert?"
+
+Miss Trevlyn threw back her head. "I have yet to learn that I am not
+kind to him, sir."
+
+"I mean with a tender kindness. I fancy I see in him indications of the
+disease that was so fatal to his father. It has been on my mind to
+invite him to go back home with me, and try what the warmer climate may
+do for him; but the feeling (amounting almost to a prevision) that the
+result in his case would be the same as his father's, withholds me. I
+should not like to take him out to die: neither would I charge myself
+with the task of nursing one in a fatal malady."
+
+"You are very good," said Miss Diana, somewhat stiffly. "Rupert will do
+well where he is, I have no doubt: and for myself, I do not anticipate
+any such illness for him. I wish you a pleasant journey, Mr. Daw."
+
+"Thank you, madam. I leave him to your kindness. It seems to me only a
+duty I owe to his dead father to mention to you that he _may_ need extra
+care and kindness; and none so fitting to bestow it upon him as you--the
+guardian appointed by his mother."
+
+"By the way, I cannot learn anything about that document," resumed Miss
+Diana. "Mr. Chattaway says that it never came to hand."
+
+"Madam, it must have come to hand. If the letter in which it was
+enclosed reached Trevlyn Hold, it is a pretty good proof that the
+document also reached it. Mr. Chattaway must be mistaken."
+
+Miss Diana did not see how, unless he was wilfully, falsely denying the
+fact. "A thought struck me the other day, which I wish to mention to
+you," she said aloud, quitting the subject for a different one. "The
+graves of my brother and his wife--are they kept in order?"
+
+"Quite so," he answered. "I see to that."
+
+"Then you must allow me to repay to you any expense you may have been
+put to. I----"
+
+"Not so," he interrupted. "There is no expense--or none to speak of. The
+ground was purchased for ever, _à perpétuité_, as we call it over there,
+and the shrubs planted on the site require little or no care in the
+keeping. Now and then I do a half-day's work there myself, for the love
+of my lost friends. Should you ever travel so far--and I should be happy
+to welcome you--you will find their last resting-place well attended to,
+Miss Trevlyn."
+
+"I thank you much," she said in heartier tones, as she held out her
+hand. "And I regret now that circumstances have prevented my extending
+hospitality to you."
+
+And so they parted amicably. And the great ogre Mr. Chattaway had feared
+would eat him up, had subsided into a very harmless man indeed. Miss
+Diana went on to the Hold, deciding that her respected brother-in-law
+was a booby for having been so easily frightened into terror.
+
+As Mr. Daw passed the lodge, old Canham was airing himself at the door,
+Ann being out at work. The gentleman stopped.
+
+"You were not here when I passed just now," he said. "I looked in at the
+window, and opened the door, but could see no one."
+
+"I was in the back part, maybe, sir. When Ann's absent, I has to get my
+own meals, and wash up my cups and things."
+
+"I must say farewell to you. I leave to-night."
+
+"Leave the place! What, for good, sir?"
+
+"Yes," replied Mr. Daw. "In a week's time from this, I hope to be
+comfortably settled in my own home, some hundreds of miles away."
+
+"And Master Rupert? and the Hold?" returned old Canham, the corners of
+his mouth considerably drawn down. "Is he to be rei'stated in it?"
+
+Mr. Daw shook his head. "I did all I could, and it did not succeed: I
+can do no more. My will is good enough--as I think I have proved; but I
+have no power."
+
+"Then it's all over again, sir--dropped through, as may be said?"
+
+"It has."
+
+Old Canham leaned heavily on his crutch, lost in thought. "It won't drop
+for ever, sir," he presently raised his head to say. "There have been
+something within me a long, long while, whispering that Master Rupert's
+as safe to come to his own before he dies, as that I be to go into my
+grave. When this stir took place, following on your arrival here, I
+thought the time had come then. It seems it hadn't; but come it _will_,
+as sure as I be saying it--as sure as he's the true heir of Squire
+Trevlyn."
+
+"I hope it will," was the warm answer. "You will none of you rejoice
+more truly than I. My friend Freeman has promised to write occasionally
+to me, and----"
+
+Mr. Daw was interrupted. Riding his shaggy pony in at the lodge gate--a
+strong, brisk little Welsh animal bought a week ago by Miss Diana, was
+Rupert himself. Upon how slender a thread do the great events of life
+turn! The reflection is so trite that it seems the most unnecessary
+reiteration to record it; but there are times when it is brought to the
+mind with an intensity that is positively startling.
+
+Mr. Chattaway, by the merest accident--as it appeared to him--had
+forgotten a letter that morning when he went to Blackstone. He had
+written it before leaving home, intending to post it on his road, but
+left it on his desk. It was drawing towards the close of the afternoon
+before he remembered it. He then ordered Rupert to ride home as fast as
+possible and post it, so that it might be in time for the evening mail.
+And this Rupert had now come to do. All very simple, you will say: but I
+can tell you that but for the return of Rupert Trevlyn at that hour, the
+most tragical part of this history would in all probability never have
+taken place.
+
+"The very man I was wishing to see!" exclaimed Mr. Daw, arresting Rupert
+and his pony in their career. "I feared I should have to leave without
+wishing you good-bye."
+
+"Are you going to-day?" asked Rupert.
+
+"To-night. You seem in a hurry."
+
+"I am in a hurry," replied Rupert, as he explained about the letter. "If
+I don't make haste, I shall lose the post."
+
+"But I want to talk to you a bit. Do you go back to Blackstone?"
+
+"Oh no; not to-day."
+
+"Suppose you come in to the parsonage for an hour or two this evening?"
+suggested Mr. Daw. "Come to tea. I am sure they'll be glad to see you."
+
+"All right; I'll come," cried Rupert, cantering off.
+
+But a few minutes, and he cantered down again, letter in hand. Old
+Canham was alone then. Rupert looked towards him, and nodded as he went
+past. There was a receiving-house for letters at a solitary general
+shop, not far beyond Trevlyn Farm, and to this Rupert went, posted the
+letter, and returned to Trevlyn Hold. Sending his pony to the stable, he
+began to get ready for his visit to Mr. Freeman's--a most ill-fated
+visit, as it was to turn out.
+
+They took tea at the parsonage at six, and he had to hasten to be in
+time. He had made his scanty dinner, as usual, at Blackstone. In
+descending the stairs from his room he encountered Mrs. Chattaway in the
+lower corridor.
+
+"Are you going out, Rupert?"
+
+"I am going to the parsonage, Aunt Edith. Mr. Daw leaves this evening,
+and he asked me to go in for an hour or two."
+
+"Very well. Remember me kindly to Mrs. Freeman. And, Rupert--my
+dear----"
+
+"What?" he asked, arresting his hasty footsteps and turning to speak.
+
+"You will not be late?"
+
+"No, no," he answered, his careless tone a contrast to her almost solemn
+one. "It's all right, Aunt Edith."
+
+But for that encounter with Mrs. Chattaway, the Hold would have been in
+ignorance of Rupert's movements that evening. He spent a very pleasant
+one. It happened that George Ryle called in also at the parsonage on Mr.
+Freeman, and was induced to remain. Mrs. Freeman was hospitable, and
+they sat down to a good supper, to which Rupert at least did justice.
+
+The up-train was due at Barbrook at ten o'clock, and George Ryle and
+Rupert accompanied Mr. Daw to it. The parson remained at home not caring
+to go out at night, unless called forth by duty. They reached the
+station five minutes before the hour, and Mr. Daw took his ticket and
+waited for the train.
+
+Waited a long time. Ten o'clock struck, and the minutes went on and on.
+George, who was pacing the narrow platform with him, drew Rupert aside
+and spoke.
+
+"Should you not get back to the Hold? Chattaway may lock you out again."
+
+"Let him," carelessly answered Rupert. "I shall get in somehow, I dare
+say."
+
+It was not George's place to control Rupert Trevlyn, and they paced the
+platform as before, talking with Mr. Daw. Half-past ten, and no train!
+The porters stood about, looking and wondering; the station-master was
+fidgety, wanting to get home to bed.
+
+"Will it come at all?" asked Mr. Daw, whose patience appeared exemplary.
+
+"Oh, it'll come, safe enough," replied one of the two porters. "It never
+keeps its time, this train don't: but it's not often as late as this."
+
+"Why does it not keep its time?"
+
+"It has got to wait at Layton's Heath for a cross-train; and if that
+don't keep its time--and it never do--this one can't."
+
+With which satisfactory explanation, the porter made a dash into a shed,
+and appeared to be busy with what looked like a collection of dark
+lanthorns.
+
+"I shall begin to wish I had taken my departure this afternoon, as I
+intended, if this delay is to be much prolonged," remarked Mr. Daw.
+
+Even as he spoke, there were indications of the arrival of the train. At
+twenty minutes to eleven it came up, and the station-master gave some
+sharp words to the guard. The guard returned them in kind; its want of
+punctuality was not his fault. Mr. Daw took his seat, and George and
+Rupert hastened away to their respective homes. But it was nearly eleven
+o'clock and Rupert, in spite of his boasted bravery, did fear the wrath
+of Mr. Chattaway.
+
+The household had retired to their rooms, but that gentleman was sitting
+up, looking over some accounts. The fact of Rupert's absence was known
+to him, and he experienced a grim satisfaction in reflecting that he was
+locked out for the night. It is impossible for me to explain to you why
+this should have gratified the mind of Mr. Chattaway; there are things
+in this world not easily accounted for, and you must be contented with
+the simple fact that it was so.
+
+But Mrs. Chattaway? She had gone to her chamber sick and trembling,
+feeling that the old trouble was about to be renewed to-night. If the
+lad was not allowed to come in, where could he go? where find a shelter?
+Could _she_ let him in, was the thought that hovered in her mind. She
+would, if she could accomplish it without the knowledge of her husband.
+And that might be practicable to-night, for he was shut up and absorbed
+by those accounts of his.
+
+Gently opening her dressing-room window, she watched for Rupert: watched
+until her heart failed her. You know how long the time seems in this
+sort of waiting. It appeared to her that he was never coming--as it had
+recently appeared to Mr. Daw, with regard to the train. The distant
+clocks were beginning to chime eleven when he arrived. He saw his aunt;
+saw the signs she made to him, and contrived to hear and understand her
+whispered words.
+
+"Creep round to the back-door, and I will let you in."
+
+So Rupert crept softly round; walking on the grass: and Mrs. Chattaway
+crept softly down the stairs without a light, undid the bolt silently,
+and admitted Rupert.
+
+"Thank you, dear Aunt Edith. I could not well help being late. The
+train----"
+
+"Not a word, not a breath!" she interrupted, in a terrified whisper.
+"Take off your boots, and go up to bed without noise."
+
+Rupert obeyed in silence. They stole upstairs, one after the other. Mrs.
+Chattaway turned into her room, and Rupert went on to his.
+
+And the master of Trevlyn Hold, bending over his account-books, knew
+nothing of the disobedience enacted towards him, but sat expecting and
+expecting to hear Rupert's ring echoing through the house. Better, far
+better that he had heard it!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV
+
+THE NEXT MORNING
+
+
+The full light of day had not come, and the autumn night's gentle frost
+lingered yet upon the grass, when the master of Trevlyn Hold rose from
+his uneasy couch. Things were troubling him; and when the mind is
+uneasy, the night's rest is apt to be disturbed.
+
+That business of the mine explosion was not over, neither were its
+consequences to Mr. Chattaway's pocket. The old far regarding the
+succession, which for some days had been comparatively quiet, had broken
+out again in his mind, he could not tell why or wherefore; and the
+disobedience of Rupert, not only in remaining out too late the previous
+night, but in not coming in at all, angered him beyond measure.
+Altogether, his bed had not been an easy one, and he arose with the dawn
+unrefreshed.
+
+It was not the fact of having slept little which got him up at that
+unusually early hour; but necessity has no law, and he was obliged to
+rise. A famous autumn fair, held at some fifteen miles' distance, and
+which he never failed to attend, was the moving power. His horse was to
+be ready for him, and he would ride there to breakfast; according to his
+annual custom. Down he went; sleepy, cross, gaping; and the first thing
+he did was to stumble over a pair of boots at the back-door.
+
+The slightest thing would put Mr. Chattaway out when in his present
+temper. For the matter of that, a slight thing would put him out at any
+time. What business had the servants to leave boots about in _his_ way?
+They knew he would be going out by the back-door the first thing in the
+morning, on his way to the stables. Mr. Chattaway gave the things a
+kick, unbolted the door, and drew it open. Whose were they?
+
+Now that the light was admitted, he saw at a glance that they were a
+gentleman's boots, not a servant's. Had Cris stolen in by the back-door
+last night and left his there? No; Cris came in openly at the front,
+came in early, before Mr. Chattaway went to bed. And--now that he looked
+more closely--those boots were too small for Cris.
+
+They were Rupert's! Yes, undoubtedly they were Rupert's boots. What
+brought them there? Rupert could not pass through thick walls and barred
+up doors. Mr. Chattaway, completely taken back, stooped and stared at
+the boots as if they had been two curious animals.
+
+A faint sound interrupted him. It was the approach of the first servant
+coming down to her day's work; a brisk young girl called Bridget, who
+acted as kitchenmaid.
+
+"What brings these boots here?" demanded Mr. Chattaway, in the repelling
+tone he generally used to his servants.
+
+Bridget advanced and looked at them. "They are Mr. Rupert's, sir,"
+answered she.
+
+"I did not ask you whose they were: I asked what brought them here.
+These boots must have been worn yesterday."
+
+"I suppose he left them here last night; perhaps came in at this door,"
+returned the girl, wondering what business of her master's the boots
+could be.
+
+"Perhaps he did not," retorted Mr. Chattaway. "He did not come in at all
+last night."
+
+"Oh yes, he did, sir. He's in his room now."
+
+"Who's in his room?" rejoined Mr. Chattaway, believing the girl was
+either mistaken or telling a wilful untruth.
+
+"Mr. Rupert, sir. Wasn't it him you were asking about?"
+
+"Mr. Rupert is not in his room. How dare you say so to my face?"
+
+"But he is," said the girl. "Leastways, unless he has gone out of it
+this morning."
+
+"Have you been in his room to see?" demanded Mr. Chattaway, in his
+ill-humour.
+
+"No, sir, I have not; it's not likely I should presume to do such a
+thing. But I saw Mr. Rupert go into his room last night; so it's only
+natural to suppose he is there this morning."
+
+The words confounded Mr. Chattaway. "You must have been dreaming, girl."
+
+"No, sir, I wasn't; I'm sure I saw him. I stepped on my gown and tore it
+as I was going up to bed last night, and I went to the housemaid's room
+to borrow a needle and cotton to mend it. I was going back across the
+passage when I saw Mr. Rupert at the end of the corridor turn into his
+chamber." So far, true. Bridget did not think it necessary to add that
+she had remained a good half-hour gossiping with the housemaid. Mr.
+Chattaway, however, might have guessed that, for he demanded the time,
+and Bridget confessed it was past eleven.
+
+Past eleven! The whole house, himself excepted, had gone upstairs at
+half-past ten, and Rupert was then not in. Who had admitted him?
+
+"Which of you servants opened the door to him?" thundered Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"I shouldn't think any of us did, sir. I can answer for me and cook and
+Mary. We never heard Mr. Rupert ring at all last night: and if we had,
+we shouldn't have dared let him in after your forbidding it."
+
+The girl was evidently speaking the truth, and Mr. Chattaway was thrown
+into perplexity. Who _had_ admitted him? Could it have been Miss Diana
+Trevlyn? Scarcely. Miss Diana, had she taken it into her head, would
+have admitted him without the least reference to Mr. Chattaway; but she
+would not have done it in secret. Had it pleased Miss Diana to come down
+and admit Rupert, she would have done it openly; and what puzzled Mr.
+Chattaway more than anything, was the silence with which the admission
+had been accomplished. He had sat with his ears open, and not the
+faintest sound had reached them. Was it Maude? No: he felt sure Maude
+would be even more chary of disobeying him than the servants. Then who
+was it? A half-suspicion of his wife suggested itself to him, only to be
+flung away the next moment. His submissive, timorous wife! She would be
+the last to array herself against him.
+
+But the minutes were passing, and Mr. Chattaway had no time to waste.
+The fair commenced early, its business being generally over before
+mid-day. He went round to the stables, found his horse ready, and rode
+away, the disobedience he had just discovered filling his mind to the
+exclusion of every other annoyance.
+
+He soon came up with company. Riding out of the fold-yard of Trevlyn
+Farm as he passed it, came George Ryle and his brother Treve. They were
+bound for the same place, and the three horses fell in together.
+
+"Are you going?" exclaimed Mr. Chattaway to Trevlyn, surprise in his
+tone.
+
+"Of course I am," answered Treve. "There's always some fun at Whitterbey
+fair. George is going to initiate me to-day into the mysteries of buying
+and selling cattle."
+
+"Against you set up for yourself?" remarked Mr. Chattaway, cynically.
+
+"Just so," said Treve. "I hope you'll find me as good a tenant as you
+have found George."
+
+George was smiling. "He is about to settle down into a steady-going
+farmer, Mr. Chattaway."
+
+"When?" asked Chattaway.
+
+George hesitated, and glanced at Trevlyn, as if waiting for the answer
+to come from him.
+
+"At once," said Treve, readily. "There's no reason why it should not be
+known. I am home for good, Mr. Chattaway, and don't intend to leave it
+again."
+
+"And Oxford?" returned Chattaway, surprised at the news. "You had
+another term to keep."
+
+"Ay, but I shall not keep it. I have had enough of Oxford. One can't
+keep straight there, you know: there's no end of expense to be gone
+into; and my mother is tired of it."
+
+"Tired of the bills?"
+
+"Yes. Not but that paying them has been George's concern more than hers.
+No one can deny that; but George is a good fellow, and _he_ has not
+complained."
+
+"Are there to be two masters on Trevlyn Farm?"
+
+"No," cried Treve. "I know my place better, I hope, than to put my
+incompetent self above George--whatever my mother may wish. So long as
+George is on Trevlyn Farm, he is sole master. But he is going to leave
+us, he says."
+
+Mr. Chattaway turned to George, as if for confirmation. "Yes," answered
+George, quietly; "I shall try to take a farm on my own account. You have
+one soon to be vacant that I should like, Mr. Chattaway."
+
+"I have?" exclaimed Mr. Chattaway. "There's no farm of mine likely to be
+vacant that would suit your pocket. You _can't_ mean you are turning
+your ambitious eyes to the Upland?" he added, after a moment's pause.
+
+"Yes, I am," replied George. "And I must have a talk with you about it.
+I should like the Upland Farm."
+
+"Why, it would take----"
+
+George did not wait to hear the conclusion of the sentence.
+
+They were at that moment passing the parsonage, and Mr. Freeman, in a
+velvet skull-cap and slippers, was leaning over the gate. George checked
+his horse.
+
+"Well, did he get safe off last night?" asked Mr. Freeman.
+
+"Yes, at last. The train was forty minutes behind time."
+
+"Ah! it's a shame they don't arrange matters so as to make that
+ten-o'clock train more punctual. Passengers are often kept waiting
+half-an-hour. Did you and Rupert remain to see him off?"
+
+"Yes," replied George.
+
+"Then Rupert would be late home," observed the clergyman, turning to
+Chattaway, who had also reined in. "I hope you excused him, Mr.
+Chattaway, under the circumstances."
+
+Chattaway answered something very indistinctly, and the clergyman took
+it to imply that he _had_ excused Rupert. George said good morning, and
+turned his horse onwards; they must make good speed, unless they would
+be "a day too late for the fair."
+
+Not a syllable of the above conversation had Mr. Chattaway understood;
+it had been as Hebrew to him. He did not like Mr. Freeman's allusion to
+his "excusing the lateness of Rupert's return," for it proved that his
+harsh rule had become public property.
+
+"I did not quite take Mr. Freeman," he said, turning equably to George,
+and speaking in careless accents. "Were you out last night with Rupert?"
+
+"Yes. We spent the evening at the parsonage with Mr. Daw, and then went
+to see him off by the ten-o'clock train. It is a shame, as Mr. Freeman
+says, that the train is not made to keep better time. It was Mr. Daw's
+last night here."
+
+"And therefore you and Rupert must spend it with him! It is a sudden
+friendship."
+
+"I don't know that there's much friendship in the matter," replied
+George. "Rupert, I believe, was at the parsonage by appointment, but I
+called in accidentally. I did not know that Mr. Daw was leaving."
+
+"Is he returning to France?"
+
+"Yes. He crosses the Channel to-night. We shall never see him again, I
+expect; he said he should never more quit his home, so far as he
+believed."
+
+"Is he a madman?"
+
+"A madman! Certainly not."
+
+"He talked enough folly and treason for one."
+
+"Run away with by his zeal, I suppose," remarked George. "No one paid
+any attention to him. Mr. Chattaway, do you think we Barbrook people
+could not raise a commotion about the irregularity of that ten-o'clock
+train, and so get it rectified?"
+
+"Its irregularity does not concern me," returned Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"It would if you had to travel by it; or to see friends off by it as
+Rupert and I had last night. Nearly forty-five minutes were we cooling
+our heels on the platform. It must have been eleven o'clock when Rupert
+reached the Hold. I suppose he was let in."
+
+"It appears he did get in," replied Mr. Chattaway, in by no means a
+genial tone. "I don't know by whom yet; but I will know before
+to-night."
+
+"If any one locked me out of my home, I should break the first window
+handy," cried bold Treve, who had been brought up by his mother in
+defiance of Mr. Chattaway, and would a great deal rather treat him with
+contempt than civility. "Rupert's a muff not to do it."
+
+George urged on his horse. Words between Treve and Mr. Chattaway would
+not be agreeable, and the latter gentleman's face was turning fiery. "I
+am sure we shall be late," he cried. "Let us see what mettle our steeds
+are made of."
+
+It diverted the anticipated dispute. Treve, who was impulsive at times,
+dashed on with a spring, and Mr. Chattaway and George followed. Before
+they reached Whitterbey, they fell in with other horsemen, farmers and
+gentlemen, bound on the same errand, and got separated.
+
+Beyond a casual view of them now and then in the crowded fair, Mr.
+Chattaway did not again see George and Treve until they all met at what
+was called the ordinary--the one-o'clock dinner. Of these ordinaries
+there were several held in the town on the great fair day, but Mr.
+Chattaway and George Ryle had been in the habit of attending the same.
+Immediately after the meal was over, Mr. Chattaway ordered his horse,
+and set off home.
+
+It was earlier than he usually left, for the men liked to sit an hour or
+two after dinner at these annual meetings, and discuss the state of
+affairs in general, especially those relating to farming; but Mr.
+Chattaway intended to take Blackstone on his road home, and that would
+carry him some miles out of his way.
+
+He did not arrive at Blackstone until five o'clock. Rupert had gone
+home; Cris, who had been playing at master all day in the absence of Mr.
+Chattaway, had also gone home, and only Ford was there. That Cris should
+have left, Mr. Chattaway thought nothing of; but his spirit angrily
+resented the departure of Rupert.
+
+"It's coming to a pretty pass," he exclaimed, "if he thinks he can go
+and come at any hour he pleases. What has he been about to-day?"
+
+"We have none of us done much to-day, sir," replied Ford. "There have
+been so many interruptions. They had Mr. Rupert before them at the
+inquest, and examined him----"
+
+"Examined _him_!" interrupted Chattaway. "What about?"
+
+"About the precautions taken for safety, and all that," rejoined Ford,
+who liked to launch a shaft or two at his master when he might do it
+with discretion. "Mr. Rupert could not tell them much, though, as he was
+not in the habit of being down in the pit; and then they called some of
+the miners again."
+
+"To what time is it adjourned?" growled Mr. Chattaway, after a pause.
+
+"It's not adjourned, sir; it's over."
+
+"Oh," said Mr. Chattaway, feeling a sort of relief. "What was the
+verdict?"
+
+"The verdict, sir? Mr. Cris wrote it down, and took it up to the Hold
+for you."
+
+"What was it? You can tell me its substance, I suppose."
+
+"Well, it was 'Accidental death.' But there was something also about the
+absence of necessary precautions in the mine; and a strong
+recommendation was added that you should do something for the widows."
+
+The very verdict Chattaway had so dreaded! As with many cowards, he
+_could not_ feel independent of his neighbours' opinion, and knew the
+verdict would not add to his popularity. And the suggestion that he
+should do something for the widows positively appalled him. Finding no
+reply, Ford continued.
+
+"We had some gentlemen in here afterwards, sir. I don't know who they
+were; strangers: they said they must see you, and are coming to-morrow.
+We wondered whether they were Government inspectors, or anything of that
+sort. They asked when the second shaft to the pit was going to be
+begun."
+
+"The second shaft to the pit!" repeated Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"It's what they said," answered Ford. "But it will be a fine expense, if
+that has to be made."
+
+An expense the very suggestion of which turned that miserly heart cold.
+Mr. Chattaway thought the world was terribly against him. Certainly,
+what with one source of annoyance and another, the day had not been one
+of pleasure. In point of fact, Mr. Chattaway was of too suspicious a
+nature ever to enjoy much ease. It may be thought that with the
+departure of the dreaded stranger, he would have experienced complete
+immunity from the fears which had latterly so shaken him. Not so; the
+departure had only served to augment them. He had been informed by Miss
+Diana on the previous night of Mr. Daw's proposed return to his distant
+home, of his having relinquished Rupert's cause, of his half apology for
+having ever taken it up; he had heard again from George Ryle this
+morning that the gentleman had actually gone. Most men would have
+accepted this as a termination to the unpleasantness, and been thankful
+for it; but Mr. Chattaway, in his suspicious nature, doubted whether it
+did not mean treachery; whether it was not, in short, a _ruse_ of the
+enemy. Terribly awakened were his fears that day. He suspected an ambush
+in every turn, a thief behind every tree; and he felt that he hated
+Rupert with a bitter hatred.
+
+Poor Rupert at that moment did not look like one to be either hated or
+dreaded, could Mr. Chattaway have seen him through some telescope. When
+Chattaway was sitting in his office, Ford meekly standing to be
+questioned, Rupert was toiling on foot towards Trevlyn Hold. In his good
+nature he had left his pony at home for the benefit of Edith and Emily
+Chattaway. Since its purchase, they had never ceased teasing him to let
+them try it, and he had this day complied, and walked to Blackstone. He
+looked pale, worn, weary; his few days' riding to and fro had unfitted
+him for the walk, at least in inclination, and Rupert seemed to feel the
+fatigue this evening more than ever.
+
+That day had not brought happiness to Rupert, any more than to Mr.
+Chattaway. It was impossible but his hopes should have been excited by
+the movement made by Mr. Daw. And now all was over. That gentleman had
+taken his departure for good, and the hopes had faded, and there was an
+end to it altogether. Rupert had felt it keenly that morning as he
+walked to Blackstone; felt that he and hope had bid adieu to each other
+for ever. Was his life to be passed at that dreary mine? It seemed so.
+The day, too, was spent even more unpleasantly than usual, for Cris was
+in one of his overbearing moods, and goaded Rupert's spirit almost to
+explosion. Had Rupert been the servant of Cris Chattaway, the latter
+could not have treated him with more complete contempt and unkindness
+than he did this day. Cris asked him who let him in to the Hold the
+previous night, and Rupert answered that it was no business of his. Cris
+then insisted upon knowing, but Rupert only laughed at him; and so Cris,
+in his petty spite, paid him out for it, and made the day one long
+humiliation to Rupert. Rupert reached home at last, and took tea with
+the family. He kissed Mrs. Chattaway ten times, and whispered to her
+that he had kept counsel, and would never, never, for her sake, be late
+again.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV
+
+AN ILL-STARRED CHASTISEMENT
+
+
+It was growing dark on this same night, and Rupert Trevlyn stood in the
+rick-yard, talking to Jim Sanders. Rupert had been paying a visit to his
+pony in the stable, to see that it was alive after the exercise the
+girls had given it,--not a little, by all accounts. The nearest way from
+the stables to the front of the house was through the rick-yard, and
+Rupert was returning from his visit of inspection when he came upon Jim
+Sanders, leaning against a hay-rick. Mr. Jim had stolen up to the Hold
+on a little private matter of his own. In his arms was a little black
+puppy, very, very young, as might be known by the faint squeaks it made.
+
+"Jim! Is that you?" exclaimed Rupert, having some trouble to discern who
+it was in the fading light. "What have you got squeaking there?"
+
+Jim displayed the little animal. "He's only a few days old, sir," said
+he, "but he's a fine fellow. Just look at his ears!"
+
+"How am I to see?" rejoined Rupert. "It's almost pitch dark."
+
+"Stop a bit," said Jim, producing a sort of torch from under his
+smock-frock, and by some contrivance setting it alight. The wood blazed
+away, sending up its flame in the yard, but they advanced into the open
+space, away from the ricks and danger. These torches, cut from a
+peculiar wood, were common enough in the neighbourhood, and were found
+very useful on a dark night by those who had to go about any outdoor
+work. They gave the light of a dozen candles, and were not extinguished
+with every breath of wind. Dangerous things for a rick-yard, you will
+say: and so they were, in incautious hands.
+
+They moved to a safe spot at some distance from the ricks. The puppy lay
+in Rupert's arms now, and he took the torch in his hand, whilst he
+examined it. But not a minute had they thus stood, when some one came
+upon them with hasty steps. It was Mr. Chattaway. He had, no doubt, just
+returned from Blackstone, and was going in after leaving his horse in
+the stable. Jim Sanders disappeared, but Rupert stood his ground, the
+lighted torch still in his one hand, the puppy lying in the other.
+
+"What are you doing here?" angrily demanded Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"Not much," said Rupert. "I was only looking at this little puppy,"
+showing it to Mr. Chattaway.
+
+The puppy did not concern Mr. Chattaway. It could not work him treason,
+and Rupert was at liberty to look at it if he chose; but Mr. Chattaway
+would not let the opportunity slip of questioning him on another matter.
+It was the first time they had met, remember, since that little episode
+which had so disturbed Mr. Chattaway in the morning--the finding of
+Rupert's boots.
+
+"Pray where did you spend last evening?" he began.
+
+"At the parsonage," freely answered Rupert; and Mr. Chattaway detected,
+or fancied he detected, defiance in the voice, which, to his ears, could
+only mean treason. "It was Mr. Daw's last evening there, and he asked me
+to spend it with him."
+
+Mr. Chattaway saw no way of entering opposition to this; he could not
+abuse him for taking tea at the parsonage; could not well forbid it in
+the future. "What time did you come home?" he continued.
+
+"It was eleven o'clock," avowed Rupert. "I went with Mr. Daw to the
+station to see him off, and the train was behind time. I thought it was
+coming up every minute, or I would not have stayed."
+
+Mr. Chattaway had known as much before. "How did you get in?" he asked.
+
+Rupert hesitated for a moment before speaking. "I was let in."
+
+"I conclude you were. By whom?"
+
+"I would rather not tell."
+
+"But I choose that you shall tell."
+
+"No," said Rupert. "I can't tell, Mr. Chattaway."
+
+"But I insist on your telling," thundered Chattaway. "I order you to
+tell."
+
+He lifted his riding-whip menacingly as he spoke. Rupert stood his
+ground fearlessly, the expression of his face showing out calm and firm,
+as the torchlight fell upon it.
+
+"Do you defy me, Rupert Trevlyn?"
+
+"I don't wish to defy you, sir, but it is quite impossible that I can
+tell you who let me in last night. It would not be fair, or honourable."
+
+His refusal may have looked like defiance to Mr. Chattaway, but in point
+of fact it was dictated by a far different feeling--regard for his aunt
+Edith. Had any one else in the Hold admitted him, he might have
+confessed it, under Mr. Chattaway's stern command; but he would have
+died rather than bring _her_, whom he so loved, into trouble with her
+husband.
+
+"Once more, sir, I ask you--will you tell me?"
+
+"No, I will not," answered Rupert, with that quiet determination which
+creates its own firmness more surely than any bravado. Better for him
+that he had told! better even for Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+Mr. Chattaway caught Rupert by the shoulder, lifted his whip, and struck
+him--struck him not once, but several times. The last stroke caught his
+face, raising a thick weal across it; and then Mr. Chattaway, his work
+done, walked quickly away towards his house, never speaking, the whip
+resting quietly in his hand.
+
+Alas, for the Trevlyn temper! Maddened by the outrage, smarting under
+the pain, the unhappy Rupert lost all self-command. Passion had never
+overcome him as it overcame him now. He knew not what he did; he was as
+one insane; in fact, he was insane for the time being--irresponsible
+(may it not be said?) for his actions. With a yell of rage he picked up
+the torch, then blazing on the ground, dashed into the rick-yard as one
+possessed, and thrust the torch into the nearest rick. Then leaping the
+opposite palings, he tore away across the fields.
+
+Jim Sanders had been a witness to this: and to describe Jim's
+consternation would be beyond the power of any pen. Standing in the
+darkness, out of reach of Mr. Chattaway's eyes, he had heard and seen
+all. Snatching the torch out of the rick--for the force with which
+Rupert had driven it in kept it there--Jim pulled out with his hands the
+few bits of hay already ignited, stamped on them, and believed the
+danger to be over. Next, he began to look for his puppy.
+
+"Mr. Rupert can't have taken it off with him," soliloquised he, pacing
+the rick-yard dubiously with his torch, eyes and ears on the alert. "He
+couldn't jump over them palings with that there puppy in his arms. It's
+a wonder that a delicate one like him could jump 'em at all, and come
+clean over 'em."
+
+Mr. Jim Sanders was right: it was a wonder, for the palings were high.
+But it is known how strong madmen are, and I have told you that Rupert
+was mad at that moment.
+
+Jim's search was interrupted by fresh footsteps, and Bridget, the maid
+you saw in the morning talking to Mr. Chattaway, accosted him. She was a
+cousin of Jim's, three or four years older than he; but Jim was very
+fond of her, in a rustic fashion, deeming the difference of age nothing,
+and was always finding his way to the Hold with some mark of good will.
+
+"Now, then! What do you want to-night?" cried she, for it was the
+pleasure of her life to snub him. "Hatch comes in just now, and says,
+'Jim Sanders is in the rick-yard, Bridget, a-waiting for you.' I'll make
+you know better, young Jim, than send me in messages before a
+kitchen-ful."
+
+"I've brought you a little present, Bridget," answered Jim,
+deprecatingly; and it was this offering which had taken Jim to the Hold.
+"The beautifullest puppy you ever see--if you'll accept him; black and
+shiny as a lump of coal. Leastways, I had brought him," he added,
+ruefully. "But he's gone, and I can't find him."
+
+Bridget had a weakness for puppies--as Jim knew; consequently, the
+concluding part of his information was not agreeable to her.
+
+"You have brought me the beautifullest puppy--and have lost him and
+can't find him! What d'ye mean by that, Jim? Can't you speak sense, so
+as a body may understand?"
+
+Jim supposed he had worded his communication imperfectly. "There's been
+a row here," he explained, "and it frighted me so that I dun know what I
+be saying. The master took his riding-whip to Mr. Rupert and
+horsewhipped him."
+
+"The master!" uttered the girl. "What! Mr. Chattaway?"
+
+"He come through the yard when I was with Mr. Rupert a-showing him the
+puppy, and they had words, and the master horsewhipped him. I stood
+round the corner frighted to death for fear Chattaway should see me. And
+Mr. Rupert must have dropped the puppy somewhere, but I can't find him."
+
+"Where is Mr. Rupert? How did it end?"
+
+"He dashed into the yard across to them palings, and leaped 'em clean,"
+responded Jim. "And he'd not have cleared 'em with the puppy in his
+arms, so I know it must be somewhere about. And he a'most set that there
+rick a-fire first," the boy added, in a whisper, pointing in the
+direction of the particular rick, from which they had strayed in Jim's
+search. "I pretty nigh dropped when I saw it catch alight."
+
+Bridget felt awed, yet uncertain. "How could he set a rick a-fire,
+stupid?" she cried.
+
+"With the torch. I had lighted it to show him the puppy, and he had it
+in his hand; had it in his hand when Chattaway began to horsewhip him,
+but he dropped it then; and when Chattaway went away, Mr. Rupert picked
+it up and pushed it into the rick."
+
+"I don't like to hear this," said the girl, shivering. "Suppose the
+rick-yard had been set a-fire! Which rick was it? It mayn't----"
+
+"Just hush a minute, Bridget!" suddenly interrupted Jim. "There he is!"
+
+"There's who?" asked she, peering around in the darkness. "Not master!"
+
+"Law, Bridget! I meant the puppy. Can't you hear him? Them squeaks is
+his."
+
+Guided towards the sound, Jim at length found the poor little animal. It
+was lying close to the spot where Rupert had leaped the palings. The boy
+took it up, fondling it almost as a mother would fondle a child.
+
+"See his glossy skin, Bridget! feel how sleek it is! He'll lap milk out
+of a saucer now! I tried him----"
+
+A scream from Bridget. Jim seemed to come in for nothing but shocks to
+his nerves this evening, and almost dropped the puppy again. For it was
+a loud, shrill, prolonged scream, carrying a strange amount of terror as
+it went forth in the still night air.
+
+Meanwhile Mr. Chattaway had entered his house. Some of the children who
+were in the drawing-room heard him and went into the hall to welcome him
+after his long day's absence. But they were startled by the pallor of
+his countenance; it looked perfectly livid as the light of the hall-lamp
+fell upon it. Mr. Chattaway could not inflict such chastisement on
+Rupert without its emotional effects telling upon himself. He took off
+his hat, and laid his whip upon the table.
+
+"We thought you would be home before this, papa."
+
+"Where's your mother?" he rejoined, paying no attention to their remark.
+
+"She is upstairs in her sitting-room."
+
+Mr. Chattaway turned to the staircase and ascended. Mrs. Chattaway was
+not in her room; but the sound of voices in Miss Diana's guided him to
+where he should find her. This sitting-room, devoted exclusively to Miss
+Diana Trevlyn, was on the side of the house next the rick-yard and
+farm-buildings, which it overlooked.
+
+The apartment was almost in darkness; the fire had dimmed, and neither
+lamp nor candles had been lighted. Mrs. Chattaway and Miss Diana sat
+there conversing together.
+
+"Who is this?" cried the former, looking round. "Oh, is it you, James? I
+did not know you were home again. What a fine day you have had for
+Whitterbey!"
+
+Mr. Chattaway growled something about the day not having been
+particularly fine.
+
+"Did you buy the stock you thought of buying?" asked Miss Diana.
+
+"I bought some," he said, rather sulkily. "Prices ran high to-day."
+
+"You are home late," she resumed.
+
+"I came round by Blackstone."
+
+It was evident by his tone and manner that he was in one of his least
+genial humours. Both ladies knew from experience that the wisest plan at
+those times was to leave him to himself, and they resumed their own
+converse. Mr. Chattaway stood with his back to them, his hands in his
+pockets, his eyes peering into the dark night. Not in reality looking at
+anything, or attempting to look; he was far too deeply engaged with his
+thoughts to attend to outward things.
+
+He was beginning very slightly to repent of the horsewhipping, to doubt
+whether it might not have been more prudent had he abstained from
+inflicting it. As many more of us do, when we awake to reflection after
+some act committed in anger. If Rupert _was_ to be dreaded; if he, in
+connection with others, was hatching treason, this outrage would only
+make him a more bitter enemy. Better, perhaps, not to have gone to the
+extremity.
+
+But it was done; it could not be undone; and to regret it were worse
+than useless. Mr. Chattaway began thinking of the point which had led to
+it--the refusal of Rupert to say who had admitted him. This at least Mr.
+Chattaway determined to ascertain.
+
+"Did either of you let in Rupert last night?" he suddenly inquired,
+looking round.
+
+"No, we did not," promptly replied Miss Diana, answering for Mrs.
+Chattaway as well as for herself, which she believed she was perfectly
+safe in doing. "He was not in until eleven, I hear; we went up to bed
+long before that."
+
+"Then who did let him in?" exclaimed Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"One of the servants, of course," rejoined Miss Diana.
+
+"But they say they did not," he answered.
+
+"Have you asked them all?"
+
+No. Mr. Chattaway remembered that he had not asked them all, and he came
+to the conclusion that one of them must have been the culprit. He turned
+to the window again, standing sulkily as before, and vowing in his own
+mind that the offender, whether man or woman, should be summarily turned
+out of the Hold.
+
+"If you have been to Blackstone, you have heard that the inquest is
+over, James," observed Mrs. Chattaway, anxious to turn the conversation
+from the subject of last night. "Did you hear the verdict?"
+
+"I heard it," he growled.
+
+"It is not an agreeable verdict," remarked Miss Diana. "Better you had
+made these improvements in the mine--as I urged upon you long ago--than
+wait to be forced to do them."
+
+"I am not forced yet," retorted Chattaway. "They must----Halloa! What's
+that?"
+
+His sudden exclamation called them both to the window. A bright light, a
+blaze, was shooting up into the sky. At the same moment a shrill scream
+of terror--the scream from Bridget--arose with it.
+
+"The rick-yard!" exclaimed Miss Diana. "It is on fire!"
+
+Mr. Chattaway stood for an instant as one paralysed. The next he was
+leaping down the stairs, something like a yell bursting from him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI
+
+THE FIRE
+
+
+There is a terror which shakes man's equanimity to its foundation--and
+that terror fell upon Trevlyn Hold. At the evening hour its inmates were
+sitting in idleness; the servants gossiping quietly in the kitchen, the
+girls lingering over the fire in the drawing-room; when those terrible
+sounds disturbed them. With a simultaneous movement, all flew to the
+hall, only to see Mr. Chattaway leaping down the stairs, followed by his
+wife and Miss Diana Trevlyn.
+
+"What is it? What is the matter?"
+
+"The rick-yard is on fire!"
+
+None knew who answered. It was not Mr. Chattaway's voice; it was not
+their mother's; it did not sound like Miss Diana's. A startled pause,
+and they ran out to the rick-yard, a terrified group. Little Edith
+Chattaway, a most excitable girl, fell into hysterics, and added to the
+confusion of the scene.
+
+The blaze was shooting upwards, and men were coming from the
+out-buildings, giving vent to their dismay in various exclamations. One
+voice was heard distinctly above all the rest--that of Miss Diana
+Trevlyn.
+
+"Who has done this? It must have been purposely set on fire."
+
+She turned sharply on the group of servants as she spoke, as if
+suspecting one of them. The blaze fell on their alarmed faces, and they
+visibly recoiled; not from any consciousness of guilt, but from the
+general sense of fear which lay upon all. One of the grooms spoke
+impulsively.
+
+"I heard voices not a minute ago in the rick-yard," he cried. "I was
+going across the top there to fetch a bucket of water from the pump, and
+heard 'em talking. One was a woman's. I saw a light, too."
+
+The women-servants were grouped together, staring helplessly at the
+blaze. Miss Diana directed her attention particularly to them: she
+possessed a ready perception, and detected such unmistakable signs of
+terror in the face of one of them, that she drew a rapid conclusion. It
+was not the expression of general alarm, seen on the countenance of the
+rest; but a lively, conscious terror. The girl endeavoured to draw
+behind, out of sight of Miss Diana.
+
+Miss Diana laid her hand upon her. It was Bridget, the kitchenmaid. "You
+know something of this!"
+
+Bridget burst into tears. A more complete picture of helpless fear than
+she presented at that moment could not well be drawn. In her apron was
+something hidden.
+
+"What have you got there?" sharply continued Miss Diana, whose thoughts
+may have flown to incendiary adjuncts.
+
+Bridget, unable to speak, turned down the apron and disclosed a little
+black puppy, which began to whine. There was nothing very guilty about
+that.
+
+"Were you in the rick-yard?" questioned Miss Diana; "was it your voice
+Sam heard?" And Bridget was too frightened to deny it.
+
+"Then, what were you doing? What brought you in the rick-yard at all?"
+
+Mrs. Chattaway, timid Mrs. Chattaway, trembling almost as much as
+Bridget, but who had compassion for every one in distress, came to the
+rescue. "Don't, Diana," she said. "I am sure Bridget is too honest a
+girl to have taken part in anything so dreadful as this. The rick may
+have got heated and taken fire spontaneously."
+
+"No, Madam, I'd die before I'd do such a thing," sobbed Bridget,
+responding to the kindness. "If I was in the rick-yard, I wasn't doing
+no harm--and I'm sure I'd rather have went a hundred miles the other way
+if I'd thought what was going to happen. I turned sick with fright when
+I saw the flame burst out."
+
+"Was it you who screamed?" inquired Miss Diana.
+
+"I did scream, ma'am. I couldn't help it."
+
+"Diana," whispered Mrs. Chattaway, "you may see she's innocent."
+
+"Yes, most likely; but there's something behind for all that," replied
+Miss Diana, decisively. "Bridget, I mean to come to the bottom of this
+business, and the sooner you explain it, the less trouble you'll get
+into. I ask what took you to the rick-yard?"
+
+"It wasn't no harm, ma'am, as Madam says," sobbed Bridget, evidently
+very unwilling to enter on the explanation. "I never did no harm in
+going there, nor thought none."
+
+"Then it is the more easily told," responded Miss Diana. "Do you hear
+me? What business took you to the rick-yard, and who were you talking
+to?"
+
+There appeared to be no help for it; Bridget had felt this from the
+first; she should have to confess to her rustic admirer's stolen visit.
+And Bridget, whilst liking him in her heart, was intensely ashamed of
+him, from his being so much younger than herself.
+
+"Ma'am, I only came into it for a minute to speak to a young boy; my
+cousin, Jim Sanders. Hatch came into the kitchen and said Jim wanted to
+see me, and I came out. That's all--if it was the last word I had to
+speak," she added, with a burst of grief.
+
+"And what did Jim Sanders want with you?" pursued Miss Diana, sternly.
+
+"It was to show me this puppy," returned Bridget, not choosing to
+confess that the small animal was brought as a present. "Jim seemed
+proud of it, ma'am, and brought it up for me to see."
+
+A very innocent confession; plausible also; and Miss Diana saw no reason
+for disbelieving it. But she was one who liked to be on the sure side,
+and when corroborative testimony was to be had, did not allow it to
+escape her. "One of you find Hatch," she said, addressing the maids.
+
+Hatch was found with the men-servants and labourers, who were tumbling
+over each other in their endeavours to carry water to the rick under the
+frantic directions of their master. He came up to Miss Diana.
+
+"Did you go into the kitchen, and tell Bridget Jim Sanders wanted her in
+the rick-yard?" she questioned.
+
+I think it has been mentioned once before that this man, Hatch, was too
+simple to answer anything but the straightforward truth. He replied that
+he did so; had been called to by Jim Sanders as he was passing along the
+rick-yard near the stables, who asked him to go to the house and send
+out Bridget.
+
+"Did he say what he wanted with her?" continued Miss Diana.
+
+"Not to me," replied Hatch. "It ain't nothing new for that there boy to
+come up and ask for Bridget, ma'am. He's always coming up for her, Jim
+is. They be cousins."
+
+A well-meant speech, no doubt, on Hatch's part; but Bridget would have
+liked to box his ears for it there and then. Miss Diana, sufficiently
+large-hearted, saw no reason to object to Mr. Jim's visits, provided
+they were paid at proper times and seasons, when the girl was not at her
+work. "Was any one with Jim Sanders?" she asked.
+
+"Not as I saw, ma'am. As I was coming back after telling Bridget, I see
+Jim a-waiting there, alone. He----"
+
+"How could you see him? Was it not too dark?" interrupted Miss Diana.
+
+"Not then. Bridget kep' him waiting ever so long afore she came out. Jim
+must a' been a good half-hour altogether in the yard; 'twas that, I
+know, from the time he called me till the blaze burst out. But Jim might
+have went away afore that," added Hatch, reflectively.
+
+"That's all, Hatch; make haste back again," said Miss Diana. "Now,
+Bridget, was Jim Sanders in the yard when the flames broke out, or was
+he not?"
+
+"Yes, ma'am, he was there."
+
+"Then if any suspicious characters got into the rick-yard, he would no
+doubt have seen them," thought Miss Diana, to herself. "Do you know who
+did set it on fire?" she impatiently asked.
+
+Bridget's face, which had regained some of its colour, grew white again.
+Should she dare to tell what she had heard about Rupert? "I did not see
+it done," she gasped.
+
+"Come, Bridget, this will not do," cried Miss Diana, noting the signs.
+"There's more behind, I see. Where's Jim Sanders?"
+
+She looked around as she spoke but Jim was certainly not in sight. "Do
+you know where he is?" she sharply resumed.
+
+Instead of answering, Bridget was taken with a fresh fit of shivering.
+It amazed Miss Diana considerably.
+
+"Did Jim do it?" she sharply asked.
+
+"No, no," answered Bridget. "When I got to Jim he had somehow lost the
+puppy"--glancing down at her apron--"and we had to look about for it. It
+was just in the minute he found it that the flames broke forth. Jim was
+showing of it to me, ma'am, and started like anything when I shrieked
+out."
+
+"And what has become of Jim?"
+
+"I don't know," sobbed Bridget. "Jim seemed like one dazed when he
+turned and saw the blaze. He stood a minute looking at it, and I could
+see his face turn all of a fright; and then he flung the puppy into my
+arms and scrambled off over the palings, never speaking a word."
+
+Miss Diana paused. There was something suspicious in Jim's making off in
+the manner described; it struck her so at once. On the other hand she
+had known Jim from his infancy--known him to be harmless and
+inoffensive.
+
+"An honest lad would have remained to see what assistance he could
+render towards putting it out, not have run off in that cowardly way,"
+spoke Miss Diana. "I don't like the look of this."
+
+Bridget made no reply. She was beginning to wish the ground would open
+and swallow her up for a convenient half-hour; wished Jim Sanders had
+been buried also before he had brought this trouble upon her. Miss
+Diana, Madam, and the young ladies were surrounding her; the
+maid-servants began to edge away suspiciously; even Edith had dismissed
+her hysterics to stare at Bridget.
+
+Cris Chattaway came leaping past them. Cris, who had been leisurely
+making his way to the Hold when the flames broke out, had just come up,
+and after a short conference with his father, was now running to the
+stables. "You are a fleet horseman, Cris," Mr. Chattaway had said to
+him: "get the engines here from Barmester." And Cris was hastening to
+mount a horse, and ride away on the errand.
+
+Mrs. Chattaway caught his arm as he passed. "Oh, Cris, this is dreadful!
+What can have caused it?"
+
+"What?" returned Cris, in savage tones--not, however, meant for his
+mother, but induced by the subject. "Don't you know what has caused it?
+He ought to swing for it, the felon!"
+
+Mrs. Chattaway in her surprise connected his words with what she had
+just been listening to. "Cris!--do you mean----It never could have been
+Jim Sanders!"
+
+"Jim Sanders!" slightingly spoke Cris. "What should have put Jim Sanders
+into your head, mother? No; it was your favoured nephew, Rupert
+Trevlyn!"
+
+Mrs. Chattaway broke into a cry as the words came from his lips. Maude
+started a step forward, her face full of indignant protestation; and
+Miss Diana imperiously demanded what he meant.
+
+"Don't stop me," said Cris. "Rupert Trevlyn was in the yard with a torch
+just before it broke out, and he must have set it on fire."
+
+"It can't be, Cris!" exclaimed Mrs. Chattaway, in accents of intense
+pain, arresting her son as he was speeding away. "Who says this?"
+
+Cris twisted himself from her. "I can't stop, mother, I say. I am going
+for the engines. You had better ask my father; it was he told me. It's
+true enough. Who _would_ do it, except Rupert?"
+
+The shaft lanced at Rupert struck to the heart of Mrs. Chattaway;
+unpleasantly on the ear of Miss Diana Trevlyn: was anything but
+agreeable to the women-servants. Rupert was liked in the household, Cris
+hated. One of the latter spoke up in her zeal.
+
+"It's well to try to throw it off the shoulders of Jim Sanders on to Mr.
+Rupert! Jim Sanders----"
+
+"And what have you to say agin' Jim Sanders?" interrupted Bridget,
+fearing, it may be, that the crime should be fastened on him. "Perhaps
+if I had spoken my mind, I could have told it was Mr. Rupert as well as
+others could; perhaps Jim Sanders could have told it, too. At any rate,
+it wasn't----"
+
+"What is that, Bridget?"
+
+The quiet but imperative interruption came from Miss Diana. Excitement
+was overpowering Bridget. "It was Mr. Rupert, ma'am; Jim saw him fire
+it."
+
+"Diana! Diana! I feel ill," gasped Mrs. Chattaway, in faint tones. "Let
+me go to him; I cannot breathe under this suspense."
+
+She meant her husband. Pressing across the crowded rick-yard--for
+people, aroused by the sight of the flames, were coming up now in
+numbers--she succeeded in reaching Mr. Chattaway. Maude, scared to
+death, followed her closely. She caught him just as he had taken a
+bucket of water to hand on to some one standing next him in the line,
+causing him to spill it. Mr. Chattaway turned with a passionate word.
+
+"What do you want here?" he roughly asked, although he saw it was his
+wife.
+
+"James, tell me," she whispered. "I felt sick with suspense, and could
+not wait. What did Cris mean by saying it was Rupert?"
+
+"There's not a shadow of doubt that it was Rupert," answered Mr.
+Chattaway. "He has done it out of revenge."
+
+"Revenge for what?"
+
+"For the horsewhipping I gave him. When I joined you upstairs just now,
+I came straight from it. I horsewhipped him on this very spot,"
+continued Mr. Chattaway, as if it afforded him satisfaction to repeat
+the avowal. "He had a torch with him, and I--like a fool--left it with
+him, never thinking of consequences, or that he might use it in the
+service of felony. He must have fired the rick in revenge."
+
+Mrs. Chattaway had been gradually drawing away from the heat of the
+blaze; from the line formed to pass buckets for water on to the flames,
+which crackled and roared on high; from the crowd and confusion
+prevailing around the spot. Mr. Chattaway had drawn with her, leaving
+his place in the line to be filled by another. She fell against a
+distant rick, sick unto death.
+
+"Oh, James! Why did you horsewhip him? What had he done?"
+
+"I horsewhipped him for insolence; for bearding me to my face. I bade
+him tell me who let him in last night when he returned home, and he set
+me at defiance by refusing to tell. One of my servants must be a
+traitor, and Rupert is screening him."
+
+A great cry escaped her. "Oh, what have you done? It was I who let him
+in."
+
+"_You!_" foamed Mr. Chattaway. "It is not true," he added, the next
+moment. "You are striving also to deceive me--to defend him."
+
+"It is true," she answered. "I saw him come to the house from my
+dressing-room window, and I went down the back-stairs and opened the
+door for him. If he refused to betray me, it was done in good feeling,
+out of love for me, lest you should reproach me. And you have
+horsewhipped him for it!--you have goaded him on to this crime! Oh,
+Rupert! my darling Rupert!"
+
+Mr. Chattaway turned impatiently away; he had no time to waste on
+sentiment when his ricks were burning. His wife detained him.
+
+"It has been a wretched mistake altogether, James," she whispered. "Say
+you will forgive him--forgive him for my sake!"
+
+"Forgive him!" repeated Mr. Chattaway, his voice assuming quite a
+hissing angry sound. "Forgive this? Never. I'll prosecute him to the
+extremity of the law; I'll try hard to get him condemned to penal
+servitude. Forgive _this_! You are out of your mind, Madam Chattaway."
+
+Her breath was coming shortly, her voice rose amidst sobs, and she
+entwined her arms about him caressingly, imploringly, in her agony of
+distress and terror.
+
+"For my sake, my husband! It would kill me to see it brought home to
+him. He must have been overcome by a fit of the Trevlyn temper. Oh,
+James! forgive him for my sake."
+
+"I never will," deliberately replied Mr. Chattaway. "I tell you that I
+will prosecute him to the utmost limit of the law; I swear it. In an
+hour's time from this he shall be in custody."
+
+He broke from her; she staggered against the rick, and but for Maude
+might have fallen. Poor Maude, who had stood and listened, her face
+turning to stone, her heart to despair.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII
+
+A NIGHT SCENE
+
+
+Alas for the Trevlyn temper! How many times has the regret to be
+repeated! Were the world filled with lamentations for the unhappy state
+of mind to which some of its mortals give way, they could not atone for
+the ill inflicted. It is not a pleasant topic to enlarge upon, and I
+have lingered in my dislike to approach it.
+
+When Rupert leaped the palings and flew away over the field, he was
+totally incapable of self-government for the time being. I do not say
+this in extenuation. I say that such a state of things is lamentable,
+and ought not to be. I only state that it was so. The most passionate
+temper ever born with man _may_ be kept under, where the right means are
+used--prayer, ever-watchful self-control, stern determination; but how
+few there are who find the means! Rupert Trevlyn did not. He had no
+clear perception of what he had done; he probably knew he had thrust the
+blazing torch into the rick; but he gave no thought whatever to
+consequences, whether the hay was undamaged or whether it burst forth
+into a flame.
+
+He flew over the field as one possessed; he flew over a succession of
+fields; the high-road intervened, and he was passing over it in his
+reckless career, when he was met by Farmer Apperley. Not, for a moment,
+did the farmer recognise Rupert.
+
+"Hey, lad! What in the name of fortune has taken you?" cried he, laying
+his hand upon him.
+
+His face distorted with passion, his eyes starting with fury, Rupert
+tore on. He shook the farmer's hand off him, and pressed on, leaping the
+low dwarf hedge opposite, and never speaking.
+
+Mr. Apperley began to doubt whether he had not been deceived by some
+strange apparition--such, for instance, as the Flying Dutchman. He ran
+to a stile, and stood there gazing after the mad figure, which seemed to
+be rustling about without purpose; now in one part of the field, now in
+another: and Mr. Apperley rubbed his eyes and tried to penetrate more
+clearly the obscurity of the night.
+
+"It _was_ Rupert Trevlyn--if I ever saw him," decided he, at length.
+"What can have put him into this state? Perhaps he's gone mad!"
+
+The farmer, in his consternation, stood he knew not how long: ten
+minutes possibly. It was not a busy night with him, and he would as soon
+linger as go on at once to Bluck the farrier--whither he was bound. Any
+time would do for his orders to Bluck.
+
+"I can't make it out a bit," soliloquised he, when at length he turned
+away. "I'm sure it was Rupert; but what could have put him into that
+state? Halloa! what's that?"
+
+A bright light in the direction of Trevlyn Hold had caught his eye. He
+stood and gazed at it in a second state of consternation equal to that
+in which he had just gazed after Rupert Trevlyn. "If I don't believe
+it's a fire!" ejaculated he.
+
+Was every one running about madly? The words were escaping Mr.
+Apperley's lips when a second figure, white, breathless as the other,
+came flying over the road in the selfsame track. This one wore a
+smock-frock, and the farmer recognised Jim Sanders.
+
+"Why, Jim, is it you? What's up?"
+
+"Don't stop me, sir," panted Jim. "Don't you see the blaze? It's
+Chattaway's rick-yard."
+
+"Mercy on me! Chattaway's rick-yard! What has done it? Have we got the
+incendiaries in the county again?"
+
+"It was Mr. Rupert," answered Jim, dropping his voice to a whisper. "I
+see him fire it. Let me go on, please, sir."
+
+In very astonishment, Mr. Apperley loosed his hold of the boy, who went
+speeding off in the direction of Barbrook. The farmer propped his back
+against the stile, that he might gather his scared senses together.
+
+Rupert Trevlyn had set fire to the rick-yard! Had he really gone
+mad?--or was Jim Sanders mad when he said it? The farmer, slow to arrive
+at conclusions, was sorely puzzled. "The one looked as mad as the other,
+for what I saw," deliberated he. "Any way, there's the fire, and I'd
+better make my way to it: they'll want hands if they are to put that
+out. Thank God, it's a calm night!"
+
+He took the nearest way to the Hold; another helper amidst the many now
+crowding the busy scene. What a babel it was!--what a scene for a
+painting!--what a life's remembrance! The excited workers as they passed
+the buckets; the deep interjections of Mr. Chattaway; the faces of the
+lookers-on turned up to the lurid flames. Farmer Apperley, a man more
+given to deeds than words, rendered what help he could, speaking to
+none.
+
+He had been at work some time, when a shout broke simultaneously from
+the spectators. The next rick had caught fire. Mr. Chattaway uttered a
+despairing word, and the workers ceased their efforts for a few
+moments--as if paralysed with the new evil.
+
+"If the fire-engines would only come!" impatiently exclaimed Mr.
+Chattaway.
+
+Even as he spoke a faint rumbling was heard in the distance. It came
+nearer and nearer; its reckless pace proclaiming it a fire-engine. And
+Mr. Chattaway, in spite of his remark, gazed at its approach with
+astonishment; for he knew there had not been time for the Barmester
+engines to arrive.
+
+It proved to be the little engine from Barbrook, one kept in the
+village. A very despised engine indeed; from its small size, one rarely
+called for; and which Mr. Chattaway had not so much as thought of, when
+sending to Barmester. On it came, bravely, as if it meant to do good
+service, and the crowd in the rick-yard welcomed it with a shout, and
+parted to make way for it.
+
+Churlish as was Mr. Chattaway's general manner, he could not avoid
+showing pleasure at its arrival. "I am glad you have come!" he
+exclaimed. "It never occurred to me to send for you. I suppose you saw
+the flames, and came of your own accord?"
+
+"No, sir, we saw nothing," was the reply of the man addressed. "Mr.
+Ryle's lad, Jim Sanders, came for us. I never see a chap in such
+commotion; he a'most got the engine ready himself."
+
+The mention of Jim Sanders caused a buzz around. Bridget's assertion
+that the offender was Rupert Trevlyn had been whispered and commented
+upon; and if some were found to believe the whisper, others scornfully
+rejected it. There was Mr. Chattaway's assertion also; but Mr.
+Chattaway's ill-will to Rupert was remembered that night, and the
+assertion was doubtfully received. A meddlesome voice interrupted the
+fireman.
+
+"Jim Sanders! why 'twas he fired it. There ain't no doubt he did. Little
+wonder he seemed frighted."
+
+"Did he fire it?" interrupted Farmer Apperley, eagerly. "What, Jim? Why,
+what possessed him to do such a thing? I met him just now, looking
+frightened out of his life, and he laid the guilt on Rupert Trevlyn."
+
+"Hush, Mr. Apperley!" whispered a voice at his elbow, and the farmer
+turned to see George Ryle. The latter, with an almost imperceptible
+movement, directed his attention to the right: the livid face of Mrs.
+Chattaway. As one paralysed stood she, her hands clasped as she
+listened.
+
+"Yes, it was Mr. Rupert," protested Bridget, with a sob. "Jim Sanders
+told me he watched Mr. Rupert thrust the lighted torch into the rick. He
+seemed not to know what he was about, Jim said; seemed to do it in
+madness."
+
+"Hold your tongue, Bridget," interposed a sharp commanding voice. "Have
+I not desired you already to do so? It is not upon the hearsay evidence
+of Jim Sanders that you can accuse Mr. Rupert."
+
+The speaker was Miss Diana Trevlyn. In good truth, Miss Diana did not
+believe Rupert could have been guilty of the act. It had been disclosed
+that the torch in the rick-yard belonged to Jim Sanders, had been
+brought there by him, and she deemed that fact suspicious against Jim.
+Miss Diana had arrived unwillingly at the conclusion that Jim Sanders
+had set the rick on fire by accident; and in his fright had accused
+Rupert, to screen himself. She imparted her view of the affair to Mr.
+Apperley.
+
+"Like enough," was the response of Mr. Apperley. "Some of these boys
+have no more caution in 'em than if they were children of two years old.
+But what could have put Rupert into such a state? If anybody ever looked
+insane, he did to-night."
+
+"When?" asked Miss Diana, eagerly, and Mrs. Chattaway pressed nearer
+with her troubled countenance.
+
+"It was just before I came up here. I was on my way to Bluck's and
+someone with a white face, breathless and panting, broke through the
+hedge right across my path. I did not know him at first; he didn't look
+a bit like Rupert; but when I saw who it was, I tried to stop him, and
+asked what was the matter. He shook me off, went over the opposite hedge
+like a wild animal, and there tore about the field. If he had been an
+escaped lunatic from the county asylum, he couldn't have run at greater
+speed."
+
+"Did he say nothing?" a voice interrupted.
+
+"Not a word," replied the farmer. "He seemed unable to speak. Well,
+before I had digested that shock, there came another, flying up in the
+same mad state, and that was Jim Sanders. I stopped _him_. Nearly at the
+same time, or just before it, I had seen a light shoot up into the sky.
+Jim said as well as he could speak for fright, that the rick-yard was on
+fire, and Mr. Rupert had set it alight."
+
+"At all events, the mischief seems to lie between them," remarked some
+voices around.
+
+There would have been no time for this desultory conversation--at least,
+for the gentlemen's share in it--but that the fire-engine had put a stop
+to their efforts. It had planted itself on the very spot where the line
+had been formed, scattering those who had taken part in it, and was
+rapidly getting itself into working order. The flames were shooting up
+terribly now, and Mr. Chattaway was rushing here, there, and everywhere,
+in his frantic but impotent efforts to subdue them. He was not insured.
+
+George Ryle approached Mrs. Chattaway, and bent over her, a strange tone
+of kindness in his every word: it seemed to suggest how conscious he was
+of the great sorrow that was coming upon her. "I wish you would let me
+take you indoors," he whispered. "Indeed it is not well for you to be
+here."
+
+"Where is he?" she gasped, in answer. "Could you find him, and remove
+him from danger?"
+
+A sure conviction had been upon her from the very moment that her
+husband had avowed his chastisement of Rupert--the certainty that it was
+he, Rupert, and no other who had done the mischief. Her own
+brothers--but chiefly her brother Rupert--had been guilty of one or two
+acts almost as mad in their passion. He could not help his temper, she
+reasoned--some, perhaps, may say wrongly; and if Mr. Chattaway had
+provoked him by that sharp, insulting punishment, he, more than Rupert,
+was in fault.
+
+"I would die to save him, George," she whispered. "I would give all I am
+worth to save him from the consequences. Mr. Chattaway says he will
+prosecute him to the last."
+
+"I am quite sure you will be ill if you stay here," remonstrated George,
+for she was shivering from head to foot; not, however, with cold, but
+with emotion. "I will go with you to the house, and talk to you there."
+
+"To the house!" she repeated. "Do you suppose I could remain in the
+house to-night? Look at them; they are all out here."
+
+She pointed to her children; to the women-servants. It was even so: all
+were out there. Mr. Chattaway, in passing, had once or twice sharply
+demanded what they, a pack of women, did in such a scene, and the women
+had drawn away at the rebuke, but only to come forward again. Perhaps it
+was not in human nature to keep wholly away from that region of
+excitement.
+
+A half-exclamation of fear escaped Mrs. Chattaway's lips, and she
+pressed a few steps onwards.
+
+Holding a close and apparently private conference with Mr. Apperley, was
+Bowen, the superintendent of the very slight staff of police stationed
+in the place. As a general rule, these rustic districts are too
+peaceable to require much supervision from the men in blue.
+
+"Mr. Apperley, you will not turn against him!" she implored, from
+between her fevered and trembling lips; and in good truth, Mrs.
+Chattaway gave indications of being almost as much beside herself that
+night as the unhappy Rupert. "Is Bowen asking you where you saw Rupert,
+that he may go and search for him? Do not _you_ turn against him!"
+
+"My dear, good lady, I haven't a thing to tell," returned Mr. Apperley,
+looking at her in surprise, for her manner was strange. "Bowen heard me
+say, as others heard, that Mr. Rupert was in the Brook field when I came
+from it. But I have nothing else to tell of him; and he may not be there
+now. It's hardly likely he would be."
+
+Mrs. Chattaway lifted her white face to Bowen. "You will not take him?"
+she imploringly whispered.
+
+The man shook his head--he was an intelligent officer, much respected in
+the neighbourhood--and answered her in the same low tone. "I can't help
+myself, ma'am. When charges are given to us, we are obliged to take
+cognisance of them, and to arrest, if need be, those implicated."
+
+"Has this charge been given you?"
+
+"Yes, this half-hour ago. I was up here almost with the breaking out of
+the flames, for I happened to be close by, and Mr. Chattaway made his
+formal complaint to me, and put it in my care."
+
+Her heart sank within her. "And you are looking for him?"
+
+"Chigwell is," replied the superintendent, alluding to a constable. "And
+Dumps has gone after Jim Sanders."
+
+"Thank Heaven!" exclaimed a voice at her elbow. It was that of George
+Ryle; and Mrs. Chattaway turned in amazement. But George's words had not
+borne reference to her, or to anything she was saying.
+
+"It is beginning to rain," he exclaimed. "A fine, steady rain would do
+us more good than the engines. What does that noise mean?"
+
+A murmur of excitement had arisen on the opposite side of the rick-yard,
+and was spreading as fast as did the flame. George looked in vain for
+its cause: he was very tall, and raised himself on tiptoe to see the
+better: as yet without result.
+
+But not for long. The cause soon showed itself. Pushing his way through
+the rick-yard, pale, subdued, quiet now, came Rupert Trevlyn. Not in
+custody; not fettered; not passionate; only very worn and weary, as if
+he had undergone some painful amount of fatigue. It was only that the
+fit of passion had left him; he was worn-out, powerless. In the days
+gone by it had so left his uncle Rupert.
+
+Mr. Bowen walked up, and laid his hand upon his shoulder. "I am sorry to
+do it, sir," he said, "but you are my prisoner."
+
+"I can't help it," wearily responded Rupert.
+
+But what brought Rupert Trevlyn back into the very camp of the
+Philistines? In his terrible passion, he had partly fallen to the
+ground, partly flung himself down in the field where Mr. Apperley saw
+him, and there lay until the passion abated. After a time he sat up,
+bent his head upon his knees, and revolved what had passed. How long he
+might have stayed there, it is impossible to say, but that shouts and
+cries in the road aroused him, and he looked up to see that red light,
+and men running in its direction. He went and questioned them. "The
+rick-yard at the Hold was on fire!"
+
+An awful consciousness came across him that it was _his_ work. It is a
+fact, that he did not positively remember what he had done: that is, had
+no clear recollection of it. Giving no thought to the personal
+consequences--any more than an hour before he had measured the effects
+of his work--he began to hasten to the Hold as fast as his depressed
+physical state would permit. If he had created that flame, it was only
+fair he should do what he could towards putting it out.
+
+The clouds cleared, and the rain did not fulfil its promise as George
+Ryle had fondly hoped. But the little engine from Barbrook did good
+service, and the flames were not spreading over the whole rick-yard.
+Later, the two great Barmester engines thundered up, and gave their aid
+towards extinguishing the fire.
+
+And Rupert Trevlyn was in custody for having caused it!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII
+
+NORA'S DIPLOMACY
+
+
+Amidst all the human beings collected in and about the burning rick-yard
+of Trevlyn Hold, perhaps no one was so utterly miserable, not even
+excepting the unhappy Rupert, as its mistress, Mrs. Chattaway. _He_
+stood there in custody for a dark crime; a crime for which the
+punishment only a few short years before would have been the extreme
+penalty of the law; he whom she had so loved. In her chequered life she
+had experienced moments of unhappiness than which she had thought no
+future could exceed in intensity; but had all those moments been
+concentrated into one dark and dreadful hour, it could not have equalled
+the trouble of this. Her vivid imagination leaped over the present, and
+held up to view but one appalling picture of the future--Rupert working
+in chains. Poor, unhappy, wronged Rupert! whom they had kept out of his
+rights; whom her husband had now by his ill-treatment goaded to the
+ungovernable passion which was the curse of her family: and this was the
+result.
+
+Every pulse of her heart beating with its sense of terrible wrong; every
+chord of love for Rupert strung to its utmost tension; every fear that
+an excitable imagination can depict within her, Mrs. Chattaway leaned
+against the palings in utter faintness of spirit. Her ears took in with
+unnatural quickness the comments around. She heard some hotly avowing
+their belief that Rupert was not guilty, except in the malicious fancy
+of Mr. Chattaway; heard them say that Chattaway was scared and startled
+that past day when he found Rupert was alive, instead of dead, down in
+the mine: even the more moderate observed that after all it was only Jim
+Sanders's word for it; and if Jim did not appear to confirm it, Mr.
+Rupert must be held innocent.
+
+The wonder seemed to be, where was Jim? He had not reappeared on the
+scene, and his absence certainly looked suspicious. In moments of
+intense fear, the mind receives the barest hint vividly and
+comprehensively, and Mrs. Chattaway's heart bounded within her at that
+whispered suggestion. _If Jim Sanders did not appear Rupert must be held
+innocent._ Was there no possibility of keeping Jim back? By
+persuasion--by stratagem--by force, even, if necessary? The blood
+mounted to her pale cheek at the thought, red as the lurid flame which
+lighted up the air. At that moment she saw George Ryle hastening across
+the yard near to her and glided towards him. He turned at her call.
+
+"You see! They have taken Rupert!"
+
+"Do not distress yourself, dear Mrs. Chattaway," he answered. "I wish
+you could have been persuaded not to remain in this scene: it is
+altogether unfit for you."
+
+"George," she gasped, "do _you_ believe he did it?"
+
+George Ryle did believe it. He had heard about the horsewhipping; and
+aware of that mad passion called the Trevlyn temper, he could not do
+otherwise than believe it.
+
+"Ah, don't speak!" she interrupted, perceiving his hesitation. "I see
+you condemn him, as some around us are condemning him. But," she added,
+with feverish eagerness, "there is only the word of Jim Sanders against
+him. They are saying so."
+
+"Very true," replied George, heartily desiring to give her all the
+comfort he could. "Mr. Jim must make good his words before we can
+condemn Rupert."
+
+"Jim Sanders has always been looked upon as truthful," interposed Octave
+Chattaway, who had drawn near. Surely it was ill-natured to say so at
+that moment, however indisputable the fact might be!
+
+"It has yet to be proved that Jim made the accusation," said George,
+replying to Octave. "Although Bridget asserts it, it is not obliged to
+be fact. And even if Jim did say it, he may have been mistaken. He must
+show that he was not mistaken before the magistrates to-morrow, or the
+charge will fall to the ground."
+
+"And Rupert be released?" added Mrs. Chattaway eagerly.
+
+"Certainly. At least, I suppose so."
+
+He passed on his way; Octave went back to where she had been standing,
+and Mrs. Chattaway remained alone, buried in thought.
+
+A few minutes, and she glided out of the yard. With stealthy steps, and
+eyes that glanced fearfully around her, she escaped by degrees beyond
+the crowd, and reached the open field. Then, turning an angle at a fleet
+pace, she ran against some one who was coming as swiftly up. A low cry
+escaped her. It seemed to her that the mere fact of being encountered
+like this, was sufficient to betray the wild project she had conceived.
+Conscience is very suggestive.
+
+But it was only Nora Dickson: and Nora in a state of wrath. When the
+alarm of fire reached Trevlyn Farm, its inmates had hastened to the
+scene with one accord, leaving none in the house but Nora and Mrs. Ryle.
+Mrs. Ryle, suffering from some temporary indisposition, was in bed, and
+Nora, consequently, had to stay and take care of the house, doing
+violence to her curiosity. She stood leaning over the gate, watching the
+people hasten by to the excitement from which she was excluded; and when
+the Barbrook engine thundered past, Nora's anger was unbounded. She felt
+half inclined to lock up the house, and start in the wake of the engine;
+the fierce if innocent anathemas she hurled at the head of the truant
+Nanny were something formidable; and when that damsel at length
+returned, Nora would have experienced the greatest satisfaction in
+shaking her. But the bent of her indignation changed; for Nanny, before
+Nora had had time to say so much as a word, burst forth with the news
+she had gathered at the Hold. Rupert Trevlyn fired the hay-rick because
+Mr. Chattaway had horsewhipped him.
+
+Nora's breath was taken away: wrath for her own grievance merged in the
+greater wrath she felt for Rupert's sake. Horsewhipped him? That brute
+of a Chattaway had horsewhipped Rupert Trevlyn? A burning glow rushed
+over her as she listened; a resentful denial broke from her lips: but
+Nanny persisted in her statement. Chattaway had locked out Rupert the
+previous night, and Madam, unknown to her husband, admitted him:
+Chattaway had demanded of Rupert who let him in, but Rupert, fearing to
+compromise Madam, refused to tell, and then Chattaway used the
+horsewhip.
+
+Nora waited to hear no more. She started off to the Hold in her
+indignation; not so much now to take part in the bustling scene, or to
+indulge her curiosity, as to ascertain the truth of this shameful story.
+Rupert could scarcely have felt more indignant pain at the chastisement,
+than Nora at hearing it. Close to the outer gate of the fold-yard, she
+encountered Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+A short explanation ensued. Nora, forgetting possibly that it was Mrs.
+Chattaway to whom she spoke, broke into a burst of indignation at Mr.
+Chattaway, a flood of sympathy for Rupert. It told Mrs. Chattaway that
+she might trust her, and her delicate fingers entwined themselves
+nervously around Nora's stronger ones in her hysterical emotion.
+
+"It must have been done in a fit of the Trevlyn temper, Nora," she
+whispered imploringly, as if beseeching Nora's clemency. "The temper was
+born with him, you know, and he could not help that--and to be
+horsewhipped is a terrible thing."
+
+If Nora felt inclined to doubt the report before, these words dispelled
+the doubt, and brought a momentary shock. Nora was not one to excuse or
+extenuate a crime so great as that of wilfully setting fire to a
+rick-yard: to all who have to do with farms, it is especially abhorrent,
+and Nora was no exception to the rule; but in this case by some
+ingenious sophistry of her own, she did shift the blame from Rupert's
+shoulders, and lay it on Mr. Chattaway's; and she again expressed her
+opinion of that gentleman's conduct in very plain terms.
+
+"He is in custody, Nora!" said Mrs. Chattaway with a shiver. "He is to
+be examined to-morrow before the magistrates, and they will either
+commit him for trial, or release him, according to the evidence. Should
+he be tried and condemned for it, the punishment might be penal
+servitude for life!"
+
+"Heaven help him!" ejaculated Nora in her dismay at this new feature
+presented to her view. "That would be a climax to his unhappy life!"
+
+"But if they can prove nothing against him to-morrow, the magistrates
+will not commit him," resumed Mrs. Chattaway. "There's nothing to prove
+it but Jim Sanders's word: and--Nora,"--she feverishly added--"perhaps
+we can keep Jim back?"
+
+"Jim Sanders's word!" repeated Nora, who as yet had not heard of Jim in
+connection with the affair. "What has Jim to do with it?"
+
+Mrs. Chattaway explained. She mentioned all that was said to have
+passed, Bridget's declaration, and her own miserable conviction that it
+was but too true. She just spoke of the suspicion cast on Jim by several
+doubters, but in a manner which proved the suspicion had no weight with
+her: and she told of his disappearance from the scene. "I was on my way
+to search for him," she continued; "but I don't know where to search.
+Oh, Nora, won't you help me? I would kneel to Jim, and implore him not
+to come forward against Rupert; I will be ever kind to Jim, and look
+after his welfare, if he will only hear me! I will try to bring him on
+in life."
+
+Nora, impulsive as Mrs. Chattaway, but with greater calmness of mind and
+strength of judgment, turned without a word. From that moment she
+entered heart and soul into the plot. If Jim Sanders could be kept back
+by mortal means, Nora would keep him. She revolved matters rapidly in
+her mind as she went along, but had not proceeded many steps when she
+halted, and laid her hand on the arm of her companion.
+
+"I had better go alone about this business, Madam Chattaway. If you'll
+trust to me, it shall be done--if it can be done. You'll catch your
+death, coming out with nothing on, this cold night: and I'm not sure
+that it would be well for you to be seen in it."
+
+"I must go on, Nora," was the earnest answer. "I cannot rest until I
+have found Jim. As to catching cold, I have been standing in the open
+air since the fire broke out, and have not known whether it was cold or
+hot. I am too feverish to-night for any cold to affect me."
+
+Nevertheless, she untied her black silk apron, and folded it over her
+head, concealing all her fair falling curls. Nora made no further
+remonstrance.
+
+The most obvious place to look for Jim was his own home; at least so it
+occurred to Nora. Jim had the honour of residing with his mother in a
+lonely three-cornered cottage, which boasted two rooms and a loft. It
+was a good step to it, and they walked swiftly, exchanging a sentence
+now and then in hushed tones. As they came within view of it, Nora's
+quick sight detected the head (generally a very untidy one) of Mrs.
+Sanders, airing itself at the open door.
+
+"You halt here, Madam Chattaway," she whispered, pointing to a friendly
+hedge, "and let me go on and feel my way with her. She'll be a great
+deal more difficult to deal with than Jim; and the more I reflect, the
+more I am convinced it will not do for you to be seen in it."
+
+So far, Mrs. Chattaway acquiesced. She remained under cover of the
+hedge, and Nora went on alone. But when she had really gained the door,
+it was shut; no one was there. She lifted the old-fashioned wooden
+latch, and entered. The door had no other fastening; strange as that
+fact may sound to dwellers in towns. The woman had backed against the
+further wall, and was staring at the intruder with a face of dread. Keen
+Nora noted the signs, drew a very natural deduction, and shaped her
+tactics accordingly.
+
+"Where's Jim?" began she, in decisive but not unkindly tones.
+
+"It's not true what they are saying, Miss Dickson," gasped the woman. "I
+could be upon my Bible oath that he never did it. Jim ain't of that
+wicked sort, he'd not harm a fly."
+
+"But there are such things as accidents, you know, Mrs. Sanders,"
+promptly answered Nora, who had no doubt as to her course now. "It's
+certain that he was in the rick-yard with a lighted torch; and boys, as
+everyone knows, are the most careless animals on earth. I suppose you
+have Jim in hiding?"
+
+"I haven't set eyes on Jim since night fell," the woman answered.
+
+"Look here, Mrs. Sanders, you had better avow the truth to me. I have
+come as a friend to see what can be done for Jim; and I can tell you
+that I would rather keep him in hiding--or put him into hiding, for the
+matter of that--than betray him to the police, and say, 'You'll find Jim
+Sanders so-and-so.' Tell me the whole truth, and I'll stand Jim's
+friend. He has been about our place from a little chap in petticoats,
+when he was put to hurrish the crows, and it's not likely we should want
+to harm him."
+
+Her words reassured the woman, but she persisted in her denial. "I
+declare to goodness, ma'am, that I know nothing of him," she said,
+pushing back her untidy hair. "He come in here after he left work, and
+tidied hisself a bit, and went off with one of them puppies of his; and
+he has never been back since."
+
+"Yes," said Nora. "He took the puppy to the Hold, and was showing it to
+Bridget when the fire broke out--that's the tale that's told to me. But
+Jim had a torch, they say; and torches are dangerous things in
+rick-yards----"
+
+"Jim's a fool!" was the complimentary interruption of Jim's mother. "His
+head's running wild over that flighty Bridget, as ain't worth her salt.
+I asked him what he was bringing on that puppy for, and he said for
+Bridget--and I told him he was a simpleton for his pains. And now this
+has come of it!"
+
+"How did you hear of Jim's being connected with the fire?"
+
+"I have had a dozen past here, opening their mouths," resentfully spoke
+the woman. "Some of 'em said Mr. Rupert was mixed up in it, and the
+police were after him as well as after Jim."
+
+"It is true that Mr. Rupert is said to be mixed up in it," said Nora,
+speaking with a purpose. "And he is taken into custody."
+
+"Into custody?" echoed Mrs. Sanders, in a scared whisper.
+
+"Yes; and Jim must be hidden away for the next four and twenty hours, or
+they'll take him. Where's he to be found?"
+
+"I couldn't tell you if you killed me for't," protested Mrs. Sanders;
+and her tones were earnestly truthful. "Maybe he is in hiding--has gone
+and put himself into 't in his fear of Chattaway and the police. Though
+I'll take my oath he never did it wilful. If he _had_ a torch, why, a
+spark of it might have caught a loose bit of hay and fired it: but he
+never did it wilful. It ain't a windy night, either," she added
+reflectively. "Eh! the fool that there Jim has been ever since he was
+born!"
+
+Nora paused. In the uncertainty as to where to look for Jim, she did not
+see her way very clearly to accomplishing the object in view, and took a
+few moments' rapid counsel with herself.
+
+"Listen, Mrs. Sanders, and pay attention to what I say," she cried
+impressively. "I can't do for Jim what I wanted to do, because he is not
+to be found. But now mind: should he come in after I am gone, send him
+off instantly to the farm. Tell him to dodge under the trees and hedges
+on his way, and take care that no one catches sight of him. When he gets
+to the farm, he must come to the front-door, and knock gently with his
+knuckles: I shall be in the room."
+
+"And then?" questioned Mrs. Sanders, looking puzzled.
+
+"I'll take care what then; I'll take care of _him_. Now, do you
+understand?"
+
+"Yes, yes," said the woman. "I'll be sure to do it, Miss Dickson."
+
+"Mind you do," said Nora. "And now, good-night to you."
+
+Mrs. Sanders was officiously coming to the door with the candle, to
+light her visitor; but Nora peremptorily sent her back, giving her at
+the same time a piece of advice in rather sharp tones--to keep her
+cottage dark and silent that night, lest the attention of passers-by
+might be drawn to it.
+
+It was not cheering news to carry back to poor Mrs. Chattaway. That
+timid, trembling, unhappy lady had left the shelter of the hedge--where
+she probably found her crouching position not a very easy one--and was
+standing behind the trunk of a tree at a little distance, her whole
+weight leaning upon it. To stand long, unaided, was almost a physical
+impossibility to her, for her spine was weak. She saw Nora, and came
+forward.
+
+"Where is he?"
+
+"He is not at home. His mother does not know where he is. She had
+heard----Hush! Who's this?"
+
+Nora's voice dropped, and they retreated behind the tree. To be seen in
+the vicinity of Jim Sanders's cottage would not have furthered the
+object they had in view--that of burying the gentleman for a time. The
+steps advanced, and Nora, stealing a peep, recognised Farmer Apperley.
+
+He was coming from the direction of the Hold; and they rightly judged,
+seeing him walking leisurely, that the danger must be over. At the same
+moment they became conscious of footsteps approaching from another
+direction. They were crossing the road, bearing rather towards the Hold,
+and in another moment would meet Mr. Apperley. Footsore, weary, yet
+excited, and making what haste he could, their owner came into view,
+disclosing the person of Mr. Jim Sanders. Mrs. Chattaway uttered an
+exclamation, and would have started forward; but Nora, with more
+caution, held her back.
+
+The farmer heard the cry, and looked round, but seeing nothing, probably
+thought his ears had deceived him. As he turned his head again, there,
+right in front of him, was Jim Sanders. Quick as lightning his grasp was
+laid upon the boy's shoulder.
+
+"Now then! Where have you been skulking?"
+
+"Lawk a mercy! I han't been skulking, sir," returned Jim, apparently
+surprised at the salutation. "I be a'most ready to drop with the speed
+I've made."
+
+Poor, ill-judged Jim! In point of fact he had done more, indirectly,
+towards putting out the fire, than Farmer Apperley and ten of the best
+men at his back. Jim's horror and consternation when he saw the flames
+burst forth had taken from him all thought--all power, as may be
+said--except instinct. Instinct led him to Barbrook, to warn the
+fire-engine there: he saw it off, and then hastened all the way to
+Barmester, and actually gave notice to the engines and urged their
+departure before the arrival of Cris Chattaway on horseback. From
+Barmester Jim started to Layton's Heath--a place standing at an acute
+angle between Barmester and Barbrook--and posted off the engines from
+there also. And now Jim was toiling back again, footsore and weary, but
+bending his course to Trevlyn Hold to render his poor assistance in
+putting out the flames. Rupert Trevlyn had always been a favourite of
+Jim's. Rupert in his good-natured way had petted Jim, and the boy in his
+unconscious gratitude was striving to amend the damage which Rupert had
+caused. In after-days, this night's expedition of Jim's was talked of as
+a marvel verging on the impossible. Men are apt to forget the marvels
+that may be done under the influence of great emotion.
+
+Something of this--of where he had been and for what purpose--Jim
+explained to the farmer, and Mr. Apperley released his hold upon him.
+
+"They are saying up there, lad"--indicating the Hold--"that you had a
+torch in the rick-yard."
+
+"So I had," replied Jim. "But I didn't do no damage with it."
+
+"You told me it was Rupert Trevlyn who had fired the rick."
+
+"And so it was," replied Jim. "He was holding that there torch of mine,
+when Mr. Chattaway came up; looking at the puppy, we was. And Chattaway
+had a word or two with him, and then horsewhipped him; and Mr. Rupert
+caught up the torch, which he had let fall, and pushed it into the rick.
+I see him," added Jim, conclusively.
+
+Mr. Apperley stroked his chin. He also liked Rupert, and very much
+condemned the extreme chastisement inflicted by Mr. Chattaway. He did
+not go so far as Nora and deem it an excuse for the mad act; but it is
+certain he did not condemn it as he would have condemned it in another,
+or if committed under different circumstances. He felt grieved and
+uncomfortable; he was conscious of a sore feeling in his mind; and he
+heartily wished the whole night's work could be blotted out from the
+record of deeds done, and that Rupert was free again and guiltless.
+
+"Well, lad, it's a bad job altogether," he observed; "but you don't seem
+to have been to blame except for taking a lighted torch into a
+rick-yard. Never you do such a thing again. You see what has come of
+it."
+
+"We warn't nigh the ricks when I lighted the torch," pleaded Jim. "We
+was yards off 'em."
+
+"That don't matter. There's always danger. I'd turn away the best man I
+have on my farm, if I saw him venture into the rick-yard with a torch.
+Don't you be such a fool again. Where are you off to now?" for Jim was
+passing on.
+
+"Up to the Hold, sir, to help put out the fire."
+
+"The fire's out--or nigh upon it; and you'd best stop where you are. If
+you show your face there, you'll get taken up by the police--they are
+looking out for you. And I don't see that you've done anything to merit
+a night's lodging in the lock-up," added the farmer, in his sense of
+justice. "Better pass it in your bed. You'll be wanted before the Bench
+to-morrow; but it's as good to go before them a free lad as a prisoner.
+The prisoner they have already taken, Rupert Trevlyn, is enough. Never
+you take a torch near ricks again."
+
+With this reiterated piece of advice, Mr. Apperley departed. Jim stood
+in indecision, revolving in a hazy kind of way the various pieces of
+information gratuitously bestowed upon him. He himself suspected; in
+danger of being taken up by the police!--and Mr. Rupert a prisoner! and
+the fire out, or almost out! It might be better, perhaps, that he went
+in to his cottage, and got to sleep as Mr. Apperley advised, if he was
+not too tired to sleep.
+
+But before Jim saw his way clearly out of the maze, or had come to any
+decision, he found himself seized from behind with a grasp fast and firm
+as Mr. Apperley's. A vision of a file of policemen brought a rush of
+fear to Jim's mind, hot blood to his face. But the arms proved to be
+only Nora Dickson's, and a soft, gentle voice of entreaty was whispering
+a prayer into his ear, almost as the prayer of an angel. Jim started in
+amazement, and looked round.
+
+"Lawk a mercy!" ejaculated he. "Why, it's Madam Chattaway!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIX
+
+ANOTHER VISITOR FOR MRS. SANDERS
+
+
+A few minutes after his encounter with Jim Sanders, to which interview
+Mrs. Chattaway and Nora had been unseen witnesses, Farmer Apperley met
+Policeman Dumps, to whom, you may remember, the superintendent had
+referred as having been sent after Jim. He came up from the direction of
+Barbrook.
+
+"I can't find him nowhere," was his salutation to Mr. Apperley. "I have
+been a'most all over Mr. Ryle's land, and in every hole and corner of
+Barbrook, and he ain't nowhere. I'm going on now to his own home, just
+for form's sake; but that's about the last place he'd hide in."
+
+"Are you speaking of Rupert Trevlyn?" asked Mr. Apperley, who knew
+nothing of the man's search for Jim.
+
+"No, sir; Jim Sanders."
+
+"Oh, you need not look after him," replied the farmer. "I have just met
+him. Jim's all right. It was not he who did the mischief. He has been
+after all the fire-engines on foot, and is just come back, dead-beat. He
+was going on to the Hold to help put out the fire, but I told him it was
+out, and he could go home. There's not the least necessity to look after
+Jim."
+
+Mr. Dumps--whose clearness of vision was certainly not sufficient to set
+the Thames on fire--received the news without any doubt. "I thought it
+an odd thing for Jim Sanders to do. He haven't daring enough," he
+remarked. "That kitchenmaid was right, I'll be bound, as to its being
+Mr. Rupert in his passion. Gone in home, did you say, sir?"
+
+"In bed by this time, I should say," replied the farmer. "They have got
+Mr. Rupert, Dumps."
+
+"Have they?" returned Dumps. "It's a nasty charge, sir. I shouldn't be
+sorry that he got off it."
+
+The farmer continued his road towards Barbrook; the policeman went the
+other way. As he came to the cottage inhabited by the Sanders family, it
+occurred to him that he might as well ascertain the fact of Jim's
+safety, and he went to the door and knocked. Mrs. Sanders opened it
+instantly, believing it to be the wanderer. When she saw policeman Dumps
+standing there, she thought she should have died with fright.
+
+"Your son has just come in all right, I hear, Madge Sanders. Farmer
+Apperley have told me."
+
+"Yes, sir," replied she, dropping a curtsey. The untruthful reply was
+spoken in her terror, almost unconsciously; but there may have been some
+latent thought in her heart to mislead the policeman.
+
+"Is he gone to bed? I don't want to disturb him if he is."
+
+"Yes, sir," replied she again.
+
+"Well, they have got Mr. Rupert Trevlyn, so the examination will take
+place to-morrow morning. Your son had better go right over to Barmester
+the first thing after breakfast; tell him to make for the
+police-station, and stop there till he sees me. He'll have to give
+evidence, you know."
+
+"Very well, sir," repeated the woman, in an agony of fear lest Jim
+should make his appearance. "Jim ain't guilty, sir: he wouldn't harm a
+fly."
+
+"No, he ain't guilty; but somebody else is, I suppose; and Jim must tell
+what he knows. Mind he sets off in time. Or--stop. Perhaps he had better
+come to the little station at Barbrook, and go over with us. Yes,
+that'll be best."
+
+"To-night, sir?" asked she timidly.
+
+"To-night?--no. What should we do with him to-night? He must be there at
+eight o'clock in the morning; or a little before it. Good night."
+
+"Good night, sir."
+
+She watched him off, quite unable to understand the case, for she had
+seen nothing of Jim, and Nora Dickson had not long gone. Mr. Dumps made
+his way to the headquarters at Barbrook; and when, later on, Bowen came
+in with Rupert Trevlyn, Dumps informed him that Jim Sanders was all
+right, and would be there by eight o'clock.
+
+"Have you got him--all safe?"
+
+"I haven't got him," replied Dumps. "There wasn't no need for that. He
+was a-bed and asleep," he added, improving upon his information. "It was
+him that went for all the injines, and he was dead tired."
+
+"Your orders were to take him," curtly returned Bowen, who believed in
+Jim's innocence as much as Dumps did, but would not tolerate
+disobedience to orders. "He was seen with a lighted torch in the
+rick-yard, and that's enough."
+
+Rupert Trevlyn looked round quickly. This conversation had occurred as
+Bowen was going through the room with his prisoner to consign the latter
+to a more secure one. "Jim Saunders did no harm with the torch, Bowen.
+He lighted it to show me a little puppy of his; nothing more. There is
+no need to accuse Jim----"
+
+"I beg your pardon, Mr. Trevlyn, but I'd rather not hear anything from
+you one way or the other," interrupted Bowen. "Don't as much as open
+your mouth about it, sir, unless you're obliged; and I speak in your
+interest when I give you this advice. Many a prisoner has brought the
+guilt home to himself through his own tongue."
+
+Rupert took the hint, and subsided into silence. He was consigned to his
+quarters for the night, and no doubt passed it as agreeably as was
+consistent with the circumstances.
+
+The fire had not spread beyond a rick or two. It was quite out before
+midnight; and the engines, which had done effectual service, were on
+their way home again. At eight o'clock the following morning a fly was
+at the door to convey Rupert Trevlyn to Barmester. Bowen, a cautious
+man, deemed it well that the chief witness--it may be said, the only
+witness to any purpose--should be transported there by the same
+conveyance. But that witness, Mr. Jim Sanders, delayed his appearance
+unwarrantably, and Dumps, in much wrath, started in search of him. Back
+he came--it was not more than a quarter-of-a-mile to the mother's
+cottage.
+
+"He has gone on, the stupid blunderer," cried he to Bowen; "Mrs. Sanders
+says he's at Barmester by this time. He'll be at the station there, no
+doubt."
+
+So the party started in state: Bowen, Dumps, and Rupert Trevlyn inside;
+and Chigwell, who had been sent to capture him, on the box. There was
+just as much necessity for the presence of the two men as for yours or
+mine; but they would not have missed the day's excitement for the world:
+and Bowen did not interpose his veto.
+
+The noise and bustle at the fire had been great, but it was scarcely
+greater than that which prevailed that morning at Barmester. As a matter
+of course, various contradictory versions were afloat; it is invariably
+the case. All that was certainly known were the bare facts; Mr.
+Chattaway had horsewhipped Rupert Trevlyn; a fire had almost immediately
+broken out in the rick-yard; and Rupert was in custody on the charge of
+causing it.
+
+Belief in Rupert's guilt was accorded a very limited degree. People
+could not forget the ill-feeling supposed to exist towards him in the
+breast of Mr. Chattaway; and the flying reports that it was Jim Sanders
+who had been the culprit, accidentally, if not wilfully, obtained far
+more credence than the other. The curious populace would have subscribed
+a good round sum to be allowed to question Jim to their hearts' content.
+
+But a growing rumour, freezing the very marrow in the bones of their
+curiosity, had come abroad. It was said that Jim had disappeared: was
+not to be found under the local skies; and it was this caused the chief
+portion of the public excitement. For in point of fact, when Bowen and
+the rest arrived at Barmester, Jim Sanders could not be seen or heard
+of. Dumps was despatched back to Barbrook in search of him.
+
+The hearing was fixed for ten o'clock; and before that hour struck, the
+magistrates--a full bench of them--had taken their places. Many familiar
+faces were to be seen in the crowded court--familiar to you, my readers;
+for the local world was astir with interest and curiosity. In one part
+of the crowd might be seen the face of George Ryle, grave and subdued;
+in another, the dark flashing eyes of Nora Dickson; yonder the red
+cheeks of Mr. Apperley; nearer, the pale concerned countenance of Mr.
+Freeman. Just before the commencement of the proceedings, the carriage
+from Trevlyn Hold drove up, and there descended from it Mr. and Madam
+Chattaway, and Miss Diana Trevlyn. A strange proceeding, you will say,
+that the ladies should appear; but it was not deemed strange in the
+locality. Miss Diana had asserted her determination to be present in
+tones quite beyond the power of Mr. Chattaway to contradict, even had he
+wished to do so; and thus he had no plea for refusing his wife. How ill
+she looked! Scarcely a heart but ached for her. The two ladies sat in a
+retired spot, and Mr. Chattaway--who was in the commission of the peace,
+but did not exercise the privilege once in a dozen years--took his place
+on the bench.
+
+Then the prisoner was brought in, civilly conducted by Superintendent
+Bowen. He looked pale, subdued, gentlemanly--not in the least like one
+who would set fire to a hay-rick.
+
+"Have you all your witnesses, Bowen?" inquired the presiding magistrate.
+
+"All but one, sir, and I expect him here directly; I have sent after
+him," was the reply. "In fact, I'm not sure but he is here," added the
+man, standing on tiptoe, and stretching his neck upwards; "the crowd's
+so great one can't see who's here and who isn't. If he can be heard
+first, his evidence may be conclusive, and save the trouble of examining
+the others."
+
+"You can call him," observed the magistrate. "If he is here, he will
+answer. What's the name?"
+
+"James Sanders, your worship."
+
+"Call James Sanders," returned his worship, exalting his voice.
+
+The call was made in obedience, and "James Sanders!" went ringing
+through the court; and walls and roof echoed the cry.
+
+But there was no other answer.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XL
+
+THE EXAMINATION
+
+
+The morning sun shone upon the crowded court, as the Bench waited for
+the appearance of Mr. Jim Sanders. The windows, large, high, and
+guiltless of blinds, faced the south-east, and the warm autumn rays
+poured in, to the discomfort of those on whom they directly fell. They
+fell especially on the prisoner; his fair hair, his winning countenance.
+They fell on the haughty features of Miss Diana Trevlyn, leaning forward
+to speak to Mr. Peterby, who had been summoned in haste by herself, that
+he might watch the interests of Rupert. They fell on the sad face of
+Mrs. Chattaway, bent downwards until partly hidden under its falling
+curls; and they fell on the red face of Farmer Apperley, who was in a
+brown study, gently flicking his top-boot with his riding-whip.
+
+One, who had come pressing through the crowd, extended her hand, and
+touched the farmer on the shoulder. He turned to behold Nora Dickson.
+
+"Mr. Apperley, did your wife make those inquiries for me about that
+work-woman at the upholsterer's, whether she goes out by the day or
+not?" asked Nora, as though speaking for the benefit of the court in
+general.
+
+Mr. Apperley paused to collect his thoughts upon the subject. "I _did_
+hear the missis say something about that woman," he remarked at length.
+"I can't call to mind what, though. Brown, isn't her name?"
+
+"We must have her, or somebody else," continued Nora, in the same tones.
+"Our drawing-room winter-curtains must be turned top for bottom; and as
+to the moreen bed-furniture----"
+
+"Silence there!" interrupted an authoritative voice. And then there came
+again the same call which had already been echoed through the court
+twice before--
+
+"James Sanders!"
+
+"Just step here to the back, and I'll send your wife a message for the
+woman," resumed Nora, in defiance of the mandate just issued.
+
+The farmer did not see why the message could not have been given to him
+where he was; but we are all apt to yield to a ruling power, and he
+followed Nora.
+
+She struggled through the crowded doorway of the court into a
+comparatively empty stone hall. The farmer contrived to follow her; but
+he was short and stout, and emerged purple with the exertion. Nora cast
+her cautious eyes around, and then bent towards him with the softest
+whisper.
+
+"Look here, Mr. Apperley. If they examine _you_, you have no need to
+tell everything, you know."
+
+Mr. Apperley, none of the keenest at taking a hint, stared at Nora. He
+could not understand. "Are you talking about the upholstering woman?"
+asked he, in his perplexity.
+
+"Rubbish!" retorted Nora. "Do you suppose I brought you here to talk
+about her? You have not a bit of gumption--as everybody knows. Jim
+Sanders is not to be found; at least, it seems so," continued Nora, with
+a short cough; "for that's the third time they have called him. Now, if
+they examine you--as I suppose they will, by Bowen saying you might be
+wanted, there's no need to go and repeat what Jim said about Rupert
+Trevlyn's guilt when you met him last night down by his cottage."
+
+"Why! how did you know I met Jim last night?" cried the farmer, staring
+at Nora.
+
+"There's no time to explain now: I didn't dream it. You liked Joe
+Trevlyn: I have heard you say it."
+
+"Ay, I did," replied the farmer, casting his thoughts back.
+
+"Well, then, just bring to your mind how that poor lad, his son, has
+been wronged and put upon through life; think of the critical position
+he stands in now; before a hundred eyes--brought to it through that
+usurper, Chattaway. Don't _you_ help on the hue and cry against him, I
+say. You didn't see him fire the rick; you only heard Jim Sanders say
+that he fired it; and you are not called upon to repeat that hearsay
+evidence. _Don't do it_, Mr. Apperley."
+
+"I suppose I am not," assented he, after digesting the words.
+
+"Indeed you are not. If Jim can't be found, and you don't speak, I think
+it's not much of a case they'll make out against him. After all, Jim
+_may_ have done it himself, you know."
+
+She turned away, leaving the farmer to follow her, and he, slow at
+coming to conclusions, stopped where he was, pondering all sides of the
+question in his mind.
+
+But there's a word to say about Policeman Dumps. Nothing could exceed
+the consternation experienced by that functionary at the non-appearance
+of Jim Sanders. On their arrival at Barmester, they had searched for him
+in vain. Dumps would not believe that he had been purposely deceived,
+although the stern eyes of his superior were bent on him with a very
+significant look. "Get the fleetest conveyance you can, and be off to
+Barbrook and see about it," were the whispered commands of the latter.
+"A pretty go, this is! I shall have the Bench blowing me up in public!"
+
+The Bench, vexed at the fruitless calls for Jim Sanders, looked much
+inclined to blow some one up. They were better off in regard to the sun
+than their audience, since they had their backs to it. The chairman, who
+sat in the middle, was a Mr. Pollard, a kindly, but hasty and
+opinionated man. He ordered the case to proceed, while the principal
+witness, Jim Sanders, was being looked for.
+
+Mr. Flood, the lawyer from Barmester, acting for Mr. Chattaway, stated
+the case shortly and concisely. And the first witness called upon was
+Mr. Chattaway, who descended from the bench to give his evidence.
+
+He was obliged to confess to his shame. He stood there before the
+condemning faces around, and acknowledged that the chastisement spoken
+to was a fact--that he _had_ laid his horsewhip on the shoulders of
+Rupert Trevlyn. He was pressed for the why and wherefore--Chattaway was
+no favourite with his brother-magistrates, and they did not show him any
+remarkable favour--and he had further to confess that the provocation
+was totally inadequate to the punishment.
+
+"State your grounds for charging your nephew, Rupert Trevlyn, with the
+crime," said the Bench.
+
+"There is not the slightest doubt that he did it in a fit of passion,"
+said Mr. Chattaway. "There was no one but him in the rick-yard, so far
+as I saw, and he had a lighted torch in his hand. This torch he dropped
+for a moment, but I suppose picked it up again."
+
+"It is said that James Sanders was also in the rick-yard; and the torch
+was his."
+
+"I did not see James Sanders. I saw only Rupert Trevlyn, and he had the
+torch in his hand when I went up. Not many minutes after I quitted the
+rick-yard the flames broke out."
+
+Apparently this was all Mr. Chattaway knew of the actual facts. The man
+Hatch was called, and testified to the fact that Jim Sanders was in the
+rick-yard. Bridget, the kitchenmaid, in a state of much tremor,
+confirmed this, and confessed she was there subsequently with Jim, that
+he had a torch, and they saw the flames break out. She related her story
+pretty circumstantially, winding up with the statement that Jim told her
+Mr. Rupert had set it on fire.
+
+"Stop a bit, lass," interrupted Mr. Peterby. "You have just stated to
+their worships that Jim Sanders flew off the moment he saw the flames
+burst forth, never stopping to speak a word. _Now_ you say he told you
+it was Mr. Rupert who fired it. How do you reconcile the contradiction?"
+
+"He had told me first, sir," answered the girl. "He said he saw the
+master horsewhip Mr. Rupert, and Mr. Rupert in his passion caught up the
+torch which had fell, thrust it into the rick, and then leaped over the
+palings and got away. Jim pulled the torch out of the rick, and all the
+hay that had caught, as he thought; he told me all this when he was
+showing me the puppy. I suppose a spark must have been left in to
+smoulder, unknown to him."
+
+"Now don't you think that you and he and the torch and the puppy,
+between you, managed to get the spark there, instead of its having
+'smouldered,' eh, girl?" sarcastically asked Mr. Peterby.
+
+Bridget burst into tears. "No, I am sure we did not," she answered.
+
+"Don't you likewise think that this pretty little bit of news regarding
+Mr. Rupert may have been a fable of Mr. Jim's invention, to excuse his
+own carelessness?" went on the lawyer.
+
+"I am certain it was not, sir," she sobbed. "When Jim told me about Mr.
+Rupert, he never thought the rick was on fire."
+
+They could not get on at all without Jim Sanders. Mr. Peterby's
+insinuations were pointed; nay, more; for he boldly asserted that the
+rick was far more likely to have been fired by Jim than Rupert--that is,
+by a spark from that gentleman's torch, whilst engaged with two objects
+so exacting as a puppy and Bridget. Jim himself could alone clear up the
+knotty question, and the Court gave vent to its impatience, and wished
+they were at the heels of Policeman Dumps who had gone in search of him.
+
+But the heels of Policeman Dumps could not by any means have flown more
+quickly over the ground, had the whole court been after him in full cry.
+In point of fact, they were not his own heels that were at work, but
+those of a fleet little horse, drawing the light gig in which the
+policeman sat. So effectually did he whip up this horse, that in
+considerably less time than half-an-hour, Mr. Dumps was nearing Jim's
+dwelling. As he passed the police-station at Barbrook, the only solitary
+policeman left to take care of the interests of the district was
+fulfilling his duty by taking a lounge against the door-post.
+
+"Have you seen anything of Jim Sanders?" called out Mr. Dumps, partially
+checking his horse. "He has never made his appearance yonder, and I'm
+come after him."
+
+"I hear he's off," answered the man.
+
+"Off! Off where?"
+
+"Cut away," was the explanatory reply. "He hasn't been seen since last
+night."
+
+Allowing himself a whole minute to take in the news, Mr. Dumps whipped
+on his horse, and gave utterance to a very unparliamentary word. When he
+burst into Mrs. Sanders's cottage, which was full of steam, and she
+before a washing-tub, he seized that lady's arm in so emphatic a manner
+that perceiving what was coming, she gave a scream, and very nearly
+plunged her head into the soap-suds.
+
+Mr. Dumps ungallantly shook her. "Now, you just answer me," cried he;
+"and if you speak a word of a lie this time you'll get transported, or
+something as bad. What made you tell me last night Jim had come home and
+was in bed? Where is he?"
+
+She supposed he knew all--all the wickedness of her conduct in screening
+him; and it had the effect of hardening her. She was, as it were, at
+bay; and deceit was no longer possible.
+
+"If you did transport me I couldn't tell where he is. I don't know. I
+never set eyes on him all the blessed night, and that's the naked truth.
+Let me go, Mr. Dumps: it's no good choking me."
+
+Mr. Dumps looked ready to choke himself. He had been deceived, and
+turned aside from the execution of his duty, his brother constables
+would have the laugh against him, Bowen would blow up, the Bench at
+Barmester was waiting, Jim was off--and that wretched woman had done it
+all! Mr. Dumps ground his teeth in impotent rage.
+
+"I'll have you punished as sure as my name's what it is, Madge Sanders,
+if you don't tell me the truth," he foamed. "Is Jim in this here house?"
+
+"You be welcome to search the house," she replied, throwing open the
+staircase door, which led to the loft. "I'm telling nothing but truth
+now, though I was frighted into doing summit else last night; frighted
+to death a'most, and so I was this morning when I said he'd gone on to
+Barmester."
+
+Mr. Dumps felt inclined to shake her again: we are sure to be more angry
+with others when we have ourselves to blame; how could he have been fool
+enough to place such blind confidence in Farmer Apperley? One thing
+forced itself on his conviction; the woman was stating nothing but fact
+now.
+
+"You persist in it to my face that you don't know where Jim is?" he
+cried.
+
+"I swear I don't. There! I swear I have never set eyes on him since last
+night when he came home after work, and went out to take his black puppy
+to Trevlyn Hold. He never came in after that."
+
+"You just dry those soap-suddy arms of yours, put your bonnet on, and
+come straight off, and tell that to the magistrates," commanded Mr.
+Dumps, in sullen tones.
+
+She did not dare resist. Putting on her bonnet, flinging her old shawl
+across her shoulders, she was marshalled by Mr. Dumps to the gig. To
+look after Jim was a secondary consideration. To make his own excuse
+good was the first; and if Jim had had a matter of twelve-hours' start,
+he might be at twelve-hours' distance.
+
+Not to be found! Jim Sanders had made his escape, and was not to be
+found! reiterated the indignant Bench, when Mrs. Sanders and her escort
+appeared. What did Bowen mean, by asserting that Jim was ready to be
+called upon?
+
+Bowen shifted the blame from his own shoulders to those of Dumps; and
+Dumps, with a red face, shifted it on to Mrs. Sanders. She was sternly
+questioned, and made the same excuse she had made to Dumps--it was his
+saying to her that Jim had returned, and was in bed, that caused her in
+her fright to agree with it, and reply that he was. But she had not seen
+Jim, and he had never been a-nigh home since he went out with the puppy
+in the earlier part of the evening. She knew no more where Jim was than
+Dumps himself knew.
+
+That she told the truth appeared to be pretty clear to the magistrates,
+and to punish her for having so far used deceit to screen her son, might
+have been neither just nor legal. They turned back on Dumps.
+
+"What induced you to put such a leading question to the woman, assuming
+the boy was at home and in bed?" they severely asked.
+
+Dumps began rather to excuse himself than to explain. Such a thing
+hadn't never happened to him before; and it was Mr. Apperley's fault,
+for he met that gentleman nigh Meg Sanders's door, who told him Jim was
+all right, and gone home to bed.
+
+This was the first time Mr. Apperley's name had been mentioned in
+connection with the affair, and the magistrates ordered him before them.
+Nora insinuated her way to the front, and Mrs. Chattaway's face bent
+lower, to conceal its anxious expression, the wild beating of her heart.
+
+"Did you meet James Sanders last night, Mr. Apperley?" inquired the
+chairman.
+
+"Yes; I did, sir. I was going home, when the danger was over, and the
+fire had got low, and I came upon Jim Sanders near his cottage, coming
+from the direction of Layton's Heath. Knowing he had been wanted, I laid
+hold of him: but the boy told me, simply enough, where he had been,--to
+Barbrook, Barmester, and Layton's Heath after the engines. He was then
+hastening to the Hold to help at the fire. I told him the fire was out,
+and he might get to bed."
+
+"And you told Dumps that he had gone to bed?"
+
+"I did. I never supposed but Jim went home then and there; and when I
+met Dumps a few minutes afterwards, I told him so. I can't understand it
+at all. The boy seemed almost too tired to move, and no wonder--and
+where he could have gone instead, is uncommon odd to me. It's to know
+whether his mother speaks truth in saying he did not go in," added the
+farmer, gratuitously imparting a little of his mind to the Bench.
+
+"What did he say to you?"
+
+"He said where he had been, and that he was going up to the Hold,"
+replied the witness, in tones of palpable hesitation, as if weighing his
+words.
+
+"You are sure it was Jim Sanders?" asked a very silent magistrate who
+sat at the end of the bench.
+
+Mr. Apperley opened his eyes at this. "Sure it was Jim Sanders? Why, of
+course I'm sure of it?"
+
+"Well, it appears that only you, so far as can be learnt, saw Jim
+Sanders at all near the spot after the alarm went out."
+
+"Like enough," answered the farmer. "If the boy went to all these
+places, one after the other, he couldn't be at the Hold. But there's no
+mistake about my having seen him, and talked to him."
+
+The danger appeared to be over. The Bench seemed to have no intention of
+asking further questions of Mr. Apperley, and Nora breathed freely
+again. But it often happens that when we deem ourselves most secure,
+hidden danger is all the nearer. As the witness was turning round to
+retire, Flood, the lawyer, stepped forward.
+
+"A moment yet, if you please, Mr. Apperley. I must ask you a question or
+two, with the permission of the Bench. I believe you had met Jim Sanders
+before that, last night--soon after the breaking out of the fire?"
+
+"Yes," replied the farmer; "it was at the bend of the road between the
+Hold and Barbrook. I had that minute caught sight of the flame, not
+knowing rightly where it was or what it was, and Jim came running up and
+said, as well as he could speak for his hurry and agitation, that it was
+in Mr. Chattaway's rick-yard."
+
+"Agitated, was he?" asked the Bench; and a keen observer might have
+noticed Mr. Flood's brow contract with a momentary annoyance.
+
+"So agitated as hardly to know what he was saying, as it appeared to
+me," returned the witness. "He went away at great speed in the direction
+of Barbrook; on his way--as I learnt afterwards--to fetch the
+fire-engines."
+
+"And very laudable of him to do so," spoke up the lawyer. "But I have a
+serious question to put to you now, Mr. Apperley; be so good as to
+attend to me, and speak up. Did not Jim Sanders distinctly tell you that
+it was Rupert Trevlyn who had fired the rick?"
+
+Mr. Apperley paused in indecision. On the one hand, he was a plain,
+straightforward, honest man, possessing little tact, no cunning; on the
+other, he shrank from harming Rupert. Nora's words had left a strong
+impression upon him, and the mysterious absence of Jim Sanders was also
+producing its effect, as it was on three-parts of the people in court.
+He and they were beginning to ask why Jim should run away unless he had
+been guilty.
+
+"Have you lost your voice, Mr. Apperley?" resumed the lawyer. "Did or
+did not Jim Sanders say it was Rupert Trevlyn who fired the rick?"
+
+"I cannot say but he did," replied Mr. Apperley, as an unpleasant
+remembrance came across him that he had proclaimed this fact the
+previous night to as many as chose to listen, to which incaution Mr.
+Flood no doubt owed his knowledge. "But Jim appeared so flustered and
+wild," he continued, "that my belief is--and I have said this
+before--that he didn't rightly know what he was saying."
+
+"Unless I am misinformed, you had just before met Rupert Trevlyn,"
+continued Mr. Flood. "_He_ was wild and flustered, was he not?"
+
+"He was."
+
+"Were both coming from the same direction?"
+
+"Yes. As if they had run straight from the Hold."
+
+"From the rick-yard, eh?"
+
+"It might be that they had; 'twas pretty straight, if they leaped a
+hedge or two."
+
+"Just so. You were walking soberly along the high-road, on your way to
+Bluck the farrier's, when you were startled by the apparition of Rupert
+Trevlyn flying from the direction of the rick-yard like a wild animal--I
+only quote your own account of the fact, Mr. Apperley. Rupert was pale
+and breathless; in short, as you described him, he must have been under
+the influence of some great terror, or _guilt_. Was this so? Tell their
+worships."
+
+"It was so," replied Mr. Apperley.
+
+"You tried to stop him, and you could not; and as you stood looking
+after him, wondering whether he was mad, and, if not mad, what could
+have put him into such a state, Jim Sanders came up and told you a piece
+of news that was sufficient to account for any amount of
+agitation--namely, that Rupert Trevlyn had just set fire to one of the
+ricks in the yard at the Hold."
+
+It was utterly impossible that Mr. Apperley in his truth could deny
+this, and a faint cry broke from the lips of Mrs. Chattaway. But when
+Mr. Flood had done with the farmer, it was Mr. Peterby's turn to
+question him. He had not much to ask him, but elicited the positive
+avowal--and the farmer seemed willing to make as much of it as did Mr.
+Peterby--that Jim Sanders was in as great a state of agitation as Rupert
+Trevlyn, or nearly so. He, Mr. Apperley, summed up the fact by certain
+effective words.
+
+"Yes, they were both agitated--both wild; and if those signs were any
+proof of the crime, the one looked as likely to have committed it as the
+other."
+
+The words told with the Bench. Mr. Flood exerted his eloquence to prove
+that Rupert Trevlyn, and he alone, must have been guilty. Not that he
+had any personal ill-feeling towards Rupert; he only spoke in his
+lawyerly instinct, which must do all it could for his client's cause.
+Mr. Peterby, on the other hand, argued that the circumstances were more
+conclusive of the guilt of James Sanders. Mr. Apperley had testified
+that both were nearly equally agitated; and if Rupert was the most so,
+it was only natural, for a gentleman's feelings were more easily stirred
+than an ignorant day-labourer's. In point of fact, this agitation might
+have proceeded from terror alone in each of them. Looking at the case
+dispassionately, what real point was there against Rupert Trevlyn? None.
+Who dared to assert that he was guilty? No one but the runaway, James
+Sanders, who most probably proffered the charge to screen himself. Where
+was James Sanders, Mr. Peterby continued, looking round the court.
+Nowhere: he had decamped; and this, of itself, ought to be taken by all
+sensible people as conclusive of guilt. He asked the Bench, in their
+justice, not to remand Rupert Trevlyn, as was urged by Mr. Flood, but to
+discharge him, and issue a warrant for the apprehension of James
+Sanders.
+
+Ah, what anxious hearts were some of those in court as the magistrates
+consulted with each other. Mr. Chattaway had had the grace not to return
+to his seat, and waited, as did the rest of the audience. Presently the
+chairman spoke--and it is very possible that the general disfavour in
+which Mr. Chattaway was held had insensibly influenced their decision.
+
+It appeared to the Bench, he said, that there were not sufficient facts
+proved against Rupert Trevlyn to justify their keeping him in custody,
+or in remanding the case. That he may have smarted in passion under the
+personal chastisement inflicted by Mr. Chattaway was not unlikely, and
+that gentleman had proved that, when he left the rick-yard, the lighted
+torch was, so to say, in possession of the prisoner. Mr. Apperley had
+likewise testified to meeting Rupert Trevlyn soon afterwards in a state
+of wild agitation. In the opinion of the Bench, these facts were not
+worth much: the lighted torch was proved to be in the possession of
+James Sanders in the rick-yard after this, as it had been before it; and
+the prisoner's agitation might have been solely the effect of the
+beating inflicted on him by Mr. Chattaway. Except the assertion of the
+boy, James Sanders, as spoken to by Mr. Apperley and the servant-maid,
+Bridget Sanders, there was nothing to connect the prisoner with the
+actual crime. It had been argued by Mr. Peterby that James Sanders
+himself had probably committed it, wilfully or accidentally, and that
+his absence might be regarded as pretty conclusive proof of this. Be
+that as it might, the Bench had come to the decision that there were not
+sufficient grounds for detaining the prisoner, and therefore he was
+discharged.
+
+He was discharged! And the shout of approbation that arose in court made
+the very walls ring.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLI
+
+A NIGHT ENCOUNTER
+
+
+The first to press up to Rupert Trevlyn after his restored liberty was
+George Ryle. George held a very decided opinion upon the unhappy case;
+but strove to bury it five-fathom deep in his heart, and he hated Mr.
+Chattaway for the inflicted horsewhipping. Holding his arm out to
+Rupert, he led him towards the exit; but the sea of faces, of friendly
+voices, of shaking hands, was great, and somehow he and Rupert were
+separated.
+
+"It is a new lease of life for me, George," whispered a soft, sweet
+voice in his ear, and he turned to behold the glowing cheeks of Mrs.
+Chattaway, glowing with thanksgiving and unqualified happiness.
+
+Unqualified? Ah, if she could only have looked into the future, as
+George did in his forethought! Jim Sanders would probably not remain
+absent for ever. But he suffered his face to become radiant as Mrs.
+Chattaway's, as he stayed to talk with her.
+
+"Yes, dear Mrs. Chattaway, was it not a shout! I will drive Rupert home.
+I have my gig here. Treve shall walk. I wonder--I have been wondering
+whether it would not be better for all parties if Rupert came and stayed
+a week with Treve at the Farm? It might give time for the unpleasantness
+to blow over between him and Mr. Chattaway."
+
+"How good you are, George! If it only might be! I'll speak to Diana."
+
+She turned to Miss Diana Trevlyn and George saw Rupert talking with Mr.
+Peterby. At that moment, some one took possession of George.
+
+It was Mr. Wall, the linen-draper. He had been in court all the time,
+his sympathies entirely with the prisoner, in spite of his early
+friendship with the master of Trevlyn Hold. Ever since that one month
+passed at Mr. Wall's house, which George at the time thought the
+blackest month that could have fallen to the lot of mortal, Mr. Wall and
+George had been great friends.
+
+"This has been a nasty business," he said in an undertone. "Where _is_
+Jim Sanders?"
+
+George disclaimed, and with truth, all knowledge on the point. Mr. Wall
+resumed.
+
+"I guess how it was; an outbreak of the Trevlyn temper. Chattaway was a
+fool to provoke it. Cruel, too. He had no more right to take a whip to
+Rupert Trevlyn than I have to take one to my head-shopman. Were the
+ricks insured?"
+
+"No. There's the smart. Chattaway never would insure his ricks; never
+has insured them. It is said that Miss Diana has often told him he
+deserved to have his ricks burnt down for being penny wise and pound
+foolish."
+
+"How many were burnt?"
+
+"Two: and another damaged by water. It is a sharp loss."
+
+"Ay. One he won't relish. Rupert is not _secure_, you know," continued
+Mr. Wall in a spirit of friendly warning. "He can be taken up again."
+
+"I am aware of that. And this time I think it will be very difficult to
+lay the spirit of anger in Mr. Chattaway. Good evening. I am going to
+drive Rupert home. Where has he got to?"
+
+George had cause to reiterate the words "Where has he got to?" for he
+could not see him anywhere. His eyes roved in vain in search of Rupert.
+Mr. Peterby was alone now.
+
+George went hunting everywhere. He inquired of every one, friend and
+stranger, if they had seen Rupert, but all in vain; he could not meet or
+hear of him. At last he gave up the search, and started for home, Treve
+occupying the place in the gig he had offered to Rupert.
+
+Where was Rupert? In a state of mind not to be described, he had stolen
+away in the dusky night from the mass of faces, the minute he was
+released by Mr. Peterby, and made the best of his way out of Barmester,
+taking the field way towards the Hold. He felt in a sea of guilt and
+shame. To stand there a prisoner, the consciousness of guilt upon
+him--for he knew he had set fire to the rick--was as the keenest agony.
+When his previous night's passion cooled down, it was replaced by an
+awful sense--and the word is not misplaced--of the enormity of his act.
+It was a positive fact that he could not remember the details of that
+evil moment; but an innate conviction was upon him that he did thrust
+the burning brand into the rick and had so revenged himself on Mr.
+Chattaway. He turned aghast as he thought of it: in his sober senses he
+would be one of the last to commit so great a wickedness--would shudder
+at its bare thought. Not only was the weight of the guilt upon his mind,
+but a dread of the consequences. Rupert was no hero, and the horror of
+the punishment that might follow was working havoc in his brain. If he
+had escaped it for this day, he knew sufficient of our laws to be aware
+that he might not escape it another, and that Chattaway would prove
+implacable. The disgrace of a trial, the brand of felon--all might be
+his. Perhaps it was fear as much as shame which took Rupert alone out of
+Barmester.
+
+He knew not where to go. He reached the neighbourhood of the Hold,
+passed it, and wandered about in the moonlight, sick with hunger, weary
+with walking. He began to wish he had gone home with George Ryle; and he
+wished he could see George Ryle then, and ask his advice. To the Hold,
+to face Chattaway, he dared not yet go; nay, with that consciousness of
+guilt upon him, he shrank from facing his kind aunt Edith, his sister
+Maude, his aunt Diana. A sudden thought flashed into his mind--and for
+the moment it seemed like an inspiration--he would go after Mr. Daw and
+beg a shelter with him.
+
+But to get to Mr. Daw, who lived in some unknown region in the Pyrenees,
+and had no doubt crossed the Channel, would take money, time, and
+strength. As the practical views of the idea came up before him, he
+abandoned it in utter despair. Where should he go and what should he do?
+He sat down on the stile forming the entrance to a small grove of trees,
+through which a near road led to Barbrook; in fact, it was at the end of
+that very field in which Mr. Apperley had seen him the previous evening.
+Some subtle instinct, perhaps, took his wandering steps to it. As he
+leaned against the stile, he became conscious of the advance of some one
+along the narrow path leading from Barbrook--a woman, by her petticoats.
+
+It was a lovely night. The previous night had been dull, but on this one
+the moon shone in all her splendour. Rupert did not fear a woman, least
+of all the one approaching, for he saw that it was Ann Canham. She had
+been at work at the parsonage. Mrs. Freeman, taking advantage of the
+departure of their guest, had instituted the autumn cleaning, delayed on
+his account; and Ann had been there to-day, helping Molly, and was to go
+also on the morrow. A few happy tears dropped from her eyes when she saw
+him.
+
+"The parson's already home with the good news, sir. But why ever do you
+sit here, Master Rupert?"
+
+"Because I have nowhere to go to," returned Rupert.
+
+Ann paused, and then spoke timidly. "Isn't there the Hold, as usual,
+sir?"
+
+"I can't go there. Chattaway might horsewhip me again, you know, Ann."
+
+The bitter mockery with which he spoke brought pain to her. "Where shall
+you go, sir?"
+
+"I don't know. Lie down under these trees till morning. I am awfully
+hungry."
+
+Ann Canham opened a basket which she carried, and took out a small loaf,
+or cake. She offered it to Rupert, curtseying humbly.
+
+"Molly has been baking to-day, sir; and the missis, she gave me this
+little loaf for my father. Please take it, sir."
+
+Rupert's impulse was to refuse, but hunger was strong within him. He
+took a knife from his pocket, cut it in two, and gave one half back to
+Ann Canham.
+
+"Tell Mark I had the other, Ann. He won't grudge it to me. And now go
+home. It's of no use your stopping here."
+
+She made as if she would depart, but hesitated. "Master Rupert, I don't
+like to leave you here so friendless. Won't you come to the lodge, sir,
+and shelter there for the night?"
+
+"No, that I won't," he answered. "Thank you, Ann; but I am not going to
+get you and Mark into trouble as I have got myself."
+
+She sighed as she finally went away. Would this unhappy trouble touching
+Rupert ever be over?
+
+Perhaps Rupert was asking the same. He ate the bread, and sat on the
+stile afterwards, ruminating. He was terribly bitter against Chattaway;
+but for his wicked conduct he should not now be the outcast he was. All
+the wrongs of his life rose up before him. The Hold that ought to be
+his, the rank he was deprived of, the wretched humiliations that were
+his daily portion. They assumed quite an exaggerated importance to his
+mind. He worked himself into--not the passion of the previous night, but
+into an angry, defiant temper; and he wished he could meet Chattaway
+face to face, and return the blows, the pain of which was still upon
+him.
+
+With a cry that almost burst from his lips in terror, with a feeling
+verging on the supernatural, he suddenly saw Chattaway before him.
+Rupert recovered himself, and though his heart beat pretty fast, he kept
+his seat on the stile in his defiant humour.
+
+And Mr. Chattaway? Every drop of blood in that gentleman's body had
+bubbled up with the unjust leniency shown by the magistrates, and had
+remained at fever heat. Never, never had his feelings been so excited
+against Rupert as on this night. As he came along he was plotting with
+himself how Rupert could be recaptured on the morrow--on what pretext he
+could apply for a warrant against him. That miserable, detested Rupert!
+He made his life a terror through that latent dread, he was a burden on
+his pocket, he brought him into disfavour with the neighbourhood, he
+treated him with cavalier insolence, and now had set his ricks on fire.
+And--there he was! Before him in the moonlight. Mr. Chattaway bounded
+forward, and seized him by the shoulder.
+
+A struggle ensued. Blows were given on either side. But Mr. Chattaway
+was the stronger: he flung Rupert to the ground; and a dull, heavy human
+sound went forth on the still night air.
+
+Did the sound come from Rupert, or from Chattaway? No; Rupert was lying
+motionless, and Chattaway knew he had made no sound himself. He looked
+up in the trees; but it had not been the sound of a night-bird. A
+rustling caught his ear behind the narrow grove, and Chattaway bounded
+towards it, just in time to see a man's legs flying over the ground in
+the direction of Barbrook.
+
+Who had been a witness to the scene?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLII
+
+NEWS FOR TREVLYN HOLD
+
+
+When Mr. and Mrs. Chattaway and Miss Diana had driven home from
+Barmester, they were met with curious faces, and eager questions, the
+result of the day's proceedings not having reached the Hold. It added to
+the terrible mortification gnawing the heart of Mr. Chattaway to confess
+that Rupert was discharged. He had been too outspoken that morning
+before his children and household of the certain punishment in store for
+Rupert--his committal for trial.
+
+And the mortification was destined to be increased on another score.
+Whilst they were seated at a sort of high tea--Cris came in from
+Blackstone with some news. The Government inspectors had been there that
+day, and chosen to put themselves out on account of the absence of Mr.
+Chattaway, whom they had expected at the office.
+
+"They mean mischief," observed Cris. "How far _can_ they interfere?" he
+asked, turning to his father. "Could they force you to go to the expense
+they hint at?"
+
+Mr. Chattaway really did not know. He sat looking surly and gloomy,
+buried in rumination, and by-and-by rose and left the room. Soon after
+this, George Ryle entered, to take Rupert to the farm. George knew now
+that Rupert had walked home: Bluck, the farrier, had told him so. But
+Rupert, it appeared, was not yet come in.
+
+So George waited: waited and waited. It was a most uncomfortable
+evening. Mrs. Chattaway was palpably nervous and anxious, and Maude, who
+sat apart, as if conscious that Rupert's fault in some degree reflected
+upon her, was as white as a sheet. When George rose to leave it was
+nearly eleven. Rupert, it must be supposed, had taken shelter somewhere
+for the night, and Mr. Chattaway did not appear in a hurry to return.
+None had any idea where Mr. Chattaway was to be found: when he left the
+house, they only supposed him to be going to the out-buildings.
+
+The whole flood of moonlight came flushing on George Ryle, as he stood
+for a moment at the door of the Hold. He lifted his face to it, thinking
+how beautiful it was, when the door was softly opened behind him, and
+Maude came out, pale and shivering.
+
+"Forgive my following you, George," she whispered, in pleading tones. "I
+could not ask you before them, but I am ill with suspense. Tell me, is
+the danger over for Rupert?"
+
+George took her hand in his. He looked down with tender fondness upon
+the unhappy girl; but hesitated in his answer.
+
+She bent her head, and there came a half-breathed whisper of pain. "Do
+you believe he did it?"
+
+"Maude, my darling, I do believe he did it; you ask me for the truth,
+and I will not give you anything else. But I believe that he must have
+been in a state of madness, irresponsible for his actions."
+
+"What can be done?" she gasped.
+
+"Nothing. Nothing, except that we must endeavour to conciliate Mr.
+Chattaway. If he can be appeased, the danger will pass."
+
+"Never will he be appeased!" she answered. "He will think of the value
+of the ricks, the money lost to him. George, if it comes to the
+worst--if they try Rupert, I shall die."
+
+"Hush, my dear, hush! Try and look on the bright side of things, Maude;
+your grieving cannot influence Rupert, and will harm you. Nothing shall
+be left undone on my part to serve him. I wish I had more influence with
+Mr. Chattaway."
+
+"No one has any influence with him,--no one in the world; unless it is
+Aunt Diana."
+
+"She has--and I can talk to her as I could not to Chattaway. I intend to
+see her privately in the morning. Maude, how you shiver!"
+
+George bent to take his farewell, and went on his way. Ere he was quite
+out of sight, he turned to take a last look at her. She was standing in
+the white moonlight, her hands clasped, her face one sad expression of
+distress and despair. A vague feeling came over George that this
+despondency of Maude's bore ill omen for poor Rupert. But he could not
+have told why the feeling should come to him, and he put it from him as
+absurd and foolish.
+
+The night wore on at the Hold, and its master did not return. All sat
+up, ladies, children, and servants; wondering where he could be. It was
+close upon midnight when his ring sounded at the locked door.
+
+Mr. Chattaway came in with his face scratched and a bruise over one eye.
+The servant stared in astonishment, and noticed, as his master
+unbuttoned a light overcoat, that the front of his shirt was torn. Mr.
+Chattaway was not one to be questioned by his servants, and the man went
+off to the kitchen and reported the news.
+
+"Good Heavens, papa! what have you done to your face?"
+
+The exclamation came from Octave, who was the first to catch sight of
+him as he entered the room. Mr. Chattaway responded by an angry demand
+why they were not in bed, what they did sitting up at that hour: and he
+began to light the bed-candles.
+
+"What _have_ you done to your face?" reiterated Miss Diana, coming close
+to take a nearer view.
+
+"Nothing," was his curt response.
+
+"What's the use of saying that?" retorted Miss Diana. "It looks as
+though you had been fighting. And your shirt's torn!"
+
+"I tell you there's nothing the matter with it; or with my shirt
+either," he said testily. "Can't you take an answer?" And, as if to put
+an end to questioning, he took a candle and went up to his room.
+
+The scratches were less apparent in the morning, and the bruise was only
+a slight one. Cris, in his indifferent manner, said the Squire must have
+walked into the branches of a thorny tree.
+
+By tacit consent they avoided all mention of Rupert. It is possible that
+even Miss Diana did not care to mention his name to Mr. Chattaway.
+Whilst they were at breakfast, Hatch came and put his head inside the
+door.
+
+"Jim Sanders is back, sir."
+
+Mr. Chattaway started up, a certain flashing light in his dull eyes that
+boded no good to Jim. "Where is he?" he cried. "How do you know?"
+
+"Ted, the cow-boy, has just seen him at work at Mr. Ryle's as usual,
+sir. I thought you might like to know it, and made bold to come in and
+tell ye. Ted asked him where he had runned away to yesterday, and Jim
+answered he had not runned away at all; only overslep' hisself."
+
+Mr. Chattaway hastened from the room, followed by Cris; and Mrs.
+Chattaway took the opportunity to ask Hatch if he had seen or heard
+anything of Mr. Rupert. But Hatch only stood stolidly in the middle of
+the carpet, and made no reply.
+
+"Did you not hear Madam's question, Hatch?" sharply asked Miss Diana.
+"Why don't you answer it?"
+
+"Because I don't like to," responded stolid Hatch. "Happen Madam mayn't
+like to hear the answer, Miss Diana."
+
+"Nonsense!" quickly cried Miss Trevlyn. "Have you heard of him?"
+
+"Well, yes, I have," answered Hatch. "They be talking of it now in the
+sheep-pen."
+
+"What are they saying?" asked Mrs. Chattaway, in eager tones.
+
+But the man remained silent, staring at his mistress.
+
+"What are they saying?--do you hear?" imperatively repeated Miss Diana.
+
+Hatch could not hold out longer. "They be saying that he's dead, ma'am."
+
+"That he is--_what_?"
+
+"They be saying that Mr. Rupert's dead," equably repeated Hatch; "he was
+killed down in the little grove last night, as you go through the fields
+to Barbrook. I didn't like to tell the Squire, because they be saying
+that if he be killed, happen the Squire have killed him."
+
+Only for a moment did Miss Diana Trevlyn lose her self-possession. She
+raised her hands to still the awestruck terror around her, and glanced
+at Mrs. Chattaway's blanched face. "Hatch, where did you hear this?"
+
+"In the sheep-pen, ma'am. The men be a-talking on't. They say he was
+killed last night--murdered."
+
+Her own face for once in her life was turning white. "Be still, all of
+you, and remain here," she said. "Edith, if ever you had need of
+self-command, it is now."
+
+She went straight off to the sheep-pen, bidding Hatch follow her. From
+the first moment Hatch had spoken, there had risen up before her, as an
+ugly picture--a dream to be shunned--the scratched and bruised face of
+Mr. Chattaway.
+
+The sheep-pen was empty: the men had dispersed. Cris came out of the
+stables, and she signed to him. He advanced to meet her. "Where is your
+father?" she asked.
+
+"Off to Barbrook," returned Cris. "Sam wasn't long getting his horse
+ready, was he? He has gone to order Bowen to look after Mr. Jim
+Sanders."
+
+"Have you heard this report about Rupert?" she resumed, her hushed tones
+imparting to Cris a vague sense of something unpleasant.
+
+"I have not heard any report about him. What is the report? That he's
+dead?"
+
+"Yes; that he is dead."
+
+Cris had spoken in a half-jesting, half-sneering tone; but his face
+changed at the answer, consternation in every feature, "What on earth do
+you mean, Aunt Diana? Rupert----"
+
+"Good morning, Miss Diana."
+
+They turned to behold George Ryle. He had come up thus early to know if
+they had news of Rupert. The scared expression of their faces struck him
+that something was wrong.
+
+"You have bad news, I see. What is it?"
+
+Miss Diana rapidly turned over a question in her mind. Should she
+mention this report to George? Yes; he was thoroughly trustworthy; and
+might be of use.
+
+"Hatch came in a few minutes ago, and frightened us very greatly," she
+said. "I was just telling Cris about it. The man says there's a report
+going about that Rupert is--is"--she scarcely liked to bring out the
+word--"is dead."
+
+"What?" uttered George.
+
+"That he has been killed--murdered," continued Miss Diana. "George, I
+want to get at the truth of it."
+
+He could not rejoin just at first. News, such as that, takes time to
+revolve. He could only look at them alternately; his heart, for Rupert's
+sake, beating fast. Miss Diana repeated what Hatch had said. "George,"
+she concluded, "I cannot go after these men, examining into the truth or
+falsehood of the report, but you might."
+
+George started away impulsively ere she had well spoken. Hatch mentioned
+the names of the men who had been talking, and George hastened to look
+for them over the fields. Cris was following, but Miss Diana caught him
+by the arm.
+
+"Not you, Cris; stop where you are."
+
+"Stop where I am?" returned Cris, indignantly, who had a very great
+objection to being interfered with by Miss Diana. "I shall not, indeed.
+I don't pretend to have had much love for Rupert, but I'm sure I shall
+look into it if there's such a report as that about. He must have killed
+himself, if he is dead."
+
+But Miss Diana kept her hand upon him. "Remain where you are, I say.
+They are connecting your father's name with it in a manner I do not
+understand, and it will be better you should be quiet until we know
+more."
+
+She went on to the house as she spoke. Cris stared after her in blank
+dismay, wondering what the words meant, yet sufficiently discomposed to
+give up his own will for once, and remain quiet, as she had suggested.
+
+Meanwhile, Mr. Chattaway, unconscious of the commotion at the Hold, was
+galloping towards Barbrook. He reined in at the police-station, and
+Bowen came out to him.
+
+"I know what you have come about, Mr. Chattaway," cried the man, before
+that gentleman could speak. "It's to tell us that Jim Sanders has turned
+up. We know all about it, and Dumps has gone after him. Hang the boy!
+giving us all this bother."
+
+"I'll have him punished, Bowen."
+
+"Well, sir, it's to know whether he won't get enough punishment as it
+is. His going off looks uncommonly suspicious--as I said yesterday:
+looks as if he had had a finger in the pie."
+
+"Is Dumps going to bring him on here?"
+
+"Right away, as fast as he can march him. Impudent monkey, going to work
+this morning, just as if nothing had happened! Dumps'll be on to him.
+They won't be long, sir."
+
+"Then I'll wait," decided Mr. Chattaway.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIII
+
+JAMES SANDERS
+
+
+George Ryle speedily found the men spoken of by Hatch as having held the
+conversation in the sheep-pen. But he could gather nothing more certain
+from them than Miss Diana had gathered from Hatch. Upon endeavouring to
+trace the report to its source he succeeded in finding out that one man
+alone had brought it to the Hold. This man declared he heard it from his
+wife, and his wife had heard it from Mrs. Sanders.
+
+Away sped George Ryle to the cottage of Mrs. Sanders: passing through
+the small grove of trees, spoken of in connection with this fresh
+report, the nearest way to Barbrook and the cottage from the upper road,
+but lonely and unfrequented. He found the woman busy at the work Mr.
+Dumps had interrupted the previous day--washing. With some unwillingness
+on her part and much circumlocution, George drew her tale from her. And
+to that evening we may as well return for a few minutes, for we shall
+arrive at the conclusion much more quickly than Mrs. Sanders.
+
+It was dark when the woman walked home from Barmester--Dumps not having
+had the politeness to drive her, as in going,--and she found her kitchen
+as she had left it. Her children--she had three besides Jim--were out in
+the world, Jim alone being at home with her. Mrs. Sanders lighted a
+candle, and surveyed the scene: grate black and cold; washing-tub on the
+bench, wet clothes lying over it; bricks sloppy. "Drat that old Dumps!"
+ejaculated she. "I'd serve him out if I could. And I'd like to serve out
+that Jim, too. This comes of dancing up to the Hold after Bridget with
+that precious puppy!"
+
+She put things tolerably straight for the night, made herself some tea,
+and began to think. What had become of Jim? And did he or did he not
+have anything to do with the fire? Not wilfully; she could answer for
+that; but accidentally? She looked into vacancy, and shook her head in a
+timid, doubtful manner, for she knew that torches in rick-yards might
+prove dangerous adjuncts to suspicion.
+
+"I wonder what they could do to him, happen they proved it were a spark
+from his torch?" she deliberated. "Sure they'd never transport for an
+accident! Dumps said transportation were too good for Jim, but----"
+
+The train of thought was interrupted, the door burst open, and by no
+less a personage than Jim himself. Jim, as it appeared, in a state of
+fear and agitation. His breath came fast, and his eyes had a wild,
+terrified stare in them.
+
+With his presence, Mrs. Sanders's maternal apprehensions for his safety
+merged into anger. She laid hold of Jim and shook him--kindly, as she
+expressed it; but poor Jim found little kindness in it.
+
+"Mother, what's that for?"
+
+"That's what it's for," retorted his mother, giving him a sound box on
+the ear. "You'll dance out with puppies again up to that
+good-for-nothing minx of a Bridget!--and you'll set rick-yards
+a-fire!--and you'll go off and hide yourself, and let the place be
+searched by the police!--and me drawn into trouble, and took off by that
+insolent Dumps in a stick-up gig to Barmester, and lugged afore the
+court! Now, where have you been?"
+
+Jim made no return in kind. All the spirit the boy possessed seemed to
+have gone out of him. He sat down meekly on a broken chair, and began to
+shiver. "Don't, mother," said he. "I've got a fright."
+
+"A fright!" indignantly responded Mrs. Sanders. "And what sort of a
+fright do you suppose you have given others? Happen Madam Chattaway
+might have died of it, they say. _You_ talk of a fright! Who hasn't been
+in a fright since you took the torch into the yard and set the ricks
+alight?"
+
+"It isn't that," said Jim. "I ain't afraid of that; I didn't do it. Nora
+knows I didn't, and Mr. Apperley knows, and Bridget knows. I've no cause
+to be afeard of that."
+
+"Then what are you quaking for?" angrily demanded Mrs. Sanders.
+
+"I've just got a fright," he answered. "Mother, as true as we be here,
+Mr. Rupert's dead. I've just watched him killed."
+
+Mrs. Sanders's first proceeding on receipt of this information was to
+stare; her second to discredit it, believing Jim was out of his mind, or
+dreaming. "Talk sense, will you?" cried she.
+
+"I'm not a-talking nonsense," he answered. "Mother, as sure as us two be
+living here, I see it. It were in the grove, up by the field. I saw him
+struck down."
+
+The woman began to think there must be something in the tale. "It's Mr.
+Rupert you be talking of?"
+
+"Yes, and it was him as set the rick a-fire. And now he's murdered!
+Didn't I run fast! I was in mortal fear."
+
+"Who killed him?"
+
+Jim looked round timorously, as if thinking the walls might have ears.
+"I daren't say," he shivered.
+
+"But you must say."
+
+He shook his head. "No, I'll never tell it--unless I'm forced. He might
+be for killing _me_. When the hue and cry goes about to-morrow, and
+folks is asking who did it, there'll be nobody to answer. I shall keep
+dark, because I must. But if Ann Canham had waited and seen it, I
+wouldn't ha' minded saying; she'd ha' been a witness as I told the
+truth."
+
+"If you don't speak plainer I'll box your ears again," was the retort.
+"What about Ann Canham?"
+
+"Well, I met her at the top o' the field as I was turning into 't. That
+were but a few minutes afore. She'd been to work at the parson's, she
+said. I say, mother, you don't think they'll come after me here?" he
+questioned, his tone full of doubt.
+
+"They _did_ come after ye, to some purpose," wrathfully responded Mrs.
+Sanders. "My belief is you've come home with your head turned. I'd like
+to know where you've been hiding."
+
+"I've been nowhere but up in the tallet at master's," replied Jim. "I
+crep' in there last night, dead tired, and never woke this morning. Hay
+do make one sleep; it's warmer than bed."
+
+We need not follow the interview any further. At the close of the night
+she knew little more than she had known at its commencement beyond the
+assertion that Rupert Trevlyn was killed. Jim went off in the morning to
+his work as usual, and she resumed her labours of the day before. Nora
+had scarcely shown her wisdom in releasing Jim so quickly; but it may be
+that to keep him longer concealed in the "tallet" was next door to
+impossible.
+
+Mrs. Sanders was interrupted in her work by George Ryle. She smoothed
+down the coarse towel pinned before her, and put her untidy hair behind
+her ears as her master entered. He questioned her as to the report which
+had been traced to her, and she disclosed what she had heard from Jim.
+Not much in itself, but it wore an air of mystery George could not
+understand and did not like. He left her to go in search of Jim.
+
+But another, as we have heard, had taken precedence of him in searching
+for that gentleman--Policeman Dumps. Mr. Dumps found him in the
+out-buildings at Trevlyn Farm, working as unconcernedly as though
+nothing had happened. The man's first move, fearing perhaps a second
+escape, was to clap a pair of handcuffs on him.
+
+"There, you young reptile! You'll go off again, will you, after
+committing murder!"
+
+Now, in point of fact, Mr. Dumps had really no particular reason for
+using the word. He only intended to imply that Mr. Jim's general
+delinquency deserved a strong name. Jim took it in a different light.
+
+"It wasn't me murdered him!" he said, terrified almost out of his life
+at the handcuffs. "I only see it done. Why should I murder him, Mr.
+Dumps?"
+
+"Who's talking about murder?" cynically returned Dumps, forgetting
+probably that he had used the word. "The setting of the rick-yard on
+fire was enough for you, warn't it, without anything else added on to
+it?"
+
+"Oh, you mean the fire," said Jim, considerably relieved. "I didn't do
+that, neither, and there'll be plenty to prove it. I thought you meant
+the murder."
+
+Dumps surveyed his charge critically, uncertain what to make of him. He
+proceeded to questioning; setting about it in an artistic manner that
+was perhaps characteristic of his calling.
+
+"Which murder might be you meaning of, pray?"
+
+"Mr. Rupert's."
+
+"Mr.----What be you talking of?" uttered Dumps, staring at Jim in the
+utmost astonishment.
+
+And now Jim Sanders found he had been caught in a trap, one not
+expressly laid for him. He could have bitten his tongue out with
+vexation. That the death of Rupert Trevlyn would become public property,
+he had never doubted, but he had intended to remain silent upon the
+subject.
+
+It was too late to retract now, and he must make the best of it, and put
+up with the consequences.
+
+"Who says Mr. Rupert's murdered?" persisted Dumps.
+
+"So he is," sullenly answered Jim. "But I didn't do it."
+
+Mr. Dumps's rejoinder was to seize Jim by the collar, and march him off
+in the direction of the station as fast as he could walk. The farming
+men, who had been collecting since the policeman's arrival, followed to
+the fold-yard gate, and stood staring, supposing he was taken on
+suspicion of having caused the fire. Nora, shut up in her dairy, had
+seen nothing, or there's no knowing but she might have flown out to the
+rescue.
+
+Not another word was spoken; indeed the pace at which Mr. Dumps chose to
+walk prevented it. When they reached the station, Mr. Chattaway was
+talking to Bowen. Jim went into a shivering fit at the sight of
+Chattaway, and strove to hide behind Policeman Dumps.
+
+"So you have turned up!" exclaimed Bowen. "And now, where did you get to
+yesterday?"
+
+Jim did not answer; he appeared to wish to avoid Mr. Chattaway, and
+trembled visibly. Bowen was on the point of inquiring what made him
+quake in that fashion, when Mr. Chattaway's voice broke in like a peal
+of thunder.
+
+"How dared you be guilty of suppressing evidence? How dared you run
+away?"
+
+Bowen turned the boy round to face him. "Just state where you got to,
+Jim Sanders."
+
+"I didn't run away," replied Jim. "I lay down in the tallet at the farm
+atop o' the hay, and never woke all day yesterday. Miss Dickson can say
+I was there, for she come and found me there at night, and sent me off.
+There warn't no cause for me to run away," he somewhat fractiously
+repeated, as if weary of having to harp upon the same string. "It wasn't
+me that fired the rick."
+
+"But you saw it fired?" cried Mr. Chattaway.
+
+Jim stole round, so as to put Dumps between him and the questioner. Mr.
+Bowen brought him to again. "There's no need to dodge about like that,"
+cried he, repeating Jim's words. "Just speak up the truth; but you are
+not forced to say anything to criminate yourself."
+
+"I can tell 'em," thought Jim to himself; "it won't hurt him, now he's
+dead. It was Mr. Rupert," he said aloud. "After he got the
+horsewhipping, he caught up the torch and pushed it into one o' the
+ricks; and that's as true as I be living."
+
+"You saw him do this?"
+
+"I was watching all the while, round the pales. He seemed like one
+a'most mad, and it frighted me. I pulled the burning hay out o' the
+rick, and thought I pulled it all out, but suppose a spark must ha'
+stopped in. I was frighted worse afterwards when the flames burst out,
+and I ran off for the engines. I telled Mr. Apperley I'd been for 'em
+when I met him at night."
+
+The boy's earnest tones and honest eyes, lifted to Bowen's, convinced
+that experienced officer that it was the truth. But he chose to gaze
+implacably at the culprit, never relaxing his sternness of voice.
+
+"Then what made you go and hide yourself? Out with the truth!"
+
+Jim's eyes fell now. "I was tired to death," he said, "and crep' up into
+the tallet at master's, and went to sleep. And I never woke in the
+morning, when I ought to ha' woke."
+
+This was so far probable that it _might_ be true. But before Bowen could
+go on questioning he was interrupted by Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"He has confessed sufficient, Bowen--it was Rupert Trevlyn. But he
+deserves punishment for the trouble he has put everyone to; and there
+must be a fresh examination. Keep him safely here, and take care he's
+not tampered with. I am obliged to go to Blackstone to-day, but the
+hearing can take place to-morrow, if you'll apprise the magistrates.
+And--Bowen--mind you accomplish that other matter to-day that I have
+charged you with."
+
+The last sentence, spoken emphatically and slowly, Mr. Chattaway turned
+round to deliver as he was going out. Bowen nodded in acquiescence; and
+Chattaway mounted his horse and rode off in the direction of Blackstone.
+
+Jim Sanders, looking the picture of misery in his handcuffs, stood
+awkwardly in a corner of the room; it was a square room with a boarded
+floor; and a railed-off desk. Bowen had gone within these rails as Mr.
+Chattaway departed, and was busy writing a few detached words or
+sentences, that looked like memoranda. Dumps was gazing after the
+retreating figure of Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"Call Chigwell," said Bowen, glancing at the small door which led into
+the inner premises. "There's work for both of you to-day."
+
+But before Dumps could do this, he was half-knocked over by some one
+entering. It was George Ryle. He took in a view of affairs at a glance:
+Bowen writing; Dumps doing nothing; Mr. Jim Sanders handcuffed.
+
+"So you have come to grief?" said George to the latter. "You are just
+the man I wanted, Jim. Bowen," he added, going within the railings and
+lowering his voice, "have you heard this report about Rupert Trevlyn?"
+
+"I have heard he is probably off, sir," was Bowen's answer. "Two of the
+men are going out now to look after him. Mr. Chattaway has signed a
+warrant for his apprehension."
+
+George paused. "There is a report that he is dead," he resumed.
+
+"Dead!" echoed Bowen, aghast. "Rupert Trevlyn dead! Who says it?"
+
+George looked round at Jim. The boy stood white and shivery; but before
+any questions could be asked, Dumps came forward and spoke.
+
+"_He_ was talking of that," he said to Bowen, indicating Jim. "When I
+clapped the handcuffs on him, he turned scared, and began denying it was
+him that did the murder. I asked him what he meant, and who was
+murdered, and he said it was Mr. Rupert Trevlyn."
+
+Bowen looked thunderstruck, little as it is in the way of police
+officers to show emotion of any kind. "What grounds has he for saying
+that?" he exclaimed, gazing keenly at Jim. "Mr. Ryle, where did you hear
+the report?"
+
+"I heard it just now at Trevlyn Hold. It would have alarmed them very
+much had they believed it. Mr. Chattaway was away, and Miss Trevlyn
+requested me to inquire into it, and bring back news--as she assumed I
+should--of its absurdity. I believe we must go to Jim for information,"
+added George, "for I have traced the report to him."
+
+Bowen beckoned Jim within the railings; where there was just sufficient
+space for the three. Dumps stood outside, leaning on the bars. "Have you
+been doing mischief to Mr. Rupert Trevlyn?" asked the superintendent.
+
+"Me!" echoed Jim--and it was evident that his astonishment was genuine.
+"I wouldn't have hurt a hair of his head," he added, bursting into
+tears. "I couldn't sleep for vexing over it. It wasn't me."
+
+Bowen quietly took off the handcuffs, and laid them on the desk.
+"There," said he, in a kindlier tone; "now you can talk at your ease.
+Let us hear about this."
+
+"I'm afeard, sir," responded Jim.
+
+"There's nothing to be afeard of, if you are innocent. Do you know of
+any ill having happened to Mr. Rupert Trevlyn?"
+
+"I know he's dead," answered Jim. "They blowed me up for saying it was
+him set the rick a-fire, and I was sorry I had said it; but now he's
+gone, it don't matter, and I can say still that it was him fired it."
+
+"Who blew you up?"
+
+"Some on 'em," answered Jim, doing his best to evade the question.
+
+"Well, what is this about Mr. Rupert? If you are afraid to tell me, tell
+your master there," suggested Bowen. "I'm sure he is a kind master to
+you; all the parish knows that."
+
+"It _must_ be told, Jim," said George Ryle, impressively, as he laid his
+hand upon the boy's shoulder. "What are you afraid of?"
+
+"Mr. Chattaway might kill me for telling, sir," said unwilling Jim.
+
+"Nonsense! Mr. Chattaway would be as anxious to know the truth as we
+are."
+
+"But if it was him did it?" whispered Jim, glancing fearfully round the
+whitewashed walls of the room, as he had glanced around those of his
+mother's cottage.
+
+A blank pause. Mr. Bowen looked at George, whose face had turned hectic
+with the surprise, the _dread_ the words had brought. "You must speak
+out, Jim," was all he said.
+
+"It was in the little grove last night," rejoined the boy. "I was
+running home after Nora Dickson turned me out o' the tallet, and when I
+got up to 'em they was having words----"
+
+"Who were having words?"
+
+"Mr. Chattaway and Master Rupert. I was scared, and crep' in amid the
+trees, and they never saw me. And then I heard blows, and I looked out
+and saw Mr. Rupert struck down to the earth, and he fell as one who
+hasn't got no life in him, and I knew he was dead."
+
+"And what happened next?" asked Bowen.
+
+"I don't know, sir. I come off then, and got into mother's. I didn't
+dare tell her it was Chattaway killed him. I wouldn't tell now, only you
+force me."
+
+Bowen was revolving things in his mind, this and that. "Not five minutes
+ago Chattaway gave me orders to have Rupert Trevlyn searched for and
+taken up to-day," he muttered, more to himself than to George Ryle. "He
+knew he was skulking somewhere in the neighbourhood, he said; skulking,
+that was the word. I don't know what to think of this."
+
+Neither did his hearers know, Mr. Jim Sanders possibly excepted. "I
+wonder," slowly resumed Bowen, a curious light coming into his eyes,
+"what brought those scratches on the face of Mr. Chattaway?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIV
+
+FERMENT
+
+
+Strange rumours were abroad in the neighbourhood of Trevlyn Hold, and
+the excitement increased hourly. Mr. Chattaway had murdered Rupert
+Trevlyn--so ran the gossip--and Jim Sanders was in custody. Before the
+night of the day on which you saw Jim in the police-station, these
+reports, with many wild and almost impossible additions, were current,
+and spreading largely.
+
+With the exception of the accusation made by Jim Sanders, the only
+corroboration to the tale appeared to rest in the fact that Rupert
+Trevlyn was not to be found. Dumps and his brother-constable scoured the
+locality high and low, and could find no traces of him. Sober lookers-on
+(but it is rare to find them in times of great excitement) regarded this
+as a favourable fact. Had Rupert really been murdered, or even
+accidentally killed by a chance blow from Mr. Chattaway, surely his body
+would be forthcoming to confirm the tale. But there were not wanting
+others who believed, and did not shrink from the avowal, that Mr.
+Chattaway was quite capable of suppressing all signs of the affray,
+including the dead body itself; though by what sleight-of-hand the act
+could have been accomplished seemed likely to remain a mystery.
+
+Before Mr. Chattaway got home from Blackstone in the evening, all the
+rumours, good and bad, were known at Trevlyn Hold.
+
+Mr. Chattaway was not unprepared to find this the case. In returning, he
+had turned his horse to the police-station, and reined in. Bowen, who
+saw him, came out.
+
+"Has he been taken?" demanded Mr. Chattaway.
+
+He put the question in an earnest tone, some impatience dashed with it,
+that was apparently genuine. "No, he has not," replied Bowen, stroking
+his chin, taking note of Mr. Chattaway's face. "Dumps and Chigwell have
+been at it all day; are at it still; but as yet without result."
+
+"Then they are laggards at their work!" retorted Mr. Chattaway, his
+countenance darkening. "He was wandering about the place last night, and
+is sure to be not far off it to-day. By Heaven, he shall be unearthed!
+If there's any screening going on, as I know there was yesterday with
+regard to Jim Sanders, I'll have the actors brought to justice!"
+
+Bowen came out of a reverie. "Would you be so good as to step inside for
+a few minutes, Mr. Chattaway? I have a word to say to you."
+
+Mr. Chattaway got off his horse, hooked the bridle to the rails, as he
+had hooked it in the morning, and followed Bowen. The man saw that the
+doors were closed, and then spoke.
+
+"There's a tale flying about, Mr. Chattaway, that Rupert Trevlyn has
+come to some harm. Do you know anything of it?"
+
+"Not I," slightingly answered Mr. Chattaway. "What harm should come to
+him?"
+
+"It is said that you and he met last night, had some sort of encounter
+by moonlight, and that Rupert was--in short, that some violence was done
+him."
+
+For a full minute they remained looking at each other. The policeman
+appeared intent on biting the feathers of his pen; in reality, he was
+studying the face of Mr. Chattaway with a critical acumen his apparently
+careless demeanour imparted little idea of. He saw the blood mount under
+the dark skin; he saw the eye lighten with emotion: but the emotion was
+more like that called forth by anger than guilt. At least, so the police
+officer judged; and habit had rendered him a pretty correct observer.
+Mr. Chattaway was the first to speak.
+
+"How do you know anything of the sort took place?--any interview?"
+
+"It was watched--that is, accidentally seen. A person was passing at the
+time, and has mentioned it to-day."
+
+"Who was the person?"
+
+Bowen did not reply to the question. The omission may have been
+accidental, since he was hastening to put one on his own account.
+
+"Do you deny this, Mr. Chattaway?"
+
+"No. I wish I had the opportunity of acknowledging it to Mr. Rupert
+Trevlyn in the manner he deserves," continued Mr. Chattaway, in what
+looked like a blaze of anger.
+
+"It is said that after the--the encounter, Rupert Trevlyn was left as
+one dead," cautiously resumed Bowen.
+
+"Psha!" was the scornful retort. "Dead! He got up and ran away."
+
+A very different account from that of Jim Sanders. Bowen was silent for
+a minute, endeavouring, most likely, to reconcile the two. "Have you any
+objection to state what took place, sir?"
+
+"I don't know that I have," was the reply, somewhat sullenly delivered.
+"But I can't see what business it is of yours."
+
+"People are taking up odd notions about it," said Bowen.
+
+"People be hanged! It's no concern of theirs."
+
+"But if they come to me and oblige me to make it my concern?" returned
+the officer, in significant tones. "If it's all fair and above-board,
+you had better tell me, Mr. Chattaway. If it's not, perhaps the less you
+say the better."
+
+It was a hint not calculated to conciliate a chafed spirit, and Mr.
+Chattaway resented it. "How dare you presume to throw out insinuations
+to me?" he cried, snatching his riding-whip off the desk, where he had
+laid it, and stalking towards the door. "I'll tell you nothing; and you
+may make the best and the worst of it. Find Rupert Trevlyn, if you must
+know, and get it out of him. I ask you who has been spreading the rumour
+that I met Rupert Trevlyn last night?"
+
+Bowen saw no reason why he should not disclose it. "Jim Sanders," he
+replied.
+
+"Psha!" contemptuously ejaculated Mr. Chattaway: and he mounted his
+horse and rode away.
+
+So that after this colloquy, Chattaway was in a degree prepared to find
+unpleasant rumours had reached the Hold. When he entered he could not
+avoid seeing the shrinking, timid looks cast on him by his children; the
+haughty, questioning face of Miss Diana; the horror in that of Mrs.
+Chattaway. He took the same sullen, defiant tone with them that he had
+taken with Bowen, denying the thing by implication more than by direct
+assertions. He asked them all whether they had gone out of their minds,
+that they should listen to senseless tales; and threatened the most dire
+revenge against Rupert when he was found.
+
+Thus matters went on for a few days. But the rumours did not die away:
+on the contrary, they gathered strength and plausibility. Things were in
+a most uncomfortable state at the Hold: the family were tortured by
+dread and doubt they dared not give utterance to, and strove to hide;
+the very servants went about with silent footsteps, casting covert
+glances at their master from dark corners, and avoiding a direct meeting
+with him. Mr. Chattaway could not help seeing all this, and it did not
+tend to give him equanimity.
+
+The only thing that could clear up this miserable doubt was to find
+Rupert. But Rupert was not found. Friends and foes, police and public,
+put out their best endeavours to accomplish it; but no more trace could
+be discovered of Rupert than if he had never existed--or than if, as
+many openly said, he were buried in some quiet corner of Mr. Chattaway's
+grounds. To do Mr. Chattaway justice, he appeared the most anxious of
+any for Rupert's discovery: not with a view to clearing himself from
+suspicion; _that_ he trampled under foot, as it were; but that Rupert
+might be brought to justice for burning the ricks.
+
+Perhaps Mr. Chattaway's enemies may be pardoned for their doubts. It
+cannot be denied that there were apparent grounds for them: many a man
+has been officially accused of murder upon less. There was the
+well-known ill-feeling which had long existed on Mr. Chattaway's part
+towards Rupert; there was the dread of being displaced by him, which had
+latterly arisen through the visit of Mr. Daw; there was the sore feeling
+excited on both sides by the business of the rick-yard and the
+subsequent examination; there was the night contest spoken of by Jim
+Sanders, which Mr. Chattaway did not deny; there were the scratches and
+bruises visible on that gentleman's face; and there was the total
+disappearance of Rupert. People could remember the blank look which had
+passed over Mr. Chattaway's countenance when Rupert ran into the circle
+gathered round the pit at Blackstone. "He'd ha' bin glad that he were
+dead," they had murmured then, one to another. "And happen he have put
+him out o' the way," they murmured now.
+
+Perhaps they did not all go so far as to suspect Mr. Chattaway of the
+crime of premeditated murder: he might have killed him wilfully in the
+passion of the moment; or killed him accidentally by an unlucky blow
+that had done its work more effectually than he had intended. The
+fruitless search was no barrier to these doubts; murdered men had been
+hidden away before, and would be again.
+
+I have not yet mentioned the last point of suspicion, but it was one
+much dwelt upon--the late return of Mr. Chattaway to his home on the
+night in question. The servants had not failed to talk of this, and the
+enemies outside took it up and discussed it eagerly. It was most unusual
+for Mr. Chattaway to be away from home at night. Unsociable by nature,
+and a man whose company was not sought by his neighbours--for they
+disliked him--it was a rare thing for Mr. Chattaway to spend his
+evenings out. He attended evening parties now and then in the company of
+his wife and Miss Trevlyn, but not once a year was he invited out alone.
+His absence therefore on this night, coupled with his late entrance,
+close upon midnight, was the more remarkable. Where had he been until
+that hour? Everyone wondered: everyone asked it. Mr. Chattaway
+carelessly answered his wife and Miss Diana that he had been on business
+at Barbrook, but condescended to give no reply whatever to any other
+living mortal amongst the questioners.
+
+As the days went on without news of Rupert, Mr. Chattaway expressed a
+conviction that he had made his way to Mr. Daw, and was being sheltered
+there. A most unsatisfactory conviction, if he really and genuinely
+believed it. With those two hatching plots against him, he could never
+know a moment's peace. He was most explosive against Rupert; at home and
+abroad he never ceased to utter threats of prosecution for the crime of
+which he had been guilty. He rode every other day to the station,
+worrying Bowen, asking whether any traces had turned up: urged--this was
+in the first day or so of the disappearance--that houses and cottages
+should be searched. Bowen quite laughed at the suggestion. If Mr.
+Chattaway had reason to suspect any particular house or cottage, they
+might perhaps go the length of getting a search warrant; but to enter
+dwellings indiscriminately would be an intolerable and unjustifiable
+procedure.
+
+Mr. Chattaway was unable to say that he had especial cause to suspect
+any house or cottage: unless, he added in his temper, it might be
+Trevlyn Farm. Jim Sanders had, it appeared, hidden there in an
+outbuilding: why not Rupert Trevlyn? But Bowen saw and knew that Mr.
+Chattaway had only spoken in exasperation. Trevlyn Farm was not more
+likely to conceal Rupert Trevlyn than any other house of its
+standing--in fact less; for Mrs. Ryle would not have permitted it. Her
+dislike to any sort of underhand dealing was so great, that she would
+not have concealed Rupert, or countenanced his being concealed, had it
+been to save him from hanging. In that she resembled Miss Diana Trevlyn.
+Miss Diana would have spent her last shilling nobly to defend Rupert on
+his trial--had it come to a trial--but ignominiously conceal him from
+the reach of the law, that she would never have done. Chattaway's remark
+travelled to George Ryle: George happened to meet Bowen the same day,
+not an hour after, and spoke of it. He told Bowen that the bare idea of
+Rupert's being concealed on their premises was absurd, and added, on his
+word of honour, not only that he did not know where Rupert was, but
+where he was likely to be: the thing was to him a complete mystery.
+Bowen nodded. In Bowen's opinion the idea of his being concealed in any
+house was all moonshine.
+
+The days went on and on, and it did appear very mysterious where Rupert
+could be, or what his fate. His clothes, his effects, remained unclaimed
+at Trevlyn Hold. When Mrs. Chattaway came unexpectedly upon anything
+that had belonged to him, she turned sick with the fears that darted
+across her heart. A faint hope arose within her at times that Rupert had
+gone, as Mr. Chattaway loudly, and perhaps others more secretly,
+surmised, to Mr. Daw in his far-off home, but it was rejected the next
+moment. She knew, none better, that Rupert had no means to take him
+there. Oh, how often did she wish, in her heart of hearts, that they had
+never usurped Trevlyn Hold! It seemed they were beginning to reap all
+the bitter fruits, which had been so long ripening.
+
+But this supposition was soon to be set aside. Two letters arrived from
+Mr. Daw: one to Mr. Freeman, the other to Rupert himself; and they
+completely did away with the idea that Rupert Trevlyn had found his way
+to the Pyrenees.
+
+It appeared that Rupert had written an account to Mr. Daw of these
+unhappy circumstances; his setting the rick on fire in his passion, and
+his arrest. He had written it on the evening of the day he was
+discharged from custody. And by the contents of his letter, it was
+evident that he then contemplated returning to the Hold.
+
+"These letters from Mr. Daw settle the question: Rupert has not gone
+there," observed Mr. Freeman. "But they only make the mystery greater."
+
+Yes, they did. And the news went forth to the neighbourhood that Rupert
+Trevlyn had written a letter subsequent to the examination at Barmester,
+wherein he stated that he was going straight home to the Hold. Gossip
+never loses in the carrying, you know.
+
+Jim Sanders, who was discharged and at work again, became quite the lion
+of the day. He had never been made so much of in his life. Tea here,
+supper there, ale everywhere. Everyone was asking Jim the particulars of
+that later night, and Jim, nothing loth, gave them, with the addition of
+his own comments.
+
+And the days went on, and the ferment and the doubts increased.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLV
+
+AN APPLICATION
+
+
+The ferment increased. The arguments in the neighbourhood were worthy of
+being listened to, if only from a logical point of view. If Rupert
+Trevlyn had stated that he was going back to the Hold after the
+proceedings at Barmester; and if Rupert Trevlyn never reached the Hold,
+clearly Mr. Chattaway had killed and buried him. Absurd as the deduction
+may be from a dispassionate point of view, to those excited gentry it
+appeared not only a feasible but a certain conclusion. The thing could
+not rest; interviews were held with Mr. Peterby, who was supposed to be
+the only person able to take up the matter on the part of the missing
+and ill-used Rupert; and that gentleman bestirred himself to make secret
+inquiries.
+
+One dark night, between eight and nine, the inmates of the lodge were
+disturbed by a loud imperative knocking at their door. Ann
+Canham--trying her poor eyes over some dark sewing by the light of the
+solitary candle--started from her chair, and remarked that her heart had
+leaped into her mouth.
+
+Which may have been a reason, possibly, for standing still, face and
+hands uplifted in consternation, instead of answering the knock. It was
+repeated more imperatively.
+
+Old Canham turned his head and looked at her, as he smoked his last
+evening pipe over the fire. "Thee must open it, Ann."
+
+Seeing no help for it, she went meekly to the door, wringing her hands.
+What she feared was best known to herself; but in point of fact, since
+Bowen, the superintendent, had pounced upon her a few days before, as
+she was going past the police-station, handed her inside, and put her
+through sundry questions as we put a boy through his catechism, she had
+lived in a state of tremor. She may have concluded it was Bowen now,
+with the fellow handcuffs to those which had adorned Jim Sanders.
+
+It proved to be Mr. Peterby. Ann looked surprised, but lost three parts
+of her fear. Dropping her humble curtsey, she was about to ask his
+pleasure, when he brushed past her without ceremony, and stepped into
+the kitchen.
+
+"Shut the door," were his first words to her. "How are you, Canham?"
+
+Mark had risen, and stood with doubtful gaze, wondering, no doubt, what
+the visit could mean. "I be but middlin', sir," he answered, putting his
+pipe in the corner of the hearth. "We ain't none of us too well, I
+reckon, with this uncertainty hanging over our minds, as to poor Master
+Rupert."
+
+"It is the business I have come about. Sit down, Ann," Mr. Peterby
+added, settling himself on the bench opposite Mark. "I want to ask you a
+few questions."
+
+"Yes, sir," she meekly answered. But her hands shook, and she nearly
+dropped the work she had taken up.
+
+"There's nothing to be afraid of," cried Mr. Peterby, noticing the
+emotion. "I am not going to accuse you of putting him out of sight, as
+it seems busy tongues are accusing somebody else. On the night the
+encounter took place between Mr. Chattaway and Rupert Trevlyn, you were
+passing near the spot, I believe. You must tell me all you saw. First of
+all, as I am told, you encountered Rupert."
+
+Ann Canham raised her shaking hand to her brow. Mr. Peterby had begun
+his questioning in a hard, matter-of-fact tone, as if he were examining
+a witness in court, and it did not tend to reassure her. Ann was often
+laughed at for her timidity. She gave him the account of her interview
+with Rupert as correctly as she could remember it.
+
+"He said nothing of his intention of going off anywhere?" asked Mr.
+Peterby, when she had finished.
+
+"Not a word, sir. He said he had nowhere to go to; if he went to the
+Hold, Mr. Chattaway might be for horsewhipping him again. He thought he
+should lie under the trees till morning."
+
+"Did you leave him there?"
+
+"I left him sitting on the stile, sir, eating the bread. He had
+complained of hunger, and I got him to take a part of a cake Mrs.
+Freeman had given me for my father."
+
+"You told Bowen, the superintendent of the police-station, that you
+asked him to take refuge in the lodge for the night?"
+
+"Yes, sir," after a slight pause. "Mr. Bowen put a heap of questions to
+me, and what with being confused, and the fright of his calling me into
+the place, I didn't well know what I said to him."
+
+"But you did ask Rupert Trevlyn?"
+
+"I asked him if he'd be pleased to take shelter in the lodge till the
+morning, as he seemed to have nowhere to go to. But he spoke out quite
+sharp, at my asking it, and said, did I think he wanted to get me and
+father into trouble with Mr. Chattaway? So I went away, leaving him
+there."
+
+"Well, now, just tell me whom you met afterwards."
+
+"I hadn't got above three-parts up the field, sir, when I met Mr.
+Chattaway. I stood off the narrow path to let him pass, and wished him
+good night, but he didn't answer me: he went on. Just as I came close to
+the road-stile, I see Jim Sanders coming over it, so I asked him where
+he had been, and how he had got back again, having heard he'd not been
+found all day, and he answered rather impertinently that he'd been up in
+the moon. The moon was uncommon bright that night, sir," she simply
+added.
+
+"Was that all Jim Sanders said?"
+
+"Yes, sir, every word. He went on down the path as if he was in a
+hurry."
+
+"In the direction Mr. Chattaway had taken?"
+
+"The very same. There is but that one path, sir."
+
+"And that was the last you saw of them?"
+
+Ann Canham stopped to snuff the candle before she answered. "That was
+all, sir. I was hastening to get back to father, knowing he'd be wanting
+me, for I was late. Mr. Bowen kep' on telling me it was strange I heard
+nothing of the encounter, but I never did. I must ha' been out of the
+field long before Mr. Chattaway could get up to Master Rupert."
+
+"Pity but you had waited and gone back," observed Mr. Peterby, musingly.
+"It might have prevented what occurred."
+
+"Pity, perhaps, but I had, sir. It never entered my head that anything
+bad would come of their meeting. Since, after I came to know what did
+happen, I wondered I had not thought of it. But if I had, sir, I
+shouldn't have dared go back after Mr. Chattaway. It wouldn't have been
+my place."
+
+Mr. Peterby sat looking at Ann, as she imagined. In point of fact he was
+so buried in thought as to see nothing. He rose from the settle. "And
+this is all you know about it! Well, it amounts to nothing beyond
+establishing the fact that all three--Rupert Trevlyn, Mr. Chattaway, and
+the boy--were on the spot at that time. Good night, Canham. I hope your
+rheumatism will get easier."
+
+Ann Canham opened the door, and wished him good night. When he was
+fairly gone she slipped the bolt, and stood with her back against it, to
+recover her equanimity.
+
+"Father, my heart was in my mouth all the time he was here," she
+repeated. "I be all of a twitter."
+
+"More stupid you!" was the sympathising answer of old Canham.
+
+The public ferment, I say, did not lessen, and the matter was at length
+carried before the magistrates; so far as that the advice of one of them
+was asked by Mr. Peterby. It happened that Mr. Chattaway had gone this
+very day to Barmester. He was standing at the entrance to the inn-yard
+where he generally put up, when his solicitor, Flood, approached,
+evidently in a state of excitement.
+
+"What a mercy I found you!" he exclaimed, quite out of breath. "Jackson
+told me you were in town. Come along!"
+
+"Why, what's the matter?" asked Chattaway.
+
+"Matter? There's matter enough. Peterby's before the magistrates at this
+very moment preferring a charge against you for having murdered Rupert
+Trevlyn. I got word of it in the oddest manner, and----"
+
+"_What_ do you say?" interrupted Chattaway, his face blazing, as he
+stood stock still, and refused to stir another step without an answer.
+
+"Come along, I say. There's some application being made to the
+magistrates about you, and my advice is----Mr. Chattaway," added the
+lawyer, in a deeper, almost an agitated tone, as he abruptly broke off
+his words, "I assume that you are innocent of this. You _are_?"
+
+"Before Heaven, I am innocent!" thundered Chattaway. "What do you mean,
+Flood?"
+
+"Then make haste. My advice to you is, go right into the midst of it,
+and confront Peterby. Don't let the magistrates hear only one side of
+the question. Make your explanation and set these nasty rumours at rest.
+It is what you ought to have done at first."
+
+Apparently eager as himself now, Mr. Chattaway strode along. They found
+on reaching the courts that some trifling cause was being heard by the
+magistrates, nothing at all connected with Mr. Chattaway. But the
+explanation was forthcoming, Mr. Peterby was in a private room with one
+of the Bench only--a Captain Mynn. With scant ceremony the interview was
+broken in upon by the intruders.
+
+There was no formal complaint being made, no accusation lodged, or
+warrant applied for. Mr. Peterby, who was on terms of intimacy with
+Captain Mynn, was laying the case before him unofficially, and asking
+his advice as a friend. A short explanation on either side ensued, and
+Mr. Peterby turned to Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"This has been forced upon me," he said. "For days and days past I have
+been urged to apply for a warrant against you, and have declined. But
+public opinion is becoming so urgent, that if I don't act it will be
+taken out of my hands, and given to those who have less scruple than I.
+Therefore I resolved to adopt a medium course; and came here asking
+Captain Mynn's opinion as a friend--not as a magistrate--whether I
+should have sufficient grounds for acting. For myself, I honestly
+confess I think them very slight; and assure you, Mr. Chattaway, that I
+am no enemy of yours, although it may look like it at this moment."
+
+"By whom have you been urged to this?" coldly asked Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"By more than I should care to name: the public, to give them a
+collective term. But how you obtained cognisance of my being here, I
+can't make out," he added, turning to Mr. Flood. "Not a soul knew I was
+coming."
+
+"As we have met here, we had better have it out," was Mr. Flood's
+indirect answer. "It is my advice to Mr. Chattaway, and he wishes it. If
+Captain Mynn hears your side unofficially he must, in justice, hear
+ours. That's fair, all the world over."
+
+It was, doubtless, a very unusual, perhaps unorthodox, mode of
+proceeding; but things far more unorthodox than that are done in local
+courts every day. Captain Mynn knew all the doubts and rumours just as
+well as Mr. Peterby could state them, but he listened attentively, as in
+duty bound. Mr. Chattaway did not deny the encounter with Rupert: never
+had denied it. He acknowledged they were neither of them very cool;
+Rupert was the first to strike, and Rupert fell or was knocked down.
+Immediately upon that, he, Chattaway, heard a sound, went to see what it
+was, and found they had had an eavesdropper, who was then making off
+across the field, on the other side of the grove. Chattaway, angry at
+the fact, gave pursuit, in the hope of identifying the intruder (whom he
+had since discovered to be Jim Sanders), but was unable to catch him.
+When he got back to the spot, Rupert was gone.
+
+"How long were you absent?" inquired Captain Mynn of Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"About six or seven minutes, I think. I ran to the other end of the
+field, and looked into the lane, but the boy had escaped out of sight,
+and I walked back again. It would take about seven minutes; the field is
+large."
+
+"And after that?"
+
+"Finding, as I tell you, that Rupert had disappeared, I re-traversed the
+ground over the lower field, and went on to Barbrook, where I had
+business. I never saw Rupert Trevlyn after I left him on the ground. The
+inference, therefore--nay, the absolute certainty--is, that he got up
+and escaped."
+
+A pause. "You did not reach home, I believe, until midnight, or
+thereabouts," remarked Captain Mynn. "Some doubts have been raised as to
+where you could have spent your time."
+
+And this question led to the very core of the suspicion. Mr. Chattaway
+appeared to feel that it did, and hesitated. So far he had spoken freely
+and openly enough, not with the ungracious, sullen manner that generally
+characterised him, but he hesitated now.
+
+"Strange to say," he resumed, "I could not account for the whole of my
+time that evening. That is, if I were asked for proof, I am not sure
+that it could be furnished. I was anxious to see Hurnall, the agent for
+the Boorfield mines, and that's where I went. My son had brought home
+news from Blackstone, that they were going to force me to make certain
+improvements in my pit, and I wanted to consult Hurnall about it. He is
+up to every trick and turn, and knows what they can compel an owner to
+do and what they can't. When I reached Hurnall's house, he was out;
+might return immediately, the servant said, or might not be home till
+late. She asked me if I would go in and wait; but I had no fancy for a
+close room, after being boxed up all day in the court _here_, and said I
+would walk about. I walked about for two mortal hours before Hurnall
+came; and then went indoors with him. That's the whole truth, I'll
+swear."
+
+"Then I would have avowed it before, had I been you," cried Mr. Peterby.
+"It's your silence has done half the mischief, and given colouring to
+the rumours."
+
+"Silence!" cried Mr. Chattaway, angrily. "When a man's accused of murder
+by a set of brainless idiots it is punishment he'd like to give them,
+not self-defence."
+
+"Ah!" said the lawyer, "but we can't always do as we like; if we could,
+the world might be better worth living in."
+
+Mr. Chattaway turned to the magistrate. "I have told you the whole
+truth, so far as I know it; and you may judge whether these
+unneighbourly reports have not merited all my contempt. You can question
+Hurnall, who will tell you where he met me, and how long I stayed with
+him. As to Rupert Trevlyn, I have no more idea where he is than Mr.
+Peterby himself has. He will turn up some time, there's not the least
+doubt about it; and I solemnly declare that I'll then bring him to
+justice, should it be ten years hence."
+
+There was nothing more for Mr. Chattaway to wait for, and he went out
+with his solicitor. Mr. Peterby turned to Captain Mynn with a
+questioning glance.
+
+The magistrate shook his head. "My opinion is that you cannot proceed
+with this, Mr. Peterby. Were you to bring the matter officially before
+the Bench, I for one would not entertain it; neither, I am sure, would
+my brother-magistrates. Mr. Chattaway is no favourite of ours, but he
+must receive justice. That there are suspicious points connected with
+the case, I can't deny; but every one may be explained away. If what he
+says be true, they are explained now."
+
+"All but the two hours, when he says he was walking about, waiting for
+Hurnall."
+
+"It may have been so. No; upon these very slight grounds, it is of no
+use to press for a warrant against Mr. Chattaway. The very enormity of
+the crime would almost be its answer. A man of position and property, a
+county magistrate, guilty of the crime of murder in these enlightened
+days! Nonsense, Peterby!"
+
+And Mr. Peterby mentally echoed the words; and went forth prepared to
+echo them to those who had urged him to make the charge.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVI
+
+A FRIGHT FOR ANN CANHAM
+
+
+So the magistrates declined to interfere, and Mr. Chattaway went about a
+free man. But not untainted; for the neighbourhood was still free in its
+comments, and openly accused him of having made away with Rupert. Mr.
+Chattaway had his retaliation; he offered a reward for the recovery of
+the incendiary, Rupert Trevlyn, and the walls for miles round were
+placarded with handbills. Urged by him, the police recommenced their
+search, and Mr. Chattaway actually talked of sending for an experienced
+detective. One thing was indisputable--if Rupert were in life he must
+keep from the neighbourhood of Trevlyn Hold. Nothing could save him from
+the law, if taken the second time. Jim Sanders would not be kidnapped
+again; he had already testified to it officially; and Mr. Chattaway
+thirsted for vengeance.
+
+Take it for all in all, it was breaking the heart of Mrs. Chattaway.
+Looked at in any light, it was bad enough. The fear touching her
+husband, not the less startling from its improbability, was over, for he
+had succeeded in convincing her that so far he was innocent; but her
+fears for Rupert kept her in a constant state of terror. Miss Diana
+publicly condemned Rupert. This hiding from justice (if he was hiding)
+she regarded as only a degree less reprehensible than the crime itself;
+as did Mrs. Ryle; and had Miss Diana met Rupert returning some fine day,
+she would have laid her hand upon him as effectually as Mr. Dumps
+himself, and said, "You shall not escape again." Do not mistake Miss
+Diana; it would not have pleased her to see Rupert standing at the bar
+of justice to be judged by the laws of his country. She would have taken
+Rupert home to the Hold, and said to Chattaway, "Here he is, but you
+must and shall forgive him: you must forgive him, because he is a
+Trevlyn; and a Trevlyn cannot be disgraced." Miss Diana had full
+confidence in her own power to command this. Others wisely doubted
+whether any amount of interference on any part would now avail with Mr.
+Chattaway. His wife felt that it would not. She felt that were poor
+Rupert to venture home, even twelve months hence, trusting that time and
+mercy had effected his pardon, he would be sacrificed; between Miss
+Diana's and Mr. Chattaway's opposing policies, he would inevitably be
+sacrificed. Altogether, Mrs. Chattaway's life was more painful now
+Rupert had gone than it had been when he was at the Hold.
+
+Cris was against Rupert; Octave was bitterly against him; Maude went
+about the house with a white face and beating heart, health and spirits
+giving way under the tension. Suspense is, of all evils, the worst to
+bear: and they who loved Rupert, Maude and her Aunt Edith, were hourly
+victims to it. The bow was always strung. On the one hand was the latent
+doubt that he had come to some violent end that night, in spite of Mr.
+Chattaway's denial; on the other hand, the lively dread that he was
+concealing himself, and might be discovered by the police every new day
+the sun rose. They had speculated so much upon where he could be, that
+the ever-recurring thought now brought only its heart-sickness; and
+Maude had the additional pain of hearing petty shafts launched at her
+because she was his sister. Mrs. Chattaway prayed upon her bended knees
+that, hard to be borne as the suspense was, Rupert might not return
+until time should have softened the heart of Mr. Chattaway, and the
+grievous charge be done away with for want of a prosecutor.
+
+Nora was in the midst of bustle at Trevlyn Farm. And Nora was also in a
+temper. It was the annual custom there, when the busy time of harvest
+was over, to institute a general house-renovating: summer curtains were
+taken down, winter ones were put up, carpets were shaken, floors and
+paint scoured; and the place, in short, to use an ordinary expression,
+was turned inside out.
+
+There was more than usual to be done this year: for mendings and
+alterations had to be made in sundry curtains, and the upholstering
+woman, named Brown, had been at Trevlyn Farm the last day or two,
+getting forward with her work. Nora's _ruse_ in the court at Barmester,
+to wile Farmer Apperley to a private conference, had really some point
+in it, for negotiations were going on with that industrious member of
+the upholstering society through Mrs. Apperley, who had recommended her.
+
+Mrs. Brown sat in the centre of a pile of curtains, steadily plying her
+needle: the finishing stitches were being put to the work; at least,
+they would be before night closed in. Mrs. Brown, a sallow woman with a
+chronic cold in her head, preferred to work in outdoor costume; a black
+poke bonnet and faded woollen shawl crossed over her shoulders. Nora
+stood by her in a very angry mood, her arms folded, just as though she
+had nothing to do: a circumstance to be recorded in these cleaning
+times.
+
+For Nora never let the grass grow under her feet, or under any one
+else's feet, when there was work in hand. By dint of beginning hours
+before daylight, and keeping at it hours after nightfall, she succeeded
+in getting it all over in one day. Herself, Nanny, and Ann Canham put
+their best energies into it, one or two of the men were set to rub up
+the mahogany furniture, and Mrs. Ryle had almost entirely to dispense
+with being waited upon. And Nora's present anger arose from the fact
+that Ann Canham, by some extraordinary mischance, had not made her
+appearance.
+
+It was bringing things almost to a standstill, as Nora complained to
+Mrs. Brown. The two cleaners were Nanny and Ann Canham. Nanny was doing
+her part, but what was to become of the other part? And where was Ann
+Canham? Nora kept her eyes turned to the window, as she talked and
+grumbled, watching for the return of Jim Sanders, whom she had
+despatched to see after Ann.
+
+Presently she saw him approaching, went to the door and threw it open
+long before the lad reached it. "She can't come," he called out at
+length.
+
+"Not come!" echoed Nora, in wrathful consternation, looking as if she
+felt inclined to beat Jim for bringing the message. "What on earth does
+she mean by that?"
+
+"She said her father was ill, and she couldn't leave him," returned Jim.
+
+Nora could scarcely speak from indignation. Old Canham, as was known to
+the neighbourhood, had been ailing for years, and it had never kept Ann
+at home before. "I don't believe it," said she, in her perplexity.
+
+"I don't think I do, neither," returned Jim. "I'm a'most sure old Canham
+was right afore the fire, smoking his pipe as usual. She put the door to
+behind her, all in a hurry, while she talked to me, but not afore I see
+old Canham there. I be next to certain of it."
+
+Nora could not understand the state of affairs. Ann Canham, humble,
+industrious, grateful for any day's work offered to her, had never
+failed to come, when engaged, in all Barbrook's experience. What was to
+be done? The morrow was Saturday, and to have the cleaning extended to
+that day would have upset the farm's regularity and Nora's temper for a
+month.
+
+Nora took a sudden resolution. She put on her bonnet and shawl and set
+off for the lodge, determined to bring Ann Canham back willing or
+unwilling, or know the reason why. This _contretemps_ would be quite a
+life-long memory for Nora.
+
+Without any superfluous knocking, Nora turned the handle of the door
+when she reached the lodge. But the door was locked. "What can that be
+for?" ejaculated Nora--for she had never known the lodge locked in the
+day-time. "She expects I shall come after her, and thinks she'll keep me
+out!"
+
+Without an instant's delay, Nora's face was at the window, to
+reconnoitre the interior. She saw the smock-frock of old Mark
+disappearing through the opposite door as quickly as was consistent with
+his rheumatism. Nora rattled the handle of the door with one hand, and
+knocked sharply on its panel with the other. Ann opened it.
+
+"Now, Ann Canham, what's the meaning of this?" she began, pushing past
+Ann, who stood in the way, almost as if she would have kept her out.
+
+"I beg a humble pardon, ma'am, a hundred times," was the low,
+deprecating answer. "I'd do anything rather than disappoint you--such a
+thing has never happened to me yet--but I'm obliged. Father's too poorly
+for me to leave him."
+
+Nora surveyed her critically. The woman was evidently in a state of
+discomfort, if not terror. She trembled visibly, and her lips were
+white.
+
+"I got a boy to run down to Mrs. Sanders's this morning at daylight, and
+ask her to take my place," resumed Ann Canham. "Until Jim came up here a
+short while ago, I never thought but she had went."
+
+"What's the reason _you_ can't come?" demanded Nora, uncompromisingly
+stern.
+
+"I'd come but for father."
+
+"You needn't peril your soul with deliberate untruths," interrupted
+angry Nora. "There's nothing the matter with your father; nothing that
+need hinder your coming out. If he's well enough to be in the
+house-place, smoking his pipe, he's well enough to be left. He _was_
+smoking. And what's that?"--pointing to the pipe her eyes had detected
+in the corner of the hearth.
+
+Ann Canham stood the picture of helplessness under the reproach. She
+stammered out that she "daredn't leave him: he wasn't himself to-day."
+
+"He was sufficiently himself to make off on seeing me," said angry Nora.
+"What's to become of my cleaning? Who's to do it if you don't? I insist
+upon your coming, Ann Canham."
+
+It appeared almost beyond Ann Canham's courage to bring out a second
+refusal, and she burst into tears. She had never failed before, and
+hoped, if forgiven this time, never to fail again: but to leave her
+father that day was impossible.
+
+And Nora had to make the best of the refusal. She went away searching
+the woman's motive, and came to the conclusion that she must have some
+sewing in hand she was compelled to finish: that Mark's illness was
+detaining her, she did not believe. Still, she could not comprehend it.
+Ann had always been so eager to oblige, so simple and straightforward.
+Had sewing really detained her, she would have brought it out to Nora;
+would have told the truth, not making her father's health the excuse.
+Nora was puzzled, and that was a thing she hated. Ruminating upon all
+this as she walked along, she met Mrs. Chattaway. Nora, who, when
+suffering under a grievance, must dilate upon it to everyone, favoured
+Mrs. Chattaway with an account of Ann Canham's extraordinary conduct and
+ingratitude.
+
+"Rely upon it, her father is ill," answered Mrs. Chattaway. "I will tell
+you why I think so, Nora. Yesterday I was at Barmester with my sister,
+and as we pulled up at the chemist's where I had business, Ann Canham
+came out with a bottle of medicine in her hand. I asked her who was ill,
+and she said it was her father. I remarked to the chemist afterwards
+that I supposed Mark Canham had a fresh attack of rheumatism, but he
+replied that it was fever."
+
+"Fever!" echoed Nora.
+
+"I exclaimed as you do: but the chemist persisted that Mark must be
+suffering from a species of low fever. As we returned, my sister stopped
+the pony carriage at the lodge, and Ann came out to us. She explained it
+differently from the chemist. What she had meant to imply when she went
+for the medicine was, that her father was feverish--but he was better
+then, she said. Altogether, I suppose he is worse than usual, and she is
+afraid to leave him to-day."
+
+"Well," said Nora, "all I can say is that I saw old Canham stealing out
+of the room when I knocked at it, just as though he did not want to be
+seen. He was smoking, too. I can't make it out."
+
+Mrs. Chattaway was neither so speculative nor so curious as Nora;
+perhaps not so keen: she viewed it as nothing extraordinary that Mark
+Canham should be rather worse than usual, or that his daughter should
+decline to leave him.
+
+Much later in the day--in fact, when the afternoon was passing--Ann
+Canham, with a wild look in her face, turned out of the lodge and took
+the road towards Trevlyn Farm. Not openly, as people do who have nothing
+to fear, but in a timorous, uncertain, hesitating manner. Plunging into
+the fields when she was nearing the farm, she stole along under cover of
+the hedge, until she reached the one which skirted the fold-yard.
+Cautiously raising her head to see what might be on the other side, it
+almost came into contact with another head, raised to see anything that
+might be on this--the face of Policeman Dumps.
+
+Ann Canham uttered a shrill scream, and flew away as fast as her legs
+could carry her. Perhaps of all living beings, Mr. Dumps was about the
+last she would wish to encounter just then. That gentleman made his way
+to a side-gate, and called after her.
+
+"What be you afeard of, Ann Canham? Did you think I was a mad bull
+looking over at you?"
+
+It occurred to Ann Canham that to start away in that extraordinary
+fashion could only be regarded as consistent with a guilty conscience,
+and the policeman might set himself to discover her motive--as it lay in
+the nature of a policeman to do. That or some other thought made her
+turn slowly back again, and confront Mr. Dumps.
+
+"What was you afeard of?" he repeated.
+
+"Of nothing in particular, please, sir," she answered. "It was the
+suddenness like of seeing a face that startled me."
+
+Mr. Dumps thought she looked curiously startled still. But that
+complacent official, accustomed to strike terror to the hearts of boys
+and other scapegraces, did not give it a second thought. "Were you
+looking for anyone?" he asked, simply as an idle question.
+
+"No, sir. I just put my head over the hedge without meaning. I didn't
+want nothing."
+
+Mr. Dumps loftily turned on his heel without condescending so much as a
+"good afternoon." Ann Canham pursued her way along the hedge which
+skirted the fold-yard. Any one observing her closely might have detected
+indications of fear about her still. In a cautious and timid manner, she
+at length turned her head, to obtain a glimpse of Mr. Dumps's movements.
+
+Dumps had turned into the road, and was pursuing his way slowly down it.
+Every step carried him farther from her; and when he was fairly out of
+sight, her sigh of relief was long and deep.
+
+But of course there was no certainty that he would not return. Possibly
+that insecurity caused Ann to take stolen looks into the fold-yard, and
+then dive under the hedge, as if she had been at some forbidden play.
+But Dumps did not return; and yet she continued her game.
+
+A full hour had she been at it: and by her countenance, and the
+occasional almost despairing movement of her hands, it might be inferred
+that she was growing sadly anxious and weary: when Jim Sanders emerged
+from one of the out-buildings at the upper end of the fold-yard, and
+began to make for the other end. To do this he had to pass within a few
+yards of the hedge where the by-play was going on; and somewhat to his
+surprise he heard himself called to in hushed tones. Casting his eyes to
+the spot whence the voice proceeded, he saw the care-worn brow and weak
+eyes of Ann Canham above the hedge. She beckoned to him mysteriously,
+and then all signs of her disappeared.
+
+"If ever I see the like o' that!" soliloquised Jim. "What's up with Ann
+Canham?" He approached the hedge, and bawled out to know what she
+wanted.
+
+"Hush--sh--sh--sh!" came the warning from the other side. "Come here,
+Jim."
+
+Considerably astonished, thinking perhaps Ann Canham had a litter of
+puppies to show him--for, if Jim had a weakness for anything on earth,
+it was for those charming specimens of the animal world--he made his way
+through the gate. Ann had no puppies; nothing but a small note in her
+hand wafered and pressed with a thimble.
+
+"Is the master anywhere about, Jim?"
+
+"He's just gone into the barn now. The men be thrashing."
+
+Ann paused a moment. Jim stared at her.
+
+"Could you just do me a service, Jim?"
+
+Jim, good-natured at all times, replied that he supposed he could if he
+tried. But he stared, still puzzled by this extraordinary behaviour on
+the part of quiet Ann Canham.
+
+"I want this bit of a letter given to him," she said, pointing to what
+she held. "I want it given to him when he's by himself, so that it don't
+get seen. Could you manage it, Jim?"
+
+"I dare say I could," replied Jim. "What is the letter? What's inside
+it?"
+
+"It concerns Mr. Ryle," said Ann, after a perceptible hesitation. "Jim,
+if you'll do this faithful, I won't forget it. Watch your opportunity;
+and keep the letter inside your smock-frock, for fear anybody should see
+it."
+
+"I'll do it," said Jim. He took the note from her, put it in his
+trousers pocket, and went back towards the barn whistling. Ann turned
+homewards, flying over the ground as if she were running a race.
+
+Jim had not to wait for an opportunity. He met his master coming out of
+the barn. The doorway was dark; the thrashing men were at the upper end
+of the barn, and no eyes were near. Jim could not help some of the
+mystery which had appeared in Ann Canham's manner extending to his own.
+
+"What's this?" asked George.
+
+"Ann Canham brought it, sir. She was hiding t'other side the hedge and
+called to me, and telled me to be sure give it when nobody was by."
+
+George took the missive to the door and looked at it. A piece of white
+paper, which had apparently served to wrap up tea or something of that
+sort, awkwardly folded and wafered. No direction.
+
+He opened it; and saw a few words in a sprawling hand:
+
+"Don't betray me, George. Come to me in secret as soon as you can. I
+think I am dying."
+
+And in spite of its being without signature; in spite of the scrawled
+characters, and blotted words, George Ryle recognised the handwriting of
+Rupert Trevlyn.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVII
+
+SURPRISE
+
+
+On the hard flock bed in the upper back room at the lodge, he lay. As
+George Ryle stood there bending over him, he could have touched each of
+the surrounding walls. The remark of Jim Sanders that Ann Canham had
+brought the note, guided George naturally to the lodge; otherwise he
+would not have known where to look for him. One single question to old
+Canham as he entered--"Is he here?"--and George bounded up the stairs.
+
+Ann Canham, who was standing over the bed--her head just escaping the
+low ceiling--turned to George: trouble and pain on her countenance as
+she spoke.
+
+"He is in delirium now, sir. I was afeared he would be."
+
+George Ryle was too astonished to make any reply. Never had he cast a
+shadow of suspicion to Rupert's being concealed at the lodge. "Has he
+been here long?" he whispered.
+
+"All along, sir, since the night he was missed," was the reply. "After I
+had got home that night, and was telling father about Master Rupert's
+having took the half-loaf in his hunger, he come knocking at the door to
+be let in. Chattaway and him had met and quarrelled, and he was knocked
+down, his shoulder was hurt, and he felt tired and sick; and he said
+he'd stop with us till morning, and be away afore daylight, so that we
+should not get into trouble for sheltering him. He got me to lend him my
+pen and ink, and wrote a letter to that there foreign gentleman, Mr.
+Daw. After that, with a dreadful deal of pressing, sir, I got him to
+come up to bed here, and I lay on the settle downstairs for the night.
+Before daylight I was up, and had the fired lighted, and the kettle on,
+to make him a cup o' tea before starting, but he did not come down. I
+came up here and found him ill. His shoulder was stiff and painful, he
+was bruised and sore all over, and thought he couldn't get out o' bed.
+Well, sir, he stopped, and have been here ever since, getting worse, and
+me just frightened out of my life, for fear he should be found by Mr.
+Chattaway or the police, and took off to prison. I was sick for the
+whole day after, sir, that time Mr. Bowen called me into his
+station-house and set on to question me."
+
+George was looking at Rupert. There could not be a doubt that he was in
+a state of partial delirium. George feared there could not be a doubt
+that he was in danger. The bed was low and narrow, evidently hard; the
+bolster small and thin. Rupert's head lay on it quietly enough; his
+hair, which had grown long since his confinement, fell around him in
+wavy masses; his cheeks wore the hectic of fever, his blue eyes were
+unnaturally bright. There was no speculation in those eyes. They were
+partially closed, and though at the entrance of George they were turned
+to him, there was no recognition in them. His arms were flung outside
+the bed, the wristbands pushed up as if from heat.
+
+"I have put him on a shirt o' father's, sir, when his have wanted
+washing," explained Ann Canham, to whom it was natural to relate minute
+details.
+
+"How long has he been without consciousness?" inquired George.
+
+"Just for the last hour, sir. He wrote the letter I brought to you, and
+when I come back he was like this. Maybe he'll come to himself again
+presently; he's been as bad as this at times in the last day or two. I'm
+so afeard of its going on to brain-fever or some other fever. If he
+should get raving, we could never keep his being here a secret; he'd be
+heard outside."
+
+"He ought to have had a doctor before this."
+
+"But how is one to be got here?" debated Ann Canham. "Once a doctor knew
+where Mr. Rupert was, he might betray it--there's the reward, you know,
+sir. And how could we get a doctor in without its being known at the
+Hold? What mightn't Chattaway suspect?"
+
+George remained silent, revolving the matter. There were difficulties
+undoubtedly in the way.
+
+"Nobody knows the trouble I've been in, sir, especially since he grew
+worse. At first, he just lay here quiet, more as if glad of the rest,
+and my chief care was to keep folks as far as I could out o' the lodge,
+bathe his shoulder, and bring him up a share of our poor meals. But
+since the fever came upon him, I've been half dazed, wondering what I
+ought to do. There were two people I thought I might speak to--you, sir,
+and Madam. But Mr. Rupert was against it, and father was dead against
+it. They were afraid, you see, that if only one was told, it might come
+to be known he was here. Father's old now, and helpless; he couldn't do
+a stroke towards getting his own living. If I be out before daylight at
+any of my places, it's as much as he can do to open the gate and fasten
+it back: and he knows Mr. Chattaway would turn us right off the estate
+if it come to be known we had sheltered Mr. Rupert. But yesterday Mr.
+Rupert found he was getting worse and worse, and I said to father what
+would become of us if he should die? And they both said that you should
+be told to-day if he was no better. We did think him a trifle better
+this morning, but later the fever came on again, and Mr. Rupert himself
+said he'd write you a word, and I found a bit o' paper and brought him
+the big Bible, and held it while he wrote the letter on it."
+
+She ceased. George, as before, was looking at Rupert. It seemed to Ann
+Canham that he could not gaze sufficiently, but in truth he was lost in
+thought; fairly puzzled with the difficulties encompassing the case.
+
+"Is it anything more than low fever?" he asked.
+
+"I don't think it is, sir, yet. But it may go on to more, you know."
+
+George did know. He knew that assistance was necessary in more ways than
+one, if worse was to be avoided. Medical attendance, a more airy room,
+generous nourishment; and how was even one of them to be accomplished,
+let alone all? The close closet--it could scarcely be called more--had
+no chimney in it; air and light could come in only through a small pane
+ingeniously made to open in the roof. The narrow bed and one chair
+occupied almost all the space, leaving very little for George and Ann
+Canham as they stood. George, coming in from the fresh air, felt
+half-stifled with the closeness of the room: and this must be dangerous
+for the invalid. It is a mercy that these inconveniences are soothed to
+those who have to endure them--as most inconveniences and trials are in
+life. To an outsider they appear unbearable; but to the sufferers they
+are tempered. George Ryle felt as if a day in that atmosphere would half
+kill him; but Rupert, lying there always, was sensible of no discomfort.
+It was not, however, the less injurious; and it appeared that there was
+no remedy; could be no removal.
+
+"What have you given him?" inquired George.
+
+"I have made him some herb tea, sir, but it didn't seem to do him good,
+and then I went over to Barmester and got a bottle o' physic. I had to
+say it was for father, and the druggist told me I ought to call in a
+doctor, when I described the illness. Coming out of the shop there was
+Miss Diana's pony-carriage at the door, and Madam met me and asked who
+the physic was for: I never was so took aback. But the physic didn't
+seem to do him good neither."
+
+"I meant as to food," returned George.
+
+"Ah! sir--what could I give him but our poor fare? milk porridge and
+such like. I went up to the Hold one day and begged a basin o'
+curds-and-whey, and he eat it all and drank up the whey quite greedy;
+but I didn't dare go again, for fear of their suspecting something. It's
+meat and wine he ought to have had from the first, sir, but we can't get
+such things as that. Why, sir, I shouldn't dare be seen cooking a bit o'
+meat: it would set Mr. Chattaway wondering at once. What's to be done?"
+
+What, indeed? There was the question. Idea after idea shot through
+George Ryle's brain; wild fancies, because impossible to be acted upon.
+It might be dangerous to call in a doctor. Allowing that the man of
+medicine proved true and kept the secret, the very fact of his
+attendance would cause a stir at the Hold. Miss Diana would come down,
+questioning old Canham; and would inevitably find that he was _not_ ill
+enough to need a doctor. A doctor might venture there once: but
+regularly? George did not see the way by any means clear.
+
+But Rupert must not be left to die. George took up his delicate
+hand--Rupert's hands had always been delicate--and held it as he spoke
+to him. It was hot; fevered; the dry lips were parched; the hectic
+cheeks, the white brow, all burning with fever. "Don't you know me,
+Rupert?" he bent lower to ask.
+
+The words were so far heard that Rupert moved his head on the bolster;
+perhaps the familiar name struck some chord in his memory; but there was
+no recognition, and he began to twitch at the bed-clothes with one of
+his hands.
+
+George turned away. He went down the ladder of a staircase, feeling that
+little time was to be lost. Old Canham stood in his tottering fashion,
+leaning upon his crutch, watching the descent.
+
+"What do you think of him, Mr. George?"
+
+"I hardly know what to think, Mark. Or rather, I know what to think, but
+I don't know what to do. A doctor must be got here; and without loss of
+time."
+
+Old Canham lifted his hands with a gesture of despair. "Once the secret
+is give over to a doctor, sir, there's no telling where it'll travel, or
+what'll be the consequence to us all."
+
+"I think King would be true," said George. "Nay, I feel sure he would
+be. The worst is, he's simple-minded, and might betray it through sheer
+inadvertency. I would a great deal rather bring Mr. Benage to him; I
+_know_ we might rely on Benage, and he is more skilful than King; but it
+is not practicable. To see the renowned Barmester doctor in attendance
+on you might create greater commotion at the Hold than would be
+desirable. No, it must be King."
+
+"Sir, couldn't you go to one o' the gentlemen yourself and describe
+what's the matter with Master Rupert. You needn't say who's ill."
+
+George shook his head. "It would not do, Mark; the responsibility is too
+great. Were anything to happen to Rupert--and I believe he is in
+danger--you and I should blame ourselves for not having called in advice
+at all risks. I shall get King here somehow."
+
+He went out as he spoke, partly perhaps to avoid further opposition to
+what he felt _must_ be done. Yet he did not see the surrounding
+difficulties the less, and halted in thought outside the lodge door.
+
+At that moment, Maude Trevlyn came into view, walking slowly down the
+avenue. George advanced to meet her, and could not help noticing her
+listless step, her pale, weary face.
+
+"Maude, what is the trouble now?"
+
+That she had been grieving, and recently, her eyes betrayed. Struggling
+for a brief moment with her feelings, she gave way to a burst of tears.
+
+George drew her into the trees. "Maude, Maude, if you go on like this
+you will be ill. What is it?"
+
+"This suspense!--this agony!" she breathed. "Every day, almost every
+hour, something or other occurs to renew the trouble. If it could only
+end! I cannot bear it much longer. I feel as if I must go off to the
+ends of the earth in search of him. If I only knew he was living, it
+would be something."
+
+George took rapid counsel with himself. Surely Maude would be safe;
+surely it would be a charity, nay, a duty, to tell her! He drew her hand
+in his, and bent his face near to hers.
+
+"Maude! what will you give me for news I have heard? I can give you
+tidings of Rupert. He is not dead; not even very far away!"
+
+For an instant her heart stood still. But George glanced round as with
+fear, and his tones were sad.
+
+"He is taken!" she exclaimed, her pulses bounding on.
+
+"No. But care must be observed if we would prevent it. In that sense, he
+is at liberty. But it is not all sunshine, Maude; he is very ill."
+
+"Where is he?" she gasped.
+
+"Will you compose yourself if I take you to him? But we have need of
+great caution; we must make sure no prying eyes are spying at us."
+
+Her very agitation proved how great had been the strain upon her nervous
+system; for a few minutes he thought she would faint, as she stood
+leaning against the tree. "Only take me to him, George," she murmured.
+"I will bless you forever."
+
+Into the lodge and up old Canham's narrow staircase he led her. She
+entered the room timidly, not with the eager bound of hope, but with
+slow and hesitating steps, almost as she had once entered into the
+presence of the dead, that long past night at Trevlyn Farm.
+
+He lay as he had lain when George went out: the eyes fixed, the head
+beginning to turn restlessly, one hand picking at the coarse brown
+sheet. "Come in, Maude; there is nothing to fear; but he will not know
+you."
+
+She went in and stood for a moment gazing at him who lay there, as
+though it required time to take in the scene; then she fell on her knees
+in a strange burst, half joy, half grief, and kissed his hands and
+fevered lips.
+
+"Oh, Rupert, Rupert! My brother Rupert!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVIII
+
+DANGER
+
+
+The residence of Mr. King, the surgeon, was situated on the road to
+Barbrook, not far from the parsonage: a small, square, red-brick house,
+two storeys high, with a great bronze knocker on the particularly narrow
+and modest door. If you wanted to enter, you could either raise this
+knocker, which would most likely bring forth Mr. King himself; or,
+ignoring ceremony, turn the handle and walk in of your own accord, as
+George Ryle did, and admitted himself into the narrow passage. On the
+right was the parlour, quite a fashionable room, with a tiger-skin
+stretched out by way of hearth-rug; on the left a small apartment fitted
+up with bottles and pill-boxes, where Mr. King saw his patients. One sat
+there as George Ryle entered, and the surgeon turned round, as he poured
+some liquid from what looked like a jelly-glass, into a green bottle.
+
+Now, of all the disagreeable _contretemps_ that could have occurred, to
+meet that particular patient was about the worst. Ann Canham had not
+been more confounded at the sight of Policeman Dumps's head over the
+hedge, than George was at Policeman Dumps himself--for it was no other
+than that troublesome officer who sat in the patient's chair, the late
+afternoon's sun streaming on his head. George's active mind hit on a
+ready excuse for his own visit.
+
+"Is my mother's medicine ready, Mr. King?"
+
+"The medicine ready! Why, I sent it three good hours ago!"
+
+"Did you? I understood them to say----But there's no harm done; I was
+coming down this way. A nice warm afternoon!" he exclaimed, throwing
+himself into a chair as if he would take a little rest. "Are you having
+a tooth drawn, Dumps?"
+
+"No, sir, but I've got the face-ache awful," was Dumps's reply, who was
+holding a handkerchief to his right cheek. "It's what they call
+tic-douloureux, I fancy, for it comes on by fits and starts. I'm out of
+sorts altogether, and thought I'd ask Doctor King to make me up a bottle
+of physic."
+
+So the physic was for Dumps. Mr. King seemed a long time over it,
+measuring this liquid, measuring that, shaking it all up together, and
+gossiping the while. George, in his impatience, thought it would never
+come to an end. Dumps seemed to be in no hurry to depart, Mr. King in no
+hurry to dismiss him. They talked over half the news of the parish. They
+spoke of Rupert Trevlyn and his prolonged absence, and Mr. Dumps gave it
+as his opinion that "if he wasn't in hiding somewhere, he was gone for
+good." Whether Mr. Dumps meant gone to some foreign terrestrial country,
+or into a celestial, he did not explain.
+
+Utterly out of patience he rose and left the room, standing outside
+against the door-post, as if he would watch the passers-by. Perhaps the
+movement imparted an impetus to Mr. Dumps, for he also rose and took his
+bottle of medicine from the hands of the surgeon. But he lingered yet:
+and George thought he never would come forth.
+
+That desirable consummation arrived at last. The man departed, and paced
+away on his beat with his official tread. George returned indoors.
+
+"I fancied you were waiting to see me," observed Mr. King. "Is anything
+the matter?"
+
+"Not with me. I want to put you upon your honour, doctor," continued
+George, a momentary smile crossing his lips.
+
+"To put me upon my honour!" echoed the surgeon, staring at George.
+
+"I wish to let you into a secret: but you must give me your word of
+honour that you will be a true man, and not betray it. In short, I want
+to enlist your sympathies, your kindly nature, heartily in the cause."
+
+"I suppose some of the poor have got into trouble?" cried Mr. King, not
+very well knowing what to make of the words.
+
+"No," said George. "Let me put a case to you. One under the ban of the
+law and his fellow-men, whom a word could betray to years of
+punishment--lies in sore need of medical skill; if he cannot obtain it
+he may soon die. Will you be a good Samaritan, and give it; and
+faithfully keep the secret?"
+
+Mr. King regarded George attentively, slowly rubbing his bald head: he
+was a man of six-and-sixty now. "Are you speaking of Rupert Trevlyn?" he
+asked.
+
+George paused, perhaps rather taken back; but the surgeon's face was
+kindly, its expression benevolent. "What if I were? Would you be true to
+_him_?"
+
+"Yes, I would: and I am surprised that you thought it necessary to ask.
+Were the greatest criminal on earth lying in secret, and wanting my aid,
+I would give it and be silent. I go as a healing man; not in the name of
+the law. Were a doctor taken to a patient under such circumstances, to
+betray trust, he would violate his duty. Medical men are not informers."
+
+"I felt we might trust you," said George. "It is Rupert Trevlyn. He took
+refuge that night at old Canham's, it seems, and has been ill ever
+since, growing worse and worse. But they fear danger now, and thought
+fit this afternoon to send for me. Rupert scrawled a few lines himself,
+but before I could get there he was delirious."
+
+"Is it fever?"
+
+"Low fever, Ann Canham says. It may go on to worse, you know, doctor."
+
+Mr. King nodded his head. "Where can they have concealed him at
+Canham's?"
+
+"Upstairs in a bed-closet. The most stifling hole you can imagine! I
+felt ill as I stood there. It is a perplexing affair altogether. The
+place itself is enough to kill any one in a fever, and there's no chance
+of removing him from it; hardly a chance of getting you in to see him:
+it must be accomplished in the most cautious manner. Were Chattaway to
+see you entering, who knows what it might lead to? If he should, by ill
+luck, see you," added George, after a pause, "your visit is to old
+Canham, remember."
+
+Mr. King gave a short, emphatic nod; his frequent substitute for an
+answer. "Rupert Trevlyn at Canham's!" he exclaimed. "Well, you have
+surprised me!"
+
+"I cannot tell you how surprised I was," returned George. "But we had
+better be going; I fear he is in danger."
+
+"Ay. Delirious, you say?"
+
+"I think so. He was quiet, but evidently did not know me. He did not
+know Maude. I met her as I was leaving the lodge, and thought it only
+kind to tell her of the discovery. It has been an anxious time for her."
+
+"There's another it's an anxious time for; and that's Madam Chattaway,"
+remarked the surgeon. "I was called in to her a few days ago. But I can
+do nothing; the malady is on the mind. Now I am ready."
+
+He had been putting one or two papers into his pocket, probably
+containing some cooling powder or other remedy for Rupert. George walked
+with him; he wished to go in with him if it could be managed, anxious to
+hear his opinion. They pursued their way unmolested, meeting no one of
+more consequence than Mr. Dumps, who appeared to be occupied in nursing
+his cheek.
+
+"So far so good," cried George, as they came in sight of the lodge. "But
+now for the tug of war; my walking with you is nothing; but to be seen
+entering the lodge with you might be a great deal. There seems no one
+about."
+
+Ah! unlucky chance! By some untoward fatality the master of Trevlyn Hold
+emerged in sight, coming quickly down the avenue, at the moment Mr. King
+had his feet on the lodge steps to enter. George suppressed a groan of
+irritation.
+
+"There's no help for it; you must have your wits about you," he
+whispered. "I shall go straight on as if I had come to pay a visit to
+the Hold."
+
+Mr. King was not perhaps the best of men to "have his wits about him" on
+a sudden emergency, and almost as the last word left George's lips, Mr.
+Chattaway was upon them.
+
+"Good afternoon, Mr. Chattaway," said George. "Is Cris at home?"
+
+George continued his way as he spoke, brushing past Mr. Chattaway. You
+know what a very coward is self-consciousness. The presence of Chattaway
+at that ill-omened moment set them all inwardly quaking. George, the
+surgeon, old Canham sitting inside, and Ann peeping from the window,
+felt one and all as if Chattaway must divine some part of the great
+secret locked within their breasts.
+
+"Cris? I don't think Cris is at home," called out Chattaway. "He went
+out after dinner."
+
+"I am going to see," replied George, looking back.
+
+The little delay had given the doctor time to collect himself, and he
+strove to look and speak as much at ease as possible. He stood on the
+lodge step, waiting to greet Mr. Chattaway. It would never do to make
+believe he was not going into the lodge, as George did, for Mr.
+Chattaway had seen him step up to it.
+
+"How d'ye do, Mr. Chattaway? Fine weather this!"
+
+"We shall have a change before long; the glass is shifting. Anyone ill
+here?" continued Chattaway.
+
+"Not they, I hope!" returned the surgeon with a laugh. "I give old
+Canham a look in now and then, when I am passing and can spare the time,
+just for a dish of gossip and to ask after his rheumatism. I suppose you
+thought I had quite forgotten you," he added, turning to the old man,
+who had risen and stood leaning on his crutch, looking, if Mr. Chattaway
+could but have understood it, half frightened to death. "It's a long
+time since I was here, Mark."
+
+He sat down on the settle as he spoke, as if to intimate that he
+intended to take a dish of gossip then. Chattaway--ah! can he suspect?
+thought old Mark as he entered the lodge; a thing he did not do once in
+a year. Conscience does make cowards of us all--and it need not be
+altogether a guilty conscience to do this--and it was rendering Ann
+Canham as one paralysed. She would have given the whole world to leave
+the room, go up to Rupert, and guard as far as possible against noise;
+but she feared to excite suspicion. Foolish fears! Had Rupert not been
+there, Ann Canham would have passed in and out of the room twenty times
+without thinking of Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"Madam Chattaway said you were ill, I remember," said he to Mark Canham.
+"Fever, I understood. She said something about seeing your fever mixture
+at the chemist's at Barmester."
+
+Ann Canham turned hot and cold. She did not dare to even glance at her
+father, still less prompt him; but it so happened that, willing to spare
+him unnecessary worry, she had not mentioned the little episode of
+meeting Mrs. Chattaway at Barmester. Old Mark was cautious, however.
+
+"Yes, Squire. I've had a deal o' fever lately, on and off. Perhaps
+Doctor King could give me some'at better for't than them druggists
+gives."
+
+"Perhaps I can," said Mr. King. "I'll have a talk with you presently.
+How is Madam to-day, Mr. Chattaway?"
+
+"As well as usual, except in the matter of grumbling," was the
+ungracious answer. And the master of the Hold, perhaps not finding it
+particularly lively there, went out as he delivered it, giving a short
+adieu to Mr. King.
+
+Meanwhile, George Ryle reached the Hold. Maude saw his approach from the
+drawing-room window, and came to the hall-door. "I want to speak to
+you," she whispered.
+
+He followed her into the room; there was no one in it. Maude closed the
+door, and spoke in a gentle whisper.
+
+"May I tell Aunt Edith?"
+
+George looked dubious. "That is a serious question, Maude."
+
+"It would give her renewed life," returned Maude, her tone intensely
+earnest. "George, if this suspense is to continue, she will sink under
+it. It was very, very bad for me to bear, and I am young and strong. I
+fear, too, that my aunt gets the dreadful doubt upon her now and then
+whether--whether--what was said of Mr. Chattaway is not true; and Rupert
+was killed that night. Oh, let me tell her!"
+
+"Maude, I should be glad for her to know it. My only doubt is, whether
+she would _dare_ keep the secret from her husband, Rupert being actually
+within the precincts of the Hold."
+
+"She can be braver in Rupert's cause than you imagine. I am sure that
+she will be as safe as you or I."
+
+"Then let us tell her."
+
+Maude's eyes grew bright with gladness. Taking all circumstances into
+view, there was not much cause for congratulation; but, compared with
+what had been, it seemed as joy to Maude, and her heart grew light.
+
+"I shall never repay you, George," she cried, with enthusiasm, lifting
+her eyes gratefully to his.
+
+George laughed, and made a prisoner of her. "I can repay myself, Maude."
+
+And Mrs. Chattaway was told.
+
+In the twilight of that same evening, when the skies were grey, and the
+trees in the lonely avenue were gloomy, there glided one beneath them
+with timid and cautious step. It was Mrs. Chattaway. A soft black shawl
+was thrown over her head and shoulders, and her gown was black;
+precautions rendering her less easy to be observed; and curious eyes
+might be about. She kept close to the trees as she stole along, ready to
+conceal herself amidst them if necessary.
+
+And it was necessary. Surely there was a fatality clinging to the spot
+this evening, or Mr. Chattaway was haunting it in suspicion. One moment
+more, and he would have met his wife; but she heard the footsteps in
+time.
+
+Her heart beating, her hands pressed upon her bosom, she waited in her
+hiding-place until he had gone past: waited until she believed him safe
+at home, and then she went on.
+
+The shutters were closed at the lodge, and Mrs. Chattaway knocked softly
+at them. Alas! alas! I tell you there was some untoward fate in the
+ascendant. In the very act of doing so she was surprised by Cris running
+in at the gate.
+
+"Goodness, mother! who was to know you in that guise? Why, what on earth
+are you trembling at?"
+
+"You have startled me, Cris. I did not know you; I thought it some
+strange man running in upon me."
+
+"What are you doing down here?"
+
+Ah! what was she doing? What was she to say? what excuse to make?
+
+"Poor old Canham has been so ailing, Cris. I must just step in to see
+him."
+
+Cris tossed his head in scorn. To make friendly visits to sick old men
+was not in _his_ line. "I'm sure I should not trouble myself about old
+Canham if I were you, mother," cried he.
+
+He ran on as he spoke, but had not gone many steps when he found his
+mother's arm gently laid on his.
+
+"Cris, dear, oblige me by not saying anything of this at home. Your
+father has prejudices, you know; he thinks as you do; and perhaps would
+be angry with me for coming. But I like to visit those who are ill, to
+say a kind word to them; perhaps because I am so often ill myself."
+
+"I sha'n't bother myself to say anything about it," was Cris's
+ungracious response. "I'm sure you are welcome to go, mother, if it
+affords you any pleasure. Fine fun it must be to sit with that rheumatic
+old Canham! But as to his being ill, he is not that--if you mean worse
+than usual: I have seen him about to-day."
+
+Cris finally went off, and Mrs. Chattaway returned to the door, which
+was opened about an inch by Ann Canham. "Let me in, Ann! let me in!"
+
+She pushed her way in; and Ann Canham shut and bolted the door. Ann's
+course was uncertain: she was not aware whether or not it was known to
+Mrs. Chattaway. That lady's first words enlightened her, spoken as they
+were in the lowest whisper.
+
+"Is he better to-night? What does Mr. King say?"
+
+Ann lifted her hands in trouble. "He's no better, Madam, but seems
+worse. Mr. King said it would be necessary that he should visit him once
+or twice a day: and how can he dare venture? It passed off very well his
+saying this afternoon that he just called in to see old father; but he
+couldn't make that excuse to Mr. Chattaway a second time."
+
+"To Mr. Chattaway!" she quickly repeated. "Did Mr. Chattaway see Mr.
+King here?"
+
+"Worse luck, he did, Madam. He came in with him."
+
+A fear arose to the heart of Mrs. Chattaway. "If we could only get him
+away to a safe distance!" she exclaimed. "There would be less danger
+then."
+
+But it could not be; Rupert was too ill to be moved. Mrs. Chattaway was
+turning to the stairs, when a gentle knocking was heard at the outer
+door.
+
+It was only Mr. King. Mrs. Chattaway eagerly accosted him with the one
+anxious question--was Rupert in danger?
+
+"Well I hope not: not in actual danger," was the surgeon's answer.
+"But--you see--circumstances are against him."
+
+"Yes," she said, hesitatingly, not precisely understanding to what
+circumstances he alluded. Mr. King resumed.
+
+"Nothing is more essential in these cases of low fever than plenty of
+fresh air and generous nourishment. The one he cannot get, lying where
+he does; to obtain the other may be almost as difficult. If these low
+fevers cannot be checked, they go on very often to--to----"
+
+"To what?" a terrible dread upon her that he meant to say, "to death."
+
+"To typhus," quietly remarked the surgeon.
+
+"Oh, but that is dangerous!" she cried, clasping her hands. "That
+sometimes goes on to death."
+
+"Yes," said Mr. King; and it struck her that his tone was significant.
+
+"You must try and prevent it, doctor--you must save him," she cried; and
+her imploring accents, her trembling hands, proved to the surgeon how
+great was her emotion.
+
+He shook his head: the issues of life and death were not in his power.
+"My dear lady, I will do what I am enabled to do; more, I cannot. We
+poor human doctors can only work under the hand of God."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIX
+
+A RED-LETTER DAY
+
+
+There are some happy days in the most monotonous, the least favoured
+life; periods on which we can look back always, even to the life's end,
+and say, "That was a red-letter day!"
+
+Such a day had arisen for Trevlyn Farm. Perhaps never, since the unhappy
+accident which had carried away its master, had so joyful a day dawned
+for Mrs. Ryle and George--certainly never one that brought half the
+satisfaction; for George Ryle was going up to the Hold to clear off the
+last instalment of Mr. Chattaway's debt.
+
+It was the lifting of a heavy tax; the removal of a cruel nightmare--a
+nightmare that had borne them down, had all but crushed them with its
+weight. How they had toiled, striven, persevered, saved, George and Nora
+alone knew. They knew it far better than Mrs. Ryle; she had joined in
+the saving, but little in the work. To Mrs. Ryle the debt seemed to have
+been cleared off quickly--far more quickly than had appeared likely at
+the time of Mr. Ryle's death. And so it had been. George Ryle was one of
+those happy people who believe in the special interposition and favour
+of God; and he believed that God had shown favour to him, and helped him
+with prosperity. It could not be denied that Trevlyn Farm had been
+blessed with remarkable prosperity since George's reign there. Season
+after season, when other people complained of short returns, those of
+Trevlyn Farm had flourished. Harvests had been abundant; cattle, sheep,
+poultry--all had richly prospered. It is true George brought keen
+intelligence, ever-watchful care to bear upon it; but returns, even with
+these, are not always satisfactory. They had been so with him. His
+bargains in buying and selling stock had been always good, yielding a
+profit--for he had entered into them somewhat largely--never dreamt of
+by his father. The farmers around, seeing how all he put his hand to
+seemed to flourish, set it down to his superior skill, and talked one to
+another, at their fairs and markets, of "young Ryle's cuteness." Perhaps
+the success might be owing to a very different cause, as George
+believed--and nothing could have shaken that belief--the special
+blessing of Heaven!
+
+Yes, in spite of Mr. Chattaway's oppression, they had flourished. It had
+seemed like magic to that gentleman how they had kept up and increased
+the payments to him, in addition to their other expenses. That the debt
+should be ready to be finally cancelled he scarcely believed, although
+he had received intimation to that effect.
+
+It did not please him. Dear as money was to the master of Trevlyn Hold,
+he had been better pleased to keep George Ryle still under his thumb.
+_He_ had not been favoured with the same success: his corn had, some
+seasons, been thin in the ear; his live stock unhealthy; his bargains
+had turned out losses instead of gains; he had made bad debts; his
+coal-mine had exploded; his ricks had been burnt. Certainly no
+extraordinary luck had followed Mr. Chattaway--rather the contrary; and
+he regarded George Ryle with anger and envy; a great deal more than
+would have pleased George, had he known it. Not that George cared, in
+the abstract, whether he had Mr. Chattaway's anger or good will; but
+George wanted to stand so far well with him as to obtain the lease of
+his best farm. A difficult task!
+
+Mr. Chattaway sat in what was called the steward's room that fine autumn
+morning--but autumn was merging into winter now. When rents were paid to
+him, it was here he sat to receive them. It was where the steward, in
+the old days of Squire Trevlyn, sat to receive them; see the tenants and
+work-people upon other matters; transact business generally--for it was
+not until the advent of Mr. Chattaway that Trevlyn Hold had been without
+its steward or bailiff. In the estimation of Miss Diana, it ought not to
+be without one now.
+
+Mr. Chattaway was not in a good humour that morning--which is not saying
+much: but he was in an unusually bad one. A man who rented a small farm
+of fifty acres under him had come in to pay his annual rent. That is, he
+had paid part of it, pleading unavoidable misfortune for not being able
+to make up the remainder, and begging time and grace. It did not please
+Mr. Chattaway--never a more exacting man than he with his tenants--and
+the unhappy defaulter wound up the displeasure to a climax by inquiring,
+innocently and simply, really not meaning any offence, whether any news
+of the poor young Squire had come to light.
+
+Mr. Chattaway had not done digesting the unpalatable remark when George
+entered. "Good morning, Mr. Chattaway," was his greeting. And perhaps of
+all his tenants George Ryle was the only one who did not on these
+occasions, when they met face to face as landlord and tenant, address
+him by his coveted title of "Squire."
+
+"Good morning," returned Mr. Chattaway, shortly and snappishly. "Take a
+seat."
+
+George drew a chair to the table at which Mr. Chattaway sat. Opening a
+substantial bag, he counted out notes and gold, and a few shillings in
+silver, which he divided into two portions; then, with his hands, he
+pushed each nearer Mr. Chattaway, one after the other.
+
+"This is the year's rent, Mr. Chattaway; and this, I am happy to say, is
+the last instalment of the debt and interest which my father owed--or
+was said to owe--to Squire Trevlyn. Will you be so good as to give me a
+receipt in full?"
+
+Mr. Chattaway swept towards him the heap designated as the rent,
+apparently ignoring the other. "What have you deducted?" he asked, in
+angry tones, as he counted it over, and found that it came somewhat
+short of the sum expected.
+
+"Not much," replied George; "only what I have a right to deduct. The
+fences, and----But I have the accounts with me," he continued, taking
+three or four papers from his pocket. "You can look them over."
+
+Mr. Chattaway scrutinised the papers one by one, but he was unable to
+find anything to object to in the items. George Ryle knew better than to
+deduct money for anything that did not fall legally to the landlord. But
+it was in Mr. Chattaway's nature to dispute.
+
+"If I brought this matter of the fences into court I believe it would be
+given against you."
+
+"I don't think you believe anything of the sort," returned George,
+good-humouredly. "If you have any great wish to try it, you can do so:
+but the loss would be yours."
+
+Probably Mr. Chattaway knew that it would be. He said no more, but
+proceeded to count the other money. It was all there, both principal and
+interest. In vain Mr. Chattaway opened his books of the days gone by,
+and went over old figures; he could not claim another fraction. The
+long-pending two thousand pounds, the disputed loan, which had caused so
+much heart-burning, and had led in a remote degree to Mr. Ryle's violent
+death, was at length paid off.
+
+"As I have paid former sums under the same protest that my father did,
+so I now pay this last and final one," said George, in a civil but
+straightforward and business-like tone. "I believe that Squire Trevlyn
+cancelled the debt on his death-bed; I and my mother have lived in that
+belief; but there was no document to prove it, and we have had to bear
+the consequences. It is all, however, honourably paid now."
+
+Mr. Chattaway could not demur to this, and gave a receipt--in full, as
+George expressed it--for that and the year's rent. As George put the
+former safely in his pocket-book, he felt like a bird released from a
+long and cruel imprisonment. He was a free man and a joyous one.
+
+"That farm of yours has turned out well of late years," observed Mr.
+Chattaway.
+
+"Very well: there's the proof," pointing to the money. "To tell you the
+truth, I gave myself two more years to pay it off in, and Mrs. Ryle
+thought it would take longer. But I have prospered in my bargains with
+stock. Would you be afraid to try me on a farm on my own account?"
+
+Had it been any eligible person except George Ryle, Mr. Chattaway would
+probably have said he should not be afraid; but Chattaway did not like
+George Ryle. He disliked him, as a mean, ill-principled man will dislike
+and shun an honourable one.
+
+"I should think that when you are making Trevlyn Farm answer so well,
+you would be loth to leave it," he remarked ungraciously.
+
+"So I might be, were Trevlyn Farm mine alone. Of all the returns which
+have accrued from my care and labour, not a shilling has found its way
+to me: I have worked entirely for others. But for the heavy costs which
+have been upon us, the chief of which were Treve's expenses and this old
+debt of Squire Trevlyn's, there would have been a fair sum to put by
+yearly, and I imagine my mother would have allowed me to take my
+portion. I believe she intends to do so by Treve, and I hope Treve will
+make as good a thing of the farm as I have made."
+
+"That's not likely," slightingly spoke Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"He may do well if he chooses; there's no doubt about it, and he can
+always come to me for advice. I shall not be far off--at least, if I can
+settle as I hope. My mother wishes the lease transferred into Trevlyn's
+name. I suppose there will be no objection to it."
+
+"I'll consider it," shortly replied Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"And now, Mr. Chattaway," George continued, with a smile, "I want you to
+promise me the lease of the Upland Farm. It will be vacant in spring."
+
+"You are mad to ask it," said Chattaway. "A man without a shilling--and
+you have just informed me you don't possess one--can't undertake the
+Upland Farm. That farm's only suited to a gentleman"--and he laid an
+offensive stress upon the word: "one whose pockets are lined with money.
+I have had an application for the Upland Farm, which I think I shall
+accept. In fact, for the matter of that, I had some thought of retaining
+it in my own hands, and putting in a bailiff to manage it."
+
+"You had better let it to me," returned George, not losing his good
+humour. "Was the application made to you by Mr. Peterby?"
+
+Mr. Chattaway stared in surprise at his knowing so much. "What if it
+was?" he returned resentfully.
+
+"Why, then, I can tell you that it will not be repeated. Mr. Peterby's
+client--I am not sure that I am at liberty to mention his name--has
+given up the idea. Partly because I have told him I want the farm
+myself, and he says he won't oppose me, out of respect to my father's
+memory; partly because Mr. Peterby has heard of another likely to suit
+him as well, if not better. All the neighbours would be glad to see me
+take the Upland Farm."
+
+Mr. Chattaway's breath was almost taken away with the insolence. "Had
+you not better constitute yourself manager of my estate, and let my
+farms to whom you please?" he cried sarcastically. "How dare you
+interfere with my tenants, or with those who would become my tenants?"
+
+"I have not interfered with them. This client of Mr. Peterby's happened
+to mention to me that he had asked the firm to make inquiries about the
+Upland Farm. I immediately rejoined that it was the very farm I was
+hoping to take myself; and he determined of his own goodwill not to
+oppose me."
+
+"Who was it?"
+
+"One who would not have suited you, if you have set your mind upon a
+gentleman," freely answered George. "He is an honest man, and a man
+whose coffers are well lined through his own industry; but he could not
+by any stretch of imagination be called a gentleman. It is Cope, the
+butcher--I may as well tell you. Since he retired from his shop, he
+finds time hangs on his hands, and has resolved to turn farmer. Mr.
+Chattaway, I hope you will let me have it."
+
+"It appears to me nothing less than audacity to ask it," was the
+chilling retort. "Pray, where's your money to come from to stock it?"
+
+"It's all ready," said George.
+
+Mr. Chattaway looked at him, thinking the assertion a joke. "If you have
+nothing better to do with your time than to jest it away, I have with
+mine," was the delicate hint he gave in reply.
+
+"I repeat that the money is ready," continued George. "Mr. Chattaway, I
+do not wish to conceal anything from you: to be otherwise than quite
+open with you. The money to stock the Upland Farm is going to be lent to
+me; you will be surprised when I tell you by whom--Mr. Apperley."
+
+Mr. Chattaway was very much surprised. It was not much in Farmer
+Apperley's line to lend money: he was too cautious a man.
+
+"It's quite true," said George, laughing. "He has so good an opinion of
+my skill as a farmer, or of the Upland Farm's capabilities, that he has
+offered to lend me sufficient money to take it."
+
+"I should have thought you had had enough of farming land upon borrowed
+money," ungenerously retorted Chattaway.
+
+"So I have--from one point of view," was the composed answer. "But I
+have managed to clear off the debt, you see, and don't doubt I shall be
+able to do the same again. Apperley proposes only a fair rate of
+interest; considerably less than I have been paying you."
+
+"It is strange that you, a young and single man, should raise your
+ambitious eyes to the Upland Farm."
+
+"Not at all. If I don't take the Upland, I shall take some other equally
+large. But I should have to go a greater distance, and I don't care to
+do that. As to being a single man--perhaps that might be remedied if you
+will let me have the Upland."
+
+He spoke with a laugh; yet Mr. Chattaway detected a serious meaning in
+the tone, and he gazed hard at George. It may be that his thoughts
+glanced at his daughter Octave.
+
+There was a long pause. "Are you thinking of marrying?"
+
+"As soon as circumstances will allow me to do so."
+
+"And who is the lady?"
+
+George shook his head; a very decisive shake, in spite of the smile on
+his lips. "I cannot tell you now; you will know sometime."
+
+"I suppose I shall, if the match ever comes off," returned Chattaway, in
+a very cross-grained manner. "If it has to wait until you rent the
+Upland Farm, it may wait indefinitely."
+
+"You will promise me the lease of it, Mr. Chattaway. You cannot think
+but I shall do the land justice, or be anything but a good tenant."
+
+"I won't promise anything of the sort," was the dogged reply. "I'll
+promise you, if you like, that you never shall have the lease of it."
+
+And, talk as George would, he could not get him into a more genial frame
+of mind. At length he rose, good-humoured and gay; as he had been
+throughout the interview.
+
+"Never mind for the present, Mr. Chattaway. I shall not let you alone
+until you promise me the farm. There's plenty of time between now and
+spring."
+
+As he was crossing the hall on his way to the door, he saw Miss Diana
+Trevlyn, and stopped to shake hands with her. "You have been paying your
+rent, I suppose," she said.
+
+"My rent and something else," replied George, in high spirits--the
+removal of that incubus which had so long lain on him had sent them up
+to fever heat. "I have handed over the last instalment of the debt and
+interest, Miss Diana, and have the receipt here"--touching his
+breast-pocket. "I have paid it under protest, as I have always told Mr.
+Chattaway; for I fully believe Squire Trevlyn cancelled it."
+
+"If I thought my father cancelled it, Mr. Chattaway should never have
+had my approbation in pressing it," severely spoke Miss Diana. "Is it
+true that you think of leaving Trevlyn Farm? Rumour says so."
+
+"Quite true. It is time I began life on my own account. I have been
+asking Mr. Chattaway to let me have the Upland."
+
+"The Upland! You!" There was nothing offensive in Miss Diana's
+exclamation: it was spoken in simple surprise.
+
+"Why not? I may be thinking of getting a wife; and the Upland is the
+only farm in the neighbourhood I would take her to."
+
+Miss Diana smiled in answer to his joke, as she thought it. "The house
+on the Upland Farm is quite a mansion," she returned, keeping up the
+jest. "Will no lesser one suffice her?"
+
+"No. She is a gentlewoman born and bred, and must live as one."
+
+"George, you speak as if you were in earnest. Are you really thinking of
+being married?"
+
+"If I can get the Upland Farm. But----"
+
+George was startled from the conclusion of his sentence. Over Miss
+Diana's shoulder, gazing at him with a strangely wild expression, was
+the face of Octave Chattaway, her lips parted, her face crimson.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER L
+
+DILEMMAS
+
+
+About ten days elapsed, and Rupert Trevlyn, lying in concealment at the
+lodge, was both better and worse. The prompt remedies applied by Mr.
+King had effected their object in abating the fever; it had not
+developed into brain-fever or typhus, and the tendency to delirium was
+arrested; so far he was better. But these symptoms had been replaced by
+others that might prove not less dangerous in the end: great
+prostration, alarming weakness, and what appeared to be a settled cough.
+The old tendency to consumption was showing itself more plainly than it
+had ever shown itself before.
+
+He had had a cough often enough, which had come and gone again, as
+coughs come to a great many of us; but the experienced ear of Mr. King
+detected a difference in this one. "It has a nasty sound in it," the
+doctor privately remarked to George Ryle. Poor Ann Canham, faint at
+heart lest this cough should betray his presence, pasted up all the
+chinks, and kept the door hermetically closed when any one was
+downstairs. Things usually go by contrary, you know; and it seemed that
+the lodge had never been so inundated with callers.
+
+Two great cares were upon those in the secret: to keep Rupert's presence
+in the lodge from the knowledge of the outside world, and to supply him
+with proper food. Upon none did the first press so painfully as upon
+Rupert himself. His dread lest his place of concealment should be
+discovered by Mr. Chattaway was never ceasing. When he lay awake, his
+ears were on the strain for what might be happening downstairs, who
+might be coming in; if he dozed--as he did several times in the course
+of the day--his dreams were haunted by pursuers, and he would start up
+wildly in bed, fancying he saw Mr. Chattaway entering with the police at
+his heels. For twenty minutes afterwards he would lie bathed in
+perspiration, unable to get the fright or the vision out of his mind.
+
+There was no doubt that this contributed to increase his weakness and
+keep him back. Let Rupert Trevlyn's future be what it might; let the
+result be the very worst; one thing was certain--any actual punishment
+in store for him could not be worse than this anticipation. Imagination
+is more vivid than reality. He would lie and go through the whole ordeal
+of his future trial: would see himself in the dock, not before the
+magistrates of Barmester, but before a scarlet-robed judge; would listen
+to the evidence of Mr. Chattaway and Jim Sanders, bringing home the
+crime to him; would hear the irrevocable sentence from those grave
+lips--that of penal servitude. Nothing could be worse for him than these
+visions. And there was no help for them. Had Rupert been in strong
+health, he might have shaken off some of these haunting fears; lying as
+he did in his weakness, they took the form of morbid disease, adding
+greatly to his bodily sickness.
+
+His ear strained, he would start up whenever a footstep was heard to
+enter the downstairs room, breathing softly to Ann Canham, or whoever
+might be sitting with him, the question: "Is it Chattaway?" And Ann
+would cautiously peep down the staircase, or bend her ear to listen, and
+tell him who it really was. But sometimes several minutes would elapse
+before she could find out; sometimes she would be obliged to go down
+upon some plausible errand, and then come back and tell him. The state
+that Rupert would fall into during these moments of suspense no pen
+could describe. It was little wonder that Rupert grew weaker.
+
+And the fears of discovery were not misplaced. Every hour brought its
+own danger. It was absolutely necessary that Mr. King should visit him
+at least once a day, and each time he ran the risk of being seen by
+Chattaway, or by some one equally dangerous. Old Canham could not feign
+to be on the sick list for ever; especially, sufficiently sick to
+require daily medical attendance. George Ryle ran the risk of being seen
+entering the lodge; as well as Mrs. Chattaway and Maude, who _could not_
+abandon their stolen interviews with the poor sufferer. "It is my only
+happy hour in the four-and-twenty; you must not fail me!" he would say
+to them, imploringly holding out his fevered hands. Some evenings Mrs.
+Chattaway would steal there, sometimes Maude, now and then both
+together.
+
+Underlying it all in Rupert's mind was the sense of guilt for having
+committed so desperate a crime. Apart from those moments of madness,
+which the neighbourhood had been content for years to designate as the
+Trevlyn temper, few living men were so little likely to commit the act
+as Rupert. Rupert was of a mild, kindly temperament, a very sweet
+disposition; one of those inoffensive people of whom we are apt to say
+they would not hurt a fly. Of Rupert it was literally true. Only in
+these rare fits was he transformed; and never had the fit been upon him
+as on that unhappy night. It was not so much repentance for the actual
+crime that overwhelmed him, as surprise that he had perpetrated it. "I
+was not conscious of the act," he would groan aloud; "I was mad when I
+did it." Perhaps so; but the consequences remained. Poor Rupert! Remorse
+was his portion, and he was in truth repenting in sackcloth and ashes.
+
+The other care upon him--supplying Rupert with appropriate
+nourishment--brought almost as much danger and difficulty in its train
+as concealing him. A worse cook than Ann Canham could not be found. It
+was her misfortune, rather than her fault. Living in extreme poverty all
+her life, no opportunity for learning or improving herself in cooking
+had ever been afforded her. The greatest luxury that ever entered old
+Canham's lodge was a bit of toasted or boiled bacon.
+
+It was not invalid dishes that Rupert wanted now. As soon as the fever
+began to leave him, his appetite returned. Certain cases of incipient
+consumption are accompanied by a craving for food difficult to satisfy,
+and this unfortunately became the case with Rupert. Had he been at the
+Hold, or in a plentiful home, he would have played his full part at the
+daily meals, and assisted their digestion with interludes besides.
+
+How was he to get sufficient food at the lodge? Mr. King said he must
+have full nourishment, with wine, strong broths, and other things in
+addition. It was the only chance, in his opinion, to counteract the
+weakness that was growing upon him, and which bid fair soon to attain an
+alarming height. Mrs. Chattaway, George Ryle, even the doctor himself
+would have been quite willing to supply the cost; but even so, where was
+the food to be dressed?--who was to do it?--how was it to be smuggled
+in? This may appear a trifling difficulty in theory, but in practice it
+was found almost insurmountable.
+
+"Can't you dress a sweetbread?" Mr. King testily asked Ann Canham, when
+she was timidly confessing her incapability in the culinary art. "I'd
+easily manage to get it up here."
+
+This was the first day Rupert's appetite had come back to him, just
+after the turn of the fever. Ann Canham hesitated. "I'm not sure, sir,"
+she said meekly. "Could it be put in a pot and boiled?"
+
+"Put in a pot and boiled!" repeated Mr. King, nettled at the question.
+"Much goodness there'd be in it when it came out! It's just blanched and
+dipped in egg crumbs, and toasted in the Dutch oven. That's the best way
+of doing them."
+
+Egg crumbs were as much of a mystery to Ann Canham as sweetbreads
+themselves. She shook her head. "And if, by ill-luck, Mr. Chattaway came
+in and saw a sweetbread in our Dutch oven before our fire, sir; or smelt
+the savour of it as he passed--what then?" she asked. "What excuse could
+we make to him?"
+
+This phase of the difficulty had not before presented itself to the
+surgeon's mind. It was one that could not well be got over; the more he
+dwelt upon it the more he became convinced of this. George Ryle, Mrs.
+Chattaway, Maude, all, when appealed to, were of the same opinion. There
+was too much at stake to permit the risk of exciting any suspicions on
+the part of Mr. Chattaway.
+
+But it was not only Chattaway. Others who possessed noses were in the
+habit of passing the lodge: Cris, his sisters, Miss Diana, and many
+more: and some of them were in the habit of coming into it. Ann Canham
+was giving mortal offence, causing much wonder, in declining her usual
+places of work; and many a disappointed housewife, following Nora
+Dickson's example, had come up, in consequence, to invade the lodge and
+express her sentiments upon the point. Ann Canham was driven to the very
+verge of desperation in trying to frame plausible excuses, and had
+serious thoughts of making believe to take to her bed herself--had she
+possessed just then a bed to take to.
+
+In the dilemma Mrs. Chattaway came to the rescue. "I will contrive it,"
+she said: "the food shall be supplied from the Hold. My sister does not
+personally interfere, giving her orders in the morning, and I know I can
+manage it."
+
+But Mrs. Chattaway found she had undertaken what it would scarcely be
+possible to perform. What had flashed across her mind when she spoke
+was, "The cook is a faithful, kind-hearted woman, and I know I can trust
+her." Mrs. Chattaway did not mean trust her with the secret of Rupert,
+but trust her to cook a few extra dishes quietly and say nothing about
+them. Yes, she might, she was sure; the woman would be true. But it now
+struck Mrs. Chattaway with a sort of horror, to ask herself how she was
+to get them away when cooked. She could not go into the kitchen herself,
+have meat, fowl, or jelly put into a basin, and carry it off to the
+lodge. However, that was an after-care. She spoke to the cook, who was
+called Rebecca, told her she wanted some nice things dressed for a poor
+pensioner of _her own_, and nothing said about it. The woman was pleased
+and willing; all the servants were fond of their mistress; and she
+readily undertook the task and promised to be silent.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LI
+
+A LETTER FOR MR. CHATTAWAY
+
+
+Although an insignificant place, Barbrook and its environs received
+their letters early. The bags were dropped by the London mail train at
+Barmester in the middle of the night; and as the post-office
+arrangements were well conducted--which cannot be said for all towns--by
+eight o'clock Barbrook had its letters.
+
+Rather before that hour than after it, they were delivered at Trevlyn
+Hold. Being the chief residence in the neighbourhood, the postman was in
+the habit of beginning his round there; it had been so in imperious old
+Squire Trevlyn's time, and was so still. Thus it generally happened that
+breakfast would be commencing at the Hold when the post came in.
+
+It was a morning of which we must take some notice--a morning which, as
+Mr. Chattaway was destined afterwards to find, he would have cause to
+remember to his dying day. If Miss Diana Trevlyn happened to see the
+postman approaching the house, she would most likely walk to the
+hall-door and receive the letters into her own hands. And it was so on
+this morning.
+
+"Only two, ma'am," the postman said, as he delivered them to her.
+
+She looked at the addresses. The one was a foreign letter, bearing her
+own name, and she recognised the handwriting of Mr. Daw; the other bore
+the London postmark, and was addressed "James Chattaway, Esquire,
+Trevlyn Hold, Barmester."
+
+With an eager movement, somewhat foreign to the cold and stately motions
+of Miss Diana Trevlyn, she broke the seal of the former; there, at the
+hall-door as she stood. A thought flashed into her mind that Rupert
+might have found his way at length to Mr. Daw, and that gentleman was
+intimating the same--as Miss Diana by letter had requested him to do. It
+was just the contrary, however. Mr. Daw wrote to beg a line from Miss
+Diana, as to whether tidings had been heard of Rupert. He had visited
+his father and mother's grave the previous day, he observed, and did not
+know whether that had caused him to think more than usual of Rupert;
+but, all the past night and again to-day, he had been unable to get him
+out of his head; a feeling was upon him (no doubt a foolish one, he
+added in a parenthesis) that the boy was taken, or that some other
+misfortune had befallen him, or was about to befall him, and he presumed
+to request a line from Miss Diana Trevlyn to end his suspense.
+
+She folded the letter when read; put it into the pocket of her black
+silk apron, and returned to the breakfast-room, with the one for Mr.
+Chattaway. As she did so, her eyes happened to fall upon the reverse
+side of the letter, and she saw it was stamped with the name of a
+firm--Connell, Connell, and Ray.
+
+She knew the firm by name; they were solicitors of great respectability
+in London. Indeed, she remembered to have entertained Mr. Charles
+Connell at the Hold for a few days in her father's lifetime, that
+gentleman being at the time engaged in some legal business for Squire
+Trevlyn. They must be old men now, she knew, those brothers Connell; and
+Mr. Ray, she believed to have heard, was son-in-law to one of them.
+
+"What can they have to write to Chattaway about?" marvelled Miss Diana;
+but the next moment she remembered they were the agents of Peterby and
+Jones, of Barmester, and concluded it was some matter connected with the
+estate.
+
+Miss Diana swept to her place at the head of the breakfast-table. It was
+filled, with the exception of two seats: the armchair opposite to her
+own, Mr. Chattaway's; and Cris's seat at the side. Cris was not down,
+but Mr. Chattaway had gone out to the men. Mrs. Chattaway was in her
+place next Miss Diana. She used rarely to be down in time to begin
+breakfast with the rest, but that was altered now. Since these fears had
+arisen concerning Rupert, it seemed that she could not rest in her bed,
+and would quit it almost with the dawn.
+
+Mr. Chattaway came in as Miss Diana was pouring out the tea, and she
+passed the letter down to him. Glancing casually at it as it lay beside
+his plate, he began helping himself to some cold partridge. Cris was a
+capital shot, and the Hold was generally well supplied with game.
+
+"It is from Connell and Connell," remarked Miss Diana.
+
+"From Connell and Connell!" repeated Mr. Chattaway, in a tone of
+bewilderment, as if he did not recognise the name. "What should they be
+writing to me about?" But he was too busy with the partridge just then
+to ascertain.
+
+"Some local business, I conclude," observed Miss Diana. "They are
+Peterby's agents, you know."
+
+"And what if they are?" retorted Mr. Chattaway. "Peterby's have nothing
+to do with me."
+
+That was so like Chattaway! To cavil as to what might be the contents of
+the letter, rather than put the question at rest by opening it. However,
+when he looked up from his plate to stir his tea, he tore open the
+envelope.
+
+He tore it open and cast his eyes over the letter. Miss Diana happened
+to be looking at him. She saw him gaze at it with an air of
+bewilderment; she saw him go over it again--there were apparently but
+some half-dozen lines--and then she saw him turn green. You may cavil at
+the expression, but it is a correct one. The leaden complexion with
+which nature had favoured Mr. Chattaway did assume a green tinge in
+moments of especial annoyance.
+
+"What's the matter?" questioned Miss Diana.
+
+Mr. Chattaway replied by a half-muttered word, and dashed the letter
+down. "I thought we had had enough of that folly," he presently said.
+
+"What folly?"
+
+He did not answer, although the query was put by Miss Diana Trevlyn. She
+pressed it, and Mr. Chattaway flung the letter across the table to her.
+"You can read it, if you choose." With some curiosity Miss Diana took it
+up, and read as follows:--
+
+     "SIR,
+
+     "We beg to inform you that the true heir of Trevlyn Hold,
+     Rupert Trevlyn, is about to put in his claim to the estate, and
+     will shortly require to take possession of it. We have been
+     requested to write this intimation to you, and we do so in a
+     friendly spirit, that you may be prepared to quit the house,
+     and not be taken unawares, when Mr. Trevlyn--henceforth Squire
+     Trevlyn--shall arrive at it.
+
+     "We are, sir, your obedient servants,
+
+     "CONNELL, CONNELL, AND RAY.
+
+     "James Chattaway, Esquire."
+
+"Then Rupert's not dead!" were the first words that broke from Miss
+Diana's lips. And the exclamation, and its marked tone of satisfaction,
+proved of what nature her fears for Rupert had been.
+
+Mrs. Chattaway started up with white lips. "What of Rupert?" she gasped;
+believing nothing else than that discovery had come.
+
+Miss Diana, without in the least thinking it necessary to consult Mr.
+Chattaway's pleasure first, handed her the letter. She read it rapidly,
+and her fears calmed down.
+
+"What an absurdity!" she exclaimed. Knowing as she did the helpless
+position of Rupert, the contents sounded not only absurd, but
+impossible. "Some one must have written it to frighten you, James."
+
+"Yes," said Mr. Chattaway, compressing his thin lips; "it comes from the
+Peterby quarter. A felon threatening to take possession of Trevlyn
+Hold!"
+
+But in spite of the scorn he strove to throw into his manner; in spite
+of his indomitable resolution to bring Rupert to punishment when he
+appeared; in spite of even his wife, Rupert's best friend, acknowledging
+the absurdity of this letter, it disturbed him in no measured degree. He
+stretched out his hand for it, and read it again, pondering over every
+word; he pushed his plate from him, as he gazed on it. He had had
+sufficient breakfast for one day; and gulping down his tea, declined to
+take more. Yes, it was shaking his equanimity to its centre; and the
+Miss Chattaways and Maude, only imperfectly understanding what was
+amiss, looked at each other, and at him.
+
+Mrs. Chattaway began to feel indignant that poor Rupert's name should be
+thus made use of; only, so far as she could see, for the purpose of
+exciting Mr. Chattaway further against him. "But Connells' is a most
+respectable firm," she said aloud, following out her thoughts; "I cannot
+comprehend it."
+
+"I say it comes from Peterby," roared Mr. Chattaway. "He and Rupert are
+in league. I dare say Peterby knows where he's concealed."
+
+"Oh no, no; you are mistaken," broke incautiously from the lips of Mrs.
+Chattaway.
+
+"No! Do you know where he is, pray, that you speak so confidently?"
+
+The taunt recalled her to a sense of the danger. "James, what I meant
+was this: it is scarcely likely Rupert would be in league with any one
+against you," she said in low tones. "I think he would rather try to
+conciliate you."
+
+"If you think this letter emanates from Peterbys' why don't you go down
+and demand what they mean by writing it?" interposed Miss Diana Trevlyn,
+in her straightforward, matter-of-fact tone.
+
+He nodded his head significantly. "I shall not let the grass grow under
+my feet before I am there."
+
+"I cannot think it's Peterby and Jones," resumed Miss Diana. "They are
+quite as respectable as the Connells, and I don't believe they would
+ally themselves with Rupert, after what he has done. I don't believe
+they would work mischief secretly against any one. Anything they may
+have to do, they'd do openly."
+
+Had Mr. Chattaway prevailed with himself so far as to put his temper and
+prejudices aside, this might not have been far from his own opinion. He
+had always, in a resentful sort of way, considered Mr. Peterby an
+honourable man. But if Peterby was not at the bottom of this, who was?
+Connell, Connell, and Ray were his town agents.
+
+The very uncertainty only made him the more eager to get to them and set
+the matter at rest. He knew it was of no use attempting to see Mr.
+Peterby before ten o'clock, but he would see him then. He ordered his
+horse to be ready, and rode into Barmester attended by his groom. As ten
+o'clock struck, he was at their office-door.
+
+A quarter-of-an-hour's detention, and then he was admitted to Mr.
+Peterby's room. That gentleman was sweeping a pile of open letters into
+a corner of the table at which he sat, and the master of Trevlyn Hold
+shrewdly suspected that his waiting had been caused by Mr. Peterby's
+opening and reading them. He proceeded at once to the business that
+brought him there, and taking his own letter out of his pocket, handed
+it to Mr. Peterby.
+
+"Connell, Connell, and Ray are your agents in London, I believe? They
+used to be."
+
+"And are still," said Mr. Peterby. "What is this?"
+
+"Be so good as to read it," replied Mr. Chattaway.
+
+The lawyer ran his eyes over it carelessly, as it seemed to those eyes
+watching him. Then he looked up. "Well?"
+
+"In writing this letter to me--I received it, you perceive, by post this
+morning, if you'll look at the date--were Connell and Connell instructed
+by you?"
+
+"By me!" echoed Mr. Peterby. "Not they. I know nothing at all about it.
+I can't make it out."
+
+"You are a friend of Rupert Trevlyn's, and they are your agents,"
+remarked Mr. Chattaway, after a pause.
+
+"My good sir, I tell you I know nothing whatever of this. Connells are
+our agents; but I never sent any communication to them with regard to
+Rupert Trevlyn in my life; never had cause to send one. If you ask me my
+opinion, I should say that if the lad--should he be still
+living--entertains hopes of coming into Trevlyn Hold after this last
+escapade of his, he must be a great simpleton. I expect you'd prosecute
+him, instead of giving him up the Hold."
+
+"I should," quietly answered Mr. Chattaway. "But what do Connell and
+Connell mean by sending me such a letter as this?"
+
+"It is more than I can tell you, Mr. Chattaway. We have received a
+communication from them ourselves this morning upon the subject. I was
+opening it when you were announced to me as being here."
+
+He bent over the letters previously spoken of, selected one, and held it
+out to Mr. Chattaway. Instead of being written by the firm, it was a
+private letter from Mr. Ray to Mr. Peterby. It merely stated that the
+true heir of Squire Trevlyn, Rupert, was about shortly to take
+possession of his property, the Hold, and they (Connell, Connell, and
+Ray) should require Mr. Peterby to act as local solicitor in the
+proceedings, should a solicitor be necessary.
+
+Mr. Chattaway began to feel cruelly uneasy. Rupert had committed that
+great fault, and was in danger of punishment--_would_ be punished by his
+country's laws; but in this new uneasiness that important fact seemed to
+lose half its significance. "And you have not instructed them?" he
+repeated.
+
+"Nonsense, Mr. Chattaway! it is not likely. I cannot make out what they
+mean, any more than you can. The nearest conclusion I can come to is,
+that they must be acting from instructions received from that
+semi-parson who was over here, Mr. Daw."
+
+"No," said Mr. Chattaway, "I think not. Miss Trevlyn heard from that man
+this morning, and he appears to know nothing about Rupert. He asks for
+news of him."
+
+"Well, it is a curious thing altogether. I shall write by to-night's
+post to Ray, and inquire what he means."
+
+Mr. Chattaway, suspicious Mr. Chattaway, pressed one more question.
+"Have you any idea at all where Rupert is likely to be? That he is in
+hiding, and accessible to some people, is evident from these letters.
+
+"I have already informed you that I know nothing whatever of Rupert
+Trevlyn," was the lawyer's answer. "Whether he is alive or whether he is
+dead, I know not. You cannot know less of him yourself than I do."
+
+Mr. Chattaway was obliged to be contented with the answer. He went out
+and proceeded direct to Mr. Flood's, and laid the letter--his
+letter--before him. "What sort of thing do you call that?" he
+intemperately uttered, when it was read. "Connell and Connell must be
+infamous men to write it."
+
+"Stop a bit," said Mr. Flood, who had his eyes strained on the letter.
+"There's more in this than meets the eye."
+
+"You don't think it's a joke--done to annoy me?"
+
+"A joke! Connell and Connell would not lend themselves to a joke. No, I
+don't think it's that."
+
+"Then what do you think?"
+
+Mr. Flood was several minutes before he replied, and his silence drove
+Mr. Chattaway to the verge of exasperation. "It is difficult to know
+what to think," said the lawyer presently. "I should be inclined to say
+they have been brought into personal communication with Rupert Trevlyn,
+or with somebody acting for him: perhaps the latter is the more
+probable. And I should also say they must have been convinced, by
+documentary or other evidence, that a good foundation exists for
+Rupert's claims to the Hold. Mr. Chattaway--if I may speak the truth to
+you--I should dread this letter."
+
+Mr. Chattaway felt as if a bucket of cold water had been suddenly flung
+over him, and was running down his back. "Why is it that you turn
+against me?"
+
+"_Turn_ against you! I don't know what you mean. I don't turn against
+you; quite the opposite. I am willing to act for you; to do anything I
+legally can to meet the fear."
+
+"Why _do_ you fear?"
+
+"Because Connell, Connell, and Ray are keen and cautious practitioners
+as well as honourable men, and I do not think they would write so
+decided a letter as this, unless they knew they were fully justified in
+doing so, and were prepared to follow it out."
+
+"You are a pretty Job's comforter," gasped Mr. Chattaway.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LII
+
+A DAY OF MISHAPS
+
+
+Rebecca the servant was true and crafty in her faithfulness to her
+mistress, and contrived to get various dainties prepared and conveyed
+unsuspiciously under her apron, watching her opportunity, to the
+sitting-room of Madam, where they were hidden away in a closet, and the
+key turned upon them. So far, so good. But that was not all: the
+greatest difficulty lay in transporting them to Rupert.
+
+The little tricks and _ruses_ that the lodge and those in its secret
+learnt to be expert in at this time were worthy of a private inquiry
+office. Ann Canham, at a given hour, would be standing at the open door
+of the lodge; and Mrs. Chattaway, with timid steps, and eyes that
+wandered everywhere lest witnesses were about, would come down the
+avenue: opposite the lodge door, by some sleight of hand, a parcel, or
+basket, or bottle would be transferred from under her shawl to Ann
+Canham's hands. The latter would close the door and slip the bolt,
+whilst the lady would walk swiftly on through the gate, for the purpose
+of taking exercise in the road. Or perhaps it would be Maude that went
+through this little rehearsal, instead of Madam. But at the best it was
+all difficult to accomplish for many reasons, and might at any time be
+stopped. If only the extra cooking came to the knowledge of Miss Diana
+Trevlyn, it would be quite impossible to venture to continue it, and
+next to impossible any longer to conceal Rupert's hiding place.
+
+One day a disastrous _contretemps_ occurred. It happened that Miss Diana
+Trevlyn had arranged to take the Miss Chattaways to a morning concert at
+Barmester. Maude might have gone, but excused herself: whilst Rupert's
+fate hung in the balance, it was scarcely seemly, she thought, that she
+should be seen at public festivals. Cris had gone out shooting that day;
+Mr. Chattaway, as was supposed, was at Barmester; and when dinner was
+served, only Mrs. Chattaway and Maude sat down to it. It was a plain
+sirloin; and during a momentary absence of James, who was waiting at
+table, Maude exclaimed in a low tone:
+
+"Aunt Edith, if we could only get some of this to Rupert!"
+
+"I was thinking so," said Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+The servant returned to the room, and the conversation ceased. But his
+mistress, under some plea, dismissed him, saying she would ring. And
+then the thought was carried out. A sauce-tureen which happened to be on
+the table was made the receptacle for some of the hot meat, and Maude
+put on her bonnet and stole away with it.
+
+An unlucky venture. In her haste to reach the lodge unmolested, she
+spilt some of the gravy on her dress, and was stopping to wipe it with
+her handkerchief, when she was interrupted by Mr. Chattaway. It was
+close to the lodge. Maude's heart, as the saying runs, came into her
+mouth.
+
+"What's that? Where are you taking it to?" he demanded, for his eyes had
+caught the tureen before she could slip it under her mantle.
+
+He peremptorily took it from her unresisting hand, raised the cover, and
+saw some tempting slices of hot roast beef, and part of a cauliflower.
+Had Maude witnessed the actual discovery of Rupert, she could not have
+felt more utterly terrified.
+
+"I ask you, to whom were you taking this?"
+
+His resolute tones, coupled with her own terror, were more than poor
+Maude could brave. "To Mark Canham," she faltered. There was no one she
+could mention with the least plausibility: and she could not pretend to
+be merely taking a walk with a tureen of meat in her hand.
+
+"Was it Madam's doings to send this?"
+
+Again she could only answer in the affirmative. Chattaway stalked off to
+the Hold, carrying the tureen.
+
+His wife sat at the dinner-table, and James was removing some pastry as
+he entered. Regardless of the man's presence, he gave vent to his anger,
+reproaching her in no measured terms for what she had done. Meat and
+vegetables from his own table to be supplied to that profitless,
+good-for-nothing man, Canham, who already enjoyed a house and
+half-a-crown a week for doing nothing! How dared she be guilty of
+extravagance so great, of wilful waste?
+
+The scene was prolonged but came to an end at last; all such scenes do,
+it is to be hoped; and the afternoon went on. Mr. Chattaway went out
+again, Cris had not come in, Miss Diana and the girls did not return,
+and Mrs. Chattaway and Maude were still alone. "I shall go down to see
+him, Maude," the former said in low tones, breaking an unhappy silence.
+"And I shall take him something to eat; I will risk it. He has had
+nothing from us to-day."
+
+Maude scarcely knew what to answer: her own fright was not yet over.
+Mrs. Chattaway dressed herself, took the little provision-basket and
+went out. It was all but dark; the evening was gloomy. Meeting no one,
+she gained the lodge, opened its door with a quick hand, and----stole
+away again silently and swiftly, with perhaps greater terror than she
+had ever felt rushing over her heart.
+
+For the first figure she saw there was that of her husband, and the
+first voice she heard was his. She made her way amidst the trunks of the
+almost leafless trees, and concealed herself as she best could.
+
+In returning that evening, it had struck Mr. Chattaway as he passed the
+lodge that he could not do better than favour old Canham with a piece of
+his mind, and forbid him, under pain of instant dismissal, to rob the
+Hold (as he phrased it) of so much as a scrap of bread. Old Canham,
+knowing what was at stake, took it patiently, never denying that the
+food (which Mr. Chattaway enlarged upon) might have been meant for him.
+Ann Canham stood against Rupert's door, shivering and shaking; and poor
+Rupert himself, who had not failed to recognise that loud voice, lay as
+one in agony.
+
+Mr. Chattaway was in the midst of his last sentence, when the front-door
+was suddenly opened, and as suddenly shut again. He had his back to it,
+but turned just in time to catch a glimpse of somebody's petticoats
+before the door closed.
+
+It was a somewhat singular proceeding, and Mr. Chattaway, always curious
+and suspicious, opened the door after a minute's pause, and looked out.
+He could see no one. He looked up the avenue, he looked down; he stepped
+out to the gate, and gazed up and down the road. Whoever it was had
+disappeared.
+
+"Did you see who it was opened the door in that manner?" he demanded of
+old Canham.
+
+Old Canham had stood deferentially during the lecture, leaning on his
+stick. He had not seen who it was, and therefore could answer readily,
+but he strongly suspected it to be Mrs. Chattaway. "Maybe 'twas some
+woman bringing sewing up for Ann, Squire. They mostly comes at dusk, not
+to hinder their own work."
+
+"Then why couldn't they come in?" retorted Mr. Chattaway. "Why need they
+run away as if caught at some mischief?"
+
+Old Canham wisely declined an answer: and Mr. Chattaway, after a parting
+admonition, finally quitted the lodge, and took his way towards the
+Hold. But for her dark attire, and the darker shades of evening, he
+might have detected his wife there, watching for him to pass.
+
+It seemed an unlucky day. Mrs. Chattaway, her heart beating, came out of
+her hiding-place as the last echoes of his steps died away and almost
+met the carriage as it turned into the avenue, bringing her daughters
+and Miss Diana from Barmester. When she did reach the lodge, Ann Canham
+had the door open an inch or two. "Take it," she cried, giving the
+basket to Ann as she advanced to the stairs. "I have not a minute to
+stop. How is he to-night?"
+
+"Madam," whispered Ann Canham, in her meek voice, but meek though it
+was, there was that in its tones to-night which arrested Mrs. Chattaway,
+"if he continues to get worse and weaker, if he cannot be got away from
+here and from these frights, I fear me he'll die. He has never been as
+bad as he is to-night."
+
+She untied her bonnet, and stole upstairs to Rupert's room. By the
+rushlight she could see the ravages of illness on his wasting features;
+features that seemed to have changed for the worse even since she had
+seen him that time last night. He turned his blue eyes, bright and wild
+with disease, on her as she entered.
+
+"Oh, Aunt Edith! Is he gone? I thought I should have died with fright,
+here as I lay."
+
+"He is gone, darling," she answered, bending over him, and speaking with
+reassuring tenderness. "You look worse to-night, Rupert."
+
+"It is this stifling room, aunt; it is killing me. At least, it gives me
+no chance to get better. If I only had a large, airy room at the
+Hold--where I could lie without fear, and be waited on--I might get
+better. Aunt Edith, I wish the past few weeks could be blotted out. I
+wish I had not been overtaken by that fit of madness?"
+
+Ah! he could not wish it as she did. Her tears silently fell, and she
+began in the desperate need to debate in her own heart whether the
+impossible might not be accomplished--disarming the anger of Mr.
+Chattaway, and getting him to pardon Rupert. In that case only could he
+be removed. Perhaps Diana might effect it? If she could not, no one else
+could. As she thought of its utter hopelessness, there came to her
+recollection that recent letter from Connell and Connell, which had so
+upset the equanimity of Mr. Chattaway. She had not yet mentioned it to
+Rupert, but must do so now. Her private opinion was, that Rupert had
+written to the London lawyers for the purpose of vexing Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"It is not right, Rupert, dear," she whispered. "It can only do harm. If
+it does no other harm, it will by increasing Mr. Chattaway's anger.
+Indeed, dear, it was wrong."
+
+He looked up in surprise from his pillow.
+
+"I don't know what you mean, Aunt Edith. Connell and Connell? What
+should I do, writing to Connell and Connell?"
+
+She explained about the letter, reciting its contents as accurately as
+she remembered them. Rupert only stared.
+
+"Acting for me!--I to take possession of the Hold! Well, I don't know
+anything about it," he wearily answered. "Why does not Mr. Chattaway go
+up and ask them what they mean? Connell and Connell don't know me, and I
+don't know them. Am I in a fit state to write letters, Aunt Edith?"
+
+"It seemed to me the most unlikely thing in the world, Rupert, but what
+else was I to think?"
+
+"They'd better have written to say I was going to take possession of the
+grave," he resumed; "there'd be more sense in that. Perhaps I am, Aunt
+Edith."
+
+More sense in it? Ay, there would be. Every pulse in Mrs. Chattaway's
+heart echoed the words. She did not answer, and a pause ensued only
+broken by his somewhat painful breathing.
+
+"Do you think I shall die, Aunt Edith?"
+
+"Oh, my boy, I hope not; I hope not! But it is all in God's will.
+Rupert, darling, it seems a sad thing, especially to the young, to leave
+this world; but do you know what I often think as I lie and sigh through
+my sleepless nights: that it would be a blessed change both for you and
+for me if God were to take us from it, and give us a place in heaven."
+
+Another pause. "You can tell Mr. Chattaway you feel sure I had nothing
+to do with the letter, Aunt Edith."
+
+She shook her head. "No, Rupert; the less I say the better. It would not
+do; I should fear some chance word on my part might betray you: and all
+I could say would not make any impression on Mr. Chattaway."
+
+"You are not going!" he exclaimed, as she rose from her seat on the bed.
+
+"I must. I wish I could stay, but I dare not; indeed it was not safe
+to-night to come in at all."
+
+"Aunt Edith, if you could only stay! It is so lonely. Four-and-twenty
+hours before I shall see you or Maude again! It is like being left alone
+to die."
+
+"Not to die, I trust," she said, her tears falling fast. "We shall be
+together some time for ever, but I pray we may have a little happiness
+on earth first!"
+
+Very full was her heart that night, and but for the fear that her red
+eyes would betray her, she could have wept all the way home. Stealing in
+at a side door, she gained her room, and found that Mr. Chattaway,
+fortunately, had not discovered her absence.
+
+A few minutes after she entered, the house was in a commotion. Sounds
+were heard proceeding from the kitchen, and Mrs. Chattaway and others
+hastened towards it. One of the servants was badly scalded. Most
+unfortunately, it happened to be the cook, Rebecca. In taking some
+calve's-foot jelly from the fire, she had inadvertently overturned the
+boiling liquid.
+
+Miss Diana, who was worth a thousand of Mrs. Chattaway in an emergency,
+had the woman placed in a recumbent position, and sent one of the grooms
+on horseback for Mr. King. But Miss Diana, while sparing nothing that
+could relieve the sufferer, did not conceal her displeasure at the
+awkwardness.
+
+"Was it _jelly_ you were making, Rebecca?" she sternly demanded.
+
+Rebecca was lying back in a large chair, her feet raised. Everyone was
+crowding round: even Mr. Chattaway had come to ascertain the cause of
+the commotion. She made no answer.
+
+Bridget did; rejoicing, no doubt, in her superior knowledge. "Yes,
+ma'am, it was jelly: she had just boiled it up."
+
+Miss Diana wheeled round to Rebecca. "Why were you making jelly? It was
+not ordered."
+
+Rebecca, not knowing what to say, glanced at Mrs. Chattaway. "Yes, it
+was ordered," murmured the latter. "I ordered it."
+
+"You!" returned Miss Diana. "What for?" But Miss Diana spoke in surprise
+only; not objecting: it was so very unusual for Mrs. Chattaway to
+interfere in the domestic arrangements. It surprised them all, and her
+daughters looked at her. Poor Mrs. Chattaway could not put forth the
+plea that it was being made for herself, for calve's-foot jelly was a
+thing she never touched. The confusion on his wife's face attracted the
+notice of Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"Possibly you intended to regale old Canham?" he scornfully said,
+alluding to what had passed that day. Not that he believed anything so
+improbable.
+
+"Madam knows the young ladies like it, and she told me to make some,"
+good-naturedly spoke up Rebecca in the midst of her pain.
+
+The excuse served, and the matter passed. Miss Diana privately thought
+what a poor housekeeper her sister would make, ordering things when they
+were not required, and Mr. Chattaway quitted the scene. When the doctor
+arrived and had attended to the patient, Mrs. Chattaway, who was then in
+her room, sent to request him to come to her before he left, adding to
+the message that she did not feel well.
+
+He came up immediately. She put a question or two about the injury to
+the girl, which was trifling, he answered, and would not keep her a
+prisoner long; and then Mrs. Chattaway lowered her voice, and spoke in
+the softest whisper.
+
+"Mr. King, you must tell me. Is Rupert worse?"
+
+"He is very ill," was the answer. "He certainly grows worse instead of
+better."
+
+"Will he die?"
+
+"I do believe he will die unless he can be got out of that unwholesome
+place. The question is, how is it to be done?"
+
+"It cannot be done; it cannot be done unless Mr. Chattaway can be
+propitiated. That is the only chance."
+
+"Mr. Chattaway never will be," thought Mr. King. "Everything is against
+him where he is," he said aloud: "the air of the room, the constant fear
+upon him, the want of proper food. The provisions conveyed to him at
+chance times are a poor substitute for the meals he requires."
+
+"And they will be stopped now," said Mrs. Chattaway. "Rebecca has
+prepared them privately, but she cannot do so now. Mr. King, _what_ can
+be done!"
+
+"I don't know, indeed. It will not be safe to attempt to move him. In
+fact, I question if he would consent to it, his dread of being
+discovered is so great."
+
+"Will you do all you can?" she urged.
+
+"To be sure," he replied. "I _am_ doing all I can. I got him another
+bottle of port in to-day. If you only saw me trying to dodge into the
+lodge unperceived, and taking observations before I whisk out again, you
+would say that I am as anxious as you can be, my dear lady. Still--I
+don't hesitate to avow it--I believe it will be life or death, according
+as we can manage to get him away from that hole and set his mind at
+rest."
+
+He wished her good night, and went out.
+
+"Life or death!" Mrs. Chattaway stood at the window, and gazed into the
+dusky night, recalling over and over again the ominous words. "Life or
+death!" There was no earthly chance, except the remote one of appeasing
+Mr. Chattaway.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LIII
+
+A SURPRISE FOR MR. CHATTAWAY
+
+
+George Ryle by no means liked the uncertainty in which he was kept as to
+the Upland Farm. Had Mr. Chattaway been any other than Mr. Chattaway,
+had he been a straightforward man, George would have said, "Give me an
+answer, Yes or No." In point of fact, he did say so; but was unable to
+get a reply from him, one way or the other. Mr. Chattaway was pretty
+liberal in his sneers as to one with no means of his own taking so
+extensive a farm as the Upland; but he did not positively say, "I will
+not lease it to you." George bore the sneers with equanimity. He
+possessed that very desirable gift, a sweet temper; and he was, and
+could not help feeling that he was, so really superior to Mr. Chattaway,
+that he could afford that gentleman's evil tongue some latitude.
+
+But the time was going on; it was necessary that a decision should be
+arrived at; and one morning George went up again to the Hold, determined
+to receive a final answer. As he was entering the steward's room, he met
+Ford, the Blackstone clerk, coming out of it.
+
+"Is Mr. Chattaway in there?" asked George.
+
+"Yes," replied Ford. "But if you want any business out of him this
+morning, you won't get it. I have tramped all the way up here about a
+hurried matter and have had my walk for my pains. Chattaway won't do
+anything or say anything; doesn't seem capable; says he shall be at
+Blackstone by-and-by. And that's all I've got to go back with."
+
+"Why won't he?"
+
+"Goodness knows. He seems to have had a shock or fright: was staring at
+a letter when I went in, and I left him staring at it when I came out,
+his wits evidently wool-gathering. Good morning, Mr. Ryle."
+
+The young man went his way, and George entered the room. Mr. Chattaway
+was seated at his desk; an open letter before him, as Ford had said. It
+was one that had been delivered by that morning's post, and it had
+brought the sweat of dismay upon his brow. He looked at George angrily.
+
+"Who's this again? Am I never to be at peace? What do you want?"
+
+"Mr. Chattaway, I want an answer. If you will not let me the Upland
+Farm----"
+
+"I will give you no answer this morning. I am otherwise occupied, and
+cannot be bothered with business."
+
+"Will you give me an answer--at all?"
+
+"Yes, to-morrow. Come then."
+
+George saw that something had indeed put Mr. Chattaway out; he appeared
+incapable of business, as Ford had intimated, and it would be policy,
+perhaps, to let the matter rest until to-morrow. But a resolution came
+into George's mind to do at once what he had sometimes thought of
+doing--make a friend, if possible, of Miss Diana Trevlyn. He went about
+the house until he found her, for he was almost as much at home there as
+poor Rupert had been. Miss Diana happened to be alone in the
+breakfast-room, looking over what appeared to be bills, but she
+laid them aside at his entrance, and--it was a most unusual
+thing--condescended to ask after the health of her sister, Mrs. Ryle.
+
+"Miss Diana, I want you to be my friend," he said, in the winning manner
+that made George Ryle liked by everyone, as he drew a chair near to her.
+"Will you whisper a word for me into Mr. Chattaway's ear?"
+
+"About the Upland Farm?"
+
+"Yes. I cannot get an answer from him. He has promised me one to-morrow
+morning, but I do not rely upon it. I must be at some certainty. I have
+my eye on another farm if I cannot get Mr. Chattaway's; but it is at
+some distance, and I shall not like it half as well. Whilst he keeps me
+shilly-shallying over this one, I may lose both. There's an old proverb,
+you know, about two stools."
+
+"Was that a joke the other day, the hint you gave about marrying?"
+inquired Miss Diana.
+
+"It was sober earnest. If I can get the Upland Farm, I shall, I hope,
+take my wife home to it almost as soon as I am installed there myself."
+
+"Is she a good manager, a practical woman?"
+
+George smiled. "No. She is a lady."
+
+"I thought so," was the remark of Miss Diana, delivered in very knowing
+tones. "I can tell you and your wife, George, that it will be uphill
+work for both of you."
+
+"For a time; I know that. But, Miss Diana, ease, when it comes, will be
+all the more enjoyable for having been worked for. I often think the
+prosperity of those who have honestly earned it must be far sweeter than
+the monotonous abundance of those who are born rich."
+
+"True. The worst is, that sometimes the best years of life are over
+before prosperity comes."
+
+"But those years have had their pleasure, in working on for it. I
+question whether actual prosperity ever brings the pleasure we enjoy in
+anticipation. If we had no end to work for, we should not be happy. Will
+you say a word for me, Miss Diana?"
+
+"First of all, tell me the name of the lady. I suppose you have no
+objection--you may trust me."
+
+George's lips parted with a smile, and a faint flush stole over his
+features. "I shall have to tell you before I win her, if only to obtain
+your consent to taking her from the Hold."
+
+"_My_ consent! I have nothing to do with it. You must get that from Mr.
+and Madam Chattaway."
+
+"If I have yours, I am not sure that I should care to ask--his."
+
+"Of whom do you speak?" she rejoined, looking puzzled.
+
+"Of Maude Trevlyn."
+
+Miss Diana rose from her chair, and stared at him in astonishment.
+"Maude Trevlyn!" she repeated. "Since when have you thought of Maude
+Trevlyn?"
+
+"Since I thought of any one--thought at all, I was going to say. I loved
+Maude--yes, _loved_ her, Miss Diana--when she was only a child."
+
+"And you have not thought of anyone else?"
+
+"Never. I have loved Maude, and I have been content to wait for her. But
+that I was so trammelled with the farm at home, keeping it for Mrs. Ryle
+and Treve, I might have spoken before."
+
+Maude Trevlyn was evidently not the lady upon whom Miss Diana's
+suspicions had fallen, and she seemed unable to recover from her
+surprise or realise the fact. "Have you never given cause to another
+to--to--suspect any admiration on your part?" she resumed, breaking the
+silence.
+
+"Believe me, I never have. On the contrary," glancing at Miss Diana with
+peculiar significance for a moment, his tone most impressive, "I have
+cautiously abstained from doing so."
+
+"Ah, I see." And Miss Trevlyn's tone was not less significant than his.
+
+"Will you give her to me?" he pleaded, in his softest and most
+persuasive voice.
+
+"I don't know, George, there may be trouble over this."
+
+"Do you mean with Mr. Chattaway?"
+
+"I mean----No matter what I mean. I think there will be trouble over
+it."
+
+"There need be none if you will sanction it. But that you might
+misconstrue me, I would urge you to give her to me for Maude's own sake.
+This escapade of poor Rupert's has rendered Mr. Chattaway's roof an
+undesirable one for her."
+
+"Maude is a Trevlyn, and must marry a gentleman," spoke Miss Diana.
+
+"I am one," said George quietly. "Forgive me if I remind you that my
+ancestors are equal to those of the Trevlyns. In the days gone by----"
+
+"You need not enter upon it," was the interruption. "I do not forget it.
+But gentle descent is not all that is necessary. Maude will have money,
+and it is only right that she should marry one who possesses it in an
+equal degree."
+
+"Maude will not have a shilling," cried George, impulsively.
+
+"Indeed! Who told you so?"
+
+George laughed. "It is what I have always supposed. Where is her money
+to come from?"
+
+"She will have a great deal of money," persisted Miss Diana. "The half
+of my fortune, at least, will be Maude's. The other half I intended for
+Rupert. Did you suppose the last of the Trevlyns, Maude and Rupert,
+would be turned penniless into the world?"
+
+So! It had been Miss Diana's purpose to bequeath them money! Yes; loving
+power though she did; acquiescing in the act of usurping Trevlyn Hold as
+she had, she intended to make it up in some degree to the children.
+Human nature is full of contradictions. "Has Maude learnt to care for
+you?" she suddenly asked. "You hesitate!"
+
+"If I hesitate it is not because I have no answer to give, but whether
+it would be quite fair to Maude to give it. The truth may be best,
+however; she _has_ learnt to care for me. Perhaps you will answer me a
+question--have you any objection to me personally?"
+
+"George Ryle, had I objected to you personally, I should have ordered
+you out of the room the instant you mentioned Maude's name. Were your
+position a better one, I would give you Maude to-morrow--so far as my
+giving could avail. But to enter the Upland Farm upon borrowed
+money?--no; I do not think that will do for Maude Trevlyn."
+
+"It would be a better position for her than the one she now holds, as
+Mr. Chattaway's governess," replied George, boldly. "A better, and a far
+happier."
+
+"Nonsense. Maude Trevlyn's position at Trevlyn Hold is not to be looked
+upon as that of governess, but as a daughter of the house. It was well
+that both she and Rupert should have some occupation."
+
+"And on the other score?" resumed George. "May I dare to say the truth
+to you, that in quitting the Hold for the home I shall make for her, she
+will be leaving misery for happiness?"
+
+Miss Diana rose. "That is enough for the present," said she. "It has
+come upon me with surprise, and I must give it some hours' consideration
+before I can even realise it. With regard to the Upland Farm, I will ask
+Mr. Chattaway to accord you preference if he can do so; the two matters
+are quite distinct and apart one from the other. I think you might
+prosper at the Upland Farm, and be a good tenant; but I decline--and
+this you must distinctly understand--to give you any hope now with
+regard to Maude."
+
+George held out his hand with his sunny smile. "I will wait until you
+have considered it, Miss Diana."
+
+She took her way at once to Mrs. Chattaway's room. Happening, as she
+passed the corridor window, to glance to the front of the house, she saw
+George Ryle cross the lawn. At the same moment, Octave Chattaway ran
+after him, evidently calling to him.
+
+He stopped and turned. He could do no less. And Octave stood with him,
+laughing and talking rather more freely than she might have done, had
+she been aware of what had just taken place. Miss Diana drew in her
+severe lips, changed her course, and sailed back to the hall-door.
+Octave was coming in then.
+
+"Manners have changed since I was a girl," remarked Miss Diana. "It
+would scarcely have been deemed seemly then for a young lady to run
+after a gentleman. I do not like it, Octave."
+
+"Manners do change," returned Miss Chattaway, in tones she made as
+slighting as she dared. "It was only George Ryle, Aunt Diana."
+
+"Do you know where Maude is?"
+
+"No; I know nothing about her. I think if you gave Maude a word of
+reprimand instead of giving one to me, it might not be amiss, Aunt
+Diana. Since Rupert turned runagate--or renegade might be a better
+word--Maude has shamefully neglected her duties with Emily and Edith.
+She passes her time in the clouds and lets them run wild."
+
+"Had Rupert been your brother you might have done the same," curtly
+rejoined Miss Diana. "A shock like that cannot be lived down in a day.
+Allow me to give you a hint, Octave; should you lose Maude for the
+children, you will not so efficiently replace her."
+
+"We are not likely to lose her," said Octave, opening her eyes.
+
+"I don't know that. It is possible that we shall. George Ryle wants
+her."
+
+"Wants her for what?" asked Octave, staring very much.
+
+"He can want her but for one thing--to be his wife. It seems he has
+loved her for years."
+
+She quitted Octave as she said this, on her way up again to Mrs.
+Chattaway's room; never halting, never looking back at the still, white
+face, that seemed to be turning into stone as it was strained after her.
+
+In Mrs. Chattaway's sitting-room she found that lady and Maude. She
+entered suddenly and hastily, and had Miss Diana been of a suspicious
+nature it might have arisen then. In their close contact, their start of
+surprise, the expression of their haggard countenances, there was surely
+evidence of some unhappy secret. Miss Diana was closely followed by Mr.
+Chattaway.
+
+"Did you not hear me call?" he inquired of his sister-in-law.
+
+"No," she replied. "I only heard you on the stairs behind me. What is
+it?"
+
+"Read that," said Mr. Chattaway.
+
+He tossed an open letter to her. It was the one which had so put him
+out, rendering him incapable of attending to business. After digesting
+it alone in the best manner he could, he had now come to submit it to
+the keen and calm inspection of Miss Trevlyn.
+
+"Oh," said she carelessly, as she looked at the writing, "another letter
+from Connell and Connell."
+
+"Read it," repeated Mr. Chattaway, in low tones. He was too completely
+shaken to be anything but subdued.
+
+Miss Diana proceeded to do so. It was a letter shorter, if anything,
+than the previous one, but even more decided. It simply said that Mr.
+Rupert Trevlyn had written to inform them of his intention of taking
+immediate possession of Trevlyn Hold, and had requested them to acquaint
+Mr. Chattaway with the same. Miss Diana read it to herself, and then
+aloud for the general benefit.
+
+"It is the most infamous thing that has ever come under my notice," said
+Mr. Chattaway. "What _right_ have those Connells to address me in this
+strain? If Rupert Trevlyn passes his time inventing such folly, is it
+the work of a respectable firm to perpetuate the jokes on me?"
+
+Mrs. Chattaway and Maude gazed at each other, perfectly confounded. It
+was next to impossible that Rupert could have thus written to Connell
+and Connell. If they had only dared defend him! "Why suffer it to put
+you out, James?" Mrs. Chattaway ventured to say. "Rupert _cannot_ be
+writing such letters; he _cannot_ be thinking of attempting to take
+possession here; the bare idea is absurd: treat it as such."
+
+"But these communications from Connell and Connell are not the less
+disgraceful," was the reply. "I'd as soon be annoyed with anonymous
+letters."
+
+Miss Diana Trevlyn had not spoken. The affair, to her keen mind, began
+to wear a strange appearance. She looked up from the letter at Mr.
+Chattaway. "Were Connell and Connell not so respectable, I should say
+they have lent themselves to a sorry joke for the purpose of the worst
+sort of annoyance: being what they are, that view falls to the ground.
+There is only one possible solution to it: but----"
+
+"And what's that?" eagerly interrupted Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"That Rupert is amusing himself, and has contrived to impose upon
+Connell and Connell----"
+
+"He never has," broke in Mrs. Chattaway. "I mean," she more calmly
+added, "that Connell and Connell could not be imposed upon by any
+foolish claim put forth by a boy like Rupert."
+
+"I wish you would hear me out," was the composed rejoinder of Miss
+Diana. "It is what I was about to say. Had Connell and Connell been
+different men, they might be so imposed upon; but I do not think they,
+or any firm of similar standing, would presume to write such letters to
+the master of Trevlyn Hold, unless they had substantial grounds for
+doing so."
+
+"Then what can they mean?" cried Mr. Chattaway, wiping his hot face.
+
+Ay, what could they mean? It was indeed a puzzle, and the matter began
+to assume a serious form. What had been the vain boastings of Mr. Daw,
+compared with this? Cris Chattaway, when he reached home, and this
+second letter was shown to him, was loudly indignant, but all the
+indignation Mr. Chattaway had been prone to indulge in seemed to have
+gone out of _him_. Mr. Flood wrote to Connell and Connell to request an
+explanation, and received a courteous and immediate reply. But it
+contained no further information than the letters themselves--or than
+even Mr. Peterby had elicited when he wrote up, on his own part,
+privately to Mr. Ray: nothing but that Mr. Rupert Trevlyn was about to
+take possession of his own again, and occupy Trevlyn Hold.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LIV
+
+A GHOST FOR OLD CANHAM
+
+
+Trevlyn Hold was a fine place, the cynosure and envy of the
+neighbourhood around; and yet it would perhaps be impossible in all that
+neighbourhood to find any family so completely miserable as that which
+inhabited the house. The familiar saying is a very true one: "All is not
+gold that glitters."
+
+Enough has been said of the trials and discomforts of Mrs. Chattaway;
+they had been many and varied, but never had trouble accumulated upon
+her head as now. The terrible secret that Rupert was within hail,
+wasting unto death, was torturing her brain night and day. It seemed
+that the whole weight of it lay upon her; that she was responsible for
+his weal and woe: if he died would reproach not lie at her door, remorse
+be her portion for ever? It might be that she should have disclosed the
+secret, and not have left him there to die.
+
+But how disclose it? Since the second letter received from Connell,
+Connell, and Ray, Mr. Chattaway had been doubly bitter against
+Rupert--if that were possible; and to disclose Rupert's hiding-place
+would only be to consign him to prison. Mr. Chattaway was another who
+was miserable in his home. Suspense is far worse than reality; and the
+present master would never realise in his own heart the evils attendant
+on being turned from the Hold as he was realising them now. His days
+were one prolonged scene of torture. Miss Diana Trevlyn partook of the
+general discomfort: for the first time in her life a sense of ill
+oppressed her. She knew nothing of the secret regarding Rupert; somewhat
+scornfully threw away the vague ideas imparted by the letters from
+Connell and Connell; and yet Miss Diana was conscious of being oppressed
+with a sense of ill, which weighed her down, and made life a burden.
+
+The evil had come at last. Retribution, which they too surely invoked
+when they diverted God's laws of right and justice from their direct
+course years ago, was working itself just now. Retribution is a thing
+that _must_ come; though tardy, as it had been in this case, it is sure.
+Look around you, you who have had much of life's experience, who may be
+drawing into its "sear and yellow leaf." It is impossible but that you
+have gathered up in the garner of your mind instances you have noted in
+your career. In little things and in great, the working of evil
+inevitably brings forth its reward. Years, and years, and years may
+elapse; so many, that the hour of vengeance seems to have rolled away
+under the glass of time; but we need never hope that, for it cannot be.
+In your day, ill-doer, or in your children's, it will surely come.
+
+The agony of mind, endured now by the inmates of Trevlyn Hold, seemed
+sufficient punishment for a whole lifetime and its misdoings. Should
+they indeed be turned from it, as these mysterious letters appeared to
+indicate, that open, tangible punishment would be as nothing to what
+they were mentally enduring now. And they could not speak of their
+griefs one to another, and so lessen them in ever so slight a degree.
+Mr.
+
+Chattaway would not speak of the dread tugging at his heart-strings--for
+it seemed to him that only to speak of the _possibility_ of being driven
+forth, might bring it the nearer; and his unhappy wife dared not so much
+as breathe the name of Rupert, and the fatal secret she held.
+
+She, Mrs. Chattaway, was puzzled more than all by these letters from
+Connell and Connell. Mr. Chattaway could trace their source (at least he
+strove to do so) to the malicious mind and pen of Rupert; but Mrs.
+Chattaway knew that Rupert it could not well be. Nevertheless, she had
+been staggered on the arrival of the second to find it explicitly stated
+that Rupert Trevlyn had written to announce his speedy intention of
+taking possession of the Hold. "Rupert had written to them!" What was
+she to think? If it was not Rupert, someone else must have written in
+his name; but who would be likely to trouble themselves now for the lost
+Rupert?--regarded as dead by three parts of the world. Had Rupert
+written? Mrs. Chattaway determined again to ask him, and to set the
+question so far at rest.
+
+But she did not do this for two days after the arrival of the letter.
+She waited the answer which Mr. Flood wrote up to Connell and Connell,
+spoken of in the last chapter. As soon as that came, and she found that
+it explained nothing, then she resolved to question Rupert at her next
+stolen visit. That same afternoon, as she returned on foot from
+Barmester, she contrived to slip unseen into the lodge.
+
+Rupert was sitting up. Mr. King had given it as his opinion that to lie
+constantly in bed, as he was doing, was worse than anything else; and in
+truth Rupert need not have been entirely confined to it had there been
+any other place for him. Old Canham's chamber opposite was still more
+stifling, inasmuch as the builder had forgotten to make the small window
+to open. Look at Rupert now, as Mrs. Chattaway enters! He has managed to
+struggle into his clothes, which hang upon him like sacks, and he sits
+uncomfortably on a small rush-bottomed chair. Rupert's back looks as if
+it were broken; he is bent nearly double with weakness; his lips are
+white, his cheeks hollow, and his poor, weak hands tremble with joy as
+they are feebly raised to greet Mrs. Chattaway. Think what it was for
+him! lying for long hours, for days, in that stifling room, a prey to
+his fears, sometimes seeing no one for two whole days--for it was not
+every evening that an opportunity could be found of entering the lodge.
+What with the Chattaways' passing and repassing the lodge, and Ann
+Canham's grumbling visitors, an entrance for those who might not be seen
+to enter it was not always possible. Look at poor Rupert; the lighting
+up of his eye, the kindling hectic of his cheek!
+
+Mrs. Chattaway contrived to squeeze herself between Rupert and the door,
+and sat down on the edge of the bed as she took his hand in hers. "I am
+so glad to see you have made an effort to get up, Rupert!" she
+whispered.
+
+"I don't think I shall make it again, Aunt Edith. You have no conception
+how it has tired me. I was a good half-hour getting into my coat and
+waistcoat."
+
+"But you will be all the better for it."
+
+"I don't know," said Rupert, in a spiritless tone. "I feel as if there
+would never be any 'better' for me again."
+
+She began telling him of what she had been purchasing for him at
+Barmester--a dressed tongue, a box of sardines, potted meats, and
+similar things found in the provision shops. They were not precisely the
+dishes suited to Rupert's weakly state; but since the accident to
+Rebecca he had been fain to put up with what could be thus procured. And
+then Mrs. Chattaway opened gently upon the subject of the letters.
+
+"It seems so strange, Rupert, quite inexplicable, but Mr. Chattaway has
+had another of those curious letters from Connell and Connell."
+
+"Has he?" answered Rupert, with apathy.
+
+Mrs. Chattaway looked at him with all the fancied penetration she
+possessed--in point of fact she was one of those persons who possess
+none--but she could not detect the faintest sign of consciousness. "Was
+there anything about me in it?" he asked wearily.
+
+"It was all about you. It said you had written to Connell and Connell
+stating your intention of taking immediate possession of the Hold."
+
+This a little aroused him. "Connell and Connell have written that to Mr.
+Chattaway! Why, what queer people they must be!"
+
+"Rupert! You have _not_ written to them, have you?"
+
+He looked at Mrs. Chattaway in surprise; for she had evidently asked the
+question seriously. "You know I have not. I am not strong enough to play
+jokes, Aunt Edith. And if I were, I should not be so senseless as to
+play _that_ joke. What end would it answer?"
+
+"I thought not," she murmured; "I was sure not. Setting everything else
+aside, Rupert, you are not well enough to write."
+
+"No, I don't think I am. I could hardly scrawl those lines to George
+Ryle some time ago--when the fever was upon me. No, Aunt Edith: the only
+letter I have written since I became a prisoner was the one I wrote to
+Mr. Daw, the night I first took shelter here, just after the encounter
+with Mr. Chattaway, and Ann Canham posted it at Barmester the next day.
+What on earth can possess Connell and Connell?"
+
+"Diana argues that Connell and Connell must be receiving these letters,
+or they would not write to Mr. Chattaway in the manner they are doing.
+For my part, I can't make it out."
+
+"What does Mr. Chattaway say?" asked Rupert, when a fit of coughing was
+over. "Is he angry?"
+
+"He is worse than angry," she seriously answered; "he is troubled. He
+thinks you are writing them."
+
+"No! Why, he might know that I shouldn't dare do it: he might know that
+I am not well enough to write them."
+
+"Nay, Rupert, you forget that Mr. Chattaway does not know you are ill."
+
+"To be sure; I forgot that. But I can't believe Mr. Chattaway is
+_troubled_. How could a poor, weak, friendless chap, such as I, contend
+for the possession of Trevlyn Hold? Aunt Edith, I'll tell you what it
+must be. If Connells are not playing this joke themselves, to annoy Mr.
+Chattaway, somebody must be playing it on them."
+
+Mrs. Chattaway acquiesced: it was the only conclusion she could come to.
+
+"Oh, Aunt Edith, if he would only forgive me!" sighed Rupert. "When I
+get well--and I should get well, if I could go back to the Hold and get
+this fear out of me--I would work night and day to repay him the cost of
+the ricks. If he would only forgive me!"
+
+Ah! none knew better than Mrs. Chattaway how vain was the wish; how
+worse than vain any hope of forgiveness. She could have told him, had
+she chosen, of an unhappy scene of the past night, when she, Edith
+Chattaway, urged by the miserable state of existing things and her
+tribulation for Rupert, had so far forgotten prudence as to all but
+kneel to her husband and beg him to forgive that poor culprit; and Mr.
+Chattaway, excited to the very depths of anger, had demanded of his wife
+whether she were mad or sane, that she should dare ask it.
+
+"Yes, Rupert," she meekly said, "I wish it also, for your sake. But, my
+dear, it is just an impossibility."
+
+"If I could be got safely out of the country, I might go to Mr. Daw for
+a time, and get up my strength there."
+
+"Yes, _if_ you could. But in your weak state discovery would be the
+result before you were clear from these walls. You cannot take flight in
+the night. Everyone knows you: and the police, we have heard, are
+keeping their eyes open."
+
+"I'd bribe Dumps, if I had money----"
+
+Rupert's voice dropped. A commotion had suddenly arisen downstairs, and,
+his fears ever on the alert touching the police and Mr. Chattaway, he
+put up his hand to enjoin caution, and bent his head to listen. But no
+strange voice could be distinguished: only those of old Canham and his
+daughter. A short time, and Ann came up the stairs, looking strange.
+
+"What's the matter?" panted Rupert, who was the first to catch sight of
+her face.
+
+"I can't think what's come to father, sir," she returned. "I was in the
+back place, washing up, and heard a sort o' cry, as one may say, so I
+ran in. There he was standing with his hair all on end, and afore I
+could speak he began saying he'd seen a ghost go past. He's staring out
+o' window still. I hope his senses are not leaving him!"
+
+To hear this assertion from sober-minded, matter-of-fact old Canham,
+certainly did impart a suspicion that his senses were departing. Mrs.
+Chattaway rose to descend, for she had already lingered longer than was
+prudent. She found old Canham as Ann had described him, with that
+peculiarly scared look on the face some people deem equivalent to "the
+hair standing on end." He was gazing with a fixed expression towards the
+Hold.
+
+"Has anything happened to alarm you, Mark?"
+
+Mrs. Chattaway's gentle question recalled him to himself. He turned
+towards her, leaning heavily on his stick, his eyes full of vague
+terror.
+
+"It happened, Madam, as I had got out o' my seat, and was standing to
+look out o' window, thinking how fine the a'ternoon was, when he come in
+at the gate with a fine silver-headed stick in his hand, turning his
+head about from side to side as if he was taking note of the old place
+to see what changes there might be in it. I was struck all of a heap
+when I saw his figure; 'twas just the figure it used to be, only maybe a
+bit younger; but when he moved his head and looked full at me, I felt
+turned to stone. It was his face, ma'am, if I ever saw it."
+
+"But whose?" asked Mrs. Chattaway, smiling at his incoherence.
+
+Old Canham glanced round before he spoke; glanced at Mrs. Chattaway,
+with a half-compassionate, half-inquiring look, as if not liking to
+speak. "Madam, it was the old Squire, my late master."
+
+"It was--who?" demanded Mrs. Chattaway, less gentle than usual in her
+great surprise.
+
+"It was Squire Trevlyn; Madam's father."
+
+Mrs. Chattaway could do nothing but stare. She thought old Canham's
+senses were decidedly gone.
+
+"There never was a face like his. Miss Maude--that is, Mrs. Ryle
+now--have his features exact; but she's not as tall and portly, being a
+woman. Ah, Madam, you may smile at me, but it was Squire Trevlyn."
+
+"But, Mark, you know it is impossible."
+
+"Madam, 'twas him. He must ha' come out of his grave for some purpose,
+and is visiting his own again. I never was a believer in them things
+afore, or thought as the dead come back to life."
+
+Ghosts have gone out of fashion; therefore the enlightened reader will
+not be likely to endorse old Canham's belief. But when Mrs. Chattaway,
+turning quickly up the avenue on her way to the Hold, saw, at no great
+distance from her, a gentleman standing to talk to some one whom he had
+encountered, she stopped, as one in sudden terror, and seemed about to
+fall or faint. Mrs. Chattaway did not believe in "the dead coming back"
+any more than old Canham had believed in it; but in that moment's
+startled surprise she did think she saw her father.
+
+She gazed at the figure, her lips apart, her bright complexion fading to
+ashy paleness. Never had she seen so extraordinary a likeness. The tall,
+fine form, somewhat less full perhaps than of yore, the
+distinctly-marked features with their firm and haughty expression, the
+fresh clear skin, the very manner of handling that silver-headed stick,
+spoke in unmistakable terms of Squire Trevlyn.
+
+Not until they parted, the two who were talking, did Mrs. Chattaway
+observe that the other was Nora Dickson. Nora came down the avenue
+towards her; the stranger went on with his firm step and his
+firmly-grasped stick. Mrs. Chattaway was advancing then.
+
+"Nora, who is that?" she gasped.
+
+"I am trying to collect my wits, if they are not scared away for good,"
+was Nora's response. "Madam Chattaway, you might just have knocked me
+down with a feather. I was walking along, thinking of nothing, except my
+vexation that you were not at home--for Mr. George charged me to bring
+this note to you, and to deliver it instantly into your own hands, and
+nobody else's--when I met him. I didn't know whether to face him, or
+scream, or turn and run; one doesn't like to meet the dead; and I
+declare to you, Madam Chattaway, I believed, in my confused brain, that
+it was the dead. I believed it was Squire Trevlyn."
+
+"Nora, I never saw two persons so strangely alike," she breathed,
+mechanically taking the note from Nora's hand. "Who is he?"
+
+"My brain's at work to discover," returned Nora, dreamily. "I am trying
+to put two and two together, and can't do it; unless the dead have come
+to life--or those we believed dead."
+
+"Nora! you cannot mean my father!" exclaimed Mrs. Chattaway, gazing at
+her with a strangely perplexed face. "You know he lies buried in
+Barbrook churchyard. What did he say to you?"
+
+"Not much. He saw me staring at him, I suppose, and stopped and asked me
+if I belonged to the Hold. I answered, no; I did not belong to it; I was
+Miss Dickson, of Trevlyn Farm. And then it was his turn to stare at me.
+'I think I should have known you,' he said. 'At least, I do now that I
+have the clue. You are not much altered. Should you have known me?' 'I
+don't know you now,' I answered: 'unless you are old Squire Trevlyn come
+out of his grave. I never saw such a likeness.'"
+
+"And what did he say?" eagerly asked Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+"Nothing more. He laughed a little at my speech, and went on. Madam
+Chattaway, will you open the note, please, and see if there's any
+answer. Mr. George said it was important."
+
+She opened the note, which had lain unheeded in her hand, and read as
+follows:
+
+     "Do not attempt further visits. Suspicions are abroad.
+
+     "G. B. R."
+
+She had just attempted one, and paid it. Had it been watched? A rush of
+fear bounded within her for Rupert's sake.
+
+"There's no answer, Nora," said Mrs. Chattaway: and she turned
+homewards, as one in a dream. Who _was_ that man before her? What was
+his name? where did he come from? Why should he bear this strange
+likeness to her dead father? Ah, why, indeed! The truth never for one
+moment entered the mind of Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+He went on: he, the stranger. When he came to the lawn before the house,
+he stepped on to it and halted. He looked to this side, he looked to
+that; he gazed up at the house; just as one loves to look on returning
+to a beloved home after an absence of years. He stood with his head
+thrown back; his right hand stretched out, the stick it grasped planted
+firm and upright on the ground. How many times had old Squire Trevlyn
+stood in the selfsame attitude on that same lawn!
+
+There appeared to be no one about; no one saw him, save Mrs. Chattaway,
+who hid herself amidst the trees, and furtively watched him. She would
+not have passed him for the world, and she waited until he should be
+gone. She was unable to divest her mind of a sensation akin to the
+supernatural, as she shrank from this man who bore so wonderful a
+resemblance to her father. He, the stranger, did not detect her behind
+him, and presently he walked across the lawn, ascended the steps, and
+tried the door.
+
+But the door was fastened. The servants would sometimes slip the bolt as
+a protection against tramps, and they had probably done so to-day.
+Seizing the bell-handle, the visitor rang such a peal that Sam Atkins,
+Cris Chattaway's groom, who happened to be in the house and near the
+door, flew with all speed to open it. Sam had never known Squire
+Trevlyn; but in this stranger now before him, he could not fail to
+remark a great general resemblance to the Trevlyn family.
+
+"Is James Chattaway at home?"
+
+To hear the master of the Hold inquired for in that unceremonious
+manner, rather took Sam back; but he answered that he was at home. He
+had no need to invite the visitor to walk in, for the visitor had walked
+in of his own accord. "What name, sir?" demanded Sam, preparing to usher
+the stranger across the hall.
+
+"Squire Trevlyn."
+
+This concluded Sam Atkins's astonishment. "_What_ name, sir, did you
+say?"
+
+"Squire Trevlyn. Are you deaf, man? Squire Trevlyn, of Trevlyn Hold."
+
+And the haughty motion of the head, the firm pressure of the lips, might
+have put a spectator all too unpleasantly in mind of the veritable old
+Squire Trevlyn, had one who had known him been there to see.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LV
+
+THE DREAD COME HOME
+
+
+Nothing could well exceed Mr. Chattaway's astonishment at hearing that
+George Ryle wished to make Maude Trevlyn his wife. And nothing could
+exceed his displeasure. Not that Mr. Chattaway had higher views for
+Maude, or deemed it an undesirable match in a pecuniary point of view,
+as Miss Diana Trevlyn had intimated. Had Maude chosen to marry without
+any prospect at all, that would not have troubled Mr. Chattaway. But
+what did trouble Mr. Chattaway was this--that a sister of Rupert Trevlyn
+should become connected with George Ryle. In Mr. Chattaway's foolish and
+utterly groundless prejudices, he had suspected, as you may remember,
+that George Ryle and Rupert had been ever ready to hatch mischief
+against him; and he dreaded for his own sake any bond of union that
+might bring them closer together.
+
+There was something else. By some intuitive perception Mr. Chattaway had
+detected that misplaced liking of his daughter's for George Ryle: and
+_this_ union would not have been unpalatable to Mr. Chattaway. Whatever
+may have been his ambition for his daughter's settlement in life,
+whatever his dislike to George Ryle, he was willing to forego it all for
+his own sake. Every consideration was lost sight of in that one which
+had always reigned paramount with Mr. Chattaway--self-interest. You have
+not waited until now to learn that James Chattaway was one of the most
+selfish men on the face of the earth. Some men like, as far as they can,
+to do their duty to God and to their fellow-creatures; the master of
+Trevlyn Hold had made self the motive-spring through life. And what sort
+of a garner for the Great Day do you suppose he had been laying up for
+himself? He was soon to experience a little check here, but that was
+little, in comparison. The ills our evil conduct entails upon ourselves
+here, are as nothing to the dread reckoning we must render up hereafter.
+
+Mr. Chattaway would have leased the Upland Farm to George Ryle with all
+the pleasure in life, provided he could have leased his daughter with
+it. Were George Ryle his veritable son-in-law, he would fear no longer
+plotting against himself. Somehow, he did fear George Ryle, feared him
+as a good man, brave, upright, honourable, who might be tempted to make
+common cause with the oppressed against the oppressor. It may be, also,
+that Miss Chattaway did not render herself as universally agreeable at
+home as she might have done, for her naturally bad temper did not
+improve with years; and for this reason Mr. Chattaway was not sorry that
+the Hold should be rid of her. Altogether, he contemplated with
+satisfaction, rather than the contrary, the connection of George Ryle
+with his family. And he could not be quite blind to certain
+predilections shown by Octave, though no hint or allusion had ever been
+spoken on either side.
+
+And on that first day when George Ryle, after speaking to Mr. Chattaway
+about the lease of the Upland Farm, said a joking word or two to Miss
+Diana of his marriage, Octave had overheard. You saw her with her
+scarlet face looking over her aunt's shoulder: a face which seemed to
+startle George, and caused him to take his leave somewhat abruptly.
+
+Poor Octave Chattaway! When George had remarked that his coveted wife
+was a gentlewoman, and must live accordingly, the words had imparted to
+her a meaning George himself never gave them. _She_ was the gentlewoman
+to whom he alluded.
+
+Ere the scarlet had faded, her father entered the room. Octave bent over
+the table drawing a pattern. Mr. Chattaway stood at the window, his
+hands in his pockets, a habit of his when in thought, and watched George
+Ryle walking away in the distance.
+
+"He wants the Upland Farm, Octave."
+
+Mr. Chattaway presently remarked, without turning round. "He thinks he
+can get on in it."
+
+Miss Chattaway carried her pencil to the end of the line, and bent her
+face lower. "I should let him have it, papa."
+
+"The Upland Farm will take money to stock and carry on; no slight sum,"
+remarked Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"Yes. Did he say how he should manage to get it?"
+
+"From Apperley. He will have his work cut out if he is to begin farming
+on borrowed money; as his father had before him. It is only this very
+day that he has paid off that debt, contracted so many years ago."
+
+"And no wonder, on that small Trevlyn Farm. The Upland is different. A
+man would grow rich on the one, and starve on the other."
+
+"To take the best farm in the world on borrowed money, would entail
+uphill work. George Ryle will have to work hard; and so must his wife,
+should he marry."
+
+Octave paused for a moment, apparently mastering some intricacies in her
+pattern. "Not his wife; I do not see that. Aunt Maude is a case in
+point; she has never worked at Trevlyn Farm."
+
+"She has had her cares, though," returned Mr. Chattaway. "And she would
+have had to work--but for Nora Dickson."
+
+"The Upland Farm could afford a housekeeper if necessary," was Octave's
+answer.
+
+Not another word was spoken. Mr. Chattaway's suspicions were confirmed,
+and he determined when George Ryle again asked for the farm lease and
+for Octave, to accord both with rather more graciousness than he was
+accustomed to accord anything.
+
+Things did not turn out, however, quite in accordance with his
+expectations. The best of us are disappointed sometimes, you know.
+George Ryle pressed for the farm, but did not press for Octave. In point
+of fact, he never mentioned her name, or so much as hinted at any
+interest he might feel in her; and Mr. Chattaway, rather puzzled and
+very cross, abstained from promising the farm. He put off the question,
+very much to George's inconvenience, who set it down to caprice.
+
+But the time came for Mr. Chattaway's eyes to be opened, and he awoke to
+the cross-purposes which had been at work. On the afternoon of the day
+mentioned in the last chapter, during Mrs. Chattaway's stolen visit to
+Rupert, Mr. Chattaway was undeceived. He had been at home all day, busy
+over accounts and other matters in the steward's room; and Miss Diana,
+mindful of her promise to George Ryle, to speak a word in his favour
+relative to the Upland Farm, entered that room for the purpose, deeming
+it a good opportunity. Mr. Chattaway had been so upset since the receipt
+of the second letter from Connell and Connell, that she had hitherto
+abstained from mentioning the subject. He was seated at his desk, and
+looked up with a start as she abruptly entered; the start of a man who
+lives in fear.
+
+"Have you decided whether George Ryle is to have the Upland Farm?" she
+asked, plunging into the subject without circumlocution, as it was the
+habit of Miss Diana Trevlyn to do.
+
+"No, not precisely. I shall see in a day or two."
+
+"But you promised him an answer long before this."
+
+"Ah," slightingly spoke Mr. Chattaway. "It's not always convenient to
+keep one's promises."
+
+"Why are you holding off?"
+
+"Well, for one thing, I thought of retaining that farm in my own hands,
+and keeping a bailiff to look after it."
+
+"Then you'll burn your fingers, James Chattaway. Those who manage the
+Upland Farm should live at the Upland Farm. You can't properly manage
+both places, that and Trevlyn Hold; and you live at Trevlyn Hold. I
+don't see why you should not let it to George Ryle."
+
+Mr. Chattaway sat biting the end of his pen. Miss Diana waited; but he
+did not speak, and she resumed.
+
+"I believe he will do well on it. One who has done so much with that
+small place, Trevlyn Farm, and its indifferent land, will not fail to do
+well on the Upland. Let him have it, Chattaway."
+
+"You speak as if you were interested in the matter," remarked Mr.
+Chattaway, resentfully.
+
+"I am not sure but I am," equably answered Miss Diana. "I see no reason
+why you should not let him the farm; for there's no doubt he will prove
+a good tenant. He has spoken to me about its involving something more,
+should he obtain it," she continued, after a pause.
+
+"Ah," said Mr. Chattaway, without surprise. "Well?"
+
+"He wants us to give him Maude."
+
+Mr. Chattaway let fall his pen and it made a dreadful blot on his
+account-book, as he turned his head sharply on Miss Diana.
+
+"Maude! You mean Octave."
+
+"Pooh!" cried Miss Diana. "Octave has been spending her years looking
+after a mare's nest: people who do such foolish things must of necessity
+meet disappointment. George Ryle has never cared for her, never cast a
+thought to her."
+
+Mr. Chattaway's face was turning its disagreeable colour; and his lips
+were drawn as he glared at Miss Trevlyn. "He has been always coming
+here."
+
+"Yes. For Maude--as it turns out. I confess I never thought of it."
+
+"How do you know this?"
+
+"He has asked for Maude, I tell you. His hopes for years have been fixed
+upon her."
+
+"He shall never have her," said Mr. Chattaway, emphatically. "He shall
+never have the Upland Farm."
+
+"It was the decision--with regard to Maude--that crossed me in the first
+moment. I like him; quite well enough to give him Maude, or to give him
+Octave, had she been the one sought; but I do not consider his position
+suitable----"
+
+"Suitable! Why, he's a beggar," interrupted Mr. Chattaway, completely
+losing sight of his own intentions with regard to his daughter. "George
+Ryle shall smart for this. Give him Maude, indeed!"
+
+"But if Maude's happiness is involved in it, what then?" quietly asked
+Miss Diana.
+
+"Don't be an idiot," was the retort of Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"I never was one yet," said Miss Diana, equably. "But I have nearly made
+up my mind to give him Maude."
+
+"You cannot do it without my consent. She is under my roof and
+guardianship, and I tell you that she shall never leave it for that of
+George Ryle."
+
+"You should bring a little reason to your aid before you speak,"
+returned Miss Diana, with that calm assumption of intellectual
+superiority which so vexed Mr. Chattaway whenever it peeped out. "What
+are the true facts? Why, that no living being, neither you nor any one
+else, can legally prevent Maude from marrying whom she will. You have no
+power to prevent it. She and Rupert have never had a legally-appointed
+guardian, remember. But for the loss of that letter, written at the
+instance of their mother when she was dying, and which appears to have
+vanished so mysteriously, _I_ should have been their guardian,"
+pointedly concluded Miss Diana. "And might have married Maude as I
+pleased."
+
+Mr. Chattaway made no reply, except that he nervously bit his lips. If
+Diana Trevlyn turned against him, all seemed lost. That letter was upon
+his conscience as he sat there; for he it was who had suppressed it.
+
+"And therefore, as in point of fact we have no power whatever vested in
+us, as Maude might marry whom she chose without consulting us, and as I
+like George Ryle on his own account, and _she_ likes him better than the
+whole world, I consider that we had better give a willing consent. It
+will be making a merit of necessity, you see, Chattaway."
+
+Mr. Chattaway saw nothing of the sort; but he dared not too openly defy
+Miss Trevlyn. "You would marry her to a beggar!" he cried. "To a man who
+does not possess a shilling! You must have a great regard for her!"
+
+"Maude has no money, you know."
+
+"I do know it. And that is all the more reason why her husband should
+possess some."
+
+"They will get on, Chattaway, at the Upland Farm."
+
+"I dare say they will--when they have it. I shall not lease the Upland
+Farm to a man who has to borrow money to go into it."
+
+"I might be brought to obviate that difficulty," rejoined Miss Diana, in
+her coldest and hardest manner, as she gazed full at Mr. Chattaway.
+"Since I learnt that their mother left the children to me, I have felt a
+sort of proprietary right in them, and shall perhaps hand over to Maude,
+when she leaves us, sufficient money to stock the Upland Farm. The half
+at least of what I possess will some time be hers."
+
+Was _this_ the result of his having suppressed that dying mother's
+letter? Be very sure, Mr. Chattaway, that such dealings can never
+prosper! So long as there is a just and good God above us, they can but
+bring their proper recompense.
+
+Mr. Chattaway did not trust himself to reply. He drew a sheet of paper
+towards him, and dashed off a few lines upon it. It was a peremptory
+refusal to lease the Upland Farm to George Ryle. Folding it, he placed
+it in an envelope, directed it, and rang the bell.
+
+"What's that?" asked Miss Diana.
+
+"My reply to Ryle. He shall never rent the Upland Farm."
+
+In Mr. Chattaway's impatience, he did not give time for the bell to be
+answered, but opened the door and shouted. It was no one's business in
+particular to answer that bell; and Sam Atkins, who was in the kitchen,
+waiting for orders from Cris, ran forward at Mr. Chattaway's call.
+
+"Take this letter down to Trevlyn Farm instantly," was the command.
+"Instantly, do you hear?"
+
+But in the very act of the groom's taking it from Mr. Chattaway's hand,
+there came that violent ringing at the hall-door of which you have
+heard. Sam Atkins, thinking possibly the Hold might be on fire, as the
+ricks had been not so long ago, flew to open it, though it was not his
+place to do so.
+
+And Mr. Chattaway, disturbed by the loud and imperative summons, stood
+where he was, and looked and listened. He saw the entrance of the
+stranger, and heard the announcement: "Squire Trevlyn, of Trevlyn Hold."
+
+Miss Diana Trevlyn heard it, and came forth, and they stood like two
+living petrifactions, gazing at the apparition. Miss Diana,
+strong-minded woman that she was, did think for the moment that she saw
+her father. But her senses came to her, and she walked slowly forward to
+meet him.
+
+"You must be my brother, Rupert Trevlyn!--risen from the dead."
+
+"I am; but not risen from the dead," he answered, taking the hands she
+held out. "Which of them are you? Maude?"
+
+"No; Diana. Oh, Rupert! I thought it was my father."
+
+It was indeed him they had for so many years believed to be dead; Rupert
+Trevlyn, the runaway. He had come home to claim his own; come home in
+his true character; Squire Trevlyn, of Trevlyn Hold.
+
+But Mr. Chattaway, in his worse and wildest dreams, had never bargained
+for this!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LVI
+
+DOUBTS CLEARED AT LAST
+
+
+Many a painting has been handed down to posterity whose features bore
+not a tithe of the interest presented at that moment in the old hall of
+the Trevlyns. The fine figure of the stranger, standing with the air of
+a chieftain, conscious of his own right; the keen gaze of Miss Diana,
+regarding him with puzzled equanimity; and the slow horror of conviction
+that was rising to the face of Mr. Chattaway. Behind all, stealing in by
+a side-door, came the timid steps, the pale questioning looks of Mrs.
+Chattaway, not yet certain whether the intruder was an earthly or a
+ghostly visitor.
+
+Mr. Chattaway was the first to recover himself. He looked at the
+stranger with a face that strove to be haughty, and would have given the
+whole world to possess the calm equanimity of the Trevlyns, the
+unchanged countenance of Miss Diana; but his leaden face wore its worst
+and greenest tinge, his lips quivered as he spoke--and he was conscious
+of it.
+
+"_Who_ do you say you are? Squire Trevlyn? He has been in his grave long
+ago. We do not tolerate impostors here."
+
+"I hope you do not," was the reply of the stranger, turning his face
+full on the speaker. "_I_ will not in future, I can tell you that. True,
+James Chattaway: one Squire Trevlyn is in his grave; but he lives again
+in me. I am Rupert Trevlyn, and Squire of Trevlyn Hold."
+
+Yes, it was Rupert Trevlyn. The young Rupert Trevlyn of the old days;
+the runaway heir. He, whom they had so long mourned as dead (though
+perhaps none had mourned very greatly), had never died, and now had come
+home, after all these years, to claim his own.
+
+Mr. Chattaway backed against the wall, and stood staring with his livid
+face. To contend was impossible. To affect to believe that it was not
+Rupert Trevlyn and the true heir, next in legal succession to his
+father, the old Squire, would have been child's play. The
+well-remembered features of Rupert grew upon his memory one by one.
+Putting aside that speaking likeness to the Squire, to the Trevlyns
+generally, Mr. Chattaway, now that the first moments of surprise were
+over, would himself have recognised him. He needed not the
+acknowledgment of Miss Diana, the sudden recognition of his wife, who
+darted forward, uttering her brother's name, and fell sobbing into his
+arms, to convince him that it was indeed Rupert Trevlyn, the
+indisputable master from henceforth of Trevlyn Hold.
+
+He leaned against the wall, and took in all the despair of his position.
+The latent fear so long seated in his heart, that he would some time
+lose Trevlyn Hold, had never pointed to _this_. In some far-away mental
+corner Chattaway had vaguely looked forward to lawsuits and contentions
+between him and its claimant, poor Rupert, son of Joe. He had fancied
+that the lawsuits might last for years, he meanwhile keeping possession,
+perhaps up to the end. Never had he dreamed that it would suddenly be
+wrested from him by indisputable right; he had never believed that he
+himself was the usurper; that a nearer and direct heir, the Squire's
+son, was in existence. The Squire's will, leaving Trevlyn Hold to his
+eldest son, had never been cancelled.
+
+And this was the explanation of the letters from Connell, Connell and
+Ray, which had so annoyed Mr. Chattaway and puzzled his wife. "Rupert
+Trevlyn was about to take up his own again--as Squire of Trevlyn Hold."
+True; but it was this Rupert Trevlyn, not that one.
+
+The explanation he might have entered into is of little moment to us;
+the bare fact is sufficient. It was an explanation he gave only
+partially to those around, descending to no details. He had been
+shipwrecked at the time of his supposed death, and knew that an account
+of his death had been sent home. That was true. Why he had suffered it
+to remain uncontradicted he did not explain; and they could only surmise
+that the crime of which he had been suspected kept him silent. However
+innocent he knew himself to be, whilst others at home believed him
+guilty he was not safe, and he had never known until recently that his
+reputation had been cleared. So much he did say. He had been half over
+the world, he told them, but had lived chiefly in South America, where
+he had made a handsome fortune.
+
+"And whose children are these?" he asked, as he passed into the
+drawing-room, where the sea of wondering faces was turned upon him.
+"_You_ should be James Chattaway's daughter," he cried, singling out
+Octave, "for you have the face of your father over again."
+
+"I am Miss Chattaway," she answered, drawing from him with a scornful
+gesture. "Papa," she whispered, going up to the cowed, shrinking figure,
+who had followed in the wake of the rest, "who is that man?"
+
+"Hush, Octave! He has come to turn us out of our home."
+
+Octave gazed as one suddenly blinded. She saw the strange likeness to
+the Trevlyns, and it flashed into her mind that it must be the Uncle
+Rupert, risen from the supposed dead, of whom she had heard so much. She
+saw him notice her two sisters; saw him turn to Maude, and gaze
+earnestly into her face.
+
+"You should be a Trevlyn. A softer, fairer face than Joe's, but the same
+outlines. What is your name, my dear?"
+
+"Maude Trevlyn, sir."
+
+"Ay. Joe's child. Have you any brothers or sisters?"
+
+"One brother."
+
+Squire Trevlyn--we must give him his title henceforth--looked round the
+room, as if in search of the brother. "Where is he?"
+
+Maude shivered; but he waited for an answer, and she gave it. "He is not
+here, sir."
+
+"And now tell me a little of the past," he cried, wheeling round on his
+sister Diana. "Who is the reigning master of Trevlyn Hold?"
+
+She indicated Chattaway with her finger. "He is."
+
+"He! Who succeeded my father--in my place?"
+
+"He did. James Chattaway."
+
+"Then where was Joe?"
+
+"Joe was dead. He had died a few months previously."
+
+"Leaving--how many children did you say--two?"
+
+"Two--Maude and Rupert."
+
+"The latter still an infant, I presume, at the time of my father's
+death?"
+
+"Quite an infant."
+
+"Nevertheless, he was Squire of Trevlyn Hold, failing me. Why did he not
+succeed?"
+
+There came no answer. He looked at them all in succession; but even Miss
+Diana Trevlyn's undisturbable equanimity was shaken for the moment. It
+was Mr. Chattaway who plucked up courage to reply, and he put on as bold
+a front as he could.
+
+"Squire Trevlyn judged it well to will the estate to me. What would a
+child in petticoats do, reigning at Trevlyn Hold?"
+
+"He might have reigned by deputy. Where is Rupert? I must see him!"
+
+But had they been keen observers they might have detected that Squire
+Trevlyn put the questions not altogether with the tone of a man who
+seeks information. In point of fact he was as wise as they were as to
+the principal events which had followed on the Squire's death. He had
+remained in London two or three weeks since landing; had gathered all
+the information that could be afforded him by Connell and Connell, and
+had himself dictated the letters which had so upset Mr. Chattaway; more
+than that, he had, this very morning, halted at Barmester, on his way to
+Trevlyn Hold, had seen Mr. Peterby, and gleaned many details. One thing
+Mr. Peterby had not been able to tell him, whether the unfortunate
+Rupert was living or dead.
+
+"Where is Maude?" he suddenly asked.
+
+Maude stepped forward, somewhat surprised.
+
+"Not you, child. One who must be thirty good years older than you. My
+sister, Maude Trevlyn."
+
+"She married Thomas Ryle, of the Farm," answered Miss Diana, who had
+rapidly determined to be the best of friends with her brother. "It was
+not a fitting match for her, and she entered upon it without our
+consent; nay, in defiance of us all. She lives there still;
+and--and--here she is!"
+
+For once in her life Miss Diana was startled into betraying surprise.
+There, coming in at the door, was her sister Maude, Mrs. Ryle; and she
+had not been at the Hold for years and years.
+
+Nora, keen-witted Nora, had fathomed the mystery as she walked home. One
+so strangely resembling old Squire Trevlyn must be very closely
+connected with him, she doubted not, and worked out the problem. It must
+be Rupert Trevlyn, come (may it not be said?) to life again. Before she
+entered, his features had been traced on her memory, and she hastened to
+acquaint Mrs. Ryle.
+
+That lady lost no time in speeding to the Hold. George accompanied her.
+There was no agitation on her face; it was a true Trevlyn's in its calm
+and quiet, but she greeted her brother with words of welcome.
+
+"I have not entered this house, Rupert, my brother, since its master
+died; I would not enter it whilst a usurper reigned. Thank Heaven, you
+have come. It will end all heart-burnings."
+
+"Heart-burnings? of what nature? But who are you?" he broke off, looking
+at George. Then he raised his hand, and laying it on his shoulder, gazed
+into his face. "Unless I am mistaken, you are your father's son."
+
+George laughed. "My father's son, I believe, sir, and people tell me I
+am like him; yet more like my mother. I am George Berkeley Ryle."
+
+"Is he here? I and Tom Ryle were good friends once."
+
+"Here!" uttered George, with emotion he could not wholly suppress. "He
+has been dead many years. He was killed."
+
+Squire Trevlyn lifted his hands. "It will all come out, bit by bit, I
+suppose: one record of the past after another. Maude"--turning to his
+sister--"I was inquiring of the days gone by. If the Trevlyns have held
+a name for nothing else in the county, they have held one for justice;
+and I want to know how it was that my father--my father and
+yours--willed away his estate from poor Joe's boy. Good Heavens," he
+broke off abruptly, as he caught sight of her face in the red light of
+the declining sun, "how wonderfully you have grown like my father! More
+so even than I have!"
+
+It was so. As Mrs. Ryle stood there, haughty and self-possessed, they
+might have deemed it the old Squire over again. "You want to know why my
+father willed away his estate from Joe's son?" she said. "Ask Chattaway;
+ask Diana Trevlyn," with a sweep of the hand to both. "Ask them to tell
+you who kept it from him that a son was born to Joe. _They_ did. The
+Squire made his will, went to his grave, never knowing that young Rupert
+was born. Ask them to tell you how it was that, when in accordance with
+this fact the will was made, my father constituted his second daughter's
+husband his heir, instead of my husband; mine, his eldest daughter's.
+Ask them, Rupert."
+
+"Heart-burnings? Yes, I can understand," murmured Squire Trevlyn.
+
+"Ask _him_--Chattaway--about the two thousand pounds debt to Mr. Ryle,"
+she continued, never flinching from her stern gaze, never raising her
+voice above its calm tones of low, concentrated indignation. "You have
+just said that you and Tom Ryle were friends, Rupert. Yes, you were
+friends; and had you reigned after my father, he, my husband, would not
+have been hunted to his death."
+
+"Maude! What are you saying?"
+
+"The truth. Wherever that man Chattaway could lay his oppressive hand,
+he has laid it. He pursued my husband incessantly during life; it was
+through that pursuit--indirectly, I admit--that he met his death. The
+debt of two thousand pounds, money which had been lent to Mr. Ryle, he,
+my father, cancelled on his death-bed; he made my husband a present of
+it; he would have handed him the bond then and there, but it was in
+Chattaway's possession, and he said he would send it to him. It never
+was sent, Rupert; and the first use Chattaway made of his new power when
+he came into the Hold, was to threaten to sue my husband upon the bond.
+The Squire had given my husband his word to renew the lease on the same
+terms, and _you_ know that his word was never broken. The second thing
+Chattaway did was to raise the rent. It has been nothing but uphill work
+with us."
+
+"I'll right it now, Maude," he cried, with all the generous impulse of
+the Trevlyns. "I'll right that, and all else."
+
+"We have righted it ourselves," she answered proudly. "By dint of
+perseverance and hard work, not on my part, but on _his_"--pointing to
+George--"we have paid it off. Not many days ago, the last instalment of
+the debt and interest was handed to Chattaway. May it do him good! _I_
+should not like to grow rich upon unjust gains."
+
+"But where is Rupert?" repeated Squire Trevlyn. "I must see Rupert."
+
+Ah, there was no help for it, and the whole tale was poured into his
+ear. Between Mrs. Ryle's revelations on the one side, and Chattaway's
+denials on the other, it was all poured into the indignant but perhaps
+not surprised ear of the new master of Trevlyn. The unkindness and
+oppression dealt out to Rupert throughout his unhappy life, the burning
+of the rick, the strange disappearance of Rupert. He gave no token that
+he had heard it all before. Mrs. Ryle spared nothing. She told him of
+the suspicion so freely dealt out by the neighbourhood that Chattaway
+had made away with Rupert. Even then the Squire returned no sign that he
+knew of the suspicion as well as they did.
+
+"Maude," he said, "where is Rupert? Diana, _you_ answer me--where is
+Rupert?"
+
+They were unable to answer. They could only say that he was absent, they
+knew not how or where.
+
+It may be that Squire Trevlyn feared the suspicion might be too true a
+one; for he turned suddenly on James Chattaway, his eye flashing with a
+severe light.
+
+"Tell me where the boy is."
+
+"I don't know," said Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"He may be dead!"
+
+"He may--for all I can say to the contrary."
+
+Squire Trevlyn paused. "Rupert Trevlyn is my heir," he slowly said, "and
+I will have him found. James Chattaway, I insist on your producing
+Rupert."
+
+"Nobody can insist upon the impossible."
+
+"Then listen. You don't know much of me, but you knew my father; and you
+may remember that when he _willed_ a thing, he did it: that same spirit
+is mine. Now I register a vow that if you do not produce Rupert Trevlyn,
+or tell me where I may find him, dead or alive, I will publicly charge
+you with the murder."
+
+"I have as much reason to charge you with it, as you have to charge me,"
+returned Mr. Chattaway, his anger rising. "You have heard them tell you
+of my encounter with Rupert on the evening following the examination
+before the magistrates. I declare on my sacred word of honour----"
+
+"_Your_ word of honour!" scornfully apostrophised Mrs. Ryle.
+
+"That I have never seen Rupert Trevlyn since the moment I left him on
+the ground," he continued, turning his dark looks on Mrs. Ryle, but
+never pausing. "I have sought in vain for him since; the police have
+sought; and he is not to be found."
+
+"Very well," said the Squire. "I have given you the alternative."
+
+Mr. Chattaway opened his lips to reply; but to the surprise of all who
+knew him, suddenly closed them again, and left the room. To describe the
+trouble the man was in would be impossible. Apart from the general
+perplexity brought by this awful arrival of a master for Trevlyn Hold,
+there was the lesser doubt as to what should be his own conduct. Should
+it be abject submission, or war to the knife? Mr. Chattaway's temper
+would have inclined him to the latter; but he feared it might be bad
+policy for his own interest; and self-interest had always been paramount
+with James Chattaway. He stood outside the house, where he had wandered,
+and cast his eyes on the fine old place, the fair domain stretching
+around. Facing him was the rick-yard, which had given rise to so much
+discomfort, trouble, and ill-feeling. Oh, if he could only dispute
+successfully, and retain possession! But a conviction lay on his heart
+that even to attempt such would be the height of folly. That he, thus
+returned, was really the true Rupert Trevlyn, who had decamped in his
+youth, now a middle-aged man, was apparent as the sun at noon-day. It
+was apparent to him; it would be apparent to the world. The returned
+wanderer had remarked that his identity would be established by proof
+not to be disputed; but Mr. Chattaway felt no proof was necessary. Of
+what use then to hold out? And yet! to quit this fine possession, to
+sink into poverty and obscurity in the face and eyes of the local
+world--that world which had been ready enough, as it was, to cast
+contempt on the master of Trevlyn Hold--would be as the bitterest fate
+that ever fell upon man. In that cruel moment, when all was pressing
+upon his imagination with fearfully vivid colours, it seemed that death
+would be as a boon in comparison.
+
+Whilst he was thus standing, torn with contending emotions, Cris ran up
+in excitement from the direction of the stables. He had left his horse
+there on his return from Blackstone, and some vague and confused version
+of the affair had been told him. "What's this, father?" he asked, in
+loud anger. "They are saying that Rupert Trevlyn has come boldly back,
+and claims the Hold. Have you given him into custody?"
+
+Mr. Chattaway raised his dull eyes. The question only added to his
+misery. "Yes, Rupert Trevlyn has come back," he said; "but----"
+
+"Is he in custody?" impatiently interrupted Cris. "Are the police here?"
+
+"It is another Rupert Trevlyn, Cris; not that one."
+
+Something in his father's manner struck unpleasantly on the senses of
+Cris Chattaway, subduing him considerably. "Another Rupert Trevlyn!" he
+repeated, in hesitating tones. "What are you saying?"
+
+"The Rupert Trevlyn of old; the Squire's runaway son; the heir," said
+Mr. Chattaway, as if it comforted him to tell out all the bitter truth.
+"He has come back to claim his own, Cris--Trevlyn Hold."
+
+And Mr. Cris fell against the wall, side by side with his father, and
+stared in dismayed consternation.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LVII
+
+A VISIT TO RUPERT
+
+
+And what were the emotions of Mrs. Chattaway? They were of a mixed
+nature. In spite of the very small comfort which possession of the Hold
+had brought her individually; in spite of the feeling of usurpation, of
+_wrong_, which had ever rested unpleasantly upon her; she would have
+been superior to frail human nature, had not a sense of dismay struck
+upon her at its being thus suddenly wrested from them. She knew not what
+her husband's means might be: whether he had anything or nothing, by
+saving or otherwise, that he could call his own, apart from the revenues
+of the Hold: but she did know sufficient to be sure that it could not be
+a tithe of what was needed to keep them; and where were they to go with
+their helpless daughters? That these unpleasant considerations floated
+through her mind in a vague, confused vision was true; but far above
+them came a rush of thought, of care, closer to the present hour. Her
+brother had said--and there was determination not to be mistaken in his
+tones--that unless Mr. Chattaway produced Rupert Trevlyn, he would
+publicly charge him with the murder. Nothing but the strongest
+self-control had restrained Mrs. Chattaway from avowing all when she
+heard this. Mr. Chattaway was a man not held in the world's favour, but
+he was her husband; and in her eyes his faults and failings had ever
+appeared in a venial light. She would have given much to stand out and
+say, "You are accusing my husband wrongfully; Rupert is alive, and I am
+concealing him."
+
+But she did not dare do this. That very husband would have replied,
+"Then I order Rupert into custody--how dared you conceal him?" She took
+an opportunity of asking George Ryle the meaning of the warning
+despatched by Nora. George could not explain it. He had met Bowen
+accidentally, and the officer had told him in confidence that they had
+received a mysterious hint that Rupert Trevlyn was not far off--hence
+George's intimation. It was to turn out that the _other_ Rupert Trevlyn
+had been spoken of: but neither Bowen nor George knew this.
+
+George Ryle rapidly drew his own conclusion from this return of Squire
+Trevlyn: it would be the preservation of Rupert; was the very best thing
+that could have happened for him. It may be said, the only thing. The
+tether had been lengthened out to its extreme limits, and to keep him
+much longer where he was, would be impossible; or, if they so kept him,
+it would mean death. George Ryle saw that a protector for Rupert had
+arisen in Squire Trevlyn.
+
+"He must be told the truth," he whispered to Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+"Yes, perhaps it may be better," she answered; "but I dare not tell him.
+Will you undertake it?"
+
+He nodded, and began to wonder what excuse he could invent for seeking a
+private conference with the newly-returned Squire. But while he plotted
+and planned, Maude rendered it unnecessary.
+
+By a sense of the fitness of things, the state-rooms at the Hold,
+generally kept for visitors, were assigned by Miss Diana to her brother.
+He was shown to them, and was in the act of gazing from the window at
+the well-remembered features of the old domain when there stole in upon
+him one, white and tearless, but with a terrified imploring despair in
+her countenance.
+
+"Maude, my child, what is it? I like your face, my dear, and must have
+you henceforth for my very own child!"
+
+"Not me, Uncle Rupert, never mind me," she said, the kindly tones
+telling upon her breaking heart and bringing forth a gush of tears. "If
+you will only love Rupert!--only get Mr. Chattaway to forgive him!"
+
+"But he may be dead, child."
+
+"Uncle Rupert, if he were not dead--if you found him now, to-day," she
+reiterated--"would _you_ deliver him up to justice? Oh, don't blame him;
+don't visit it upon him! It was the Trevlyn temper, and Mr. Chattaway
+should not have provoked it by horsewhipping him."
+
+"_I_ blame him! _I_ deliver a Trevlyn up to justice!" echoed Squire
+Trevlyn, with a threatening touch of the Trevlyn temper at that very
+moment. "What are you saying, child? If Rupert is in life he shall have
+his wrongs righted from henceforth. The cost of a burnt rick? The ricks
+were mine, not Chattaway's. Rupert Trevlyn is my heir, and he shall so
+be recognised and received."
+
+She sank down before him crying softly with the relief his words brought
+her. Squire Trevlyn placed his hand on her pretty hair, caressingly.
+"Don't grieve so, child; he may not be dead. I'll find him if he is to
+be found. The police shall know they have a Squire Trevlyn amongst them
+again."
+
+"Uncle Rupert, he is very near; lying in concealment--ill--almost dying.
+We have not dared to betray it, and the secret is nearly killing us."
+
+He listened in amazement, and questioned her until he gathered the
+outlines of the case. "Who has known of this, do you say?"
+
+"My aunt Edith, and I, and the doctor; and--and--George Ryle."
+
+The consciousness with which the last name was brought out, the sudden
+blush, whispered a tale to keen Squire Trevlyn.
+
+"Halloa, Miss Maude! I read a secret. _That_ will not do, you know. I
+cannot spare you from the Hold for all the George Ryles in the world.
+You must be its mistress."
+
+"My aunt Diana will be that," murmured Maude.
+
+"That she never shall be whilst I am master," was the emphatic
+rejoinder. "If Diana could look quietly on and see her father deceived,
+help to deceive him; see Chattaway usurp the Hold to the exclusion of
+Joe's son, and join in the wickedness, she has forfeited all claim to
+it: she shall neither reign nor reside in it. No, my little Maude, you
+must live with me, as mistress of Trevlyn Hold."
+
+Maude's tears were flowing in silence. She kept her head down.
+
+"What is George Ryle to you?" somewhat sternly asked Squire Trevlyn. "Do
+you love him?"
+
+"I had no one else to love: they were not kind to me--except my aunt
+Edith," she murmured.
+
+He sat lost in thought. "Is he a good man, Maude? Upright, honourable,
+just?"
+
+"That, and more," she whispered.
+
+"And I suppose you love him? Would it quite break your heart were I to
+issue my edict that you should never have him; to say you must turn him
+over to Octave Chattaway?"
+
+It was only a jest. Maude took it differently, and lifted her glowing
+face. "But he does not like Octave! It is Octave who likes----"
+
+She had spoken impulsively, and now that recollection came to her she
+hesitated. Squire Trevlyn, undignified as it was, broke into a subdued
+whistle.
+
+"I see, young lady. And so, Mr. George has had the good taste to like
+some one better than Octave. Well, perhaps I should do so, in his
+place."
+
+"But about Rupert?" she pleaded.
+
+"Ah, about Rupert. I must go to him at once. Mark Canham stared as I
+came through the gate just now, as one scared out of his wits. He must
+have been puzzled by the likeness."
+
+Squire Trevlyn went down to the hall, and was putting on his hat when
+they came flocking around, asking whether he was going out, offering to
+accompany him, Diana requesting him to wait whilst she put on her
+bonnet. But he waved them off: he preferred to stroll out alone, he
+said; he might look in and have a talk with some of his father's old
+dependants--if any were left.
+
+George Ryle was standing outside, deliberating as to how he should
+convey the communication, little thinking it had already been done.
+Squire Trevlyn came up, and passed an arm within his.
+
+"I am going to the lodge," he remarked. "You may know whom I want to see
+there."
+
+"You have heard, then!" exclaimed George.
+
+"Yes. From Maude. By-the-by, Mr. George, what secret understanding is
+there between you and that young lady?"
+
+George looked surprised; but he was not one to lose his equanimity. "It
+is no longer a secret, sir. I have confided it to Miss Diana. If Mr.
+Chattaway will grant me the lease of a certain farm, I shall speak to
+him."
+
+"Mr. Chattaway! The farms don't belong to him now, but to me."
+
+George laughed. "Yes, I forgot. I must come to you for it, sir. I want
+the Upland."
+
+"And you would like to take Maude with it?"
+
+"Oh, yes! I must take her with it."
+
+"Softly, sir. Maude belongs to me, just as the farms do: and I can tell
+you for your consolation, and you must make the best of it, that I
+cannot spare her from the Hold. There; that's enough. I have not come
+home to have my will disputed: I am a true Trevlyn."
+
+A somewhat uncomfortable silence ensued, and lasted until they reached
+the lodge. Squire Trevlyn entered without ceremony. Old Mark, who was
+sitting before the hearth apparently in deep thought, turned his head,
+saw who was coming in, rose as quickly as his rheumatism allowed him,
+and stared as if he saw an apparition.
+
+"Do you know me, Mark?"
+
+"To my dazed eyes it looks like the Squire," was Mark's answer, slowly
+shaking his head, as one in perplexity. "But I know it cannot be. I
+stood at these gates as he was carried out to his last home in Barbrook
+churchyard. The Squire was older, too."
+
+"The Squire left a son, Mark."
+
+"Sir--sir!" burst forth the old man, after a pause, as the light flashed
+upon him. "Sir--sir! You surely are never the young heir, Mr. Rupert, we
+have all mourned as dead?"
+
+"Do you remember the young heir's features, Mark?"
+
+"Ay, I have never forgot them, sir."
+
+"Then look at mine."
+
+There was doubt no longer; and Mark Canham, in his enthusiastic joy
+forgetting his rheumatism, would almost have gone down on his knees in
+thankfulness. He brought himself up with a groan. "I be fit for nothing
+now but to nurse my rheumatiz, sir. And you be the true Rupert
+Trevlyn--Squire from henceforth? Oh, sir, say it!"
+
+"I am the Squire, Mark. But I came here to see another Rupert
+Trevlyn--he who will be Squire after me."
+
+Old Mark shook his head. He glanced towards the staircase as he spoke,
+and dropped his voice to a whisper, as if fearing that it might
+penetrate to one who was lying above.
+
+"If he don't get better soon, sir, he'll never live to be the Squire.
+He's very ill. Circumstances have been against him, it can't be denied;
+but I fear me it was in his constitution from the first to go off, as
+his father, poor Mr. Joe, went off afore him."
+
+"Nonsense," said the Squire. "We'll get him well again!"
+
+"And what of Chattaway?" asked old Canham. "He'll never forego his
+vengeance, sir. I have been in mortal fear ever since Master Rupert's
+been lying here. The fear had selfishness in it, maybe," he added,
+ingenuously; "for Chattaway'd turn me right off, without a minute's
+warning, happen he come to know of it. He's never liked my being at the
+lodge at all, sir; and would have sent me away times and again but for
+Miss Diana."
+
+"Ah," said the Squire. "Well, it does not rest with him now. What has he
+allowed you, Mark?"
+
+"Half-a-crown a week, sir."
+
+"Half-a-crown a week?" repeated Squire Trevlyn, his mouth curling with
+displeasure. "How have you lived?"
+
+"It have been a poor living at best, sir," was the simple answer. "Ann
+works hard, at home or out, but she don't earn much. Her eyes be bad,
+sir; happen you may call to mind they was always weak and ailing. The
+Squire fixed my pay here at five shillings a week, and Chattaway changed
+it when he come into power. Miss Diana's good to us; but for her and the
+bit o' money Ann can earn, I don't see as we could ha' got along at
+all."
+
+"Would you like the half-a-crown changed back again to five shillings,
+Mark?"
+
+"I should think it was riches come to me right off, Squire."
+
+"Then you may reckon upon it from this day."
+
+He moved to the staircase as he spoke, leaving the old man in an ecstasy
+of delight. Ann Canham, who had shrunk into hiding, came forward. Her
+father turned triumphantly.
+
+"Didn't I tell ye it was the Squire? And you to go on at me, saying I
+was clean off my wits to think it! I know'd it was no other."
+
+"But you said it was the dead Squire, father," was poor Ann's meek
+response.
+
+"It's all the same," cried old Canham. "There'll be a Trevlyn at the
+Hold again; and our five shillings a week is to come back to us. Bless
+the Trevlyns! they was always open-handed."
+
+"Father, what a dreadful come-down for Chattaway! What will he do? He'll
+have to turn out."
+
+"Serve him right!" shouted Mark. "How many homes have he made empty in
+his time! Ann, girl, I have kep' my eyes a bit open through life, in
+spite of limbs cramped with rheumatiz, and I never failed to notice one
+thing--them who are fond o' making others' homes desolate, generally
+find their own desolate afore they die. Chattaway'll get a taste now of
+what he have been so fond o' dealing out to others. I hope the bells'll
+ring the day he turns out o' the Hold!"
+
+"But Madam will have to turn out with him!" meekly suggested Ann Canham.
+
+It took Mark back. He liked Madam as much as he disliked her husband.
+"Happen something'll be thought of for Madam," said he. "Maybe the new
+Squire'll keep her at the Hold."
+
+George Ryle had gone upstairs, and prepared the wondering Rupert for the
+appearance of his uncle. As the latter entered, his tall head bowing, he
+halted in dismay. In the fair face bent towards him from the bed, the
+large blue eyes, the bright, falling hair, he believed for the moment he
+saw the beloved brother Joe of his youth. But in the hollow, hectic
+cheeks, the drawn face, the parched lips, the wasted hands, the
+attenuated frame, he read too surely the marks of the disease which had
+taken off that brother; and a conviction seated itself in the Squire's
+mind that he must look elsewhere for his heir.
+
+"My poor boy! Joe's boy! This place is killing you!"
+
+"No, Uncle Rupert, it is not that at all. It is the fear."
+
+Squire Trevlyn could not breathe. He looked up at the one pane, and
+pushed it open with his stick. The cold air came in, and he seemed
+relieved, drawing a long breath. But the same current, grateful to him,
+found its way to the lungs of Rupert, and he began to cough violently.
+"It's the draught," panted the poor invalid.
+
+George Ryle closed the window again, and the Squire bent over the bed.
+"You must come to the Hold at once, Rupert."
+
+The hectic faded on Rupert's face. "It is not possible," he answered.
+"Mr. Chattaway would denounce me."
+
+"Denounce you!" hotly repeated Squire Trevlyn. "Denounce my nephew and
+my brother Joe's son! He had better let me see him attempt it."
+
+In the impulse, characteristic of the Trevlyns, the Squire turned to
+descend the stairs. He was going to have Rupert brought home at once.
+George Ryle followed him, and arrested him in the avenue.
+
+"Pardon me, Squire Trevlyn. You must first of all make sure of
+Chattaway. I am not clear also but you must make sure of the police."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"The police have the matter in hand. Are they able to relinquish it,
+even for you?"
+
+They stood gazing at each other in doubt and discomfort. It was an
+unpleasant phase of the affair; and one which had certainly not until
+that moment presented itself to Squire Trevlyn's view.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LVIII
+
+A CONVERSATION WITH MR. CHATTAWAY
+
+
+They stood together, deep in dispute--Squire Trevlyn of the Hold, and he
+who had so long reigned at the Hold, its usurper. In that very rick-yard
+which had recently played so prominent a part in the career of the
+unhappy Rupert, stood they: the Squire--bold, towering, haughty;
+Chattaway--cowardly, shrinking, indecisive.
+
+It was of that very Rupert they were talking. Squire Trevlyn hastened
+home from the lodge, and found Chattaway in the rick-yard: he urged upon
+him the claims of Rupert for forgiveness, for immunity from the
+consequences of his crime; urged upon him its _necessity_; for a
+Trevlyn, he said, must not be disgraced. And Mr. Chattaway appeared to
+be turning obstinate; to say that he never would forgive him or release
+him from its consequences. He pointed to the blackened spots, scarcely
+yet cleared of their _débris_. "Is a crime like that to be pardoned?" he
+asked.
+
+"What caused the crime? Who drove him to it?" And Mr. Chattaway had no
+plausible answer at hand.
+
+"When you married into the Trevlyn family, you married into its faults,"
+resumed the Squire. "At any rate, you became fully acquainted with them.
+You knew as much of the Trevlyn temper as we ourselves know. I ask you,
+then, how could you be so unwise--to put the question moderately--as to
+provoke it in Rupert?"
+
+"Evil tempers can be subdued," returned Mr. Chattaway. "And ought to
+be."
+
+"Just so. They can be, and they ought to be. But unfortunately we don't
+all of us do as we can and ought to do. Do you? I have heard it said in
+the old days that James Chattaway's spirit was a sullen one: have you
+subdued its sullenness?"
+
+"I wish you wouldn't wander from the point, Mr. Trevlyn."
+
+"I am keeping pretty near to the point. But I can go nearer to it, if
+you please. How could you, James Chattaway, dare to horsewhip a Trevlyn?
+Your wife's nephew, and her brother's son! Whatever might be the
+provocation--but, so far as I can learn, there was no just
+provocation--how came you so far to forget yourself and your temper as
+to strike him? One, possessing the tamest spirit ever put into man,
+might be expected to turn at the cruel insult you inflicted on Rupert.
+Did you do it with the intention of calling up the Trevlyn temper?"
+
+"Nonsense," said Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"It will not do to say nonsense to me, sir. Setting fire to the rick was
+your fault, not his; the crime was occasioned by you; and I, the actual
+owner of those ricks, shall hold you responsible for it. Yes, James
+Chattaway, those ricks were mine; you need not dispute what I say; the
+ricks were mine then, as they are now. They have been mine, in point of
+fact, ever since my father's death. You may rely upon one thing--that
+had I known the injustice that was being enacted, I should have returned
+long ago."
+
+"Injustice!" cried Mr. Chattaway. "What injustice?"
+
+"What injustice! Has there been anything _but_ injustice? When my
+father's breath left his body, his legitimate successor (in my absence
+and supposed death) was his grandson Rupert; this very Rupert you have
+been goading on to ill, perhaps to death. Had my brother Joe lived,
+would you have allowed _him_ to succeed, pray?"
+
+"But your brother Joe did not live; he was dead."
+
+"You evade the question."
+
+"It is a question that will answer no end," cried Mr. Chattaway, biting
+his thin lips, and feeling very like a man being driven to bay. "Of
+course he would have succeeded. But he was dead, and Squire Trevlyn
+chose to make his will in my favour, and appoint me his successor."
+
+"Beguiled by treachery. He was suffered to go to his grave never knowing
+that a grandson was born to him. Were I guilty of the like treachery, I
+could not rest in my bed. I should dread that the anger of God would be
+ever coming down upon me."
+
+"The Squire did well," growled Mr. Chattaway. "What would an infant have
+done with Trevlyn Hold?"
+
+"Granted for a single moment that it had been inexpedient to leave
+Trevlyn Hold to an infant, it was not to you it should have been left.
+If Squire Trevlyn must have bequeathed it to a son-in-law, it should
+have been to him who was the husband of his eldest daughter, Thomas
+Ryle."
+
+"Thomas Ryle!" contemptuously ejaculated Mr. Chattaway. "A poor,
+hard-working farmer----"
+
+"Don't attempt to disparage Thomas Ryle to me, sir," thundered the
+Squire; and the voice, the look, the rising anger were so like the old
+Squire of the days gone by, that Mr. Chattaway positively recoiled.
+"Thomas Ryle was a good and honourable man, respected by all; he was a
+gentleman by birth and breeding; he was a gentleman in mind and
+manners--and that could never be said of you, James Chattaway. Work! To
+be sure he worked; and so did his father. They had to work to live.
+Their farm was a poor one; and extra labour was needed to make up for
+the money which ought to have been spent upon it, but which they
+possessed not, for their patrimony had dwindled away. They might have
+taken a more productive farm; but they preferred to remain upon that one
+because it was their own, descended from their forefathers. It had to be
+sold at last, but they still remained on it, and they worked, always
+hoping to prosper. You used the word 'work' as a term of reproach! Let
+me tell you, that if the fact of working is to take the gentle blood out
+of a man, there will be little gentle blood left for the next
+generation. This is a working age, sir; the world has grown wise, and we
+most of us work with hands or head. Thomas Ryle's son is a gentleman, if
+I ever saw one--and I am mistaken if his looks belie his mind--and he
+works. Do not disparage Thomas Ryle again to me. I think a sense of the
+injury you did him, must induce you to do it."
+
+"What injury did I do Thomas Ryle?"
+
+"To usurp Trevlyn Hold over him was an injury. It was Rupert's: neither
+yours nor his; but had it come to one of you, it should have been to
+him; _you_ had no manner of right to it. And what about the two thousand
+pounds bond?"
+
+Squire Trevlyn asked the last question in an altered and very
+significant tone. Mr. Chattaway's green face grew greener.
+
+"I held the bond, and I enforced its payment in justice to my wife and
+children. I could do no less."
+
+"In justice to your wife and children!" retorted Squire Trevlyn. "James
+Chattaway, did a thought ever cross you of God's justice? I believe from
+my very heart that my father cancelled that bond upon his dying bed,
+died believing Thomas Ryle released from it; and you, in your grasping,
+covetous nature, kept the bond with an eye to your own profit. Did you
+forget that the eye of the Great Ruler of all things was upon you, when
+you pretended to destroy that bond? Did you suppose that Eye was turned
+away when you usurped Trevlyn Hold to the prejudice of Rupert? Did you
+think you would be allowed to enjoy it in security to the end? It may
+look to you, James Chattaway, as it would to any superficial observer,
+that there has been wondrous favour shown you in this long delay of
+justice. I regard it differently. It seems to me that retribution has
+overtaken you at the worst time: not the worse for you, possibly, but
+for your children. By that inscrutable law which we learn in childhood,
+a man's ill-doings are visited on his children: I fear the result of
+your ill-doing will be felt by yours. Had you been deposed from Trevlyn
+Hold at the time you usurped it, or had you not usurped it, your
+children must have been brought up to play their parts in the busy walks
+of life; to earn their own living. As it is, they have been reared to
+idleness and luxury, and will feel their fall in proportion. Your son
+has lorded it as the heir of Trevlyn Hold, as the future owner of the
+works at Blackstone, and lorded it, as I hear, in a very offensive
+manner. He will not like to sink down to a state of dependency; but he
+will have to do it."
+
+"Where have you been gathering your account of things?" interposed Mr.
+Chattaway.
+
+"Never mind where. I have gathered it, and that is sufficient. And
+now--to go back to Rupert Trevlyn. Will you give me a guarantee that he
+shall be held harmless?"
+
+"No," growled Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"Then it will be war to the knife between you and me. Mind you--I do not
+think there's any necessity to ask you this; as the ricks were not
+yours, but mine, at the time of the occurrence, you could not, as I
+believe, become the prosecutor. But I prefer to be on the safe side. On
+the return of Rupert, if you attempt to prosecute him, the first thing
+that I shall do will be to insist that he prosecutes you for the
+assault, and I shall prosecute you for the usurpation of Trevlyn Hold.
+So it will be prosecution and counter-prosecution, you see. Mark you,
+James Chattaway, I promise you to do this, and you know I am a man of my
+word. I think we had better let bygones be bygones. What are you going
+to do about the revenues of the Hold?"
+
+"The revenues of the Hold!" stammered Mr. Chattaway, wiping his hot
+face, for he did not like the question.
+
+"The past rents. The mesne profits you have received and appropriated
+since Squire Trevlyn's death. Those profits are mine."
+
+"In law, possibly," was the answer. "Not in justice."
+
+"Well, we'll go by law," complacently returned the Squire, a spice of
+mischief in his eye. "Which have you gone by all these years? Law, or
+justice? The law would make you refund all to me."
+
+"The law would be cunning to do it," was the answer. "If I have received
+the revenues, I have spent them in keeping up Trevlyn Hold."
+
+"You have not spent them all, I suspect; and it would be productive of
+great trouble and annoyance to you were I to come upon you for them. But
+now, look you, James Chattaway: I will be more merciful than you have
+been to others, and say nothing about them, for my sister Edith's sake.
+In the full sense of the word, I will let bygones be bygones."
+
+The ex-master of Trevlyn Hold gazed out from the depths of his dull gray
+eyes: gazed upon vacancy, buried in thought. It might be well to make a
+friend of the Squire. On the one hand was the long-cherished revenge
+against Rupert; on the other was his own interest. Should he gratify
+revenge, or study himself? Ah, you need not ask; revenge may be sweet,
+but with Mr. Chattaway his own interest was sweeter. The scales were not
+equally balanced.
+
+He saw that Squire Trevlyn's heart was determined on the pardon of
+Rupert; he knew that the less he beat about the bush the better; and he
+spoke at once. "I'll forgive him," he said. "Rupert Trevlyn behaved
+infamously, but----"
+
+"Stop, James Chattaway. Pardon him, or don't pardon him, as you please;
+but we will have no names over it. Rupert Trevlyn shall have none cast
+at him in my presence."
+
+"It is of no consequence. He did the wrong in the eyes of the
+neighbourhood, and they don't need to be reminded of what he is."
+
+"And how have the neighbourhood judged?" sternly asked Squire Trevlyn.
+"Which side have they espoused--yours, or his? Don't talk to me, sir; I
+have heard more than you suppose. I know what shame the neighbours have
+cast on you for years on the score of Rupert; the double shame cast on
+you since these ricks were burnt. Will you pardon him?"
+
+"I have said so," was the sullen reply.
+
+"Then come and ratify it in writing," rejoined the Squire, turning
+towards the Hold.
+
+"You are ready to doubt my word," resentfully spoke Mr. Chattaway,
+feeling considerably aggrieved.
+
+Squire Trevlyn threw back his head. It spoke as plainly as ever motion
+spoke that he did doubt it. As he strode on to the house, Chattaway in
+his wake, they came across Cris. Unhappy Cris! His day of authority and
+assumption had set. No longer was he the son of the master of Trevlyn
+Hold; henceforth Mr. Cris must set his wits to work, and take his share
+in the active labour of life. He stood leaning over the palings, biting
+a bit of straw as he gazed at Squire Trevlyn; but he did not say a word
+to the Squire or the Squire to him.
+
+With the aid of pen and ink Mr. Chattaway gave an ungracious promise to
+pardon Rupert. Of course it had nothing formal in it, but the Squire was
+satisfied, and put it in his pocket.
+
+"Which is Rupert's chamber here?" he asked. "It had better be got ready.
+Is it an airy one?"
+
+"For what purpose is it to be got ready?" returned Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"In case we find him, you know."
+
+"You would bring him home? Here? to my house?"
+
+"No; I bring him home to mine."
+
+Mr. Chattaway's face went quite dark with pain. In good truth it was
+Squire Trevlyn's house; no longer his; and he may be pardoned for
+momentarily forgetting the fact. There are brief intervals even in the
+deepest misery when we lose sight of the present.
+
+Cris came in. "Dumps, the policeman, is outside," he said. "Some tale
+has been carried to the police-station that Rupert Trevlyn has returned,
+and Dumps has come to see about it. The felon Rupert!" pointedly
+exclaimed Cris.
+
+"Don't call names, sir," said Squire Trevlyn to him as he went out.
+"Look here, Mr. Christopher Chattaway," he stopped to add. "You may
+possibly find it to your advantage to be in my good books; but that is
+not the way to get into them; abuse of my nephew and heir, Rupert
+Trevlyn, will not recommend you to my favour."
+
+The police-station had certainly heard a confused story of the return of
+Rupert Trevlyn, but before Dumps reached the Hold he learnt the wondrous
+fact that it was another Rupert; the one so long supposed to be dead;
+the real Squire Trevlyn. He had learnt that Mr. Chattaway was no longer
+master of the Hold, but had sunk down to a very humble individual
+indeed. Mr. Dumps was not particularly gifted with the perceptive
+faculties, but the thought struck him that it might be to the interest
+of the neighbourhood generally, including himself and the station, to be
+on friendly terms with Squire Trevlyn.
+
+"Did you want me?" asked the Squire.
+
+"I beg pardon, sir. It was the other Mr. Rupert Trevlyn that I come up
+about. He has been so unfortunate as to get into a bit of trouble, sir."
+
+"Oh, that's nothing," said the Squire. "Mr. Chattaway withdraws from the
+prosecution. In point of fact, if any one prosecuted it must be myself,
+since the ricks were mine. But I decline to do so. It is not my
+intention to prosecute my nephew and heir. Mr. Rupert will be the Squire
+of Trevlyn Hold when I am gone."
+
+"Will he though, sir?" said Mr. Dumps, humbly.
+
+"He will. You may tell your people at the station that I put up with the
+loss of the ricks. What do you say--the magistrates? The present
+magistrates and I were boys together, Mr. Constable: companions; and
+they'll be glad to see me home again; you need not trouble your head
+about the magistrates. You are all new at the police-station, I expect,
+since I left the country--in fact, I forget whether there was such a
+thing as a police-station then or not--but you may tell your superiors
+that it is not the custom of the Squires of Trevlyn to proclaim what
+they cannot carry out. The prosecution of Rupert Trevlyn is at an end,
+and it never ought to have been instituted."
+
+"Please, sir, I had nothing to do with it."
+
+"Of course not. The police have not been to blame. I shall walk down
+to-night, or to-morrow morning, to the station, and put things on a
+right footing. Your name is Dumps, I think?"
+
+"Yes, sir--at your service."
+
+"Well, Dumps, that's for yourself. Hush! not a word. It's not given to
+you as a constable, but as an honest man to whom I wish to offer an
+earnest of my future favour. And now come into the Hold, and take
+something to eat and drink."
+
+The gratified Dumps, hardly knowing whether he stood on his head or his
+heels, and inwardly vowing eternal allegiance to the new Squire, stepped
+into the Hold, and was consigned to the hospitality of the lower
+regions. Mr. Chattaway groaned in agony when he heard the kindly orders
+echoing through the hall--to put before Mr. Dumps everything that was
+good to eat and drink. That is, he would have groaned, but for the
+questionable comfort of recollecting that the Hold and its contents no
+longer belonged to him.
+
+As the Squire was turning round, he encountered Diana.
+
+"I have been inquiring after my nephew's chamber. Is it an airy one?"
+
+"Your nephew's?" repeated Miss Diana, not understanding. "Do you mean
+Christopher's?"
+
+"I mean Rupert's. Let me see it."
+
+He stepped up the stairs as he spoke, with the air of a man not born to
+contradiction. Miss Diana followed, wonderingly. The room she showed him
+was high up, and very small. The Squire threw his head back.
+
+"_This_ his room? I see! it has been all of a piece. This room was a
+servant's in my time. I am surprised at _you_, Diana."
+
+"It is a sufficiently comfortable room," she answered: "and I used
+occasionally to indulge him with a fire. Rupert never complained."
+
+"No, poor fellow! complaint would be of little use from him, as he knew.
+Is there a large chamber in the house unoccupied? one that would do for
+an invalid."
+
+"The only large spare rooms in the house are the two given to you,"
+replied Miss Diana. "They are the best, as you know, and have been kept
+vacant for visitors. The dressing-room may be used as a sitting-room."
+
+"I don't want it as a sitting-room, or a dressing-room either," replied
+the Squire. "I prefer to dress in my bedroom, and there are sufficient
+sitting-rooms downstairs for me. Let this bed of Rupert's be carried
+down to that room at once."
+
+"Who for?"
+
+"For one who ought to have occupied the best rooms from the
+first--Rupert. Had he been properly treated, Diana, he would not have
+brought this disgrace upon himself."
+
+Miss Diana wondered whether her ears deceived her. "For Rupert!" she
+repeated. "Where is Rupert? Is he found?"
+
+"He has never been lost," was the curt rejoinder. "He has been all the
+time within a stone's throw--sheltered by Mark Canham, whom I shall not
+forget."
+
+She could not speak from perplexity; scarcely knowing whether to believe
+the words or not.
+
+"Your sister Edith--and James Chattaway may thank fortune that she is
+his wife, or I should visit the past in a very different manner upon
+him--and little Maude, and that handsome son of Tom Ryle's, have been in
+the secret; have visited him in private; stealthily doing for him what
+they could: but the fear and responsibility have well-nigh driven Edith
+and Maude to despair. That's where Rupert has been, Diana: where he is.
+I have not long come from him."
+
+Anger blazed forth from the eyes of Miss Diana Trevlyn. "And why could
+not Edith have communicated the fact to me?" she cried. "I could have
+done for him better than they."
+
+"Perhaps not," significantly replied the Squire: "considering that
+Chattaway was ruler of Trevlyn Hold, and you have throughout upheld his
+policy. But Trevlyn has another ruler now, and Rupert a protector."
+
+Miss Diana made no reply. She was too vexed to make one. Turning away,
+she flung a shawl over her shoulders, and marched onwards to the lodge,
+to pay a visit to the unhappy Rupert.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LIX
+
+NEWS FOR MAUDE
+
+
+You should have seen the procession going up the avenue. Not that first
+night; but in the broad glare of the following noon-day. How Squire
+Trevlyn contrived to make things straight with the superintendent,
+Bowen, he best knew. Poor misguided Rupert was a free man again, and
+Policeman Dumps was busiest of all in helping to move him.
+
+The easiest carriage the Hold afforded was driven to the lodge. A
+shrunken, emaciated object Rupert looked as he tottered down the
+staircase, Squire Trevlyn standing below to catch him if he made a false
+step, George Ryle, ready with his protecting arm, and Mr. King,
+talkative as ever, following close behind. Old Canham stood leaning on
+his stick, and Ann curtsied behind the door.
+
+"It is the proudest day of my life, Master Rupert, to see you come to
+your rights," cried old Mark, stepping forward.
+
+"Thank you for all, Mark!" cried Rupert, impulsively, as he held out his
+hand. "If I live, you shall see that I can be grateful."
+
+"You'll live fast enough now," interposed the Squire in his tone of
+authority. "If King does not bring you round in no time, he and I shall
+quarrel."
+
+"Good-bye, Ann," said Rupert. "I owe you more than I can ever repay. She
+has waited on me night and day, Uncle Rupert; has lain on that hard
+settle at night, and had no other bed since I have been here. She has
+offended all her employers, to stop at home and attend on me."
+
+Poor Ann Canham's tears were falling. "I shall get my places back, sir,
+I dare say. All I hope is, that you'll soon be about again, Master
+Rupert--and that you'll please excuse the poor accommodation father and
+me have been obliged to give you."
+
+Squire Trevlyn stood and looked at her. "Don't let it break your heart
+if the places don't come back to you. What did you earn? ten shillings a
+week?"
+
+"Oh, no, sir! Poor folks like us couldn't earn such a sum as that."
+
+"Mr. Rupert will settle that upon you from to-day. Don't be overcome,
+woman. It is only fair, you know, that if he has put your living in
+peril, he should make it good to you."
+
+She was too overcome to answer; and the Squire stepped out with Rupert
+and found himself in the midst of a crowd. The incredible news of his
+return had spread far and wide, and people of all grades were flocking
+to the Hold to welcome him home. Old men, friends of the late Squire;
+middle-aged men, who had been hot-headed youths when he, Rupert, went
+away to exile and supposed death; younger ones, who had been children
+then and could not remember him, all were there. The chairman of the
+magistrates' bench himself helped Rupert into the carriage. He shook
+hands twenty times with the Squire, and linked his arm with that
+gentleman's to accompany him to the Hold. The carriage went at a
+foot-pace, Mr. King inside it with Rupert. "Go slowly; he must not be
+shaken," were the surgeon's orders to the coachman.
+
+The spectators looked on at the young heir as he leaned his head back in
+the carriage, which had been thrown open to the fine day. The air seemed
+to revive Rupert greatly. They watched him as he talked with George
+Ryle, who walked with his arm on the carriage door; they pressed round
+to get a word with him. Rupert, emancipated from the close confinement,
+the terrible _dread_, felt as a bird released from its cage, and his
+spirits went up to fever-heat.
+
+He held out his hands to one and another; and laughingly told them that
+in a week's time he should be in a condition to run a race with the best
+of them. "But you needn't expect him," put in Mr. King, by way of
+warning. "Before he is well enough to run races, I shall order him off
+to a warmer climate."
+
+As Rupert stepped out of the carriage, he saw, amongst the sea of faces
+pressing round, one face that struck upon his notice above all others,
+in its yearning, earnest sympathy, and he held out his hand impulsively.
+It was that of Jim Sanders, and as the boy sprang forward he burst into
+tears.
+
+"You and I must be better friends than ever, Jim. Cheer up. What's the
+matter?"
+
+"It's to see you looking like this, sir. You'll get well, sir, won't
+you?"
+
+"Oh yes; I feel all right now, Jim. A little tired, that's all. Come up
+and see me to-morrow, and I'll tell my uncle who you are and all about
+you."
+
+Standing at the door of the drawing-room, in an uncertain sort of
+attitude, was Mr. Chattaway. He was evidently undecided whether to
+receive the offending Rupert with a welcome, burst forth into a
+reproach, or run away and hide himself. Rupert decided it by walking up
+to him, and holding out his hand.
+
+"Let us be friends, Mr. Chattaway. I have long repented of my mad
+passion, and I thank you for absolving me from its consequences. Perhaps
+you are sorry on your side for the treatment that drove me to it. We
+will be friends, if you like."
+
+But Mr. Chattaway did not respond to the generous feeling or touch the
+offered hand. He muttered something about its having been Rupert's
+fault, not his, and disappeared. Somehow he could not stand the keen eye
+of Squire Trevlyn that was fixed upon him.
+
+In truth it was a terrible time for Chattaway, and the man was living
+out his punishment. All his worst dread had come upon him without
+warning, and he could not rebel against it. There might be no attempt to
+dispute the claims of Squire Trevlyn; Mr. Chattaway was as completely
+deposed as though he had never held it.
+
+Rupert was installed in his luxurious room, everything within it that
+could contribute to his ease and comfort. Squire Trevlyn had been
+tenderly attached to his brother Joe when they were boys together. He
+robust, manly; Joe delicate. It may be that the want of strength in the
+younger only rendered him dearer to the elder brother. Perhaps it was
+only the old affection for Joe transferred now to the son; certain it
+was, that the Squire's love had already grown for Rupert, and all care
+was lavished on him.
+
+But as the days went on it became evident to all that Rupert had only
+come home to die. The removal over, the excitement of those wonderful
+changes toned down, the sad fact that he was certainly fading grew on
+Squire Trevlyn. Some one suggested that a warmer climate should be
+tried; but Mr. King, on being appealed to, answered that he must get
+stronger first; and his tone was significant.
+
+Squire Trevlyn noticed it. Later, when he had the surgeon to himself, he
+spoke to him. "King, you are concealing the danger? Can't we move him?"
+
+"I would have told you before, Squire, had you asked me. As to moving
+him to a warmer climate--certainly he could be moved, but he would only
+go there to die; and the very fatigue of the journey would shorten his
+life."
+
+"I don't believe it," retorted the Squire, awaking out of his dismay.
+"You are a croaker, King. I'll call in a doctor from Barmeston."
+
+"Call in all the doctors you like, Squire, if it will afford you
+satisfaction. When they understand his case, they will tell you as I
+do."
+
+"Do you mean to say that he must die?"
+
+"I fear he must; and speedily. The day before you came home I tried his
+lungs, and from that moment I have known there was no hope. The disease
+must have been upon him for some time; I suppose he inherits it from his
+father."
+
+The same night Squire Trevlyn sent for a physician: an eminent man: but
+he only confirmed the opinion of Mr. King. All that remained now was to
+break the tidings to Rupert; and to lighten, as far as might be, his
+passage to the grave.
+
+But a word must be spoken of the departure of Mr. Chattaway and his
+family from the Hold. That they must inevitably leave it had been
+unpleasantly clear to Mr. Chattaway from the very hour of Squire
+Trevlyn's arrival. He gave a day or two to digesting the dreadful
+necessity, and then began to turn his thoughts practically to the
+future.
+
+Squire Trevlyn had promised not to take from him anything he might have
+put by of his ill-gotten gains. These gains, though a fair sum, were not
+sufficient to enable him to live and keep his family, and Mr. Chattaway
+knew that he must do something in the shape of work. His thoughts
+turned, not unnaturally, to the Upland Farm, and he asked Squire Trevlyn
+to let him have the lease of it.
+
+"I'll let you have it upon one condition," said the Squire. "I should
+not choose my sister Edith to sink into obscurity, but she may live upon
+the Upland Farm without losing caste; it is a fine place both as to land
+and residence. Therefore, I'll let it you, I say, upon one condition."
+
+Maude Trevlyn happened to be present at the conversation, and spoke in
+the moment's impulse.
+
+"Oh, Uncle Rupert! you promised----"
+
+"Well, Miss Maude?" he cried, and fixing his eyes on her glowing face.
+Maude timidly continued.
+
+"I thought you promised someone else the Upland Farm."
+
+"That favourite of yours and of Rupert's, George Ryle? But I am not
+going to let him have it. Well, Mr. Chattaway?"
+
+"What is the condition?" inquired Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"That you use the land well. I shall have a clause inserted in the lease
+by which you may cease to be my tenant at any time by my giving you a
+twelvemonth's notice; and if I find you carrying your parsimonious
+nature into the management of the Upland Farm, as you have on this land,
+I shall surely take it from you."
+
+"What's the matter with this land?" asked Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"The matter is, that I find the land impoverished. You have spared money
+upon it in your mistaken policy, and the inevitable result has followed.
+You have been penny wise and pound foolish, Chattaway; as you were when
+you suffered the rick-yard to remain uninsured."
+
+Mr. Chattaway's face darkened, but he made no reply to the allusion.
+"I'll undertake to do the farm justice, Squire Trevlyn, if you will
+lease it to me."
+
+"Very well. Let me, however, candidly assure you that, but for Edith's
+sake, I'd see you starve before you should have had a homestead on this
+land. It is my habit to be plain-spoken: I must be especially so with
+you. I suffer from you in all ways, James Chattaway. I suffer always in
+my nephew Rupert. When I think of the treatment dealt out to him from
+you, I can scarcely refrain from treating you to a taste of the
+punishment you inflicted upon him. It is possible, too, that had the boy
+been more tenderly cared for, he might have had strength to resist this
+disease which has crept upon him. About that I cannot speak; it must lie
+between you and God; his father, with every comfort, could not escape
+it, it seems; and possibly Rupert might not have done so."
+
+Mr. Chattaway made no reply. The Squire, after a pause, during which he
+had been plunged in thought, continued. "I suffer also in the matter of
+the two-thousand-pound debt of Thomas Ryle's, and I have a great
+mind--do you hear me, sir?--I have a great mind that the refunding it
+should come out of your pocket instead of mine; even though I had to get
+it from you by suing you for so much of the mesne profits."
+
+"Refunding the debt?" repeated Mr. Chattaway, looking absolutely
+confounded. "Refunding it to whom?"
+
+"To the Ryles, of course. That money was as surely given by my father to
+them on his death-bed, as that I am here, talking to you. I feel, I know
+that it was. I know that Thomas Ryle, ever a man of honour, spoke the
+truth when he asserted it. Do you think I can do less than refund it? I
+don't, if you do."
+
+"George Ryle does not want it; he is capable of working for his living,"
+was the only answer Mr. Chattaway in his anger could give.
+
+"I do not suppose he will want it," was the quiet remark of Squire
+Trevlyn; "I dare say he'll manage to do without it. It is to Mrs. Ryle
+that I shall refund it, sir. Between you all, I find that she was cut
+off with a shilling at my father's death."
+
+Mr. Chattaway liked the conversation less and less. He deemed it might
+be as agreeable to leave details to another opportunity, and withdrew.
+Squire Trevlyn looking round for Maude, discerned her at the end of the
+room, her head bent in sorrow.
+
+"What's this, young lady? Because I don't let Mr. George Ryle the Upland
+Farm? You great goose! I have reserved a better one for him."
+
+The tone was peculiar, and she raised her timid eyelids. "A better one!"
+she stammered.
+
+"Yes. Trevlyn Hold."
+
+Maude looked aghast. "What do you mean, Uncle Rupert?"
+
+"My dear, but for this unhappy fiat which appears to have gone forth for
+your brother Rupert, perhaps I might have let the Upland Farm to George.
+As it is, I cannot part with both of you. If poor Rupert is to be taken
+from me, you must remain."
+
+She looked up, utterly unable to understand him.
+
+"And as you appear not to be inclined to part with Mr. George, all that
+can be done in the matter, so far as I see, is that we must have him at
+the Hold."
+
+"Oh, Uncle Rupert!" And Maude's head and her joyous tears were hidden in
+the loving arms that were held out to shelter her.
+
+"Child! Did you think I had come home to make my dead brother's children
+unhappy? You will know me better by and by, Maude."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LX
+
+A BETTER HEIRSHIP
+
+
+A short time, and people had settled down in their places. Squire
+Trevlyn was alone at the Hold with Maude and Rupert, the Chattaways were
+at the Upland Farm, and Miss Diana Trevlyn had taken up her abode in a
+pretty house belonging to herself. Circumstances had favoured the
+removal of Mr. Chattaway from the Hold almost immediately after the
+arrival of Squire Trevlyn. The occupant of the Upland Farm, who only
+remained in it because his time was not up until spring, was glad to
+find it would be an accommodation if he quitted it earlier; he did so,
+and by Christmas the Chattaways were installed in it.
+
+Mr. Chattaway had set to work in earnest.
+
+Things were changed with him. At the Hold, whether he was up and doing,
+or lay in bed in idleness, his revenues came in to him. At the Upland
+Farm he must be up early and in bed late, for the eye of a master was
+necessary if the land was to yield its increase; and by that increase he
+and his family had now to live. There was a serious battle with Cris. It
+was deemed advisable for the interest of both parties--that is, for Mr.
+Cris and his father--that the younger man should enter upon some
+occupation of his own; but Cris resolutely refused. He could find plenty
+to do on the Upland Farm, he urged, and wouldn't be turned out of his
+home. In fact, Mr. Cris had lived so long without work, that it was
+difficult, now he was leaving his youth behind him, to begin it. Better,
+as Squire Trevlyn said, the change had been made years ago. It was
+certainly hard for Cris; let us acknowledge it. He had been reared to
+the expectation of Trevlyn Hold and its revenues; had lorded it as the
+future master. When he rose in the morning, early or late, as
+inclination prompted him, he had nothing more formidable before him than
+to ride about attended by his groom. He had indulged in outdoor sports,
+hunting, shooting, fishing, at will; no care upon him, except how he
+could most agreeably get through the day. He had been addicted to riding
+or driving into Barmester, lounging about the streets for the benefit of
+admiring spectators, or taking a turn in the billiard-rooms. All that
+was over now; Mr. Cris's leisure and greatness had come to an end; his
+groom would take service elsewhere, his fine horse must be used for
+other purposes than pleasure. In short, poor Cris Chattaway had fallen
+from his high estate, as many another has fallen before him, and must
+henceforth earn his bread before he ate it. "There's room for both on
+the Upland Farm, and a good living for both," Cris urged upon his
+father; and though Mr. Chattaway demurred, he gave way, and allowed Cris
+to remain. With all his severity to others, he had lost his authority
+over his children, especially over Cris and Octave, and perhaps he
+scarcely dared to maintain his own will against that of Cris, or tell
+him he should go if he chose to stay. Cris had no more love for work
+than anyone else has brought up to idleness; and Cris knew quite well
+that the easiest life he could now enter upon would be that of
+pretending to be busy upon the farm. When the dispute was at its height
+between himself and his father, as to what the future arrangements
+should be, Cris so far bestirred himself as to ask Squire Trevlyn to
+give him the post of manager at Blackstone. But the Squire had heard
+quite enough of the past doings there, and told Cris, with the plainness
+that was natural to him, that he would not have either him or his father
+in power at Blackstone, if they paid him in gold. And so Cris was at
+home.
+
+There were other changes also in Mr. Chattaway's family. Maude's
+tuition, that Octave had been ever ready to find fault with, was over
+for ever, and Octave had taken her place. Amelia was at home, for
+expenses had to be curtailed. An outlay quite suitable for the master of
+Trevlyn Hold would be imprudent in the tenant of the Upland Farm. They
+found Maude's worth now that they had lost her; could appreciate the
+sweetness of her temper, her gentle patience. Octave, who also liked an
+idle life, had undertaken the tuition of her sisters with a very bad
+grace: hating the trouble and labour. She might have refused but for
+Miss Diana Trevlyn. Miss Diana had not lost her good sense or love of
+ruling on leaving Trevlyn Hold, and openly told Octave that she must
+bend to circumstances as well as her parents, and that if she would not
+teach her sisters, she had better go out as governess and earn her
+living. Octave could have annihilated Miss Diana for the unwelcome
+suggestion--but she offered no further opposition to the arrangement.
+
+Life was very hard just then for Octave Chattaway. She had inherited the
+envious, selfish disposition of her father, and the very fact that Maude
+and herself had changed positions was sufficient to vex her almost
+beyond endurance. She had become the drudge whose days must be passed
+beating grammar into the obtuse minds of her rebellious sisters; Maude,
+the mistress of Trevlyn Hold. How things would go on it was difficult to
+say; for the scenes that frequently took place between Octave and her
+pupils disturbed to a grave degree the peace of the Upland Farm. Octave
+was impatient, fretful, and exacting; they were tantalising and
+disobedient. Quarrels were incessant; and now and then it came to blows.
+Octave's temper urged her to personal correction, and the girls retorted
+in kind.
+
+It is in human nature to exaggerate, and Octave not only exaggerated her
+troubles but wilfully made the worst of them. Instead of patiently
+sitting down to her new duties, and striving to perform them so that in
+time they might become a pleasure, she steeled herself against them. A
+terrible jealousy of Maude had taken possession of her; jealousy in more
+senses than one. There was a gate in their grounds overlooking the
+highway to Trevlyn Hold, and it was Octave's delight to stand there and
+watch, at the hour when Maude might be expected to pass. Sometimes in
+the open carriage--sometimes she would drive in a closed one, but always
+accompanied by the symbols of wealth and position, fine horses,
+attendant servants--Miss Maude Trevlyn, of Trevlyn Hold. And Octave
+would watch stealthily until they were out of sight, and gather fresh
+food for her unhappy state of mind. It would seem strange she should
+thus torment herself, but that the human heart is full of such
+contradictions.
+
+One day that she was standing there, Mrs. Ryle passed. And it may as
+well be remarked that, Mr. Chattaway excepted, Mrs. Ryle seemed most to
+resent the changes: not her brother's return, but some of its results.
+In the certainty of Rupert's not living to succeed--and it was a
+certainty now--Mrs. Ryle had again cherished hopes for her son Trevlyn.
+She had been exceedingly vexed when she heard the Upland Farm was leased
+to Mr. Chattaway, and thought George must have played his cards badly.
+She allowed her resentment to smoulder for a time, but one day so far
+forgot herself as to demand of George whether he thought two masters
+would answer upon the Farm; and hinted that it was time he left, and
+made room for Treve.
+
+George, though his cheek burnt--for her, not for himself--calmly
+answered, that he expected shortly to leave it: relieving her of his
+presence, Treve of his personal advice and help.
+
+"But you did not get the Upland?" she reiterated. "And I have been told
+this morning that the other farm you thought of is let over your head."
+
+"Stay, mother," was George's answer. "You are ready to blame Squire
+Trevlyn for letting these farms, and not to me; but my views have
+altered. I do not now wish to lease the Upland, or any other farm.
+Squire Trevlyn has proposed something else to me--I am to manage his own
+land for him."
+
+"Manage his land for him! Do you mean the land attached to Trevlyn?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And where shall you live?"
+
+"With him: at Trevlyn Hold."
+
+Mrs. Ryle could scarcely speak from amazement. "I never heard of such a
+thing!" she exclaimed, staring excessively at the smile hovering on his
+lips, which he vainly endeavoured to suppress. "What can it mean?"
+
+"It is assured, unhappily, that Rupert cannot live. Had he regained
+health and strength, he would have filled this place. But he will not
+regain it. Squire Trevlyn spoke to me, and I am to be with him at the
+Hold."
+
+George did not add that he at first fought with Squire Trevlyn against
+going to the Hold, as _its heir_--for indeed it meant nothing less. He
+would rather make his own fortune than have it made for him, he said.
+Very well, the Squire answered equably, he could give up the Hold if he
+liked, but he must give up Maude with it. And you may guess whether
+George would do that.
+
+But Mrs. Ryle did not recover from her surprise or see things clearly.
+"Of course, I can understand that Rupert Trevlyn would have held sway on
+the estate, just as a son would; but what my brother can mean by wanting
+a 'manager' I cannot understand. You say you are to _live_ at Trevlyn
+Hold?"
+
+The smile grew very conspicuous on George's lips. "It is so arranged,"
+he answered. "And therefore I no longer wish to rent the Upland."
+
+Mrs. Ryle stared as if she did not believe it. She fell into deep
+thought--from which she suddenly started, put on her bonnet, and went
+straight to Trevlyn Hold.
+
+A pretty little mare's nest she indulged in as she went along. If Rupert
+was to be called away from this world, the only fit and proper person to
+succeed him as the Squire's heir was her son Treve. In which case,
+George would not be required as manager, and their anticipated positions
+might be reversed; Treve take up his abode at the Hold, George remain at
+the farm.
+
+Squire Trevlyn was alone. She gave herself no time to reconsider the
+propriety of speaking at all, or what she should say; but without
+circumlocution told him that, failing Rupert, Trevlyn must be the heir.
+
+"Oh, dear, no," said the Squire. "You forget Maude."
+
+"Maude!"
+
+"If poor Rupert is to be taken, Maude remains to me. And she will
+inherit Trevlyn Hold."
+
+Mrs. Ryle compressed her lips. "Is it well to leave Trevlyn Hold to a
+woman? Your father would not do it, Rupert."
+
+"I am not bound to adopt the prejudices of my father. I imagine the
+reason of his disinheriting Maude--whose birth and existence it appears
+he did know of--was the anger he felt towards Joe and her mother, for
+having married in opposition to him. But that does not extend to me.
+Were I capable of leaving the estate away from Joe's children, I should
+deem myself as bad as Chattaway."
+
+"Maude is a girl; it ought not to be held by a girl," was Mrs. Ryle's
+reiterated answer.
+
+"Well, that objection need not trouble you; for in point of fact, it
+will be held by Maude's husband. Indeed, I am not sure but I shall
+bequeath it direct to him. I believe I shall do so."
+
+"She may never marry."
+
+"She will marry immediately. You don't mean to say he has not let you
+into the secret?" as he gazed on her puzzled face. "Has George told you
+nothing?"
+
+"He has just told me that he was coming here as your manager," she
+replied, not in the least comprehending Squire Trevlyn's drift.
+
+"And as Maude's husband. My manager, eh? He put it in that way, did he?
+He will come here as my son-in-law--I may say so for I regard Maude as
+my daughter and recognised successor. George Ryle comes here as the
+future Squire of Trevlyn Hold."
+
+Mrs. Ryle was five minutes recovering herself. Utterly unable to digest
+the news, she could do nothing but stare. George Ryle inheritor of
+Trevlyn Hold! Was she awake or dreaming?
+
+"It ought to be Trevlyn's," she said at length. "He is your direct
+relative; George Ryle is none."
+
+"I know he is not. I leave it to him as Maude's husband, and he will
+take the name of Trevlyn. You should have got Maude to fall in love with
+the other one, if you wished him to succeed."
+
+Perhaps it was the most unhappy moment in all Mrs. Ryle's life. Never
+had she given up the hope of her son's succession until now. That George
+should supplant him!--George, whom she had so despised! She sat beating
+her foot on the carpet, her pale face bent.
+
+"It is not right; it is not right," she said, at length. "George Ryle is
+not worthy to succeed to Trevlyn Hold: it is reversing the order of
+things."
+
+"Not worthy!" echoed Squire Trevlyn. "Your judgment must be strangely
+prejudiced to say so. Of all who have flocked from far and near to
+welcome me home, I have looked in vain for a second George Ryle. He has
+not his equal. If I hesitated at the first moment to give him Maude, I
+don't hesitate now that I know him. I can tell you that had Maude chosen
+unworthily, as your sister Edith did, her husband should never have come
+in for Trevlyn Hold."
+
+"Is your decision irrevocable?"
+
+"Entirely so. I wish them to be married immediately; for I should like
+George to be installed here as soon as possible, and, of course, he
+cannot come until Maude is his wife. Rupert wishes it."
+
+"It appears to me that this arrangement is very premature," resumed Mrs.
+Ryle. "You may marry yet, and have children of your own."
+
+A change came over Squire Trevlyn's face. "I shall never marry," he
+said, with emphasis; and to Mrs. Ryle's ears there was a strange
+solemnity in his tones. "You need not ask me why, for I shall not enter
+into reasons; let the assurance suffice--_I shall never marry_. Trevlyn
+Hold will be as securely theirs as though I bequeathed it to them by
+deed of gift."
+
+"Rupert, this is a blow for my son."
+
+"If you persist in considering it so, I cannot help that. It must have
+been very foolish of you ever to cast a thought to your son's
+succeeding, whilst Joe's children were living."
+
+"Foolish! when one of my sons--my step-son, at any rate--is to succeed,
+as it seems!"
+
+The Squire laughed. "You must talk to Maude about that. They had settled
+their plans together before I came home. If Treve turns out all he
+should be, I may remember him before I die. Trevlyn Farm was originally
+the birthright of the Ryles; I may possibly make it so again in the
+person of Treve. Don't let us go on with the discussion; it will only be
+lost labour. Will you see Rupert?"
+
+She had the sense to see that if it were prolonged until night, it would
+indeed be useless, and she rose to follow him into the next room.
+Rupert, not looking very ill to-day, sat near the fire. Maude was
+reading to him.
+
+"Is it you, Aunt Ryle!" he called out feebly. "You never come to see
+me."
+
+"I am sorry to hear you are so poorly, Rupert."
+
+"I am not half as ill as I feared I should be," he said. "I thought by
+this time it--it would have been all over. But I seem better. Where's
+George?"
+
+"George is at home. I have been talking to your uncle about him. Until
+to-day I did not know what was in contemplation."
+
+"He'll make a better Squire than I should have made," cried Rupert,
+lifting his eyes--bluer and brighter than ever, from disease--to her
+face. Maude made her escape from the room, and Squire Trevlyn had not
+entered it, so they were alone. "But, Aunt Ryle, I want it to be soon;
+before I die. I should like George to be here to see the last of me."
+
+"I think I might have been informed of this before," observed Mrs. Ryle.
+
+"It has not been told to any one. Uncle Rupert and I, George and Maude
+have kept the secret between us. Only think, Aunt Ryle! that after all
+the hopes, contentions, heart-burnings, George Ryle should succeed to
+Trevlyn Hold."
+
+She could not bear this repeated harping on the one string. George's
+conduct to his step-mother had been exemplary, and she was not
+insensible to the fact; but she was one of those second wives who feel
+an instinctive dislike to their step-children. Very bitter, for Treve's
+sake, was her heart-jealousy now.
+
+"I will come in and see you another day, Rupert," she said, rising
+abruptly. "This morning I am too vexed to remain longer."
+
+"What has vexed you, Aunt Ryle?"
+
+"I hoped that Treve--failing you--would have been the heir."
+
+Rupert opened his eyes in wonder. "Treve?--whilst Maude lives! Not he. I
+can tell you what I think, Aunt Ryle; that had there been no Maude,
+Treve would never have come in for the Hold. I don't fancy Uncle Rupert
+would have left it to him."
+
+"To whom would he have left it, do you fancy?"
+
+"Well--I suppose," slowly turning the matter over in his mind--"I
+suppose, in that case, it would have been Aunt Diana. But there is
+Maude, Aunt Ryle, and we need not discuss it. George and Maude will have
+it, and their children after them."
+
+"Poor boy!" she said, with a touch of compassion; "it is a sad fate for
+you! Not to live to inherit!"
+
+A gentle smile rose to his face, and he pointed upwards. "There's a
+better heirship for me, Aunt Ryle."
+
+It was upon returning from this memorable interview with Squire Trevlyn,
+that Mrs. Ryle met Octave Chattaway and stopped to speak.
+
+"Are you getting settled, Octave?"
+
+"Tolerably so. Mamma says she shall not be straight in six months to
+come. Have you been to the Hold?"
+
+"Yes," replied Mrs. Ryle, turning her determined gaze on Octave. "Have
+you heard the news? That the Squire has chosen his heir?"
+
+"No," breathlessly rejoined Octave. "We have heard that Rupert is beyond
+hope; but nothing else. It will be Maude, I conclude."
+
+"It is to be George Ryle."
+
+"George Ryle!" repeated Octave, in amazement.
+
+"Yes. I believe it will be left to him, not to Maude. But it will be all
+the same. He is to marry her, and to take the name of Trevlyn. George
+never told me this. He just said to-day that he was going to live at the
+Hold; but he never said it was as Maude's husband and the Squire's heir.
+How prospects have changed!"
+
+Changed! Ay, Octave felt it to her inmost soul, as she leaned against
+the gate, and gazed in thought after Mrs. Ryle. Gazed without seeing or
+hearing, deep in her heart's tribulation, her hand pressed upon her
+bosom, her pale face quivering as it was turned to the winter sky.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXI
+
+A BETTER HEIRSHIP
+
+
+Bending in tenderness over the couch of Rupert Trevlyn was Mrs.
+Chattaway. Madam Chattaway no longer; she had quitted that distinctive
+title on quitting Trevlyn Hold. It was a warm day early in May, and
+Rupert had lingered on; the progress of the disease being so gradual, so
+imperceptible, that even the medical men were deceived; and now that the
+end had come, they were still saying that he might last until the
+autumn.
+
+Rupert had been singularly favoured: some, stricken by this dire malady,
+are so. Scarcely any of its painful features were apparent; and Mr. Daw
+wrote word that they had not been in his father. There was scarcely any
+cough or pain, and though the weakness was certainly great, Rupert had
+not for one single day taken to his bed. Until within two days of this
+very time, when you see Mrs. Chattaway leaning over him, he had gone out
+in the carriage whenever the weather permitted. He could not sit up
+much, but chiefly lay on the sofa as he was lying now, facing the
+window, open to the warm noon-day sun. The room was the one you have
+frequently seen before, once the sitting-room of Mrs. Chattaway. When
+the Chattaways left the Hold, Rupert had changed to their rooms; and
+would sit there and watch the visitors who came up the avenue.
+
+Mrs. Chattaway had been staying at the Hold since the previous Tuesday,
+for Maude was away from it. Maude left it with George Ryle on that day,
+but they were coming home this Saturday evening, for both were anxious
+not to be long away from Rupert. Rupert sadly wanted to attend the
+wedding, and the Squire and Mr. Freeman strove to invent all sorts of
+schemes for warming the church; but it persisted in remaining cold and
+damp, and Rupert was not allowed to venture. He sat with them, however,
+at the breakfast afterwards, and but for his attenuated form and the
+hectic excitement brought to his otherwise white and hollow cheeks,
+might have passed very well for a guest. George, with his marriage, had
+taken the name of Trevlyn, for the Squire insisted upon it, and he would
+come home to the Hold to-day as his permanent abode. Miss Diana received
+mortal offence at the wedding-breakfast, and sat cold and impenetrable,
+for the Squire requested his elder sister to preside in right of birth,
+and Miss Diana had long considered herself far more important than Mrs.
+Ryle, and had expected to be chief on that occasion herself.
+
+"Shall we invite Edith or Diana to stay with you whilst Maude's away?"
+the Squire had inquired of Rupert. And a flush of pleasure came into the
+wan face as he answered, "My aunt Edith. I should like to be again with
+Aunt Edith."
+
+So Mrs. Chattaway had remained with him, and passed the time as she was
+doing now--hovering round his couch, giving him all her care, caressing
+him in her loving, gentle manner, whispering of the happy life on which
+he was about to enter.
+
+She had some eau-de-cologne in her hand, and was pouring it on a
+handkerchief to pass it lightly over his brow and temples. In doing this
+a drop went into his eye.
+
+"Oh, Rupert, I am so sorry! How awkward I am!"
+
+It smarted very much, but Rupert smiled bravely. "Just a few minutes'
+pain, Aunt Edith. That's all. Do you know what I have got to think
+lately?"
+
+She put the cork into the long green bottle, and sat down close to his
+sofa. "What, dear?"
+
+"That we must be blind, foolish mortals to fret so much under
+misfortunes. A little patience, and they pass away."
+
+"It would be better for us all if we had more patience, more trust," she
+answered. "If we could leave things more entirely to God."
+
+Rupert lay with his eyes cast upwards, blue as the sky he looked at. "I
+would have tried to put that great trust in God, had I lived," he said,
+after a pause. "Do you know, Aunt Edith, at times I do wish I could have
+lived."
+
+"I wish so, too," she murmured.
+
+"At least, I should wish it but for this feeling of utter fatigue that
+is always upon me. I sha'n't feel it up there, Aunt Edith."
+
+"No, no," she whispered.
+
+"When you get near to death, knowing that it is upon you, as I know it,
+I think you obtain clearer views of the reality of things. It seems to
+me, looking back on the life I am leaving, as if it were of no
+consequence at what period of life we die; whether young or old; and yet
+how terrible a calamity death is looked upon by people in general."
+
+"It needs sorrow or illness to reconcile us to it, Rupert. Most of us
+must be tired of this life ere we can bring ourselves to anticipate
+another, and wish for it."
+
+"Well, I have not had so happy a life here," he unthinkingly remarked.
+"I ought not to murmur at exchanging it for another."
+
+No, he had not. The words had been spoken without thought, innocent of
+intentional reproach; but she was feeling them to the very depths of her
+long-tried heart. Mrs. Chattaway was not famous for the control of her
+emotions, and she broke into tears as she rose and bent over him.
+
+"The recollection of the past is ever upon me, Rupert, night and day.
+Say you forgive me! Say it now, ere the time for it shall have gone by."
+
+He looked surprised. "Forgive you, dear Aunt Edith? I have never had
+anything to forgive you; and others I have forgiven long ago."
+
+"I lie awake at night and think of it, Rupert," she said, her tones
+betraying her great emotion. "Had you been differently treated, you
+might not have died just as your rights are recognised. You might have
+lived to be the inheritor as well as the heir of Trevlyn."
+
+Rupert lay pondering. "But I must have died at last," he said. "And I
+might not have been any the better for it. Aunt Edith, it seems to me to
+be just this. I am twenty-one years old, and a life of some sort is
+before me, a life _here_, or a life _there_. At my age it is only
+natural that I should look forward to the life here, and I did so until
+I grew sick with weariness and pain. But if that life is the better and
+happier one, does it not seem a favour to be taken to it before my time?
+Aunt Edith, I say that as death comes on, I believe we see things as
+they really are, not as they seem. I was to have inherited Trevlyn Hold:
+but I shall exchange it for a better inheritance. Let this comfort you."
+
+She sat, weeping silently, holding his hand in hers. Rupert said no
+more, but kept his eyes fixed upwards in thought. Gradually the lids
+closed, and his breathing, somewhat more regular than when awake, told
+that he slept. Mrs. Chattaway laid his hand on the coverlet, dried her
+eyes, and busied herself about the room.
+
+About half-an-hour afterwards he awoke. She was sitting down then,
+watching him. It almost seemed as if her gaze had awakened him, for she
+had only just taken her seat.
+
+"Have they come?" were his first words.
+
+"Not yet, Rupert."
+
+"Not yet! Will they be long? I feel sinking."
+
+Mrs. Chattaway hastily called for the refreshment Rupert had until now
+constantly taken. But he turned his head away as it was placed before
+him.
+
+"My dear, you said you were sinking!"
+
+"Not _that_ sort of sinking, Aunt Edith. Nothing that food will remedy."
+
+A tremor came over Mrs. Chattaway. She detected a change in his voice,
+saw the change in his countenance. It has just been said, and not for
+the first time in this history, that she could not boast of much
+self-control: and she hurried from the room, calling for Squire Trevlyn.
+He heard her, and came immediately, wondering much. "It is Rupert," she
+said in irrepressible excitement. "He says he is dying."
+
+Rupert had not said so: though, perhaps, what he did say was almost
+equivalent to it, and she had jumped to the conclusion. When Squire
+Trevlyn reached him, he was lying with his eyes closed and the changed
+look on his white face. A servant stood near the table where the tray of
+refreshment had been placed, gazing at him.
+
+The Squire hastily felt his forehead, then his hand. "What ails you, my
+boy?" he asked, subduing his voice as it never was subdued, save to the
+sick Rupert.
+
+Rupert opened his eyes. "Have they come, uncle? I want Maude."
+
+"They won't be long now," looking at his watch. "Don't you feel so well,
+Rupert?"
+
+"I feel like--going," was the answer: and as Rupert spoke he gasped for
+breath. The servant stepped forward and raised his head. Mrs. Chattaway,
+who had again come in, broke into a cry.
+
+"Edith!" reproved the Squire. "A pretty one you are for a sick room! If
+you cannot be calm and quiet, better keep out of it."
+
+He quitted it himself as he spoke, called for his own groom, and bade
+him hasten for Mr. King. Rupert looked better when he returned; the
+spasm, or whatever it was, had passed, and he was holding the hand of
+Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+"Aunt Edith was frightened," he said, turning his eyes on his uncle.
+
+"She always was one to be frightened at nothing," cried the Squire. "Do
+you feel faint, my boy?"
+
+"It's gone now," answered Rupert.
+
+Mrs. Chattaway poured out some cordial, and he drank it without
+difficulty. Afterwards he seemed to revive, and spoke to them now and
+then, though he lay so still as to give an idea that all motion had
+departed from him. Even when the sound of wheels was heard in the avenue
+he did not stir, though he evidently heard.
+
+"It's only Ralph," remarked the Squire. "I sent him out in the gig."
+
+Rupert slightly shook his head and a half-smile illumined his face. The
+Squire also became aware of the fact that what they heard was not the
+noise of gig-wheels. He went down to the hall-door.
+
+It was the carriage bringing back the bride and bridegroom. Maude sprang
+lightly in, and the Squire took her in his arms.
+
+"Welcome home, my darling!"
+
+Maude laughed and blushed, and the Squire left her and turned to George.
+
+"How is Rupert, sir?"
+
+"He has been famous until half-an-hour ago. Since then there has been a
+change. You had better go up at once; he has been asking for you and
+Maude. I have sent for King."
+
+George drew his wife's hand within his arm, and led her upstairs. No one
+was in the room with Rupert, except Mrs. Chattaway. He never moved or
+stirred, as they advanced and bent over him, Maude throwing off her
+bonnet; he only gazed up at their faces with a happy smile.
+
+Maude's eyes were swimming; George was startled. Surely death was even
+now upon him. It had come closer in this short interval between Squire
+Trevlyn's departure from the room and his return.
+
+Rupert lay passively, his wasted hands in theirs. Maude was the first to
+give way. "My darling brother! I did not expect to find you like this."
+
+"I am going on before, Maude," he breathed, his voice so low they had to
+stoop to catch it. "You will come later."
+
+A cry from Mrs. Chattaway interrupted him. "Oh, Rupert, say you forgive
+the past! You have not said it. You must not die with unforgiveness in
+your heart."
+
+He looked at her wonderingly; a look which seemed to ask if she had
+forgotten his assertion only an hour ago. He laid his hands feebly
+together holding them raised. "God bless and forgive all who may have
+been unkind to me, as I forgive them--as I have forgiven them long ago.
+God bless and forgive us all, and take us when this life is over to our
+heavenly home; for the sake of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ."
+
+"Amen!" said the Squire.
+
+A deep silence fell on them only to be broken by the entrance of Mr.
+King. He came quietly up to the sofa, glanced at Rupert, and kept his
+eyes fixed for the space of a minute. Then he turned to the Squire. The
+face was already the face of the dead. With the sorrows and joys of this
+world, Rupert Trevlyn had done for ever.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+By Charles W. Wood, F.R.G.S.
+
+Glories of Spain.
+
+_EXTRACTS FROM THE PRESS._
+
+     "In 'Glories of Spain' Mr. Charles W. Wood has added another
+     highly-interesting volume to his series of books dealing with
+     Continental travel. We ourselves have seen just enough of Spain
+     to make us long to see more, and the beautifully illustrated
+     book before us, with its glowing descriptions of architecture
+     and scenery, renders this longing well-nigh irresistible. Mr.
+     Wood has all the zeal of an enthusiast for all that is really
+     beautiful in Nature or in art. He has the pen of a ready
+     writer, he is keenly observant of all those small details which
+     go to make up a beautiful picture, and he is able to transfer
+     to paper, in most realistic form, the impressions he has
+     gathered.... This book is something more than a guide, even of
+     the highest character. The author makes friends with all sorts
+     and conditions of men and women, and by his own sympathetic
+     character draws from each his life's story, which is here set
+     down in telling manner. Mr. Wood is gifted, too, with an ample
+     fund of humour."--_Westminster Gazette._
+
+     "Mr. Wood is an ideal guide. A keen observer, nothing escapes
+     his practised eye, whilst his highly cultivated artistic
+     instincts and tastes revel in the atmosphere of romance and
+     poetry in which the country is steeped; and his 'enthusiasm for
+     humanity' makes him feel an interest in every human being with
+     whom he is brought into contact. There are some delightful
+     talks with all sorts and conditions of men and women in the
+     book."--_Literature._
+
+     "Mr. Wood's new volume has all the charm of his earlier books.
+     It is a world of enchantment into which we wander, and Mr. Wood
+     knows how to excite our interest in the quaint houses, the
+     gorgeous cathedrals, and the warm-hearted people in the
+     north-eastern corner of Spain. Mr. Wood is an enthusiast, and
+     his readers will quickly share his enthusiasm. His pictures are
+     works of art, steeped in poetry and sunshine."--_London
+     Quarterly Review._
+
+     "This narrative of travel affords light and pleasant reading.
+     Mr. Wood has an agreeable way, like certain old-fashioned
+     travellers, of breaking the stream of travel or of description
+     with some romantic story. These episodes add not a little to
+     the reader's enjoyment."--_St. James's Gazette._
+
+     "Readers of Mr. Wood's travel books scarcely require any
+     reminder of the bright and facile style in which he records the
+     impressions and incidents of his wayfaring."--_Westminster
+     Gazette._
+
+     "Mr. Wood is an excellent cicerone and, moreover, has what
+     every traveller in a foreign country has not--an evident
+     capacity for making friends with the natives. He is an
+     enthusiastic admirer of the beauties alike of Spanish nature
+     and Spanish art."--_Pall Mall Gazette._
+
+     "By degrees the persevering reader begins to realise that he is
+     'doing' Catalonia in the company of one who not only possesses
+     a fund of quiet humour and a cultivated mind, and an observant
+     eye for the beauties of Nature and of the works of man, but is
+     also endowed with a fine power of sympathy, which attracts to
+     him, in quite an unusual degree, the confidence of those with
+     whom he comes in contact."--_Daily News._
+
+     "Mr. Wood's 'Glories of Spain' is enough to increase
+     perceptibly the flow of travellers in Spain.... The real value
+     of the book will be found in its treatment of the architectural
+     and other glories which still remain to the impoverished
+     Peninsula. Mr. Wood's account of them and their associations
+     ought to divert the attention of tourists with means and energy
+     from more conventional paths."--_Yorkshire Post._
+
+     "Mr. Wood has a singularly fascinating style in presenting his
+     impressions of these old-world lands. To an observant eye and a
+     listening ear he adds a charm of manner which is rare amongst
+     authors who specialise in travel-talk. The book makes excellent
+     reading. It is a book to get, a book to read, and a book to
+     keep."--_Sheffield Daily Telegraph._
+
+     "Mr. Wood has provided us with such a charming description of
+     his travels that deep regret is felt when the sojourn in Spain
+     draws to its close--regret which, we are sure, must have been
+     very keenly felt by the author. This regret will be thus felt
+     by Mr. Wood's readers. Mr. Wood is a consummate artist in his
+     special field of literature, as the reading public long since
+     discovered. In this last book we are not disappointed. 'Glories
+     of Spain' is indeed a charming literary production, and seems
+     to us a book to keep in a prominent place upon the exclusive
+     bookshelf, a book to be read and re-read, a book to
+     love."--_Western Daily Press._
+
+     "We should like to dwell at greater length on a book which is
+     so brimful of the charm of a lovely land and an interesting
+     people; but we trust enough has been said to recommend it to
+     the attention of all lovers of the picturesque, whether in
+     Nature or humanity."--_Glasgow Herald._
+
+     "A subject so entrancing in the hands of so experienced a
+     traveller as Mr. Charles W. Wood could not fail to prove
+     interesting.... Mr. Wood has a keen appreciation of the
+     ludicrous, and can relate a comical incident or a practical
+     joke with appropriate lightness; while he is by no means
+     insensible to the pathos and romance inseparable from Spanish
+     story.... The book is so equal in style that it is difficult to
+     select one portion of it as being better than the rest.... He
+     relates tales of Saragosa as moving and pathetic as any ever
+     imagined by poet or novelist. Valencia, the 'Garden of Spain,'
+     also receives its share of eloquent and vivid language; and,
+     indeed, there is no place within the wide range of this tour
+     which does not supply some prolific theme for the author's
+     glowing pen."--_Dundee Advertiser._
+
+     "Mr. Wood's brilliant word-sketches, with never a line too
+     much, give exactly the true feeling for Spanish architecture
+     and the picturesque scenes of Spanish life.... What one finds
+     above all is the insight into human nature and the
+     comprehension of suffering and self-denial in unexpected
+     places, which are qualities in an author the rarest and
+     choicest. Anyone can describe, after a fashion, the old cities
+     of northern Spain, but very few can make their people live in
+     cold print and draw the reader to them by the warm touch of
+     sympathy. This Mr. Wood does, and does amazingly. This book is
+     a gallery of Spanish portraits, full of character, and pathos,
+     and humour, and simplicity. We would not spare one of them, and
+     we do not know which we like best; all we wish is that the
+     author may go again and paint us some more."--_Saturday
+     Review._
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Trevlyn Hold, by Mrs. Henry Wood
+
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+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Trevlyn Hold, by Mrs. Henry Wood
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Trevlyn Hold
+
+Author: Mrs. Henry Wood
+
+Release Date: May 14, 2011 [EBook #36106]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TREVLYN HOLD ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Delphine Lettau, Mary Meehan and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+
+<h1>TREVLYN HOLD</h1>
+
+<h3>A Novel</h3>
+
+<h2>BY MRS. HENRY WOOD</h2>
+
+<h3>AUTHOR OF "EAST LYNNE," "THE CHANNINGS," "JOHNNY LUDLOW," ETC.</h3>
+
+<h3><i>ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTH THOUSAND</i></h3>
+
+<h3>London<br />
+MACMILLAN AND CO., <span class="smcap">Limited</span><br />
+NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY</h3>
+
+<h3>1904</h3>
+
+<h3><i>All rights reserved</i></h3>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. -->
+<p>
+<a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I. THOMAS RYLE</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II. SUPERSTITION</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III. IN THE UPPER MEADOW</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV. LIFE OR DEATH?</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V. MAUDE TREVLYN</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI. THE ROMANCE OF TREVLYN HOLD</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII. MR. RYLE'S LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII. REBELLION</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX. EMANCIPATION</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X. MADAM'S ROOM</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI. RUPERT</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII. UNANSWERED</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII. OPINIONS DIFFER</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV. NO BREAKFAST</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV. TORMENTS</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI. MR. CHATTAWAY'S OFFICE</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII. DEAD BEAT</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII. AN OLD IMPRESSION</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX. A FIT OF AMIABILITY</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX. AN INVASION AT THE PARSONAGE</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI. THE STRANGER</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII. COMMOTION</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII. COMING VERY CLOSE</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV. A MEETING AT MARK CANHAM'S</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV. NEWS FOR MISS DIANA</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI. AN IMPROMPTU JOURNEY</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII. A WALK BY STARLIGHT</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII. AT DOCTORS' COMMONS</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX. A WELCOME HOME</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX. MR. CHATTAWAY COMES TO GRIEF</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI. DOWN THE SHAFT</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII. A SHOCK FOR MR. CHATTAWAY</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII. THE OLD TROUBLE AGAIN</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV. THE NEXT MORNING</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV">CHAPTER XXXV. AN ILL-STARRED CHASTISEMENT</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">CHAPTER XXXVI. THE FIRE</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVII">CHAPTER XXXVII. A NIGHT SCENE</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVIII">CHAPTER XXXVIII. NORA'S DIPLOMACY</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIX">CHAPTER XXXIX. ANOTHER VISITOR FOR MRS. SANDERS</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XL">CHAPTER XL. THE EXAMINATION</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XLI">CHAPTER XLI. A NIGHT ENCOUNTER</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XLII">CHAPTER XLII. NEWS FOR TREVLYN HOLD</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XLIII">CHAPTER XLIII. JAMES SANDERS</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XLIV">CHAPTER XLIV. FERMENT</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XLV">CHAPTER XLV. AN APPLICATION</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XLVI">CHAPTER XLVI. A FRIGHT FOR ANN CANHAM</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XLVII">CHAPTER XLVII. SURPRISE</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XLVIII">CHAPTER XLVIII. DANGER</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XLIX">CHAPTER XLIX. A RED-LETTER DAY</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_L">CHAPTER L. DILEMMAS</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_LI">CHAPTER LI. A LETTER FOR MR. CHATTAWAY</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_LII">CHAPTER LII. A DAY OF MISHAPS</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_LIII">CHAPTER LIII. A SURPRISE FOR MR. CHATTAWAY</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_LIV">CHAPTER LIV. A GHOST FOR OLD CANHAM</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_LV">CHAPTER LV. THE DREAD COME HOME</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_LVI">CHAPTER LVI. DOUBTS CLEARED AT LAST</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_LVII">CHAPTER LVII. A VISIT TO RUPERT</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_LVIII">CHAPTER LVIII. A CONVERSATION WITH MR. CHATTAWAY</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_LIX">CHAPTER LIX. NEWS FOR MAUDE</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_LX">CHAPTER LX. A BETTER HEIRSHIP</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_LXI">CHAPTER LXI. A BETTER HEIRSHIP</a><br /><br />
+<a href="#By_Charles_W_Wood_FRGS">By Charles W. Wood, F.R.G.S.</a><br />
+</p>
+<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. -->
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>TREVLYN HOLD</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2>
+
+<h3>THOMAS RYLE</h3>
+
+
+<p>The fine summer had faded into autumn, and the autumn would soon be
+fading into winter. All signs of harvest had disappeared. The farmers
+had gathered the golden grain into their barns; the meads looked bare,
+and the partridges hid themselves in the stubble left by the reapers.</p>
+
+<p>Perched on the top of a stile which separated one field from another,
+was a boy of some fifteen years. Several books, a strap passed round to
+keep them together, were flung over his shoulder, and he sat throwing
+stones into a pond close by, softly whistling as he did so. The stones
+came out of his pocket. Whether stored there for the purpose to which
+they were now being put, was best known to himself. He was a slender,
+well-made boy, with finely-shaped features, a clear complexion, and eyes
+dark and earnest. A refined face; a good face&mdash;and you have not to learn
+that the face is the index of the mind. An index that never fails for
+those gifted with the power to read the human countenance.</p>
+
+<p>Before him at a short distance, as he sat on the stile, lay the village
+of Barbrook. A couple of miles beyond the village was the large town of
+Barmester. But you could reach the town without taking the village <i>en
+route</i>. As to the village itself, there were several ways of reaching
+it. There was the path through the fields, right in front of the stile
+where that schoolboy was sitting; there was the green and shady lane
+(knee-deep in mud sometimes); and there were two high-roads. From the
+signs of vegetation around&mdash;not that the vegetation was of the richest
+kind&mdash;you would never suspect that the barren and bleak coal-fields lay
+so near. Only four or five miles away in the opposite direction&mdash;that
+is, behind the boy and the stile&mdash;the coal-pits flourished. Farmhouses
+were scattered within view, had the boy on the stile chosen to look at
+them; a few gentlemen's houses, and many cottages and hovels. To the
+left, glancing over the field and across the upper road&mdash;the road which
+did not lead to Barbrook, but to Barmester&mdash;on a slight eminence, rose
+the fine old-fashioned mansion called Trevlyn Hold. Rather to the right,
+behind him, was the less pretentious but comfortable dwelling called
+Trevlyn Farm. Trevlyn Hold, formerly the property and residence of
+Squire Trevlyn, had passed, with that gentleman's death, into the hands
+of Mr. Chattaway, who now lived in it; his wife having been the Squire's
+second daughter. Trevlyn Farm was tenanted by Mr. Ryle; and the boy
+sitting on the stile was Mr. Ryle's eldest son.</p>
+
+<p>There came, scuffling along the field-path from the village, as fast as
+her dilapidated shoes permitted her, a wan-looking, undersized girl. She
+had almost reached the pond, when a boy considerably taller and stronger
+than the boy on the stile came flying down the field on the left, and
+planted himself in her way.</p>
+
+<p>"Now then, little toad! Do you want another buffeting?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, please, sir, don't stop me!" she cried, beginning to sob loudly.
+"Father's dying, and mother said I was to run and tell them at the farm.
+Please let me go by."</p>
+
+<p>"Did I not order you yesterday to keep out of these fields?" asked the
+tall boy. "The lane and roads are open to you; how dare you come this
+way? I promised you I'd shake the inside out of you if I caught you here
+again, and now I'll do it."</p>
+
+<p>"I say," called out at this juncture the lad on the stile, "keep your
+hands off her."</p>
+
+<p>The child's assailant turned sharply at the sound. He had not seen that
+any one was there. For one moment he relaxed his hold, but the next
+appeared to change his mind, and began to shake the girl. She turned her
+face, in its tears and dirt, towards the stile.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Master George, make him let me go! I'm hasting to your house,
+Master George. Father's lying all white upon the bed; and mother said I
+was to come off and tell of it."</p>
+
+<p>George leaped off the stile, and advanced. "Let her go, Cris Chattaway!"</p>
+
+<p>Cris Chattaway turned his anger upon George. "Mind your own business,
+you beggar! It is no concern of yours."</p>
+
+<p>"It is, if I choose to make it mine. Let her go, I say. Don't be a
+coward."</p>
+
+<p>"What's that you call me?" asked Cris Chattaway. "A coward? Take that!"</p>
+
+<p>He had picked up a clod of earth, and dashed it in George Ryle's face.
+The boy was not one to stand a gratuitous blow, and Mr. Christopher,
+before he knew what was coming, found himself on the ground. The girl,
+released, flew to the stile and scrambled over it. George stood his
+ground, waiting for Cris to get up; he was less tall and strong, but he
+would not run away.</p>
+
+<p>Christopher Chattaway slowly gathered himself up. He <i>was</i> a coward; and
+fighting, when it came to close quarters, was not to his liking.
+Stone-throwing, water-squirting, pea-shooting&mdash;any annoyance that might
+safely be carried on at a distance&mdash;he was an adept in; but hand-to-hand
+fighting&mdash;Cris did not relish that.</p>
+
+<p>"See if you don't suffer for this, George Ryle!"</p>
+
+<p>George laughed good-humouredly, and sat down on the stile as before.
+Cris was dusting the earth off his clothes.</p>
+
+<p>"You have called me a coward, and you have knocked me down. I'll enter
+it in my memorandum-book, George Ryle."</p>
+
+<p>"Do," equably returned George. "I never knew any <i>but</i> cowards set upon
+girls."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll set upon her again, if I catch her using this path. There's not a
+more impudent little wretch in the whole parish. Let her try it, that's
+all."</p>
+
+<p>"She has a right to use this path as much as I have."</p>
+
+<p>"Not if I choose to say she sha'n't use it. <i>You</i> won't have the right
+long."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, indeed!" said George. "What is to take it from me?"</p>
+
+<p>"The Squire says he shall cause this way through the fields to be
+closed."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Who</i> says it?" asked George, with marked emphasis&mdash;and the sound
+grated on Cris Chattaway's ear.</p>
+
+<p>"The Squire says so," he roared. "Are you deaf?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah," said George. "But Mr. Chattaway can't close it. My father says he
+has not the power to do so."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Your</i> father!" contemptuously rejoined Cris Chattaway. "He would like
+his leave asked, perhaps. When the Squire says he shall do a thing, he
+means it."</p>
+
+<p>"At any rate, it is not done yet," was the significant answer. "Don't
+boast, Cris."</p>
+
+<p>Cris had been making off, and was some distance up the field. He turned
+to address George.</p>
+
+<p>"You know, you beggar, that if I don't go in and polish you off it's
+because I can't condescend to tarnish my hands. When I fight, I like to
+fight with gentlefolk." And with that he turned tail, and decamped
+quicker than before.</p>
+
+<p>"Just so," shrieked George. "Especially if they wear petticoats."</p>
+
+<p>A sly shower of earth came back in answer. But it happened, every bit of
+it, to steer clear of him, and George kept his seat and his equanimity.</p>
+
+<p>"What has he been doing now, George?"</p>
+
+<p>George turned his head; the question came from one behind him. There
+stood a lovely boy of some twelve years old, his beautiful features set
+off by dark blue eyes and bright auburn curls.</p>
+
+<p>"Where did you spring from, Rupert?"</p>
+
+<p>"I came down by the hedge. You were calling after Cris and did not hear
+me. Has he been threshing you, George?"</p>
+
+<p>"Threshing me!" returned George, throwing back his handsome head with a
+laugh. "I don't think he would try that on, Rupert. He could not thresh
+me with impunity, as he does you."</p>
+
+<p>Rupert Trevlyn laid his cheek on the stile, and fixed his eyes on the
+clear blue evening sky&mdash;for the sun was drawing towards its setting. He
+was a sensitive, romantic, strange sort of boy; gentle and loving by
+nature, but given to violent fits of passion. People said he inherited
+the latter from his grandfather, Squire Trevlyn. Other of the Squire's
+descendants had inherited the same. Under happier auspices, Rupert might
+have learnt to subdue these bursts of passion. Had he possessed a kind
+home and loving friends, how different might have been his destiny!</p>
+
+<p>"George, I wish papa had lived!"</p>
+
+<p>"The whole parish has need to wish that," returned George. "I wish you
+stood in his shoes! That's what I wish."</p>
+
+<p>"Instead of Uncle Chattaway. Old Canham says I ought to stand in them.
+He says he thinks I shall, some time, because justice is sure to come
+uppermost in the end."</p>
+
+<p>"Look here, Rupert!" gravely returned George Ryle. "Don't go listening
+to old Canham. He talks nonsense, and it will do neither of you any
+good. If Chattaway heard a tithe of what he sometimes says, he'd turn
+him from the lodge, neck and crop, in spite of Miss Diana. What <i>is</i>,
+can't be helped, you know, Rupert."</p>
+
+<p>"But Cris has no right to inherit Trevlyn over me."</p>
+
+<p>"He has legal right, I suppose," answered George; "at least, he will
+have it. Make the best of it, Ru. There are lots of things I have to
+make the best of. I had a caning yesterday for another boy, and I had to
+make the best of that."</p>
+
+<p>Rupert still looked up at the sky. "If it were not for Aunt Edith,"
+quoth he, "I'd run away."</p>
+
+<p>"You little stupid! Where would you run to?"</p>
+
+<p>"Anywhere. Mr. Chattaway gave me no dinner to-day."</p>
+
+<p>"Why not?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because Cris carried a tale to him. But it was false, George."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you tell Chattaway it was false?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. But where's the use? He always believes Cris before me."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you had no dinner?"</p>
+
+<p>Rupert shook his head. "I took some bread off the tray as they were
+carrying it through the hall. That's all I have had."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I'd advise you to make double haste home to your tea," said
+George, jumping over the stile, "as I am going to do to mine."</p>
+
+<p>George ran swiftly across the back fields towards his home. Looking
+round when he was well on his way, he saw Rupert still leaning on the
+stile with his face turned upward.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile the little tatterdemalion had scuffled along to Trevlyn
+Farm&mdash;a very moderately-sized house with a rustic porch covered with
+jessamine, and a large garden, more useful than ornamental, intervening
+between it and the high-road. The garden path, leading to the porch, was
+straight and narrow; on either side rose alternately cabbage-rose trees
+and hollyhocks. Gooseberries, currants, strawberries, raspberries, and
+other plain fruit-trees grew amidst vegetables of various sorts. A
+productive if not an elegant garden. At the side of the house the
+fold-yard palings and a five-barred gate separated it from the public
+road, and behind the house were the barns and other outdoor buildings
+belonging to the farm.</p>
+
+<p>From the porch the entrance led direct into a room, half sitting-room,
+half kitchen, called "Nora's room." Nora generally sat in it; George and
+his brother did their lessons there; the actual kitchen being at the
+back of it. A parlour opening from this room on the right, whose window
+looked into the fold-yard, was the general sitting-room. The best
+sitting-room, a really handsome apartment, was on the other side of the
+house. As the girl scuffled up to the porch, an active, black-eyed,
+talkative little woman, of five or six-and-thirty saw her approaching
+from the window of the best kitchen. That was Nora. What with her ragged
+frock and tippet, broken straw bonnet, and slipshod shoes, the child
+looked wretched enough. Her father, Jim Sanders, was carter to Mr. Ryle.
+He had been at home ill the last day or two; or, as the phrase ran in
+the farm, was "off his work."</p>
+
+<p>"If ever I saw such an object!" was Nora's exclamation. "How <i>can</i> her
+mother keep her in that state? Just look at Letty Sanders, Mrs. Ryle!"</p>
+
+<p>Sorting large bunches of sweet herbs on a table at the back of the room
+was a tall, upright woman. Her dress was plain, but her manner and
+bearing betrayed the lady. Those familiar with the district would have
+recognised in her handsome but somewhat masculine face a likeness to the
+well-formed, powerful features of the late Squire Trevlyn. She was that
+gentleman's eldest daughter, and had given mortal umbrage to her family
+when she quitted Trevlyn Hold to become the second wife of Mr. Ryle.
+George Ryle was not her son. She had only two children; Trevlyn, a boy
+two years younger than George; and a little girl of eight, named
+Caroline.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Ryle turned, and glanced at the path and Letty Sanders. "She is
+indeed an object! See what she wants, Nora."</p>
+
+<p>Nora, who had no patience with idleness and its signs, flung open the
+door. The girl halted a few paces from the porch, and dropped a curtsey.</p>
+
+<p>"Please, father be dreadful bad," began she. "He be lying on the bed and
+don't stir, and his face is white; and, please, mother said I was to
+come and tell the missus, and ask her for a little brandy."</p>
+
+<p>"And how dare your mother send you up to the house in this trim?"
+demanded Nora. "How many crows did you frighten as you came along?"</p>
+
+<p>"Please," whimpered the child, "she haven't had time to tidy me to-day,
+father's been so bad, and t'other frock was tored in the washin'."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course," assented Nora. "Everything is 'tored' that she has to do
+with, and never gets mended. If ever there was a poor, moithering,
+thriftless thing, it's that mother of yours. She has no needles and no
+thread, I suppose, and neither soap nor water?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Ryle came forward to interrupt the colloquy. "What is the matter
+with your father, Letty? Is he worse?"</p>
+
+<p>Letty dropped several curtseys in succession. "Please, 'm, his inside's
+bad again, but mother's afeared he's dying. He fell back upon the bed,
+and don't stir nor breathe. She says, will you please send him some
+brandy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Have you brought anything to put it into?" inquired Mrs. Ryle.</p>
+
+<p>"No, 'm."</p>
+
+<p>"Not likely," chimed in Nora. "Madge Sanders wouldn't think to send so
+much as a cracked teacup. Shall I put a drop in a bottle, and give it to
+her?" continued Nora, turning to Mrs. Ryle.</p>
+
+<p>"No," replied Mrs. Ryle. "I must know what's the matter with him before
+I send brandy. Go back to your mother, Letty. Tell her I shall be going
+past her cottage presently, and will call in."</p>
+
+<p>The child turned and scuffled off. Mrs. Ryle resumed:</p>
+
+<p>"Should it be another attack of internal inflammation, brandy would be
+the worst thing he could take. He drinks too much, does Jim Sanders."</p>
+
+<p>"His inside's like a barrel&mdash;always waiting to be filled," remarked
+Nora. "He'd drink the sea dry, if it ran beer. What with his drinking,
+and her untidiness, small wonder the children are in rags. I am
+surprised the master keeps him on!"</p>
+
+<p>"He only drinks by fits and starts, Nora. His health will not let him do
+more."</p>
+
+<p>"No, it won't," acquiesced Nora. "And I fear this bout may be the ending
+of him. That hole was not dug for nothing."</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense," said Mrs. Ryle. "How can you be so foolishly superstitious,
+Nora? Find Treve, will you, and get him ready."</p>
+
+<p>"Treve," a young gentleman given to having his own way, and to be kept
+very much from school on account of "delicate health," a malady less
+real than imaginary, was found somewhere about the farm, and put into
+visiting condition. He and his mother were invited to take tea at
+Barbrook. In point of fact, the invitation had been for Mrs. Ryle only;
+but she could not bear to stir anywhere without her darling boy Trevlyn.</p>
+
+<p>They had barely departed when George entered. Nora had then laid the
+tea-table, and was standing cutting bread-and-butter.</p>
+
+<p>"Where are they all?" asked George, depositing his books upon a
+sideboard.</p>
+
+<p>"Your mother and Treve are off to tea at Mrs. Apperley's," replied Nora.
+"And the master rode over to Barmester this afternoon, and is not back
+yet. Sit down, George. Would you like some pumpkin pie?"</p>
+
+<p>"Try me," responded George. "Is there any?"</p>
+
+<p>"I saved it from dinner,"&mdash;bringing forth a plate from a closet. "It is
+not much. Treve's stomach craves for pies as much as Jim Sanders's for
+beer; and Mrs. Ryle would give him all he wanted, if it cleared the
+larder&mdash;&mdash;Is some one calling?" she broke off, going to the window.
+"George, it's Mr. Chattaway! See what he wants."</p>
+
+<p>A gentleman on horseback had reined in close to the gate: a spare man,
+rather above the middle height, with a pale, leaden sort of complexion,
+small, cold light eyes and mean-looking features. George ran down the
+path.</p>
+
+<p>"Is your father at home?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. He is gone to Barmester."</p>
+
+<p>A scowl passed over Mr. Chattaway's brow. "That's the third time I have
+been here this week, and cannot get to see him. Tell your father that I
+have had another letter from Butt, and will trouble him to attend to it.
+And further tell your father I will not be pestered with this business
+any longer. If he does not pay the money right off, I'll make him pay
+it."</p>
+
+<p>Something not unlike an ice-bolt shot through George Ryle's heart. He
+knew there was trouble between his house and Mr. Chattaway; that his
+father was, in pecuniary matters, at Mr. Chattaway's mercy. Was this
+message the result of his recent encounter with Cris Chattaway? A hot
+flush dyed his face, and he wished&mdash;for his father's sake&mdash;that he had
+let Mr. Cris alone. For his father's sake he was now ready to eat
+humble-pie, though there never lived a boy less inclined to humble-pie
+in a general way than George Ryle. He went close up to the horse and
+raised his honest eyes fearlessly.</p>
+
+<p>"Has Christopher been complaining to you, Mr. Chattaway?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. What has he to complain of?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not much," answered George, his fears subsiding. "Only I know he does
+carry tales."</p>
+
+<p>"Were there no tales to carry he could not carry them," coldly remarked
+Mr. Chattaway. "I have not seen Christopher since dinner-time. It seems
+to me that you are always suspecting him of something. Take care you
+deliver my message correctly, sir."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway rode away, and George returned to his pumpkin pie. He had
+scarcely finished it&mdash;with remarkable relish, for the cold dinner he
+took with him to school daily was little more than a luncheon&mdash;when Mr.
+Ryle entered by the back-door, having been round to the stables with his
+horse. He was a tall, fine man, with light curling hair, mild blue eyes,
+and a fair countenance pleasant to look at in its honest simplicity.
+George delivered the message left by Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"He left me that message, did he?" cried Mr. Ryle, who, if he could be
+angered by anything, it was on this very subject of Chattaway's claims
+against him. "He might have kept it until he saw me himself."</p>
+
+<p>"He bade me tell you, papa."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; it is no matter to Chattaway how he browbeats me and exposes my
+affairs. He has been at it for years. Has he gone home?"</p>
+
+<p>"I think so," replied George. "He rode that way."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll stand it no longer, and I'll tell him so to his face," continued
+Mr. Ryle. "Let him do his best and his worst."</p>
+
+<p>Taking up his hat, Mr. Ryle strode out of the house, disdaining Nora's
+invitation to tea, and leaving on the table a scarf of soft scarlet
+merino, which he had worn into Barmester. Recently suffering from sore
+throat, Mrs. Ryle had induced him to put it on when he rode out that
+afternoon.</p>
+
+<p>"Look there!" cried Nora. "He has left his cravat on the table."</p>
+
+<p>Snatching it up, she ran after Mr. Ryle, catching him half-way down the
+path. He took the scarf from her with a hasty movement, and went along
+swinging it in his hand. But he did not attempt to put it on.</p>
+
+<p>"It is just like the master," grumbled Nora to George. "He has worn that
+warm woollen thing for hours, and now goes off without it! His throat
+will be bad again."</p>
+
+<p>"I am afraid papa's gone to have it out with Mr. Chattaway," said
+George.</p>
+
+<p>"And serve Chattaway right if he has," returned Nora. "It is what the
+master has threatened this many a day."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2>
+
+<h3>SUPERSTITION</h3>
+
+
+<p>Later, when George was working diligently at his lessons, and Nora was
+sewing&mdash;both by the help of the same candle: for an array of candles was
+not more indulged in than other luxuries in Mr. Ryle's house&mdash;footsteps
+were heard approaching the porch, and a modest knock came to the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Come in," called out Nora.</p>
+
+<p>A very thin woman, in a washed-out cotton gown, with a thin face and
+inflamed eyes, came in, curtseying. It was an honest face, a meek face;
+although it looked as if its owner had a meal about once a week.</p>
+
+<p>"Evening, Miss Dickson; evening, Master George. I have stepped round to
+ask the missis whether I shall be wanted on Tuesday."</p>
+
+<p>"The missis is out," said Nora. "She has been talking of putting off the
+wash till the week after, but I don't know that she will do so. If you
+sit down a bit, Ann Canham, she'll come in, perhaps."</p>
+
+<p>Ann Canham seated herself respectfully on the edge of a remote chair.
+And Nora, who liked gossiping above every earthly thing, began to talk
+of Jim Sanders's illness.</p>
+
+<p>"He has dreadful bouts, poor fellow!" observed Ann Canham.</p>
+
+<p>"But six times out of seven he brings them on through his own fault,"
+tartly returned Nora. "Many and many a time I have told him he'd do for
+himself, and now I think he has done it. This bout, it strikes me, is
+his last."</p>
+
+<p>"Is he so ill as that?" exclaimed Ann Canham. And George looked up from
+his exercise-book in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know that he is," said Nora; "but&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Nora broke suddenly off, dropped her work, and bent her head towards Ann
+Canham.</p>
+
+<p>"We have had a strange thing happen here," she continued, her voice
+falling to a whisper; "and if it's not a warning of death, never believe
+me again. This morning&mdash;&mdash;George, did you hear the dog in the night?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," answered George.</p>
+
+<p>"Boys sleep soundly," she remarked to Ann Canham. "You might drive a
+coach-and-six through their room, and not wake them. His room's at the
+back, too. Last night the dog got round to the front of the house, and
+there he was, all night long, sighing and moaning like a human creature.
+You couldn't call it a howl; there was too much pain in it. He was at it
+all night long; I couldn't sleep for it. The missis says she couldn't
+sleep for it. Well, this morning I was up first, the master next, Molly
+next; but the master went out by the back-way and saw nothing. By-and-by
+I spied something out of this window on the garden path, as if some one
+had been digging there; so out I went. It was for all the world like a
+grave!&mdash;a great hole, with the earth thrown up on either side of it.
+That dog had done it in the night!"</p>
+
+<p>Ann Canham, possibly feeling uncomfortably aloof from the company when
+graves became the topic, drew her chair nearer the table. George sat,
+his pen arrested; his large wide-open eyes turned on Nora&mdash;not with
+fear, but merriment.</p>
+
+<p>"A great hole, twice the length of our rolling-pin, and wide in
+proportion, all hollowed and scratched out," went on Nora. "I called the
+cow-boy, and asked him what it looked like. 'A grave,' said he, without
+a moment's hesitation. Molly came out, and they two filled it in again,
+and trod the path down. The marks have been plain enough all day. The
+master has been talking a long while of having that path gravelled, but
+it has not been done."</p>
+
+<p>"And the hole was scratched by the dog?" proceeded Ann Canham, unable to
+get over the wonder.</p>
+
+<p>"It was scratched by the dog," answered Nora. "And every one knows it's
+a sign that death's coming to the house, or to some one belonging to the
+house. Whether it's your own dog scratches it, or somebody else's dog,
+no matter; it's a sure sign that a real grave is about to be dug. It may
+not happen once in fifty years&mdash;no, not in a hundred; but when it does
+come, it's a warning not to be neglected."</p>
+
+<p>"It's odd how the dogs can know!" remarked Ann Canham, meekly.</p>
+
+<p>"Those dumb animals possess an instinct we can't understand," said Nora.
+"We have had that dog ever so many years, and he never did such a thing
+before. Rely upon it, it's Jim Sanders's warning. How you stare,
+George!"</p>
+
+<p>"I may well stare, to hear you," was George's answer. "How can you put
+faith in such rubbish, Nora?"</p>
+
+<p>"Just hark at him!" exclaimed Nora. "Boys are half heathens. I wouldn't
+laugh in that irreverent way, if I were you, George, because Jim
+Sanders's time has come."</p>
+
+<p>"I am not laughing at that," said George; "I am laughing at you. Nora,
+your argument won't hold water. If the dog had meant to give notice that
+he was digging a hole for Jim Sanders, he would have dug it before his
+own door, not before ours."</p>
+
+<p>"Go on!" cried Nora, sarcastically. "There's no profit arguing with
+unbelieving boys. They'd stand it to your face the sun never shone."</p>
+
+<p>Ann Canham rose, and put her chair back in its place with much humility.
+Indeed, humility was her chief characteristic. "I'll come round in the
+morning, and know about the wash, if you please, ma'am," she said to
+Nora. "Father will be wanting his supper, and will wonder where I'm
+staying."</p>
+
+<p>She departed. Nora gave George a lecture upon unbelief and irreverence
+in general, but George was too busy with his books to take much notice
+of it.</p>
+
+<p>The evening went on. Mrs. Ryle and Trevlyn returned, the latter a
+diminutive boy, with dark curls and a handsome face.</p>
+
+<p>"Jim Sanders is much better," remarked Mrs. Ryle. "He is all right again
+now, and will be at work in a day or two. It must have been a sort of
+fainting-fit he had this afternoon, and his wife got frightened. I told
+him to rest to-morrow, and come up the next day if he felt strong
+enough."</p>
+
+<p>George turned to Nora, his eyes dancing. "What of the hole now?" he
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Wait and see," snapped Nora. "And if you are impertinent, I'll never
+save you pie or pudding again."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Ryle went into the sitting-room, but came back speedily when she
+found it dark and untenanted. "Where's the master?" she exclaimed.
+"Surely he has returned from Barmester!"</p>
+
+<p>"Papa came home ages ago," said George. "He has gone up to the Hold."</p>
+
+<p>"The Hold?" repeated Mrs. Ryle in surprise, for there was something like
+deadly feud between Trevlyn Hold and Trevlyn Farm.</p>
+
+<p>George explained; telling of Mr. Chattaway's message, and the subsequent
+proceedings. Nora added that "as sure as fate, he was having it out with
+Chattaway." Nothing else would keep him at Trevlyn Hold.</p>
+
+<p>But Mrs. Ryle knew that her easy-natured husband was not one to "have it
+out" with any one, even his enemy Chattaway. He might say a few words,
+but it was all he would say, and the interview would end almost as soon
+as begun. She took off her things, and Molly carried the supper-tray
+into the parlour.</p>
+
+<p>But still there was no Mr. Ryle. Ten o'clock struck, and Mrs. Ryle grew,
+not exactly uneasy, but curious as to what could have become of him.
+What <i>could</i> be detaining him at the Hold?</p>
+
+<p>"It wouldn't surprise me to hear that he has been taken too bad to come
+back," said Nora. "He unwound his scarlet cravat from his throat, and
+went away swinging it in his hand. John Pinder's waiting all this time
+in the kitchen."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you finished your lessons, George?" asked Mrs. Ryle, perceiving
+that he was putting his books away.</p>
+
+<p>"Every one," answered George.</p>
+
+<p>"Then you shall go up to the Hold, and walk home with your father. I
+cannot think what is delaying his return."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps he has gone somewhere else," said George.</p>
+
+<p>"He would neither go anywhere else nor remain at Chattaway's," said Mrs.
+Ryle. "This is Tuesday evening."</p>
+
+<p>A conclusive argument. Tuesday evening was invariably devoted by Mr.
+Ryle to his farm accounts, and he never suffered anything to interfere
+with that evening's work. George put on his cap and started on his
+errand.</p>
+
+<p>It was a starlight night, cold and clear, and George went along
+whistling. A quarter of an hour's walk up the turnpike road brought him
+to Trevlyn Hold. The road rose gently the whole way, for the land was
+higher at Trevlyn Hold than at Trevlyn Farm. A white gate, by the side
+of a lodge, opened to the shrubbery or avenue&mdash;a dark walk wide enough
+for two carriages to pass, with the elm trees nearly meeting overhead.
+The shrubbery wound up to a lawn stretched before the windows of the
+house: a large, old-fashioned stone-built house, with gabled roofs, and
+a flight of steps leading to the entrance-hall. George ascended the
+steps and rang the bell.</p>
+
+<p>"Is my father ready to come home?" he asked, not very ceremoniously, of
+the servant who answered it.</p>
+
+<p>The man paused, as though he scarcely understood. "Mr. Ryle is not here,
+sir," was the answer.</p>
+
+<p>"How long has he been gone?"</p>
+
+<p>"He has not been here at all, sir, that I know of. I don't think he
+has."</p>
+
+<p>"Just ask, will you?" said George. "He came here to see Mr. Chattaway.
+It was about five o'clock."</p>
+
+<p>The man went away and returned. "Mr. Ryle has not been here at all, sir.
+I thought he had not."</p>
+
+<p>George wondered. Could he be out somewhere with Chattaway? "Is Mr.
+Chattaway at home?" he inquired.</p>
+
+<p>"Master is in bed," said the servant. "He came home to-day about five,
+or thereabouts, not feeling well, and he went to bed as soon as tea was
+over."</p>
+
+<p>George turned away. Where could his father have gone to? Where to look
+for him? As he passed the lodge, Ann Canham was locking the gate, of
+which she and her father were the keepers. It was a whim of Mr.
+Chattaway's that the larger gate should be locked at night; but not
+until after ten. Foot-passengers could enter by the side-gate.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you seen my father anywhere, since you left our house this
+evening?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"No, I have not, Master George."</p>
+
+<p>"I can't imagine where he can be. I thought he was at Chattaway's, but
+they say he has not been there."</p>
+
+<p>"At Chattaway's! He wouldn't go there, would he, Master George?"</p>
+
+<p>"He started to do so this afternoon. It's very odd! Good night, Ann."</p>
+
+<p>"Master George," she interrupted, "do you happen to have heard how it's
+going with Jim Sanders?"</p>
+
+<p>"He is much better," said George.</p>
+
+<p>"Better!" slowly repeated Ann Canham. "Well, I hope he is," she added,
+in doubting tones. "But, Master George, I didn't like what Nora told us.
+I can't bear tokens from dumb animals, and I never knew them fail."</p>
+
+<p>"Jim Sanders is all right, I tell you," said heathen George. "Mamma has
+been there, and he is coming to his work the day after to-morrow. Good
+night."</p>
+
+<p>"Good night, sir," answered Ann Canham, as she retreated within the
+lodge. And George went through the gate, and stood in hesitation,
+looking up and down the road. But it was apparently of no use to search
+elsewhere in the uncertainty; and he turned towards home, wondering
+much.</p>
+
+<p>What had become of Mr. Ryle?</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2>
+
+<h3>IN THE UPPER MEADOW</h3>
+
+
+<p>The stars shone bright and clear as George Ryle walked down the slight
+descent of the turnpike-road, wondering what had become of his father.
+Any other night but this, he might not have wondered about it; but
+George could not remember the time when Tuesday evening had been devoted
+to anything but the farm accounts. John Pinder, who acted as a sort of
+bailiff, had been in the kitchen some hours with his weekly memoranda,
+to go through them as usual with his master; and George knew his father
+would not willingly keep the man waiting.</p>
+
+<p>George went along whistling a tune; he was given to whistling. About
+half-way between Trevlyn Hold and his own house, the sound of another
+whistle struck upon his ear. A turn in the road brought a lad into view,
+wearing a smock-frock. It was the waggoner's boy at Trevlyn Hold. He
+ceased when he came up to George, and touched his hat in rustic fashion.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you seen anything of my father, Bill?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not since this afternoon, Master George," was the answer. "I see him,
+then, turning into that field of ours, next to where the bull be. Going
+up to the Hold, mayhap; else what should he do there?"</p>
+
+<p>"What time was that?" asked George.</p>
+
+<p>The boy considered a moment. "'Twas afore the sun set," he said at
+length, "I am sure o' that. He had some'at red in his hand, and the sun
+shone on it fit to dazzle one's eyes."</p>
+
+<p>The boy went his way; George stood and thought. If his father had turned
+into the field indicated, there could be no doubt that he was hastening
+to Chattaway's. Crossing this field and the one next to it, both large,
+would bring one close to Trevlyn Hold, cutting off, perhaps, two minutes
+of the high-road, which wound round the fields. But the fields were
+scarcely ever favoured, on account of the bull. This bull had been a
+subject of much contention in the neighbourhood, and was popularly
+called "Chattaway's bull." It was a savage animal, and had once got out
+of the field and frightened several people almost to death. The
+neighbours said Mr. Chattaway ought to keep it under lock and key. Mr.
+Chattaway said he should keep it where he pleased: and he generally
+pleased to keep it in the field. This barred it to pedestrians; and Mr.
+Ryle must undoubtedly have been in hot haste to reach Trevlyn Hold to
+choose the route.</p>
+
+<p>A hundred fears darted through George Ryle's mind. He was more
+thoughtful, it may be said more imaginative, than boys of his age
+generally are. George and Cris Chattaway had once had a run from the
+bull, and only saved themselves by desperate speed. Venturing into the
+field one day when the animal was apparently grazing quietly in a remote
+corner, they had not anticipated his running at them. George remembered
+this; he remembered the terror excited when the bull had broken loose.
+Had his father been attacked by the bull?&mdash;perhaps killed by it?</p>
+
+<p>His heart beating, George retraced his steps, and turned into the first
+field. He hastened across it, glancing on all sides as keenly as the
+night allowed him. Not in this field would the danger be; and George
+reached the gate of the other, and stood looking into it.</p>
+
+<p>Apparently it was quite empty. The bull was probably safe in its shed
+then, in Chattaway's farmyard. George could see nothing&mdash;nothing except
+the grass stretched out in the starlight. He threw his eyes in every
+direction, but could not perceive his father, or any trace of him. "What
+a simpleton I am," thought George, "to fear that such an out-of-the-way
+thing could have happened! He must&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>What was that? George held his breath. A sound, not unlike a groan, had
+smote upon his ear. And there it came again! "Holloa!" shouted George,
+and cleared the gate with a bound. "What's that? Who is it?"</p>
+
+<p>A moan answered him; and George Ryle, guided by the sound, hastened to
+the spot. It was only a little way off, down by the hedge separating the
+fields. All the undefined fear George, not a minute ago, had felt
+inclined to treat as groundless, was indeed but a prevision of the
+terrible reality. Mr. Ryle lay in a narrow, dry ditch: and, but for that
+friendly ditch, he had probably been gored to death on the spot.</p>
+
+<p>"Who is it?" he asked feebly, as his son bent over him, trying to
+distinguish what he could in the darkness. "George?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, papa! what has happened?"</p>
+
+<p>"Just my death, lad."</p>
+
+<p>It was a sad tale. One that is often talked of in the place, in
+connection with Chattaway's bull. In crossing the second field&mdash;indeed,
+as soon as he entered it&mdash;Mr. Ryle was attacked by the furious beast,
+and tossed into the ditch, where he lay helpless. The people said then,
+and say still, that the red cravat he carried excited the anger of the
+bull.</p>
+
+<p>George raised his voice in a shout for help, hoping it might reach the
+ears of the boy whom he had recently encountered. "Perhaps I can get you
+out, papa," he said, "though I may not be able myself to get you home."</p>
+
+<p>"No, George; it will take stronger help than yours to get me out of
+this."</p>
+
+<p>"I had better go up to the Hold, then. It is nearer than our house."</p>
+
+<p>"You will not go to the Hold," said Mr. Ryle, authoritatively. "I will
+not be beholden to Chattaway. He has been the ruin of my peace, and now
+his bull has done for me."</p>
+
+<p>George bent down closer. There was no room for him to get into the
+ditch, which was very narrow. "Papa, are you shivering with cold?"</p>
+
+<p>"With cold and pain. The frost strikes keenly upon me, and my pain is
+great."</p>
+
+<p>George instantly took off his jacket and waistcoat, and laid them gently
+on his father, his tears dropping silently in the dark night. "I'll run
+home for help," he said, speaking as bravely as he could. "John Pinder
+is there, and we can call up one or two of the men."</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, do," said Mr. Ryle. "They must bring a shutter, and carry me home
+on it. Take care you don't frighten your mother, George. Tell her at
+first that I am a little hurt, and can't walk; break it to her so that
+she may not be alarmed."</p>
+
+<p>George flew away. At the end of the second field, staring over the gate
+near the high-road, stood the boy Bill, whose ears George's shouts had
+reached. He was not a sharp-witted lad, and his eyes and mouth opened
+with astonishment to see George Ryle come flying along in his
+shirt-sleeves.</p>
+
+<p>"What's a-gate?" asked he. "Be that bull loose again?"</p>
+
+<p>"Run for your life to the second field," panted George, seizing him in
+his desperation. "In the ditch, a few yards along the hedge to the
+right, my father is lying. Go and stay by him, until I come back with
+help."</p>
+
+<p>"Lying in the ditch!" repeated Bill, unable to collect his startled
+senses. "What's done it, Master George?"</p>
+
+<p>"Chattaway's bull has done it. Hasten down to him, Bill. You might hear
+his groans all this way off, if you listened."</p>
+
+<p>"Is the bull there?" asked Bill.</p>
+
+<p>"I have seen no bull. The bull must have been in its shed hours ago.
+Stand by him, Bill, and I'll give you sixpence to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>They separated. George tore down the road, wondering how he should
+fulfil his father's injunction not to frighten Mrs. Ryle in telling the
+news. Molly, very probably looking after her sweetheart, was standing at
+the fold-yard gate as he passed. George sent her into the house the
+front way, and bade her whisper to Nora to come out; to tell her
+"somebody" wanted to speak to her. Molly obeyed; but executed her
+commission so bunglingly, that not only Nora, but Mrs. Ryle and Trevlyn
+came flocking to the porch. George could only go in then.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be frightened, mamma," he said, in answer to their questions. "My
+father has had a fall, and&mdash;and says he cannot walk home. Perhaps he has
+sprained his ankle."</p>
+
+<p>"What has become of your jacket and waistcoat?" cried Nora, amazed to
+see George standing in his shirt-sleeves.</p>
+
+<p>"They are safe enough. Is John Pinder still in the kitchen?" continued
+George, escaping from the room.</p>
+
+<p>Trevlyn ran after him. "George, have you been fighting?" he asked. "Is
+your jacket torn to ribbons?"</p>
+
+<p>George drew the boy into a dark angle of the passage. "Treve," he
+whispered, "if I tell you something about papa, you won't cry out?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, I won't cry out," answered Treve.</p>
+
+<p>"We must get a stretcher of some sort up to him, to bring him home. I am
+going to consult John Pinder."</p>
+
+<p>"Where is papa?" interrupted Treve.</p>
+
+<p>"Lying in a ditch in the large meadow. Chattaway's bull has attacked
+him. I am not sure but he will die."</p>
+
+<p>The first thing Treve did <i>was</i> to cry out. George put his hand over his
+mouth. But Mrs. Ryle and Nora, who were full of curiosity, both as to
+George's jacketless state and George's news, had followed into the
+passage. Treve began to cry.</p>
+
+<p>"He has dreadful news about papa, he says," sobbed Treve. "Thinks he's
+dead."</p>
+
+<p>It was all over. George must tell now, and he could not help himself.
+"No, no, Treve, you should not exaggerate," he said, turning to Mrs.
+Ryle in his pain and earnestness. "There is an accident, mamma; but it
+is not so bad as that."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Ryle retained perfect composure; very few people had seen <i>her</i>
+ruffled. It was not in her nature to be so, and her husband had little
+need to caution George as he had done. She laid her hand upon George's
+shoulder and looked calmly into his face. "Tell me the truth," she said
+in tones of quiet command. "What is the injury?"</p>
+
+<p>"I do not know yet&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"The truth, boy, I said," she sternly interposed.</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed I do not yet know what it is. He has been attacked by
+Chattaway's bull."</p>
+
+<p>It was Nora's turn now. "By Chattaway's bull?" she shrieked.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said George. "It must have happened immediately after he left
+here at tea-time, and he has been lying ever since in the ditch in the
+upper meadow. I put my jacket and waistcoat over him; he was shivering
+with cold and pain."</p>
+
+<p>While George was talking, Mrs. Ryle was acting. She sought John Pinder
+and issued her orders clearly and concisely. Men were got together; a
+mattress with holders was made ready; and the procession started under
+the convoy of George, who had been made to put on another jacket. Bill,
+the waggoner's boy, had been faithful, and was found by the side of Mr.
+Ryle.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm glad you be come," was the boy's salutation. "He's been groaning
+and shivering awful. It set me shivering too."</p>
+
+<p>As if to escape from the evil, Bill ran off, there and then, across the
+field, and never drew in until he reached Trevlyn Hold. In spite of his
+somewhat stolid propensities, he felt a sort of pride in being the first
+to impart the story there. Entering the house by the back, or farmyard
+door&mdash;for farming was carried on at Trevlyn Hold as well as at Trevlyn
+Farm&mdash;he passed through sundry passages to the well-lighted hall. There
+he seemed to hesitate at his temerity, but at length gave an awkward
+knock at the door of the general sitting-room.</p>
+
+<p>A large, handsome room. Reclining in an easy-chair was a pretty and
+pleasing woman, looking considerably younger than she really was. Small
+features, a profusion of curling auburn hair, light blue eyes, a soft,
+yielding expression, and a gentle voice, were the adjuncts of a young
+woman, rather than of one approaching middle-age. A stranger, entering,
+might have taken her for a young unmarried woman; and yet she was
+mistress of Trevlyn Hold, the mother of that great girl of sixteen at
+the table, now playing backgammon and quarrelling with her brother
+Christopher. Mistress in name only. Although the wife of its master, Mr.
+Chattaway, and daughter of its late master, Squire Trevlyn; although
+universally called <i>Madam</i> Chattaway&mdash;as from time immemorial it had
+been customary to designate the mistress of Trevlyn Hold&mdash;she was in
+fact no better than a nonentity in it, possessing little authority, and
+assuming less. She has been telling her children several times that
+their hour for bed has passed; she has begged them not to quarrel; she
+has suggested that if they will not go to bed, Maude should do so; but
+she may as well talk to the winds.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Chattaway possesses a will of her own. She has the same
+insignificant features, pale leaden complexion, small, sly, keen light
+eyes that characterise her father. She would like to hold undisputed
+sway as the house's mistress; but the inclination has to be concealed;
+for the real mistress of Trevlyn Hold may not be displaced. She is
+sitting in the background, at a table apart, bending over her desk. A
+tall, majestic lady, in a stiff green silk dress and an imposing cap, in
+person very like Mrs. Ryle. It is Miss Trevlyn, usually called Miss
+Diana, the youngest daughter of the late Squire. You would take her to
+be at least ten years older than her sister, Mrs. Chattaway, but in
+point of fact she is that lady's junior by a year. Miss Trevlyn is, to
+all intents and purposes, mistress of Trevlyn Hold, and she rules its
+internal economy with a firm sway.</p>
+
+<p>"Maude, you should go to bed," Mrs. Chattaway had said for the fourth or
+fifth time.</p>
+
+<p>A graceful girl of thirteen turned her dark, violet-blue eyes and pretty
+light curls upon Mrs. Chattaway. She had been leaning on the table
+watching the backgammon. Something of the soft, sweet expression visible
+in Mrs. Chattaway's face might be traced in this child's; but in Maude
+it was blended with greater intellect.</p>
+
+<p>"It is not my fault, Aunt Edith," she gently said. "I should like to go.
+I am tired."</p>
+
+<p>"Be quiet, Maude!" broke from Miss Chattaway. "Mamma, I wish you
+wouldn't worry about bed! I don't choose Maude to go up until I go. She
+helps me to undress."</p>
+
+<p>Poor Maude looked sleepy. "I can be going on, Octave," she said to Miss
+Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"You can hold your tongue and wait, and not be ungrateful," was the
+response of Octavia Chattaway. "But for papa's kindness, you would not
+have a bed to go to. Cris, you are cheating! that was not sixes!"</p>
+
+<p>It was at this juncture that the awkward knock came to the door. "Come
+in!" cried Mrs. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>Either her gentle voice was not heard, for Cris and his sister were
+disputing just then, or the boy's modesty would not allow him to
+respond. He knocked again.</p>
+
+<p>"See who it is, Cris," came forth the ringing voice of Miss Trevlyn.</p>
+
+<p>Cris did not choose to obey. "Open the door, Maude," said he.</p>
+
+<p>Maude did as she was bid: she had little chance allowed her in that
+house of doing otherwise. Opening the door, she saw the boy standing
+there. "What is it, Bill?" she asked in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"Please, is the Squire there, Miss Maude?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," answered Maude. "He is not well, and has gone to bed."</p>
+
+<p>This appeared to be a poser for Bill, and he stood considering. "Is
+Madam in there?" he presently asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Who is it, Maude?" came again in Miss Trevlyn's commanding tones.</p>
+
+<p>Maude turned her head. "It is Bill Webb, Aunt Diana."</p>
+
+<p>"What does he want?"</p>
+
+<p>Bill stepped in. "Please, Miss Diana, I came to tell the Squire the
+news. I thought he might be angry with me if I did not, seeing as I
+knowed of it."</p>
+
+<p>"The news?" repeated Miss Diana, looking imperiously at Bill.</p>
+
+<p>"The mischief the bull have done. He's gone and gored Farmer Ryle."</p>
+
+<p>The words arrested the attention of all. They came forward, as with one
+impulse. Cris and his sister, in their haste, upset the
+backgammon-board.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>What</i> do you say, Bill?" gasped Mrs. Chattaway, with white face and
+faltering voice.</p>
+
+<p>"It's true, ma'am," said Bill. "The bull set on him this afternoon, and
+tossed him into the ditch. Master George found him there a short while
+agone, groaning awful."</p>
+
+<p>There was a startled pause. "I&mdash;I&mdash;hope he is not much injured?" said
+Mrs. Chattaway at last, in her consternation.</p>
+
+<p>"He says it's his death, ma'am. John Pinder and others have brought a
+bed, and be carrying of him home on it."</p>
+
+<p>"What brought Mr. Ryle in that field?" asked Miss Diana.</p>
+
+<p>"He telled me, ma'am, he was a-coming up here to see the Squire, and
+took that way to save time."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway fell back a little. "Cris," said she to her son, "go down
+to the farm and see what the injury is. I cannot sleep in the
+uncertainty. It may be fatal."</p>
+
+<p>Cris tossed his head. "You know, mother, I'd do almost anything to
+oblige you," he said, in his smooth accents, which had ever a false
+sound in them, "but I can't go to the farm. Mrs. Ryle might insult me:
+there's no love lost between us."</p>
+
+<p>"If the accident happened this afternoon, why was it not discovered when
+the bull was brought to his shed to-night?" cried Miss Trevlyn.</p>
+
+<p>Bill shook his head. "I dun know, ma'am. For one thing, Mr. Ryle was in
+the ditch, and couldn't be seen. And the bull, maybe, had gone to the
+top o' the field again, where the groaning wouldn't be heard."</p>
+
+<p>"If I had only been listened to!" exclaimed Mrs. Chattaway, in wailing
+accents. "How many a time have I asked that the bull should be parted
+with, before he did some fatal injury. And now it has come!"</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2>
+
+<h3>LIFE OR DEATH?</h3>
+
+
+<p>Mr. Ryle was carried home on the mattress, and laid on the large table
+in the sitting-room, by the surgeon's directions. Mrs. Ryle,
+clear-headed and of calm judgment, had sent for medical advice even
+before sending for her husband. The only doctor available for immediate
+purposes was Mr. King, who lived about half-way between the farm and the
+village. He attended at once, and was at the house before his patient.
+Mrs. Ryle had sent also to Barmester for another surgeon, but he could
+not arrive just yet. It was by Mr. King's direction that the mattress
+was placed on the large table in the parlour.</p>
+
+<p>"Better there; better there," acquiesced the sufferer, when he heard the
+order given. "I don't know how they'd get me up the stairs."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. King, a man getting in years, was left alone with his patient. The
+examination over, he came forth from the room and sought Mrs. Ryle, who
+was waiting for the report.</p>
+
+<p>"The internal injuries are extensive, I fear," he said. "They lie
+chiefly here"&mdash;touching his chest and right side.</p>
+
+<p>"Will he <i>live</i>, Mr. King?" she interrupted. "Do not temporise, but let
+me know the truth. Will he live?"</p>
+
+<p>"You have asked me a question I cannot yet answer," returned the
+surgeon. "My examination has been hasty and superficial: I was alone,
+and knew you were anxiously waiting. With the help of Mr. Benage, we may
+be able to arrive at some decisive opinion. I fear the injuries are
+serious."</p>
+
+<p>Yes, they were serious; and nothing could be done, as it seemed, to
+remedy them or alleviate the pain. Mr. Ryle lay helpless on the bed,
+giving vent to his regret and anguish in somewhat homely phraseology. It
+was the phraseology of this simple farmhouse; that to which he had been
+accustomed; and he was not likely to change it now. Gentlemen by birth
+and pedigree, he and his father had been content to live as plain
+farmers only, in language as well as work.</p>
+
+<p>He lay groaning, lamenting his imprudence, now that it was too late, in
+venturing within the reach of that dangerous animal. The rest waited
+anxiously and restlessly the appearance of the surgeon. For Mr. Benage
+of Barmester had a world-wide reputation, and such men seem to bring
+consolation with them. If any one could apply healing remedies and save
+his life, it was Mr. Benage.</p>
+
+<p>George Ryle had taken up his station at the garden gate. His hands
+clasped, his head lying lightly upon them, he was listening for the
+sound of the gig which had been despatched to Barmester. Nora at length
+came out to him.</p>
+
+<p>"You'll catch cold, George, out here in the keen night air."</p>
+
+<p>"The air won't hurt me to-night. Listen, Nora! I thought I heard
+something. They might be back again by this."</p>
+
+<p>He was right. The gig was bowling swiftly along, containing the
+well-known surgeon and messenger despatched for him. The surgeon, a
+little man, quick and active, was out of the gig before it had well
+stopped, passed George and Nora with a nod, and entered the house.</p>
+
+<p>A short time, and the worst was known. There would be but a few more
+hours of life for Mr. Ryle.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. King would remain, doing what he could to comfort, to soothe pain.
+Mr. Benage must return to Barmester, for he was wanted there.
+Refreshment was offered him, but he declined it. Nora waylaid him in the
+garden as he was going down.</p>
+
+<p>"Will the master see to-morrow's sun, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's rising now; he may do so. He will not see its setting."</p>
+
+<p>Can you picture to yourselves what that night was for the house and its
+inmates? In the parlour, gathered round the table on which lay the dying
+man supported by pillows and covered with blankets, were Mrs. Ryle,
+George and Trevlyn, the surgeon, and sometimes Nora. In the outer room
+was collected a larger group: John Pinder, the men who had borne him
+home, and Molly; with a few others whom the news of the accident had
+brought together.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Ryle stood near her husband. George and Trevlyn seemed scarcely to
+know what to do with themselves; and Mr. King sat in a chair in the
+recess of the bay window. Mr. Ryle looked grievously wan, and the
+surgeon administered medicine from time to time.</p>
+
+<p>"Come here, my boys," he suddenly said. "Come close to me."</p>
+
+<p>They approached as he spoke, and leaned over him. He took a hand of
+each. George swallowed down his tears in the best way that he could.
+Trevlyn looked frightened.</p>
+
+<p>"Children, I am going. It has pleased God to cut me off in the midst of
+my career, just when I had least thought of death. I don't know how it
+will be with you, my dear ones, or how it will be with the old home.
+Chattaway can sell up everything if he chooses; and I fear there's
+little hope but he will do it. If he would let your mother stay on, she
+might keep things together, and get clear of him in time. George will be
+growing into more of a man every day, and may soon learn to be useful in
+the farm, if his mother thinks well to trust him. Maude, you'll do your
+best for them? For him, as for the younger ones?"</p>
+
+<p>"I will," said Mrs. Ryle.</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, I know you will. I leave them all to you, and you will act for the
+best. I think it's well George should be upon the farm, as I am taken
+from it; but you and he will see to that. Treve, you must do the best
+you can in whatever station you may be called to. I don't know what it
+will be. My boys, there's nothing before you but work. Do you understand
+that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Fully," was George's answer. Treve seemed too bewildered to give one.</p>
+
+<p>"To work with all your might; your shoulders to the wheel. Do your best
+in all ways. Be honest and single-hearted in the sight of God; work for
+Him whilst you are working for yourselves, and then He will prosper you.
+I wish I had worked for Him more than I have done!"</p>
+
+<p>A pause, broken only by George, who could no longer control his sobs.</p>
+
+<p>"My days seem to have been made up of nothing but struggling, and
+quarrelling, and care. Struggling to keep my head above water, and
+quarrelling with Chattaway. The end seemed far-off, ages away, something
+as heaven seems. And now the end's come, and heaven's come&mdash;that is, I
+must set out upon the journey that leads to it. I fear the end comes to
+many as suddenly; cutting them off in their carelessness and their sins.
+Do not spend your days in quarrelling, my boys; be working on a bit for
+the end whilst time is given you. I don't know how it will be in the
+world I am about to enter. Some fancy that when once we have entered it,
+we shall see what is going on here, in our families and homes. For that
+thought, if for no other, I would ask you to try and keep right. If you
+were to go wrong, think how it would grieve me! I should always be
+thinking that I might have trained you better, and had not done so.
+Children! it is only when we come to lie here that we see all our
+shortcomings. You would not like to grieve me, George?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no! no!" said George, his sobs deepening. "Indeed I will try to do
+my best. I shall be always thinking that perhaps you are watching me."</p>
+
+<p>"One greater than I is always watching you, George. And that is God. Act
+well in His sight; not in mine. Doctor, I must have some more of that
+stuff. I feel a strange sinking."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. King rose, poured some drops into a wine-glass of water, and
+administered them. The patient lay a few moments, and then took his
+sons' hands, as before.</p>
+
+<p>"And now, children, for my last charge to you. Reverence and love your
+mother. Obey her in all things. George, she is not your own mother, but
+you have never known another, and she has been as one to you. Listen to
+her always, and she will lead you aright. If I had listened to her, I
+shouldn't be lying where I am now. A week or two ago I wanted the
+character of that outdoor man from Chattaway. 'Don't go through that
+field,' she said before I started. 'Better keep where the bull can't
+touch you.' Do you remember, Maude?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Ryle simply bowed her head in reply. She was feeling the scene
+deeply, but emotion she would not show.</p>
+
+<p>"I heeded what your mother said, and went up to Chattaway's, avoiding
+the fields," resumed Mr. Ryle. "This last afternoon, when I was going up
+again and had got to the field gate, I turned into it, for it cut off a
+few steps, and my temper was up. I thought of what your mother would
+say, as I swung in, but it didn't stop me. It must have been that red
+neckerchief that put him up, for I was no sooner over the gate than he
+bellowed savagely and butted at me. It was all over in a minute; I was
+in the ditch, and he went on, bellowing and tossing and tearing at the
+cloth. If you go there to-morrow, you'll see it in shreds about the
+field. Children, obey your mother; there'll be still greater necessity
+for it when I am gone."</p>
+
+<p>The boys had been obedient hitherto. At least, George had been: Trevlyn
+was too indulged to be perfectly so. George promised that he would be so
+still.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish I could have seen the little wench," resumed the dying man, the
+tears gathering on his eyelashes. "But it may be for the best that she's
+away, for I should hardly have borne parting with her. Maude! George!
+Treve! I leave her to you all. Do the best you can by her. I don't know
+that she'll be spared to grow up, for she's a delicate little mite: but
+that is as God pleases. I wish I could have stayed with you all a bit
+longer&mdash;if it's not sinful to wish contrary to God's will. Is Mr. King
+there?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. King had resumed his seat in the bay window, and was partially
+hidden by the curtain. He came forward. "Is there anything I can do for
+you, Mr. Ryle?"</p>
+
+<p>"You would oblige me by writing out a few directions. I should like to
+write them myself, but it is impossible; you'll enter the sentences just
+as I speak them. I have not made my will. I put it off, and put it off,
+thinking I could do it at any time; but now the end's come, and it is
+not done. Death surprises a great many, I fear, as he has surprised me.
+It seems that if I could only have one day more of health, I would do
+many things I have left undone. You shall write down my wishes, doctor.
+It will do as well; for there's only themselves, and they won't dispute
+one with the other. Let a little table be brought, and pen, ink, and
+paper."</p>
+
+<p>He lay quiet whilst these directions were obeyed, and then began again.</p>
+
+<p>"I am in very little pain, considering that I am going; not half as much
+as when I lay in that ditch. Thank God for it! It might have been that I
+could not have left a written line, or said a word of farewell to you.
+There's sure to be a bit of blue sky in the darkest trouble; and the
+more implicitly we trust, the more blue sky we shall find. I have not
+been what I ought to be, especially in the matter of disputing with
+Chattaway&mdash;not but that Chattaway's hardness has been in fault. But God
+is taking me from a world of care, and I trust He will forgive all my
+shortcomings for our Saviour's sake. Is everything ready?"</p>
+
+<p>"All is ready," said Mr. King.</p>
+
+<p>"Then leave me alone with the doctor a short time, dear ones," he
+resumed. "We shall not keep you out long."</p>
+
+<p>Nora, who had brought in the things required, held the door open for
+them to pass through. The pinched look that the face, lying there, was
+assuming, struck upon her ominously.</p>
+
+<p>"After all, the boy was right," she murmured. "The scratched hole was
+not meant for Jim Sanders."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2>
+
+<h3>MAUDE TREVLYN</h3>
+
+
+<p>The sun rose gloriously, dispersing the early October frost, and
+brightening the world. But the sunbeams fall upon dark scenes sometimes;
+perhaps more often than upon happy ones.</p>
+
+<p>George Ryle was leaning on the fold-yard gate. He had strolled out
+without his hat, and his head was bent in grief. Not that he was
+shedding tears now. He had shed plenty during the night; but tears
+cannot flow for ever, even from an aching heart.</p>
+
+<p>Hasty steps were heard approaching down the road, and George raised his
+head. They were Mr. Chattaway's. He stopped suddenly at sight of George.</p>
+
+<p>"What is this about your father? What has happened? Is he dead?"</p>
+
+<p>"He is dying," replied George. "The doctors are with him. Mr. King has
+been here all night, and Mr. Benage has just come again from Barmester.
+They have sent us out of the room; me and Treve. They let my mother
+remain with him."</p>
+
+<p>"But how on earth did it happen?" asked Chattaway. "I cannot make it
+out. The first thing I heard when I woke this morning was that Mr. Ryle
+had been gored to death by the bull. What brought him near the bull?"</p>
+
+<p>"He was passing through the field up to your house, and the bull
+attacked him&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"But when? when?" hastily interrupted Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"Yesterday afternoon. My father came in directly after you rode away,
+and I gave him your message. He said he would go up to the Hold at once,
+and speak to you; and took the field way instead of the road."</p>
+
+<p>"Now, how could he take it? He knew it was hardly safe for strangers.
+Not but that the bull ought to have known him."</p>
+
+<p>"He had a red cravat in his hand, and he thinks that excited the bull.
+It tossed him into the ditch, and he lay there, undiscovered, until past
+ten at night."</p>
+
+<p>"And he is badly hurt?"</p>
+
+<p>"He is dying," replied George, "dying now. I think that is why they sent
+us from the room."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway paused in dismay. Though a hard, selfish man, who had
+taken delight in quarrelling with Mr. Ryle and putting upon him, he did
+possess some feelings of humanity as well as his neighbours; and the
+terrible nature of the case naturally called them forth. George strove
+manfully to keep down his tears; relating the circumstances was almost
+too much for him, but he did not care to give way before the world,
+especially before that unit in it represented by Mr. Chattaway. Mr.
+Chattaway rested his elbow on the gate, and looked down at George.</p>
+
+<p>"This is very shocking, lad. I am sorry to hear it. What will the farm
+do without him? How shall you all get on?"</p>
+
+<p>"Thinking of that has been troubling him all night," said George. "He
+said we might get a living at the farm, if you would let us do it. If
+you would not be hard," he added, determined to speak out.</p>
+
+<p>"Hard, he called me, did he?" said Mr. Chattaway. "It's not my hardness
+that has been in fault, but his pride. He has been as saucy and
+independent as if he did not owe me a shilling; always making himself
+out my equal."</p>
+
+<p>"He is your equal," said George, speaking gently in his sadness.</p>
+
+<p>"My equal! Working Tom Ryle the equal of the Chattaways! A man who rents
+two or three hundred acres and does half the work himself, the equal of
+the landlord who owns them and ever so many more to them!&mdash;equal to the
+Squire of Trevlyn Hold! Where did you pick up those notions, boy?"</p>
+
+<p>George had a great mind to say that in strict justice Mr. Chattaway had
+no more right to be Squire of Trevlyn Hold, or to own those acres, than
+his father had; not quite so much right, if it came to that. He had a
+great mind to say that the Ryles were gentlemen, and once owners of what
+his father now rented. But George remembered they were in Chattaway's
+power; he could sell them up, and turn them from the farm, if he
+pleased; and he held his tongue.</p>
+
+<p>"Not that I blame you for the notions," Mr. Chattaway resumed, in the
+same thin, unpleasant tones&mdash;never was there a voice more thin and wiry
+than his. "It's natural you should have got them from Ryle, for they
+were his. He was always&mdash;&mdash;But there! I won't say any more, with him
+lying there, poor fellow. We'll let it drop, George."</p>
+
+<p>"I do not know how things are between you and my father," said George,
+"except that there's money owing to you. But if you will not press us,
+if you will let my mother remain on the farm, I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"That's enough," interrupted Mr. Chattaway. "Never trouble your head
+about business that's above you. Anything between me and your father, or
+your mother either, is no concern of yours; you are not old enough to
+interfere yet. I should like to see him. Do you think I may go in?"</p>
+
+<p>"We can ask," answered George; some vague and indistinct idea floating
+to his mind that a death-bed reconciliation might help to smooth future
+difficulties.</p>
+
+<p>He led the way through the fold-yard. Nora was coming out at the
+back-door as they advanced.</p>
+
+<p>"Nora, do you think Mr. Chattaway may go in to see my father?" asked
+George.</p>
+
+<p>"If it will do Mr. Chattaway any good," responded Nora, who ever
+regarded that gentleman in the light of a common enemy, and could with
+difficulty bring herself to be commonly civil to him. "It's all over;
+but Mr. Chattaway can see what's left of him."</p>
+
+<p>"Is he dead?" whispered Mr. Chattaway; whilst George lifted his white
+and startled face.</p>
+
+<p>"He is dead!" broke forth Nora; "and perhaps there may be some that will
+wish now they had been less hard with him in life. The doctors and Mrs.
+Ryle have just come out, and the women have gone in to put him straight
+and comfortable. Mr. Chattaway can go in also, if he would like it."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway, it appeared, did not like it. He turned from the door,
+drawing George with him.</p>
+
+<p>"George, tell your mother I am grieved at her trouble, and wish that
+beast of a bull had been stuck before he had done this. Tell her if
+there's any little thing she could fancy from the Hold, to let Edith
+know, and she'll gladly send it to her. Good-bye, lad. You and Treve
+must keep up, you know."</p>
+
+<p>He passed out by the fold-yard gate, as he had entered, and George
+leaned upon it again, with his aching heart; an orphan now. Treve and
+Caroline had their mother left, but he had no one. It is true he had
+never known a mother, and Mrs. Ryle, his father's second wife, had
+supplied the place of one. She had done her duty by him; but it had not
+been in love; nor very much in gentleness. Of her own children she was
+inordinately fond; she had not been so of George&mdash;which perhaps was in
+accordance with human nature. It had never troubled George much; but the
+fact now struck upon him with a sense of intense loneliness. His father
+had loved him deeply and sincerely: but&mdash;he was gone.</p>
+
+<p>In spite of his heavy sorrow, George was awake to sounds in the
+distance, the everyday labour of life. The cow-boy was calling to his
+cows; one of the men, acting for Jim Sanders, was going out with the
+team. And now there came a butcher, riding up from Barmester, and George
+knew he had come about some beasts, all unconscious that the master was
+no longer here to command, or deal with. Work, especially farm work,
+must go on, although death may have accomplished its mission.</p>
+
+<p>The butcher, riding fast, had nearly reached the gate, and George was
+turning away to retire indoors, when the unhappy thought came upon
+him&mdash;Who is to see this man? His father no longer there, who must
+represent him?&mdash;must answer comers&mdash;must stand in his place? It brought
+the fact of what had happened more practically before George Ryle's mind
+than anything else had done. He stood where he was, instead of turning
+away. That day he must rise superior to grief, and be useful; must rise
+above his years in the future, for his step-mother's sake.</p>
+
+<p>"Good morning, Mr. George," cried the butcher, as he rode up. "Is the
+master about?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," answered George, speaking as steadily as he could. "He will never
+be about again. He is dead."</p>
+
+<p>The butcher thought it a boy's joke. "None of that, young gentleman!"
+said he, with a laugh. "Where shall I find him?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Cope," said George, raising his grave face&mdash;and its expression
+struck a chill to the man's heart&mdash;"I should not joke upon the subject
+of death. My father was attacked by Chattaway's bull yesterday evening,
+and has died of the injuries."</p>
+
+<p>"Lawk-a-mercy!" uttered the startled man. "Attacked by Chattaway's bull!
+and&mdash;and&mdash;died of the injuries! Surely it can't be so!"</p>
+
+<p>George had turned his face away; the strain was getting too much for
+him.</p>
+
+<p>"Has Chattaway killed the bull?" was the man's next question.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose not."</p>
+
+<p>"Then he is no man and no gentleman if he don't do it. If a beast of
+mine injured a neighbour, I'd stay him from injuring another, no matter
+what its value. Dear me! Mr. George, I'd rather have heard any news than
+this."</p>
+
+<p>George's head was quite turned away now. The butcher roused himself to
+think of business. His time was short, for he had to be in the town
+again before his shop opened for the day.</p>
+
+<p>"I came up about the beasts," he said. "The master as good as sold 'em
+to me yesterday; it was only a matter of a few shillings split us. But
+I'll give in sooner than not have 'em. Who is going to carry on the
+dealings in Mr. Ryle's place? Who can I speak to?"</p>
+
+<p>"You can see John Pinder," answered George. "He knows most about
+things."</p>
+
+<p>The man guided his horse through the fold-yard, scattering the cocks and
+hens, and reached the barn. John Pinder came out to him; and George
+escaped indoors.</p>
+
+<p>It was a sad day. The excitement over, the doctors departed, the
+gossipers and neighbours dispersed, the village carpenter having come
+and taken certain measures, the house was left to its monotonous quiet;
+that distressing quiet which tells upon the spirits. Nora's voice was
+subdued, Molly went about on tiptoe. The boys wished it was over; that,
+and many more days to come. Treve fairly broke bounds about twelve, said
+he could not bear it, and went out amongst the men. In the afternoon
+George was summoned upstairs to the chamber of Mrs. Ryle, where she had
+remained since the morning.</p>
+
+<p>"George, you must go to Barmester," she said. "I wish to know how
+Caroline bears the news, poor child! Mr. Benage said he would call and
+break it to her; but I cannot get her grief out of my head. You can go
+over in the gig; but don't stay. Be home by tea-time."</p>
+
+<p>It is more than probable that George felt the commission as a relief,
+and he started as soon as the gig was ready. As he went out of the yard,
+Nora called after him to be careful how he drove. Not that he had never
+driven before; but Mr. Ryle, or some one else, had always been in the
+gig with him. Now he was alone; and it brought his loss again more
+forcibly before him.</p>
+
+<p>He reached Barmester, and saw his sister Caroline, who was staying there
+on a visit. She was not overwhelmed with grief, but, on the contrary,
+appeared to have taken the matter coolly and lightly. The fact was, the
+little girl had no definite ideas on the subject of death. She had never
+been brought into contact with it, and could not at all realise the fact
+told her, that she would never see papa again. Better for the little
+heart perhaps that it was so; sorrow enough comes with later years; and
+Mrs. Ryle judged wisely in deciding to keep the child where she was
+until after the funeral.</p>
+
+<p>When George reached home, he found Nora at tea alone. Master Treve had
+chosen to take his with his mother in her chamber. George sat down with
+Nora. The shutters were closed, and the room was bright with fire and
+candle; but to George all things were dreary.</p>
+
+<p>"Why don't you eat?" asked Nora, presently, perceiving the
+bread-and-butter remained untouched.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not hungry," replied George.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you have tea in Barmester?"</p>
+
+<p>"I did not have anything," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, look you here, George. If you are going to give way to&mdash;&mdash;Mercy on
+us! What's that?"</p>
+
+<p>Some one had entered hastily. A lovely girl in a flowing white evening
+dress and blue ribbons in her hair. A heavy shawl fell from her
+shoulders to the ground, and she stood panting, as one who has run
+quickly, her fair curls falling, her cheeks crimson, her dark blue eyes
+glowing. On the pretty arms were coral bracelets, and a thin gold chain
+was on her neck. It was Maude Trevlyn, whom you saw at Trevlyn Hold last
+night. So out of place did she look in that scene, that Nora for once
+was silent, and could only stare.</p>
+
+<p>"I ran away, Nora," said Maude, coming forward. "Octave has a party, but
+they won't miss me if I stay only a little time. I have wanted to come
+all day, but they would not let me."</p>
+
+<p>"Who would not?" asked Nora.</p>
+
+<p>"Not any of them. Even Aunt Edith. Nora, is it <i>true</i>? Is it true that
+he is dead?" she reiterated, her pretty hands clasped with emotion, her
+great blue eyes cast upwards at Nora, waiting for the answer.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Miss Maude! you might have heard it was true enough up at the Hold.
+And so they have a party! Some folk in Madam Chattaway's place might
+have had the grace to put it off, when their sister's husband was lying
+dead!"</p>
+
+<p>"It is not Aunt Edith's fault. You know it is not, Nora. George, you
+know it also. She has cried very much to-day; and she asked long and
+long ago for the bull to be sent off. But he was not sent. Oh, George, I
+am so sorry! I wish I could have seen him before he died. There was no
+one I liked so well as Mr. Ryle."</p>
+
+<p>"Will you have some tea?" asked Nora.</p>
+
+<p>"No, I must not stay. Should Octave miss me she will tell of me, and
+then I should be punished. What do you think? Rupert displeased Cris in
+some way, and Miss Diana sent him to bed away from all the pleasure. It
+is a shame!"</p>
+
+<p>"It is all a shame together, up at Trevlyn Hold&mdash;all that concerns
+Rupert," said Nora, not, perhaps, very judiciously.</p>
+
+<p>"Nora, where did he die?" asked Maude, in a whisper. "Did they take him
+up to his bedroom when they brought him home?"</p>
+
+<p>"They carried him in there," said Nora, pointing to the sitting room
+door. "He is lying there now."</p>
+
+<p>"I want to see him," she continued.</p>
+
+<p>Nora received the intimation dubiously.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know whether you had better," said she, after a pause.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I must, Nora. What was that about the dog scratching a grave
+before the porch?"</p>
+
+<p>"Who told you anything about that?" asked Nora, sharply.</p>
+
+<p>"Ann Canham came up to the Hold and spoke about it. Was it so, Nora?"</p>
+
+<p>Nora nodded. "A hole, Miss Maude, nearly big enough to lay the master
+in. Not that I thought it a token for <i>him</i>! I thought only of Jim
+Sanders. And some folk laugh at these warnings!" she added. "There sits
+one," pointing to George.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, never mind it now," said George, hastily. Never was a boy less
+given to superstition; but, with his father lying where he was, he
+somehow did not care to hear much about the mysterious hole.</p>
+
+<p>Maude moved towards the door. "Take me in to see him," she pleaded.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you promise not to be frightened?" asked Nora. "Some young people
+can't bear the sight of death."</p>
+
+<p>"What should I fear?" returned Maude. "He cannot hurt me."</p>
+
+<p>Nora rose in acquiescence, and took up the candle. But George laid his
+hand on the girl.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't go, Maude. Nora, you must not let her go in. She might regret it.
+It would not be right."</p>
+
+<p>Now, of all things, Nora disliked being dictated to, especially by those
+she called children. She saw no reason why Maude should not look upon
+the dead if she wished to do so, and gave a sharp word of reprimand to
+George, in an undertone. How could they speak aloud, entering that
+presence?</p>
+
+<p>"Maude, Maude!" he whispered. "I would advise you not to go in."</p>
+
+<p>"Let me go!" she pleaded. "I should like to see him once again. I did
+not see him for a whole week before he died. The last time I ever saw
+him was one day in the copse, and he got down some hazel-nuts for me. I
+never thanked him," she added, tears in her eyes. "In a hurry to get
+home, I never stayed to thank him. I shall always be sorry for it.
+George, I must see him."</p>
+
+<p>Nora was already in the room with the candle. Maude advanced on tiptoe,
+her heart beating with awe. She halted at the foot of the table and
+looked eagerly upwards.</p>
+
+<p>Maude Trevlyn had never seen the dead, and her heart gave a bound of
+terror, and she fell back with a cry. Before Nora knew well what had
+occurred, George had her in the other room, his arms wound about her
+with a sense of protection. Nora came out and closed the door, vexed
+with herself for having allowed her to enter.</p>
+
+<p>"You should have told me you had never seen any one dead before, Miss
+Maude," cried she, testily. "How was I to know? And you ought to have
+come right up to the top before looking."</p>
+
+<p>Maude was clinging tremblingly to George, sobbing hysterically. "Don't
+be angry with me," she whispered. "I did not think he would look like
+that."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Maude, I am not angry; I am only sorry," he said soothingly.
+"There's nothing really to be frightened at. Papa loved you very much;
+almost as much as he loved me."</p>
+
+<p>"Shall I take you back, Maude?" said George, when she was ready to go.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, please," she eagerly answered. "I should not dare to go alone now.
+I should be fancying I saw&mdash;it&mdash;looking out at me from the hedges."</p>
+
+<p>Nora folded her shawl well over her again, and George drew her closer to
+him that she might feel his presence as well as see it. Nora watched
+them down the path, right over the hole the restless dog had favoured
+the house with a night or two ago.</p>
+
+<p>They went up the road. An involuntary shudder shook George's frame as he
+passed the turning which led to the fatal field. He seemed to see his
+father in the unequal conflict. Maude felt the movement.</p>
+
+<p>"It is never going to be out again," she whispered.</p>
+
+<p>"What?" he asked, his thoughts buried deeply just then.</p>
+
+<p>"The bull. I heard Aunt Diana talking to Mr. Chattaway. She said it must
+not be set at liberty again, or we might have the law down upon Trevlyn
+Hold."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; that's all Miss Trevlyn and he care for&mdash;the law," returned
+George, in tones of pain. "What do they care for the death of my
+father?"</p>
+
+<p>"George, he is better off," said she, in a dreamy manner, her face
+turned towards the stars. "I am very sorry; I have cried a great deal
+over it; and I wish it had never happened; I wish he was back with us;
+but still he is better off; Aunt Edith says so. You don't know how she
+has felt it."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," answered George, his heart very full.</p>
+
+<p>"Mamma and papa are better off," continued Maude. "Your own mother is
+better off. The next world is a happier one than this."</p>
+
+<p>George made no rejoinder. Favourite though Maude was with George Ryle,
+those were heavy moments for him. They proceeded in silence until they
+turned in at the great gate by the lodge: a round building, containing
+two rooms upstairs and two down. Its walls were not very substantial,
+and the sound of voices could be heard within. Maude stopped in
+consternation.</p>
+
+<p>"George, that is Rupert talking!"</p>
+
+<p>"Rupert! You told me he was in bed."</p>
+
+<p>"He was sent to bed. He must have got out of the window again. I am sure
+it is his voice. Oh, what will be done if it is found out?"</p>
+
+<p>George Ryle swung himself on to the very narrow ledge under the window,
+contriving to hold on by his hands and toes, and thus obtained a view of
+the room.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, it is Rupert," said he, as he jumped down. "He is sitting talking
+to old Canham."</p>
+
+<p>But the slightness of structure which allowed voices to be heard within
+the lodge also allowed them to be heard without. Ann Canham came
+hastening to the door, opened it a few inches, and stood peeping. Maude
+took the opportunity to slip past her into the room.</p>
+
+<p>But no trace of her brother was there. Mark Canham was sitting in his
+usual invalid seat by the fire, smoking a pipe, his back towards the
+door.</p>
+
+<p>"Where has he gone?" cried Maude.</p>
+
+<p>"Where's who gone?" roughly spoke old Canham, without turning his head.
+"There ain't nobody here."</p>
+
+<p>"Father, it's Miss Maude," interposed Ann Canham, closing the outer
+door, after allowing George to enter. "Who be you taking the young lady
+for?"</p>
+
+<p>The old man, partly disabled by rheumatism, put down his pipe, and
+contrived to turn in his chair. "Eh, Miss Maude! Why, who'd ever have
+thought of seeing you to-night?"</p>
+
+<p>"Where is Rupert?" asked Maude.</p>
+
+<p>"Rupert?" composedly returned old Canham. "Is it Master Rupert you're
+asking after? How should we know where he is, Miss Maude?"</p>
+
+<p>"We saw him here," interposed George Ryle. "He was sitting on that
+bench, talking to you. We both heard his voice, and I saw him."</p>
+
+<p>"Very odd!" said the old man. "Fancy goes a great way. Folks is ofttimes
+deluded by it."</p>
+
+<p>"Mark Canham, I tell you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Wait a minute!" interrupted Maude. She opened the door leading into the
+inner room, and stood looking into its darkness. "Rupert!" she called;
+"it is only George and I. You need not hide."</p>
+
+<p>It brought forth Rupert; that lovely boy, with his large blue eyes and
+auburn curls. There was a great likeness between him and Maude; but
+Maude's hair was lighter.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought it was Cris," he said. "He is learning to be as sly as a fox:
+though I don't know that he was ever anything else. When I am ordered to
+bed before my time, he has taken to dodging into the room every ten
+minutes to see that I am safe in it. Have they missed me, Maude?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know," she answered. "I also came away without their knowing
+it. I have been down to Aunt Ryle's, and George has brought me home
+again."</p>
+
+<p>"Will you be pleased, to sit down, Miss, Maude?" asked Ann Canham,
+dusting a chair.</p>
+
+<p>"Eh, but that's a pretty picture!" cried old Canham, gazing at Maude,
+who had slipped off her heavy shawl, and stood warming her hands at the
+fire.</p>
+
+<p>Mark Canham was right. A very pretty picture. He extended the hand that
+was not helpless towards her.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Maude, I mind me seeing your mother looking just as you look now.
+The Squire was out, and the young ladies at the Hold thought they'd give
+a dance, and Parson Dean and Miss Emily were invited to it. I don't know
+that they'd have been asked if the Squire had been at home, matters not
+being smooth between him and parson. She was older than you be; but she
+was dressed just as you be now; and I could fancy, as I look at you,
+that it was her over again. I was in the rooms, helping to wait. It
+doesn't seem so long ago! Miss Emily was the sweetest-looking of 'em all
+present; and the young heir seemed to think so. He opened the ball with
+Miss Emily in spite of his sisters; they wanted him to choose somebody
+grander. Ah, me! and both of 'em lying low so soon after, leaving you
+two behind 'em!"</p>
+
+<p>"Mark!" cried Rupert, throwing his eyes on the old man&mdash;eyes sparkling
+with excitement&mdash;"if they had lived, papa and mamma, I should not have
+been sent to bed to-night because there's another party at Trevlyn
+Hold."</p>
+
+<p>Mark's only answer was to put up his hands with an indignant gesture.
+Ann Canham was still offering the chair to Maude. Maude declined it.</p>
+
+<p>"I cannot stay, Ann. They will miss me if I don't return. Rupert, you
+will come?"</p>
+
+<p>"To be boxed up in my bedroom, whilst the rest of you are enjoying
+yourselves," cried Rupert. "They would like to take the spirit out of
+me; have been trying at it a long time."</p>
+
+<p>Maude wound her arm within his. "Do come, Rupert!" she whispered
+coaxingly. "Think of the disturbance if Cris should find you here and
+tell!"</p>
+
+<p>"And tell!" repeated Rupert, mockingly. "<i>Not</i> to tell would be
+impossible to Cris Chattaway. It's what he'd delight in more than in
+gold. I wouldn't be the sneak Cris Chattaway is for the world."</p>
+
+<p>But Rupert appeared to think it well to depart with his sister. As they
+were going out, old Canham spoke to George.</p>
+
+<p>"And Mrs. Ryle, sir&mdash;how does she bear it?"</p>
+
+<p>"She bears it very well, Mark," answered George, as the tears rushed to
+his eyes unbidden. The old man marked them.</p>
+
+<p>"There's one comfort for ye, Master George," he said, in low tones:
+"that he has took all his neighbours' sorrow with him. And as much
+couldn't be said if every gentleman round about here was cut off by
+death."</p>
+
+<p>The significant tone was not needed to tell George that he alluded to
+Mr. Chattaway. The master of Trevlyn Hold was, in fact, no greater
+favourite with old Canham than he was with George Ryle.</p>
+
+<p>"Mind how you get in, Master Rupert, so they don't fall upon you,"
+whispered Ann Canham, as she held open the lodge door.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll mind," was the boy's answer. "Not that I should care much if they
+did," he added. "I am getting tired of it."</p>
+
+<p>She stood and watched them up the dark walk until a turn in the road hid
+them from view, and then closed the door. "If they don't take to treat
+him kinder, I misdoubt me but he'll do something desperate, as the
+dead-and-gone heir, Rupert, did," she remarked, sitting down near her
+father.</p>
+
+<p>"Like enough," was the old man's reply, taking up his pipe again. "He
+has the true Trevlyn temper, have young Rupert."</p>
+
+<p>"Maude," began Rupert, as they wound their way up the dark avenue,
+"don't they know you came out?"</p>
+
+<p>"They would not have let me come if they had known it," replied Maude.
+"I have been wanting to go down all day, but Aunt Diana and Octave kept
+me in. I begged to go down last night when Bill Webb brought the news;
+and they were angry with me."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know what I should have done in Chattaway's place, George?"
+cried the boy, impulsively. "I should have loaded my gun the minute I
+heard of it, and shot the beast between the eyes. Chattaway would, if he
+were half a man."</p>
+
+<p>"It is of no use talking of it, Rupert," answered George, in sadly
+subdued tones. "That would not mend the evil."</p>
+
+<p>"Only fancy their having this rout to-night, while Mr. Ryle is lying
+dead!" indignantly resumed Rupert. "Aunt Edith ought to have interfered
+for once, and stopped it."</p>
+
+<p>"Aunt Edith did interfere," spoke up Maude. "She said it must be put
+off. But Octave would not hear of it, and Miss Diana said Mr. Ryle was
+no real rela&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Maude dropped her voice. They were now in view of the house and its
+lighted windows; and some one, probably hearing their footsteps, came
+bearing down upon them with a fleet step. It was Cris Chattaway. Rupert
+stole into the trees, and disappeared: Maude, holding George's arm, bore
+bravely on, and met him.</p>
+
+<p>"Where have you been, Maude? The house has been searched for you. What
+brings <i>you</i> here?" he roughly added to George.</p>
+
+<p>"I came because I chose to come," was George's answer.</p>
+
+<p>"None of your insolence," returned Cris. "We don't want you here
+to-night. Just be off from this."</p>
+
+<p>Was Cris Chattaway's motive a good one, under his rudeness? Did he feel
+ashamed of the gaiety going on, whilst Mr. Ryle, his uncle by marriage,
+was lying dead, under circumstances so unhappy? Was he anxious to
+conceal the unseemly proceeding from George? Perhaps so.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall go back when I have taken Maude to the hall-door," said George.
+"Not before."</p>
+
+<p>Anything that might have been said further by Cris, was interrupted by
+the appearance of Miss Trevlyn. She was standing on the steps.</p>
+
+<p>"Where have you been, Maude?"</p>
+
+<p>"To Trevlyn Farm," was Maude's truthful answer. "You would not let me go
+during the day, so I have been now. It seemed to me that I must see him
+before he was put underground."</p>
+
+<p>"See <i>him</i>!" cried Miss Trevlyn.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. It was all I went for. I did not see my aunt. George, thank you
+for bringing me home," she continued, stepping in. "Good-night. I would
+have given all I possess for it never to have happened."</p>
+
+<p>She burst into a flood of tears as she spoke&mdash;the result, no doubt, of
+her previous fright and excitement, as well as her sorrow for Mr. Ryle's
+unhappy fate. George wrung her hand, and lifted his hat to Miss Trevlyn
+as he turned away.</p>
+
+<p>But ere he had well plunged into the dark avenue, there came swift and
+stealthy steps behind him. A soft hand was laid upon him, and a soft
+voice spoke, broken by tears:</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, George, I am so sorry! I have felt all day as if it would almost be
+my death. I think I could have given my own life to save his."</p>
+
+<p>"I know, I know! I know how <i>you</i> will feel it," replied George, utterly
+unmanned by the true and unexpected sympathy.</p>
+
+<p>It was Mrs. Chattaway.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2>
+
+<h3>THE ROMANCE OF TREVLYN HOLD</h3>
+
+
+<p>It is impossible to go on without a word of retrospect. The Ryles,
+gentlemen by a long line of ancestry, had once been rich men, but they
+were open-handed and heedless, and in the time of George's grandfather,
+the farm (not called the farm then) passed into the possession of the
+Trevlyns of the Hold, who had a mortgage on it. They named it Trevlyn
+Farm, and Mr. Ryle and his son remained on as tenants where they had
+once been owners.</p>
+
+<p>After old Mr. Ryle's death, his son married the daughter of the curate
+of Barbrook, the Reverend George Berkeley, familiarly known as Parson
+Berkeley. In point of fact, the parish knew no other pastor, for its
+Rector was an absentee. Mary Berkeley was an only child. She had been
+petted, and physicked, and nursed, after the manner of only children,
+and grew up sickly as a matter of course. A delicate, beautiful girl in
+appearance, but not strong. People (who are always fond, you know, of
+settling everybody else's business for them) deemed that she made a poor
+match in marrying Thomas Ryle. It was whispered, however, that he
+himself might have made a greater match, had he chosen&mdash;no other than
+Squire Trevlyn's eldest daughter. There was not so handsome, so
+attractive a man in all the country round as Thomas Ryle.</p>
+
+<p>Soon after the marriage, Parson Berkeley died&mdash;to the intense grief of
+his daughter, Mrs. Ryle. He was succeeded in the curacy and parsonage by
+a young clergyman just in priest's orders, the Reverend Shafto Dean. A
+well-meaning man, but opinionated and self-sufficient in the highest
+degree, and before he had been one month at the parsonage, he and Squire
+Trevlyn were at issue. Mr. Dean wished to introduce certain new fashions
+and customs into the church and parish; Squire Trevlyn held to the old.
+Proud, haughty, overbearing, but honourable and generous, Squire Trevlyn
+had known no master, no opposer; <i>he</i> was lord of the neighbourhood, and
+was bowed down to accordingly. Mr. Dean would not give way, the Squire
+would not give way; and the little seed of dissension grew and spread.
+Obstinacy begets obstinacy. That which a slight yielding on either side,
+a little mutual good-feeling, might have removed at first, became at
+length a terrible breach, the talk of a county.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile Thomas Ryle's fair young wife died, leaving an infant
+boy&mdash;George. In spite of her husband's loving care, in spite of having
+been shielded from all work and management, so necessary on a farm, she
+died. Nora Dickson, a humble relative of the Ryle family, who had been
+partially brought up on the farm, was housekeeper and manager. She saved
+all trouble to young Mrs. Ryle: but she could not save her life.</p>
+
+<p>The past history of Trevlyn Hold was a romance in itself. Squire Trevlyn
+had five children: Rupert, Maude, Joseph, Edith and Diana. Rupert, Maude
+and Diana were imperious as their father; Joseph and Edith were mild,
+yielding, and gentle, as had been their mother. Rupert was of course
+regarded as the heir: but the property was not entailed. An ancestor of
+Squire Trevlyn's coming from some distant part&mdash;it was said
+Cornwall&mdash;bought it and settled down upon it. There was not a great deal
+of grass land on the estate, but the coal-mines in the distance made it
+very valuable. Of all his children, Rupert, the eldest, was the Squire's
+favourite: but poor Rupert did not live to come into the estate. He had
+inherited the fits of passion characteristic of the Trevlyns; was of a
+thoughtless, impetuous nature; and he fell into trouble and ran away
+from his country. He embarked for a distant port, which he did not live
+to reach. And Joseph became the heir.</p>
+
+<p>Very different, he, from his brother Rupert. Gentle and yielding, like
+his sister Edith, the Squire half despised him. The Squire would have
+preferred him passionate, haughty, and overbearing&mdash;a true Trevlyn. But
+the Squire had no intention of superseding him in the succession of
+Trevlyn Hold. Provided Joseph lived, none other would be its inheritor.
+<i>Provided</i>. Joseph&mdash;always called Joe&mdash;appeared to have inherited his
+mother's constitution; and she had died early, of decline.</p>
+
+<p>Yielding, however, as Joe Trevlyn was naturally, on one point he did not
+prove himself so&mdash;that of his marriage. He chose Emily Dean; the pretty
+and lovable sister of Squire Trevlyn's <i>bête noire</i>, the obstinate
+parson. "I would rather you took a wife out of the parish workhouse,
+Joe," the Squire said, in his anger. Joe said little in reply, but he
+held to his choice; and one fine morning the marriage was celebrated by
+the obstinate parson himself in the church at Barbrook.</p>
+
+<p>The Squire and Thomas Ryle were close friends, and the former was fond
+of passing his evenings at the farm. The farm was not a productive one.
+The land, never of the richest, had become poorer and poorer: it wanted
+draining and nursing; it wanted, in short, money laid out upon it; and
+that money Mr. Ryle did not possess. "I shall have to leave it, and try
+and take a farm in better condition," he said at length to the Squire.</p>
+
+<p>The Squire, with all his faults and his overbearing temper, was generous
+and considerate. He knew what the land wanted; money spent on it; he
+knew Mr. Ryle had not the money to spend, and he offered to lend it him.
+Mr. Ryle accepted it, to the amount of two thousand pounds. He gave a
+bond for the sum, and the Squire on his part promised to renew the lease
+upon the present terms, when the time of renewal came, and not raise the
+rent. This promise was not given in writing: but none ever doubted the
+word of Squire Trevlyn.</p>
+
+<p>The first of Squire Trevlyn's children to marry had been Edith: some
+years before she had married Mr. Chattaway. The two next to marry had
+been Maude and Joseph. Joseph, as you have heard, married Emily Dean;
+Maude, the eldest daughter, became the second wife of Mr. Ryle. A
+twelvemonth after the death of his fair young wife Mary, Miss Trevlyn of
+the Hold stepped into her shoes, and became the step-mother of the
+little child, George. The youngest daughter Diana, never married.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Trevlyn, in marrying Thomas Ryle, gave mortal offence to some of
+her kindred. The Squire himself would have forgiven it; nay, perhaps
+have grown to like it&mdash;for he never could do otherwise than like Thomas
+Ryle&mdash;but he was constantly incited against it by his family. Mr.
+Chattaway, who had no great means of living of his own, was at the Hold
+on a long, long visit, with his wife and two little children,
+Christopher and Octavia. They were always saying they must leave; but
+they did <i>not</i> leave; they stayed on. Mr. Chattaway made himself useful
+to the Squire on business matters, and whether they ever would leave was
+a question. She, Mrs. Chattaway, was too gentle-spirited and loving to
+speak against her sister and Mr. Ryle; but Chattaway and Miss Diana
+Trevlyn kept up the ball. In point of fact, they had a motive&mdash;at least,
+Chattaway had&mdash;for making permanent the estrangement between the Squire
+and Mr. Ryle, for it was thought that Squire Trevlyn would have to look
+out for another heir.</p>
+
+<p>News had come home of poor Joe Trevlyn's failing health. He had taken up
+his abode in the south of France on his marriage: for even then the
+doctors had begun to say that a more genial climate than this could
+alone save the life of the heir to Trevlyn. Bitterly as the Squire had
+felt the marriage, angry as he had been with Joe, he had never had the
+remotest thought of disinheriting him. He was the only son left: and
+Squire Trevlyn would never, if he could help it, bequeath Trevlyn Hold
+to a woman. A little girl, Maude, was born in due time to Joe Trevlyn
+and his wife; and not long after this, there arrived the tidings that
+Joe's health was rapidly failing. Mr. Chattaway, selfish, mean, sly,
+covetous, began to entertain hopes that <i>he</i> should be named the heir;
+he began to work on it in stealthy determination. He did not forget
+that, were it bequeathed to the husband of one of the daughters, Mr.
+Ryle, as the husband of the eldest, might be considered to possess most
+claim to it. No wonder then that he did all he could, secretly and
+openly, to incite the Squire against Mr. Ryle and his wife. And in this
+he was joined by Miss Diana Trevlyn. She, haughty and imperious,
+resented the marriage of her sister with one of inferior position, and
+willingly espoused the cause of Mr. Chattaway as against Thomas Ryle. It
+was whispered about, none knew with what truth, that Miss Diana made a
+compact with Chattaway, to the effect that she should reign jointly at
+Trevlyn Hold with him and enjoy part of its revenues, if he came into
+the inheritance.</p>
+
+<p>Before the news came of Joe Trevlyn's death&mdash;and it was some months in
+coming&mdash;Squire Trevlyn had taken to his bed. Never did man seem to fade
+so rapidly as the Squire. Not only his health, but his mind failed him;
+all its vigour seemed gone. He mourned poor Joe excessively. In rude
+health and strength, he would not have mourned him; at least, would not
+have shown that he did so; never a man less inclined than the Squire to
+allow his private emotions to be seen: but in his weakened state he gave
+way to lamentation for his heir (his <i>heir</i>, note you, more than his
+son) every hour in the day. Over and over again he regretted that the
+little child, Maude, left by Joe, was not a boy. Nay, had it not been
+for his prejudice against her mother, he would have willed the estate to
+her, girl though she was. Now was Mr. Chattaway's time: he put forth in
+glowing colours his own claims, as Edith's husband; he made golden
+promises; he persuaded the poor Squire, in his wrecked mind, that black
+was white&mdash;and his plans succeeded.</p>
+
+<p>To the will which had bequeathed the estate to the eldest son, dead
+Rupert, the Squire added a codicil, to the effect that, failing his two
+sons, James Chattaway was the inheritor. But all this was kept a
+profound secret.</p>
+
+<p>During the time the Squire lay ill, Mr. Ryle went to Trevlyn Hold, and
+succeeded in obtaining an interview. Mr. Chattaway was out that day, or
+he had never accomplished it. Miss Diana Trevlyn was out. All the
+Squire's animosity departed the moment he saw Thomas Ryle's
+long-familiar face. He lay clasping his hand, and lamenting their
+estrangement; he told him he should cancel the two-thousand-pound bond,
+giving the money as his daughter's dowry; he said his promise of
+renewing the lease of the farm to him on the same terms would be held
+sacred, for he had left a memorandum to that effect amongst his papers.
+He sent for a certain box, in which the bond for the two thousand pounds
+had been placed, and searched for it, intending to give it to him then;
+but the bond was not there, and he said that Mr. Chattaway, who managed
+all his affairs now, must have placed it elsewhere. But he would ask him
+for it when he came in, and it should be destroyed before he slept.
+Altogether, it was a most pleasant and satisfactory interview.</p>
+
+<p>But strange news arrived from abroad ere the Squire died. Not strange,
+certainly, in itself; only strange because it was so very unexpected.
+Joseph Trevlyn's widow had given birth to a boy! On the very day that
+little Maude was twelve months old, exactly three months after Joe's
+death, this little fellow was born. Mr. Chattaway opened the letter, and
+I will leave you to judge of his state of mind. A male heir, after he
+had made everything so safe and sure!</p>
+
+<p>But Mr. Chattaway was not a man to be thwarted. <i>He</i> would not be
+deprived of the inheritance if he could by any possible scheming retain
+it, no matter what wrong he dealt out to others. James Chattaway had as
+little conscience as most people. The whole of that day he never spoke
+of the news; he kept it to himself; and the next morning there arrived a
+second letter, which rendered the affair a little more complicated.
+Young Mrs. Trevlyn was dead. She had died, leaving the two little ones,
+Maude and the infant.</p>
+
+<p>Squire Trevlyn was always saying, "Oh, that Joe had left a boy; that Joe
+had left a boy!" And now, as it was found, Joe <i>had</i> left one. But Mr.
+Chattaway determined that the fact should never reach the Squire's ears
+to gladden them. Something had to be done, however, or the little
+children would be coming to Trevlyn. Mr. Chattaway arranged his plans,
+and wrote off hastily to stop their departure. He told the Squire that
+Joe's widow had died, leaving Maude; but he never said a word about the
+baby boy. Had the Squire lived, perhaps it could not have been kept from
+him; but he did not live; he went to his grave all too soon, never
+knowing that a male heir was born to Trevlyn.</p>
+
+<p>The danger was over then. Mr. Chattaway was legal inheritor. Had Joe
+left ten boys, they could not have displaced him. Trevlyn Hold was his
+by the Squire's will, and could not be wrested from him. The two
+children, friendless and penniless, were brought home to the Hold. Mrs.
+Trevlyn had lived long enough to name the infant "Rupert," after the old
+Squire and the heir who had run away and died. Poor Joe had always said
+that if ever he had a boy, it should be named after his brother.</p>
+
+<p>There they had been ever since, these two orphans, aliens in the home
+that ought to have been theirs; lovely children, both of them; but
+Rupert had the passionate Trevlyn temper. It was not made a
+systematically unkind home to them; Miss Diana would not have allowed
+that; but it was a very different home from that they ought to have
+enjoyed. Mr. Chattaway was at times almost cruel to Rupert; Christopher
+exercised upon him all sorts of galling and petty tyranny, as Octave
+Chattaway did upon Maude; and the neighbourhood, you may be quite sure,
+did not fail to talk. But it was known only to one or two that Mr.
+Chattaway had kept the fact of Rupert's birth from the Squire.</p>
+
+<p>He stood tolerably well with his fellow-men, did Chattaway. In himself
+he was not liked; nay, he was very much disliked; but he was owner of
+Trevlyn Hold, and possessed sway in the neighbourhood. One thing, he
+could not get the title of Squire accorded to him. In vain he strove for
+it; he exacted it from his tenants; he wrote notes in the third person,
+"Squire Chattaway presents his compliments," etc.; or, "the Squire of
+Trevlyn Hold desires," etc., etc., all in vain. People readily accorded
+his wife the title of Madam&mdash;as it was the custom to call the mistress
+of Trevlyn Hold&mdash;she was the old Squire's daughter, and they recognised
+her claim to it, but they did not give that of Squire to her husband.</p>
+
+<p>These things had happened years ago, for Maude and Rupert were now aged
+respectively thirteen and twelve, and all that time James Chattaway had
+enjoyed his sway. Never, never; no, not even in the still night when the
+voice of conscience in most men is so suggestive; never giving a thought
+to the wrong dealt out to Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>And it must be mentioned that the first thing Mr. Chattaway did, after
+the death of Squire Trevlyn, was to sue Mr. Ryle upon the bond; which he
+had <i>not</i> destroyed, although ordered to do so by the Squire. The next
+thing he did was to raise the farm to a ruinous rent. Mr. Ryle,
+naturally indignant, remonstrated, and there had been ill-feeling
+between them from that hour to this; but Chattaway had the law on his
+own side. Some of the bond was paid off; but altogether, what with the
+increased rent, the bond and its interest, and a succession of ill-luck
+on the farm, Mr. Ryle had scarcely been able to keep his head above
+water. As he said to his wife and children, when the bull had done its
+work&mdash;he was taken from a world of care.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2>
+
+<h3>MR. RYLE'S LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT</h3>
+
+
+<p>Etiquette, touching the important ceremonies of buryings and
+christenings, is much more observed in the country than in towns. To
+rural districts this remark especially applies. In a large town people
+don't know their next-door neighbours, don't care for their neighbours'
+opinions. In a smaller place the inhabitants are almost as one family,
+and their actions are chiefly governed by that pertinent remark, "What
+will people say?" In these narrow communities, numbers of which are
+scattered about England, it is considered necessary on the occasion of a
+funeral to invite all kith and kin. Omit to do so, and it would be set
+down as a slight; affording the parish a theme of gossip for weeks
+afterwards. Hence Mr. Chattaway, being a connection&mdash;brother-in-law, in
+fact, of the deceased gentleman's wife&mdash;was invited to follow the
+remains of Thomas Ryle to the grave. In spite of the bad terms they had
+been on; in spite of Mrs. Ryle's own bitter feelings against Chattaway
+and Trevlyn Hold generally; in spite of Mr. Ryle's death having been
+caused by Chattaway's bull&mdash;Mr. Chattaway received a formal invitation
+to attend as mourner the remains to the grave. And it would never have
+entered into Mr. Chattaway's ideas of manners to decline it.</p>
+
+<p>An inquest had been held at the nearest inn. The verdict returned was
+"Accidental Death," with a deodand of five pounds upon the bull. Which
+Mr. Chattaway had to pay.</p>
+
+<p>The bull was already condemned. Not to annihilation; but to be taken to
+a distant fair, and there sold; whence he would be conveyed to other
+pastures, where he might possibly gore somebody else. It was not
+consideration for the feelings of the Ryle family which induced Mr.
+Chattaway to adopt this step, and so rid the neighbourhood of the
+animal; but consideration for his own pocket. Feeling ran high in the
+vicinity; fear also; the stoutest hearts could feel no security that the
+bull might not have a tilt at them: and Chattaway, on his part, was as
+little certain that an effectual silencer would not be dealt out to the
+bull some quiet night. Therefore he resolved to part with him. Apart
+from his misdoings, he was a valuable animal, worth a great deal more
+than Mr. Chattaway cared to lose; and the bull was dismissed.</p>
+
+<p>The day of the funeral arrived, and those bidden to it began to assemble
+about one o'clock: that is, the undertaker's men, the clerk, and the
+bearers. Of the latter, Jim Sanders made one. "Better he had gone than
+his master," said Nora, in a matter-of-fact, worldly spirit of
+reasoning, as her thoughts went back to the mysterious hole she had
+gratuitously, and the reader will say absurdly, coupled with Jim's fate.
+A table was laid out in the entrance-room groaning under an immense cold
+round of beef, bread-and-cheese, and large supplies of ale. To help to
+convey a coffin to church without being first regaled with a good meal,
+was a thing Barbrook had never heard of, and never wished to hear of.
+The select members of the company were shown to the drawing-room, where
+the refreshment consisted of port and sherry, and "pound" cake. These
+were the established rules of hospitality at all well-to-do funerals:
+wine and cake for the gentry; cold beef and ale for the men. They had
+been observed at Squire Trevlyn's; at Mr. Ryle's father's; at every
+substantial funeral within the memory of Barbrook. Mr. Chattaway, Mr.
+Berkeley (a distant relative of Mr. Ryle's first wife), Mr. King the
+surgeon, and Farmer Apperley comprised the assemblage in the
+drawing-room.</p>
+
+<p>At two o'clock, after some little difficulty in getting it into order,
+the sad procession started. It had then been joined by George and
+Trevlyn Ryle. A great many spectators had collected to view and attend
+it. The infrequency of a funeral in the respectable class, combined with
+the circumstances attending the death, drew them together: and before
+the church was reached, where it was met by the clergyman, it had a
+train half-a-mile long after it; chiefly women and children. Many
+dropped a tear for the premature death of one who had lived amongst them
+as a good master and kind neighbour.</p>
+
+<p>They left him in his grave, by the side of his long-dead wife, Mary
+Berkeley. As George stood at the head of his father's coffin, during the
+ceremony in the churchyard, the gravestone with its name was in front of
+him; his mother's name: "Mary, the wife of Thomas Ryle, and only
+daughter of the Rev. George Berkeley." None knew with what feeling of
+loneliness the orphan boy turned from the spot, as the last words of the
+minister died away.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Ryle, in her widow's weeds, was seated in the drawing-room on their
+return, as the gentlemen filed into it. In Barbrook custom, the
+relatives of the deceased, near or distant, were expected to assemble
+together for the remainder of the day; or for a portion of it. The
+gentlemen would sometimes smoke, and the ladies in their deep mourning
+sat with their hands folded in their laps, resting on their snow-white
+handkerchiefs. The conversation was only allowed to run on family
+matters, future prospects, and the like; and the voices were amicable
+and subdued.</p>
+
+<p>As the mourners entered, they shook hands severally with Mrs. Ryle.
+Chattaway put out his hand last, and with perceptible hesitation. It was
+many a year since his hand had been given in fellowship to Mrs. Ryle, or
+had taken hers. They had been friendly once, and in the old days he had
+called her "Maude": but that was over now.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Ryle turned from the offered hand. "No," she said, speaking in
+quiet but decisive tones. "I cannot forget the past sufficiently for
+that, James Chattaway. On this day it is forcibly present to me."</p>
+
+<p>They sat down. Trevlyn next his mother, called there by her. The
+gentlemen disposed themselves on the side of the table facing the fire,
+and George found a chair a little behind them; no one seemed to notice
+him. And so much the better; the boy's heart was too full to bear much
+notice then.</p>
+
+<p>On the table was placed the paper which had been written by the surgeon,
+at the dictation of Mr. Ryle, the night when he lay in extremity. It had
+not been unfolded since. Mr. King took it up; he knew that he was
+expected to read it. They were waiting for him to do so.</p>
+
+<p>"I must premise that the dictation of this is Mr. Ryle's," he said. "He
+expressly requested me to write down his <i>own words</i>, just as they came
+from his lips. He&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Is it a will?" interrupted Farmer Apperley, a little man, with a red
+face and a large nose. He had come to the funeral in top boots, which
+constituted his idea of full dress.</p>
+
+<p>"You can call it a will, if you please," replied Mr. King. "I am not
+sure that the law would do so. It was in consequence of his not having
+made a will that he requested me to write down these few directions."</p>
+
+<p>The farmer nodded; and Mr. King began to read.</p>
+
+<p>"In the name of God: Amen. I, Thomas Ryle.</p>
+
+<p>"First of all, I bequeath my soul to God: trusting that He will pardon
+my sins, for the sake of Jesus Christ our Saviour. Amen.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a dreadful blow, this meeting my death by Chattaway's bull. The
+more so, that I am unable to leave things straightforward for my wife
+and children. They know&mdash;at least, my wife knows, and all the parish
+knows&mdash;the pressure that has been upon me, through Chattaway coming down
+upon me as he has done. I have been as a bird with its wings clipped. As
+soon as I tried to get up, I was pulled down again.</p>
+
+<p>"Ill luck has been upon me besides. Beasts have died off, crops have
+failed. The farm's not good for much, for all the money that has been
+laid out upon it, and I alone know the labour it has cost. When you
+think of these things, my dear wife and boys, you'll know why I do not
+leave you better provided for. Many and many a night have I lain awake
+upon my bed, fretting, and planning, and hoping, all for your sakes.
+Perhaps if that bull had spared me to old age, I might have left you
+better off.</p>
+
+<p>"I should like to bequeath the furniture and all that is in the house,
+the stock, the beasts, and all that I die possessed of, to my dear wife,
+Maude&mdash;but it's not of any use, for Chattaway will sell up&mdash;except the
+silver tankard, and that should go to Trevlyn. But for having 'T.R.'
+upon it, it should go to George, for he is the eldest. T.R. stood for my
+father, and T.R. has stood for me, and T.R. will stand for Trevlyn.
+George, though he is the eldest, won't grudge it him, if I know anything
+of his nature. And I give to George my watch, and I hope he'll keep it
+for his dead father's sake. It is only a silver one; but it's a very
+good one, and George can have his initials engraved on the shield. The
+three seals, and the gold key, I give to him with it. The red cornelian
+has our arms on it. For we had arms once, and my father and I have
+generally sealed our letters with them: not that they have done him or
+me any good. And let Treve keep the tankard faithfully, and never part
+with it. And remember, my dear boys, that your poor father would have
+left you better keepsakes had it been in his power. You must prize these
+for the dead giver's sake. But there! it's of no use talking, for
+Chattaway will sell up, watch and tankard, and all.</p>
+
+<p>"And I should like to leave that bay foal to my dear little Caroline. It
+will be a pretty creature when it's bigger. You must let it have the run
+of the three cornered paddock, and I should like to see her on it, sweet
+little soul!&mdash;but Chattaway's bull has stopped it. And don't grudge the
+cost of a little saddle for her; and Roger can break it in; and mind you
+are all true and tender with my dear little girl. You are good
+lads&mdash;though Treve is hasty when his temper's put out&mdash;and I know you'll
+be to her what brothers ought to be. I always meant that foal for Carry,
+since I saw how pretty it was likely to grow, though I didn't say so;
+and now I give it to her. But where's the use? Chattaway will sell up.</p>
+
+<p>"If he does sell up, to the last stick and stone, he won't get his debt
+in full. Perhaps not much above half of it; for things at a forced sale
+don't bring their value. You have put down 'his debt,' I suppose; but it
+is not his debt. I am on my death-bed, and I say that the two thousand
+pounds was made a present of to me by the Squire on <i>his</i> death-bed. He
+told me it was made all right with Chattaway; that Chattaway understood
+the promise given to me, not to raise the rent; and that he'd be the
+same just landlord to me that the Squire had been. The Squire could not
+lay his hand on the bond, or he would have given it me then; but he said
+Chattaway should burn it as soon as he entered, which would be in an
+hour or two. Chattaway knows whether he has acted up to this; and now
+his bull has done for me.</p>
+
+<p>"And I wish to tell Chattaway that if he'll act a fair part as a man
+ought, and let my wife and the boys stop on the farm, he'll stand a much
+better chance of getting the money, than he would if he turns them out
+of it. I don't say this for their sakes more than for his; but because
+from my heart I believe it to be the truth. George has his head on his
+shoulders the right way, and I would advise his mother to keep him on
+the farm; he will be getting older every day. Not but that I wish her to
+use her own judgment in all things, for her judgment is good. In time,
+they may be able to pay off Chattaway; in time they may be able even to
+buy back the farm, for I cannot forget that it belonged to my
+forefathers, and not to the Squire. That is, if Chattaway will be
+reasonable, and let them stop on it, and not be hard and pressing. But
+perhaps I am talking nonsense, for he may turn them off and do for them,
+as his bull has done for me.</p>
+
+<p>"And now, my dear George and Treve, I repeat it to you, be good boys to
+your mother. Obey her in all things. Maude, I have left all to you in
+preference to dividing it between you and them, for which there is no
+time; but I know you'll do the right thing by them: and when it comes to
+your turn to leave&mdash;if Chattaway don't sell up&mdash;I wish you to bequeath
+to them in equal shares what you die possessed of. George is not your
+son, but he is mine, and&mdash;&mdash;But perhaps I'd better not say what I was
+going to say. And, my boys, work while it's day. In that Book which I
+have not read so much as I ought to have read, it says, 'The night
+cometh when no man can work.' When we hear that read in church, or when
+we get the Book out on a Sunday evening and read it to ourselves, that
+night seems a long, long way off. It seems so far off that it can hardly
+ever be any concern of ours; and it is only when we are cut off suddenly
+that we find how very near it is. That night has come for me; and that
+night will come for you before you are aware of it. So, <i>work</i>&mdash;and
+score that, doctor. God has placed us in this world to work, and not to
+be ashamed of it; and to work for Him as well as for ourselves. It was
+often in my mind that I ought to work more for God&mdash;that I ought to
+think more of Him; and I used to say, 'I will do so when a bit of this
+bother's off my mind.' But the bother was always there, and I never did
+it. And now the end's come; and I can see things would have been made
+easier to me if I <i>had</i> done it&mdash;score it again, doctor&mdash;and I say it as
+a lesson to you, my children.</p>
+
+<p>"And I think that's about all; and I am much obliged to you, doctor, for
+writing this. I hope they'll be able to manage things on the farm, and I
+would ask my neighbour Apperley to give them his advice now and then,
+for old friendship's sake, until George shall be older, and to put him
+in a way of buying and selling stock. If Chattaway don't sell up, that
+is. If he does, I hardly know how it will be. Perhaps God will put them
+in some other way, and take care of them. And I would leave my best
+thanks to Nora, for she has been a true friend to us all, and I don't
+know how the house would have got on without her. And now I'm growing
+faint, doctor, and I think the end is coming. God bless you all, my dear
+ones. Amen."</p>
+
+<p>A deep silence fell on the room as Mr. King ceased. He folded the paper,
+and laid it on the table near Mrs. Ryle. The first to speak was Farmer
+Apperley.</p>
+
+<p>"Any help that I can be of to you and George, Mrs. Ryle, and to all of
+you, is heartily at your service. It will be yours with right goodwill
+at all times and seasons. The more so, that you know if I had been cut
+off in this way, my poor friend Ryle would have been the first to offer
+to do as much for my wife and boys, and have thought no trouble of it.
+George, you can come over and ask me about things, just as you would ask
+your father; or send for me up here to the farm; and whatever work I may
+be at at home, though it was putting out a barn on fire, I'd come."</p>
+
+<p>"And now it is my turn to speak," said Mr. Chattaway. "And, Mrs. Ryle, I
+give you my promise, in the presence of these gentlemen, that if you
+choose to remain on the farm, I will put no hindrance upon it. Your
+husband thought me hard&mdash;unjust; he said it before my face and behind my
+back. My opinion always has been that he entirely mistook Squire Trevlyn
+in that last interview he had with him. I do not think it was ever the
+Squire's intention to cancel the bond; Ryle must have misunderstood him
+altogether: at any rate, I heard nothing of it. As successor to the
+estate, the bond came into my possession; and in my wife and children's
+interest I could not consent to destroy it. No one but a soft-hearted
+man&mdash;and that's what Ryle was, poor fellow&mdash;would have thought of asking
+such a thing. But I was willing to give him every facility for paying
+it, and I did do so. No! It was not my hardness that was in fault, but
+his pride and nonsense, and his thinking I ought not to ask for my own
+money&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"If you bring up these things, James Chattaway, I must answer them,"
+interrupted Mrs. Ryle. "I would prefer not to be forced to do it
+to-day."</p>
+
+<p>"I do not want to bring them up in any unpleasant spirit," answered Mr.
+Chattaway; "or to say it was his fault or my fault. We'll let bygones be
+bygones. He is gone, poor man; and I wish that savage beast of a bull
+had been in four quarters before he had done the mischief! All I would
+now say, is, that I'll put no impediment to your remaining on the farm.
+We will not go into business details this afternoon, but I will come in
+any day you like to appoint, and talk it over. If you choose to keep on
+the farm at its present rent&mdash;it is well worth it&mdash;to pay me interest
+for the money owing, and a yearly sum towards diminishing the debt, you
+are welcome to do it."</p>
+
+<p>Just what Nora had predicted! Mr. Chattaway loved money far too much to
+run the risk of losing part of the debt&mdash;as he probably would do if he
+turned them from the farm. Mrs. Ryle bowed her head in cold
+acquiescence. She saw no way open to her but that of accepting the
+offer. Mr. Chattaway probably knew there was no other.</p>
+
+<p>"The sooner things are settled, the better," she remarked. "I will name
+eleven o'clock to-morrow morning."</p>
+
+<p>"Very good; I'll be here," he answered. "And I am glad it is decided
+amicably."</p>
+
+<p>The rest of those present also appeared glad. Perhaps they had feared
+some unpleasant recrimination might take place between Mrs. Ryle and
+James Chattaway. Thus relieved, they unbent a little, and crossed their
+legs as if inclined to become more sociable.</p>
+
+<p>"What shall you do with the boys, Mrs. Ryle?" suddenly asked Farmer
+Apperley.</p>
+
+<p>"Treve, of course, will go to school as usual," she replied.
+"George&mdash;&mdash;I have not decided about George."</p>
+
+<p>"Shall I have to leave school?" cried George, looking up with a start.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course you will," said Mrs. Ryle.</p>
+
+<p>"But what will become of my Latin; my studies altogether?" returned
+George, in tones of dismay. "You know, mamma&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"It cannot be helped, George," she interrupted, speaking in the
+uncompromising, decisive manner, so characteristic of her; as it was of
+her sister, Diana Trevlyn. "You must turn your attention to something
+more profitable than schooling, now."</p>
+
+<p>"If a boy of fifteen has not had schooling enough, I'd like to know when
+he has had it?" interposed Farmer Apperley, who neither understood nor
+approved of the strides education and intellect had made since he was a
+boy. Substantial people in his day had been content to learn to read and
+write and cipher, and deem that amount of learning sufficient to grow
+rich upon. As did the Dutch professor, to whom George Primrose wished to
+teach Greek, but who declined the offer. He had never learned Greek; he
+had lived, and ate, and slept without Greek; and therefore he did not
+see any good in Greek. Thus was it with Farmer Apperley.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you learn at school, George?" questioned Mr. Berkeley.</p>
+
+<p>"Latin and Greek, and mathematics, and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"But, George, where will be the good of such things to you?" cried
+Farmer Apperley, not allowing him to end the catalogue. "Latin and Greek
+and mathematics! What next, I wonder!"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't see much good in giving a boy that sort of education myself,"
+put in Mr. Chattaway, before any one else had time to speak. "Unless he
+is to take up a profession, the classics only lie fallow in the mind. I
+hated them, I know that; I and my brother, too. Many and many a caning
+we have had over our Latin, until we wished the books at the bottom of
+the sea. Twelve months after we left school we could not have construed
+a page, had it been put before us. That's all the good Latin did for
+us."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall keep up my Latin and Greek," observed George, very
+independently, "although I may have to leave school."</p>
+
+<p>"Why need you keep it up?" asked Mr. Chattaway, turning full upon
+George.</p>
+
+<p>"Why?" echoed George. "I like it, for one thing. And a knowledge of the
+classics is necessary to a gentleman."</p>
+
+<p>"Necessary to what?" cried Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"To a gentleman," repeated George.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh," said Mr. Chattaway. "Do you think of being one?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I do," repeated George, in tones as decisive as any ever used by
+his step-mother.</p>
+
+<p>This bold assertion nearly took away the breath of Farmer Apperley. Had
+George Ryle announced his intention of becoming a convict, Mr.
+Apperley's consternation had been scarcely less. The same word bears
+different constructions to different minds. That of "gentleman" in the
+mouth of George, could only bear one to the simple farmer.</p>
+
+<p>"Hey, lad! What wild notions have ye been getting into your head?" he
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>"George," said Mrs. Ryle almost at the same moment, "are you going to
+give me trouble at the very outset? There is nothing for you to look
+forward to but work. Your father said it."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course I look forward to work," returned George, as cheerfully as he
+could speak that sad afternoon. "But that will not prevent my being a
+gentleman."</p>
+
+<p>"George, I fancy you may be somewhat misusing terms," remarked the
+surgeon, who was an old inhabitant of that rustic district, and a little
+more advanced than the rest. "What you meant to say was, that you would
+be a good man, honourable and upright; nothing mean about you. Was it
+not?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said George, after an imperceptible hesitation. "Something of
+that sort."</p>
+
+<p>"The boy did not express himself clearly, you see," said Mr. King,
+looking round on the rest. "He means well."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you ever talk about being a gentleman again, my lad," cried
+Farmer Apperley, with a sagacious nod. "It would make the neighbours
+think you were going in for bad ways. A gentleman is one who follows the
+hounds in white smalls and scarlet coat, goes to dinners and drinks
+wine, and never puts his hands to anything, but leads an idle life."</p>
+
+<p>"That is not the sort of gentleman I meant," said George.</p>
+
+<p>"It is to be hoped not," replied the farmer. "A man may do this if he
+has a good fat balance at his banker's, but not else."</p>
+
+<p>George made no remark. To have explained how very different his ideas of
+a gentleman were from those of Farmer Apperley might have involved him
+in a long conversation. His silence was looked suspiciously upon by Mr.
+Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"Where idle and roving notions are taken up, there's only one cure for
+them!" he remarked, in short, uncompromising tones. "And that is hard
+work."</p>
+
+<p>But that George's spirit was subdued, he might have hotly answered that
+he had taken up neither idle nor roving notions. As it was, he sat in
+silence.</p>
+
+<p>"I doubt whether it will be prudent to keep George at home," said Mrs.
+Ryle, speaking generally, but not to Mr. Chattaway. "He is too young to
+do much on the farm. And there's John Pinder."</p>
+
+<p>"John Pinder would do his best, no doubt," said Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"The question is&mdash;if I do resolve to put George out, what can I put him
+to?" resumed Mrs. Ryle.</p>
+
+<p>"My father thought it best I should remain on the farm," interposed
+George, his heart beating a shade faster.</p>
+
+<p>"He thought it best that I should exercise my own judgment in the
+matter," corrected Mrs. Ryle. "The worst is, it takes money to place a
+lad out," she added, looking at Farmer Apperley.</p>
+
+<p>"It does that," replied the farmer.</p>
+
+<p>"There's nothing like a trade for boys," said Mr. Chattaway,
+impressively. "They earn a living, and are kept out of mischief. It
+appears to me that Mrs. Ryle will have expense enough upon her hands,
+without the cost and keep of George added to it. What good can so young
+a boy do the farm?"</p>
+
+<p>"True," mused Mrs. Ryle, agreeing for once with Mr. Chattaway. "He could
+not be of much use at present. But the cost of placing him out?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course he could not," repeated Mr. Chattaway, with an eagerness
+which might have betrayed his motive, but that he coughed it down.
+"Perhaps I may be able to put him out for you without cost. I know of an
+eligible place where there's a vacancy. The trade is a good one, too."</p>
+
+<p>"I am not going to any trade," said George, looking Mr. Chattaway full
+in the face.</p>
+
+<p>"You are going where Mrs. Ryle thinks fit to send you," returned Mr.
+Chattaway, in his hard, cold tones. "If I can get you into the
+establishment of Wall and Barnes without premium, it will be a
+first-rate thing for you."</p>
+
+<p>All the blood in George Ryle's body seemed to rush to his face. Poor
+though they had become, trade had been unknown in their family, and its
+sound in George's ears, as applied to himself, was something terrible.
+"That is a retail shop!" he cried, rising from his seat.</p>
+
+<p>"Well?" said Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>They remained gazing at each other. George with his changing face
+flushing to crimson, fading to paleness; Mr. Chattaway with his composed
+leaden features. His light eyes were sternly directed to George, but he
+did not glance at Mrs. Ryle. George was the first to speak.</p>
+
+<p>"You shall never force me there, Mr. Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway rose from his seat, took George by the shoulder, and
+turned him towards the window. The view did not take in much of the road
+to Barbrook; but a glimpse of it might be caught sight of here and
+there, winding along in the distance.</p>
+
+<p>"Boy! Do you remember what was carried down that road this
+afternoon&mdash;what you followed next to, with your younger brother? <i>He</i>
+said that you were not to oppose your mother, but obey her in all
+things. These are early moments to begin to turn against your father's
+dying charge."</p>
+
+<p>George sat down, heart and brain throbbing. He did not see his duty very
+distinctly before him then. His father certainty had charged him to obey
+his mother's requests; he had left him entirely subject to her control;
+but George felt perfectly sure that his father would never have placed
+him in a shop; would not have allowed him to enter one.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway continued talking, but the boy heard him not. He was
+bending towards Mrs. Ryle, enlarging persuasively upon the advantages of
+the plan. He knew that Wall and Barnes had taken a boy into their house
+without premium, he said, and he believed he could induce them to waive
+it in George's case. He and Wall had been at school together; had passed
+many an impatient hour over the Latin previously spoken of; had often
+called in to have a chat with him in passing. Wall was a
+ten-thousand-pound man now; and George might become the same in time.</p>
+
+<p>"How would you like to place Christopher at it, Mr. Chattaway?" asked
+George, his heart beating rebelliously.</p>
+
+<p>"Christopher!" indignantly responded Mr. Chattaway. "Christopher's heir
+to Trev&mdash;&mdash;Christopher isn't you," he concluded, cutting his first
+retort short. In the presence of Mrs. Ryle it might not be altogether
+prudent to allude to the heirship of Cris to Trevlyn Hold.</p>
+
+<p>The sum named conciliated the ear of Mr. Apperley, otherwise he had not
+listened with any favour to the plan. "Ten thousand pounds! And Wall
+hardly a middle-aged man! That's worth thinking of, George."</p>
+
+<p>"I could never live in a shop; the close air, the confinement, the
+pettiness of it, would stifle me," said George, with a groan, putting
+aside for the moment his more forcible objections.</p>
+
+<p>"You'd rather live in a thunder-storm, with the rain coming down on your
+head in bucketfuls," said Mr. Chattaway, sarcastically.</p>
+
+<p>"A great deal," said George.</p>
+
+<p>Farmer Apperley did not detect the irony of Mr. Chattaway's remark, or
+the bitterness of the answer. "You'll say next, boy, that you'd rather
+turn sailor, exposed to the weather night and day, perched midway
+between sky and water!"</p>
+
+<p>"A thousand times," was George's truthful answer. "Mother, let me stay
+at the farm!" he cried, the nervous motion of his hands, the strained
+countenance, proving how momentous was the question to his grieved
+heart. "You do not know how useful I should soon become! And my father
+wished it."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Ryle shook her head. "You are too young, George, to be of use. No."</p>
+
+<p>George seemed to turn white. He was approaching Mrs. Ryle with an
+imploring gesture; but Mr. Chattaway caught his arm and pushed him
+towards his seat again. "George, if I were you, I would not, on this
+day, cross my mother."</p>
+
+<p>George glanced at her. Not a shade of love, of relenting, was there on
+her countenance. Cold, haughty, self-willed, it always was; but more
+cold, more haughty, more self-willed than usual now. He turned and left
+the room, crossed the kitchen, and passed into the room whence his
+father had been carried only two hours before.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, father! father!" he sobbed; "if you were only back again!"</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2>
+
+<h3>REBELLION</h3>
+
+
+<p>Borne down by the powers above him, George Ryle could only succumb to
+their will. Persuaded by the eloquence of Mr. Chattaway, Mrs. Ryle
+became convinced that placing George in the establishment of Wall and
+Barnes was the most promising thing that could be found for him. The
+wonder was, that she should have brought herself to listen to Chattaway
+at all, or have entertained for a moment any proposal emanating from
+him. There could have been but one solution to the riddle: that of her
+own anxiety to get George settled in something away from home. Deep down
+in the heart of Mrs. Ryle, there was seated a keen sense of injury&mdash;of
+injustice&mdash;of wrong. It had been seated there ever since the death of
+Squire Trevlyn, influencing her actions, warping her temper&mdash;the
+question of the heirship of Trevlyn. Her father had bequeathed Trevlyn
+Hold to Chattaway; and Chattaway's son was now the heir; whereas, in her
+opinion, it was her son, Trevlyn Ryle, who should be occupying that
+desirable distinction. How Mrs. Ryle reconciled it to her conscience to
+ignore the claims of young Rupert Trevlyn, she best knew.</p>
+
+<p>Ignore them she did. She gave no more thought to Rupert in connection
+with the succession to Trevlyn, than if he had not existed. He had been
+barred from it by the Squire's will, and there it ended. But, failing
+heirs to her two dead brothers, it was <i>her</i> son who should have come
+in. Was she not the eldest daughter? What right had that worm,
+Chattaway, to have insinuated himself into the Squire's home? into&mdash;it
+may be said&mdash;his heart? and so willed over to himself the inheritance?</p>
+
+<p>A bitter fact to Mrs. Ryle; a fact which rankled in her heart night and
+day; a turning from the path of justice which she firmly intended to see
+turned back again. She saw not how it was to be accomplished; she knew
+not by what means it could be brought about; she divined not yet how she
+should help in it; but she was fully determined that it should be
+Trevlyn Ryle eventually to possess Trevlyn Hold. Never Cris Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>A determination immutable as the rock: a purpose in the furtherance of
+which she never swerved or faltered; there it lay in the archives of her
+most secret thoughts, a part and parcel of herself, not the less
+indulged because never alluded to. It may be that in the death of her
+husband she saw her way to the end somewhat more clearly; his removal
+was one impediment taken from the path. She had never but once given
+utterance to her ambitious hopes for Trevlyn: and that had been to her
+husband. His reception of them was a warning never to speak of them
+again to him. No son of his, he said, should inherit Trevlyn Hold whilst
+the children of Joseph Trevlyn lived. If Chattaway chose to wrest their
+rights from them, make his son Cris usurper after him, he, Thomas Ryle,
+could not hinder it; but his own boy Treve should never take act or part
+in so crying a wrong. So long as Rupert and Maud Trevlyn lived, he could
+never recognise other rights than theirs. From that time forward Mrs.
+Ryle kept silence with her husband, as she did with others; but the
+roots of the project grew deeper and deeper in her heart, overspreading
+all its healthy fibres.</p>
+
+<p>With this destiny in view for Treve, it will readily be understood why
+she did not purpose bringing him up to any profession, or sending him
+out in the world. Her intention was, that Treve should live at home, as
+soon as his school-days were over; should be master of Trevlyn Farm,
+until he became master of Trevlyn Hold. And for this reason, and this
+alone, she did not care to keep George with her. Trevlyn Farm might be a
+living for one son; it would not be for two; neither would two masters
+on it answer, although they were brothers. It is true, a thought at
+times crossed her whether it might not be well, in the interests of the
+farm, to retain George. He would soon become useful; would be
+trustworthy; her interests would be his; and she felt dubious about
+confiding all management to John Pinder. But these suggestions were
+overruled by the thought that it would not be desirable for George to
+acquire a footing on the farm as its master, and be turned from it when
+the time came for Treve. As much for George's sake as for Treve's, she
+felt this; and she determined to place George at something away, where
+his interests and Treve's would not clash with each other.</p>
+
+<p>Wall and Barnes were flourishing and respectable silk-mercers and
+linen-drapers; their establishment a large one, the oldest and
+best-conducted in Barmester. Had it been suggested to Mrs. Ryle to place
+Treve there, she would have retorted in haughty indignation. And yet
+there she was sending George.</p>
+
+<p>What Mr. Chattaway's precise object could be in wishing to get George
+away from home, he alone knew. That he had such an object, there could
+be no shadow of doubt about; and Mrs. Ryle's usual clear-sightedness
+must have been just then obscured not to perceive it. Had his own
+interests or pleasure not been in some way involved, Chattaway would
+have taken no more heed as to what became of George than he did of a
+clod of earth in that miserable field just rendered famous by the
+ill-conditioned bull. It was Chattaway who did it all. He negotiated
+with Wall and Barnes; he brought news of his success to Mrs. Ryle; he
+won over Farmer Apperley. Wall and Barnes had occasionally taken a youth
+without premium&mdash;the youth being expected to perform an unusual variety
+of work for the favour, to be at once an apprentice and a general
+factotum, at the beck and call of the establishment. Under those
+concessions, Wall and Barnes had been known to forego the usual premium;
+and this great boon was, through Mr. Chattaway, offered to George Ryle.
+Chattaway boasted of it; enlarged upon his luck to George; and Mrs.
+Ryle&mdash;accepted it.</p>
+
+<p>And George? Every pulse in his body coursed on in fiery indignation
+against the measure, every feeling of his heart rebelled. But of
+opposition he could make none: none that served him. Chattaway quietly
+put him down; Mrs. Ryle met all remonstrances with the answer that she
+had <i>decided</i>; and Farmer Apperley laboured to convince him that it was
+a slice of good fortune, which any one (under the degree of a gentleman
+who rode to cover in a scarlet coat and white smalls) might jump at. Was
+not Wall, who had not yet reached his five-and-fortieth year, a
+ten-thousand pound man? Turn where George would, there appeared to be no
+escape for him. He must give up all the dreams of his life&mdash;not that the
+dreams had been as yet particularly defined&mdash;and become what his mind
+revolted at, what he knew he should ever dislike bitterly. Had he been a
+less right-minded boy, he would have defied Chattaway, and declined to
+obey Mrs. Ryle. But that sort of rebellion George did not enter upon.
+The injunction of his dead father lay on him all too forcibly&mdash;"Obey and
+reverence your mother." And so the agreement was made, and George Ryle
+was to go to Wall and Barnes, to be bound to them for seven years.</p>
+
+<p>He stood leaning out of the casement window the night before he was to
+enter; his aching brow bared to the cold air, cloudy as the autumn sky.
+Treve was fast asleep, in his own little bed in the far corner, shaded
+and sheltered by its curtains; but there was no such peaceful sleep for
+George. The thoughts he was indulging were not altogether profitable;
+and certain questions which arose in his mind had been better left out
+of it.</p>
+
+<p>"What <i>right</i> have they so to dispose of me?" he soliloquised, alluding,
+it must be confessed, to the trio, Chattaway, Mrs. Ryle, and Apperley.
+"They <i>know</i> that if my father had lived, they would not have dared to
+urge my being put to it. I wonder what it will end in? I wonder whether
+I shall have to be at it always? It is <i>not</i> right to put a poor fellow
+to what he hates most of all in life, and will hate for ever and for
+ever."</p>
+
+<p>He gazed out at the low stretch of land lying under the night sky,
+looking as desolate as he. "I'd rather go for a sailor!" broke from him
+in his despair; "rather&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>A hand on his shoulder caused him to start and turn. There stood Nora.</p>
+
+<p>"If I didn't say one of you boys was out of bed! What's this, George?
+What are you doing?&mdash;trying to catch your death at the open window."</p>
+
+<p>"As good catch my death, for all I see, as live in the world, now," was
+George's answer.</p>
+
+<p>"As good be a young simpleton and confess it," retorted Nora, angrily.
+"What's the matter?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why should they force me to that horrible place at Barmester?" cried
+George, following up his thoughts, rather than answering Nora. "I wish
+Chattaway had been a thousand miles away first! What business has he to
+interfere about me?"</p>
+
+<p>"I wish I was queen at odd moments, when work seems coming in seven ways
+at once, and only one pair of hands to do it," quoth Nora.</p>
+
+<p>George turned from the window. "Nora, look here! You know I am a
+gentleman born and bred: <i>is</i> it right to put me to it?"</p>
+
+<p>Nora evaded an answer. She felt nearly as much as the boy did; but she
+saw no way of escape for him, and therefore would not oppose it.</p>
+
+<p>There was no way of escape. Chattaway had decided it, Mrs. Ryle had
+acquiesced, and George was conducted to the new house, and took up his
+abode in it, rebellious feelings choking his heart, rebellious words
+rising to his lips.</p>
+
+<p>But he did his utmost to beat down rebellion. The charge of his dead
+father was ever before him, and George was mindful of it. He felt as one
+crushed under a weight of despair; as one who had been rudely thrust
+from his proper place on earth: but he constantly battled with himself
+and his wrongs, and strove to make the best of it. How bitter the
+struggle, none save himself knew: its remembrance would never die out
+from memory.</p>
+
+<p>The new work seemed terrible; not for its amount, though that was great;
+but from its nature. To help make up this parcel, to undo that; to take
+down these goods, to put up others. He ran to the post with letters&mdash;and
+that was a delightful phase of his life, compared with the rest&mdash;he
+carried out brown paper parcels. He had to stand behind the counter, and
+roll and unroll goods, and measure tapes and ribbons. You will readily
+conceive what all this was to a proud boy. George might have run away
+from it altogether, but that the image of that table in the
+sitting-room, and of him who lay upon it, was ever before him,
+whispering to him not to shrink from his duty.</p>
+
+<p>Not a moment's idleness was George allowed; however the shopmen might
+enjoy leisure intervals when customers were few, there was no such
+interval for him. He was the new scapegoat of the establishment; often
+doing the work that of right did not belong to him. It was perfectly
+well known to the young men that he had entered as a working apprentice;
+one who was not to be particular in work he did, or its quantity; and
+therefore he was not spared. He had taken his books with him, classics
+and others; he soon found he might as well have left them at home. Not
+one minute in the twenty-four hours could he devote to them. His hands
+were full of work until bed-time; and no reading was permitted in the
+chambers. "Where is the use of my having gone to school at all?" he
+would sometimes ask himself. He would soon become as oblivious of Latin
+and Greek as Mr. Chattaway could wish; and his prospects of adding to
+his stock of learning were such as would have gladdened Farmer
+Apperley's heart.</p>
+
+<p>One Saturday, when George had been there about three weeks, and the day
+was drawing near for the indentures to be signed, binding him to the
+business for years, Mr. Chattaway rode up in the very costume that was
+the subject of Farmer Apperley's ire, when worn by those who ought not
+to afford to wear it. The hounds had met that day near Barmester, had
+found their fox, and been led a round-about chase, the fox bringing them
+back to their starting-point to resign his brush; and the master of
+Trevlyn Hold, on his splashed hunter, in his scarlet coat, white smalls
+and boots, splashed also, rode through Barmester on his return, and
+pulled up at the door of Wall and Barnes. Giving his horse to a street
+boy to hold, he entered the shop, whip in hand.</p>
+
+<p>The scarlet coat, looming in unexpectedly, caused a flutter in the
+establishment. Saturday was market-day, and the shop was unusually full.
+The customers looked round in admiration, the shopmen with envy. Little
+chance thought those hard-worked, unambitious young men, that they
+should ever wear a scarlet coat, and ride to cover on a blood hunter.
+Mr. Chattaway, of Trevlyn Hold, was an object of consideration just
+then. He shook hands with Mr. Wall, who came forward from some remote
+region; then turned and shook hands condescendingly with George.</p>
+
+<p>"And how does he suit?" blandly inquired Mr. Chattaway. "Can you make
+anything of him?"</p>
+
+<p>"He does his best," was the reply. "Awkward at present; but we have had
+others who have been as awkward at first, I think, and who have turned
+out valuable assistants in the long run. I am willing to take him."</p>
+
+<p>"That's all right then," said Mr. Chattaway. "I'll call in and tell Mrs.
+Ryle. Wednesday is the day he is to be bound, I think?"</p>
+
+<p>"Wednesday," assented Mr. Wall.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall be here. I am glad to take this trouble off Mrs. Ryle's hands.
+I hope you like your employment, George."</p>
+
+<p>"I do not like it at all," replied George. And he spoke out fearlessly,
+although his master stood by.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, indeed!" said Mr. Chattaway, with a false-sounding laugh. "Well, I
+did not suppose you would like it too well at first."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Wall laughed also, a hearty, kindly laugh. "Never yet did an
+apprentice like his work too well," said he. "It's their first taste of
+the labour of life. George Ryle will like it better when he is used to
+it."</p>
+
+<p>"I never shall," thought George. But he supposed it would not quite do
+to say so; neither would it answer any end. Mr. Chattaway shook hands
+with Mr. Wall, nodded to George, and he and his scarlet coat loomed out
+again.</p>
+
+<p>"Will it last for ever?&mdash;will this dreadful slavery last throughout my
+life?" broke from George Ryle's rebellious heart.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2>
+
+<h3>EMANCIPATION</h3>
+
+
+<p>On the following day, Sunday, George walked home: Mrs. Ryle had told him
+to come and spend the day at the Farm. All were at church except Molly,
+and George went to meet them. Several groups were coming along; and
+presently he met Cris Chattaway, Rupert Trevlyn, and his brother Treve,
+walking together.</p>
+
+<p>"Where's my mother?" asked George.</p>
+
+<p>"She stepped indoors with Mrs. Apperley," answered Treve. "Said she'd
+follow me on directly."</p>
+
+<p>"How do you relish linen-drapering?" asked Cris Chattaway, in a chaffing
+sort of manner, as George turned with them. "Horrid, isn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>"There's only about one thing in this world more horrid," answered
+George.</p>
+
+<p>"My father said you expressed fears before you went that you'd find the
+air stifling," went on Cris, not asking what the one exception might be.
+"Is it hopelessly so?"</p>
+
+<p>"The black hole in Calcutta must have been cool and pleasant in
+comparison with it," returned George.</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder you are alive," continued Cris.</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder I am," said George, equably. "I was quite off in a faint one
+day, when the shop was at the fullest. They thought they must have sent
+for you, Cris; that the sight of you might bring me to again."</p>
+
+<p>"There you go!" exclaimed Treve Ryle. "I wonder if you <i>could</i> let each
+other alone if you were bribed to do it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Cris began it," said George.</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't," said Cris. "I <i>should</i> like to see you at your work, though,
+George! I'll come some day. The Squire paid you a visit yesterday
+afternoon, he told us. He says you are getting to be quite the counter
+cut; one can't serve out yards of calico without it, you know."</p>
+
+<p>George Ryle's face burnt. He knew Mr. Chattaway had ridiculed him at
+Trevlyn Hold, in connection with his new occupation. "It would be a more
+fitting situation for you than for me, Cris," said he. "And now you hear
+it."</p>
+
+<p>Cris laughed scornfully. "Perhaps it might, if I wanted one. The master
+of Trevlyn won't need to go into a linen-draper's shop."</p>
+
+<p>"Look here, Cris. That shop is horrid, and I don't mind telling you that
+I find it so; not an hour in the day goes over my head but I wish myself
+out of it; but I would rather bind myself to it for twenty years than be
+master of Trevlyn Hold, if I came to it as you will come to it&mdash;by
+wrong."</p>
+
+<p>Cris broke into a shrill, derisive whistle. It was being prolonged to an
+apparently interminable length, when he found himself rudely seized from
+behind.</p>
+
+<p>"Is that the way you walk home from church, Christopher Chattaway?
+Whistling!"</p>
+
+<p>Cris looked round and saw Miss Trevlyn. "Goodness, Aunt Diana! are you
+going to shake me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Walk along as a gentleman should, then," returned Miss Trevlyn.</p>
+
+<p>She went on. Miss Chattaway walked by her side, not deigning to cast a
+word or a look to the boys as she swept past. Gliding up behind them,
+holding the hand of Maude, was gentle Mrs. Chattaway. They all wore
+black silk dresses and white silk bonnets: the apology for mourning
+assumed for Mr. Ryle. But the gowns were not new; and the bonnets were
+the bonnets of the past summer, with the coloured flowers removed.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway slackened her pace, and George found himself at her side.
+She seemed to linger, as if she would speak with him unheard by the
+rest.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you pretty well, my dear?" were her first words. "You look taller
+and thinner, and your face is pale."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall look paler before I have been much longer in the shop, Mrs.
+Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway glanced her head timidly round with the air of one who
+fears she may be heard. But they were alone now.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you grieving, George?"</p>
+
+<p>"How can I help it?" he passionately answered, feeling that he could
+open his heart to Mrs. Chattaway as he could to no one else in the wide
+world. "Is it a proper thing to put me to, dear Mrs. Chattaway?"</p>
+
+<p>"I said it was not," she murmured. "I remarked to Diana that I wondered
+Maude should place you there."</p>
+
+<p>"It was not my mother so much as Mr. Chattaway," he answered, forgetting
+possibly that it was Mr. Chattaway's wife to whom he spoke. "At times,
+do you know, I feel as though I would almost rather be&mdash;be&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Be what, dear?"</p>
+
+<p>"Be dead, than remain there."</p>
+
+<p>"Hush, George!" she cried, almost with a shudder. "Random figures of
+speech never do any good! I have learnt it. In the old days, when&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>She suddenly broke off and glided forward without further notice. As she
+passed she caught up the hand of Maude, who was then walking by the side
+of the boys. George looked round for the cause of desertion, and found
+it in Mr. Chattaway. That gentleman was coming along with a quick step,
+one of his younger children in his hand.</p>
+
+<p>The Chattaways turned off towards Trevlyn Hold, and George walked on
+with Treve.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know how things are going on at home, Treve, between my mother
+and Chattaway?" asked George.</p>
+
+<p>"Chattaway's a miserable screw," was Treve's answer. "He'd like to grind
+down the world, and doesn't let a chance escape him. Mamma says it's a
+dreadful sum he has put upon her to pay yearly, and she does not see how
+the farm will do it, besides keeping us. I wish we were clear of him! I
+wish I was as big as you, George! I'd work my arms off, but I'd get
+together the money to pay him!"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not allowed to work," said George. "They have thrust me away from
+the farm."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish you were back at it; I know that! Nothing goes on as it used to,
+when you were there and papa was alive. Nora's cross, and mamma's cross;
+and I have not a soul to speak to. What do you think Chattaway did this
+week?"</p>
+
+<p>"Something mean, I suppose!"</p>
+
+<p>"Mean! We killed a pig, and while it was being cut up, Chattaway marched
+in. 'That's fine meat, John Pinder,' said he, when he had looked at it a
+bit; 'as fine as ever I saw. I should like a bit of this meat; I think
+I'll take a sparerib; and it can go against Mrs. Ryle's account with
+me.' With that, he laid hold of a sparerib, the finest of the two,
+called a boy who was standing by, and sent him up with it at once to
+Trevlyn Hold. What do you think of that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Think! That it's just the thing Chattaway would do every day of his
+life, if he could. Mamma should have sent for the meat back again."</p>
+
+<p>"And enrage Chattaway! It might be all the worse for us if she did."</p>
+
+<p>"Is it not early to begin pig-killing?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. John Pinder killed this one on his own authority; never so much as
+asking mamma. She was so angry. She told him, if ever he acted for
+himself again, without knowing what her pleasure might be, she should
+discharge him. But it strikes me John Pinder is fond of doing things on
+his own head," concluded Treve, sagaciously; "and will do them, in spite
+of everyone, now there's no master over him."</p>
+
+<p>The day soon passed. George told his mother how terribly he disliked
+being where he was placed; worse than that, how completely unsuited he
+was to the business. Mrs. Ryle coldly said we all had to put up with
+what we disliked, and he would grow reconciled to it in time. There was
+evidently no hope for him; and he returned to Barmester at night,
+feeling there was not any.</p>
+
+<p>On the following afternoon, Monday, some one in deep mourning entered
+the shop of Wall and Barnes, and asked if she could speak to Mr. Ryle.
+George was at the upper end of the shop. A box of lace had been
+accidentally upset on the floor, and he had been called to set it
+straight. Behind him hung two shawls, and, hidden by those shawls, was a
+desk, belonging to Mr. Wall. The visitor approached George and saluted
+him.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you <i>are</i> busy!"</p>
+
+<p>George lifted his head at the well-known voice&mdash;Nora's. Her attention
+appeared chiefly attracted by the lace.</p>
+
+<p>"What a mess it is in! And you don't go a bit handy to work, towards
+putting it tidy."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall never be handy at this sort of work. Oh, Nora! I cannot tell
+you how I dislike it!" he exclaimed, with a burst of feeling that
+betrayed its own pain. "I would rather be with my father in his coffin!"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't talk nonsense!" said Nora.</p>
+
+<p>"It is not nonsense. I shall never care for anything again in life, now
+they have put me here. It was Chattaway's doing; you know it was, Nora.
+My mother never would have thought of it. When I remember that my father
+would have objected to this for me just as strongly as I object to it
+myself, I can hardly <i>bear</i> my thoughts. I think how he will grieve, if
+he can see what goes on in this world. You know he said something about
+that when he was dying&mdash;the dead retaining their consciousness of what
+is passing here."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you objected to be bound?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have not objected. I don't mean to object. My father charged me to
+obey Mrs. Ryle, and not cross her&mdash;and I won't forget that; therefore I
+shall remain, and do my duty to the very best of my power. But it was a
+cruel thing to put me to it. Chattaway has some motive for getting me
+off the farm; there's no doubt about it. I shall stay if&mdash;if&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you hesitate?" asked Nora.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, there are moments," he answered, "when a fear comes over me
+whether I <i>can</i> bear and stay on. You see, Nora, it is Chattaway and my
+mother's will balancing against all the hopes and prospects of my life.
+I know that my father charged me to obey my mother; but, on the other
+hand, I know that if he were alive he would be pained to see me here;
+would be the first to take me away. When these thoughts come forcibly
+upon me, I doubt whether I can remain."</p>
+
+<p>"You must not encourage them," said Nora.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't encourage them; they come in spite of me. The fear comes; it is
+always coming. Don't say anything at home, Nora. I have made up my mind
+to stop, and I'll try hard to do it. As soon as I am out of my time I'll
+go off to India, or somewhere, and forget the old life in the new one."</p>
+
+<p>"My goodness!" uttered Nora. But having no good arguments at hand, she
+thought it as well to leave him, and took her departure.</p>
+
+<p>The day arrived on which George was to be bound. It was a gloomy
+November day, and the tall chimneys of Barmester rose dark and dismal
+against the outlines of the grey sky. The previous night had been
+hopelessly wet, and the mud in the streets was ankle-deep. People who
+had no urgent occasion to be abroad, drew closer to their comfortable
+fire-sides, and wished the dreary month of November was over.</p>
+
+<p>George stood at the door of the shop, having snatched a moment to come
+to it. A slender, handsome boy, with his earnest eyes and dark chestnut
+hair, looking far too gentlemanly to belong to that place. Belong to it!
+Ere the stroke of another hour should have been told on the dial of the
+church clock of Barmester, he would be irrevocably bound to it&mdash;have
+become as much a part and parcel of it as the silks displayed in its
+windows, the shawls exhibited in their gay and gaudy colours. As he
+stood there, he was feeling that no fate on earth was ever so hopelessly
+dark as his: feeling that he had no friend either in earth or heaven.</p>
+
+<p>One, two; three, four! chimed out over the town through the leaden
+atmosphere. Half-past eleven! It was the hour fixed for signing the
+indentures which would bind him to servitude for years; and he, George
+Ryle, looked to the extremity of the street, expecting the appearance of
+Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>Considering the way in which Mr. Chattaway had urged on the matter,
+George had thought he would be half-an-hour before the time, rather than
+five minutes behind it. He looked eagerly to the extremity of the
+street, at the same time dreading the sight he sought for.</p>
+
+<p>"George Ryle!" The call came ringing in sharp, imperative tones, and he
+turned in obedience to it. He was told to "measure those trimmings, and
+card them."</p>
+
+<p>An apparently interminable task. About fifty pieces of ribbon-trimmings,
+some scores of yards in each piece, all off their cards. George sighed
+as he singled out one and began upon it&mdash;he was terribly awkward at the
+work.</p>
+
+<p>It advanced slowly. In addition to the inaptitude of his fingers for the
+task, to his intense natural distaste for it&mdash;and so intense was that
+distaste, that the ribbons felt as if they burnt his fingers&mdash;in
+addition to this, there were frequent interruptions. Any of the shopmen
+who wanted help called to George Ryle; and once he was told to open the
+door for a lady who was departing.</p>
+
+<p>As she walked away, George leaned out, and took another gaze. Mr.
+Chattaway was not in sight. The clocks were then striking a quarter to
+twelve. A feeling of something like hope, but vague and faint and
+terribly unreal, dawned over his heart. Could the delay augur good for
+him?&mdash;was it possible that there could be any change?</p>
+
+<p>How unreal it was, the next moment proved. There came round that far
+corner a horseman at a hand-gallop, his horse's hoofs scattering the mud
+in all directions. It was Mr. Chattaway. He reined up at the private
+door of Wall and Barnes, dismounted, and consigned his horse to his
+groom, who had followed at the same pace. The false, faint hope was
+over; and George walked back to his cards and his trimmings, as one from
+whom all spirit has gone out.</p>
+
+<p>A message was brought to him almost immediately by one of the house
+servants: Squire Chattaway waited in the drawing-room. Squire Chattaway
+had sent the message himself, not to George, to Mr. Wall; but Mr. Wall
+was engaged at the moment with a gentleman, and sent the message on to
+George. George went upstairs.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway, in his top boots and spurs, stood warming his hands over
+the fire. He had not removed his hat. When the door opened, he raised
+his hand to do so; but seeing it was only George who entered, he left it
+on. He was much given to the old-fashioned use of boots and spurs when
+out riding.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, George, how are you?"</p>
+
+<p>George went up to the fireplace. On the centre table, as he passed it,
+lay an official-looking parchment rolled up, an inkstand by its side.
+George had not the least doubt that the parchment was no other than that
+formidable document, his Indentures.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway had taken up the same opinion. He extended his riding whip
+towards the parchment, and spoke in a significant tone, turning his eye
+on George.</p>
+
+<p>"Ready?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is no use attempting to say I am not," replied George. "I would
+rather you had forced me to become one of the lowest boys in your
+coal-mines, Mr. Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>"What's this?" asked Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>He was pointing now to the upper part of the sleeve of George's jacket.
+Some ravellings of cotton had collected there unnoticed. George took
+them off, and put them in the fire.</p>
+
+<p>"It is only a badge of my trade, Mr. Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>Whether Mr. Chattaway detected the bitterness of the words&mdash;not the
+bitterness of sarcasm, but of despair&mdash;cannot be told. He laughed
+pleasantly, and before the laugh was over, Mr. Wall came in. Mr.
+Chattaway removed his hat now, and laid it with his riding-whip beside
+the indentures.</p>
+
+<p>"I am later than I ought to be," observed Mr. Chattaway, as they shook
+hands. "The fact is, I was on the point of starting, when my colliery
+manager came up. His business was important, and it kept me the best
+part of an hour."</p>
+
+<p>"Plenty of time; plenty of time," said Mr. Wall. "Take a seat."</p>
+
+<p>They sat down near the table. George, apparently unnoticed, remained
+standing on the hearth-rug. A few minutes were spent conversing on
+different subjects, and then Mr. Chattaway turned to the parchment.</p>
+
+<p>"These are the indentures, I presume?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"I called on Mrs. Ryle last evening. She requested me to say that should
+her signature be required, as the boy's nearest relative and
+guardian&mdash;as his only parent, it may be said, in fact&mdash;she should be
+ready to affix it at any given time."</p>
+
+<p>"It will not be required," replied Mr. Wall, in a clear voice. "I shall
+not take George Ryle as an apprentice."</p>
+
+<p>A stolid look of surprise struggled to Mr. Chattaway's leaden face. At
+first, he scarcely seemed to take in the full meaning of the words. "Not
+take him?" he rejoined, staring helplessly.</p>
+
+<p>"No. It is a pity these were made out," continued Mr. Wall, taking up
+the indentures. "It has been so much time and parchment wasted. However,
+that is not of great consequence. I will be at the loss, as the refusal
+comes from my side."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway found his tongue&mdash;found it volubly. "Won't he do? Is he
+not suitable? I&mdash;I don't understand this."</p>
+
+<p>"Not at all suitable, in my opinion," answered Mr. Wall.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway turned sharply upon George, a strangely evil look in his
+dull grey eye, an ominous curl in his thin, dry lip. Mr. Wall likewise
+turned; but on his face there was a reassuring smile.</p>
+
+<p>And George? George stood there as one in a dream; his face changing to
+perplexity, his eyes strained, his fingers intertwined with the nervous
+grasp of emotion.</p>
+
+<p>"What have you been guilty of, sir, to cause this change of intentions?"
+shouted Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"He has not been guilty of anything," interposed Mr. Wall, who appeared
+to be enjoying a smile at George's astonishment and Mr. Chattaway's
+discomfiture. "Don't blame the boy. So far as I know and believe, he has
+striven to do his best ever since he has been here."</p>
+
+<p>"Then why won't you take him? You <i>will</i> take him," added Mr. Chattaway,
+in a more agreeable voice, as the idea dawned upon him that Mr. Wall had
+been joking.</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed, I will not. If Mrs. Ryle offered me a thousand pounds premium
+with him, I should not take him."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway's small eyes opened to their utmost width. "And why not?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because, knowing what I know now, I believe that I should be committing
+an injustice upon the boy; an injustice which nothing could repair. To
+condemn a youth to pass the best years of his life at an uncongenial
+pursuit, to make the pursuit his calling, is a cruel injustice wherever
+it is knowingly inflicted. I myself was a victim to it. My boy," added
+Mr. Wall, laying his hand on George's shoulder, "you have a marked
+distaste to the mercery business. Is it not so? Speak out fearlessly.
+Don't regard me as your master&mdash;I shall never be that, you hear&mdash;but as
+your friend."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I have," replied George.</p>
+
+<p>"You think it a cruel piece of injustice to have put you to it: you will
+never more feel an interest in life; you'd as soon be with poor Mr. Ryle
+in his coffin! And when you are out of your time, you mean to start for
+India or some out-of-the-world place, and begin life afresh!"</p>
+
+<p>George was too much confused to answer. His face turned scarlet.
+Undoubtedly Mr. Wall had overheard his conversation with Nora.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway was looking red and angry. When his face did turn red, it
+presented a charming brick-dust hue. "It is only scamps who take a
+dislike to what they are put to," he exclaimed. "And their dislike is
+all pretence."</p>
+
+<p>"I differ from you in both propositions," replied Mr. Wall. "At any
+rate, I do not think it the case with your nephew."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway's brick-dust grew deeper. "He is no nephew of mine. What
+next will you say, Wall?"</p>
+
+<p>"Your step-nephew, then, to be correct," equably rejoined Mr. Wall. "You
+remember when we left school together, you and I, and began to turn our
+thoughts to the business of life? Your father wished you to go into the
+bank as clerk, you know; and mine&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"But he did not get his wish, more's the luck," again interposed Mr.
+Chattaway, not pleased at the allusion. "A poor start in life that would
+have been for the future Squire of Trevlyn Hold."</p>
+
+<p>"Pooh!" rejoined Mr. Wall, in a good-tempered, matter-of-fact tone. "You
+did not expect then to be exalted to Trevlyn Hold. Nonsense, Chattaway!
+We are old friends, you know. But, let me continue. I overheard a
+certain conversation of this boy's with Nora Dickson, and it seemed to
+bring my own early life back to me. With every word he spoke, I had a
+fellow-feeling. My father insisted that I should follow the business he
+was in; this one. He carried on a successful trade for years, in this
+very house, and nothing would do but I must succeed to it. In vain I
+urged my repugnance to it, my dislike; in vain I said I had formed other
+views for myself; I was not listened to. In those days it was not the
+fashion for sons to run counter to their fathers' will; at least, such
+was my experience; and into the business I came. I have reconciled
+myself to it by dint of time and habit; liked it, I never have; and I
+have always felt that it was&mdash;as I heard this boy express it&mdash;a cruel
+wrong to force me into it. You cannot, therefore, be surprised that I
+decline so to force another. I will never do it knowingly."</p>
+
+<p>"You decline absolutely to take him?" asked Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"Absolutely and positively. He can remain in the house a few days longer
+if it will suit his convenience, or he can leave to-day. I am not
+displeased with you," added Mr. Wall, turning to George, and holding out
+his hand. "We shall part good friends."</p>
+
+<p>George seized it and grasped it, his countenance glowing, a whole world
+of gratitude shining from his eyes as he lifted them to Mr. Wall. "I
+shall always think you have been the best friend I ever had, sir, next
+to my father."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope it will prove so. I trust you will find some pursuit in life
+more congenial to you than this."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway took up his hat and whip. "This will be fine news for your
+mother, sir!" cried he, severely.</p>
+
+<p>"It may turn out well for her," replied George, boldly. "My belief is
+the farm never would have got along with John Pinder as manager."</p>
+
+<p>"You think you would make a better?" said Mr. Chattaway, his thin lip
+curling.</p>
+
+<p>"I can be true to her, at any rate," said George. "And I can have my
+eyes about me."</p>
+
+<p>"Good morning," resumed Mr. Chattaway to Mr. Wall, putting out
+unwillingly the tips of two fingers.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Wall laughed. "I do not see why you should be vexed, Mr. Chattaway.
+The boy is no son of yours. For myself, all I can say is, that I have
+been actuated by motives of regard for his interest."</p>
+
+<p>"It remains to be proved whether it will be for his interest," coldly
+rejoined Mr. Chattaway. "Were I his mother, and this check were dealt
+out to me, I should send him off to break stones on the road. Good
+morning, Wall. And I beg you will not bring me here again upon a fool's
+errand."</p>
+
+<p>George went into the shop, to get from it some personal trifles he had
+left there. He deemed it well to depart at once, and carry the news home
+to Mrs. Ryle himself. The cards and trimmings lay in the unfinished
+state he had left them. What a change, that moment and this! One or two
+of the employés noticed his radiant countenance.</p>
+
+<p>"Has anything happened?" they asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," answered George. "I have been suddenly lifted into paradise."</p>
+
+<p>He started on his way, leaving his things to be sent after him. His
+footsteps scarcely touched the ground. Not a rough ridge of the road
+felt he; not a sharp stone; not a hill. Only when he turned in at the
+gate did he remember there was his mother's displeasure to be met and
+grappled with.</p>
+
+<p>Nora gave a shriek when he entered the house. "<i>George!</i> What brings you
+here?"</p>
+
+<p>"Where's my mother?" was George's only answer.</p>
+
+<p>"In the best parlour," said Nora. "And I can tell you she's not in the
+best of humours just now, so I'd advise you not to go in."</p>
+
+<p>"What about?" asked George, taking it for granted she had heard the news
+about himself, and that was the grievance. But he was agreeably
+undeceived.</p>
+
+<p>"It's about John Pinder. He has been having two of the meads ploughed
+up, and he never asked the missis first. She <i>is</i> angry."</p>
+
+<p>"Has Chattaway been here to see my mother, Nora?"</p>
+
+<p>"He came up on horseback in a desperate hurry half-an-hour ago; but she
+was out on the farm, so he said he'd call again. It was through going
+out this morning that she discovered what they were about with the
+fields. She says she thinks John Pinder must be going out of his mind,
+to take things upon himself in the way he is doing."</p>
+
+<p>George bent his steps to the drawing-room. Mrs. Ryle was seated before
+her desk, writing a note. The expression of her face as she looked up at
+George between the white lappets of her widow's cap was resolutely
+severe. It changed to astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>Strange to say, she was writing to Mr. Wall to stop the signing of the
+indentures, or to desire that they might be cancelled if signed. She
+could not do without George at home, she said; and she told him why she
+could not.</p>
+
+<p>"Mamma," said George, "will you be angry if I tell you something that
+has struck me in all this?"</p>
+
+<p>"Tell it," said Mrs. Ryle.</p>
+
+<p>"I feel quite certain Chattaway has been acting with a motive; he has
+some private reason for wishing to get me away from home. That's what he
+has been working for; otherwise he would never have troubled himself
+about me. It is not in his nature."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Ryle gazed at George steadfastly, as if weighing his words, and
+presently knit her brow. George could read her countenance tolerably
+well. He felt sure she had arrived at a similar conclusion, and that it
+irritated her. He resumed.</p>
+
+<p>"It looks bad for you, mother; but you must not think I say this
+selfishly. Twenty minutes I have asked myself the question, Why does he
+wish me away? And I can only think that he would like the farm to go to
+rack and ruin, so that you may be driven from it."</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense, George."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, what else can it be?"</p>
+
+<p>"If so, he is defeated," said Mrs. Ryle. "You will take your place as
+master of the farm from to-day, George, under me. Deferring to me in all
+things, you understand; giving no orders on your own responsibility,
+taking my pleasure upon the merest trifle."</p>
+
+<p>"I should not think of doing otherwise," replied George. "I will do my
+best for you in all ways, mother. You will soon see how useful I can
+be."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well. But I may as well mention one thing to you. When Treve shall
+be old enough, it is he who will be master here, and you must resign the
+place to him. It is not that I wish to set the younger of your father's
+sons unjustly above the head of the elder. This farm will be a living
+but for one of you; barely that; and I prefer that Treve should have it;
+he is my own son. We will endeavour to find a better farm for you before
+that time shall come."</p>
+
+<p>"Just as you please," said George, cheerfully. "Now that I am
+emancipated from that dreadful nightmare, my prospects look very bright
+to me. I'll do the best I can on the farm, remembering that I do it for
+Treve's future benefit; not for mine. Something else will turn up for
+me, no doubt, before I'm ready for it."</p>
+
+<p>"Which will not be for some years to come," said Mrs. Ryle, feeling
+pleased with the boy's acquiescent spirit. "Treve will not be old enough
+for&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Ryle was interrupted. The door had opened, and there appeared Mr.
+Chattaway, showing himself in. Nora never affected to be too courteous
+to that gentleman; and on his coming to the house to ask for Mrs. Ryle a
+second time, she had curtly answered that Mrs. Ryle was in the best
+parlour (the more familiar name for the drawing-room in the farmhouse),
+and allowed him to find his own way to it.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway looked surprised at seeing George; he had not bargained
+for his arriving home so soon. Extending his hand towards him, he turned
+to Mrs. Ryle.</p>
+
+<p>"There's a dutiful son for you! You hear what he has done?&mdash;returned on
+your hands as a bale of worthless goods."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I hear that Mr. Wall has declined to take him," was her composed
+answer. "It has happened for the best. When he arrived just now, I was
+writing to Mr. Wall requesting that he might <i>not</i> be bound."</p>
+
+<p>"And why?" asked Mr. Chattaway in considerable amazement.</p>
+
+<p>"I find I am unable to do without him," said Mrs. Ryle, her tone harder
+and firmer than ever; her eyes, stern and steady, thrown full on
+Chattaway. "I have tried the experiment, and it has failed. I cannot do
+without one by my side devoted to my interests; and John Pinder cannot
+get on without a master."</p>
+
+<p>"And do you think you'll find what you want in him!&mdash;in that
+inexperienced schoolboy?" burst forth Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"I do," replied Mrs. Ryle, her tone so significantly decided, as to be
+almost offensive. "He takes his standing from this day as master of
+Trevlyn Farm; subject only to me."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish you joy of him!" angrily returned Chattaway. "But you must
+understand, Mrs. Ryle, that your having a boy at the head of affairs
+will oblige me to look more keenly after my interests."</p>
+
+<p>"My arrangements with you are settled," she said. "So long as I fulfil
+my part, that is all that concerns you, James Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>"You'll not fulfil it, if you put him at the head of things."</p>
+
+<p>"When I fail you can come here and tell me of it. Until then, I prefer
+that you should not intrude on Trevlyn Farm."</p>
+
+<p>She rang the bell sharply as she spoke, and Molly, who was passing along
+the passage, immediately appeared. Mrs. Ryle extended her hand
+imperiously, the forefinger pointed.</p>
+
+<p>"The door for Mr. Chattaway."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2>
+
+<h3>MADAM'S ROOM</h3>
+
+
+<p>Leading out of Mrs. Chattaway's dressing-room was a comfortable
+apartment, fitted up as a sitting-room, with chintz hangings and
+maple-wood furniture. It was called in the household "Madam's Room," and
+here Mrs. Chattaway frequently sat. Yes; the house and the neighbourhood
+accorded her readily the title which usage had long given to the
+mistress of Trevlyn Hold: but they would not give that of "Squire" to
+her husband. I wish particularly to repeat this. Strive for it as he
+would, force his personal servants to observe the title as he did, he
+could not get it recognised or adopted. When a written invitation came
+to the Hold&mdash;a rare event, for the old-fashioned custom of inviting
+verbally was chiefly followed there&mdash;it would be worded, "Mr. and Madam
+Chattaway," and Chattaway's face would turn green as he read it. No,
+never! He enjoyed the substantial good of being proprietor of Trevlyn
+Hold, he received its revenues, he held sway as its lord and master; but
+its honours were not given to him. It was so much gall and wormwood to
+Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway stood at this window on that dull morning in November
+mentioned in the last chapter, her eyes strained on the distance. What
+was she gazing at? Those lodge chimneys?&mdash;The dark, almost bare trees
+that waved to and fro in the wintry wind?&mdash;The extensive landscape
+stretching out in the distance, not fine to-day, but dull and
+cheerless?&mdash;Or on the shifting clouds in the grey skies? Not on any of
+these; her eyes, though apparently bent on all, in reality saw nothing.
+They were fixed on vacancy; buried, like her thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>She wore a muslin gown, with dark purple spots upon it; her collar was
+fastened with a bow of black ribbon, her sleeves were confined with
+black ribbons at the wrist. She was passing a finger under one of these
+wrist-ribbons, round and round, as if the ribbon were tight; in point of
+fact, it was only a proof of her abstraction. Her smooth hair fell in
+curls on her fair face, and her blue eyes were bright as with a slight
+touch of inward fever.</p>
+
+<p>Some one opened the door, and peeped in. It was Maude Trevlyn. Her frock
+was of the same material as Mrs. Chattaway's gown, and a sash of black
+ribbon encircled her waist. Mrs. Chattaway did not turn, and Maude came
+forward.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you well to-day, Aunt Edith?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not very, dear." Mrs. Chattaway took the pretty young head within her
+arm as she answered, and fondly stroked the bright curls. "You have been
+crying, Maude!"</p>
+
+<p>Maude shook back her curls with a smile, as if she meant to be brave;
+make light of the accusation. "Cris and Octave went on so shamefully,
+Aunt Edith, ridiculing George Ryle; and when I took his part, Cris hit
+me a sharp blow. It was stupid of me to cry, though."</p>
+
+<p>"Cris did?" exclaimed Mrs. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"I know I provoked him," candidly acknowledged Maude. "I'm afraid I flew
+into a passion; and you know, Aunt Edith, I don't mind what I say when I
+do that. I told Cris that he would be placed at something not half as
+good as a linen-draper's some time, for he'd want a living when Rupert
+came into Trevlyn Hold."</p>
+
+<p>"Maude! Maude! hush!" exclaimed Mrs. Chattaway in tones of terror. "You
+must not say that."</p>
+
+<p>"I know I must not, Aunt Edith; I know it is wrong; wrong to think it,
+and foolish to say it. It was my temper. I am very sorry."</p>
+
+<p>She nestled close to Mrs. Chattaway, caressing and penitent. Mrs.
+Chattaway stooped and kissed her, a strangely marked expression of
+tribulation, shrinking and hopeless, upon her countenance.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Maude! I am so ill!"</p>
+
+<p>Maude felt awed; and somewhat puzzled. "Ill, Aunt Edith?"</p>
+
+<p>"There is an illness of the mind worse than that of the body, Maude. I
+feel as though I should sink under my weight of care. Sometimes I wonder
+why I am kept on earth."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Aunt Edith!"</p>
+
+<p>A knock at the room door, followed by the entrance of a female servant.
+She did not observe Mrs. Chattaway; only Maude.</p>
+
+<p>"Is Miss Diana here, Miss Maude?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. Only Madam."</p>
+
+<p>"What is it, Ph&oelig;be?" asked Mrs. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"Master Cris wants to know if he can take the gig out, ma'am?"</p>
+
+<p>"I cannot tell anything about it. You must ask Miss Diana. Maude, see;
+that is your Aunt Diana's step on the stairs now."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Trevlyn came in. "The gig?" she repeated. "No; Cris cannot take it.
+Go and tell him so, Maude. Ph&oelig;be, return to your work."</p>
+
+<p>Maude ran away, and Ph&oelig;be went off grumbling, not aloud, but to
+herself; no one dared grumble in the hearing of Miss Trevlyn. She had
+spoken in sharp tones to Ph&oelig;be, and the girl did not like sharp
+tones. As Miss Trevlyn sat down opposite Mrs. Chattaway, the feverish
+state of that lady's countenance arrested her attention.</p>
+
+<p>"What is the matter, Edith?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway buried her elbow on the sofa-cushion, and pressed her
+hand to her face, half covering it, before she spoke. "I cannot get over
+this business," she answered in low tones. "To-day&mdash;perhaps naturally&mdash;I
+am feeling it more than is good for me. It makes me ill, Diana."</p>
+
+<p>"What business?" asked Miss Trevlyn.</p>
+
+<p>"This apprenticing of George Ryle."</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense," said Miss Diana.</p>
+
+<p>"It is not the proper thing for him, Diana; you admitted so yesterday.
+The boy says it is the blighting of his whole future life; and I feel
+that it is nothing less. I could not sleep last night for thinking about
+it. Once I dozed off, and fell into an ugly dream," she shivered. "I
+thought Mr. Ryle came to me, and asked whether it was not enough that we
+had heaped care upon him in life, and then sent him to his death, but
+must also pursue his son."</p>
+
+<p>"You always were weak, you know, Edith," was the composed rejoinder of
+Miss Trevlyn. "Why Chattaway should be interfering with George Ryle, I
+cannot understand; but it surely need not give concern to you. The
+proper person to put a veto on his being placed at Barmester, as he is
+being placed, was Mrs. Ryle. If she did not think fit to do it, it is no
+business of ours."</p>
+
+<p>"It seems to me as if he had no one to stand up for him. It seems,"
+added Mrs. Chattaway, with more passion in her tone, "as if his father
+must be looking down at us, and condemning us."</p>
+
+<p>"If you will worry yourself over it, you must," was the rejoinder of
+Miss Trevlyn. "It is very foolish, Edith, and it can do no earthly good.
+He is bound by this time, and the thing is irrevocable."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps that is the reason&mdash;because it is irrevocable&mdash;that it presses
+upon me to-day with greater weight. It has made me think of the past,
+Diana," she added in a whisper. "Of that other wrong, which I cheat
+myself sometimes into forgetting; a wrong&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Be silent!" imperatively interrupted Miss Trevlyn, and the next moment
+Cris Chattaway bounded into the room.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the reason I can't have the gig?" he began. "Who says I can't
+have it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I do," said Miss Trevlyn.</p>
+
+<p>Cris insolently turned from her, and walked up to Mrs. Chattaway. "May I
+not take the gig, mother?"</p>
+
+<p>If there was one thing irritated the sweet temper of Mrs. Chattaway, it
+was being appealed to against any decision of Diana's. She knew that she
+possessed no power; was a nonentity in the house; and though she bowed
+to her dependency, and had no resource but to bow to it, she did not
+like it brought palpably before her.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't apply to me, Cris. I know nothing about things downstairs; I
+cannot say one way or the other. The horses and vehicles are specially
+the things that your father will not have meddled with. Do you remember
+taking out the dog-cart without leave, and the result?"</p>
+
+<p>Cris looked angry; perhaps the reminiscence was not agreeable. Miss
+Diana interfered.</p>
+
+<p>"You will <i>not</i> take out the gig, Cris. I have said it."</p>
+
+<p>"Then see if I don't walk! And if I am not home to dinner, Aunt Diana,
+you can just tell the Squire the thanks are due to you."</p>
+
+<p>"Where do you wish to go?" asked Mrs. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"I am going to Barmester. I want to wish that fellow joy of his
+indentures," added Cris, a glow of triumph lighting up his face. "He is
+bound by this time. I wonder the Squire is not back again!"</p>
+
+<p>The Squire was back again. As Cris spoke, his tread was heard on the
+stairs, and he came into the room. Cris was too full of his own concerns
+to note the expression of his face.</p>
+
+<p>"Father, may I take out the gig? I want to go to Barmester, to pay a
+visit of congratulation to George Ryle."</p>
+
+<p>"No, you will not take out the gig," said Mr. Chattaway, the allusion
+exciting his anger almost beyond bearing.</p>
+
+<p>Cris thought he might have been misunderstood. Cris deemed that his
+proclaimed intention would find favour with Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose you have been binding that fellow, father. I want to go and
+ask him how he likes it."</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir, I have not been binding him," thundered Mr. Chattaway. "What's
+more, he is not going to be bound. He has left it, and is at home
+again."</p>
+
+<p>Cris gave a blank stare of amazement, and Mrs. Chattaway let her hands
+fall silently upon her lap and heaved a gentle sigh, as though some
+great good had come to her.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2>
+
+<h3>RUPERT</h3>
+
+
+<p>None of us can stand still in life. Everything rolls on its course
+towards the end of all things. In noting down a family's or a life's
+history, its periods will be differently marked. Years will glide
+quietly on, giving forth few events worthy of record; again, it will
+happen that occurrences, varied and momentous, will be crowded into an
+incredibly short space of time. Events, sufficient to fill up the
+allotted life of man, will follow one another in rapid succession in the
+course of as many months; nay, of as many days.</p>
+
+<p>Thus it was with the Trevlyns, and those connected with them. After the
+lamentable death of Mr. Ryle, the new agreement touching money-matters
+between Mr. Chattaway and Mrs. Ryle, and the settling of George Ryle
+into his own home, it may be said in his father's place, little occurred
+for some years worthy of note. Time seemed to pass uneventfully. Girls
+and boys grew into men and women; children into girls and boys. Cris
+Chattaway lorded it in his own offensive manner as the Squire's son&mdash;as
+the future Squire; his sister Octavia was not more amiable than of yore,
+and Maude Trevlyn was governess to Mr. and Mrs. Chattaway's younger
+children. Miss Diana Trevlyn had taken care that Maude should be well
+educated, and she paid the cost of it out of her own pocket, in spite of
+Mr. Chattaway's sneers. When Maude was eighteen years of age, the
+question arose, What shall be done with her? "She shall go out and be a
+governess," said Mr. Chattaway. "Of what profit her fine education, if
+it's not to be made use of?" "No," dissented Miss Diana; "a Trevlyn
+cannot be sent out into the world to earn her own living: our family
+have not come to that." "I won't keep her in idleness," growled
+Chattaway. "Very well," said Miss Diana; "make her governess to your
+girls, Edith and Emily: it will save the cost of schooling." The advice
+was taken; and Maude for the past three years had been governess at
+Trevlyn Hold.</p>
+
+<p>But Rupert? Rupert was found not to be so easily disposed of. There's no
+knowing what Chattaway, in his ill-feeling, might have put Rupert to,
+had he been at liberty to place him as he pleased. If he had not shown
+any superfluous consideration in placing out George Ryle&mdash;or rather in
+essaying to place him out&mdash;it was not likely he would show it to one
+whom he hated as he hated Rupert. But here Miss Diana again stepped in.
+Rupert was a Trevlyn, she said, and consequently could not be converted
+into a chimney-sweep or a shoe-black: he must get his living at
+something befitting his degree. Chattaway demurred, but he knew better
+than run counter to any mandate issued by Diana Trevlyn.</p>
+
+<p>Several things were tried for Rupert. He was placed with a clergyman to
+study for the Church; he went to an LL.D. to read for the Bar; he was
+consigned to a wealthy grazier to be made into a farmer; he was posted
+off to Sir John Rennet, to be initiated into the science of civil
+engineering. And he came back from all. As one venture after the other
+was made, so it failed, and a very short time would see Rupert return as
+ineligible to Trevlyn Hold. Ineligible! Was he deficient in capacity?
+No. He was only deficient in that one great blessing, without which life
+can bring no enjoyment&mdash;health. In his weakness of chest&mdash;his liability
+to take cold&mdash;his suspiciously delicate frame, Rupert Trevlyn was
+ominously like his dead father. The clergyman, the doctor, the hearty
+grazier, and the far-famed engineer, thought after a month's trial they
+would rather not take charge of him. He had a fit of illness&mdash;it may be
+better to say of weakness&mdash;in the house of each; and they, no doubt, one
+and all, deemed that a pupil predisposed to disease&mdash;it may be almost
+said to death&mdash;as Rupert Trevlyn appeared to be, would bring with him
+too much responsibility.</p>
+
+<p>So, times and again, Rupert was returned on the hands of Mr. Chattaway.
+To describe that gentleman's wrath would take a pen dipped in gall. Was
+Rupert <i>never</i> to be got rid of? It was like the Eastern slippers which
+persisted in turning up. And, in like manner, up came Rupert Trevlyn.
+The boy could not help his ill-health; but you may be sure Mr.
+Chattaway's favour was not increased by it. "I shall put him in the
+office at Blackstone," said he. And Miss Diana acquiesced.</p>
+
+<p>Blackstone was the locality where Mr. Chattaway's mines were situated.
+An appropriate name, for the place was black enough, and stony enough,
+and dreary enough for anything. A low, barren, level country, its
+flatness alone broken by signs of the pits, its uncompromising gloom
+enlivened only by ascending fires which blazed up at night, and
+illumined the country for miles round. The pits were not all coal: iron
+mines and other mines were scattered with them. On Chattaway's property,
+however, there was coal alone. Long rows of houses, as dreary as the
+barren country, were built near: occupied by the workers in the mines.
+The overseer or manager for Mr. Chattaway was named Pinder, a brother to
+John Pinder, who was on Mrs. Ryle's farm: but Chattaway chose to
+interfere very much with the executive himself, and may almost have been
+called his own overseer. He had an office near the pits, in which
+accounts were kept, the men paid, and other business items transacted: a
+low building, of one storey only, consisting of three or four rooms. In
+this office he kept one regular clerk, a young man named Ford, and into
+this same office he put Rupert Trevlyn.</p>
+
+<p>But many and many and many a day was Rupert ailing; weak, sick,
+feverish, coughing, and unable to go to it. But for Diana Trevlyn,
+Chattaway might have driven him there ill or well. Not that Miss Diana
+possessed any extraordinary affection for Rupert: she did not keep him
+at home out of love, or from motives of indulgence. But hard, cold, and
+imperious though she was, Miss Diana owned somewhat of the large
+open-handedness of the Trevlyns: she could not be guilty of trivial
+spite, or petty meanness. She ruled the servants with an iron hand; but
+in case of their falling into sickness or trouble, she had them
+generously cared for. So with respect to Rupert. It may be that she
+regarded him as an interloper; that she would have been better pleased
+were he removed elsewhere. She had helped to deprive him of his
+birthright, but she did not treat him with personal unkindness; and she
+would have been the last to say he must go out to his daily occupation,
+if he felt ill or incapable of it. She deplored his ill-health; but, ill
+health upon him, Miss Diana was not one to ignore it, to reproach him
+with it, or put hindrances in the way of his being nursed.</p>
+
+<p>It was a tolerably long walk for Rupert in a morning to Blackstone. Cris
+Chattaway, when he chose to go over, rode on horseback; and Mr. Cris did
+not infrequently choose to go over, for he had the same propensity as
+his father&mdash;that of throwing himself into every petty detail, and
+interfering unwarrantably. In disposition, father and son were
+alike&mdash;mean, stingy, grasping. To save a sixpence, Chattaway would
+almost have sacrificed a miner's life. Improvements which other mine
+owners had introduced into their pits, into the working of them,
+Chattaway held aloof from. In his own person, however, Cris was not
+disposed to be saving. He had his horse, and he had his servant, and he
+favoured an extensive wardrobe, and was given altogether to various
+little odds and ends of self-indulgence.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, Cris Chattaway rode to Blackstone; with his groom behind him
+sometimes, when he chose to make a dash; and Rupert Trevlyn walked.
+Better that the order of travelling had been reversed, for that walk,
+morning and evening, was not too good for Rupert in his weakly state. He
+would feel it particularly in an evening. It was a gradual ascent nearly
+all the way from Blackstone to Trevlyn Hold, almost imperceptible to a
+strong man, but sufficiently apparent to Rupert Trevlyn, who would be
+fatigued with the day's work.</p>
+
+<p>Not that he had hard work to do. But even sitting on the office stool
+tired him. Another thing that tired him&mdash;and which, no doubt, was
+excessively bad for him&mdash;was the loss of his regular meals. Excepting on
+Sundays, or on days when he was not well enough to leave Trevlyn Hold,
+he had no dinner: what he had at Blackstone was only an apology for one.
+The clerk, Ford, who lived at nearly as great a distance from the place
+as Rupert, used to cook himself a chop or steak at the office grate. But
+that the coals were lying about in heaps and cost nothing, Chattaway
+might have objected to the fire being used for such a purpose. Rupert
+occasionally cooked himself some meat; but he more frequently dined upon
+bread and cheese, or scraps brought from Trevlyn Hold. It was not often
+that Rupert had the money to buy meat or anything else, his supply of
+that indispensable commodity, the current coin of the realm, being very
+limited. Deprived of his dinner, deprived of his tea&mdash;tea being
+generally over when he got back to the Hold&mdash;that, of itself, was almost
+sufficient to bring on the disease feared for Rupert Trevlyn. One sound
+in constitution, revelling in health and strength, might not have been
+much the worse in the long-run; but Rupert did not come under the head
+of that favoured class of humanity.</p>
+
+<p>It was a bright day in that mellow season when summer is merging into
+autumn. A few fields of the later grain were lying out yet, but most of
+the golden store had been gathered into barns. The sunlight glistened on
+the leaves of the trees, lighting up their rich tints of brown and
+red&mdash;tints which never come until the season of passing away.</p>
+
+<p>Halting at a stile which led to a field white with stubble, were two
+children and a young lady. Not very young children, either, for the
+younger of the two must have been thirteen. Pale girls both, with light
+hair, and just now a disagreeable expression of countenance. They were
+insisting upon crossing that stile to pass through the field: one of
+them, in fact, had already mounted, and they did not like to be thwarted
+in their wish.</p>
+
+<p>"You cross old thing!" cried she on the stile. "You always object to our
+going where we want to go. What dislike have you to the field, pray,
+that we may not cross it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have no dislike to it, Emily. I am only obeying your father's
+injunctions. You know he has forbidden you to go on Mrs. Ryle's lands."</p>
+
+<p>She spoke in calm tones; a sweet, persuasive voice. She had a sweet and
+gentle face, too, with delicate features, and large blue eyes. It is
+Maude Trevlyn. Eight years have passed since you last saw her, and she
+is twenty-one. In spite of her girlish, graceful figure, which scarcely
+reaches middle height, she bears a look of the Trevlyns. Her head is
+well set upon her shoulders, thrown somewhat back, as you may see in
+Miss Diana Trevlyn. She wears a grey flowing cloak, and pretty blue
+bonnet.</p>
+
+<p>"The lands are not Mrs. Ryle's," retorted the girl on the stile. "They
+are papa's."</p>
+
+<p>"They are Mrs. Ryle's as long as she rents them. It is all the same. Mr.
+Chattaway has forbidden you to cross them. Come down from the stile,
+Emily."</p>
+
+<p>"No. I shall jump over it."</p>
+
+<p>It was ever thus. Except in the presence of Miss Diana Trevlyn, the
+girls were openly rude and disobedient to Maude. Expected to teach them,
+she was denied the ordinary authority vested in a governess. And Maude
+could not emancipate herself: she must suffer and submit.</p>
+
+<p>Emily Chattaway put her foot over the top bar of the stile, preparatory
+to jumping over it, when the sound of a horse was heard, and she turned
+her head. Riding along the lane at a quick pace was a gentleman of some
+three or four-and-twenty years: a tall man, as far as could be seen, who
+sat his horse well. He reined in when he saw them, and bent down a
+pleasant face, with a pleasant smile upon it. The sun shone into his
+fine dark eyes, as he stooped to shake hands with Maude.</p>
+
+<p>Maude's cheeks had turned crimson. "Quite well," she stammered, in
+answer to his greeting, somewhat losing her self-possession. "When did
+you return home?"</p>
+
+<p>"Last night. I was away two days only, instead of the four anticipated.
+Emily, you'll fall backwards if you don't mind."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I sha'n't," said Emily. "Why did you not stay longer?"</p>
+
+<p>"I found Treve away when I reached Oxford, so I came back again, and got
+home last night&mdash;to Nora's discomfiture."</p>
+
+<p>Maude looked into his face with a questioning glance. She had quite
+recovered her self-possession. "Why?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>George Ryle laughed. "Nora had turned my bedroom inside out, and accused
+me, in her vexation, of coming back on purpose."</p>
+
+<p>"Where did you sleep?" asked Emily.</p>
+
+<p>"In Treve's room. Take care, Edith!"</p>
+
+<p>Maude hastily drew back Edith Chattaway, who had gone too near the
+horse. "How is Mrs. Ryle?" asked Maude. "We heard yesterday she was not
+well."</p>
+
+<p>"She is suffering from a cold. I have scarcely seen her. Maude," leaning
+down and whispering, "are things any brighter than they were?"</p>
+
+<p>Again the soft colour came into her face, and she threw him a glance
+from her dark blue eyes. If ever glance spoke of indignation, hers did.
+"What change can there be?" she breathed. "Rupert is ill again," she
+added in louder tones.</p>
+
+<p>"Rupert!"</p>
+
+<p>"At least, he is not well, and is at home to-day. But he is better than
+he was yesterday&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Here comes Octave," interrupted Emily.</p>
+
+<p>George Ryle gathered up his reins. Shaking hands with Maude, he said a
+hasty good-bye to the other two, and cantered down the lane, lifting his
+hat to Miss Chattaway, who was coming up from a distance.</p>
+
+<p>She was advancing quickly across the common, behind the fence on the
+other side of the lane. A tall, thin young woman, looking her full age
+of four or five-and-twenty, with the same leaden complexion as of yore,
+and the disagreeably sly grey eyes. She wore a puce silk paletot, and a
+brown hat trimmed with black lace; an unbecoming costume for one so
+tall.</p>
+
+<p>"That was George Ryle!" she exclaimed, as she came up. "What brings him
+back already?"</p>
+
+<p>"He found his brother away when he reached Oxford," was Maude's reply.</p>
+
+<p>"I think he was very rude not to stop and speak to you, Octave,"
+observed Emily Chattaway. "He saw you coming."</p>
+
+<p>Octave made no reply. She mounted the stile and gazed after the
+horseman, apparently to see what direction he would take on reaching the
+end of the lane. Patiently watching, she saw him turn into another lane,
+which branched off to the left. Octave Chattaway jumped over the stile,
+and went swiftly across the field.</p>
+
+<p>"She's gone to meet him," was Emily's comment.</p>
+
+<p>It was precisely what Miss Chattaway <i>had</i> gone to do. Passing through a
+copse after quitting the field, she emerged from it just as George was
+riding quietly past. He halted and stopped to shake hands, as he had
+done with Maude.</p>
+
+<p>"You are out of breath, Octave. Have you been hastening to catch me?"</p>
+
+<p>"I need not have done so but for your gallantry in riding off the moment
+you saw me," she answered, resentfully.</p>
+
+<p>"I beg your pardon. I did not know you wanted me. And I am in a hurry."</p>
+
+<p>"It seems so&mdash;stopping to speak so long to the children and Maude," she
+returned, with irony. And George Ryle's laugh was a conscious one.</p>
+
+<p>Latent antagonism was seated in the minds of both, and a latent
+consciousness of it running through their hearts. When George Ryle saw
+Octave hastening across the common, he knew she was speeding to reach
+him ere he should be gone; when Octave saw him ride away, a voice
+whispered that he did so to avoid meeting her; and each felt that their
+secret thoughts and motives were known to the other. Yes, there was
+constant antagonism between them; if the word may be applied to Octave
+Chattaway, who had learnt to value the society of George Ryle more
+highly than was good for her. Did he so value hers? Octave wore out her
+heart, hoping for it. But in the midst of her unwise love for him, her
+never-ceasing efforts to be in his presence, near to him, there
+constantly arose the bitter conviction that he did not care for her.</p>
+
+<p>"I wished to ask you about the book you promised to get me," she said.
+"Have you procured it?"</p>
+
+<p>"No; and I am sorry to say that I cannot meet with it," replied George.
+"I thought of it at Oxford, and went into nearly every bookseller's shop
+in the place, unsuccessfully. I told you it was difficult to find. I
+must get them to write to London for it from Barmester."</p>
+
+<p>"Will you come to the Hold this evening?" she asked, as he was riding
+away.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you. I am not sure that I can. My day or two's absence has made
+me busy."</p>
+
+<p>Octave Chattaway drew back under cover of the trees and halted: never
+retreating until every trace of that fine young horseman had passed out
+of sight.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2>
+
+<h3>UNANSWERED</h3>
+
+
+<p>It is singular to observe how lightly the marks of Time occasionally
+pass over the human form and face. An instance of this might be seen in
+Mrs. Chattaway. It was strange that it should be so in her case. Her
+health was not good, and she certainly was not a happy woman. Illness
+was frequently her portion; care ever seemed to follow her; and it is
+upon these sufferers in mind and body that Time is fond of leaving his
+traces. He had not left them on Mrs. Chattaway; her face was fair and
+fresh as it had been eight years ago; her hair fell in its mass of
+curls; her eyes were still blue, and clear, and bright.</p>
+
+<p>And yet anxiety was her constant companion. It may be said that remorse
+never left her. She would sit at the window of her room
+upstairs&mdash;Madam's room&mdash;for hours, apparently contemplating the outer
+world; in reality seeing nothing.</p>
+
+<p>As she was sitting now. The glories of the bright day had faded into
+twilight; the sun no longer lit up the many hues of the autumn foliage;
+all the familiar points in the landscape had faded to indistinctness;
+old Canham's lodge chimneys were becoming obscure, and the red light
+from the mines and works was beginning to show out on the right in the
+extreme distance. Mrs. Chattaway leaned her elbow on the old-fashioned
+armchair, and rested her cheek upon her hand. Had you looked at her
+eyes, gazing out so upon the fading landscape, you might have seen that
+they were deep in the world of thought.</p>
+
+<p>That constitutional timidity of hers had been nothing but a blight to
+her throughout life. Reticence in a woman is good; but not that timid,
+shrinking reticence which is the result of fear; which dare not speak up
+for itself, even to oppose a wrong. Every wrong inflicted upon Rupert
+Trevlyn&mdash;every unkindness shown him&mdash;every pang, whether of mind or
+body, which happier circumstances might have spared him, was avenged
+over and over again in the person of Mrs. Chattaway. It may be said that
+she lived only in pain; her life was one never-ending sorrow&mdash;sorrow for
+Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>In the old days, when her husband had chosen to deceive Squire Trevlyn
+as to the existence of Rupert, she had not dared to avow the truth, and
+say to her father, "There is an heir born." She dared not fly in the
+face of her husband, and say it; and, it may be, that she was too
+willingly silent for her husband's sake. It would seem strange, but that
+we know what fantastic tricks our passions play us, that pretty, gentle
+Edith Trevlyn should have <i>loved</i> that essentially disagreeable man,
+James Chattaway. But so it was. And, while deploring the fact of the
+wrong dealt out to Rupert&mdash;it may almost be said <i>expiating</i> it&mdash;Mrs.
+Chattaway never visited that wrong upon her husband, even in thought, as
+it ought to have been visited. None could realise more intensely its
+consequences than she realised them in her secret heart. Expiate it? Ay,
+she expiated it again and again, if her sufferings could only have been
+reckoned as atonement.</p>
+
+<p>But they could not. <i>They</i> were enjoying Trevlyn Hold and its
+advantages, and Rupert was little better than an outcast on the face of
+the earth. Every dinner put upon their table, every article of attire
+bought for their children, every honour or comfort their position
+brought them, seemed to rise up reproachfully before the face of Mrs.
+Chattaway, and say, "The money to procure all this is not yours and your
+husband's; it is stolen from Rupert." And she could do nothing to remedy
+it; could only wage ever-constant battle with the knowledge, and the
+sting it brought. No remedy existed. They had not come into the
+inheritance by legal fraud; had succeeded to it fairly and openly,
+according to the will of Squire Trevlyn. If the whole world ranged
+itself on Rupert's side, pressing that the property should be resigned
+to him, Mr. Chattaway had only to point to the will, and say, "You
+cannot act against that."</p>
+
+<p>It may be that this very fact brought remorse home with greater force to
+Mrs. Chattaway. It may be that incessantly dwelling upon it caused a
+morbid state of feeling, which increased the malady. Certain it is, that
+night and day the wrongs of Rupert pressed on her mind. She loved him
+with that strange intensity which brings an aching to the heart. When
+the baby orphan was brought home to her from its foreign birthplace,
+with its rosy cheeks and its golden curls&mdash;when it put out its little
+arms to her, and gazed at her with its large blue eyes, her heart went
+out to it there and then, and she caught it to her with a love more
+passionate than any ever given to her own children. The irredeemable
+wrong inflicted on the unconscious child, fixed itself on her conscience
+in that hour, never to be lifted from it.</p>
+
+<p>If ever a woman lived a dual life, that woman was Mrs. Chattaway. Her
+true aspect&mdash;that in which she saw herself as she really was&mdash;was as
+different from the one presented to the world as light from darkness. Do
+not blame her. It was difficult to help it. The world and her own family
+saw in Mrs. Chattaway a weak, gentle, apathetic woman, who did not take
+upon herself even the ordinary authority of the head of a household.
+They little imagined that that weak woman, remarkable for nothing but
+indifference, passed her days in sadness, in care, in thought. The
+hopeless timidity (inherited from her mother) which had been her bane in
+former days, was her bane still. She had not dared to rise up against
+her husband when the wrong was inflicted upon Rupert Trevlyn; she did
+not dare openly rise up now against the petty tyrannies daily dealt out
+to him. There may have been a latent consciousness in her mind that if
+she did interfere it would not change things for the better, and might
+make them worse for Rupert. Probably it would have done so.</p>
+
+<p>There were many things she could have wished for Rupert, and went so far
+as to hint some of them to Mr. Chattaway. She wished he could be
+altogether relieved from Blackstone; she wished greater indulgences for
+him at home; she wished he might be transported to a warmer climate. A
+bare suggestion she dropped, once in a way, to Mr. Chattaway, but they
+fell unheeded on his ear. He replied to the hint of the warmer climate
+with a prolonged stare and a demand as to what romantic absurdity she
+could be thinking of. Mrs. Chattaway had never mentioned it again. In
+these cases of constitutional timidity, a rebuff, be it ever so slight,
+is sufficient to close the lips for ever. Poor lady! she would have
+sacrificed her own comfort to give peace and comfort to the unhappy
+Rupert. He was miserably put upon; treated with less consideration than
+the servants; made to feel his dependent state daily and hourly by petty
+annoyances; and yet she could not openly interfere!</p>
+
+<p>Even now, as she sat watching the deepening shades, she was dwelling on
+this; resenting it in her heart, for his sake. It was the evening of the
+day when the girls had met George Ryle in the lane. She could hear
+sounds of merriment downstairs from her children and their visitors, and
+felt sure Rupert did not make one of them. It had long been the pleasure
+of Cris and Octave to exclude Rupert from the evening gatherings of the
+family, as far as they could do so; and if, through the presence of
+herself or Miss Diana, they could not absolutely deny his entrance, they
+treated him with studied indifference. She sat on, revolving these
+bitter thoughts in the gloom, until roused by the entrance of an
+intruder.</p>
+
+<p>It was Rupert himself. He approached Mrs. Chattaway, and she fondly
+threw her arm round him, and drew him down to a chair by her side. Only
+when they were alone could she show him these marks of affection, or
+prove to him that he did not stand in the world entirely isolated from
+all love.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you feel better to-night, Rupert?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I am a great deal better. I feel quite well. Why are you sitting in
+the dark, Aunt Edith?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is not quite dark yet. What are they doing below, Rupert? I hear
+plenty of laughter."</p>
+
+<p>"They are playing at some game, I think."</p>
+
+<p>"At what?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know. I was joining them, when Octave, as usual, said they were
+enough without me; so I came away."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway made no reply. She never spoke a reproachful word of her
+children to Rupert, whatever she might feel; she never, by so much as a
+breathing, cast a reproach on her husband to living mortal. Rupert
+leaned his head on her shoulder, as though weary. Sufficient light was
+left to show how delicate his features, how attractive his face. The
+lovely countenance of his boyhood characterised him still&mdash;the
+suspiciously bright cheeks and silken hair. Of middle height, slender
+and fragile, he scarcely looked his twenty years. There was a
+resemblance in his face to Mrs. Chattaway: and it was not surprising,
+for Joe Trevlyn and his sister Edith had been remarkably alike when they
+were young.</p>
+
+<p>"Is Cris come in?" asked Mrs. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"Not yet."</p>
+
+<p>Rupert rose as he spoke, and stretched himself. The verb <i>s'ennuyer</i> was
+one he often felt obliged to conjugate, in his evenings at the Hold.</p>
+
+<p>"I think I shall go down for an hour to the farm."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway started: shrank from the words, as it seemed. "Not
+to-night, Rupert!"</p>
+
+<p>"It is so dull at home, Aunt Edith."</p>
+
+<p>"They are merry enough downstairs."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. But Octave takes care that I shall not be merry with them."</p>
+
+<p>What could she answer?</p>
+
+<p>"Then, Rupert, you will <i>be sure</i> to be home," she said, after a while.
+And the pained emphasis with which she spoke no pen could express. The
+words evidently conveyed some meaning, understood by Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," was all he answered, the tones of his voice betraying his
+resentment.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway caught him to her, and hid her face upon his shoulder.
+"For my sake, Rupert, darling, for my sake!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes, dear Aunt Edith: I'll be sure to be in time," he reiterated.
+"I won't forget it, as I did the other night."</p>
+
+<p>She stood at the window, and watched him away from the house and down
+the avenue, praying that he might <i>not</i> forget. It had pleased Mr.
+Chattaway lately to forbid Rupert the house, unless he returned to it by
+half-past ten. That this motive was entirely that of ill-naturedly
+crossing Rupert, there could be little doubt about. Driven by unkindness
+from the Hold, Rupert had taken to spending his evenings with George
+Ryle; sometimes at the houses of other friends; now and then he would
+invade old Canham's. Rupert's hour for coming in from these visits was
+about eleven; he had generally managed to be in by the time the clock
+struck; but the master of Trevlyn Hold suddenly issued a mandate that he
+must be in by half-past ten; failing strict obedience as to time, he was
+not to be let in at all. Rupert resented it, and one or two unpleasant
+scenes had ensued. A similar rule was not applied to Cris, who might
+come in at any hour he pleased.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway went down to the drawing-room. Two girls, the daughters
+of neighbours, were spending the evening there, and they were playing at
+proverbs with great animation: Maude Trevlyn, the guests, and the Miss
+Chattaways. Octave alone joined in it listlessly, as if her thoughts
+were far away. Her restless glances towards the door seemed to say she
+was watching for the entrance of one who did not come.</p>
+
+<p>By-and-by Mr. Chattaway came home, and they sat down to supper.
+Afterwards, the guests departed, and the younger children went to bed.
+Ten o'clock struck, and the time went on again.</p>
+
+<p>"Where's Rupert?" Mr. Chattaway suddenly asked his wife.</p>
+
+<p>"He went down to Trevlyn Farm," she said, unable, had it been to save
+her life, to speak without deprecation.</p>
+
+<p>He made no reply, but rang the bell, and ordered the household to bed.
+Miss Diana Trevlyn was out upon a visit.</p>
+
+<p>"Cris and Rupert are not in," observed Octave, as she lighted her
+mother's candle and her own.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway took out his watch. "Twenty-five minutes past ten," he
+said, in his hard, impassive manner&mdash;a manner which imparted the idea
+that he was utterly destitute of sympathy for the whole human race. "Mr.
+Rupert must be quick if he intends to be admitted to-night; Give your
+mother her bed-candle."</p>
+
+<p>It may appear almost incredible that Mrs. Chattaway should meekly take
+her candle and follow her daughter upstairs without remonstrance, when
+she would have given the world to sit up longer. She was becoming quite
+feverish on Rupert's account, and would have wished to wait in that room
+until his ring was heard. But to oppose her own will to her husband's
+was a thing she had never yet done; in small things, as in great, she
+had bowed to his wishes without making the faintest shadow of
+resistance.</p>
+
+<p>Octave wished her mother good-night, went into her room, and closed the
+door. Mrs. Chattaway was turning into hers when she saw Maude creeping
+down the upper stairs. She came noiselessly along the corridor, her face
+pale with agitation, and her heart beating.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Aunt Edith, what will be done?" she murmured. "It is half-past ten,
+and he is not home."</p>
+
+<p>"Maude, my poor child, you can do nothing," was the whispered answer,
+the tone as full of pain as Maude's. "Go back to your room, dear; your
+uncle may come up."</p>
+
+<p>The great clock in the hall struck the half-hour, its sound falling as a
+knell. Hot tears were falling from the eyes of Maude.</p>
+
+<p>"What will become of him, Aunt Edith? Where will he sleep?"</p>
+
+<p>"Hush, Maude! Run back."</p>
+
+<p>It was time to run; and Mrs. Chattaway spoke the words in startled
+tones. The master's heavy footstep was heard crossing the hall. Maude
+stole back, and Mrs. Chattaway passed into her dressing-room.</p>
+
+<p>She sat down on a chair, and pressed her hands upon her bosom to still
+its beating. Her suspense and agitation were terrible. A sensitive
+nature, such as Mrs. Chattaway's, feels emotion in a most painful
+degree. Every sense was strung to its utmost tension. She listened for
+Rupert's footfall outside; waited with a sort of horror for the ringing
+of the house-bell announcing his arrival, her whole frame sick and
+faint.</p>
+
+<p>At last one came running up the avenue at a fleet pace, and the echoes
+of the bell were heard resounding through the house.</p>
+
+<p>Not daring to defy her husband by going down to let him in she knocked
+at his door and entered.</p>
+
+<p>"Shall I go down and open the door, James?"</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>"It is only five minutes past the half-hour."</p>
+
+<p>"Five minutes are the same in effect as five hours," answered Mr.
+Chattaway. "Unless he can be in before the half-hour, <i>he does not come
+in at all</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"It may be Cris," she resumed.</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense! You know it is not Cris. Cris has his latch-key."</p>
+
+<p>Another alarming peal.</p>
+
+<p>"He can see the light in my dressing-room," she urged, with parched
+lips. "Oh, James, let me go down."</p>
+
+<p>"I tell you&mdash;No."</p>
+
+<p>There was no appeal against it. She knew there might be none. But she
+clasped her hands in agony, and gave utterance to the distress at her
+heart.</p>
+
+<p>"Where will he sleep? Where can he go, if we deny him entrance?"</p>
+
+<p>"Where he chooses. He does not enter here."</p>
+
+<p>And Mrs. Chattaway went back to her dressing-room, and listened in
+despair to further appeals from the bell. Appeals which she might not
+answer.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2>
+
+<h3>OPINIONS DIFFER</h3>
+
+
+<p>The nights were chilly in the early autumn, and a blazing fire lighted
+up the drawing-room at Trevlyn Farm. On a comfortable sofa, drawn close
+to it, sat Mrs. Ryle, a warm shawl thrown over her black silk gown&mdash;soft
+cushions heaped around her. A violent cold had made an invalid of her
+for some days past, but she was recovering. Her face was softened by a
+white cap of delicate lace; but its lines had grown haughtier and firmer
+with her years. She wore well, and was handsome still.</p>
+
+<p>Trevlyn Farm had prospered. It was a lucky day for Mrs. Ryle when she
+decided upon her step-son's remaining on it. He had brought energy and
+goodwill to bear on his work; a clear head and calm intelligence; and
+time had contributed judgment and experience. Mrs. Ryle knew that she
+could not have been more faithfully served, and gradually grew to feel
+his value. Had they been really mother and son, they could not have been
+better friends. In the beginning she was inclined to discountenance
+sundry ways and habits George favoured. He did not turn himself into a
+<i>working</i> farmer, as his father had done, and as Mrs. Ryle thought he
+ought to do. George objected. A man who worked on his own farm must give
+it a less general supervision, he urged: and after all, it was only the
+cost of an additional day-labourer. His argument carried reason with it;
+and keen and active Farmer Apperley, who deemed idleness the greatest
+sin (next, perhaps, to hunting) a young farmer could commit, nodded
+approval. George did not put aside his books; his classics, and his
+studies in general literature; quite the contrary. In short, George Ryle
+appeared to be going in for a gentleman&mdash;as Cris Chattaway chose to term
+it&mdash;a great deal more than Mrs. Ryle considered would be profitable for
+him or for her. But George had held on his course, in a quiet,
+undemonstrative way; and Mrs. Ryle had at length fallen in with it.
+Perhaps she now saw its wisdom. That he was essentially a gentleman, in
+person and manners, in mind and conduct, she could only acknowledge, and
+she felt a pride in him she had never dreamed she should feel for any
+one but Treve.</p>
+
+<p>Could she feel pride in Treve? Not much, with all her partiality.
+Trevlyn Ryle was not turning out quite satisfactorily. There was nothing
+very objectionable to be urged against him; but Mrs. Ryle was accustomed
+to measure by a high standard of excellence; and of that Treve fell
+exceedingly short. She had not deemed it well that George Ryle should be
+too much of a gentleman, but she had determined Trevlyn should be one.
+Upon the completion of his school life, he was sent to Oxford. The cost
+might have been imprudently heavy for Mrs. Ryle, had she borne it
+unassisted; but Trevlyn had gained a scholarship at Barmester Grammar
+School, and the additional cost was light. Treve, once at Oxford, did
+not get on quite so fast as he might have done. Treve spent; Treve
+seemed to have plenty of wild-oats to sow; Treve thought he should like
+a life of idleness better than farming. His mother had foolishly
+whispered the fond hope that he might some time be owner of Trevlyn
+Hold, and Treve reckoned upon its fulfilment more confidently than was
+good for him. Meanwhile, until the lucky chance arrived which should
+give him the inheritance (though by what miracle the chance was to fall
+was at present hidden in the womb of mystery), Treve, upon leaving
+college, was to assume the mastership of Trevlyn Farm, in accordance
+with the plan originally decided upon by Mrs. Ryle. He would not be
+altogether unqualified for this: having been about the farm since he was
+a child, and seen how it should be worked. Whether he would give
+sufficient personal attention to it was another matter.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Ryle expressed herself as not being too confident of him&mdash;whether
+of his industry or qualifications she did not state. George had given
+one or two hints that when Treve came home for good, he must look out
+for something else; but Mrs. Ryle had waived away the hints as if they
+were unpleasant to her. Treve must prove what metal he was made of,
+before assuming the management, she briefly said. And George suffered
+the subject to drop.</p>
+
+<p>Treve had now but one more term to keep at the university. At the
+conclusion of the previous term he had not returned home: remaining on a
+visit to a friend, who had an appointment in one of the colleges. But
+Treve's demand for money had become somewhat inconvenient to Mrs. Ryle,
+and she had begged George to pay Oxford a few days' visit, that he might
+see how Treve was really going on. George complied, and proceeded to
+Oxford, where he found Treve absent&mdash;as in the last chapter you heard
+him say to Maude Trevlyn.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Trevlyn sat by the drawing-room fire, enveloped in her shawl, and
+supported by her pillows. The thought of these things was bringing a
+severe look to her proud face. She had scarcely seen George since his
+return; had not exchanged more than ten words with him. But those ten
+words had not been of a cheering nature; and she feared things were not
+going on satisfactorily with Treve. With that hard look on her features,
+how wonderfully her face resembled that of her dead father!</p>
+
+<p>Presently George came in. Mrs. Ryle looked up eagerly at his entrance.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you better?" he asked, advancing, and bending with a kindly smile.
+"It is long since you had such a cold as this."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall be all right in a day or two," she answered. "Yesterday I
+thought I was going to have a long illness, my chest was so painful. Sit
+down, George. What about Treve?"</p>
+
+<p>"Treve was not at Oxford. He had gone to London."</p>
+
+<p>"You told me so. What had he gone there for?"</p>
+
+<p>"A little change, Ferrars said. He had been gone a week."</p>
+
+<p>"A little change? In plain English, a little pleasure, I suppose. Call
+it what you will, it costs money."</p>
+
+<p>George had seated himself opposite to her, his arm resting on the centre
+table, and the red blaze lighting up his frank, pleasant face. In figure
+he was tall and slight; his father, at his age, had been so before him.</p>
+
+<p>"Why did you not follow him to London?" resumed Mrs. Ryle. "It would
+have been less than a two hours' journey from Oxford."</p>
+
+<p>George turned his large dark eyes upon her, some surprise in them. "How
+was I to know where to look for him, if I had gone?"</p>
+
+<p>"Could Mr. Ferrars not give you his address?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. I asked him. Treve had not told him where he should put up. In
+fact, Ferrars did not think Treve knew himself. Under these
+circumstances, my going to town would have been only waste of time and
+money."</p>
+
+<p>"It is of no use your keeping things from me," resumed Mrs. Ryle, after
+a pause. "Has Treve contracted fresh debts at Oxford?"</p>
+
+<p>"I fancy he has. A few."</p>
+
+<p>"A 'few'&mdash;and you 'fancy!' George, tell me the truth. That you know he
+has, and that they are not a few."</p>
+
+<p>"That he has, I believe to be true: I gathered as much from Ferrars. But
+I do not think they are serious; I do not indeed."</p>
+
+<p>"Why did you not inquire? I would have gone to every shop in the town,
+in order to ascertain. If he is contracting more debts, who is to pay
+them?"</p>
+
+<p>George was silent.</p>
+
+<p>"When shall we be clear of Chattaway?" she abruptly resumed. "When will
+the last payment be due?"</p>
+
+<p>"In a month or two's time. Principal and interest will all be paid off
+then."</p>
+
+<p>"It will take all your efforts to make up the sum."</p>
+
+<p>"It will be ready, mother. It shall be."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't doubt it. But it will not be ready, George, if a portion is to
+be taken from it for Treve."</p>
+
+<p>George knit his brow. He was falling into thought.</p>
+
+<p>"I <i>must</i> get rid of Chattaway," she resumed. "He has been weighing us
+down all these years like an incubus; and now that emancipation has
+nearly come, were anything to delay it, I should&mdash;I think I should go
+mad."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope and trust nothing will delay it," answered George. "I am more
+anxious to get rid of Chattaway than, I think, even you can be. As to
+Treve, his debts must wait."</p>
+
+<p>"But it would be more desirable that he should not contract them."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course. But how are we to prevent his contracting them?"</p>
+
+<p>"He ought to prevent it himself. <i>You</i> did not contract debts."</p>
+
+<p>"I!" he rejoined, in surprise. "I had no opportunity of doing so. Work
+and responsibility were thrown upon me before I was old enough to think
+of pleasure: and they kept me steady."</p>
+
+<p>"You were not naturally inclined to spend, George."</p>
+
+<p>"There's no knowing what I might have acquired, had I been sent out into
+the world, as Treve has," he rejoined.</p>
+
+<p>"It was necessary that Treve should go to college," said Mrs. Ryle,
+quite sharply.</p>
+
+<p>"I am not saying anything to the contrary," George quietly answered. "It
+was right that he should go&mdash;as you wished it."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall live&mdash;I hope I shall live&mdash;I pray that I may live&mdash;to see
+Trevlyn lawful possessor of the Hold. A gentleman's education was
+essential to him: hence I sent him to Oxford."</p>
+
+<p>George made no reply. Mrs. Ryle felt vexed. She knew George disapproved
+her policy in regard to Trevlyn, and charged him with it now. George
+would not deny it.</p>
+
+<p>"What I think unwise is your having led Treve to build hopes upon
+succeeding to Trevlyn Hold," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Why?" she haughtily asked. "He will come into it."</p>
+
+<p>"I do not see how."</p>
+
+<p>"He has far more right to it than he who is looked upon as its
+successor&mdash;Cris Chattaway," she said, with flashing eyes. "You know
+that."</p>
+
+<p>George could have answered that neither of them had a just right to it,
+whilst Rupert Trevlyn lived; but Rupert and his claims had been so
+completely ignored by Mrs. Ryle, as by others, that his advancing them
+would have been waived away as idle talk. Mrs. Ryle resumed, her voice
+unsteady. It was most rare that she suffered herself to speak of these
+past grievances; but when she did, her vehemence mounted to agitation.</p>
+
+<p>"When my boy was born, the news that Joe Trevlyn's health was failing
+had come home to us. I knew the Squire would never leave the property to
+Maude, and I expected that my son would inherit. Was it not natural that
+I should do so?&mdash;was it not his right?&mdash;I was the Squire's eldest
+daughter. I had him named Trevlyn; I wrote a note to my father, saying
+he would not now be at fault for a male heir, in the event of poor Joe's
+not leaving one&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"He did leave one," interrupted George, speaking impulsively.</p>
+
+<p>"Rupert was not born then, and his succession was afterwards barred by
+my father's will. Through deceit, I grant you: but I had no hand in that
+deceit. I named my boy Trevlyn; I regarded him as the heir; and when the
+Squire died and his will was opened, it was found he had bequeathed all
+to Chattaway. If you think I have ever once faltered in my hope&mdash;my
+resolve&mdash;to see Trevlyn some time displace the Chattaways, you do not
+know much of human nature."</p>
+
+<p>"I grant what you say," replied George; "that, of the two, Trevlyn has
+more right to it than Cris Chattaway. But has it ever occurred to you to
+ask, <i>how</i> Cris is to be displaced?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Ryle did not answer. She sat beating her foot upon the ottoman, as
+one whose mind is not at ease. George continued:</p>
+
+<p>"It appears to me the wildest possible fallacy, the bare idea of
+Trevlyn's being able to displace Cris Chattaway in the succession. If we
+lived in the barbarous ages, when inheritances were wrested by force of
+arms, when the turn of a battle decided the ownership of a castle, then
+there might be a chance that Cris might lose Trevlyn Hold. As it is,
+there is none. There is not the faintest shadow of a chance that it can
+go to any one beside Cris. Failing his death&mdash;and he is strong and
+healthy&mdash;he <i>must</i> succeed. Why, even were Rupert&mdash;forgive my alluding
+to him again&mdash;to urge <i>his</i> claims, there would be no hope for him. Mr.
+Chattaway legally holds the estate; he has willed it to his son; and
+that son cannot be displaced by others."</p>
+
+<p>Her foot beat more impatiently; a heavier line settled on her brow.
+Often and often had the arguments now stated by her step-son occurred to
+her aching brain. George spoke again.</p>
+
+<p>"And therefore, the improbability&mdash;I may say the impossibility&mdash;of
+Treve's ever succeeding renders it unwise that he should have been
+taught to build upon it. Far better, mother, the thought had never been
+so much as whispered to him."</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you look at it in this unfavourable light?" she cried angrily.</p>
+
+<p>"Because it is the correct light. The property is Mr.
+Chattaway's&mdash;legally his, and it cannot be taken from him. It will be
+Cris's after him. It is simply madness to think otherwise."</p>
+
+<p>"Cris may die," said Mrs. Ryle sharply.</p>
+
+<p>"If Cris died to-morrow, Treve would be no nearer succession. Chattaway
+has daughters, and would will it to each in turn rather than to Treve.
+He can will it away as he pleases. It was left to him absolutely."</p>
+
+<p>"My father was mad when he made such a will in favour of Chattaway! He
+could have been nothing less. I have thought so many times."</p>
+
+<p>"But it was made, and cannot now be altered. Will you pardon me for
+saying that it would have been better had you accepted the state of
+affairs, and endeavoured to reconcile yourself to them?"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Better?</i>"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; much better. To rebel against what cannot be remedied can only do
+harm. I would a great deal rather Treve succeeded to Trevlyn Hold than
+Cris Chattaway: but I know Treve never will succeed: and, therefore, it
+is a pity it was ever suggested to him. He might have settled down more
+steadily had he never become possessed of the idea that he might some
+time supersede Cris Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>"He <i>shall</i> supersede him&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>The door opened to admit a visitor, and he who entered was no other than
+Rupert Trevlyn. Ignore his claims as she would, Mrs. Ryle felt it would
+not be seemly to discuss before him Treve's chance of succession. She
+had in truth completely put from her all thought of the claims of
+Rupert. He had been deprived of his right by Squire Trevlyn's will, and
+there was an end to it. Mrs. Ryle rather liked Rupert; or, it may be
+better to say, she did not <i>dis</i>like him; really to like any one except
+Treve, was not in her nature. She liked Rupert in a negative sort of
+way; but would not have helped him to his inheritance by lifting a
+finger. In the event of her possessing no son to be jealous for, she
+might have taken up the wrongs of Rupert&mdash;just to thwart Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Rupert," said George, rising, and cordially shaking hands, "I
+heard you were ill again. Maude told me so to-day."</p>
+
+<p>"I am better to-night. Aunt Ryle, they said you were in bed."</p>
+
+<p>"I am better, too, Rupert. What has been the matter with you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, my chest again," said Rupert, pushing the waving hair from his
+bright and delicate face. "I could hardly breathe this morning."</p>
+
+<p>"Ought you to have come out to-night?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think it matters," carelessly answered Rupert. "For all I see,
+I am as well when I go out as when I don't. There's not much to stay in
+for, there."</p>
+
+<p>Painfully susceptible to cold, he edged himself closer to the hearth
+with a slight shiver. George took the poker and stirred the fire, and
+the blaze went flashing up, playing on the familiar objects of the room,
+lighting up the slender figure, the well-formed features, the large blue
+eyes of Rupert, and bringing out all the signs of constitutional
+delicacy. The transparent fairness of complexion and the bloom of the
+cheeks, might have whispered a warning.</p>
+
+<p>"Octave thought you were going up there to-night, George."</p>
+
+<p>"Did she?"</p>
+
+<p>"The two Beecroft girls are there, and they turned me out of the
+drawing-room. Octave said 'I wasn't wanted.' Will you play chess
+to-night, George?"</p>
+
+<p>"If you like; after supper."</p>
+
+<p>"I must be home by half-past ten, you know. I was a minute over the
+half-hour the other night, and one of the servants opened the door for
+me. Chattaway pretty nearly rose the roof off, he was so angry; but he
+could not decently turn me out again."</p>
+
+<p>"Chattaway is master of Trevlyn Hold for the time being," remarked Mrs.
+Ryle. "Not Squire; never Squire"&mdash;she broke off, straying abruptly from
+her subject, and as abruptly resuming it. "You will do well to obey him,
+Rupert. When I make a rule in this house, I <i>never permit it to be
+broken</i>."</p>
+
+<p>A valuable hint, if Rupert had only taken it for guidance. He meant
+well: he never meant, for all his light and careless speaking, to
+disobey Mr. Chattaway's mandate. And yet it happened that very night!</p>
+
+<p>The chess-board was attractive, and the time slipped on to half-past
+ten. Rupert said a hasty good night, snatched up his hat, tore through
+the entrance-room and made the best speed his lungs allowed him to
+Trevlyn Hold. His heart was beating as he gained it, and he rang that
+peal at the bell which had sent its echoes through the house; through
+the trembling frame and weak heart of Mrs. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>He rang&mdash;and rang. There came back no sign that the ring was heard. A
+light shone in Mrs. Chattaway's dressing-room; and Rupert took up some
+gravel, and gently threw it against the window. No response was accorded
+in answer to it; not so much as the form of a hand on the blind; the
+house, in its utter stillness, might have been the house of the dead.
+Rupert threw up some more gravel as silently as he could.</p>
+
+<p>He had not to wait very long this time. Cautiously, slowly, as though
+the very movement feared being heard, the blind was drawn aside, and the
+face of Mrs. Chattaway appeared looking down at him. He could see that
+she had not begun to undress. She shook her head; raised her hands and
+clasped them with a gesture of despair; and her lips formed themselves
+into the words, "I may not let you in."</p>
+
+<p>He could not hear the words, but read the expression of the whole all
+too clearly&mdash;Chattaway would not suffer him to be admitted. Mrs.
+Chattaway, dreading possibly that her husband might cast his eyes within
+her dressing-room, quietly let the blind fall again, and removed her
+shadow from the window.</p>
+
+<p>What was Rupert to do? Lie on the grass that skirted the avenue, and
+take his night's rest under the trees in the freezing air and night
+dews? A strong frame, revelling in superfluous health, might possibly
+risk that; but not Rupert Trevlyn.</p>
+
+<p>A momentary thought come over him that he would go back to Trevlyn Farm,
+and ask for a night's shelter there. He would have done so, but for the
+recollection of Mrs. Ryle's stern voice and sterner face when she
+remarked that, as he knew the rule made for his going in, he must not
+break it. Rupert had never got on too cordially with Mrs. Ryle. He
+remembered shrinking from her haughty face when he was a child; and
+somehow he shrank from it still. No; he would not knock them up at
+Trevlyn Farm.</p>
+
+<p>What must he do? Should he walk about until morning? Suddenly a thought
+came to him&mdash;were the Canhams in bed? If not, he could go there, and lie
+on their settle. The Canhams never went to bed very early. Ann Canham
+sat up to lock the great gate&mdash;it was Chattaway's pleasure that it
+should not be done until after ten o'clock; and old Canham liked to sit
+up, smoking his pipe.</p>
+
+<p>With a brisk step, now that he had decided on his course, Rupert walked
+down the avenue. At the first turning he ran against Cris Chattaway, who
+was coming leisurely up it.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Cris! I am so glad! You'll let me in. They have shut me out
+to-night."</p>
+
+<p>"Let you in!" repeated Cris. "I can't."</p>
+
+<p>Rupert's blue eyes opened in the starlight. "Have you not your
+latch-key?"</p>
+
+<p>"What should hinder me?" responded Cris. "<i>I'm</i> going in; but I can't
+let you in."</p>
+
+<p>"Why not?" hotly asked Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't choose to fly in the Squire's face. He has ordered you to be in
+before half-past ten, or not to come in at all. It has gone half-past
+ten long ago: is hard upon eleven."</p>
+
+<p>"If you can go in after half-past ten, why can't I?" cried Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>"It's not my affair," said Cris, with a yawn. "Don't bother. Now look
+here. It's of no use following me, for I shall not let you in."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes you will, Cris."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>I will not</i>," responded Cris, emphatically. Rupert's temper was
+getting up.</p>
+
+<p>"Cris, I wouldn't show myself such a hangdog sneak as you to be made
+king of England. If every one had their rights, Trevlyn Hold would be
+mine, to shut you out of it if I pleased. But I wouldn't please. If only
+a dog were turned out of his kennel at night, I would let him into the
+Hold for shelter."</p>
+
+<p>Cris put his latch-key into the lock. "<i>I</i> don't turn you out. You must
+settle that question with the Squire. Keep off. If he says you may be
+let in at eleven, well and good; but I'm not going to encourage you in
+disobeying orders."</p>
+
+<p>He opened the door a few inches, wound himself in, and shut it in
+Rupert's face. He made a great noise in putting up the bar, which was
+not in the least necessary. Rupert had given him his true
+appellation&mdash;that of sneak. He was one: a false-hearted, plausible,
+cowardly sneak. As he stood at a table in the hall, and struck a match
+to light his candle, his puny face and dull light eyes betrayed the most
+complaisant enjoyment.</p>
+
+<p>He went upstairs smiling. He had to pass the angle of the corridor where
+his mother's rooms were situated. She glided silently out as he was
+going by. Her dress was off, and she had apparently thrown a shawl over
+her shoulders to come out to Cris: an old-fashioned spun-silk shawl,
+with a grey border and white centre: not so white, however, as the face
+of Mrs. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"Cris!" she said, laying her hand upon his arm, and speaking in the most
+timid whisper, "why did you not let him in?"</p>
+
+<p>"I thought we had been ordered not to let him in," returned he of the
+deceitful nature. "<i>I</i> have been ordered, I know that."</p>
+
+<p>"You might have done it just for once, Cris," his mother answered. "I
+know not what will become of him, out of doors this sharp night."</p>
+
+<p>Cris disengaged his arm, and continued his way up to his room. He slept
+on the upper floor. Maude was standing at the door of her chamber when
+he passed&mdash;as Mrs. Chattaway had been.</p>
+
+<p>"Cris&mdash;wait a minute," she said, for he was hastening by. "I want to
+speak a word to you. Have you seen Rupert?"</p>
+
+<p>"Seen him and heard him too," boldly avowed Cris. "He wanted me to let
+him in."</p>
+
+<p>"Which, of course, you would not do?" answered Maude, bitterly. "I
+wonder if you ever performed a good-natured action in your life?"</p>
+
+<p>"Can't remember," mockingly retorted Cris.</p>
+
+<p>"Where is Rupert? What is he going to do?"</p>
+
+<p>"You know where he is as well as I do: I suppose you could hear him. As
+to what he is going to do, I didn't ask him. Roost in a tree with the
+birds, perhaps."</p>
+
+<p>Maude retreated into her room and closed the door. She flung herself
+into a chair, and burst into a passionate flood of tears. Her heart
+ached for her brother with pain that amounted to agony: she could have
+forced down her proud spirit and knelt to Mr. Chattaway for him: almost
+have sacrificed her own life to bring comfort to Rupert, whom she loved
+so well.</p>
+
+<p>He&mdash;Rupert&mdash;stamped off when the door was closed against him, feeling he
+would like to stamp upon Cris himself. Arrived in front of the lodge, he
+stood and whistled, and presently Ann Canham looked from the upper
+casement in her nightcap.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, it's never you, Master Rupert!" she exclaimed, in intense
+surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"They have locked me out, Ann. Can you manage to come down and open the
+door without disturbing your father? If you can, I'll lie on the settle
+for to-night."</p>
+
+<p>Once inside, there ensued a contest. In her humble way, begging pardon
+for the presumption, Ann Canham proposed that Master Rupert should
+occupy her room, and she'd make herself contented with the settle.
+Rupert would not hear of it. He threw himself on the narrow bench they
+called the settle, and protested that if Ann said another word about
+giving up her room, he would go out and spend the night in the avenue.
+So she was fain to go back to it herself.</p>
+
+<p>A dreary night on that hard bench; and the morning found him cold and
+stiff. He was stamping one foot on the floor to stamp life into it, when
+old Canham entered, leaning on a crutch. Ann had told him the news, and
+the old man was up before his time.</p>
+
+<p>"But who shut you out, Master Rupert?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>"Ann says Mr. Cris went in pretty late last night. After she had locked
+the big gate."</p>
+
+<p>"Cris came up whilst I was ringing to be let in. He went in himself, but
+would not let me enter."</p>
+
+<p>"He's a reptile," said old Canham in his anger. "Eh me!" he added,
+sitting down with difficulty in his armchair, and extending the crutch
+before him, "what a mercy it would have been if Mr. Joe had lived!
+Chattaway would never have been stuck up in authority then. Better the
+Squire had left Trevlyn Hold to Miss Diana."</p>
+
+<p>"They say he would not leave it to a woman."</p>
+
+<p>"That's true, Master Rupert. And of his children there were but his
+daughters left. The two sons had gone. Rupert the heir first: he died on
+the high seas; and Mr. Joe next."</p>
+
+<p>"Mark, why did Rupert the heir go to sea?"</p>
+
+<p>Old Canham shook his head. "Ah, it was a bad business, Master Rupert,
+and it's as well not to talk of it."</p>
+
+<p>"But <i>why</i> did he go?" persisted Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>"It was a bad business, I say. He, the heir, had fallen into wild ways,
+got to like bad company, and that. He went out one night with some
+poachers&mdash;just for the fun of it. It wasn't on these lands. He meant no
+harm, but he was young and random, and he went out and put a gauze over
+his face as they did,&mdash;just, I say, for the fun of it. Master Rupert,
+that night they killed a gamekeeper."</p>
+
+<p>A shiver passed through Rupert's frame. "<i>He</i> killed him?&mdash;my uncle,
+Rupert Trevlyn?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, it wasn't he that killed him&mdash;as was proved a long while
+afterwards. But you see at the time it wasn't known exactly who had done
+it: they were all in league together, all in a mess, as may be said. Any
+way, the young heir, whether in fear or shame, went off in secret, and
+before many months had gone over, the bells were tolling for him. He had
+died far away."</p>
+
+<p>"But people never could have believed that a Trevlyn killed a man?" said
+Rupert, indignantly.</p>
+
+<p>Old Canham paused. "You have heard of the Trevlyn temper, Master
+Rupert?"</p>
+
+<p>"Who hasn't?" returned Rupert. "They say I have a touch of it."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, those that believed it laid it to that temper, you see. They
+thought the heir had been overtook by a fit of passion, and might have
+done the mischief in it. In those fits of passion a man is mad."</p>
+
+<p>"Is he?" abstractedly remarked Rupert, falling into a reverie. He had
+never before heard this episode in the history of the uncle whose name
+he bore&mdash;Rupert Trevlyn.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2>
+
+<h3>NO BREAKFAST</h3>
+
+
+<p>Old Canham stood at the door of his lodge, gazing after one who was
+winding through the avenue, in the direction of Trevlyn Hold, one whom
+old Canham delighted to patronise and make much of in his humble way;
+whom he encouraged in all sorts of vain and delusive notions&mdash;Rupert
+Trevlyn. Could Mr. Chattaway have divined the treason talked against him
+nearly every time Rupert dropped into the lodge, he might have tried
+hard to turn old Canham out of it. Harmless treason, however; consisting
+of rebellious words only. There was neither plotting nor hatching; old
+Canham and Rupert never glanced at that; both were perfectly aware that
+Chattaway held his place by a tenure which could not be disturbed.</p>
+
+<p>Many years ago, before Squire Trevlyn died, Mark Canham had grown ill in
+his service. In his service he had caught the cold which ended in an
+incurable rheumatic affection. The Squire settled him in the lodge, then
+just vacant, and allowed him five shillings a week. When the Squire
+died, Chattaway would have undone this. He wished to turn the old man
+out again (but it must be observed in a parenthesis that, though
+universally styled old Canham, the man was less old in years than in
+appearance), and place some one else in the lodge. I think, when there
+is no love lost between people, as the saying runs, each side is
+conscious of it. Chattaway disliked Mark Canham, and had a shrewd
+suspicion that Mark returned the feeling with interest. But he found he
+could not dismiss him from the lodge, for Miss Trevlyn put her veto upon
+it. She openly declared that Squire Trevlyn's act in placing his old
+servant there should be observed; she promised Mark he should not be
+turned out of it as long as he lived. Chattaway had no resource but to
+bow to it; he might not cross Diana Trevlyn; but he did succeed in
+reducing the weekly allowance. Half-a-crown a week was all the regular
+money enjoyed by the lodge since the time of Squire Trevlyn. Miss Diana
+sometimes gave him a trifle from her private purse; and the gardener was
+allowed to make an occasional present of vegetables in danger of
+spoiling: at the beginning of winter, too, a load of wood would be
+stacked in the shed behind the lodge, through the forethought of Miss
+Diana. But it was not much altogether to keep two people upon; and Ann
+Canham was glad to accept a day's hard work offered her at any of the
+neighbouring houses, or do a little plain sewing at home. Very fine
+sewing she could not do, for she suffered from weak eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Old Canham watched Rupert until the turnings of the avenue hid him from
+view, and then drew back into the room. Ann was busy with the breakfast.
+A loaf of oaten bread and a basin of skim milk, she had just heated, was
+placed before her father. A smaller cup served for her own share: and
+that constituted their breakfast. Three mornings a week Ann Canham had
+the privilege of fetching a quart of skim milk from the dairy at the
+Hold. Chattaway growled at the extravagance of the gift, but he did no
+more, for it was Miss Diana's pleasure that it should be supplied.</p>
+
+<p>"Chattaway'll go a bit too far, if he don't mind," observed old Canham
+to his daughter, in relation to Rupert. "He must be a bad nature, to
+lock him out of his own house. For the matter of that, however, he's a
+very bad one; and it's known he is."</p>
+
+<p>"It is not his own, father," Ann Canham ventured to retort. "Poor Master
+Rupert haven't no right to it now."</p>
+
+<p>"It's a shame but he had. Why, Chattaway has no more moral right to that
+fine estate than I have!" added the old man, holding up his left hand in
+the heat of argument. "If Master Rupert and Miss Maude were dead,&mdash;if
+Joe Trevlyn had never left a child at all,&mdash;others would have a right to
+it before Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>"But Chattaway has it, father, and nobody can't alter it, or hinder it,"
+sensibly returned Ann. "You'll have your milk cold."</p>
+
+<p>The breakfast hour at Trevlyn Hold was early, and when Rupert entered,
+he found most of the family downstairs. Rupert ran up to his bedroom,
+where he washed and refreshed himself as much as was possible after his
+weary night. He was one upon whom only a night out of bed would tell
+seriously. When he went down to the breakfast-room, they were all
+assembled except Cris and Mrs. Chattaway. Cris was given to lying in bed
+in a morning, and the self-indulgence was permitted. Mrs. Chattaway also
+was apt to be late, coming down generally when breakfast was nearly
+over.</p>
+
+<p>Rupert took his place at the breakfast-table. Mr. Chattaway, who was at
+that moment raising his coffee-cup to his lips, put it down and stared
+at him. As he might have stared at some stranger who had intruded and
+sat down amongst them.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you want?" asked Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"Want?" repeated Rupert, not understanding. "My breakfast."</p>
+
+<p>"Which you will not get here," calmly and coldly returned Mr. Chattaway.
+"If you cannot come home to sleep at night, you shall not have your
+breakfast here in the morning."</p>
+
+<p>"I did come home," said Rupert; "but I was not let in."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course you were not. The household had retired."</p>
+
+<p>"Cris came home after I did, and was allowed to enter," objected Rupert
+again.</p>
+
+<p>"That is no business of yours," said Mr. Chattaway. "All you have to do
+is to obey the rules I lay down. And I will have them obeyed," he added,
+more sternly.</p>
+
+<p>Rupert sat on. Octave, who was presiding at the table, did not give him
+any coffee; no one attempted to hand him anything. Maude was seated
+opposite to him, and he could see that the unpleasantness was agitating
+her painfully; her colour went and came; she toyed with her breakfast,
+but could not swallow it: least of all, dared <i>she</i> interfere to give
+even so much as bread to her ill-fated brother.</p>
+
+<p>"Where did you sleep last night, pray?" inquired Mr. Chattaway, pausing
+in the midst of helping himself to some pigeon-pie, as he looked at
+Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>"Not in this house," curtly replied Rupert. The unkindness seemed to be
+changing his very nature. It had continued long and long; had been shown
+in many and various forms.</p>
+
+<p>The master of Trevlyn Hold finished helping himself to the pie, and
+began eating it with apparent relish. He was about half-way through the
+plateful when he again stopped to address Rupert, who was sitting in
+silence, nothing but the table-cloth before him.</p>
+
+<p>"You need not wait. If you stop there until mid-day you'll get no
+breakfast. Gentlemen who sleep outside do not break their fasts in my
+house."</p>
+
+<p>Rupert pushed back his chair, and rose. Happening to glance across at
+Maude, he saw that her tears were dropping silently. It was a most
+unhappy home for both! He crossed the hall to the door: and thought he
+might as well depart at once for Blackstone. Fine as the morning was,
+the air, as he passed out, struck coldly upon him, and he turned back
+for an overcoat.</p>
+
+<p>It was in his bedroom. As he came down with it on his arm, Mrs.
+Chattaway was crossing the corridor, and she drew him inside her
+sitting-room.</p>
+
+<p>"I could not sleep," she murmured. "I was awake nearly all night,
+grieving and thinking of you. Just before daylight I dropped into a
+sleep, and then dreamt you were running up to the door from the waves of
+the sea, which were rushing onwards to overtake you. I thought you were
+knocking at the door, and we could not get down to it in time, and the
+waters came on and on. Rupert, darling, all this is telling upon me. Why
+did you not come in?"</p>
+
+<p>"I meant to be in, Aunt Edith; indeed I did; but I was playing chess
+with George Ryle, and did not notice the time. It was only just turned
+half-past when I got here; Mr. Chattaway might have let me in without
+any great stretch of indulgence," he added, bitterly. "So might Cris."</p>
+
+<p>"What did you do?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"I got in at old Canham's, and lay on the settle. Don't repeat this, or
+it may get the Canhams into trouble."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you breakfasted?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am not to have any."</p>
+
+<p>The words startled her. "Rupert!"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Chattaway ordered me from the table. The next thing, I expect, he
+will order me from the house. If I knew where to go I wouldn't stop in
+it another hour. I would not, Aunt Edith."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you had nothing&mdash;nothing?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing. I would go round to the dairy and get some milk, but I should
+be reported. I'm off to Blackstone now. Good-bye."</p>
+
+<p>Tears were filling her eyes as she lifted them in their sad yearning. He
+stooped and kissed her.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't grieve, Aunt Edith. You can't make it better for me. I have got
+the cramp like anything," he carelessly observed as he went off. "It is
+through lying on the cold, hard settle."</p>
+
+<p>"Rupert! Rupert!"</p>
+
+<p>He turned back, half in alarm. The tone was one of wild, painful
+entreaty.</p>
+
+<p>"You will come home to-night, Rupert?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Depend upon me."</p>
+
+<p>She remained a few minutes longer watching him down the avenue. He had
+put on his coat, and went along with slow and hesitating steps; very
+different from the firm, careless steps of a strong frame, springing
+from a happy heart. Mrs. Chattaway pressed her hands to her brow, lost
+in a painful vision. If his father, her once dearly-loved brother Joe,
+could look on at the injustice done on earth, what would he think of the
+portion meted out to Rupert?</p>
+
+<p>She descended to the breakfast-room. Mr. Chattaway had finished his
+breakfast and was rising. She kissed her children one by one; sat down
+patiently and silently, smiling without cheerfulness. Octave passed her
+a cup of coffee, which was cold; and then asked her what she would take
+to eat. But she said she was not hungry that morning, and would eat
+nothing.</p>
+
+<p>"Rupert's gone away without his breakfast, mamma," cried Emily. "Papa
+would not let him have it. Serve him right! He stayed out all night."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway stole a glance at Maude. She was sitting pale and quiet;
+her air that of one who has to bear some long, wearing pain.</p>
+
+<p>"If you have finished your breakfast, Maude, you can be getting ready to
+take the children for their walk," said Octave, speaking with her usual
+assumption of authority&mdash;an assumption Maude at least might not dispute.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway left the room, and ordered his horse to be got ready. He
+was going to ride over his land for an hour before proceeding to
+Blackstone. Whilst the animal was being saddled, he rejoiced his eyes
+with his rich stores; the corn in his barns, the hay-ricks in his yard.
+All very satisfactory, very consoling to the covetous master of the
+Hold.</p>
+
+<p>He went out, riding hither and thither. Half-an-hour afterwards, in the
+lane skirting Mrs. Ryle's lands on the one side and his on the other, he
+saw another horseman before him. It was George Ryle. Mr. Chattaway
+touched his horse with the spur, and rode up to him. George turned his
+head and continued his way. Chattaway had been better pleased had George
+stopped.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you hastening on to avoid me, Mr. Ryle?" he called out, sullenly.
+"You might have seen that I wished to speak to you, by the pace at which
+I urged my horse."</p>
+
+<p>George reined in, and turned to face Mr. Chattaway. "I saw nothing of
+the sort," he answered. "Had I known you wanted me, I should have
+stopped; but it is no unusual circumstance to see you riding fast about
+your land."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, what I have to say is this: that I'd recommend you not to get
+Rupert Trevlyn to your house at night, and keep him there to
+unreasonable hours."</p>
+
+<p>George paused. "I don't understand you, Mr. Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you?" retorted that gentleman. "I'm not talking Dutch. Rupert
+Trevlyn has taken to frequenting your house of late; it's not altogether
+good for him."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you fear he will get any harm in it?" quietly asked George.</p>
+
+<p>"I think it would be better that he should stay away. Is the Hold not
+sufficient for him to spend his evenings in, but he must seek amusement
+elsewhere? I shall be obliged to you not to encourage his visits."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Chattaway," said George, his face full of earnestness, "it appears
+to me that you are labouring under some mistake, or you would certainly
+not speak to me as you are now doing. I do not encourage Rupert to my
+mother's house, in one sense of the word; I never press for his visits.
+When he does come, I show myself happy to see him and make him
+welcome&mdash;as I should do by any other visitor. Common courtesy demands
+this of me."</p>
+
+<p>"You do press for his visits," said Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"I do not," firmly repeated George. "Shall I tell you why I do not? I
+have no wish but to be open in the matter. An impression has seated
+itself in my mind that his visits to our house displease you, and
+therefore I have not encouraged them."</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps Mr. Chattaway was rather taken back by this answer. At any rate,
+he made no reply to it.</p>
+
+<p>"But to receive him courteously when he does come, I cannot help doing,"
+continued George. "I shall do it still. If Trevlyn Farm is to be a
+forbidden house to Rupert, it is not from our side the veto shall come.
+As long as Rupert pays us these visits of friendship&mdash;and what harm you
+can think they do him, or why he should not pay them, I am unable to
+conceive&mdash;so long he will be met with a welcome."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you say this to oppose me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Far from it. If you look at the case in an unprejudiced light, you may
+see that I speak in accordance with the commonest usages of civility. To
+close the doors of our house to Rupert when there exists no reason why
+they should be closed&mdash;and most certainly he has given us none&mdash;would be
+an act we might blush to be guilty of."</p>
+
+<p>"You have been opposing me all the later years of your life. From that
+time when I wished to place you with Wall and Barnes, you have done
+nothing but act in opposition to me."</p>
+
+<p>"I have forgiven that," said George, pointedly, a glow rising to his
+face at the recollection. "As to any other opposition, I am unconscious
+of it. You have given me advice occasionally respecting the farm; but
+the advice has not in general tallied with my own opinion, and therefore
+I have not taken it. If you call that opposing you, Mr. Chattaway, I
+cannot help it."</p>
+
+<p>"I see you have been mending that fence in the three-cornered paddock,"
+remarked Mr. Chattaway, passing to another subject, and speaking in a
+different tone. Possibly he had had enough of the last.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said George. "You would not mend it, and therefore I have had it
+done. I cannot let my cattle get into the pound. I shall deduct the
+expense from the rent."</p>
+
+<p>"You'll not," said Mr. Chattaway. "I won't be at the cost of a
+penny-piece of it."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh yes, you will," returned George, equably. "The damage was done by
+your team, through your waggoner's carelessness, and the cost of making
+it good lies with you. Have you anything more to say to me?" he asked,
+after a pause. "I am very busy this morning."</p>
+
+<p>"Only this," replied Mr. Chattaway significantly. "That the more you
+encourage Rupert Trevlyn, by making a companion of him, the worse it
+will be for him."</p>
+
+<p>George lifted his hat in salutation. The master of Trevlyn Hold replied
+by an ungracious nod, and turned his horse back down the lane. As George
+rode on, he met Edith and Emily Chattaway&mdash;the children, as Octave had
+styled them&mdash;running towards him. They had seen their father, and were
+hastening after him. Maude came up more leisurely. George stopped to
+shake hands with her.</p>
+
+<p>"You look pale and ill, Maude," he said, his low voice full of sympathy,
+his hand retaining hers. "Is it about Rupert?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," she replied, striving to keep back her tears. "He was not allowed
+to come in last night, and has been sent away without breakfast this
+morning."</p>
+
+<p>"I know all about it," said George. "I met Rupert just now, and he told
+me. I asked him if he would go to Nora for some breakfast&mdash;I could not
+do less, you know," he added musingly, as if debating the question with
+himself. "But he declined. I am almost glad he did."</p>
+
+<p>Maude was surprised. "Why?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Because I have had an idea&mdash;have felt it for some time&mdash;that any
+attention shown to Rupert, no matter by whom, only makes his position
+worse with Chattaway. And Chattaway has now confirmed it by telling me
+so."</p>
+
+<p>Maude's eyelids drooped. "How sad it is!" she exclaimed with
+emotion&mdash;"and for one in his weak state! If he were only strong as the
+rest of us are, it would matter less. I fear&mdash;I do fear he must have
+slept under the trees in the avenue," she continued. "Mr. Chattaway
+inquired where he had passed the night, and Rupert answered&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I can so far relieve your fears, Maude," interrupted George, glancing
+round, as if to make sure no ears were near. "He was at old Canham's."</p>
+
+<p>Maude gave a deep sigh in her relief. "You are certain, George?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes. Rupert told me so just now. He said how hard he found the
+settle. Here come your charges, Maude; so I will say good-bye."</p>
+
+<p>She suffered her hand to linger in his, but her heart was too full to
+speak. George bent lower.</p>
+
+<p>"Do not make the grief weightier than you can bear, Maude. It is real
+grief; but happier times may be in store for Rupert&mdash;and for you."</p>
+
+<p>He released her hand, and cantered down the lane; and the two girls came
+up, telling Maude they should go home now, for they had walked long
+enough.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2>
+
+<h3>TORMENTS</h3>
+
+
+<p>There appeared to be no place on earth for Rupert Trevlyn. Most people
+have some little nook they can fit themselves into and call their own;
+but he had none. He was only on sufferance at the Hold, and was made to
+feel more of an interloper in it day by day.</p>
+
+<p>What could be the source of this ill-feeling towards Rupert? Did some
+latent dread exist in the heart of Mr. Chattaway, and from thence reach
+that of Cris, whispering that he, Rupert, the true heir of Trevlyn Hold,
+might at some future day, through some unforeseen and apparently
+impossible chance, come into his rights? No doubt it was so. There are
+no other means of accounting for it. It may be, they deemed, that the
+more effectually he was kept under, treated as an object to be despised,
+lowered from his proper station, the less chance would there be of that
+covert dread growing into a certainty. Whatever its cause, Rupert was
+shamefully put upon. It is true that he sat at their table, occupied the
+same sitting-room. But at table he was placed below the rest, was served
+last, and from the plainest dish. Mrs. Chattaway's heart would ache; it
+had ached for many a year; but she could not alter it. In their
+evenings, when the rest were gathered round the fire, Rupert would be
+left out in the cold. Nothing in the world did he so covet as a warm
+seat near the fire. It had been sought by his father when he was
+Rupert's age, and perhaps Miss Diana remembered this, for she would call
+Rupert forward, and sharply rebuke those who would have kept him from
+it.</p>
+
+<p>But Miss Diana was not always in the room; not often, in fact. She had
+her own sitting-room upstairs, as Mrs. Chattaway had hers; and both
+ladies more frequently retired to them in an evening, leaving the
+younger ones to enjoy themselves, with their books and work, their music
+and games, unrestrained by their presence. And poor Rupert was condemned
+to remote quarters, where no one noticed him.</p>
+
+<p>From that point alone, the cold, it was a severe trial. Of weakly
+constitution, a chilly nature, warmth was to Rupert Trevlyn almost an
+essential of existence. And it was what he rarely had at Trevlyn Hold.
+No wonder he was driven out. Even old Canham's wood fire, that he might
+get right into if he pleased, was an improvement upon the drawing-room
+at the Hold.</p>
+
+<p>After parting with George Ryle, Maude Trevlyn, in obedience to the
+imperious wills of her pupils, turned her steps homewards. Emily was a
+boisterous, troublesome, disobedient girl; Edith was more gentle and
+amiable, in looks and disposition resembling her mother; but the example
+of her sisters was infectious, and spoiled her. There was another
+daughter, Amelia, older than they were, and at school at Barmester: a
+very disagreeable girl indeed.</p>
+
+<p>"What was George Ryle saying to you, Maude?" somewhat insolently asked
+Emily.</p>
+
+<p>"He was talking of Rupert," she incautiously answered, her mind buried
+in thought.</p>
+
+<p>When they reached the Hold, Mr. Chattaway's horse was being led about by
+a groom, waiting for its master, who had returned, and was indoors. As
+they crossed the hall, they met him coming out of the breakfast-room.
+Octave was with him, talking.</p>
+
+<p>"Cris would have waited, no doubt, papa, had he known you wanted him. He
+ate his breakfast in a hurry, and went out. I suppose he has gone to
+Blackstone."</p>
+
+<p>"I particularly wanted him," grumbled Mr. Chattaway, who was never
+pleasant at the best of times, but would be unbearable if put out. "Cris
+knew I should want him this morning. First Rupert, and then Cris! Are
+you all going to turn disobedient?"</p>
+
+<p>He made a halt at the door, putting on his riding-glove. They stood
+grouped around him&mdash;Octave, Maude, and Emily. Edith had run out, and was
+near the horse.</p>
+
+<p>"I would give a crown-piece to know what Mr. Rupert did with himself
+last night," he savagely uttered. "John," exalting his voice, "have you
+any idea where Rupert Trevlyn hid himself all night?"</p>
+
+<p>The locking-out had been known to the household, and afforded
+considerable gossip. John had taken part in it; joined in its surmises
+and comments; therefore he was not at fault for a ready answer.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know nothing certain, sir. It ain't unlikely he went down to
+the Sheaf o' Corn, and slept there."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, he did not," involuntarily burst from Maude.</p>
+
+<p>It was an unlucky admission, for its tone was decisive, implying that
+she knew where he did sleep. She spoke in the moment's impulse. The
+Shear of Corn was the nearest public-house; notorious for its irregular
+doings; and Maude felt shocked at the bare suggestion that Rupert would
+enter such a place.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway turned to her. "Where <i>did</i> he sleep? What do you know
+about it?" Maude's face grew hot and cold. She opened her lips to
+answer, but closed them again without speaking, the words dying away in
+her uncertainty and hesitation.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway may have felt surprised. He knew perfectly well that Maude
+had held no communication with Rupert that morning. He had seen Rupert
+come in and go out; and Maude had not stirred from his presence. He bent
+his cold grey eyes upon her.</p>
+
+<p>"From whom have you been hearing of Rupert's doings?"</p>
+
+<p>It is very probable that Maude would have been at a loss for an answer,
+but she was saved a reply, for Emily spoke up before she had time to
+give one, ill-nature in her tone and words.</p>
+
+<p>"Maude must have heard it from George Ryle. You saw her talking to him,
+papa. She said he had been speaking of Rupert."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway did not ask another question. It would have been
+superfluous to do so, in the conclusion he had come to. He believed
+Rupert had slept at Trevlyn Farm. How else could George Ryle have become
+acquainted with his movements?</p>
+
+<p>"They'll be hatching a plot to try to over-throw me," he muttered to
+himself as he went out to his horse: for his was one of those mean,
+suspicious natures that are always fancying the world is antagonistic to
+them. "Maude Ryle has been wanting to get me out of Trevlyn Hold ever
+since I came into it. From the very hour she heard the Squire's will
+read, and found I had inherited, she has been planning and plotting for
+it. She would rather see Rupert in it than me; and rather see her
+pitiful Treve in it than anyone. Yes, yes, Mr. Rupert, we know what you
+frequent Trevlyn Farm for. But it won't answer. It's waste of time. They
+must change England's laws before they can upset Squire Trevlyn's will.
+But it's not less annoying to know that my tenure is constantly being
+hauled over and peered into, to see if they can't find a flaw in it, or
+insert one of their own making."</p>
+
+<p>It was strange that these fears should continually trouble the master of
+Trevlyn Hold. A man who legally holds an estate, on which no shade of a
+suspicion can be cast, need not dread its being wrested from him. It was
+in Squire Trevlyn's power to leave the Hold and its revenues to whom he
+would. Had he chosen to bequeath it to an utter stranger, it was in his
+power to do so: and he had bequeathed it to James Chattaway. Failing
+direct male heirs, it may be thought that Mr. Chattaway had as much
+right to it as anyone else. At any rate, it had been the Squire's
+pleasure to bequeath it to him, and there the matter ended. That the
+master of Trevlyn Hold was ever conscious of a dread his tenure was to
+be some time disturbed, was indisputable. He never betrayed it to any
+living being by so much as a word; he strove to conceal it even from
+himself; but there it was, deep in his secret heart. There it remained,
+and there it tormented him; however unwilling he might have been to
+acknowledge the fact.</p>
+
+<p>Could it be that a prevision of what was really to take place was cast
+upon him?&mdash;a mysterious foreshadowing of the future? There are people
+who tell us such warnings come.</p>
+
+<p>The singularity of the affair was, that no grounds could exist for this
+latent fear. Whence then should it arise? Why, from that source whence
+it arises in many people&mdash;a bad conscience. It was true the estate had
+been legally left to him; but he knew that his own handiwork, his
+deceit, had brought it to him; he knew that when he suppressed the news
+of the birth of Rupert, and suffered Squire Trevlyn to go to his grave
+uninformed of the fact, he was guilty of nothing less than a crime in
+the sight of God. Mr. Chattaway had heard of that inconvenient thing,
+retribution, and his fancy suggested that it might possibly overtake
+<i>him</i>.</p>
+
+<p>If he had only known that he might have set his mind at rest as to the
+plotting and planning, he would have cared less to oppose Rupert's
+visits to the Farm. Nothing could be further from the thoughts of
+Rupert, or George Ryle, than any plotting against Chattaway. Their
+evenings, when together, were spent in harmless conversation, in chess,
+without so much as a reference to Chattaway. But that gentleman did not
+know it, and tormented himself accordingly.</p>
+
+<p>He mounted his horse, and rode away. As he was passing Trevlyn Farm,
+buried in unpleasant thoughts, he saw Nora Dickson at the fold-yard
+gate, and turned his horse's head towards her.</p>
+
+<p>"How came your people to give Rupert Trevlyn a bed last night? They must
+know it would very much displease me."</p>
+
+<p>"Give Rupert Trevlyn a bed!" repeated Nora, regarding Mr. Chattaway with
+the uncompromising stare she was fond of according to that gentleman.
+"He did not sleep here."</p>
+
+<p>"No!" replied Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"No," reiterated Nora. "What should he want with a bed here? Has he not
+his own at Trevlyn Hold? A bed there isn't much for him, when he ought
+to have owned the whole place; but I suppose he can at least count upon
+that."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway turned his horse short round, and rode away without
+another word. He always got the worst of it with Nora. A slight
+explosion of his private sentiments with regard to her was given to the
+air, and he again became absorbed on the subject of Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>"Where, then, <i>did</i> he pass the night?"</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2>
+
+<h3>MR. CHATTAWAY'S OFFICE</h3>
+
+
+<p>It was Nora's day for churning. The butter was made twice a week at
+Trevlyn Farm, and the making fell to Nora. She was sole priestess of the
+dairy. It was many and many a long year since any one else had
+interfered in it: except, indeed, in the actual churning. One of the men
+on the farm did that for her in a general way; but to-day they were not
+forthcoming.</p>
+
+<p>When Nora was seen at the fold-yard gate by Mr. Chattaway, idly staring
+up and down the road, she was looking for Jim Sanders, to order him in
+to churn. Not the Jim Sanders mentioned in the earlier portion of our
+history, but Jim's son. Jim the elder was dead: he had brought on rather
+too many attacks of inflammation (a disease to which he was predisposed)
+by his love of beer; and at last one attack worse than the rest came,
+and proved too much for him. The present Jim, representative of his
+name, was a youth of fourteen, not over-burdened with brains, but strong
+and sound, and was found useful on the farm, where he was required to be
+willing to do any work that came first to hand.</p>
+
+<p>Just now he was wanted to churn. The man who usually performed that duty
+was too busy to be spared to-day; therefore it fell to Jim. But Jim
+could not be seen anywhere, and Nora returned indoors and commenced the
+work herself.</p>
+
+<p>The milk at the right temperature&mdash;for Nora was too experienced a
+dairy-woman not to know that if she attempted to churn at the wrong one,
+it would be hours before the butter came&mdash;she took out the thermometer,
+and turned the milk into the churn. As she was doing this, the servant,
+Nanny, entered: a tall, stolid girl, remarkable for little except
+height.</p>
+
+<p>"Is nobody coming in to churn?" asked she.</p>
+
+<p>"It seems not," answered Nora.</p>
+
+<p>"Shall I do it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not if I know it," returned Nora. "You'd like to quit your work for
+this pastime, wouldn't you? Have you the potatoes on for the pigs?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Nanny.</p>
+
+<p>"Then go and see about, it. You know it was to be done to-day. And I
+suppose the fire's burning away under the furnace."</p>
+
+<p>Fanny stalked out of the dairy. Nora churned away steadily, and turned
+her butter on to the making-up board in about three-quarters of an hour.
+As she was proceeding with it, she saw George ride into the fold-yard,
+and leave his horse in the stable. Another minute and he came in.</p>
+
+<p>"Has Mr. Callaway not come yet, Nora?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have seen nothing of him, Mr. George."</p>
+
+<p>George took out his watch: the one bequeathed him by his father. It was
+only a silver one&mdash;as Mr. Ryle had remarked&mdash;but George valued it as
+though it had been set in diamonds. He would wear that watch and no
+other as long as he lived. His initials were engraved on it now: G. B.
+R. standing for George Berkeley Ryle.</p>
+
+<p>"If Callaway cannot keep his appointment better than this, I shall beg
+him not to make any more with me," he remarked. "The last time he kept
+me waiting three-quarters of an hour."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you seen Jim Sanders this morning?" asked Nora.</p>
+
+<p>"I saw him in the stables as I rode out."</p>
+
+<p>"I should like to find him!" said Nora. "He is skulking somewhere. I
+have had to churn myself."</p>
+
+<p>"Where's Roger?"</p>
+
+<p>"Roger couldn't hinder his time indoors to-day. Mr. George, what's up at
+Trevlyn Hold again about Rupert?" resumed Nora, turning from her butter
+to glance at George.</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you ask?"</p>
+
+<p>"Chattaway rode by an hour ago when I was outside looking after Jim
+Sanders. He stopped his horse and asked how we came to give Rupert a bed
+last night, when we knew that it would displease him. Like his
+insolence!"</p>
+
+<p>"What answer did you make?" said George, after a pause.</p>
+
+<p>"I gave him one," replied Nora, significantly. "Chattaway needn't fear
+not getting an answer when he comes to me. He knows that."</p>
+
+<p>"But what did you say about Rupert?"</p>
+
+<p>"I said that he had not slept here. If Chattaway&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Nora was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Chattaway's daughter,
+Octave. She had come to the farm, and, attracted by the sound of voices
+in the dairy, made her way to it. Miss Chattaway had taken it into her
+head lately to be friendly, to honour the farm with frequent visits.
+Mrs. Ryle neither encouraged nor repulsed her. She was civilly
+indifferent: but the young lady chose to take that as a welcome. Nora
+did not show her much greater favour than she was in the habit of
+showing her father. She bent her head over her butter-board, as if
+unaware that any one had entered.</p>
+
+<p>George removed his hat which he had been wearing, as she stepped on to
+the cold floor of the dairy, and took the hand held out to him.</p>
+
+<p>"Who would have thought of seeing you at home at this hour?" she
+exclaimed, in the winning manner which she could put on at times, and
+always did put on for George Ryle.</p>
+
+<p>"And in Nora's dairy, watching her make up the butter!" he answered,
+laughing. "The fact is, I have an appointment with a gentleman this
+morning, and he is keeping me waiting, and making me angry. I can't
+spare the time."</p>
+
+<p>"You look angry!" exclaimed Octave, laughing at him.</p>
+
+<p>"Looks go for nothing," returned George.</p>
+
+<p>"Is your harvest nearly in?"</p>
+
+<p>"If this fine weather only lasts four or five days longer, it will be
+all in. We have had a glorious harvest this year. I hope every one's as
+thankful as I am."</p>
+
+<p>"You have some especial cause for thankfulness?" she observed.</p>
+
+<p>"I have."</p>
+
+<p>She had spoken lightly, and was struck by the strangely earnest answer.
+George could have said that but for that harvest they might not quite so
+soon have discharged her father's debt.</p>
+
+<p>"When shall you hold your harvest home?"</p>
+
+<p>"Next Thursday; this day week," replied George. "Will you come to it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you," said Octave. "Yes, I will."</p>
+
+<p>Had it been to save his life, George Ryle could not have helped the
+surprise in his eyes, as he turned them on Octave Chattaway. He had
+asked the question in the careless gaiety of the moment; really not
+intending it as an invitation. Had he proffered it in all earnestness,
+he never would have supposed it one to be accepted by Octave. Mr.
+Chattaway's family were not in the habit of visiting at Trevlyn Farm.</p>
+
+<p>"In for a penny, in for a pound," thought George. "I don't know what
+Mrs. Ryle will say to this; but if <i>she</i> comes, some of the rest shall
+come also."</p>
+
+<p>It almost seemed as if Octave had divined part of his thoughts. "I must
+ask my aunt Ryle whether she will have me. By way of bribe, I shall tell
+her that I delight in harvest-homes."</p>
+
+<p>"We must have you all," said George. "Your sisters and Maude. Treve will
+be home I expect, and the Apperleys will be here."</p>
+
+<p>"Who else?" asked Octave. "But I don't know about my sisters and Maude."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. and Mrs. Freeman. They and the Apperleys always come."</p>
+
+<p>"Our starched old parson!" uttered Octave. "He is not a favourite with
+us at the Hold."</p>
+
+<p>"I think he is with your mother."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, mamma's nobody. Of course we are civil to the Freemans, and
+exchange dull visits with them occasionally. You must be passably civil
+to the parson you sit under."</p>
+
+<p>There was a pause. Octave advanced to Nora, who had gone on diligently
+with her work, never turning her head, or noticing Miss Chattaway by so
+much as a look. Octave drew close and watched her.</p>
+
+<p>"How industrious you are, Nora!&mdash;just as if you enjoyed the occupation.
+I should not like to soil my hands, making up butter."</p>
+
+<p>"There are some might make it up in white kid gloves," retorted Nora.
+"The butter wouldn't be any the better for it, Miss Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>At this juncture Mrs. Ryle's voice was heard, and Octave left the dairy
+in search of her. George was about to follow when Nora stopped him.</p>
+
+<p>"What is the meaning of this new friendship&mdash;these morning calls and
+evening visits?" she asked; her eyes thrown keenly on George's face.</p>
+
+<p>"How should I know?" he carelessly replied.</p>
+
+<p>"If you don't, I do," she said. "Can you take care of yourself, George?"</p>
+
+<p>"I believe I can."</p>
+
+<p>"Then do," said Nora, with an emphatic nod. "And don't despise my
+caution: you may want it."</p>
+
+<p>He laughed in his light-heartedness: but he did not tell Nora how
+unnecessary her warning was.</p>
+
+<p>Later in the day, George Ryle had business which took him to Blackstone.
+It was not an inviting ride. The place, as he drew near, had that dreary
+aspect peculiar to the neighbourhood of mines. Rows of black, smoky huts
+were to be seen, the dwellings of the men who worked in the pits; and
+little children ran about with naked legs and tattered clothing, their
+thin faces white and squalid.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it the perpetual dirt they live in makes these children look so
+unhealthy?" thought George&mdash;a question he had asked himself a hundred
+times. "I believe the mothers never wash them. Perhaps think it would be
+superfluous, where even the very atmosphere is black."</p>
+
+<p>Black, indeed! Within George's view at that moment might be seen high
+chimneys congregating in all directions, throwing out volumes of smoke
+and flame. Numerous works were around, connected with iron and other
+rich mines abounding in the neighbourhood. Valuable areas for the
+furtherance of civilisation, the increase of wealth; but not pleasant to
+the eye, as compared with green meadows and blossoming trees.</p>
+
+<p>The office belonging to Mr. Chattaway's colliery stood in a particularly
+dreary offshoot from the main road. It was a low but not very small
+building, facing the road on one side, looking to those tall chimneys
+and the dreary country on two of the others. On the fourth was a sort of
+waste ground, which appeared to contain nothing but various heaps of
+coal, a peculiar description of barrow, and some round shallow baskets.
+The building looked like a great shed; it was roofed over, and divided
+into partitions.</p>
+
+<p>As George rode by, he saw Rupert standing at the narrow entrance door,
+leaning against it, as if in fatigue or idleness. Ford, the clerk, a
+young man accustomed to taking life easily, and to give himself little
+concern as to how it went, was standing near, his hands in his pockets.
+To see them doing nothing was sufficient to tell George that Chattaway
+was not about, and he rode up to the office.</p>
+
+<p>"You look tired, Rupert."</p>
+
+<p>"I am tired," answered Rupert. "If things are to go on like this, I
+shall grow tired of life altogether."</p>
+
+<p>"Not yet," said George, cheeringly. "You may talk of that some fifty
+years hence."</p>
+
+<p>Rupert made no answer. The sunlight fell on his fair features and golden
+hair. There was a haggardness in those features, a melancholy in the
+dark blue eyes, George did not like to see. Ford, the clerk, who was
+humming the verse of a song, cut short the melody, and addressed George.</p>
+
+<p>"He has been in this gay state all the afternoon, sir. A charming
+companion for a fellow! It's a good thing I'm pretty jolly myself, or we
+might get consigned to the county asylum as two cases of melancholy. I
+hope he won't make a night of it again, that's all. Nothing wears out a
+chap like a night without bed, and no breakfast at the end of it."</p>
+
+<p>"It isn't that," said Rupert. "I'm sick of it altogether. There has been
+nothing but a row here all day, George&mdash;ask Ford. Chattaway has been on
+at all of us. First, he attacked me. He demanded where I slept, and I
+wouldn't tell him. Next, he attacked Cris&mdash;a most unusual thing&mdash;and
+Cris hasn't got over it yet. He has gone galloping off, to gallop his
+ill-temper away."</p>
+
+<p>"Chattaway has?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not Chattaway; Cris. Cris never came here until one o'clock, and
+Chattaway wanted him, and a row ensued. Next, Ford came in for it: he
+had made a mistake in his entries. Something had uncommonly put out
+Chattaway&mdash;that is certain. And to improve his temper, the inspector of
+collieries came to-day and found fault, ordering things to be done that
+Chattaway says he won't do."</p>
+
+<p>"Where's Chattaway now?"</p>
+
+<p>"Gone home. I wish I was there, without the trouble of walking," added
+Rupert. "Chattaway has been ordering a load of coals to the Hold. If
+they were going this evening instead of to-morrow morning, I protest I'd
+take my seat upon them, and get home that way."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you so very tired?" asked George.</p>
+
+<p>"Dead beat."</p>
+
+<p>"It's the sitting up," put in Ford again. "I don't think much of that
+kind of thing will do for Mr. Rupert Trevlyn."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps it wouldn't do for you," grumbled Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>George prepared to ride away. "Have you had any dinner, Rupert?" he
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>"I made an attempt, but my appetite had gone by. Chattaway was here till
+past two o'clock, and after that I wasn't hungry."</p>
+
+<p>"He tried some bread-and-cheese," said Ford. "I told him if he'd get a
+chop I'd cook it for him; but he didn't."</p>
+
+<p>"I must be gone," said George. "You will not have left in half-an-hour's
+time, shall you, Rupert?"</p>
+
+<p>"No; nor in an hour either."</p>
+
+<p>George rode off over the stony ground, and they looked after him. Then
+Ford bethought himself of a message he was charged to deliver at one of
+the pits, and Rupert went indoors and sat down to the desk on his high
+stool.</p>
+
+<p>Within the half-hour George Ryle was back again. He rode up to the door,
+and dismounted. Rupert came forward, a pen in hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you ready to go home now, Rupert?"</p>
+
+<p>Rupert shook his head. "Ford went to the pit and is not back yet; and I
+have a lot of writing to do. Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"I thought we would have gone home together. You shall ride my horse,
+and I'll walk; it will tire you less than going on foot."</p>
+
+<p>"You are very kind," said Rupert. "Yes, I should like to ride. I was
+thinking just now, that if Cris were worth anything, he'd let me ride
+his horse home. But he's not worth anything, and would no more let me
+ride his horse and walk himself, than he'd let me ride him."</p>
+
+<p>"Has Cris not gone home?"</p>
+
+<p>"I fancy not. Unless he has gone by without calling in. Will you wait,
+George?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. I must walk on. But I'll leave you the horse. You can leave it at
+the Farm, Rupert, and walk the rest of the way."</p>
+
+<p>"I can ride on to the Hold, and send it back."</p>
+
+<p>George hesitated a moment. "I would rather you left it at the Farm,
+Rupert. It will not be far to walk after that."</p>
+
+<p>Rupert acquiesced. Did he wonder why he might not ride the horse to the
+Hold? George would not say, "Because even that slight attention must, if
+possible, be kept from Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>He fastened the bridle to a hook in the wall, where Mr. Chattaway often
+tied his horse, where Cris sometimes tied his. There was a stable near;
+but unless they were going to remain in the office or about the pits,
+Mr. Chattaway and his son seldom put up their horses.</p>
+
+<p>George Ryle walked away with a quick step, and Rupert returned to his
+desk. A quarter-of-an-hour passed on, and the clerk did not return.
+Rupert grew impatient for his arrival, and went to the door to look out
+for him. He did not see Ford; but he did see Cris Chattaway. Cris was
+approaching on foot, at a snail's pace, leading his horse, which was
+dead lame.</p>
+
+<p>"Here's a nice bother!" called out Cris. "How I am to get back home, I
+don't know."</p>
+
+<p>"What has happened?" returned Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>"Can't you see what has happened? How it happened, I am unable to tell
+you. All I know is, the horse fell suddenly lame, and whined like a
+child. Something must have run into his foot, I conclude. Whose horse is
+that? Why, it's George Ryle's," Cris exclaimed as he drew sufficiently
+near to recognise it. "What brings his horse here?"</p>
+
+<p>"He has lent it to me, to save my walking home," said Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>"Where is he? Here?"</p>
+
+<p>"He has gone home on foot. I can't think where Ford's lingering," added
+Rupert, walking into the yard, and mounting one of the smaller heaps of
+coal for a better view of the road by which Ford might be expected to
+arrive. "He has been gone this hour."</p>
+
+<p>Cris was walking off in the direction of the stable, carefully leading
+his horse. "What are you going to do with him?" asked Rupert. "To leave
+him in the stable?"</p>
+
+<p>"Until I can get home and send the groom for him. <i>I'm</i> not going to
+cool my heels, dragging him home," retorted Cris.</p>
+
+<p>Rupert retired indoors, and sat down on the high stool. He still had
+some accounts to make up. They had to be done that evening; and as Ford
+did not come in to do them, he must. Had Ford been there, Rupert would
+have left him to do it, and gone home at once.</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder how many years of my life I am to wear out in this lively
+place?" thought Rupert, after five minutes of uninterrupted attention
+given to his work, which slightly progressed in consequence. "It's a
+shame that I should be put to it. A paid fellow at ten shillings a week
+would do it better than I. If Chattaway had a spark of good feeling in
+him, he'd put me into a farm. It would be better for me altogether, and
+more fitting for a Trevlyn. Catch him at it! He wouldn't let me be my
+own master for&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>A sound as of a horse trotting off interrupted Rupert's cogitations. He
+came down from his stool. A thought crossed him that George Ryle's horse
+might have got loose, and be speeding home riderless, at his own will
+and pleasure.</p>
+
+<p>It was George Ryle's horse, but not riderless. To Rupert's intense
+astonishment, he saw Mr. Cris mounted on him, and leisurely riding away.</p>
+
+<p>"Halloa!" called Rupert, speeding after the horse and his rider. "What
+are you going to do with that horse, Cris?"</p>
+
+<p>Cris turned his head, but did not stop. "I'm going to ride him home. His
+having been left here just happens right for me."</p>
+
+<p>"You get off," shouted Rupert. "The horse was lent to me, not to you. Do
+you hear, Cris?"</p>
+
+<p>Cris heard, but did not stop: he was urging the horse on. "<i>You</i> don't
+want him," he roughly said. "You can walk, as you always do."</p>
+
+<p>Further remonstrance, further following, was useless. Rupert's words
+were drowned in the echoes of the horse's hoofs, galloping away in the
+distance. Rupert stood, white with anger, impotent to stop him, his
+hands stretched out on the empty air, as if their action could arrest
+the horse and bring him back again. Certainly the mortification was
+bitter; the circumstance precisely one of those likely to affect an
+excitable nature; and Rupert was on the point of going into that
+dangerous fit known as the Trevlyn passion, when its course was turned
+aside by a hand laid upon his shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>He turned, it may almost be said, savagely. Ford was standing there out
+of breath, his good-humoured face red with the exertion of running.</p>
+
+<p>"I say, Mr. Rupert, you'll do a fellow a service, won't you? I have had
+a message that my mother's taken suddenly ill; a fit, they say, of some
+sort. Will you finish what there is to do here, and lock up for once, so
+that I can go home directly?"</p>
+
+<p>Rupert nodded. In his passionate disappointment, at having to walk home
+when he expected to ride, at being treated as of no moment by Cris
+Chattaway, it seemed of little consequence to him how long he remained,
+or what work he had to do: and the clerk, waiting for no further
+permission, sped away with a fleet foot. Rupert's face was losing its
+deathly whiteness&mdash;there is no whiteness like that born of passion or of
+sudden terror; and when he sat down again to the desk, the hectic flush
+of reaction was shining in his cheeks and lips.</p>
+
+<p>Well, oh, well for him, could these dangerous fits of passion have been
+always arrested on the threshold, as this had been arrested now! The
+word is used advisedly: they brought nothing less than danger in their
+train.</p>
+
+<p>But, alas! this was not to be.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2>
+
+<h3>DEAD BEAT</h3>
+
+
+<p>Nora was at some business or other in the fold-yard, when the servant at
+Trevlyn Hold more especially devoted to the service of Cris Chattaway
+entered the gate with George Ryle's horse. As he passed Nora on his way
+to the stables, she turned, and the man spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Ryle's horse, ma'am. Shall I take it on?"</p>
+
+<p>"You know the way," was Nora's short answer. She did not regard the man
+with any favour, reflecting upon him, in her usual partial fashion, the
+dislike she entertained for his master and Trevlyn Hold in general. "Mr.
+Trevlyn has sent it, I suppose."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Trevlyn!" repeated the groom, betraying some surprise.</p>
+
+<p>Now, it was a fact that at Trevlyn Hold Rupert was never called "Mr.
+Trevlyn." That it was his proper title was indisputable; but Mr.
+Chattaway had as great a dislike to hear Rupert called by it as he had a
+wish to hear himself styled "the Squire." At the Hold, Rupert was "Mr.
+Rupert" only, and the neighbourhood generally had fallen into the same
+familiar mode when speaking of him. Nora supposed the man's repetition
+of the name had insolent reference to this; as much as to say, "Who's
+Mr. Trevlyn?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Mr. Trevlyn," she resumed in sharp tones of reprimand. "He is Mr.
+Trevlyn, Sam Atkins, and you know he is, however some people may wish it
+forgotten. He is not Mr. Rupert, and he is not Mr. Rupert Trevlyn, but
+he is Mr. Trevlyn; and if he had his rights, he'd be Squire Trevlyn.
+There! you may go and tell your master that I said so."</p>
+
+<p>Sam Atkins, a civil, quiet young fellow, was overpowered with
+astonishment at Nora's burst of eloquence. "I'm not saying naught
+against it, ma'am," cried he, when he had sufficiently recovered. "But
+Mr. Rupert didn't send me with the horse at all. It was young Mr.
+Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>"What had he to do with it?" resentfully asked Nora.</p>
+
+<p>"He rode it home from Blackstone."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>He</i> rode it? Cris Chattaway!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said the groom. "He has just got home now, and told me to bring
+the horse back at once."</p>
+
+<p>Nora desired the man to take the horse to the stable, and went indoors.
+She could not understand it. When George returned home on foot, and she
+inquired what he had done with his horse, he told her that he had left
+it at Blackstone for Rupert Trevlyn. To hear now that Cris had reaped
+the benefit of it, and not Rupert, excited Nora's indignation. But the
+indignation would have increased fourfold had she known that Mr. Cris
+had ridden the horse hard and made a <i>détour</i> of some five miles out of
+his way, to transact a private matter of business of his own. She went
+straight to George, who was seated at tea with Mrs. Ryle.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. George, I thought you told me you had left your horse at Blackstone
+for Rupert Trevlyn, to save his walking home?"</p>
+
+<p>"So I did," replied George.</p>
+
+<p>"Then it's Cris Chattaway who has come home on it. I'd see <i>him</i> far
+enough before he should have the use of my horse!"</p>
+
+<p>"It can't be," returned George. "You must be mistaken, Nora; Cris had
+his own horse there."</p>
+
+<p>"You can go and ask for yourself," rejoined Nora, crustily, not at all
+liking to be told she was mistaken. "Sam Atkins is putting the horse in
+the stable, and says Cris Chattaway rode it from Blackstone."</p>
+
+<p>George did go and ask for himself. He could not understand it at all;
+and he had no more fancy for allowing Cris Chattaway the use of his
+horse than Nora had. He supposed they had exchanged steeds; though why
+they should do so, he could not imagine.</p>
+
+<p>Sam Atkins was in the stable, talking to Roger, one of the men about the
+farm. George saw at a glance that his horse had been ridden hard.</p>
+
+<p>"Who rode this horse home?" he inquired, as the groom touched his hat to
+him.</p>
+
+<p>"Young Mr. Chattaway, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"And Mr. Rupert: what did he ride?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Rupert, sir? I don't think he is come home."</p>
+
+<p>"Where's Mr. Cris Chattaway's own horse?"</p>
+
+<p>"He left it at Blackstone, sir. It fell dead lame, he says. I be going
+for it now."</p>
+
+<p>George paused. "I lent my horse to Mr. Rupert," he said. "Do you know
+why he did not use it himself?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know nothing about it, sir. Mr. Cris came home just now on your
+horse, told me to bring it down here, go on to Blackstone for his, and
+mind I led it gently home. He never mentioned Mr. Rupert."</p>
+
+<p>Considerably later&mdash;in fact, it was past nine o'clock&mdash;Rupert Trevlyn
+appeared. George Ryle was leaning over the gate at the foot of his
+garden in a musing attitude, the bright stars above him, the slight
+frost of the autumn night rendering the air clear, though not cold, when
+he saw a figure slowly winding up the road. It was Rupert Trevlyn. The
+same misfortune seemed to have befallen him that had befallen the horse,
+for he limped as he walked.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you lame, Rupert?" asked George.</p>
+
+<p>"Lame with fatigue; nothing else," answered Rupert in that low,
+half-inaudible voice which a very depressed physical state will induce.
+"Let me come in and sit down half-an-hour, George, or I shall never get
+to the Hold."</p>
+
+<p>"How came you to let Cris Chattaway ride my horse home? I left it for
+you."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Let</i> him! He mounted and galloped off without my knowing&mdash;the sneak! I
+should be ashamed to be guilty of such a trick. I declare I had half a
+mind to ride his horse home, lame as it was. But that the poor animal is
+evidently in pain, I would have done so."</p>
+
+<p>"You are very late."</p>
+
+<p>"I have been such a time coming. The truth is, I sat down when I was
+half-way here, so dead tired I couldn't stir a step further; and I
+dropped asleep."</p>
+
+<p>"A wise proceeding!" cried George, in pleasant though mocking tones. He
+did not care to say more plainly how <i>un</i>wise it might be for Rupert
+Trevlyn. "Did you sleep long?"</p>
+
+<p>"Pretty well. The stars were out when I awoke; and I felt ten times more
+tired when I got up than I had felt when I sat down."</p>
+
+<p>George placed him in a comfortable armchair, and got him a glass of
+wine, Nora brought some refreshment, but Rupert could not eat.</p>
+
+<p>"Try it," urged George.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't," said Rupert; "I am completely done up."</p>
+
+<p>He leaned back in the chair, his fair hair falling on the cushions, his
+bright face&mdash;bright with a touch of inward fever&mdash;turned upwards to the
+light. Gradually his eyelids closed, and he dropped into a calm sleep.</p>
+
+<p>George sat watching him. Mrs. Ryle, who was still poorly, had retired to
+her chamber for the night, and they were alone. Very unkindly, as may be
+thought, George woke him soon, and told him it was time to go.</p>
+
+<p>"Do not deem me inhospitable, Rupert; but it will not do for you to be
+locked out again to-night."</p>
+
+<p>"What's the time?" asked Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>"Considerably past ten."</p>
+
+<p>"I was in quite a nice dream. I thought I was being carried along in a
+large sail belonging to a ship. The motion was pleasant and soothing.
+Past ten! What a bother! I shall be half dead again before I get to the
+Hold."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll lend you my arm, Ru, to help you along."</p>
+
+<p>"That's a good fellow!" exclaimed Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>He got up and stretched himself, and then fell back in his chair, like a
+leaden weight. "I'd give five shillings to be there without the trouble
+of walking," quoth he.</p>
+
+<p>"Rupert, you will be late."</p>
+
+<p>"I can't help it," returned Rupert, folding his arms and leaning back
+again in the chair. "If Chattaway locks me out again, he must. I'll sit
+down in the portico until morning, for I sha'n't be able to stir another
+step from it."</p>
+
+<p>Rupert was in that physical depression which reacts upon the mind.
+Whether he got in or not, whether he passed the night in a comfortable
+bed, or under the trees in the avenue, seemed of very little moment in
+his present state of feeling. Altogether he was some time getting off;
+and they heard the far-off church clock at Barbrook chime the half-past
+ten before they were half-way to the Hold. The sound came distinctly to
+their ears on the calm night air.</p>
+
+<p>"I was somewhere about this spot when the half-hour struck last night,
+for your clocks were fast," remarked Rupert. "I ran all the way home
+after that&mdash;with what success, you know. I can't run to-night."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll do my best to get you in," said George. "I hope I sha'n't be
+tempted, though, to speak my mind too plainly to Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>The Hold was closed for the night. Lights appeared in several of the
+windows. Rupert halted when he saw the light in one of them. "Aunt Diana
+must have returned," he said; "that's her room."</p>
+
+<p>George Ryle rang a loud, quick peal at the bell. It was not answered. He
+rang again, a sharp, urgent peal, and shouted with his stentorian voice;
+a prolonged shout that could not have come from the lungs of Rupert; and
+it brought Mr. Chattaway to the window of his wife's dressing-room in
+surprise. One or two more windows in different parts of the house were
+thrown up.</p>
+
+<p>"It is I, Mr. Chattaway. I have been assisting Rupert home. Will you be
+good enough to have the door opened?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway was nearly struck dumb with the insolence of the demand,
+coming from the quarter it did. He could scarcely speak at first, even
+to refuse.</p>
+
+<p>"He does not deserve your displeasure to-night," said George, in his
+clear, ringing tones, which might be heard distinctly ever so far off.
+"He could scarcely get here from fatigue and illness. But for taking a
+rest at my mother's house, and having the help of my arm up here, I
+question if he would have got as far. Be so good as to let him in, Mr.
+Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>"How dare you make such a request to me?" roared Mr. Chattaway,
+recovering himself a little. "How dare you come disturbing the peace of
+my house at night, like any house-breaker&mdash;except that you make more
+noise about it!"</p>
+
+<p>"I came to bring Rupert," was George's answer. "He is waiting to be let
+in; tired and ill."</p>
+
+<p>"I will not let him in," raved Mr. Chattaway. "How dare you, I ask?"</p>
+
+<p>"What <i>is</i> all this?" broke from the amazed voice of Miss Diana Trevlyn.
+"What does it mean? I don't comprehend it in the least."</p>
+
+<p>George looked up at her window. "Rupert could not get home by the hour
+specified by Mr. Chattaway&mdash;half-past ten. I am asking that he may be
+admitted now, Miss Trevlyn."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course he can be admitted," said Miss Diana.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course he sha'n't," retorted Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"Who says he couldn't get home in time if he had wanted to come?" called
+out Cris from a window on the upper story. "Does it take him five or six
+hours to walk from Blackstone?"</p>
+
+<p>"Is that you, Christopher?" asked George, falling back a little that he
+might see him better. "I want to speak to you. By what right did you
+take possession of my horse at Blackstone this afternoon, and ride him
+home?"</p>
+
+<p>"I chose to do it," said Cris.</p>
+
+<p>"I lent that horse to Rupert, who was unfit to walk. It would have been
+more generous&mdash;though you may not understand the word&mdash;had you left it
+for him. He was not in bed last night; has gone without food to-day&mdash;you
+were more capable of walking home than he."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Diana craned forth her neck. "Chattaway, I must inquire into this.
+Let that front-door be opened."</p>
+
+<p>"I will not," he answered. And he banged down his window with a resolute
+air, as if to avoid further colloquy.</p>
+
+<p>But in that same moment the lock of the front-door was turned, and it
+was thrown open by Octave Chattaway.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2>
+
+<h3>AN OLD IMPRESSION</h3>
+
+
+<p>It was surely a scene to excite some interest, if only the interest of
+curiosity, that was presented at Trevlyn Hold that night. Octave
+Chattaway in evening dress&mdash;for she had not begun to prepare for bed,
+although some time in her chamber&mdash;standing at the hall-door which she
+had opened; Miss Diana pressing forward from the back of the hall in a
+hastily assumed dressing gown; Mr. Chattaway in a waistcoat; Cris in
+greater déshabille; and Mrs. Chattaway dressed as was Octave.</p>
+
+<p>Rupert came in, coughing with the night air, and leaning on the arm of
+George Ryle. There was no light, except such as was afforded by a candle
+carried by Miss Trevlyn; but she stepped forward and lighted the lamp.</p>
+
+<p>"Now then," said she. "What is all this?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is this," returned the master of Trevlyn Hold: "that I make rules
+for the proper regulation of my household, and a beardless boy chooses
+to break them. I should think"&mdash;turning shortly upon Miss Diana&mdash;"that
+you are not the one to countenance that."</p>
+
+<p>"No," said she; "when rules are made they must be kept. What is your
+defence, Rupert?"</p>
+
+<p>Rupert had thrown himself upon a bench against the wall in utter
+weariness of mind and body. "I don't care to make any defence," said he,
+in his apathy, as he leaned his cheek upon his hand, and fixed his blue
+eyes on Miss Trevlyn; "I don't know that there's much defence to make.
+Mr. Chattaway orders me to be in by half-past ten. I was at George
+Ryle's last night, and I a little exceeded the time, getting here five
+minutes or so after it, so I was locked out. Cris let himself in with
+his latch-key, but he would not let me in."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Diana glanced at Cris, but said nothing. Mr. Chattaway interrupted.
+George, erect, fearless, was standing opposite the group, and it was to
+him that Chattaway turned.</p>
+
+<p>"What I want to know is this&mdash;by what right <i>you</i> interfere, George
+Ryle?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am not aware that I have interfered&mdash;except by giving Rupert my arm
+up the hill, and asking you to admit him. No very unjustifiable
+interference, surely, Mr. Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>"But it is, sir. And I ask why you presume to do it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Presume? I saw Rupert to-night, accidentally, as he was coming from
+Blackstone. It was about nine o'clock. He appeared terribly tired, and
+wished to come into the house and rest. There he fell asleep. I awoke
+him in time, but he seemed too weary to get here himself, and I came
+with him to help him along. He walked slowly&mdash;painfully I should say;
+and it made him later than he ought to have arrived. Will you be so
+good, Mr. Chattaway, as to explain what part of this was unjustifiable
+interference? I do not see that I could have done less."</p>
+
+<p>"You will see that you do less in future," growled Mr. Chattaway. "I
+will have no interference of yours between the Hold and Rupert Trevlyn."</p>
+
+<p>"You may make yourself perfectly easy," returned George, some sarcasm in
+his tone. "Nothing could be farther from my intention than to interfere
+in any way with you, or with the Hold, or with Rupert in connection with
+you and the Hold. But, as I told you this morning, until you show me
+good and sufficient reason for the contrary, I shall observe common
+courtesy to Rupert when he comes in my way."</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense!" interposed Miss Diana. "Who says you are not to show
+courtesy to Rupert? Do you?" wheeling sharply round on Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"There's one thing requires explanation," said Mr. Chattaway, turning to
+Rupert, and drowning Miss Diana's voice. "How came you to stop at
+Blackstone till this time of night? Where had you been loitering?"</p>
+
+<p>Rupert answered the questions mechanically, never lifting his head. "I
+didn't leave until late. Ford wanted to go home, and I had to stop.
+After that I sat down on the way and dropped asleep."</p>
+
+<p>"Sat down on your way and dropped asleep!" echoed Miss Diana. "What made
+you do that?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know. I had been tired all day. I had no bed, you hear, last
+night. I suppose I can go to mine now?" he added, rising. "I want it
+badly enough."</p>
+
+<p>"You can go&mdash;for this time," assented the master of Trevlyn Hold. "But
+you will understand that it is the last night I shall suffer my rules to
+be set at naught. You shall be in to time, or you do not come in at
+all."</p>
+
+<p>Rupert shook hands with George Ryle, spoke a general "Good night" to the
+rest collectively, and went towards the stairs. At the back of the hall,
+lingering there in her timidity, stood Mrs. Chattaway. "Good night, dear
+Aunt Edith," he whispered.</p>
+
+<p>She gave no answer: only laid her hand upon his as he passed: and so
+momentary was the action that it escaped unobserved, except by one pair
+of eyes&mdash;those of Octave Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>George was the next to go. Octave put out her hand to him. "Does
+Caroline come to the harvest-home?" she inquired.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I think so. Good night."</p>
+
+<p>"Good night," replied Octave, amiably. "I am glad you took care of
+Rupert."</p>
+
+<p>"She's as false as her father," thought George, as he went down the
+avenue.</p>
+
+<p>They were all dispersing. There was nothing now to remain up for.
+Chattaway was turning to the staircase, when Miss Diana stepped inside
+one of the sitting-rooms, carrying her candle, and beckoned to him.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you want, Diana?" he asked, not in pleasant tones, as he
+followed her in.</p>
+
+<p>"Why did you shut out Rupert last night?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because I chose to do it!"</p>
+
+<p>"But suppose I chose that he should not be shut out?"</p>
+
+<p>"Then we shall split," angrily rejoined the master of Trevlyn Hold. "I
+say that half-past ten is quite late enough for Rupert. He is younger
+than Cris; you and Edith say he is not strong; <i>is</i> it too early?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway was so far right. It was a sufficiently late hour; and
+Miss Diana, after a pause, pronounced it to be so. "I shall talk to
+Rupert," she said. "There's no harm in his going to spend an hour or two
+with George Ryle, or with any other friend, but he must be home in good
+time."</p>
+
+<p>"Just so; he must be home in good time," acquiesced Chattaway. "He shall
+be home by half-past ten. And the only way to insure that, is to lock
+him out at first when he transgresses. Therefore, Diana, I shall follow
+my own way in this, and I beg you not to interfere."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Diana went up to Rupert's room. He had taken off his coat, and
+thrown himself on the bed, as if the fatigue of undressing were too much
+for him.</p>
+
+<p>"What's that for?" asked Miss Diana, as she entered. "Is that the way
+you get into bed?"</p>
+
+<p>Rupert rose and sat down on a chair. "Only coming upstairs seems to tire
+me," he said in tones of apology. "I should not have lain a minute."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Diana threw back her head a little, and looked at Rupert: the
+determined will of the Trevlyns shining out in every line of her face.</p>
+
+<p>"I have come to ask where you slept last night. I mean to know, Rupert."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't mind your knowing," replied Rupert; "I have told Aunt Edith. I
+decline to tell Chattaway, and I hope that no one else will tell him."</p>
+
+<p>"Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because he might lay blame where no blame is due. Chattaway turned me
+from the door, Aunt Diana, and Cris, who came up just after, turned me
+from it also. I went down to the lodge, and Ann Canham let me in; and I
+lay part of the night on their hard settle, and part of the night I sat
+upon it. That's where I was. But if Chattaway knew it, he'd turn old
+Canham and Ann from the lodge, as he turned me from the door."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh no, he wouldn't," said Miss Diana, "if it were my pleasure to keep
+them in it. Do you feel ill, Rupert?"</p>
+
+<p>"I feel middling. It is that I am tired, I suppose. I shall be all right
+in the morning."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Diana descended to her own room. Waiting there for her was Mrs.
+Chattaway. In spite of a shawl thrown over her shoulders, she seemed to
+be shivering. She slipped the bolt of the door&mdash;what was she afraid
+of?&mdash;and turned to Miss Trevlyn, her hands clasped.</p>
+
+<p>"Diana, this is killing me!" she wailed. "Why should Rupert be treated
+as he is? I know I am but a poor creature, that I have been one all my
+life&mdash;a very coward; but sometimes I think that I must speak out and
+protest against the injustice, though I should die in the effort."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, what's the matter?" uttered Miss Diana, whose intense composure
+formed a strange contrast to her sister's agitated words and bearing.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, you know!&mdash;you know! I have not dared to speak out much, even to
+you, Diana; but it's killing me&mdash;it's killing me! Is it not enough that
+we despoiled Rupert of his inheritance, but we must also&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Be silent!" sharply interrupted Miss Diana, glancing around and
+lowering her voice to a whisper. "Will you never have done with that
+folly, Edith?"</p>
+
+<p>"I shall never have done with its remembrance. I don't often speak of
+it; once, it may be, in seven years, not more. Better for me that I
+could speak of it; it would prey less upon my heart!"</p>
+
+<p>"You have benefited by it as much as any one has."</p>
+
+<p>"I cannot help myself. Heaven knows that if I could retire to some poor
+hut, and live upon a crust of bread, and benefit by it no more, I should
+do so&mdash;oh, how willingly! But there's no escape. I am hemmed in by its
+consequences; we are all hemmed in by them&mdash;and there's no escape."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Diana looked at her. Steadfastly, keenly; not angrily, but
+searchingly and critically, as a doctor looks at a patient supposed to
+be afflicted with mania.</p>
+
+<p>"If you do not take care, Edith, you will become insane upon this point,
+as I believe I have warned you before," she said, with calmness. "I am
+not sure but you are slightly touched now!"</p>
+
+<p>"I do not think I am," replied poor Mrs. Chattaway, passing her hand
+over her brow. "I feel confused enough sometimes, but there's no fear
+that madness will really come. If thinking could have turned me mad, I
+should have gone mad years ago."</p>
+
+<p>"The very act of your coming here in this excited state, when you should
+be going to bed, and saying what you do say, must be nothing less than a
+degree of madness."</p>
+
+<p>"I would go to bed, if I could sleep," said Mrs. Chattaway. "I lie awake
+night after night, thinking of the past; of the present; thinking of
+Rupert and of what we did for him; the treatment we deal out to him now.
+I think of his father, poor Joe; I think of his mother, Emily Dean, whom
+we once so loved; and I&mdash;I cannot sleep, Diana!"</p>
+
+<p>There really did seem something strange in Mrs. Chattaway to-night. For
+once in her life, Diana Trevlyn's heart beat a shade faster.</p>
+
+<p>"Try and calm yourself, Edith," she said soothingly.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish I could! I should be more calm if you and my husband would allow
+it. If you would only allow Rupert to be treated with common
+kindness&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"He is not treated with unkindness," interrupted Miss Diana.</p>
+
+<p>"It appears to me that he is treated with nothing but great unkindness.
+He&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Is he beaten?&mdash;is he starved?"</p>
+
+<p>"The system pursued towards him is altogether unkind," persisted Mrs.
+Chattaway. "Indulgences dealt out to our own children are denied to him.
+When I think that he might be the true master of Trevlyn Hold&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I will not listen to this," interrupted Miss Diana. "What has come to
+you to-night?"</p>
+
+<p>A shiver passed over the frame of Mrs. Chattaway. She was sitting on a
+low toilette chair covered with white drapery, her head bent on her
+hand. By her reply, which she did not look up to give, it appeared that
+she took the question literally.</p>
+
+<p>"I feel the pain more than usual; nothing else. I do feel it so
+sometimes."</p>
+
+<p>"What pain?" asked Miss Diana.</p>
+
+<p>"The pain of remorse: the pain of the wrong dealt out to Rupert. It
+seems greater than I can bear. Do you know," raising her feverish eyes
+to Miss Diana, "that I scarcely closed my eyelids last night? All the
+long night through I was thinking of Rupert: fancying him lying outside
+on the damp grass; fancying&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Stop a minute, Edith. Are you seeking to blame your husband to me?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no; I don't wish to blame any one. But I wish it could be altered."</p>
+
+<p>"If Rupert knows the hour for coming in&mdash;and it is not an unreasonable
+hour&mdash;it is he who is to blame if he exceeds it."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway could not gainsay this. In point of fact, though she
+found things grievously uncomfortable, wrong altogether, she had not the
+strength of mind to say <i>where</i> the fault lay, or how it should be
+altered. On this fresh agitation, the coming in at half-past ten, she
+could only judge as a vacillating woman. The hour, as Miss Diana said,
+was not unreasonable, and Mrs. Chattaway would have fallen in with it,
+and approved her husband's judgment, if Rupert had only obeyed the
+mandate. If Rupert did not obey it&mdash;if he somewhat exceeded its
+bounds&mdash;she would have liked the door to be still open to him, and no
+scolding given. It was the discomfort that worried her; mixing itself up
+with the old feeling of the wrong done to Rupert, rendering things, as
+she aptly expressed it, more miserable than she could bear.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll talk to Rupert to-morrow morning," said Miss Diana. "I shall add
+my authority to Chattaway's, and tell him that he <i>must</i> be in."</p>
+
+<p>It may be that a shadow of the future was casting itself over the mind
+of Mrs. Chattaway, dimly and vaguely pointing to the terrible events
+hereafter to arise&mdash;events which would throw their consequences on the
+remainder of Rupert's life, and which had their origin in this new and
+ill-omened order, touching his coming home at night.</p>
+
+<p>"Edith," said Miss Diana, "I would recommend you to become less
+sensitive on the subject of Rupert. It is growing into a morbid
+feeling."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish I could! It does grow upon me. Do you know," sinking her voice
+and looking feverishly at her sister, "that old impression has come
+again! I thought it had worn itself out. I thought it had left me for
+ever."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Diana almost lost patience. Her own mind was a very contrast to her
+sister's; the two were as opposite in their organisation as the poles.
+Fanciful, dreamy, vacillating, weak, the one; the other strong,
+practical, matter-of-fact.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know what you mean by the 'old impression,'" she rejoined, with
+a contempt she did not seek to disguise. "Is it not some new folly?"</p>
+
+<p>"I told you of it in the old days, Diana. I used to feel
+certain&mdash;certain&mdash;that the wrong we inflicted on Rupert would avenge
+itself&mdash;that in some way he would come into his inheritance, and we
+should be despoiled of it. I felt so certain of it, that every morning
+of my life when I got up I seemed to expect its fulfilment before the
+day closed. But the time went on and on, and it never came. It went on
+so long that the impression wore itself out, I say, and now it has come
+again. It is stronger than ever. For some weeks past it has been growing
+more present with me day by day, and I cannot shake it off."</p>
+
+<p>"The best thing you can do now is to go to bed, and try and sleep off
+your folly," cried Miss Trevlyn, with the stinging contempt she allowed
+herself at rare times to show to her sister. "I feel more provoked with
+you than I can express. A child might be pardoned for indulging in such
+absurdities; a woman, never!"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway rose. "I'll go to bed," she meekly answered, "and get
+what sleep I can. I remember that you ridiculed this feeling of mine in
+the old days&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Pray did anything come of it then?" interrupted Miss Diana,
+sarcastically.</p>
+
+<p>"I have said it did not. And the impression left me. But it has come
+again. Good night, Diana."</p>
+
+<p>"Good night, and a more sensible frame of mind to you!" was the retort
+of Miss Diana.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway crept softly along the corridor to her own dressing-room,
+hoping that her husband by that time was in bed and asleep. What was her
+surprise, then, to see him sitting at the table when she entered, not
+undressed, and as wide awake as she was.</p>
+
+<p>"You have business late with Diana," he remarked.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway felt wholly and entirely subdued; she had felt so since
+the previous night, when Rupert was denied admittance. The painful
+shyness, clinging to her always, seemed partially to have left her for a
+time. It was as though she had not strength left to be timid; almost as
+Rupert felt in his weariness of body, she was past caring for anything
+in her utter weariness of mind. Otherwise, she might not have spoken to
+Miss Diana as she had just done: most certainly she could never have
+spoken as she was about to speak to Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"What may your business with her have been?" he resumed.</p>
+
+<p>"It was not much, James," she answered. "I was saying how ill I felt."</p>
+
+<p>"Ill! With what?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ill in mind, I think," said Mrs. Chattaway, putting her hand to her
+brow. "I was telling her that the old fear had come upon me; the
+impression that used to cling to me always that some change was at hand
+regarding Rupert. I lost it for a great many years, but it has come
+again."</p>
+
+<p>"Try and speak lucidly, if you can," was Mr. Chattaway's answer. "What
+has come again?"</p>
+
+<p>"It seems to have come upon me in the light of a warning," she resumed,
+so lucidly that Mr. Chattaway, had he been a few steps lower in social
+grade, might have felt inclined to strike her. "I have ever felt that
+Rupert would in some manner regain his rights&mdash;I mean what he was
+deprived of," she hastily added, condoning the word which had slipped
+from her. "That he will regain Trevlyn Hold, and we shall lose it."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway listened in consternation, his mouth gradually opening in
+bewilderment. "What makes you think that?" he asked, when he found his
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't exactly <i>think</i> it, James. Think is not the right word. The
+feeling has come upon me again within the last few weeks, and I cannot
+shake it off. I believe it to be a presentiment; a warning."</p>
+
+<p>Paler and paler grew Mr. Chattaway. He did not understand. Like Miss
+Diana Trevlyn, he was very matter-of-fact, comprehending nothing but
+what could be seen and felt; and his wife might as well have spoken in
+an unknown tongue as of "presentiments." He drew a rapid conclusion that
+some unpleasant fact, bearing upon the dread <i>he</i> had long felt, must
+have come to his wife's knowledge.</p>
+
+<p>"What have you heard?" he gasped.</p>
+
+<p>"I have heard nothing; nothing whatever. I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Then what on earth are you talking about?"</p>
+
+<p>"Did you understand me, James? I say the impression was once firmly
+seated in my mind that Rupert would somehow be restored to what&mdash;to
+what"&mdash;she scarcely knew how to frame her words with the delicacy she
+deemed due to her husband's feelings&mdash;"to what would have been his but
+for his father's death. And that impression has now returned to me."</p>
+
+<p>"But you have not heard anything? Any plot?&mdash;any conspiracy that's being
+hatched against us?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway stared searchingly at his wife. Did he fancy, as Miss
+Diana had done, that her intellect was becoming disordered?</p>
+
+<p>"Then, what do you mean?" he asked, after a pause. "Why should such an
+idea arise?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway was silent. She could not tell him the truth; could not
+say she believed it was the constant dwelling upon the wrong and
+injustice, which had first suggested the notion that the wrong would
+inevitably recoil on its workers. They had broken alike the laws of God
+and man; and those who do so cannot be sure of immunity from punishment
+in this world. That they had so long enjoyed unmolested the inheritance
+gained by fraud, gave no certainty that they would enjoy it to the end.
+She felt it, if her husband and Diana Trevlyn did not. Too often there
+were certain verses of Holy Writ spelling out their syllables upon her
+brain. "Remove not the old landmark; and enter not into the fields of
+the fatherless; for their Redeemer is mighty; he shall plead their cause
+with thee."</p>
+
+<p>All this she could not say to Mr. Chattaway. She could give him no good
+reason for what she had said; he did not understand imaginative fancies,
+and he went to rest after bestowing upon her a sharp lecture for
+indulging them.</p>
+
+<p>Nevertheless, in spite of her denial, the master of Trevlyn Hold could
+not divest himself of the impression that she must have picked up some
+scrap of news, or heard a word dropped in some quarter, which had led
+her to say what she did. And it gave him terrible discomfort.</p>
+
+<p>Was the haunting shadow, the latent dread in his heart, about to be
+changed into substance? He lay on his bed, turning uneasily from side to
+side until the morning, wondering from what quarter the first glimmer of
+mischief would come.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2>
+
+<h3>A FIT OF AMIABILITY</h3>
+
+
+<p>Rupert came down to breakfast the next morning. He was cold, sick,
+shivery; little better than he had felt the previous night; his chest
+sore, his breathing painful. A good fire burnt in the grate of the
+breakfast-room&mdash;Miss Diana was a friend to fires, and caused them to be
+lighted as soon as the heat of summer had passed&mdash;and Rupert bent over
+it. He cared for it more than for food; and yet it was no doubt having
+gone without food the previous day which was causing the sensation of
+sickness within him now.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Diana glided in, erect and majestic. "How are you this morning?"
+she asked of Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>"Pretty well," he answered, as he warmed his thin white hands over the
+blaze. "I have the old pain here a bit"&mdash;touching his chest. "It will go
+off by-and-by, I dare say."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Diana had her eyes riveted on him. The extreme delicacy of his
+countenance&mdash;its lines of fading health&mdash;struck upon her greatly. Was he
+looking worse? or was it that her absence from home for three weeks had
+caused her to notice it more than she had done when seeing him daily?
+She asked herself the question, and could not decide.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't look very well, Rupert."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't I? I have not felt well for this week or two. I think the walking
+to Blackstone and back is too much for me."</p>
+
+<p>"You must have a pony," she continued after a pause.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! that would be a help to me," he said, his countenance brightening.
+"I might get on better with what I have to do there. Mr. Chattaway
+grumbles, and grumbles, but I declare, Aunt Diana, that I do my best.
+The walk there seems to take away all my energy, and, by the time I sit
+down, I am unfit for work."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Diana went nearer to him, and spoke in lower tones. "What was the
+reason that you disobeyed Mr. Chattaway with regard to coming in?"</p>
+
+<p>"I did not do it intentionally," he replied. "The time slipped on, and
+it got late without my noticing it. I think I told you so last night,
+Aunt Diana."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well. It must not occur again," she said, peremptorily and
+significantly. "If you are locked out in future, I shall not interfere."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway came in, with a discontented gesture and a blue face. He
+was none the better for his sleepless night, and the torment which had
+caused it. Rupert drew away from the fire, leaving the field clear for
+him: as a schoolboy does at the entrance of his master.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't let us have this trouble repeated," he roughly said to Rupert.
+"As soon as you have breakfasted, make the best of your way to
+Blackstone: and don't lag on the road."</p>
+
+<p>"Rupert's not going to Blackstone to-day," said Miss Diana.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway turned upon her: no very pleasant expression on his
+countenance. "What's that for?"</p>
+
+<p>"I shall keep him at home for a week, and have him nursed. After that, I
+dare say he'll be stronger, and can attend better to his duty in all
+ways."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway could willingly have braved Miss Diana, if he had only
+dared. But he did not dare. He strode to the breakfast-table and took
+his seat, leaving those who liked to follow him.</p>
+
+<p>It has been remarked that there was a latent antagonism ever at work in
+the hearts of George Ryle and Octave Chattaway; and there was certainly
+ever constant and visible antagonism between the actions of Mr.
+Chattaway and Miss Diana Trevlyn, as far as they related to the ruling
+economy of Trevlyn Hold. She had the open-heartedness of the
+Trevlyns&mdash;he, the miserly selfishness of the Chattaways. She was liberal
+on the estate and in the household&mdash;he would have been niggardly to the
+last degree. Miss Diana, however, was the one to reign paramount, and he
+was angered every hour of his life by seeing some extravagance&mdash;as he
+deemed it&mdash;which might have been avoided. He could indemnify himself at
+the mines; and there he did as he pleased.</p>
+
+<p>Breakfast over, Mr. Chattaway went out. Cris went out. Rupert, as the
+day grew warm and bright, strolled into the garden, and basked on a
+bench in the sun. He very much enjoyed these days of idleness. To sit as
+he was doing now, feeling that no exertion whatever was required of him;
+that he might stay where he was for the whole day, and gaze up at
+the blue sky as he fell into thought; or watch the light fleecy
+clouds that rose above the horizon, and form them into fantastic
+pictures&mdash;constituted one of the pleasures of Rupert Trevlyn's life. Not
+for the bright blue of the sky, the ever-changing clouds, the warm
+sunshine and balmy air&mdash;not for all these did he care so much as for the
+<i>rest</i>. The delightful consciousness that he might be as quiet as he
+pleased; that no Blackstone or any other far-off place would demand him;
+that for a whole day he might be at <i>rest</i>&mdash;there lay the charm. Nothing
+could possibly have been more suggestive of his want of strength&mdash;as
+anyone might have guessed possessed of sufficient penetration.</p>
+
+<p>No. Mr. Chattaway need not have feared that Rupert was hatching plots
+against him, whenever he was out of his sight. Had poor Rupert possessed
+the desire, he lacked the energy.</p>
+
+<p>The dinner hour at Trevlyn Hold, nominally early, was frequently
+regulated by the will or movements of the master. When he said he could
+only be home at a given hour&mdash;three, four, five, six, as the case might
+be&mdash;the cook had her orders accordingly. To-day it was fixed for four
+o'clock. At two (the more ordinary dinner hour) Cris came in.</p>
+
+<p>Strictly speaking, it was ten minutes past two, and Cris burst into the
+dining-room with a heated face, afraid lest he should come in for the
+end of the meal. Whatever might be the hour fixed, dinner had to be on
+the table to the minute; and it generally was so. Miss Diana was an
+exacting mistress. Cris burst in, hair untidy, hands unwashed,
+desperately afraid of losing his share.</p>
+
+<p>He drew a long face. Not a soul was in the room, and the dining-table
+showed its bright mahogany. Cris rang the bell.</p>
+
+<p>"What time do we dine to-day?" he asked sharply of the servant who
+answered it.</p>
+
+<p>"At four, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"What a nuisance! And I am as hungry as a hunter. Get me something to
+eat. Here&mdash;stop&mdash;where are they all?"</p>
+
+<p>"Madam's at home, sir; and I think Miss Octave's at home. The rest are
+out."</p>
+
+<p>Cris muttered something which was not heard, which perhaps he did not
+intend should be heard; and when his luncheon was brought in, he sat
+down to it with great satisfaction. After he had finished, he went to
+the stables, and by-and-by came in to find his sister.</p>
+
+<p>"Octave, I want to take you for a drive. Will you go?"</p>
+
+<p>The unwonted attention on her brother's part quite astonished Octave.
+Before now she had asked him to drive her out, and been met with a rough
+refusal. Cris was of that class of young men who see no good in
+overpowering their sisters with attention.</p>
+
+<p>"Get your things on at once," said Cris.</p>
+
+<p>Octave felt dubious. She was writing letters to some particular friends
+with whom she kept up a correspondence, and did not care to be
+interrupted.</p>
+
+<p>"Where is it to go, Cris?"</p>
+
+<p>"Anywhere. We can drive through Barmester, and so home by the
+cross-roads. Or we'll go down the lower road to Barbrook, and go on to
+Barmester that way."</p>
+
+<p>The suggestion did not offer sufficient attraction to Octave. "No," said
+she, "I am busy, and shall not go out this afternoon. I don't care to
+drive out when there's nothing to go for."</p>
+
+<p>"You may as well come. It isn't often I ask you."</p>
+
+<p>"No, that it is not," returned Octave, with emphasis. "You have some
+particular motive in asking me now, I know. What is it, Cris?"</p>
+
+<p>"I want to try my new horse. They say he goes beautifully in harness."</p>
+
+<p>"What! that handsome horse you took a fancy to the other day?&mdash;that papa
+said you should not buy?"</p>
+
+<p>Cris nodded. "They let me have him for forty-five pounds."</p>
+
+<p>"Where did you get the money?" wondered Octave.</p>
+
+<p>"Never you mind. I have paid ten pounds down, and they'll wait for the
+rest. Will you come?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Octave. "I sha'n't go out to-day."</p>
+
+<p>The refusal perhaps was somewhat softened by the dashing up to the door
+of the dog-cart with the new purchase in it; and Cris ran out. A
+handsome animal certainly, but apparently restive. Mrs. Chattaway came
+through the hall, dressed for walking. Cris seized upon her.</p>
+
+<p>"Mother, dear, you'll go for a drive with me," cried he, caressingly.
+"Octave won't&mdash;ill-natured thing!"</p>
+
+<p>It was so unusual a circumstance to find herself made much of by her
+son, spoken to affectionately, that Mrs. Chattaway, in surprise and
+gratitude, forthwith ascended the dog-cart. "I am glad to accompany you,
+dear," she softly said. "I was only going to walk in the garden."</p>
+
+<p>But before Cris had gathered the reins in his hand and taken his place
+beside her, George Ryle came up, and somewhat hindered the departure.</p>
+
+<p>"I have been to Barmester to see Caroline this morning, Mrs. Chattaway,
+and have brought you a message from Amelia," he said, keeping his hold
+on the dog-cart as he spoke&mdash;as much as he could do so, for the restive
+animal.</p>
+
+<p>"That she wants to come home, I suppose?" said Mrs. Chattaway, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"The message I was charged with was, that she <i>would</i> come home," he
+said, smiling in answer. "The fact is, Caroline is coming home for a few
+days: and Amelia thinks she will be cruelly used unless she is allowed
+holiday also."</p>
+
+<p>"Caroline is coming to the harvest-home?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. I told Amelia&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Holding on any longer became impossible; and George drew back, and took
+a critical survey of the new horse. "Why, it is the horse Allen has had
+for sale!" he exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>"What brings him here, Cris?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have bought him," shortly answered Cris.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you? Mrs. Chattaway, I would advise you not to venture out behind
+that horse. He has not been broken in for driving."</p>
+
+<p>"He has," returned Cris. "You mind your own business. Do you think I
+should drive him if he were not safe? He's only skittish. I understand
+horses, I hope, as well as you do."</p>
+
+<p>George turned to Mrs. Chattaway. "Do not go with him," he urged. "Let
+Cris try him first alone."</p>
+
+<p>"I am not afraid, George," she said, in loving accents. "It is not often
+Cris finds time to drive me. Thank you all the same."</p>
+
+<p>Cris gave the horse its head, and the animal dashed off. George stood
+watching until a turn in the avenue hid them from view, and then gave
+utterance to an involuntary exclamation:</p>
+
+<p>"Cris has no right to risk the life of his mother."</p>
+
+<p>Not very long afterwards, the skittish horse was flying along the road,
+with nothing of the dog-cart left behind him, but its shafts.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2>
+
+<h3>AN INVASION AT THE PARSONAGE</h3>
+
+
+<p>On the lower road, leading from Trevlyn Farm to Barbrook, stood Barbrook
+Rectory. A pretty house, covered with ivy, standing in the midst of a
+flourishing garden, and surrounded by green fields. An exceedingly
+pretty place for its size, that parsonage&mdash;it was never styled anything
+else&mdash;but very small. Fortunately the parsons inhabiting it had none of
+them owned large families, or they would have been at fault for room.</p>
+
+<p>The present occupant was the Reverend John Freeman. Occupant of the
+parsonage house, but not incumbent of the living. The living, in the
+gift of a neighbouring cathedral, was held by one of the chapter; and he
+delegated his charge (beyond an occasional sermon) to a curate. It had
+been so in the old time when Squire Trevlyn flourished, and it was so
+still. Whispers were abroad that when the death of this canon should
+take place&mdash;a very old man, both as to years and occupancy of his
+prebendal stall&mdash;changes would be made, and the next incumbent would
+have to reside on the living. But this has nothing to do with us, and I
+don't know why I have alluded to it.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Freeman had been curate of the place for more than twenty years. He
+succeeded the Reverend Shafto Dean, of whom you have heard. Mr. Dean had
+remained at Barbrook only a very short time after his sister's marriage
+to Joe Trevlyn. That event had not tended to allay the irritation
+existing between Trevlyn Hold and the parsonage, and on some promotion
+being offered to Mr. Dean he accepted it. The promotion given him was in
+the West Indies: he would not have chosen a residence there under
+happier auspices; but he felt sick of the ceaseless contention of Squire
+Trevlyn. Mr. Dean went out to the West Indies, and died of fever within
+six months of his arrival. Mr. Freeman had succeeded him at Barbrook,
+and Mr. Freeman was there still: a married man, without children.</p>
+
+<p>The parsonage household was very modest. One servant only was kept; and
+if you have the pleasure of making both ends meet at the end of the year
+upon the moderate sum of one hundred pounds sterling, you will wonder
+how even that servant could be retained. But a clergyman has advantages
+in some points over the rest of the world: at least this one had; his
+house was rent-free, and his garden supplied more vegetables and fruit
+than his household could consume. Some of the choicer fruit he sold. His
+superfluous vegetables he gave away; and many and many a cabbage leaf
+full of gooseberries and currants did the little parish children look
+out for, and receive. He was a quiet, pleasant little man of fifty, with
+a fair face and a fat double chin. Never an ill word had he had with any
+one in the parish since he came into it. His wife was pleasant, too, and
+talkative; and would as soon be caught by visitors making puddings in
+the kitchen, or shelling peas for dinner, as sitting in state in the
+drawing-room.</p>
+
+<p>At the back of the house, detached from it, was a room called the
+brewhouse, where sundry abnormal duties, quite out of the regular
+routine of things, were performed. A boiler was in one corner, a large
+board or table which would put up or let down at will was under the
+casement, and the floor was paved. On the morning of the day when Mr.
+Cris Chattaway contrived to separate his dog-cart from its shafts, or to
+let his new horse do it for him, of which you will hear more presently,
+this brewhouse was so filled with steam that you could not see across
+it. A tall, strong, rosy-faced woman, looking about thirty years of age,
+was standing over a washing-tub; and in the boiler, bubbling and
+seething, white linen heaved up and down like the waves of a small sea.</p>
+
+<p>You have seen the woman before, though the chances are you have
+forgotten all about her. It is Molly, who once lived at Trevlyn Farm.
+Some five years ago she came to an issue with the ruling potentates,
+Mrs. Ryle and Nora, and the result was a parting. Since then Molly had
+been living at the parsonage, and had grown to be valued by her master
+and mistress. She looks taller than ever, but wears pattens to keep her
+feet from the wet flags.</p>
+
+<p>Molly was rubbing vigorously at her master's surplice&mdash;which shared the
+benefits of the wash with more ignoble things, when the church-clock
+striking caused her to pause and glance up through the open window. She
+was counting the strokes.</p>
+
+<p>"Twelve o'clock, as I'm alive! I knew it must have gone eleven, but
+never thought it was twelve yet! And nothing out but a handful o'
+coloured things and the flannels! If missis was at home, she'd say I'd
+been wasting all my morning gossiping."</p>
+
+<p>An accusation Mrs. Freeman might have made with great truth. There was
+not a more inveterate gossip than Molly in the parish; and her
+propensity had lost her her last place.</p>
+
+<p>She turned to the boiler, seized the rolling-pin, and poked down the
+rising clothes with a fierceness which seemed to wish to make up for the
+lost hours. Then she dashed open the little iron door underneath, threw
+on a shovel of coals, and shut it again.</p>
+
+<p>"This surplice is wearing as thin as anything in front," soliloquised
+she, recommencing at the tub. "I'd better not rub it too much. But it's
+just in the very place where master gets 'em most dirty. If I were
+missis, I should line 'em in front. His other one's going worse. They
+must cost a smart penny, these surplices. Now, who's that?"</p>
+
+<p>Molly's interjection was caused by a flourishing knock at the
+front-door. It did not please her. She was too busy to answer useless
+visitors; unless because her master and mistress were out.</p>
+
+<p>"I won't go to the door," decided she, in her vexation. "Let 'em knock
+again, or go away."</p>
+
+<p>The applicant preferred the former course, for a second knock, louder
+than the first, echoed through the house. Molly brought her wet arms out
+of the water, dried them, and went on her way grumbling.</p>
+
+<p>"It's that bothering Mother Hurnall, I know! And ten to one but she'll
+walk in, under pretence of resting, and poke her nose into my brewhouse,
+and see how my work's getting on. An interfering, mischief-making old
+toad, and if she <i>does</i> come in, I'll&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Molly had opened the door, and her words came to an abrupt conclusion.
+Instead of the interfering mischief-maker, there stood a gentleman; a
+stranger: a tall, oldish man, with a white beard and white whiskers,
+jet-black eyes, a kindly but firm expression on his sallow face, a
+carpet-bag in one hand, a large red umbrella in the other.</p>
+
+<p>Molly dropped a dubious curtsey. Beards were not much in fashion in that
+simple country place, neither were red umbrellas, and her opinion
+vacillated. Was the gentleman before her some venerable,
+much-to-be-respected patriarch; or one of those conjurers who frequented
+fairs in a caravan? Molly had had the gratification of seeing the one
+perform who came to the last fair, and he wore a white beard.</p>
+
+<p>"I have been directed to this house as the residence of the Reverend Mr.
+Freeman," began the stranger. "Is he at home?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir, he's not," replied Molly, dropping another and more assured
+curtsey. There was something about the stranger's voice and
+straightforward glance which quieted her fears. "My master and mistress
+are both gone out for the day, and won't be home till night."</p>
+
+<p>This seemed a poser for the stranger. He looked at Molly, and Molly
+looked at him. "It is very unfortunate," he said at length. "I have come
+a great many hundred miles, and reckoned very much upon seeing my old
+friend Freeman. I shall be leaving England again in a few days."</p>
+
+<p>Molly opened her eyes. "Come a great many hundred miles, all to see
+master!" she exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>"Not to see him," answered the stranger, with a smile at Molly's
+simplicity&mdash;not that he looked like a smiling man in general, but a very
+sad one. "I had to come to England on business, and I travelled a long
+way to get here, and shall have to travel the same long way to get back
+again. I have come from London on purpose to see Mr. Freeman. It is many
+years since we met, and I thought, if quite agreeable, I would sleep a
+couple of nights here. Did you ever happen to hear him mention an old
+friend of his, named Daw?"</p>
+
+<p>The name struck on Molly's memory: it was a somewhat peculiar one.
+"Well, yes, I have, sir," she answered. "I have heard him speak of a Mr.
+Daw to my mistress. I think&mdash;I think&mdash;he lived somewhere over in France,
+that Mr. Daw. And he was a clergyman. My master lighted upon a lady's
+death a short time ago in the paper, while I was in the parlour helping
+my missis with some bed-furniture, and he exclaimed and said it must be
+Mr. Daw's wife."</p>
+
+<p>"Right&mdash;right in all," said the gentleman. "I am Mr. Daw."</p>
+
+<p>He took a small card-case from his pocket, and held out one of its cards
+to Molly; deeming it well, no doubt, that the woman should be convinced
+he was really the person he professed to be. "I can see but one thing to
+do," he said, "you must give me house-room until Mr. Freeman comes home
+this evening."</p>
+
+<p>"You are welcome, sir. But my goodness! there's nothing in the house for
+dinner, and I'm in the midst of a big wash."</p>
+
+<p>He shook his head as he walked into the parlour&mdash;a sunny apartment,
+redolent of mignonette, boxes of which stood outside the windows. "I
+don't in the least care about dinner," he carelessly observed. "A crust
+of bread, a little fresh butter, and a cup of milk, will do as well for
+me as anything more substantial."</p>
+
+<p>Molly left him, to see what she could do in the way of entertainment,
+and take counsel with herself. "If it doesn't happen on purpose!" she
+ejaculated. "Anything that upsets the order of the house is sure to come
+on washing day! Well, it's no good worrying. The wash must go. If I
+can't finish to-day, I must finish to-morrow. I think he's what he says
+he is; and I've heard them red umbrellas is used in France."</p>
+
+<p>She carried in a tray of refreshment&mdash;bread, butter, cheese, milk, and
+honey, and had adjusted the sleeves of her gown, straightened her hair,
+put on a clean apron, and taken off her pattens. Mr. Daw detained her
+whilst he helped himself, asking divers questions; and Molly, nothing
+loth, ever ready for a gossip, remembered not her exacting brewhouse.</p>
+
+<p>"There is a place called Trevlyn Hold in this neighbourhood, is there
+not?"</p>
+
+<p>"Right over there, sir," replied Molly, extending her hand. "You might
+see its chimneys but for them trees."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose the young master of Trevlyn has grown into a fine man?"</p>
+
+<p>Molly turned up her nose, never supposing but the question alluded to
+Cris, and Cris was no favourite of hers: a prejudice possibly imbibed
+during her service at Trevlyn Farm.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't call him so," said she, shortly. "A weazened-face fellow, with
+an odd look in his eyes as good as a squint! He's not much liked about
+here, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed! That's a pity. Is he married? I suppose not though, yet. He is
+young."</p>
+
+<p>"There's many a one gets married younger than he is. But I don't know
+who'd have him," added Molly, in her prejudice. "I wouldn't, if I was a
+young lady."</p>
+
+<p>"Who has acted as his guardian?" resumed Mr. Daw.</p>
+
+<p>Molly scarcely understood the question. "A guardian, sir? That's
+somebody that takes care of a child's money, who has no parents, isn't
+it? <i>He</i> has no guardian that I ever heard of, except it's his father."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Daw laid down his knife. "The young master of Trevlyn has no
+father," he exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed he has, sir," returned Molly. "What should hinder him?"</p>
+
+<p>"My good woman, you cannot know what I am talking about. His father died
+years and years ago. I was at his funeral."</p>
+
+<p>Molly opened her mouth in very astonishment. "His father is alive now,
+sir, at any rate," cried she, after a pause. "I saw him ride by this
+house only yesterday."</p>
+
+<p>They stared at each other, as people at cross-purposes often do. "Of
+whom are you speaking?" asked Mr. Daw, at length.</p>
+
+<p>"Of Cris Chattaway, sir. You asked me about the young master of Trevlyn
+Hold. Cris will be its master after his father. Old Chattaway's its
+master now."</p>
+
+<p>"Chattaway? Chattaway?" repeated the stranger, as if recalling the name.
+"I remember. It was he who&mdash;&mdash;Is Rupert Trevlyn dead?" he hastily asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Then why is he not master of Trevlyn Hold?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I don't know," replied Molly, after some consideration. "I
+suppose because Chattaway is."</p>
+
+<p>"But surely Rupert Trevlyn inherited it on the death of his grandfather,
+Squire Trevlyn?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, he didn't inherit it, sir. It was Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>So interested in the argument had the visitor become, that he neglected
+his plate, and was looking at Molly with astonished eyes. "Why did he
+not inherit it? He was the heir."</p>
+
+<p>"It's what folks can't rightly make out," answered the woman. "Chattaway
+came in for it, that's certain. But folks have never called him the
+Squire, though he's as sick as a dog for it."</p>
+
+<p>"Who is Mr. Chattaway? What is his connection with the Trevlyns? I
+forget."</p>
+
+<p>"His wife was Miss Edith Trevlyn, the Squire's daughter. There was but
+three of 'em,&mdash;Mrs. Ryle, and her, and Miss Diana. Miss Diana was never
+married, and I suppose won't be now."</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Diana?&mdash;Miss Diana? Yes, yes, I recollect," repeated the stranger.
+"It was Miss Diana whom Mrs. Trevlyn&mdash;&mdash;Does Rupert Trevlyn live with
+Miss Diana?" he broke off again.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir; they all live at the Hold. The Chattaways, and Miss Diana,
+and young Mr. Rupert. Miss Diana has been out on a visit these two or
+three weeks past, but I heard this morning that she had come home."</p>
+
+<p>"There was a pretty little girl&mdash;Maude&mdash;a year older than her brother,"
+proceeded the questioner. "Where is she?"</p>
+
+<p>"She's at the Hold, too, sir. They were brought to the Hold quite little
+babies, those two, and they have lived at it ever since, except when
+they've been at school. Miss Maude's governess to Chattaway's children."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Daw looked at Molly doubtingly. "Governess to Chattaway's children?"
+he mechanically repeated.</p>
+
+<p>Molly nodded. She was growing quite at home with her guest. "Miss Maude
+has had the best of educations, they say: plays and sings wonderful; and
+so they made her the governess."</p>
+
+<p>"But has she no fortune&mdash;no income?" reiterated the stranger, lost in
+wonder.</p>
+
+<p>"Not a penny-piece," returned Molly, decisively. "Her and Mr. Rupert
+haven't a halfpenny between 'em of their own. He's clerk, or something
+of that sort, at Chattaway's coal mine, down yonder."</p>
+
+<p>"But they were the heirs to the estate," the stranger persisted. "Their
+father was son and heir to Squire Trevlyn, and they are his children!
+How is it? How can it be?"</p>
+
+<p>The words were spoken in the light of a remark. Mr. Daw was evidently
+debating the question with himself. Molly thought the question was put
+to her.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know the rights of it, sir," was all she could answer. "All I
+can tell you is, the Chattaways have come in for it, and the inheritance
+is theirs. But there's many a one round about here calls Mr. Rupert the
+heir to this day, and will call him so, in spite of Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>"He is the heir&mdash;he is the heir!" reiterated Mr. Daw. "I can prove&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Again came that break in his discourse which had occurred before. Molly
+resumed.</p>
+
+<p>"Master will be able to tell you better than me, sir, why the property
+should have went from Master Rupert to Chattaway. It was him that buried
+the old Squire, sir, and he was at the Hold after, and heard the
+Squire's will read. Nora told me once that he, the parson, cried shame
+upon it when he came away. But she was in a passion with Chattaway when
+she said it, so perhaps it wasn't true. I asked my missis about it one
+day that we was folding clothes together, but she said she knew nothing
+about it. She wasn't married then."</p>
+
+<p>"Who is Nora?" inquired Mr. Daw.</p>
+
+<p>"She's housekeeper and manager at Trevlyn Farm; a sort of relation. It
+was where I lived before I come here, sir; four year turned I was at
+that one place. I have always been one to keep my places a good while,"
+added Molly, with pride.</p>
+
+<p>Apparently the boast was lost upon him; he did not seem to hear it. "Not
+heir to Trevlyn!" he muttered; "not heir to Trevlyn! It puzzles me."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry master's out," repeated Molly, with sympathy. "But you can
+hear all about it to-night. They'll be home by seven o'clock. Twice a
+year, or thereabouts, they both go over to stop a day with missis's
+sister. Large millers they be, fourteen mile off, and live in a great
+big handsome house, and keep three or four indoor servants. The name's
+Whittaker, sir."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Daw did not show himself very much interested in the name, or in the
+worthy millers themselves. He was lost in a reverie. Molly made a
+movement about the plates and cheese and butter; insinuated the glass of
+milk under his very nose. All in vain.</p>
+
+<p>"Not the heir!" he reiterated again; "not the heir! And I have been
+picturing him in my mind as the heir all through these long years!"</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2>
+
+<h3>THE STRANGER</h3>
+
+
+<p>When Mrs. Chattaway and Cris drove off in the dog-cart, George Ryle did
+not follow them down the avenue, but turned to pursue his way round the
+house, which would take him to the fields: a shorter cut to his own land
+than the road. For a long time after his father's death, George could
+not bear to go through the field which had been so fatal to him; but he
+had lived down the feeling with the aid of that great reconciler&mdash;Time.</p>
+
+<p>Happening to cast his eyes on the grounds as he skirted them, which lay
+on this side the Hold, he saw Rupert Trevlyn. Leaping a dwarf hedge of
+azaroles, he hastened to him.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, old fellow! Taking a nap?"</p>
+
+<p>Rupert opened his half-closed eyes, and looked round. "I thought it was
+Cris again!" he exclaimed. "He was here just now."</p>
+
+<p>"Cris has gone out with his mother in the dog-cart. I don't like the
+horse he is driving, though."</p>
+
+<p>"Is it that new horse he has been getting?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; the one Allen had to sell."</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter with it?" asked Rupert. "I saw it carrying Allen one
+day, and thought it a beautiful animal!"</p>
+
+<p>"It has a vicious temper, as I have been given to understand. And I
+believe it has never been properly broken in for driving. How do you
+feel to-day, Rupert?"</p>
+
+<p>"No great shakes. I wish I was as strong as you, George."</p>
+
+<p>George laughed pleasantly; and his voice, when he spoke, had a soothing
+sound in it. "So you may be, by the time you are as old as I am. Why,
+you have hardly done growing yet, Rupert. There's plenty of time for you
+to get strong."</p>
+
+<p>"What brings you up here, George? Anything particular?"</p>
+
+<p>"I saw Amelia to-day, and brought a message from her to her mother.
+Caroline is coming to us for the harvest-home, and Amelia wants to come
+too."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, they'll let her," cried Rupert. "The girls can do just as they
+like."</p>
+
+<p>He, Rupert, leaned his chin on his hand, and began thinking of Amelia
+Chattaway. She was the oldest of the three younger children, and was at
+first under the tuition of Maude. But Maude could do nothing with her,
+the girl liking and taking; in fact she was too old both for Maude's
+control and instruction, and it was thought well to place her at a good
+school at Barmester, the school at which Caroline Ryle was being
+educated. Somehow Rupert's comforts were never added to by the presence
+of Amelia in the house, and he might have given way to a hope that she
+would not come home, had he been of a disposition to encourage such
+feelings.</p>
+
+<p>Octave, who had discerned George Ryle from the windows of the Hold, came
+out to them, her pink parasol shading her face from the sun. A short
+time and Miss Trevlyn came home and joined them; next came Maude and her
+charges. It was quite a merry gathering. Miss Trevlyn unbent from her
+coldness, as she could do sometimes; Octave was all smiles and suavity,
+and every one, except Rupert, seemed at ease. Altogether, George Ryle
+was beguiled into doing what could not be often charged upon
+him&mdash;spending a good part of an afternoon in idleness.</p>
+
+<p>But he went away at last. And as he was turning into the first
+field&mdash;never called anything but "the Bull field," by the country
+people, from the hour of Mr. Ryle's accident&mdash;he encountered Jim
+Sanders, eager and breathless.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter?" asked George. "What do you want here?"</p>
+
+<p>"I was speeding up to the Hold to tell 'em, sir. There's been an
+accident with Mr. Cris's dog-cart. I thought I'd warn the men up at his
+place."</p>
+
+<p>"What accident?" hastily asked George, mentally beholding one sole
+object, and that was Mrs. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know yet, sir, what it is. I was in the road by the gate, when
+a horse came tearing along with broken shafts after it. It was that
+horse of Allen's which I saw Mr. Cris driving out an hour ago in his
+dog-cart, and Madam along of him. So I cut across the fields at once."</p>
+
+<p>"You can go on," said George; "some of the men will be about. Should you
+see Miss Diana, or any of the young ladies, take care you say nothing to
+them. Do you hear?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll mind, sir."</p>
+
+<p>Jim Sanders hastened out of the field on his way to the back premises of
+the Hold, and George flew onwards. When he gained the road, he looked up
+and down, but could see no traces of the accident. Nothing was in sight.
+Which way should he turn? Where had it occurred? He began reproaching
+himself for not asking Jim Sanders which way the horse had been coming
+from. As he halted in indecision some one suddenly came round the
+turning of the road lower down. It was Cris Chattaway, with a rueful
+expression and a gig-whip in his hand.</p>
+
+<p>George made but few strides towards him. "What is the worst, Cris? Let
+me know it."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll have him taken in charge and prosecuted, as sure as a gun," raved
+Cris. "I will. It's infamous that these things should be allowed in the
+public road."</p>
+
+<p>"What&mdash;the horse?" exclaimed George.</p>
+
+<p>"Horse be hanged!" politely returned Cris, whose irritation was
+excessive. "It wasn't the horse's fault. Nothing could go steadier and
+better than he went all the way and back again, as far as this&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Where's Mrs. Chattaway?" interrupted George.</p>
+
+<p>"On the bank, down there. She's all right; only shaken a bit. The
+fellow's name was on the thing, and I have copied it down, and I've sent
+a man off for a constable. I'll teach him that he can't go about the
+country, plying his trade and frightening gentlemen's horses with
+impunity."</p>
+
+<p>In spite of Cris's incoherence and passion, George contrived to gather
+an inkling of the facts. They had taken a short, easy drive down the
+lower road and through Barbrook, the horse going (according to Cris)
+beautifully. But on the road home, in that lonely part between the Hold
+and Trevlyn Farm, there stood a razor-grinder with his machine, grinding
+a knife. Whether the whirr of the wheel did not please the horse;
+whether it was the aspect of the machine; or whether it might be the
+razor-grinder himself, a somewhat tattered object in a fur cap, the
+animal no sooner came near, than he began to dance and backed towards
+the ditch. Cris did his best. He was a good whip and a fearless one; but
+he could not conquer. The horse turned Mrs. Chattaway into the ditch,
+relieved his mind by a few kicks, and started off with part of the
+shafts behind him.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you much hurt, dear Mrs. Chattaway?" asked George, tenderly, as he
+bent over her.</p>
+
+<p>She looked up with a smile, but her face was of a death-like whiteness.
+Fortunately, the ditch, a wide one, was dry; and she sat on the sloping
+bank, her feet resting in it. The dog-cart lay near, and several gazers,
+chiefly labouring men, stood around, helplessly staring. The
+razor-grinder was protesting <i>his</i> immunity from blame, and the hapless
+machine remained in its place untouched, drawn close to the pathway on
+the opposite side of the road.</p>
+
+<p>"You need not look at me so anxiously, George," Mrs. Chattaway replied,
+the smile still on her face. "I don't believe I am hurt. One of my
+elbows is smarting, but I really feel no pain anywhere. I am shaken, of
+course; but that's not much. I wish I had taken your advice, not to sit
+behind that horse."</p>
+
+<p>"Cris says he went beautifully, until he was frightened."</p>
+
+<p>"Did Cris say so? It appeared to me that he had trouble with him all the
+way; but Cris knows, of course. He has gone to the Hold to bring the
+carriage for me, but I don't care to sit here to be stared at longer
+than I can help," she added, with a half-smile.</p>
+
+<p>George leaped into the ditch, and partly helped and partly lifted her up
+the bank, and took her on his arm. She walked slowly, however, and
+leaned heavily upon him. When they reached the lodge, old Canham was
+gazing up and down the road, and Ann came out, full of consternation.
+They had seen the horse with the broken shafts gallop past.</p>
+
+<p>"Then there's no bones broke, thank Heaven!" said Ann, with tears in her
+meek eyes.</p>
+
+<p>She drew forward her father's armchair before the open door, and Mrs.
+Chattaway sat down in it, feeling she must have air, she said. "If I had
+but a drop o' brandy for Madam!" cried old Canham, as he stood near
+leaning all his weight on his stick.</p>
+
+<p>George caught up the words. "I will go to the Hold and get some." And
+before Mrs. Chattaway could stop him, or say that she would prefer not
+to take the brandy he was away.</p>
+
+<p>Almost at the same moment they heard the fast approach of a horse, and
+the master of Trevlyn Hold rode in at the gates. To describe his
+surprise when he saw his wife sitting, an apparent invalid, in old
+Canham's chair, and old Canham and Ann standing in evident
+consternation, almost as pale as she was, would be a difficult task. He
+reined in so quickly that his horse was flung back on its haunches.</p>
+
+<p>"Is anything the matter? Has Madam been taken ill?"</p>
+
+<p>"There has been an accident, sir," answered Ann Canham, with a meek
+curtsey. "Mr. Christopher was driving out Madam in the dog-cart, and
+they were thrown out."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway got off his horse. "How did it happen?" he asked his wife,
+an angry expression crossing his face. "Was it Cris's fault? I hate that
+random driving of his!"</p>
+
+<p>"I am not hurt, James; only a little shaken," she replied, with
+gentleness. "Cris was not to blame. There was a razor-grinder in the
+road, grinding knives, and it frightened the horse."</p>
+
+<p>"Which horse was he driving?" demanded Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"A new one. One he bought from Allen."</p>
+
+<p>The reply did not please Mr. Chattaway. "I told Cris he should not buy
+that horse," he angrily said. "Is the dog-cart injured?"</p>
+
+<p>It was apparent from the question that Mr. Chattaway had not passed the
+<i>débris</i> on the road. He must have come the other way, or perhaps across
+the common. Mrs. Chattaway did not dare to say she believed the dog-cart
+was very much injured. "The shafts are broken," she said, "and something
+more."</p>
+
+<p>"Where did it occur?" growled Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"A little lower down the road. George Ryle came up soon after it
+happened, and I walked here with him. Cris went on to the Hold to send
+the carriage, but I shall get home without it."</p>
+
+<p>"It might have been worse, Squire," interposed old Canham, who, as a
+dependant of Trevlyn Hold, felt compelled sometimes to give the "Squire"
+his title to his face, though he never would, or did, behind his back.
+"Nothing hardly happens to us, sir, in this world, but what's more eased
+to us than it might be."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway had stood with his horse's bridle over his arm. "Would you
+like to walk home with me now?" he asked his wife. "I can lead the
+horse."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, James. I think I must rest here a little longer. I had only
+just got here when you came up."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll send for you," said Mr. Chattaway. "Or come back myself when I
+have left the horse at home. Mr. Cris will hear more than he likes from
+me about this business."</p>
+
+<p>"Such an untoward thing has never happened to Mr. Cris afore, sir,"
+observed Mark Canham. "There's never a better driver than him for miles
+round. The young heir, now, he's different: a bit timid, I fancy,
+and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Who?" burst forth Mr. Chattaway, taking his foot from the stirrup, for
+he was about to mount, and hurling daggers at Mark Canham. "The young
+heir! To whom do you dare apply that title!"</p>
+
+<p>Had the old man purposely launched a sly shaft at the master of Trevlyn
+Hold, or had he spoken inadvertently? He hastened to repair the damage
+as he best could.</p>
+
+<p>"Squire, I be growing old now&mdash;more by sickness, though, than by
+age&mdash;and things and people gets moithered together in my mind. In the
+bygone days, it was a Rupert Trevlyn that was the heir, and I can't at
+all times call to mind that this Rupert Trevlyn is not so: the name is
+the same, you see. What has set me to make such a stupid mistake this
+afternoon, I can't tell, unless it was the gentleman's words that was
+here but an hour ago. He kept calling Master Rupert the heir; and he
+wouldn't call him nothing else."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway's face grew darker. "What gentleman was that, pray?"</p>
+
+<p>"I never see him before in my life, sir," returned old Canham. "He was a
+stranger to the place, and asked all manner of questions about it. He
+called Master Rupert the heir, and I stopped him, saying he made a
+mistake, for Master Rupert was not the heir. And he answered I was right
+so far, that Master Rupert, instead of being the heir of Trevlyn Hold,
+was its master and owner. I couldn't help staring at him when he said
+it."</p>
+
+<p>Chattaway felt as if his blood were curdling. Was this the first act in
+the great drama he had so long dreaded? "Where did he come from? What
+sort of a man was he?" he mechanically asked, all symptoms of anger
+dying away in his sudden fear.</p>
+
+<p>Old Canham shook his head. "I don't know nothing about where he's from,
+sir. He came strolling inside the gates, as folks strange to a place
+will do, looking about 'em just for curiosity's sake. He saw me sitting
+at the open window, and he asked what place this was, and I told him it
+was Trevlyn Hold. He said he thought so, that he had been walking about
+looking for Trevlyn Hold, and he leaned his arm upon the sill, and put
+nigh upon a hundred questions to me."</p>
+
+<p>"What were the questions?" eagerly rejoined Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"I should be puzzled to tell you half of 'em, sir, but they all bore
+upon Trevlyn Hold. About the Squire's death, and the will, and the
+succession; about everything in short. At last I told him that I didn't
+know the rightful particulars myself, and he'd better go to you or Miss
+Diana."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway stole a glance at her husband. Her face was paler than
+the accident had made it; with a more alarmed pallor. The impression
+clinging to her mind, and of which she had spoken to her husband the
+previous night&mdash;that Rupert Trevlyn was on the eve of being restored to
+his rights&mdash;seemed terribly strong upon her now.</p>
+
+<p>"He was a tall, thin, strange-looking man, with a foreign look about
+him, and a red umberella," continued old Canham. "A long white beard he
+had, sir, like a goat, and an odd hat made of cloth or crape, or some
+mourning stuff. His tongue wasn't quite like an English tongue, either.
+I shouldn't wonder but he was a lawyer, Squire: no one else wouldn't
+surely think of putting such a string of questions&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Did he&mdash;did he put the questions as an official person might put them?"
+rapidly interrupted Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>Old Canham hesitated; at a loss what precise reply to give. "He put 'em
+as though he wanted answers to 'em," returned he at length. "He said a
+word or two, sir, that made me think he'd been intimate once with the
+young Squire, Mr. Joe, and he asked whether his boy or his girl had
+growed up most like him. He wondered, he said, whether he should know
+either of 'em by the likeness, when he came to meet 'em, as he should do
+to-day or to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>"And what more?" gasped Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"There was nothing more, Squire, in particular. He took his elbow off
+the window-sill, and went through the gates again down the road. It
+seemed to me as if he had come into the neighbourhood for some special
+purpose connected with the questions."</p>
+
+<p>It seemed so to some one else also. When the master of Trevlyn Hold
+mounted his horse and rode him slowly through the avenue towards home, a
+lively fear, near and terrible, had replaced that vague dread which had
+so long lain latent in his heart.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2>
+
+<h3>COMMOTION</h3>
+
+
+<p>The beauty of the calm autumn afternoon was marred by the hubbub in the
+road. The rays of the sun came filtering through the foliage of the
+trees, the deep blue sky was without a cloud, the air was still and
+balmy: imparting an idea of peace. But in that dusty highway, so lonely
+at other times, a crowd of people had gathered, and they talked and
+swayed, and made much clatter and disturbance.</p>
+
+<p>The affair had got wind. How these affairs do get wind who can tell? It
+had been exaggerated in the usual fashion. "Madam was killed; the
+dog-cart smashed to pieces; the horse lamed; and Mr. Cris wounded." Half
+the gaping people who came up believed it all: and the chief hubbub was
+caused, not so much by discussing the accident, as by endeavouring to
+explain that its effects were not very disastrous.</p>
+
+<p>The news had travelled with its embellishments to Trevlyn Farm, amidst
+other places; and it brought out Nora. Without waiting to put anything
+on, she took her way to the spot. Mrs. Ryle was expecting company that
+afternoon, and Nora was at leisure and <i>en grande toilette</i>: a black
+silk gown, its flounces edged with velvet, and a cap of blonde lace
+trimmed with white flowers. The persons who were gathered on the spot
+made way for her. The wrecked dog-cart lay partly in the ditch, partly
+out of it. Opposite was the grinding-machine, its owner now silent and
+crestfallen, as he inwardly speculated upon what the law could do to
+him.</p>
+
+<p>"Then it's not true that Madam's killed?" cried Nora, after listening to
+the various explanations.</p>
+
+<p>A dozen voices answered. "Madam wasn't hurt to speak of, only a bit
+shook: she had told them so herself. She had walked off on Mr. George
+Ryle's arm, without waiting for the carriage that Mr. Cris had gone to
+fetch."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll be about that Jim Sanders," retorted Nora, wrathfully. "How dare
+he come in with such tales? He said Madam was lying dead in the road."</p>
+
+<p>She had barely spoken, when the throng standing over the dog-cart was
+invaded by a new-arrival, one who had been walking in a neighbouring
+field, and wondered what the collection could mean. The rustics fell
+back and stared at him: first, because he was a stranger; secondly,
+because his appearance was somewhat out of the common way; thirdly,
+because he carried a red umbrella. A tall man with a long white beard, a
+hat, the like of which had never been seen by country eyes, and a
+foreign look.</p>
+
+<p>You will at once recognise him for the traveller who had introduced
+himself at the parsonage as the Reverend Mr. Daw, a friend of its owner.
+The crowd, having had no such introduction, could only stare, marvelling
+whether he had dropped from the clouds. He had been out all the
+afternoon, taking notes of the neighbourhood, and since his conversation
+with old Canham&mdash;which you heard related afterwards to Mr. Chattaway, to
+that gentleman's intense dread&mdash;he had plunged into the fields on the
+opposite side of the way. There he had remained, musing and wandering,
+until aroused by the commotion which he speedily joined.</p>
+
+<p>"What has happened?" he exclaimed. "An accident?"</p>
+
+<p>The assemblage fell back. Rustics are prone to be suspicious of
+strangers, if their appearance is peculiar, and not one of them found a
+ready answer. Nora, however, whose tongue had, perhaps, never been at
+fault in its whole career, stood her ground.</p>
+
+<p>"There's not much damage done, as far as I can learn," she said, in her
+usual free manner. "The dog-cart's the worst of it. There it lies. It
+was Cris Chattaway's own; and I should think it will be a lesson to him
+not to be so fond of driving strange horses."</p>
+
+<p>"Is it to the Chattaways the accident has occurred?" asked the stranger.</p>
+
+<p>Nora nodded. She was stooping down to survey more critically the damages
+done to the dog-cart. "Cris Chattaway was driving his mother out," she
+said, rising. "He was trying a strange horse, and this was the result,"
+touching the wheel with her foot. "Madam was thrown into the ditch
+here."</p>
+
+<p>"And hurt?" laconically asked Mr. Daw.</p>
+
+<p>"Only shaken&mdash;as they say. But a shaking may be dangerous for one so
+delicate as Madam Chattaway. A pity but it had been <i>him</i>."</p>
+
+<p>Nora spoke the last word with emphasis so demonstrative that her hearer
+raised his eyes in wonderment. "Of whom do you speak?" he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Of Chattaway: Madam's husband. A shaking might do him good."</p>
+
+<p>"You don't like him, apparently," observed the stranger.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know who does," freely spoke Nora.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah," said Mr. Daw, quietly. "Then I am not singular. <i>I</i> don't."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know him?" she rejoined.</p>
+
+<p>But to this the stranger gave no reply; he had evidently no intention of
+giving any; and the silence whetted Nora's curiosity more than any
+answer could have done, however obscure or mysterious. Perhaps no living
+woman within a circuit of five miles possessed curiosity equal to that
+of Nora Dickson.</p>
+
+<p>"Where have you known Chattaway?" she exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>"It does not matter," said the stranger. "He is in the enjoyment of
+Trevlyn Hold, I hear."</p>
+
+<p>To say "I hear," as applied to the subject, imparted the idea that the
+stranger had only just gained the information. Nora threw her quick
+black eyes searchingly upon him.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you lived in a wood not to know that James Chattaway was possessor
+of Trevlyn Hold?" she said, with her characteristic plainness of speech.
+"He has enjoyed it these twenty years to the exclusion of Rupert
+Trevlyn."</p>
+
+<p>"Rupert Trevlyn is its rightful owner," said the stranger, almost as
+demonstratively as Nora herself could have spoken.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah," said Nora, with a sort of indignant groan, "the whole parish knows
+that. But Chattaway has possession of it, you see."</p>
+
+<p>"Why doesn't some one help Rupert Trevlyn to his rights?"</p>
+
+<p>"Who's to do it?" crossly responded Nora. "Can you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Possibly," returned the stranger.</p>
+
+<p>Had the gentleman asserted that he might possibly cause the moon to
+shine by day instead of by night, Nora could not have shown more intense
+surprise. "Help&mdash;him&mdash;to&mdash;his&mdash;rights?" she slowly repeated. "Do you
+mean to say you could displace Chattaway?"</p>
+
+<p>"Possibly," was the repeated answer.</p>
+
+<p>"Why&mdash;who are you?" uttered the amazed Nora.</p>
+
+<p>A smile flitted for a moment over Mr. Daw's countenance, the first
+symptom of a break to its composed sadness. But he gave no reply.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know Rupert Trevlyn?" she reiterated.</p>
+
+<p>But even to that there was no direct answer. "I came to this place
+partly to see Rupert Trevlyn," were the words that issued from his lips.
+"I knew his father; he was my dear friend."</p>
+
+<p>"Who can he be?" was the question reiterating itself in Nora's active
+brain. "Are you a lawyer?" she asked, the idea suddenly occurring to
+her: as it had, you may remember, to old Canham.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Daw coughed. "Lawyers are keen men," was his answering remark, and
+Nora could have beaten him for its vagueness. But before she could say
+more, an interruption occurred.</p>
+
+<p>This conversation had been carried on aloud; neither the stranger nor
+Nora having deemed it necessary to speak in undertones. The consequence
+of which was, that those in the midst of whom they stood had listened
+with open ears, drawing their own deductions&mdash;and very remarkable
+deductions some of them were. The knife-grinder&mdash;though a stranger to
+the local politics, and totally uninterested in them&mdash;had listened with
+the rest. One conclusion <i>he</i> hastily came to, was, that the
+remarkable-looking gentleman with the white beard <i>was</i> a lawyer; and he
+pushed himself to the front.</p>
+
+<p>"You be a lawyer, master," he broke in, with some excitement. "Would you
+mind telling of me whether they <i>can</i> harm me. If I ain't at liberty to
+ply my trade under a roadside hedge but I must be took up and punished
+for it, why, it's a fresh wrinkle I've got to learn. I've done it all my
+life; others in the same trade does it; can the law touch us?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Daw had turned in wonderment. He had heard nothing of the
+grinding-machine in connection with the accident, and the man's address
+was unintelligible. A score of voices hastened to enlighten him, but
+before it was well done, the eager knife-grinder's voice rose above the
+rest.</p>
+
+<p>"Can the laws touch me for it, master?"</p>
+
+<p>"I cannot tell you," was the answer.</p>
+
+<p>The man's low brow scowled fitfully: he was somewhat ill-looking to the
+eye of a physiognomist. "What'll it cost?" he roughly said, taking from
+his pocket a bag in which was a handful of copper money mixed with a
+sprinkling of small silver. "I might know. A lawyer wouldn't give
+nothing for nothing, but I'll pay. If the laws can be down upon me for
+grinding a knife in the highway open to the world, all I can say is,
+that the laws is infamous."</p>
+
+<p>He stood looking at the stranger, with an air of demand, not of
+supplication&mdash;and rather insulting demand, too. Mr. Daw showed no signs
+of resenting the incipient insolence; on the contrary, his voice took a
+kind and sympathising tone.</p>
+
+<p>"My good man, you may put up your money. I can give you no information
+about the law, simply because I am ignorant of its bearing on these
+cases. In the old days, when I was an inhabitant of England, I have seen
+many a machine such as yours plying its trade in the public roads, and
+the law, as I supposed, could not touch them, neither did it attempt to.
+But that may be altered now: there has been time enough for it; years
+and years have passed since I last set foot on English soil."</p>
+
+<p>The razor-grinder thrust his bag into his pocket again, and began to
+push back to the spot whence he had come. The mob had listened with open
+ears, but had gained little further information. Whether he was a lawyer
+or whether he was not; where he had come from, and what his business was
+amongst them, unless it was the placing of young Rupert Trevlyn in
+possession of his "rights," they could not tell.</p>
+
+<p>Nora could not tell&mdash;and the fact did not please her. If there was one
+thing provoked Nora Dickson more than all else, it was to have her
+curiosity unsatisfied. She felt that she had been thwarted now. Turning
+away in a temper, speaking not a syllable to the stranger by way of
+polite adieu, she began to retrace her steps to Trevlyn Farm, holding up
+the flounces of her black silk gown, that they might not come into
+contact with the dusty road.</p>
+
+<p>But&mdash;somewhat to her surprise&mdash;she found the mysterious stranger had
+also extricated himself from the mob, and was following her. Nora was
+rather on the high ropes just then, and would not notice him. He,
+however, accosted her.</p>
+
+<p>"By what I gathered from a word or two you let fall, I should assume
+that you are a friend of Rupert Trevlyn's, ma'am?"</p>
+
+<p>"I hope I am," said Nora, mollified at the prospect of enlightenment.
+"Few folks about here but are friends to him, unless it's Chattaway and
+his lot at the Hold."</p>
+
+<p>"Then perhaps you will have no objection to inform me&mdash;if you can inform
+me&mdash;how it was that Mr. Chattaway came into possession of the Hold, in
+place of young Rupert Trevlyn. I cannot understand how it could possibly
+have been. Until I came here to-day, I never supposed but the lad,
+Rupert, was Squire of Trevlyn Hold."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps you'll first of all tell me what you want the information for?"
+returned Nora. "I don't know who you are, sir, remember."</p>
+
+<p>"You heard me say I was a friend of his father's; I should like to be a
+friend to the boy. It appears to me to be a monstrous injustice that he
+should not have succeeded to the estate of his ancestors. Has he been
+<i>legally</i> deprived of it?"</p>
+
+<p>"As legally as a properly-made will could deprive him," was the reply of
+Nora. "Legality and justice don't always go together in our parts: I
+don't know what they may do in yours."</p>
+
+<p>"Joe Trevlyn&mdash;my friend&mdash;was the direct heir to Trevlyn Hold. Upon his
+death his son became the heir. Why did he not succeed?"</p>
+
+<p>"There are folks that say he was cheated out of it," replied Nora, in
+very significant tones.</p>
+
+<p>"Cheated out of it?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is said the news of Rupert's birth was never suffered to reach the
+ears of Squire Trevlyn. That the Squire went to his grave, never knowing
+he had a grandson in the direct male line&mdash;went to it after willing the
+estate to Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>"Kept from it by whom?" eagerly cried Mr. Daw.</p>
+
+<p>"By those who had an interest in keeping it from him&mdash;Chattaway and Miss
+Diana Trevlyn. It is so said, I say: <i>I</i> don't assert it. There may be
+danger in speaking too openly to a stranger," candidly added Nora.</p>
+
+<p>"There is no danger in speaking to me," he frankly said. "I have told
+you the truth&mdash;that I am a friend of young Rupert Trevlyn's. Chattaway
+is not a friend of mine, and I never saw him in my life."</p>
+
+<p>Nora, won over to forget caution and ill-temper, opened her heart to the
+stranger. She told him all she knew of the fraud; told him of Rupert's
+friendlessness, his undesirable position at the Hold. Nora's tongue, set
+going upon any grievance she felt strongly, could not be stopped. They
+walked on until the fold-yard gate of Trevlyn Farm was reached. There
+Nora came to a halt. And there she was in the midst of a concluding
+oration, delivered with forcible eloquence, and there the stranger was
+listening eagerly, when they were interrupted by George Ryle.</p>
+
+<p>Nora ceased suddenly. The stranger looked round, and seeing a
+gentleman-like man who evidently belonged in some way to Nora, lifted
+his hat. George returned it.</p>
+
+<p>"It's somebody strange to the place," unceremoniously pronounced Nora,
+by way of introducing him to George. "He was asking about Rupert
+Trevlyn."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</h2>
+
+<h3>COMING VERY CLOSE</h3>
+
+
+<p>If they had possessed extraordinarily good eyes, any one of the three,
+they might have detected a head peering at them over a hedge about two
+fields off, in the direction of Trevlyn Hold. The head was Mr.
+Chattaway's. That gentleman rode home from the lodge, after hearing old
+Canham's account of the mysterious visit, in a state not to be
+described. Encountering Miss Diana, he despatched her with Octave to the
+lodge to see after his wife; he met George Ryle, and told him <i>his</i>
+services were no further needed&mdash;Madam wanted neither him nor the
+brandy; he sent his horse to the stable, and went indoors: all in a
+confused state of agitation, as if he scarcely knew what he was about.</p>
+
+<p>Dinner was ready; the servants were perplexed at no one's coming in for
+it, and they asked if the Squire would sit down without Madam. <i>He</i> sit
+down to dinner&mdash;in that awful uncertainty? No; rather would he steal out
+and poke and pry about until he had learned something.</p>
+
+<p>He left the house and plunged into the fields. He did not go back down
+the avenue, openly past the lodge into the road: cowards, with their
+fear upon them, prowl about stealthily&mdash;as Chattaway was doing now. Very
+grievously was the fear upon him.</p>
+
+<p>He walked hither and thither: he stood for some minutes in the field
+which had once been so fatal to poor Mr. Ryle; his arms were folded, his
+head was bent, his newly-awakened imagination was in full play. He crept
+to the outer field, and walked under cover of its hedge until he came
+opposite all that hubbub and confusion. There he halted, found himself a
+peep-hole, and took in by degrees all that was to be seen: the
+razor-grinder and his machine, the dog-cart and its dilapidations, and
+the mob. Eagerly, anxiously did his restless eyes scan that mob; but he,
+upon whom they hoped to rest, was not amongst them. For you may be sure
+Mr. Chattaway was searching after none but the dreaded stranger. Miserly
+as he was, he would have given a ten-pound note out of his pocket to
+obtain only a moment's look at him. He had been telling over all the
+enemies he had ever made, as far as he could remember them. Was it one
+of those?&mdash;some one who owed him a grudge, and was taking this way of
+paying it? Or was it a danger coming from a totally unknown quarter? Ten
+pounds! Chattaway would have given fifty then for a good view of the
+stranger; and his eyes were unmindful of the unfriendly thorns, in their
+feverish anxiety to penetrate to the very last of that lazy throng,
+idling away the summer's afternoon.</p>
+
+<p>The stranger was certainly not amongst them. Chattaway knew every
+chattering soul there. Some of his unconscious labourers made a part,
+and he only wished he dared appear and send them flying. But he did not
+care to do so. If ever there was a cautious man where he and his
+interests were concerned, it was Chattaway; and he would not run the
+risk of meeting this man face to face. No, no; rather let him get a
+bird's-eye view of him first, that he might be upon his guard.</p>
+
+<p>The state of the dog-cart did not by any means tend to soothe his
+feelings; neither did the sight of George Ryle, who passed through the
+crowd in the direction of his own home. He could see what a pretty penny
+it would take to repair the one; he knew not how many pounds it might
+take to set right any mischief being hatched by the other. Mr. Chattaway
+turned away. He bore along noiselessly by the side of the hedge, and
+then over a stile into a lower field, and then into another. That
+brought Trevlyn Farm under his vision, and&mdash;and&mdash;what did his restless
+eyes catch sight of?</p>
+
+<p>Leaning on the fold-yard gate, dressed in a style not often seen, stood
+Nora Dickson; on the other side was George Ryle, and with him one who
+might be recognised at the first glance&mdash;the strange-looking man, with
+his white hair, his red umbrella, and his queer hat, as described by old
+Canham. There could be no mistake about it; he it was: and the
+perspiration poured off the master of Trevlyn Hold in his mortal fear.</p>
+
+<p>What were they hatching, those three? That it looked suspicious must be
+confessed, to one whose fears were awakened as were Chattaway's; for
+their heads were in close contact, and their attention was absorbed. Was
+he stopping at Trevlyn Farm, this man of treason? Undoubtedly: or why
+should Nora Dickson be decked out in company attire? Chattaway had
+always believed George Ryle to be a rogue, but now he knew him to be
+one.</p>
+
+<p>It was a pity Chattaway could not be listening as well as peeping. He
+would only have heard the gentleman explain to George Ryle who he was;
+his name, his calling, and where he was visiting in Barbrook. So far,
+Chattaway's doubts would have been at rest; but he would have heard no
+worse. George was less impulsive than Nora, and would not be likely to
+enter on the discussion of the claims of Rupert Trevlyn <i>versus</i>
+Chattaway, with a new acquaintance.</p>
+
+<p>A very few minutes, and they separated. The conversation had been
+general since George came up; not a word having been said that could
+have alarmed intruding ears. Nora hastened indoors; George turned off to
+his rick-yard; and the stranger stood in the road and gazed leisurely
+about him, as though considering the points for a sketch. Presently he
+disappeared from Chattaway's view.</p>
+
+<p>That gentleman, taking a short time to recover himself, came to the
+conclusion that he might as well disappear also, in the direction of his
+home; where no doubt dinner was arrested, and its hungry candidates
+speculating upon what could have become of the master. It was of no use
+remaining where he was. He had ascertained one point&mdash;the dreaded enemy
+was an utter stranger to him. More than that he did not see that he
+could ascertain, in this early stage.</p>
+
+<p>He wiped his damp face and set forth on his walk home, stepping out
+pretty briskly. It was as inadvisable to make known his fears abroad as
+to proclaim them at home. Were only an inkling to become known, it
+seemed to Chattaway that it would be half the business towards wresting
+Trevlyn Hold from him.</p>
+
+<p>As he walked on, his courage partially came back to him, and the
+reaction once set in, his hopes went up, until he almost began to
+despise his recent terror. It was absurd to suppose this stranger could
+have anything to do with himself and Rupert Trevlyn. He was merely an
+inquisitive traveller looking about the place for his amusement, and in
+so doing had picked up bits of gossip, and was seeking further
+information about them&mdash;all to while away an idle hour. What a fool he
+had been to put himself into a fever for nothing.</p>
+
+<p>These consoling thoughts drowning the mind's latent dread&mdash;or rather
+making pretence to do so, for that the dread was there still, Chattaway
+was miserably conscious&mdash;he went on increasing his speed. At last, in
+turning into another field, he nearly knocked down a man running in the
+same direction, who had come up at right angles with him: a labourer
+named Hatch, who worked on his farm.</p>
+
+<p>It was a good opportunity to let off a little of his ill-humour, and he
+demanded where the man had been skulking, and why he was away from his
+work. Hatch answered that, hearing of the accident to Madam and the
+young Squire, he and his fellow-labourers had been induced to run to the
+spot in the hope of affording help.</p>
+
+<p>"Help!" said Mr. Chattaway. "You went off to see what there was to be
+seen, and for nothing else, leaving the rick half made. I have a great
+mind to dock you of a half-day's pay. Is there so much to look at in a
+broken dog-cart, that you and the rest of you must neglect my work?"</p>
+
+<p>The man took off his hat and rubbed his head gently: his common resort
+in a quandary. They <i>had</i> hindered a great deal more time than was
+necessary; and had certainly not bargained for its coming to the
+knowledge of the Squire. Hatch, too simple or too honest to invent
+excuses, could only make the best of the facts as they stood.</p>
+
+<p>"'Twasn't the dog-cart kept us, Squire. 'Twas listening to a
+strange-looking gentleman; a man with a white beard and a red
+umberellar. He were talking about Trevlyn Hold, saying it belonged to
+Master Rupert, and he were going to help him to it."</p>
+
+<p>Chattaway turned away his face. Instinct taught him that even this
+stolid serf should not see the cold moisture that suddenly oozed from
+every pore. "<i>What</i> did he say?" he cried, in accents of scorn.</p>
+
+<p>Hatch considered. And you must not too greatly blame the exaggerated
+reply. Hatch did not purposely deceive his master; but he did what a
+great many of us are apt to do&mdash;he answered according to the impression
+made on his imagination. He and the rest of the listeners had drawn
+their own conclusions, and in accordance with those conclusions he now
+spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"He said for one thing, Squire, as he didn't like you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"How does he know me?" Mr. Chattaway interrupted.</p>
+
+<p>"Nora Dickson asked him, but he wouldn't answer. He's a lawyer, and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"How do you know he's a lawyer?" again interrupted Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"Because he said it," was the prompt reply. And the man had no idea that
+it was an incorrect one. He as much believed the white-bearded stranger
+to be a lawyer as that he himself was a day-labourer. "He said he had
+come to help Master Rupert to his rights, and displace you from 'em. Our
+hairs stood on end to hear him, Squire."</p>
+
+<p>"Who is he?&mdash;where does he come from?" And to save his very life
+Chattaway could not have helped the words issuing forth in gasps.</p>
+
+<p>"He never said where he come from&mdash;save he hadn't been in England for
+many a year. We was a wondering among ourselves where he come from,
+after he walked off with Nora Dickson."</p>
+
+<p>"Does she know?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, she don't, Squire. He come up while she were standing there, and
+she wondered who he were, as we did. 'Twere through her asking him
+questions that he said so much."</p>
+
+<p>"But&mdash;what has he to do with my affairs?&mdash;what has he to do with Rupert
+Trevlyn?" passionately rejoined Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>It was a query Hatch was unable to answer. "He said he were a friend of
+the dead heir, Mr. Joe&mdash;I mind well he said that&mdash;and he had come to
+this here place partly to see Master Rupert. He didn't seem to know
+afore as Master Rupert had not got the Hold, and Nora Dickson asked if
+he'd lived in a wood not to know that. So then he said he should help
+him to his rights, and Nora said, 'What! displace Chattaway?' and he
+said, 'Yes.' We was took aback, Squire, and stopped a bit longer maybe
+than we ought. It was that kep' us from the rick."</p>
+
+<p>Every pulse beating, every drop of blood coursing in fiery heat, the
+master of Trevlyn Hold reached his home. He went in, and left his hat in
+the hall, and entered the dining-room, as a man in some awful dream. A
+friend of Joe Trevlyn's!&mdash;come to help Rupert to his rights!&mdash;to
+displace <i>him</i>! The words rang their changes on his brain.</p>
+
+<p>They had not waited dinner. It had been Miss Diana's pleasure that it
+should be commenced, and Mr. Chattaway took a seat mechanically.
+Mechanically he heard that his wife had declined partaking of it&mdash;had
+been ill when she reached home; that Rupert, after a hasty meal, had
+gone upstairs to lie down, at the recommendation of Miss Diana; that
+Cris had now gone off to the damaged dog-cart. He was as a man stunned,
+and felt utterly unnerved. He sat down, but found he could not swallow a
+mouthful.</p>
+
+<p>The cloth was removed and dessert placed upon the table. After taking a
+little fruit, the younger ones dispersed; Maude went upstairs to see how
+Mrs. Chattaway was; the rest to the drawing-room. The master of Trevlyn
+Hold paced the carpet, lost in thought. The silence was broken by Miss
+Diana.</p>
+
+<p>"Squire, I am not satisfied with the appearance of Rupert Trevlyn. I
+fear he may be falling into worse health than usual. It must be looked
+to, and more care taken of him. I intend to buy him a pony to ride to
+and fro between here and Blackstone."</p>
+
+<p>Had Miss Diana expressed her intention of purchasing ten ponies for
+Rupert, it would have made no impression then on Chattaway. In his
+terrible suspense and fear, a pony more or less was an insignificant
+thing, and he received the announcement in silence, to the intense
+surprise of Miss Diana, who had expected to see him turn round in a
+blaze of anger.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you not well?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Well? Quite well. I&mdash;I over-heated myself riding, and&mdash;and feel quite
+chilly now. What should hinder my being well?" he continued,
+resentfully.</p>
+
+<p>"I say I shall buy a pony for Rupert. Those walks to Blackstone are too
+much for him. I think it must be that which is making him feel so ill."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish you'd not bother me!" peevishly rejoined Chattaway. "Buy it, if
+you like. What do I care?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll thank you to be civil to <i>me</i>, Mr. Chattaway," said Miss Diana,
+with emphasis. "It is of no use your being put out about this business
+of Cris and the accident; and that's what you are, I suppose. Fretting
+over it won't mend it."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway caught at the mistake. "It was such an idiotic trick, to
+put an untried horse into harness, and let it smash the dog-cart!" he
+cried. "Cris did it in direct disobedience, too. I had told him he
+should not buy that horse."</p>
+
+<p>"Cris does many things in disobedience," calmly rejoined Miss Diana. "I
+hope it has not injured Edith."</p>
+
+<p>"She must have been foolish&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>A ring at the hall-bell&mdash;a loud, long, imperative ring&mdash;and Mr.
+Chattaway's voice abruptly stopped. <i>He</i> stopped: stopped and stood
+stock still in the middle of the room, eyes and ears open, his whole
+senses on the alert. A prevision rushed over him that the messenger of
+evil had come.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you expecting any one?" inquired Miss Diana.</p>
+
+<p>"Be still, can't you?" almost shrieked Chattaway. Her voice hindered his
+listening.</p>
+
+<p>They were opening the hall-door, and Chattaway's face was turning livid.
+James came into the room.</p>
+
+<p>"A gentleman, sir, is asking to see Mr. Rupert."</p>
+
+<p>"What gentleman?" interposed Miss Diana, before Chattaway could move or
+look.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know him, ma'am. He seems strange to the place; has a white
+beard, and looks foreign."</p>
+
+<p>"He wants Mr. Rupert, did you say?"</p>
+
+<p>"When I opened the door, first, ma'am, he asked if he could see young
+Squire Trevlyn; so I wanted to know who he meant, and said my master,
+Mr. Chattaway, was the Squire, and he replied that he meant Master
+Rupert, the son of Squire Trevlyn's heir, Mr. Joe, who had died abroad.
+He is waiting, ma'am."</p>
+
+<p>Chattaway turned his white face upon the man. His trembling hands, his
+stealthy movements, showed his abject terror; even his very voice, which
+had dropped to a whisper.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Rupert's in bed, and can't be seen, James. Go and say so."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Diana had stood in amazement&mdash;first, at James's message; secondly,
+at Mr. Chattaway's strange demeanour. "Why, who is it?" she cried to the
+servant.</p>
+
+<p>"He didn't give his name, ma'am."</p>
+
+<p>"Will you go, James?" hoarsely cried Mr. Chattaway. "Go and get rid of
+the man."</p>
+
+<p>"But he shall not get rid of him," interrupted Miss Diana. "I shall see
+the man. It is the strangest message I ever heard in my life. What are
+you thinking of, Squire?"</p>
+
+<p>"Stop where you are!" returned Mr. Chattaway, arresting Miss Diana's
+progress. "Do you hear, James? Go and get rid of this man. Turn him out,
+at any cost."</p>
+
+<p>Did Mr. Chattaway fear the visitor had come to take possession of the
+house in Rupert's name? Miss Diana could only look at him in
+astonishment. His face wore the hue of death; he was evidently almost
+beside himself with terror. For once in her life she did not assert her
+will, but suffered James to leave the room and "get rid" of the visitor
+in obedience to Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>He appeared to have no trouble in accomplishing it. A moment, and the
+hall-door was heard to close. Chattaway opened that of the dining-room.</p>
+
+<p>"What did he say?"</p>
+
+<p>"He said nothing, sir, except that he'd call again."</p>
+
+<p>"James, does he&mdash;does he look like a madman?" cried Mr. Chattaway, his
+tone changing to what might almost be called entreaty. "Is he insane, do
+you think? I could not let a madman enter the house, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know, sir, I'm sure. His words were odd, but he didn't seem
+mad."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway closed the door and turned to his sister-in-law, who was
+more puzzled than she had ever been in her life.</p>
+
+<p>"I think it is you who are mad, Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>"Hush, Diana! I have heard of this man before. Sit down, and I will tell
+you about him."</p>
+
+<p>He had come to a rapid conclusion that it would be better to confide to
+her the terrible news come to light. Not his own fears, or the dread
+which had lain deep in his heart: only this that he had heard.</p>
+
+<p>We have seen how the words of the stranger had been exaggerated by Hatch
+to Mr. Chattaway, and perhaps he now unconsciously exaggerated Hatch's
+report. Miss Diana listened in consternation. A lawyer!&mdash;come down to
+depose them from Trevlyn Hold, and institute Rupert in it! "I never
+heard of such a thing!" she exclaimed. "He can't do it, you know,
+Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>Chattaway coughed ruefully. "Of course he can't. At least I don't see
+how he can, or how any one else can. My opinion is that the man must be
+mad."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Diana was falling into thought. "A friend of Joe's?" she mused
+aloud. "Chattaway, could Joe have left a will?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense!" said Chattaway. "If Joe Trevlyn did leave a will, it would
+be null and void. He died in his father's lifetime, and the property was
+not his to leave."</p>
+
+<p>"True. There can be no possibility of danger," she added, after a pause.
+"We may dismiss all fear as the idle wind."</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder whether Rupert knows anything about this?"</p>
+
+<p>"Rupert! What should he know about it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I can't say," returned Mr. Chattaway, significantly. "I think I'll go
+up and ask him," he added, in a sort of feverish impulse.</p>
+
+<p>Without a moment's pause he hastened upstairs to Rupert's room. But the
+room was empty!</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway stood transfixed. He had fully believed Rupert to be in
+bed, and the silent bed, impressed, seemed to mock him. A wild fear came
+over him that Rupert's pretence of going to bed had been a <i>ruse</i>&mdash;he
+had gone out to meet that dangerous stranger.</p>
+
+<p>He flew down the stairs as one possessed; shouting "Rupert! Rupert!" The
+household stole forth to look at him, and the walls echoed the name. But
+from Rupert himself there came no answer. He was not in the Hold.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV</h2>
+
+<h3>A MEETING AT MARK CANHAM'S</h3>
+
+
+<p>Rupert's leaving the Hold, however, had been a very innocent matter. The
+evening sun was setting gloriously, and he thought he would stroll out
+for a few minutes before going to his room. When he reached the lodge he
+went in and flung himself down on the settle, opposite old Canham and
+his pipe.</p>
+
+<p>"How's Madam?" asked the old man. "What an accident it might have been!"</p>
+
+<p>"So it might," assented Rupert, "Madam will be better after a night's
+rest. Cris might have killed her. I wonder how he'd have felt then?"</p>
+
+<p>When Rupert came to an anchor, no matter where, he was somewhat
+unwilling to move from it. The settle was not a comfortable seat; rather
+the contrary; but Rupert kept to it, talking and laughing with old
+Canham. Ann was at the window, catching what remained of the fading
+light for her sewing.</p>
+
+<p>"Here's that strange gentleman again, father!" she suddenly exclaimed in
+a whisper.</p>
+
+<p>Old Canham turned his head, and Rupert turned his. The gentleman with
+the beard was going by in the direction of Trevlyn Hold as if about to
+make a call there.</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, that's him," cried old Canham.</p>
+
+<p>"What a queer-looking chap!" exclaimed Rupert. "Who is he?"</p>
+
+<p>"I can't make out," was old Canham's reply. "Me and Ann have been
+talking about him. He came strolling inside the gates this afternoon
+with a red umberellar, looking here and looking there, and at last he
+see us, and come up and asked what place this was; and when I told him
+it was Trevlyn Hold, he said Trevlyn Hold was what he had been seeking
+for, and he stood there talking a matter o' twenty minutes, leaning his
+arms on the window-sill. He thought you was the Squire, Master Rupert.
+He had a red umberellar," repeated old Canham, as if the fact were
+remarkable.</p>
+
+<p>Rupert glanced up in surprise. "Thought I was the Squire?"</p>
+
+<p>"He came into this neighbourhood, he said, believing nothing less but
+that you were the rightful Squire, and couldn't make out why you were
+not: he had been away from England a many years, and had believed it all
+the while. He said you were the true Squire, and you should be helped to
+your right."</p>
+
+<p>"Why! who can he be?" exclaimed Rupert, in excitement.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, that's it&mdash;who can he be?" returned old Canham. "Me and Ann have
+been marvelling. He said that he used to be a friend of the dead heir,
+Mr. Joe. Master Rupert, who knows but he may be somebody come to place
+you in the Hold?"</p>
+
+<p>Rupert was leaning forward on the settle, his elbow on his knee, his eye
+fixed on old Canham.</p>
+
+<p>"How could he do that?" he asked after a pause. "How could any one do
+it?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's not for us to say how, Master Rupert. If anybody in these parts
+could have said, maybe you'd have been in it long before this. That
+there stranger is a cute 'un, I know. White beards always is a sign of
+wisdom."</p>
+
+<p>Rupert laughed. "Look here, Mark. It is no good going over that ground
+again. I have heard about my 'rights' until I am tired. The subject
+vexes me; it makes me cross from its very hopelessness. I wish I had
+been born without rights."</p>
+
+<p>"This stranger, when he called you the heir of Trevlyn Hold, and I told
+him you were not the heir, said I was right; you were not the heir, but
+the owner," persisted old Canham.</p>
+
+<p>"Then he knew nothing about it," returned Rupert. "It's <i>impossible</i> that
+Chattaway can be put out of Trevlyn Hold."</p>
+
+<p>"Master Rupert, there has always been a feeling upon me that he will be
+put out of it," resumed old Canham. "He came to it by wrong, and wrong
+never lasts to the end without being righted. Who knows that the same
+feeling ain't on Chattaway? He turned the colour o' my Sunday smock when
+I told him of this stranger's having been here and what he'd said."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you tell him?" quickly cried Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>"I did, sir. I didn't mean to, but it come out incautious-like. I called
+you the young heir to his face, and excused myself by saying the
+stranger had been calling you so, and I spoke out the same without
+thought. Then he wanted to know what stranger, and all about him. It was
+when Madam was resting here after the accident. Chattaway rode by and
+saw her, and got off his horse: it was the first he knew of the
+accident. If what I said didn't frighten him, I never had a day's
+rheumatiz in my life. His face went as white as Madam's."</p>
+
+<p>"Chattaway go white!" scoffed Rupert. "What next? I tell you what it is,
+Mark; you fancy things. Aunt Edith may have been white; she often is;
+but not he. Chattaway knows that Trevlyn Hold is his, safe and sure.
+Nothing can take it from him&mdash;unless Squire Trevlyn came to life again,
+and made a fresh will. He's not likely to do that, Mark."</p>
+
+<p>"No; he's not likely to do that," assented the old man. "Once we're out
+of this world, Master Rupert, we don't come back again. The injustice we
+have left behind us can't be repaired that way."</p>
+
+<p>Rupert rose. He went to the window, opened it, and leaned out whistling.
+He was tired of the subject as touching himself; had long looked upon it
+as an unprofitable theme. As he stood there enjoying the calmness of the
+evening the tall man with the white beard came back again down the
+avenue.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Daw, for he it was, had the red umbrella in his hand. He turned his
+head to the window as he passed it, looked steadily at Rupert, paused,
+went close up, and put his hand on Rupert's arm.</p>
+
+<p>"You are Rupert Trevlyn?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," replied Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>"I should have known you anywhere from your resemblance to your father;
+I should have known you had I met you in the crowded streets of London.
+You are wonderfully like him."</p>
+
+<p>"Where did you know my father?" inquired Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>Instead of answering, the stranger opened the house-door and stepped
+into the room. Ann curtseyed; old Canham rose and stood with his hat in
+his hand&mdash;that white beard seemed to demand respect. He&mdash;the
+stranger&mdash;took Rupert's hand in his.</p>
+
+<p>"I have been up to the house to inquire for you: but they told me you
+were not well, and had gone to rest."</p>
+
+<p>"Did they?" said Rupert. "I had intended to lie down, but the evening
+was so pleasant that I came out instead. You spoke of my father: did you
+know him?"</p>
+
+<p>"I knew him very well," said the stranger, taking the seat Ann had been
+dusting before offering; a ceremony she apparently considered a mark of
+respect. "Though my acquaintance with him was short, it was close. Do
+you know who baptized you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," replied Rupert, rather astonished at the question.</p>
+
+<p>"I did. I christened your sister Maude; I baptized you. You were to be
+christened in England, your mother said, but she wished you baptized ere
+the journey commenced, and I did it when you were only a day old. Ah,
+poor thing! she hoped to make the journey with you when she should be
+strong enough; but another journey claimed her&mdash;that of death! Before
+you were two days old she died. It was I who wrote to announce your
+birth to Squire Trevlyn; it was I who, by the next post, announced your
+mother's death. It was I&mdash;my young friend, it was I&mdash;who buried your
+father and your mother."</p>
+
+<p>"You are a clergyman, then?" said Rupert, somewhat dubious about the
+beard, and the very unclerical cut of the stranger altogether.</p>
+
+<p>It may be that Mr. Daw noticed the doubtful glances, and entered upon an
+explanation. How, when a working curate, he had married a young lady of
+fortune, but of delicate health, and had gone abroad with her, throwing
+up for the time his clerical preferment. The doctors had said that a
+warm climate was essential to her; as they had said, if you remember, in
+the case of Joe Trevlyn. It happened that both parties sought the same
+place&mdash;the curate and his wife, Joe and Mrs. Trevlyn&mdash;and a close
+friendship sprang up between them. A short time and Joe Trevlyn died; a
+shorter time still, and his wife died. There was no English clergyman
+near the spot, and Mr. Daw gave his services. He baptized the children;
+he buried the parents. His own fate was a happier one, for his wife
+lived. She lived, but did not grow strong. It may be said&mdash;you have
+heard of such cases&mdash;that she only existed from day to day. She had so
+existed all through those long years; from that time until within a few
+months of this. "If you attempt to take her back to England, she will
+not live a month," the local medical men had said; and perhaps they were
+right. He had gone to the place for a few months' sojourn, and never
+left it for over twenty years. It reads like a romance. His wife's
+fortune had enabled him to live comfortably, and in a pecuniary point of
+view there was no need to seek preferment or exercise his calling. He
+would never seek it now. Habit and use are second nature, and the
+Reverend William Daw had learnt to be an idle man; to love the country
+of his adoption, his home in the Pyrenees; to believe that its genial
+climate had become necessary to himself. His business in England
+concluded (it was connected with his late wife's will), he was hastening
+back to it. Had preferment been offered him, he would have doubted his
+ability to fulfil its duties after so many years of leisure. The money
+that was his wife's would be his for the remainder of his days; so on
+that score he was at rest. In short, the Reverend William Daw had
+degenerated into a useless man; one to whom all exertion had become a
+trouble. He honestly confessed to it now, as he sat before Rupert
+Trevlyn; told him he had been content to live wholly for the country of
+his adoption, almost completely ignoring his own; had kept up no
+correspondence with it. Of friends he could, as a young curate, boast
+but few, and he had been at no pains to keep them. At first he had
+believed that six or twelve months would be the limit of his absence
+from England, and he was content to let friendships await his return.
+But he did not return; and the lapsed correspondence was too pleasant to
+his indolent tastes to be reopened. He told all this quietly now to
+Rupert Trevlyn, and said that to it he owed his ignorance of the
+deposition of Rupert from Trevlyn Hold. Mr. Freeman was one of his few
+old college friends, and he might have heard all about it years ago had
+he only written to him.</p>
+
+<p>"I cannot understand how Mr. Chattaway should have succeeded," he cried,
+bending his dark eyes upon Rupert. "I can scarcely believe the fact now;
+it has amazed me, as one may say. Had there been no direct male heir;
+had your father left only Maude, for instance, I could have understood
+its being left away from her, although it would have been unjust."</p>
+
+<p>"The property is not entailed," said Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>"I am aware of that. During the last few months of your father's life,
+we were like brothers, and I knew all particulars as well as he did. He
+had married in disobedience to his father's will, but he never for a
+moment glanced at the possibility of disinheritance. I cannot understand
+why Squire Trevlyn should have willed the estate from his son's
+children."</p>
+
+<p>"He only knew of Maude&mdash;as they say."</p>
+
+<p>"Still less can I understand how Mr. Chattaway can keep it. Were an
+estate willed to me, away from those who had a greater right to it, I
+should never retain it. I could not reconcile it to my conscience to do
+so. How can Mr. Chattaway?"</p>
+
+<p>Rupert laughed&mdash;he believed that conscience and Mr. Chattaway had not a
+great deal to do with each other. "It is not much Mr. Chattaway would
+give up voluntarily," he observed. "Were my grandfather alive, Chattaway
+would not resign Trevlyn Hold to him, unless forced to it."</p>
+
+<p>Old Canham could contain himself no longer. The conversation did not
+appear to be coming to the point. "Be you going to help young Master
+Rupert to regain his rights, sir?" he eagerly asked.</p>
+
+<p>"I would&mdash;if I knew how to do it," said Mr. Daw. "I shall certainly
+represent to Mr. Chattaway the injustice&mdash;the wicked injustice&mdash;of the
+present state of things. When I wrote to the Squire on the occasion of
+your birth and Mrs. Trevlyn's death," looking at Rupert, "the answers to
+me were signed 'J. Chattaway,'&mdash;the writer being no doubt this same Mr.
+Chattaway. He wrote again, after Squire Trevlyn's death, requesting me
+to despatch the nurse and children to England."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes," said Rupert carelessly, "it was safe enough for us to come
+then. Squire Trevlyn dead, and the estate willed to Chattaway, there was
+no longer danger from me. If my grandfather had got to know that I was
+in existence, there would have been good-bye to Chattaway's ambition. At
+least people say so; <i>I</i> don't know."</p>
+
+<p>The indifferent tone forcibly struck Mr. Daw. "Don't <i>you</i> feel the
+injustice?" he asked. "Don't you care that Trevlyn Hold should be
+yours?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have grown up seeing the estate Chattaway's, and I suppose I don't
+feel it as I ought to. Of course, I should like it to be mine, but as it
+never can be mine, it is as well not to think about it. Have you heard
+of the Trevlyn temper?" he continued, a merry smile dancing in his eyes
+as he threw them on the stranger.</p>
+
+<p>"I have."</p>
+
+<p>"They tell me I have inherited it, as I suppose a true Trevlyn ought to
+do. Were I to think too much of the injustice, it might rouse the
+temper; and it would answer no end, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I have heard of the Trevlyn temper," repeated the stranger. "I
+have heard what it did for the first heir, Rupert Trevlyn."</p>
+
+<p>"But it did not do it for him," passionately returned Rupert. "I never
+heard until the other day&mdash;not so many hours ago&mdash;of the slur that was
+cast upon his name. It was not he who shot the man; he had no hand in
+it: it was proved so later. Ask old Canham."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well," said the stranger, "it's all past and done with. Poor Joe
+reposed every confidence in me; treating me as a brother. It was a
+singular coincidence that the Squire's sons should both die abroad. I
+hope," he added, looking kindly at Rupert, "that yours will be a long
+life. Are you&mdash;are you strong?"</p>
+
+<p>The question was put hesitatingly. He had heard from Nora that Rupert
+was not strong; and now that he saw him he was painfully struck with his
+delicate appearance. Rupert answered bravely.</p>
+
+<p>"I should be very well if it were not for that confounded Blackstone
+walk night and morning. It's that knocks me up."</p>
+
+<p>"Chattaway had no call to put him to it, sir," interrupted Mark Canham
+again. "It's not work for a Trevlyn."</p>
+
+<p>"Not for the heir of Trevlyn Hold," acquiesced the stranger. "But I must
+be going. I have not seen my friend Freeman yet, and should like to be
+at the railway station when he arrives. What time shall I see you in the
+morning?" he added, to Rupert. "And what time can I see Mr. Chattaway?"</p>
+
+<p>"You can see me at any time," replied Rupert. "But I can't answer for
+him. He breakfasts early, and generally goes out afterwards."</p>
+
+<p>Had the Reverend William Daw been able to glance through a few trunks of
+trees, he might have seen Mr. Chattaway then. For there, hidden amidst
+the trees of the avenue, only a few paces from the lodge, was he.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway was pretty nearly beside himself that night. When he found
+that Rupert Trevlyn was not in the house, vague fears, to which he did
+not wait to give a more tangible name, rushed over his imagination. Had
+Rupert stolen from the house to meet this dangerous stranger
+clandestinely? He&mdash;Chattaway&mdash;scarcely knowing what he did, seized his
+hat and followed the stranger down the avenue, when he left the Hold
+after his fruitless visit.</p>
+
+<p>Not to follow him openly and say, "What is your business with Rupert
+Trevlyn?" Cords would not have dragged Mr. Chattaway into that dreaded
+presence until he was sure of his ground.</p>
+
+<p>He stole down with a fleet foot on the soft grass beside the avenue, and
+close upon the lodge he overtook the stranger. Mr. Chattaway glided into
+the trees.</p>
+
+<p>Peeping from his hiding-place, he saw the stranger pause before the
+lodge window: heard him accost Rupert Trevlyn; watched him enter. And
+there he had been since,&mdash;altogether in an agony both of mind and body.</p>
+
+<p>Do as he would, he could not hear their conversation. The sound of
+voices came upon him through the open window, but not the words spoken:
+and nearer he dared not go.</p>
+
+<p>Hark! they were coming out. Chattaway's eyes glared and his teeth were
+set, as he cautiously looked round. The man's ugly red umbrella was in
+one hand; the other was laid on Rupert's shoulder. "Will you walk with
+me a little way?" he heard the stranger say.</p>
+
+<p>"No, not this evening," was Rupert's reply. "I must go back to the
+Hold."</p>
+
+<p>But he, Rupert, turned to walk with him to the gate, and Mr. Chattaway
+took the opportunity to hasten back toward the Hold. When Rupert, after
+shaking hands with the stranger and calling out a good evening to the
+inmates of the lodge as he passed, went up the avenue, he met the master
+of Trevlyn Hold pacing leisurely down it, as if he had come out for a
+stroll.</p>
+
+<p>"Halloa!" he cried, with something of theatrical amazement. "I thought
+you were in bed!"</p>
+
+<p>"I came out instead," replied Rupert. "The evening was so fine."</p>
+
+<p>"Who was that queer-looking man just gone out at the gates?" asked Mr.
+Chattaway, with well-assumed indifference.</p>
+
+<p>Rupert answered readily. His disposition was naturally open to a fault,
+and he saw no reason for concealing what he knew of the stranger. He was
+not aware that Chattaway had ever seen him until this moment.</p>
+
+<p>"It is some one who has come on a visit to the parsonage: a clergyman.
+It's a curious name, though&mdash;Daw."</p>
+
+<p>"Daw? Daw?" repeated Mr. Chattaway, biting his lips to get some colour
+into them. "Where have I heard that name&mdash;in connection with a
+clergyman?"</p>
+
+<p>"He said he had some correspondence with you years ago: at the time my
+mother died, and I was born. He knew my father and mother well: has been
+telling me this at old Canham's."</p>
+
+<p>All that past time, its events, its correspondence, flashed over Mr.
+Chattaway's memory&mdash;flashed over it with a strange dread. "What has he
+come here for?" he asked quickly.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know," replied Rupert. "He said&mdash;&mdash;Whatever's this?"</p>
+
+<p>A tremendous shouting from people who appeared, dragging something
+behind them. Both turned simultaneously&mdash;the master of Trevlyn Hold in
+awful fear. Could it be the stranger coming back with constables at his
+heels, to wrest the Hold from him? And if, my reader, you deem these
+fears exaggerated, you know very little of this kind of terror.</p>
+
+<p>It was nothing but a procession of those idlers you saw in the road,
+dragging home the unlucky dog-cart: Mr. Cris at their head.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV</h2>
+
+<h3>NEWS FOR MISS DIANA</h3>
+
+
+<p>In that pleasant room at the parsonage, with its sweet-scented
+mignonette boxes, and vases of freshly-cut flowers, sat the Reverend Mr.
+Freeman at breakfast, with his wife and visitor. It was a simple meal.
+All meals were simple at Barbrook Parsonage: as they generally are where
+means are limited. And you have not yet to learn, I dare say, that
+comfort and simplicity frequently go together: whilst comfort and
+grandeur are often separated. There was no lack of comfort and homely
+fare at Mr. Freeman's. Coffee and rich milk: home-made bread and the
+freshest of butter, new-laid eggs and autumn watercress. It was by no
+means starvation.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Daw, however, paid less attention to the meal than he might have
+done had his mind been less preoccupied. The previous evening, when he
+and Mr. Freeman had first met, after an absence of more than twenty
+years, their conversation had naturally run on their own personal
+interests: past events had to be related. But this morning they could go
+to other subjects, and Mr. Daw was not slow to do so. They were
+talking&mdash;you may have guessed it&mdash;of the Trevlyns.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Daw grew warm upon the subject. As on the previous day, when Molly
+placed the meal before him, he almost forgot to eat. And yet Mr. Daw, in
+spite of his assurance that he was contented with a crust of bread and a
+cup of milk knew how to appreciate good things. In plainer words, he
+liked them. Men who have no occupation for their days and years
+sometimes grow into epicureans.</p>
+
+<p>"You are sparing the eggs," said Mrs. Freeman, a good-natured woman with
+a large nose, thin cheeks, and prominent teeth. Mr. Daw replied by
+taking another egg from the stand and chopping off its top. But there it
+remained. He was enlarging on the injustice dealt out to Rupert Trevlyn.</p>
+
+<p>"It ought to be remedied, you know, Freeman. It must be remedied. It is
+a wrong in the sight of God and man."</p>
+
+<p>The curate&mdash;Mr. Freeman was nothing more, for all his many years'
+services&mdash;smiled good-humouredly. He never used hard words: preferring
+to let wrongs, which were no business of his, right themselves, or
+remain wrongs, and taking life as it came, easily and pleasantly.</p>
+
+<p>"We can't alter it," he said. "We have no power to interfere with
+Chattaway. He has enjoyed Trevlyn Hold these twenty years, and must
+enjoy it still."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know about that," returned Mr. Daw. "I don't know that he must
+enjoy it still. At any rate, he ought not to do so. Had I lived in this
+neighbourhood as you have, Freeman, I should have tried to get him out
+of it before this."</p>
+
+<p>The parson opened his eyes in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"There's such a thing as shaming people out of injustice," continued Mr.
+Daw. "Has any one represented to Chattaway the fearful wrong he is
+guilty of in his conduct towards Rupert Trevlyn?"</p>
+
+<p>"I can't say," equably answered the parson. "I have not."</p>
+
+<p>"Will you go with me and do it to-day?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well&mdash;no; I think I'd rather not, Daw. If any good could come of it,
+perhaps I might do so; but nothing could come of it. And I find it
+answers best not to meddle with the affairs of other folk."</p>
+
+<p>"The wrongs dealt out to him are so great," persisted Mr. Daw. "Not
+content with having wrested Trevlyn Hold from the boy, Chattaway
+converts him into a common labourer in some coal office of his, making
+him walk to and fro night and morning. You know him?"</p>
+
+<p>"Know him?" repeated Mr. Freeman. "I have known him since he first came
+here, a child in arms." In truth, it was a superfluous question.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you know his father?"</p>
+
+<p>"No; I came to Barbrook after his father went abroad."</p>
+
+<p>"I was going to ask, if you had known him, whether you did not remark
+the extraordinary resemblance the young man bears to his father. The
+likeness is great; and he has the same suspiciously delicate complexion.
+I should fear that the boy will go off as his father did, and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I have long said he ought to take cod-liver oil," interposed Mrs.
+Freeman, who was doctor in ordinary to her husband's parish, and very
+decided in her opinions.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, ma'am, that boy must die&mdash;if he is to die&mdash;Squire of Trevlyn
+Hold. I shall use all my means while I am here to induce this Chattaway
+to resign his possessions to the rightful owner. The boy seems to have
+had no friend in the world to take up his cause. What this Miss Diana
+can have been about, to stand tamely by and not interfere, I cannot
+conceive. She is the sister of his father."</p>
+
+<p>"Better let it alone, Daw," said the parson. "Rely upon it, you will
+make no impression on Chattaway. You must excuse me for saying it, but
+it's quite foolish to think that you will; quixotic and absurd.
+Chattaway possesses Trevlyn Hold&mdash;is not likely to resign it."</p>
+
+<p>"I could not let it alone now," impulsively answered Mr. Daw. "The boy
+seems to have no friend, I say; and I have a right to constitute myself
+his friend. I should not be worthy the name of man were I not to do it.
+I intended to stay with you only two nights; you'll give me house-room a
+little longer, won't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"We'll give it you for two months, and gladly, if you can put up with
+our primitive mode of living," was the hospitable answer.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Daw shook his head. "Two months I could not remain; two weeks I
+might. I cannot go away leaving things in this unsatisfactory state. The
+first thing I shall do this morning will be to call at the Hold, and
+seek an interview with Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>But Mr. Daw did not succeed in obtaining the interview with Chattaway.
+When he arrived at Trevlyn Hold, he was told the Squire was out. It was
+correct; Chattaway had ridden out immediately after breakfast. The
+stranger next asked for Miss Diana, and was admitted.</p>
+
+<p>Chattaway had said to Miss Diana in private, before starting, "Don't
+receive him should he come here; don't let his foot pass over the
+door-sill." Very unwise advice, as Miss Diana judged; and she did not
+take it. Miss Diana had the sense to remember that an unknown evil is
+more to be feared than an open one. No one can fight in the dark. The
+stranger was ushered into the drawing-room by order of Miss Diana, and
+she came to him.</p>
+
+<p>It was not a satisfactory interview, since nothing came of it; but it
+was a decently civil one. Miss Diana was cold, reserved, somewhat
+haughty, but courteous; Mr. Daw was pressing, urgent, but respectful and
+gentlemanly. Rupert Trevlyn was by right the owner of Trevlyn Hold, was
+the substance of the points urged by the one; Squire Trevlyn was his own
+master, made his own will, and it was not for his children and
+dependants to raise useless questions, still less for a stranger, was
+the answer of the other.</p>
+
+<p>"Madam," said Mr. Daw, "did the enormity of the injustice never strike
+you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Will you be so good as to tell me by what right you interfere?"
+returned Miss Diana. "I cannot conceive what business it can be of
+yours."</p>
+
+<p>"I think the redressing of the injustice should be made the business of
+everyone."</p>
+
+<p>"What a great deal everyone would have to do!" exclaimed Miss Diana.</p>
+
+<p>"With regard to my right of interference, Miss Trevlyn, the law might
+not give me any; but I assume it by the bond of friendship. I was with
+his father when he died; I was with his mother. Poor thing! it was only
+within the last six or seven hours of her life that danger was
+apprehended. They both died in the belief that their children would
+inherit Trevlyn Hold. Madam," quite a blaze of light flushing from his
+dark eyes, "I have lived all the years since, believing they were in the
+enjoyment of it."</p>
+
+<p>"You believed rightly," equably rejoined Miss Diana. "They have been in
+the enjoyment of it. It has been their home."</p>
+
+<p>"As it may be the home of any of your servants," returned Mr. Daw; and
+Miss Diana did not like the comparison.</p>
+
+<p>"May I ask," she continued, "if you came into this neighbourhood for the
+express purpose of putting this 'injustice' to rights?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, madam, I did not. But it is unnecessary for you to be sarcastic
+with me. I wish to urge the matter upon you in a friendly rather than an
+adverse spirit. Business connected with my own affairs brought me to
+London some ten days ago, from the place where I had lived so long. As I
+was so near, I thought I would come down and see my former friend
+Freeman, before starting homewards; for I dare say I shall never again
+return to England. I knew Barbrook Parsonage and Trevlyn Hold were not
+very far apart, and I anticipated the pleasure of meeting Joe Trevlyn's
+children, whom I had known as infants. I never supposed but that Rupert
+was in possession of Trevlyn Hold. You may judge of my surprise when I
+arrived yesterday and heard the true state of the case."</p>
+
+<p>"You have a covert motive in this," suddenly exclaimed Miss Diana, in a
+voice that had turned to sharpness.</p>
+
+<p>"Covert motive?" he repeated, looking at her.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Had you been, as you state, so interested in the welfare of Rupert
+Trevlyn and his sister, does it stand to reason that you would never
+have inquired after them through all these long years?"</p>
+
+<p>"I beg your pardon, Miss Trevlyn: the facts are precisely as I have
+stated them. Strange as it may seem, I never once wrote to inquire after
+them, and the neglect strikes me forcibly now. But I am naturally inert,
+and all correspondence with my own country had gradually ceased. I did
+often think of the little Trevlyns, but it was always to suppose them as
+being at Trevlyn Hold, sheltered by their appointed guardian."</p>
+
+<p>"What appointed guardian?" cried Miss Diana.</p>
+
+<p>"Yourself."</p>
+
+<p>"I! I was not the appointed guardian of the Trevlyns."</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed you were. You were appointed by their mother. The letter&mdash;the
+deed, I may say, for I believe it to have been legally worded&mdash;was
+written when she was dying."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Trevlyn had never heard of any deed. "Who wrote it?" she asked,
+after a pause.</p>
+
+<p>"I did. When dangerous symptoms set in, and she was told she might not
+live, Mrs. Trevlyn sent for me. She had her little baby baptized Rupert,
+for it had been her husband's wish that the child, if a boy, should be
+so named, and then I sat down by her bedside at her request, and wrote
+the document. She entreated Miss Diana Trevlyn&mdash;you, madam&mdash;to reside at
+Trevlyn Hold as its mistress, when it should lapse to Rupert, and be the
+guardian and protector of her children, until Rupert came of age. She
+besought you to love them, and be kind to them for their father's sake;
+for her sake; for the sake, also, of the friendship which had once
+existed between you and her. This will prove to you," he added in a
+different tone, "that poor Mrs. Trevlyn, at least, never supposed there
+was a likelihood of any other successor to the estate."</p>
+
+<p>"I never heard of it," exclaimed Miss Diana, waking up as from a
+reverie. "Was the document sent to me?"</p>
+
+<p>"It was enclosed in the despatch which acquainted Squire Trevlyn with
+Mrs. Trevlyn's death. I wrote them both, and I enclosed them together,
+and sent them."</p>
+
+<p>"Directed to whom?"</p>
+
+<p>"To Squire Trevlyn."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Diana sent her thoughts into the past. It was Chattaway who had
+received that despatch. Could he have dared to suppress any
+communication intended for her? Her haughty brow grew crimson at the
+thought; but she suppressed all signs of annoyance.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you allow me to renew my acquaintance with little Maude?" resumed
+Mr. Daw. "Little Maude then, and a lovely child; a beautiful girl, as I
+hear, now."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Diana hesitated&mdash;a very uncommon thing for her to do. It is strange
+what trifles turn the current of feelings: and this last item of
+intelligence had wonderfully softened her towards this stranger. But she
+remembered the interests at stake, and thought it best to be prudent.</p>
+
+<p>"You must pardon the refusal," she said. "I quite appreciate your wish
+to serve Rupert Trevlyn, but it can only fail, and further intercourse
+will not be agreeable to either party. You will allow me to wish you
+good morning, and to thank you."</p>
+
+<p>She rang the bell, and bowed him out, with all the grand courtesy
+belonging to the Trevlyns. As he passed through the hall, he caught a
+glimpse of a lovely girl with a delicate bloom on her cheeks and large
+blue eyes. Instinct told him it was Maude; and he likewise thought he
+traced some resemblance to her mother. He took a step forward
+involuntarily, to accost her, but recollecting himself, drew back again.</p>
+
+<p>It was scarcely the thing to do: in defiance of Miss Diana Trevlyn's
+recent refusal.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI</h2>
+
+<h3>AN IMPROMPTU JOURNEY</h3>
+
+
+<p>The dew was lying upon the grass in the autumn morning as the Squire of
+Trevlyn Hold rode from his door. He had hurried over his breakfast, his
+horse waiting for him, and he spurred him impatiently along the avenue.
+Ann Canham had not yet opened the gate. Upon hearing a horse's hoofs,
+she ran out to do so; and stood holding it back, dropping her humble
+curtsey as Mr. Chattaway rode past. He vouchsafed not the slightest
+notice: neither by glance nor nod did he appear conscious of her
+presence. It was his usual way.</p>
+
+<p>"He's off to Blackstone early," thought Ann, as she fastened back the
+gate.</p>
+
+<p>But Mr. Chattaway did not turn towards Blackstone. He turned in the
+opposite direction and urged his horse to a gallop. Ann Canham looked
+after him.</p>
+
+<p>"He has business at Barmester, maybe," was the conclusion to which she
+came.</p>
+
+<p>Nothing more sure. He rode briskly to the town, and pulled up his horse
+almost at the same spot where you once saw him pull it up before&mdash;the
+house of Messrs. Wall and Barnes.</p>
+
+<p>Not that he was about to visit that flourishing establishment this
+morning. Next to it was a private house, on the door-plate of which
+might be read, "Mr. Flood, Solicitor": and he was the gentleman Mr.
+Chattaway had come to see.</p>
+
+<p>Attracted probably by the clatter of the horse&mdash;for Chattaway had pulled
+up suddenly, and with more noise than he need have done, there came one
+to the shop-door and looked out. It was Mr. Wall, and he stepped forth
+to shake hands with Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"Good morning, Chattaway. You are in Barmester betimes. What lovely
+weather we are having for the conclusion of the harvest!"</p>
+
+<p>"Very; it has been a fine harvest altogether," replied Chattaway; and
+from his composure no one could have dreamt of the terrible care and
+perplexity running riot in his heart. "I want to say a word to Flood
+about a lease that is falling in, so I thought I'd start early and make
+a round of it on my way to Blackstone."</p>
+
+<p>"An accident occurred yesterday to your son and Madam Chattaway, did it
+not?" asked Mr. Wall. "News of it was flying about last night. I hope
+they are not much hurt."</p>
+
+<p>"Not at all. Cris was so stupid as to attempt to drive a horse unbroken
+for driving&mdash;a vicious temper, too. The dog-cart is half smashed. Here,
+you! come here."</p>
+
+<p>The last words were addressed to a boy in a tattered jacket, who was
+racing after a passing carriage. Mr. Chattaway wanted him to hold his
+horse; and the boy quickly changed his course, believing the office
+would be good for sixpence at least.</p>
+
+<p>The lawyer's outer door was open. There was a second door in the
+passage, furnished with a knocker: the office opened on the left. Mr.
+Chattaway tried the office-door; more as a matter of form than anything
+else. It was locked, as he expected, and would be until nine o'clock. So
+he gave an imposing knock at the other.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall just catch him after breakfast," soliloquised he, "and can have
+a quiet quarter-of-an-hour with him, undisturbed by&mdash;&mdash;Is Mr. Flood at
+home?"</p>
+
+<p>He had tried the door as a matter of form, and in like manner put the
+question, passing in without ceremony: the servant arrested him.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Flood's out, sir. He is gone to London."</p>
+
+<p>"Gone to London!" ejaculated Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir, not an hour ago. Went by the eight o'clock train."</p>
+
+<p>It was so complete a check to all his imaginings, that for a minute the
+master of Trevlyn Hold found speech desert him. Many a bad man on the
+first threat of evil flies to a lawyer, in the belief that he can, by
+the exercise of his craft, bring him out of it. Chattaway, after a night
+of intolerable restlessness, had come straight off to his lawyer, Flood,
+with the intention of confiding the whole affair to him, and asking what
+was to be done in it; never so much as glancing at the possibility of
+that legal gentleman's absence.</p>
+
+<p>"Went up by the eight o'clock train?" he repeated when he found his
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"And when's he coming home?"</p>
+
+<p>"He expects to be away about a week, sir."</p>
+
+<p>A worse check still. Chattaway's terrible fear might have waited a day;
+but a week!&mdash;he thought suspense would drive him mad. He was a great
+deal too miserly to spend money upon an unnecessary journey, yet there
+appeared nothing for it but to follow Mr. Flood to London. That
+gentleman had heard perplexing secrets of Chattaway's before, had always
+given him the best advice, and remained faithful to the trust; and
+Chattaway believed he might safely confide this new danger to him. Not
+to any other would he have breathed a word. In short, Flood was the only
+confidential adviser he possessed in the world.</p>
+
+<p>"Where will Mr. Flood put up in London?"</p>
+
+<p>"I can't say, sir. I don't know anything about where he stays. He goes
+up pretty often."</p>
+
+<p>"At the old place, I daresay," muttered Chattaway to himself. "If not, I
+shall learn where, through his agents in Essex Street."</p>
+
+<p>He stood a moment on the pavement before mounting. A slow and cheap
+train would leave Barmester in half-an-hour for London. Should he go by
+that train?&mdash;go from Barmester, instead of returning home and taking the
+train at the little station near his own home? Was there need of so much
+haste? In Chattaway's present frame of mind the utmost haste he could
+make was almost a necessary relief: but, on the other hand, would his
+sudden departure excite suspicion at home, or draw unwelcome attention
+to his movements abroad? Deep in thought was he, when a hand was laid
+upon his shoulder. Turning sharply, he saw the honest face of the
+linen-draper close to his.</p>
+
+<p>"The queerest thing was said to me last night, Chattaway. I stepped into
+Robbins, the barber's, to have my hair and whiskers trimmed, and he told
+me a great barrister was down here, a leading man from the Chancery
+court, come upon some business connected with you and the late Squire
+Trevlyn. With the property, I mean."</p>
+
+<p>Chattaway's heart leaped into his mouth.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought it a queer tale," continued Mr. Wall. "His mission here being
+to restore Rupert Trevlyn to the estates of his grandfather, Robbins
+said. Is there anything in it?"</p>
+
+<p>Had the public already got hold of it, then? Was the awful thing no
+longer a fear but a reality? Chattaway turned his face away, and tried
+to be equal to the emergency.</p>
+
+<p>"You are talking great absurdity, Wall. Who's Robbins? Were I you, I
+should be ashamed to repeat the lies propagated by that chattering old
+woman."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Wall laughed. "He certainly deals in news, does Robbins; it's part
+of his trade. Of course one only takes his marvels for what they are
+worth. He got <i>this</i> from Barcome, the tax-collector. The man had
+arrived at the scene of the dog-cart accident shortly after its
+occurrence, and heard this barrister&mdash;who, as it seems, was also
+there&mdash;speaking publicly of the object of his mission."</p>
+
+<p>Chattaway snatched the reins from the ragged boy's hands and mounted;
+his air expressing all the scorn he could command. "When they impound
+Squire Trevlyn's will, then they may talk about altering the succession.
+Good morning, Wall."</p>
+
+<p>A torrent of howls, accompanied by words a magistrate on the bench must
+have treated severely, saluted his ears as he rode off. They came from
+the aggrieved steed-holder. Instead of the sixpence he fondly reckoned
+on, Chattaway had flung him a halfpenny.</p>
+
+<p>He rode to an inn near the railway station, went in and called for pen
+and ink. The few words he wrote were to Miss Diana. He found himself
+obliged to go up unexpectedly to London on the business <i>which she knew
+of</i>, and requested her to make any plausible excuse for his absence that
+would divert suspicion from the real facts. He should be home on the
+morrow. Such was the substance of the note.</p>
+
+<p>He addressed it to Miss Trevlyn of Trevlyn Hold, sealed it with his own
+seal, and marked it "private." A most unnecessary additional security,
+the last. No inmate of Trevlyn Hold would dare to open the most simple
+missive, bearing the address of Miss Trevlyn. Then he called one of the
+stable-men.</p>
+
+<p>"I want this letter taken to my house," he said. "It is in a hurry. Can
+you go at once?"</p>
+
+<p>The man replied that he could.</p>
+
+<p>"Stay&mdash;you may ride my horse," added Mr. Chattaway, as if the thought
+that moment struck him. "You will get there in half the time that you
+would if you walked."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well, sir. Shall I bring him back for you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Um&mdash;m&mdash;m, no, I'll walk," decided Mr. Chattaway, stroking his chin as
+if to help his decision. "Leave the horse at the Hold."</p>
+
+<p>The man mounted the horse and rode away, never supposing Mr. Chattaway
+had been playing off a little <i>ruse</i> upon him, and had no intention of
+going to Trevlyn Hold that day, but was bound for a place rather farther
+off. In this innocent state he reached the Hold, while Mr. Chattaway
+made a <i>détour</i> and gained the station by a cross route, where he took
+train for London.</p>
+
+<p>Cris Chattaway's groom, Sam Atkins, was standing with his young master's
+horse before the house, in waiting for that gentleman, when the
+messenger arrived. Not the new horse of the previous day's notoriety,
+nor the one lamed at Blackstone, but a despised and steady old animal
+sometimes used in the plough.</p>
+
+<p>"There haven't been another accident surely!" exclaimed Sam Atkins, in
+his astonishment at seeing Mr. Chattaway's steed brought home. "Where's
+the Squire?"</p>
+
+<p>"He's all right; and has sent me up here with this," was the man's
+reply, producing the note. And at that moment Miss Diana Trevlyn
+appeared at the hall-door. Miss Diana was looking out for Mr. Chattaway.
+After the communication made to her that morning by Mr. Daw, she could
+only come to the conclusion that the paper had been suppressed by
+Chattaway, and was waiting in much wrath to demand his explanation of
+it.</p>
+
+<p>"What brings the Squire's horse back?" she imperiously demanded.</p>
+
+<p>Sam Atkins handed her the note, which she opened and read. Read it twice
+attentively, and then turned indoors. "Chattaway's a fool!" she angrily
+decided, "and is allowing this mare's nest to prey on his fears. He
+ought to know that while my father's will is in existence no earthly
+power can deprive him of Trevlyn Hold."</p>
+
+<p>She went upstairs to Mrs. Chattaway's sitting-room. That lady,
+considerably recovered from the shock of the fall, was writing an
+affectionate letter to her daughter Amelia, telling her she might come
+home with Caroline Ryle. Miss Diana went straight up to the table, took
+a seat, and without the least apology closed Mrs. Chattaway's desk.</p>
+
+<p>"I want your attention for a moment, Edith. You can write afterwards.
+Carry your memory back to the morning, so many years ago, when we
+received the news of Rupert's birth?"</p>
+
+<p>"No effort is need to do that, Diana. I think of it all too often."</p>
+
+<p>"Very good. Then perhaps, without effort, you can recall the day
+following, when the letter came announcing Mrs. Trevlyn's death?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I remember it also."</p>
+
+<p>"The minute details? Could you, for instance, relate any of the
+circumstances attending the arrival of that letter, if required to do so
+in a court of law? What time of the day it came, who opened it, where it
+was opened, and so forth?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you ask me?" returned Mrs. Chattaway, surprised at the
+questions.</p>
+
+<p>"I ask you to be answered. I have a reason for wishing to recall these
+past things. Think it over."</p>
+
+<p>"Both letters, so far as I can recollect, were given to Mr. Chattaway,
+and he opened them. He was in the habit then of opening papa's business
+letters. I have no doubt they were opened in the steward's room; James
+used to be there a great deal with the accounts and other matters
+connected with the estate."</p>
+
+<p>"I have always known that James Chattaway did open those letters," said
+Miss Diana; "but I thought you might have been present when he did so.
+Were you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. I remember his coming into my chamber later, and telling me Mrs.
+Trevlyn was dead. I never shall forget the shock I felt."</p>
+
+<p>"Attend to me, Edith. I have reason to believe that the last of those
+letters contained an inclosure for me. It never reached me. Do you know
+what became of it?"</p>
+
+<p>The blank surprise on Mrs. Chattaway's countenance, her open questioning
+gaze, was a sufficient denial.</p>
+
+<p>"I see you do not. And now I am going to ask you something else. Did you
+ever hear that Emily Trevlyn, when she was dying, left a request that I
+should be guardian to her children?"</p>
+
+<p>"Never. Have you been dreaming these things, Diana? Why should you ask
+about them now?"</p>
+
+<p>"I leave dreams to you," was Miss Diana's reply. "My health is too sound
+to admit of sleeping dreams; my mind too practical to indulge in waking
+ones. Never mind why I asked: it was only as a personal matter of my
+own. By the way, I have had a line from your husband, written from
+Barmester. A little business has taken him out, and he may not be home
+until to-morrow. We are not to sit up for him."</p>
+
+<p>"Has he gone to Nettleby hop-fair?" hastily rejoined Mrs. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps so," said Miss Diana, carelessly. "At any rate, say nothing
+about his absence to any one. The children are unruly if they know he is
+away. I suppose he will be home to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>But Mr. Chattaway was not home on the morrow. Miss Diana was burning
+with impatience for his return; that explanation was being waited for,
+and she was one who brooked not delay: but she was obliged to submit to
+it now. Day after day passed on, and Mr. Chattaway was still absent from
+Trevlyn Hold.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII</h2>
+
+<h3>A WALK BY STARLIGHT</h3>
+
+
+<p>A harvest-home used to be a great <i>fête</i> in farmhouses; chiefly so, as
+you are aware, for its servants and labourers. It is so in some houses
+still. A rustic, homely gathering; with plenty of good fare in a plain
+way, and where the masters and mistresses and their guests enjoy
+themselves as freely as their dependants.</p>
+
+<p>Trevlyn Farm was lighted up to-night. The best kitchen, where you have
+seen Nora sitting sometimes, and never used for kitchen purposes, was
+set out with a long table. Cold beef and ham, substantial and savoury
+meat pies, fruit pies, cakes, cheese, ale and cider, were being placed
+on it. Benches lined the walls, and the rustic labourers were coming
+sheepishly in. Some of them had the privilege of bringing their wives,
+who came in a great deal less sheepishly than the men.</p>
+
+<p>Nanny was in full attire, a new green stuff gown and white apron; Molly
+from the parsonage was flaunting in a round cap, patronised by the
+fashionable servants in Barmester, with red streamers; Ann Canham had a
+new Scotch plaid kerchief, white and purple, crossed on her shoulders;
+and Jim Sanders's mother, being rather poorly off for smart caps, wore a
+bonnet. These four were to do the waiting; and Nora was casting over
+them all the superintending eye of a mistress. George Ryle liked to make
+his harvest-homes liberal and comfortable, and Mrs. Ryle seconded it
+with the open-handed nature of the Trevlyns.</p>
+
+<p>What Mrs. Ryle would have done but for Nora Dickson it was impossible to
+say. She really took little more management in the house than a visitor
+would take. Her will, it is true, was law: she gave orders, but left
+their execution to others. Though she had married Thomas Ryle, of
+Trevlyn Farm, she never forgot that she was the daughter of Trevlyn
+Hold.</p>
+
+<p>She sat in the small room opening from the supper-room&mdash;small in
+comparison with the drawing-room, but still comfortable. On harvest-home
+night, Mrs. Ryle's visitors were received in that ordinary room and sat
+there, forming as it were part of the supper-room company, for the door
+was kept wide, and the great people went in and out, mixing with the
+small. George Ryle and Mr. Freeman would be more in the supper-room than
+in the other; they were two who liked to see the hard-working people
+happy now and then.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Ryle had taken up her place in the sitting-room; her rich black
+silk gown and real lace cap contrasting with the more showy attire of
+Mrs. Apperley, who sat next her. Mrs. Apperley was in a stiff brocade,
+yellow satin stripes flanking wavy lines of flowers. It had been her
+gala robe for years and years, and looked new yet. Mrs. Apperley's two
+daughters, in cherry-coloured ribbons and cherry-coloured nets, were as
+gay as she was; they were whispering to Caroline Ryle, a graceful girl
+in dark-blue silk, with the blue eyes and the fair hair of her deceased
+father. Farmer Apperley, in top-boots, was holding an argument on the
+state of the country with a young man of middle height and dark hair,
+who sat carelessly on the arm of the old-fashioned sofa. It was Trevlyn
+Ryle. George had set his back against the wall, and was laughingly
+quizzing the Miss Apperleys, of which they were blushingly conscious.
+Were you to believe Nora, there was scarcely a young lady within the
+circuit of a couple of leagues but was privately setting her cap at
+handsome George.</p>
+
+<p>A bustle in the outer room, and Nanny appeared with an announcement:
+"Parson and Mrs. Freeman." I am not responsible for the style of the
+introduction: you may hear it for yourselves if you choose to visit some
+of our rural districts.</p>
+
+<p>Parson and Mrs. Freeman came in without ceremony; the parson with his
+hat and walking stick, Mrs. Freeman in a green calico hood and an old
+cloak. George, with laughing gallantry, helped her to take them off, and
+handed them to Nanny, and Mrs. Freeman went up to the pier-glass and
+settled the white bows in her cap to greater effect.</p>
+
+<p>"But I thought you were to have brought your friend," said Mrs. Ryle.</p>
+
+<p>"He will come in presently," replied the parson. "A letter arrived by
+this evening's post, and he wished to answer it."</p>
+
+<p>Farmer Apperley turned from his debate with Trevlyn. "D'ye mean that
+droll-looking man who walks about with a red umbrella and a beard,
+parson?"</p>
+
+<p>"The same," said Mr. Freeman, settling his double chin more comfortably
+in his white cravat. "He has been staying with us for a week past."</p>
+
+<p>"Ay. Some foreign folk, isn't he, named Daw? There's all sorts of tales
+abroad in the neighbourhood as to what he is doing down here. I don't
+know whether they be correct."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know much about it myself either," said Mr. Freeman. "I am glad
+to entertain him as an old friend, but as for any private affairs or
+views of his, I don't meddle with them."</p>
+
+<p>"Best plan," nodded the farmer. And the subject, thus indistinctly
+hinted at, was allowed to drop, owing probably to the presence of Mrs.
+Ryle.</p>
+
+<p>"The Chattaways are coming here to-night," suddenly exclaimed Caroline
+Ryle. She spoke only to Mary Apperley, but there was a pause in the
+general conversation just then, and Mr. Apperley took it up.</p>
+
+<p>"Who's coming? The Chattaways! Which of the Chattaways?" he said in some
+surprise, knowing they had never been in the habit of paying evening
+visits to Trevlyn Farm.</p>
+
+<p>"All the girls, and Maude. I don't know whether Rupert will come; and I
+don't think Cris was asked."</p>
+
+<p>"Eh, but that's a new move," cried Farmer Apperley, his long intimacy
+with the Farm justifying the freedom. "Did you invite them?"</p>
+
+<p>"In point of fact, they invited themselves," interposed Mrs. Ryle,
+before George, to whom the question had been addressed, could speak. "At
+least, Octave did so: and then George, I believe, asked the rest of the
+girls."</p>
+
+<p>"They won't come," said Farmer Apperley.</p>
+
+<p>"Not come!" interrupted Nora, sharply, who kept going in and out between
+the two rooms. "That's all you know about it, Mr. Apperley. Octave
+Chattaway is sure to be here to-night&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Nora!"</p>
+
+<p>The interruption came from George. Was he afraid of what she might say
+impulsively? Or did he see, coming in at the outer door, Octave herself,
+as though to refute the opinion of Mr. Apperley?</p>
+
+<p>But only Amelia was with her. A tall girl with a large mouth and very
+light hair, always on the giggle. "Where are the rest?" impulsively
+asked George, his accent too unguarded to conceal its disappointment.</p>
+
+<p>Octave detected it. She had thrown off her cloak and stood in attire
+scarcely suited to the occasion&mdash;a pale blue evening dress of damask, a
+silver necklace, silver bracelets, and a wreath of silver flowers in her
+hair. "What 'rest'?" asked Octave.</p>
+
+<p>"Your sisters and Maude. They promised to come."</p>
+
+<p>Octave tossed her head good-humouredly. "<i>Do</i> you think we could inflict
+the whole string on Mrs. Ryle? Two of us are sufficient to represent the
+family."</p>
+
+<p>"Inflict! On a harvest-home night!" called out Trevlyn. "You know,
+Octave, the more the merrier on these occasions."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, I really believe that's Treve!" exclaimed Octave. "When did you
+arrive?"</p>
+
+<p>"This morning. You have grown thinner, Octave."</p>
+
+<p>"It is nothing to you if I have," retorted Octave, offended at the
+remark. The point was a sore one; Octave being unpleasantly conscious
+that she was thin to plainness. "<i>You</i> have grown plump enough, at any
+rate."</p>
+
+<p>"To be sure," said Treve. "I'm always jolly. It was too bad of you,
+Octave, not to bring the rest."</p>
+
+<p>"So it was," said Amelia. "They had dressed for it, and at the last
+moment Octave made them stay at home."</p>
+
+<p>But George was not going to take this quietly. Saying nothing, he left
+the room and made the best of his way to Trevlyn Hold. The rooms seemed
+deserted. At length he found Maude in the schoolroom, correcting
+exercises, and shedding a few quiet tears. After they had dressed for
+the visit, Octavia had placed her veto upon it, and Emily and Edith had
+retired to bed in vexation. Miss Diana was spending the evening out with
+Mrs. Chattaway, and Octave had had it all her own way.</p>
+
+<p>"I have come for you, Maude," said George.</p>
+
+<p>Maude's heart beat with anticipation. "I don't know whether I may dare
+to go," she said, glancing shyly at him.</p>
+
+<p>"Has anyone except Octave forbidden you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Only Octave."</p>
+
+<p>Lying on a chair, George saw a bonnet and a cloak which he recognised as
+Maude's. In point of fact, she had thrown them off when forbidden the
+visit by Miss Chattaway. His only answer was to fold the cloak around
+her. And she put on the bonnet, and went out with him, shocked at her
+own temerity, but unable to resist the temptation.</p>
+
+<p>"You are trembling," he cried, drawing her closer to him as he bent his
+head.</p>
+
+<p>"I am afraid of Octave. I know she will be so angry. What if she should
+meet me with angry words?"</p>
+
+<p>"Then&mdash;Maude&mdash;you will give me leave to answer her?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Oh yes."</p>
+
+<p>"It will involve more than you think," said George, laughing at her
+eager tones. "I must tell her, if necessary, that I have a right to
+defend you."</p>
+
+<p>Maude stopped in her surprise, and half drew her arm from his as she
+looked up at him in the starlight. His pointed tone stirred all the
+pulses of her heart.</p>
+
+<p>"You cannot have mistaken me, Maude, this long time past," he quietly
+said. "If I have not spoken to you more openly; if I do not yet speak
+out to the world, it is that I see at present little prospect before us.
+I would prefer not to speak to others until that is more assured."</p>
+
+<p>Maude, in spite of the intense happiness which was rising within her,
+felt half sick with fear. What of the powers at Trevlyn Hold?</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, there might be opposition," said George, divining her thoughts,
+"and the result&mdash;great unpleasantness altogether. I am independent
+enough to defy them, but you are not, Maude. For that reason I will not
+speak if I can help it. I hope Octave will not provoke me to excess."</p>
+
+<p>Maude started as a thought flashed over her, and she looked up at
+George, a terrified expression in her face. "You <i>must not</i> speak,
+George; you must not, for my sake. Were Octave only to suspect this,
+she&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Might treat you to a bowl of poison&mdash;after the stage fashion of the
+good old days," he laughed. "Maude, do you think I have been blind? I
+understand."</p>
+
+<p>"You will be silent, then?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," he answered, after a pause. "For the present."</p>
+
+<p>They had taken the way through the fields&mdash;it was the nearest way&mdash;and
+George spoke of his affairs as he walked; more confidentially than he
+had ever in his life entered upon them to any one. That he had been in a
+manner sacrificed to the interests of Treve, there was no denying, and
+though he did not allude to it in so many words, it was impossible to
+ignore the fact entirely to Maude. One more term at Oxford, and Treve
+was to enter officially upon his occupation of Trevlyn Farm. The lease
+would be transferred to his name; he would be its sole master; and
+George must look out for another home: but until then he was bound to
+the farm&mdash;and bound most unprofitably. To the young, however, all things
+wear a hopeful <i>couleur-de-rose</i>. What would some of us give for it in
+after-life!</p>
+
+<p>"By the spring I may be settled in a farm of my own, Maude. I have been
+giving a longing eye to the Upland. Its lease will be out at Lady-day,
+and Carteret leaves it. An unwise man in my opinion to leave a certain
+competency here for uncertain riches in the New World. But that is his
+business; not mine. I should like the Upland Farm."</p>
+
+<p>Maude's breath was nearly taken away. It was the largest farm on the
+Trevlyn estate. "You surely would not risk that, George! What an
+undertaking!"</p>
+
+<p>"Especially with Chattaway for a landlord, you would say. I shall take
+it if I can get it. The worst is, I should have to borrow money, and
+borrowed money weighs one down like an incubus. Witness what it did for
+my father. But I daresay we should manage to get along."</p>
+
+<p>Maude opened her lips, wishing to say something she did not quite well
+know how to say. "I&mdash;I fear&mdash;&mdash;" and there she stopped timidly.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you fear, Maude?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know how I should ever manage in a farm," she said, feeling
+she ought to speak out her doubts, but blushing vividly under cover
+of the dark night at having to do it. "I have been brought up
+so&mdash;so&mdash;uselessly&mdash;as regards domestic duties."</p>
+
+<p>"Maude, if I thought I should marry a wife only to make her work, I
+should not marry at all. We will manage better than that. You have been
+brought up a lady; and, in truth, I should not care for my wife to be
+anything else. Mrs. Ryle has never done anything of the sort, you know,
+thanks to good Nora. And there are more Noras in the world. Shall I tell
+you a favourite scheme of mine, one that has been in my mind for some
+time now?"</p>
+
+<p>She turned&mdash;waiting to hear it.</p>
+
+<p>"To give a home to Rupert. You and I. We could contrive to make him
+happier than he is now."</p>
+
+<p>Maude's heart leaped at the vision. "Oh, George! if it could only be!
+How good you are! Rupert&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Hush, Maude!" For he had become conscious of the proximity of others
+walking and talking like themselves. Two voices were contending with
+each other; or, if not contending, speaking as if their opinions did not
+precisely coincide. To George's intense astonishment he recognised one
+of the voices as Mr. Chattaway's, and uttered a suppressed exclamation.</p>
+
+<p>"It cannot be," Maude whispered. "He is miles and miles away. Even
+allowing that he had returned, what should bring him here?&mdash;he would
+have gone direct to the Hold."</p>
+
+<p>But George was positive that it was Chattaway. The voices were advancing
+down the path on the other side the hedge, and would probably come
+through the gate, right in front of George and Maude. To meet Chattaway
+was not particularly coveted by either of them, even at the most
+convenient times, and just now it was not convenient at all. George drew
+Maude under one of the great elm trees, which overshadowed the hedge on
+this side.</p>
+
+<p>"Just for a moment, Maude, until they have passed. I am certain it is
+Chattaway!"</p>
+
+<p>The gate swung open and someone came through it. Only one. Sure enough
+it was Chattaway. He strode onwards, muttering to himself, a brown paper
+parcel in his hand. But ere he had gone many steps, he halted, turned,
+came creeping back and stood peering over the gate at the man who was
+walking away. A little movement to the right, and Mr. Chattaway might
+have seen George and Maude standing there.</p>
+
+<p>But he did not. He was grinding his teeth and working his disengaged
+hand, altogether too much occupied with the receding man, to pay
+attention to what might be around himself. Finally, his display of anger
+somewhat cooling down, he turned again and continued his way towards
+Trevlyn Hold.</p>
+
+<p>"Who can it be that he is so angry with?" whispered Maude.</p>
+
+<p>"Hush!" cautioned George. "His ears are sharp."</p>
+
+<p>Very still they remained until he was at a safe distance, and then they
+went through the gate. Almost beyond their view a tall man was pacing
+slowly along in the direction of Trevlyn Farm, whirling an umbrella
+round and round in his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Just as I thought," was George's comment to himself.</p>
+
+<p>"Who is it, George?"</p>
+
+<p>"That stranger who is visiting at the parsonage."</p>
+
+<p>"He seemed to be quarrelling with Mr. Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know. Their voices were loud. I wonder if Rupert has found his
+way to the Farm?"</p>
+
+<p>"Octave forbade him to go."</p>
+
+<p>"Were I Ru I should break through <i>her</i> trammels at any rate, and show
+myself a man," remarked George. "He may have done so to-night."</p>
+
+<p>They turned in at the garden-gate, and reached the porch. All signs of
+the stranger had disappeared, and sounds of merriment came from within.</p>
+
+<p>George turned Maude's face to his. "You will not forget, Maude?"</p>
+
+<p>"Forget what?" she shyly answered.</p>
+
+<p>"That from this night we begin a new life. Henceforth we belong to each
+other. Maude! you will not forget!" he feverishly continued.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall not forget," she softly whispered.</p>
+
+<p>And, possibly by way of reminder, Mr. George, under cover of the silent
+porch, took his first lover's kiss from her lips.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2>
+
+<h3>AT DOCTORS' COMMONS</h3>
+
+
+<p>But where had Mr. Chattaway been all that time? And how came he to be
+seen by George Ryle and Maude hovering about his own ground at night,
+when he was supposed to be miles away? The explanation can be given.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway found, as many of us do, that lets and hindrances intrude
+themselves into the most simple plans. When he took the sudden
+resolution that morning to run up to London from Barmester after Flood
+the lawyer, he never supposed that his journey would be prolonged.
+Nothing more easy, as it appeared, than to catch Flood at his hotel, get
+a quarter-of-an-hour's conversation with him, take his advice, and
+return home again. But a check intervened.</p>
+
+<p>Upon arriving at the London terminus, Mr. Chattaway got into a cab, and
+drove to the hotel ordinarily used by Mr. Flood. After a dispute with
+the cab-driver he entered the hotel, and asked to see Mr. Flood.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Flood?" repeated the waiter. "There's no gentleman of that name
+staying here, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"I mean Mr. Flood of Barmester," irritably rejoined the master of
+Trevlyn Hold. "Perhaps you don't know him personally. He came up an hour
+or two ago."</p>
+
+<p>The waiter, a fresh one, was not acquainted with Mr. Flood. He went to
+another waiter, and the latter came forward. But the man's information
+was correct; Mr. Flood of Barmester had not arrived.</p>
+
+<p>"He travelled by the eight-o'clock train," persisted Mr. Chattaway, as
+if he found the denial difficult to reconcile with that fact. "He must
+be in London."</p>
+
+<p>"All I can say, sir, is that he has not come here," returned the
+head-waiter.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway was considerably put out. In his impatience, the delay
+seemed most irritating. He left the hotel, and bent his steps towards
+Essex Street, where Mr. Flood's agents had their offices. Chattaway went
+in hoping that the first object his eyes rested upon would be his
+confidential adviser.</p>
+
+<p>His eyes did not receive that satisfaction. Some clerks were in the
+room, also one or two persons who seemed to be clients; but there was no
+Mr. Flood, and the clerks could give no information concerning him. One
+of the firm, a Mr. Newby, appeared and shook hands with Mr. Chattaway,
+whom he had once or twice seen.</p>
+
+<p>"Flood? Yes. We had a note from Flood yesterday morning, telling us to
+get some accounts prepared, as he should be in town in the course of a
+day or two. He has not come yet; up to-morrow perhaps."</p>
+
+<p>"But he has come," reiterated Chattaway. "I have followed him up to
+town, and want to see him upon a matter of importance."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, has he?" carelessly replied Mr. Newby, the indifferent manner
+appearing almost like an insult to Chattaway's impatient frame of mind.
+"He'll be in later, then."</p>
+
+<p>"He is sure to come here?" inquired Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"Quite sure. We shall have a good bit of business to transact with him
+this time."</p>
+
+<p>"Then, if you'll allow me, I'll wait here. I must see him, and I want to
+get back to Barbrook as soon as possible."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway was told that he was welcome to wait, if it pleased him to
+do so. A chair was handed him in the entrance room, where the clerks
+were writing, and he took his seat in it: sat there until he was nearly
+driven wild. The room was in a continual bustle; persons constantly
+coming in and going out. For the first hour or so, to watch the swaying
+door afforded Chattaway a sort of relief, for in every fresh visitor he
+expected to see Mr. Flood. But this grew tedious at last, and the
+ever-recurring disappointment told upon his temper.</p>
+
+<p>Evening came, the hour for closing the office, and the country lawyer
+had not made his appearance. "It is most extraordinary," remarked
+Chattaway to Mr. Newby.</p>
+
+<p>"He has been about some other business, and couldn't get to us to-day, I
+suppose," rejoined Mr. Newby, in the most provokingly matter-of-fact
+tone. "If he has come up for a week, as you say, he must have some
+important affair on hand; in which case it may be a day or two before he
+finds his way here."</p>
+
+<p>A most unsatisfactory conclusion for Mr. Chattaway; but that gentleman
+was obliged to put up with it, in the absence of any more tangible hope.
+He went back to the hotel, and there found that Mr. Flood was still
+amongst the non-arrivals.</p>
+
+<p>It was bad enough, that day and night's disappointment and suspense; but
+when it came to be extended over more days and nights, you may judge how
+it was increased. Mr. Flood did not make his appearance. Chattaway, in a
+state of fume, divided his time between the hotel, Essex Street, and
+Euston Square station, in the wild hope of coming upon the lawyer. All
+to no purpose. He telegraphed to Barmester, and received for reply that
+Mr. Flood was in London, and so he redoubled his hauntings, and worked
+himself into a fever.</p>
+
+<p>It appeared absolutely necessary that he should consult Flood before
+venturing back to home quarters, where he should inevitably meet that
+dangerous enemy. But how see Flood?&mdash;where look for him? Barmester
+telegraphed up that Mr. Flood was in London; the agents persisted in
+asserting that they expected him hourly, at their office, and yet
+Chattaway could not come upon him. He visited all the courts open in the
+long vacation; prowled about the Temple, Lincoln's Inn, and other places
+where lawyers congregated, in the delusive hope that he might by good
+luck meet with him. All in vain; and Chattaway had been very nearly a
+week from home, when his hopes were at length realised. There were other
+lawyers whom he might have consulted&mdash;Mr. Newby himself, for
+instance&mdash;but he shrank from laying bare his dread to a stranger.</p>
+
+<p>He was walking slowly up Ludgate Hill, his hands in his pockets, his
+brow knit, altogether in a disconsolate manner, some vague intention in
+his mind of taking a peep inside Doctors' Commons, when, by the merest
+accident, he happened to turn his eyes on the string of vehicles passing
+up and down. In that same moment a cab, extricating itself from the long
+line, whirled past him in the direction of Fleet Street; and its
+occupant was Flood the lawyer.</p>
+
+<p>All his listlessness was gone. Chattaway threw himself into the midst of
+the traffic, and tore after the cab. Sober pedestrians thought he had
+gone mad: but bent on their own business, had only time for a wondering
+glance. Chattaway bore on his way, and succeeded in keeping the cab in
+view. It soon stopped at an hotel, and by the time the lawyer had
+alighted, a portmanteau in hand, and was paying the driver, Chattaway
+was up with him, breathless, excited, grasping his arm as one demented.</p>
+
+<p>"What on earth's the matter?" exclaimed Mr. Flood, in astonishment. "You
+here, Chattaway? Do you want me?"</p>
+
+<p>"I followed you to town by the next train a week ago; I have been
+looking for you ever since," gasped Chattaway, unable to regain his
+breath between racing and excitement. "Where have you been hiding
+yourself? Your agents have been expecting you all this time."</p>
+
+<p>"I dare say they have. I wrote to say I should be with them in a day or
+two. I thought I should be, then."</p>
+
+<p>"But where have you been?"</p>
+
+<p>"Over in France. A client wrote to me from Paris&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"France!" interrupted Mr. Chattaway in his anger, feeling the
+announcement as a special and personal grievance. What right had his
+legal adviser to be cooling his heels in France, when he was searching
+for him in London?</p>
+
+<p>"I meant to return without delay," continued Mr. Flood; "but when I
+reached my client, I found the affair on which he wanted me was
+complicated, and I had to wait the dilatoriness of French lawyers."</p>
+
+<p>"You have been lingering over the seductions of Paris; nothing else,"
+growled Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>The lawyer laughed pleasantly. "No, on my honour. I did go about to some
+of the sights whilst waiting for my business; but they did not detain me
+by one unnecessary hour. What is it that you want with me?"</p>
+
+<p>They entered the hotel, and Chattaway took him into a private room,
+unwashed and unrefreshed as the traveller was, and laid the case before
+him: the sudden appearance of the mysterious stranger at Barbrook, his
+open avowal that he had come to depose Chattaway from the Hold in favour
+of Rupert Trevlyn.</p>
+
+<p>"But who is he?" inquired Mr. Flood.</p>
+
+<p>"A lawyer," was the reply&mdash;for you must remember that Chattaway could
+only speak in accordance with the supposed facts; facts that had been
+exaggerated to him. "I know nothing more about the man, except that he
+avows he has come to Barbrook to deprive me of my property, and take up
+the cause of Rupert Trevlyn. But he can't do it, you know, Flood. The
+Hold is mine, and must remain mine."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course he can't," acquiesced the lawyer. "Why need you put yourself
+out about it?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway was wiping the moisture from his face. He sat looking at
+the lawyer.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't deny that it has troubled me," he said: "that it is troubling
+me still. What would my family do&mdash;my children&mdash;if we lost the Hold?"</p>
+
+<p>It was the lawyer's turn to look. He could not make out Chattaway. No
+power on earth, so far as his belief and knowledge went, could wrest
+Trevlyn Hold from its present master. Why, then, these fears? Were they
+born of nervousness? But Chattaway was not a nervous man.</p>
+
+<p>"Trevlyn Hold is as much yours as this hat"&mdash;touching the one at his
+elbow&mdash;"is mine," he resumed. "It came to you by legal bequest; you have
+enjoyed it these twenty years, and to deprive you of it is beyond human
+power. Unless," he added, after a pause, "unless indeed&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Unless what?" eagerly interrupted Chattaway, his heart thumping against
+his side.</p>
+
+<p>"Unless&mdash;it was only an idea that crossed me&mdash;there should prove to be a
+flaw in Squire Trevlyn's will. But that's not probable."</p>
+
+<p>"It's impossible," gasped Chattaway, his fears taking a new and
+startling turn. "It's impossible that there could have been anything
+defective in the will, Flood."</p>
+
+<p>"It's next to impossible," acquiesced the lawyer; "though such mistakes
+have been known. Who drew it up?"</p>
+
+<p>"The Squire's solicitors, Peterby and Jones."</p>
+
+<p>"Then it's all right, you may be sure. Peterby and Jones are not men
+likely to insert errors in their deeds. I should not trouble myself
+about the matter."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway sat in silence, revolving many things. How he wished he
+<i>could</i> take the advice and not "trouble himself" about the matter!
+"What made you think there might be a flaw in the will?" he presently
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Nay, I did not think there was: only that it was just possible there
+might be. When a case is offered to me for consideration, it is my habit
+to glance at it in all its bearings. You tell me a stranger has made his
+appearance at Barbrook, avowing an intention of displacing you from
+Trevlyn Hold."</p>
+
+<p>"Well?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, then, whilst you were speaking, I began to grasp that case, turn
+it about in my mind; and I see that there is no possible way by which
+you can be displaced, so far as I know and believe. You enjoy it in
+accordance with Squire Trevlyn's will, and so long as that will remains
+in force, you are safe&mdash;provided the will has no flaw in it."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway sat biting his lips. Never for a moment in the wildest
+flight of fear had he glanced at the possibility of a flaw in the will.
+The idea now suggested by Mr. Flood was perhaps the most alarming that
+could have been presented to him.</p>
+
+<p>"If there were any flaw in the will," he began&mdash;and the very mention of
+the cruel words almost rent his heart in two&mdash;"could you detect it, by
+reading the will over?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," replied Flood.</p>
+
+<p>"Then let us go at once, and set this awful uncertainty at rest."</p>
+
+<p>He had risen from his seat so eagerly and hastily that Mr. Flood
+scarcely understood.</p>
+
+<p>"Go where?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"To Doctors' Commons. We can see it there by paying a shilling."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh&mdash;ay, I'll go if you like. But I must have a wash first, and some
+refreshment. I have had neither since leaving Paris, and the
+crossing&mdash;ugh! I don't want to think of it."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway controlled his impatience in the best manner he was able.
+At length they were fairly on their way&mdash;to the very spot for which
+Chattaway had been making once before that morning.</p>
+
+<p>Difficulties surmounted, Flood was soon deep in the perusal of Squire
+Trevlyn's will. He read it over slowly and thoughtfully, eyes and head
+bent, all his attention absorbed in the task. At its conclusion, he
+turned and looked full at Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"You are perfectly safe," he said. "The will is right and legal in every
+point."</p>
+
+<p>The relief brought a glow into Chattaway's dusky face. "I thought it
+strange if it could be wrong," he cried, drawing a deep breath.</p>
+
+<p>"It is only the codicil, you see, which affects you," continued Mr.
+Flood, pointing to the deed before them. "The will appears to have been
+made years before the codicil, and leaves the estate to the eldest son
+Rupert, and failing him, to Joseph. Rupert died; Joe died; and then the
+codicil was drawn up, willing it to you. You come in, you see, <i>after</i>
+the two sons; contingent on their death; no mention whatever is made of
+the child Rupert."</p>
+
+<p>Chattaway coughed. He did not deem it necessary to repeat that Squire
+Trevlyn had never known the child Rupert was in existence: but Flood
+was, no doubt, aware of that fact.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a good thing for you Joe Trevlyn died before his father,"
+carelessly remarked Mr. Flood, as he glanced again at the will.</p>
+
+<p>"Why?" cried Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"Because, had he not, this codicil would be valueless. It is&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"But he was dead, and it gives the estate to me," fiercely interrupted
+Chattaway, going into a white heat again.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes. But it was a good thing, I say, for you. Had Joe been alive,
+he would have come in, in spite of this codicil; and he could have
+bequeathed the property to his boy after him."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you suppose I don't know all that?" retorted Chattaway. "It was only
+in consequence of Joe Trevlyn's death that the estate was willed to me.
+Had he lived, I never should have had it, or expected it."</p>
+
+<p>The peevish tone betrayed how sore was the subject altogether, and Mr.
+Flood smiled. "You need not be snappy over it, Chattaway," he said;
+"there's no cause for that. And now you may go back to the Hold in
+peace, without having your sleep disturbed by dreams of ejection. And if
+that unknown friend of yours should happen to mention in your hearing
+his kind intention of deposing you for Rupert Trevlyn, tell him, with my
+compliments, to come up here and read Squire Trevlyn's will."</p>
+
+<p>Partially reassured, Mr. Chattaway lost little time in taking his
+departure from London. He quitted it that same afternoon, and arrived at
+Barbrook just after dark, whence he started for the Hold.</p>
+
+<p>But he did not proceed to it as most other travellers in his rank of
+life would have done. He did not call a fly and drive to it; he
+preferred to go on foot. He did not even walk openly along the broad
+highway, but turned into by-paths, where he might be pretty sure of not
+meeting a soul, and stole cautiously along, peering on all sides, as if
+looking out for something he either longed or dreaded to see.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXIX</h2>
+
+<h3>A WELCOME HOME</h3>
+
+
+<p>Was there a fatality upon the master of Trevlyn Hold?&mdash;was he never to
+be at rest?&mdash;could not even one little respite be allowed him in this,
+the first hour of his return home? It seemed not. He was turning into
+the first of those fields you have so often heard of, next to the one
+which had been the scene of poor Mr. Ryle's unhappy ending, when a tall
+man suddenly pounced upon him, came to a standstill, and spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"I believe I am not mistaken in supposing that I address Mr. Chattaway?"</p>
+
+<p>In his panic Mr. Chattaway nearly dropped a small parcel he held. An
+utter fear had taken possession of him: for in the speaker he recognised
+his dreaded enemy; the man who had proclaimed that he was about to work
+evil against him. It seemed like a terrible omen, meeting him the first
+moment of his arrival.</p>
+
+<p>"I have been wishing to see you for some days past," continued the
+stranger, "and have been to the Hold three or four times to ask if you
+had come home. I was a friend of the late Joe Trevlyn's. I am a friend
+now of his son."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," stammered Chattaway&mdash;for in his fear he did not follow his first
+impulse, to meet the words with a torrent of anger. "May I ask what you
+want with me?"</p>
+
+<p>"I wish to converse upon the subject of Rupert Trevlyn. I would
+endeavour to impress upon you the grievous wrong inflicted upon him in
+keeping him out of the property of his forefathers. I do not think you
+can ever have reflected upon the matter, Mr. Chattaway, or have seen it
+in its true light&mdash;otherwise you would surely never deprive him of what
+is so indisputably his."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway, his fears taking deeper and deeper possession of him, had
+turned into the field, in the hope of getting rid of the stranger. In
+any direction, no matter what, so that he could shake him off&mdash;for what
+to answer he did not know. It must be conciliation or defiance; but in
+that hurried moment he could not decide which would be the better
+policy. The stranger also turned and kept up with him.</p>
+
+<p>"My name is Daw, Mr. Chattaway. You may possibly remember it, for I had
+the honour of a little correspondence with you about the time of Mrs.
+Trevlyn's death. It was I who transmitted to you the account of the
+birth of the boy Rupert. I am now informed that that fact was not
+suffered to reach the ears of Squire Trevlyn."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish to hear nothing about it, sir; I desire to hold no communication
+with you at all," cried Mr. Chattaway, bearing on his way.</p>
+
+<p>"But it may be better for you that you should do so, and I ask it in
+courtesy," persisted Mr. Daw, striding beside him. "Appoint your own
+time and place, and I will wait upon you. These things are always better
+settled amicably than the reverse: litigation generally brings a host of
+evil in its train; and Rupert Trevlyn has no money to risk. Not but that
+his costs could come out of the estate," equably concluded Mr. Daw.</p>
+
+<p>The master of Trevlyn Hold turned passionately, arresting his course for
+an instant. "Litigation! what do you mean? How dare you speak to me in
+this manner? Who but a footpad would accost a gentleman by night, as you
+are accosting me?"</p>
+
+<p>The discourteous thrust did not seem to put out Mr. Daw. "I only wish
+you to appoint a time to see me&mdash;at your own home, or anywhere else you
+may please," he reiterated, not losing his manners. "But I am not to be
+balked in this, Mr. Chattaway. I have taken up the cause of Rupert
+Trevlyn, and shall try to carry it through."</p>
+
+<p>A blaze of anger burst from Mr. Chattaway, words and tones alike fierce,
+and Mr. Daw turned away. "I will see you when you are in a reasonable
+mood," he said. "To-morrow I will call at the Hold, and I hope you will
+meet me more amicably than you have done to-night."</p>
+
+<p>"I will never meet you; I will never see or listen to you," retorted
+Chattaway, his anger mastering him and causing him to forget prudence.
+"If you want to know by what right I retain the Hold over the boy,
+Rupert Trevlyn, go and consult Squire Trevlyn's will. That is the only
+answer you will get from me."</p>
+
+<p>Panting with the anger he could not restrain, Mr. Chattaway stood and
+watched the calm, retreating steps of the stranger, and then turned his
+own in the direction of home; unconscious that he in his turn was also
+watched, and by two who were very close to him&mdash;George Ryle and Maude
+Trevlyn.</p>
+
+<p>They&mdash;as you remember&mdash;proceeded immediately to Trevlyn Farm; and words
+were spoken between them which no time could efface. Impulsive words,
+telling of the love that had long lain in the heart of each, almost as
+suppressed, quite as deep, as the great dread which had made the
+skeleton in Mr. Chattaway's.</p>
+
+<p>The hilarity of the evening had progressed, as they found on entering.
+The company were seated round the table eating the good things, and
+evidently enjoying themselves heartily. The parlour-door was crowded
+with merry faces. Mrs. Ryle and others were at one end of the large
+room; George steered Maude direct to the parlour; the group made way for
+her, and welcomed her noisily.</p>
+
+<p>But there came no smile to the face of Octave Chattaway. With a severe
+eye and stern tones, she confronted Maude, her lips drawn with anger.</p>
+
+<p>"Maude, what do you do here? How dare you come?"</p>
+
+<p>"Is there any harm in it, Octave?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, there is," said Miss Chattaway, with flashing eyes. "There is harm
+because I desired you not to come. A pretty thing for Mrs. Ryle to be
+invaded by half-a-dozen of us! Have you no sense of propriety?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not a bit of it," gaily interrupted George. "No one understands that in
+connection with a harvest-home. I have been to the Hold for Maude,
+Octave; and should have brought Edith and Emily, but they were in bed."</p>
+
+<p>"In bed!" exclaimed Caroline Ryle, in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"Having retired in mortification and tears at being excluded from the
+delights of a harvest-home," continued George, with mock gravity. "Miss
+Chattaway had preached propriety to them, and they could only bow to it.
+We must manage things better another time."</p>
+
+<p>Octave's cheeks burnt. Was George Ryle speaking in ridicule? To stand
+well with him, she would have risked much.</p>
+
+<p>"They are better at home," she quietly said: "and I have no doubt Mrs.
+Ryle thinks so. Two of us are sufficient to come. Quite sufficient, in
+my opinion," she pointedly added, turning a reproving look on Maude. "I
+am surprised you should have intruded&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Blame me, if you please, Miss Chattaway&mdash;if you deem blame due
+anywhere," interrupted George. "I have a will of my own, you know, and I
+took possession of Maude and brought her, whether she would or no."</p>
+
+<p>Octave pushed her hair back with an impatient movement. Her eyes fell
+before his; her voice, as she addressed him, turned to softness. George
+was not a vain man; but it was next to impossible to mistake these
+signs; though neither by word nor look would he give the faintest
+colouring of hope to them. If Octave could only have read the
+indifference at his heart! nay, more&mdash;his positive dislike!</p>
+
+<p>"Did you see anything of Rupert?" she asked, recalling his attention to
+herself.</p>
+
+<p>"I saw nothing of any one but Maude. I might have laid hands on all I
+found; but there was no one to meet, Maude excepted. What makes you so
+cross about it, Octave?"</p>
+
+<p>She laughed pleasantly. "I am not cross, George," lowering her tones,
+"sometimes I think you do not understand me. You seem to&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Octave's words died away. Coming in at the door was the tall,
+conspicuous form of the parsonage guest, Mr. Daw. Maude was just then
+standing apart, and he went deliberately up to her and kissed her
+forehead.</p>
+
+<p>Startled and resentful, a half-cry escaped her lips; but Mr. Daw laid
+his hand gently on her arm.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear young lady, I may almost claim that as a right. I believe I was
+the first person, except your mother, who ever pressed a kiss upon your
+little face. Do you know me?"</p>
+
+<p>Maude faltered in her answer. His appearance and salutation had
+altogether been so sudden, that she was taken by surprise; but she did
+not fail to recognise him now. Yet she hesitated to acknowledge that she
+knew him, on account of Octave Chattaway. Rupert had told her all about
+the stranger; but it might be inconvenient to say so much to an inmate
+of Trevlyn Hold.</p>
+
+<p>"It was I who christened you," he resumed. "It was I who promised your
+father to&mdash;to sometimes watch over you. But I could not keep my promise;
+circumstances worked against it. And now that I am brought for a short
+time into the same neighbourhood, I may not call to see you."</p>
+
+<p>"Why not?" exclaimed Maude, wondering much.</p>
+
+<p>"Because those who are your guardians forbid me. I went to the Hold and
+asked for you, and then became aware that in doing so I had committed
+something like a crime, or what was looked upon as one. Should Rupert,
+your brother, regain possession of his father's inheritance and his
+father's home, then, perhaps, I may be a more welcome visitor."</p>
+
+<p>The room stood in consternation. To some of them, at any rate, these
+words were new; to the ears of Octave Chattaway they were tainted with
+darkest treason. Octave had never heard anything of this bold stranger's
+business at Barbrook, and she gazed at him with defiant eyes and parted
+lips.</p>
+
+<p>"Were you alluding to the Hold, sir?" she asked in a cold, hard voice,
+which might have been taken for Chattaway's own.</p>
+
+<p>"I was. The Hold was the inheritance of Rupert Trevlyn's father: it
+ought to be that of Rupert."</p>
+
+<p>"The Hold is the inheritance of my father," haughtily spoke Octave. "Is
+he mad?" she added in a half-whisper, turning to George.</p>
+
+<p>"Hush, Octave. No."</p>
+
+<p>It was not a pleasant or even an appropriate theme to be spoken of in
+the presence of Mr. Chattaway's daughters. George Ryle, at any rate,
+thought so, and was glad that a burst of rustic merriment came
+overpoweringly at that moment from the feasting in the other room.</p>
+
+<p>Under cover of the noise, Octave approached Nora. Nora immediately drew
+an apple-pie before her, and began to cut unlimited helpings, pretending
+to be absorbed in her work. She had not the least inclination for a
+private interview with Miss Chattaway. Miss Chattaway was one, however,
+not easily repulsed.</p>
+
+<p>"Nora, tell me&mdash;who is that man, and what brings him here?"</p>
+
+<p>"What man, Miss Chattaway?" asked Nora, indifferently, unable to quite
+help herself. "Ann Canham, how many are there to be served with pie
+still?"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>That</i> man. That bold, bad man who has been speaking so strangely."</p>
+
+<p>"Does he speak strangely?" retorted Nora.</p>
+
+<p>"His voice is gruff certainly. And what a lot of plum-pudding he is
+eating! He is our young master's new waggoner, Miss Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>"Not <i>he</i>!" shrieked Octave, in her anger. "Do you suppose I concern
+myself with those stuffing clodhoppers? I speak of that tall, strange
+man amongst the guests."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, he!" said Nora, carelessly glancing over her shoulder. "Nanny,
+here's unlimited pie, if it's wanted. What about him, Miss Chattaway?"</p>
+
+<p>"I asked you who he was, and what brought him here."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you had better ask himself, Miss Chattaway. He goes about with a
+red umbrella; and that's about all I know of him."</p>
+
+<p>"Why does Mrs. Ryle invite suspicious characters to her house?"</p>
+
+<p>"Suspicious characters! Is he one? Madge Sanders, if you let Jim cram
+himself with pie in that style, you'll have something to do to get him
+home. He is staying at the parsonage, Miss Chattaway; an acquaintance of
+Mr. Freeman's. I suppose they brought him here to-night out of
+politeness; it wouldn't have been good manners to leave him at home. He
+is an old friend of the Trevlyns, I hear; has always believed, until
+now, that Master Rupert enjoyed the Hold&mdash;can't be brought to believe he
+doesn't. It is a state of things that does sound odd to a stranger, you
+know."</p>
+
+<p>Octave might rest assured she would not get the best of it with Nora.
+She turned away with a displeased gesture, and regained the
+sitting-room, where refreshments for Mrs. Ryle's friends were being
+laid. But somehow the sunshine of the evening had gone out for her. What
+had run away with it? The stranger's ominous words? No; for those she
+had nothing but contempt. It was George Ryle's unsatisfactory manner, so
+intensely calm and equable. And those calm, matter-of-fact manners, in
+one beloved, tell sorely upon the heart.</p>
+
+<p>The evening passed, and it grew time to leave. Cris Chattaway and Rupert
+had come in, and they all set off in a body to Trevlyn Hold&mdash;those who
+had to go there. George went out with them.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you coming?" asked Octave.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, part of the way."</p>
+
+<p>So Octave stood, ready to take his arm, never supposing that he would
+not offer it; and her pulses began to beat. But he turned round as if
+waiting for something, and Octave could only walk on a few steps. Soon
+she heard him coming up and turned to him. And then her heart seemed to
+stand still and bound on again with fiery speed, and a flush of anger
+dyed her brow. He was escorting Maude on his arm!</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, George, do not let Maude trouble you," she exclaimed. "Cris will
+take care of her. Cris, come and relieve George of Maude Trevlyn."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, Octave; it's no trouble," replied George, his tone one of
+indifference. "As I brought Maude out, it is only fair that I should
+take her home&mdash;the task naturally falls to me, you see."</p>
+
+<p>Octave did not see it at all, and resentfully pursued her way; something
+very like hatred for Maude taking possession of her breast. It is not
+pleasant to write of these things; but I know of few histories in which
+they can be quite avoided, if the whole truth is adhered to, for many
+and evil are the passions assailing the undisciplined human heart.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-bye!" George whispered to Maude as he left her. "This night begins
+a new era in our lives."</p>
+
+<p>The Hold was busy when they entered. Mrs. Chattaway and her sister had
+just returned from Barmester, and were greeted by Mr. Chattaway. They
+had expected him for so many days past, and been disappointed, that his
+appearance now brought surprise with it. He answered the questions
+evasively put to him by Mrs. Chattaway and Diana, as to where he had
+been. Business had kept him, was all they could obtain from him.</p>
+
+<p>"I cannot think what you have done for clothes, James," said Mrs.
+Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"I have done very well," he retorted. "Bought what I wanted."</p>
+
+<p>But it was not upon the score of his wardrobe, or what had kept him so
+long, that Miss Diana Trevlyn required Chattaway. She had been waiting
+since the first morning of his absence, for information on a certain
+point, and now demanded it in a peremptory manner.</p>
+
+<p>"Chattaway," she began, when the rest had dispersed, and she waited with
+him, "I have had a strange communication made to me. In that past
+time&mdash;carry your thoughts back to it, if you please&mdash;when there came to
+this house the news of Rupert Trevlyn's birth and his mother's death&mdash;do
+you remember it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I do," said Mr. Chattaway. "What should hinder me?"</p>
+
+<p>"The tidings were conveyed by letter. Two letters came, the second a day
+after the first."</p>
+
+<p>"Well?" returned Chattaway, believing the theme, in some shape or other,
+was to haunt him for ever. "What of the letters?"</p>
+
+<p>"In that last letter, which must have been a heavy one, there was a
+communication enclosed for me."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't remember it," said Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"It was no doubt there. A document written at the request of Mrs.
+Trevlyn; appointing me guardian to the two children. What did you do
+with it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I?" returned Chattaway, speaking with apparent surprise, and looking
+full at Miss Diana with an unmoved face. "I did nothing with it. I don't
+know anything about it."</p>
+
+<p>"You must have taken it out and suppressed it," observed Miss Diana.</p>
+
+<p>"I never saw it or heard of it," obstinately persisted Chattaway. "Why
+should I? You might have been their appointed guardian, and welcome, for
+me: you have chiefly acted as guardian. I tell you, Diana, I neither saw
+nor heard of it: you need not look so suspiciously at me."</p>
+
+<p>"Is he telling the truth?" thought Miss Diana, and her keen eyes were
+not lifted from Mr. Chattaway's face. But that gentleman was remarkably
+inscrutable, and never appeared more so than at this moment.</p>
+
+<p>"If he did <i>not</i> do anything with it," continued Miss Diana in her train
+of thought, "what could have become of the thing? Where can it be?"</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX"></a>CHAPTER XXX</h2>
+
+<h3>MR. CHATTAWAY COMES TO GRIEF</h3>
+
+
+<p>A few days passed on, and strange rumours began to be rife in the
+neighbourhood. Various rumours, vague at the best; but all tending to
+one point&mdash;the true heir was coming to his own again. They penetrated
+even to the ears of Mr. Chattaway, throwing that gentleman into a state
+not to be described. Some said a later will of the Squire's had been
+found; some said a will of Joe Trevlyn's; some that it was now
+discovered the estate could only descend in the direct male line, and
+consequently it had been Rupert's all along. Chattaway was in a raging
+fever; it preyed upon him, and turned his days to darkness. He seemed to
+look upon Rupert with the most intense suspicion, as if it were from him
+alone&mdash;his plotting and working&mdash;that the evil would come. He feared to
+trust him out of his sight; to leave him alone for a single instant.
+When he went to Blackstone he took Rupert with him; he hovered about all
+day, keeping Rupert in view, and brought him back in the evening.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Diana had not yet bought the pony she spoke of, and Chattaway
+either mounted him on an old horse that was good for little now, and
+rode by his side, or drove him over. Rupert was intensely puzzled at
+this new consideration, and could not make it out.</p>
+
+<p>One morning Mr. Chattaway so far sacrificed his own ease as to
+contemplate walking over: the horses were wanted that day. "Very well,"
+Rupert answered, in his half-careless, half-obedient fashion, "it was
+all the same to him." And so they started. But as they were going down
+the avenue a gentleman was discerned coming up it. Mr. Chattaway knit
+his brows and peered at him; his sight for distance was not quite as
+good as it had been.</p>
+
+<p>"Who's this?" asked he of Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>"It is Mr. Peterby," replied Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>"Peterby!" ejaculated Chattaway. "What Peterby?"</p>
+
+<p>"Peterby of Barmester, the lawyer," explained Rupert, wondering that
+there was any need to ask.</p>
+
+<p>For only one gentleman of the name of Peterby was known to Trevlyn Hold,
+and Mr. Chattaway was, so to say, familiar with him. He had been
+solicitor to Squire Trevlyn, and though Mr. Chattaway had not continued
+him in that post when he succeeded to the estate, preferring to employ
+Mr. Flood, he yet knew him well. The ejaculation had not escaped him so
+much in doubt as to the man, as to what he could want with him. But Mr.
+Peterby was solicitor for some of his tenants, and he supposed it was
+business touching the renewal of leases.</p>
+
+<p>They met. Mr. Peterby was an active little man of more than sixty years,
+with a healthy colour and the remains of auburn hair. He had walked all
+the way from Barmester, and enjoyed the walk as much as a schoolboy.
+"Good morning, Mr. Chattaway," he said, holding out his hand, "I am
+fortunate in meeting you. I came early, to catch you before you went to
+Blackstone. Can you give me half-an-hour's interview?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway thought he should not like to give the interview. He was
+in a bad temper, in no mood for business, and he really wanted to be at
+Blackstone. Besides all that he had no love for Mr. Peterby. "I am
+pressed for time this morning," he replied, "am much later than I ought
+to have been. Is it anything particular you want me for?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, very particular," was the answer, delivered in uncompromising
+tones. "I must request you to accord me the interview, Mr. Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway turned back to the house with his visitor, and marshalled
+him into the drawing-room. Rupert remained at the hall-door.</p>
+
+<p>"I have come upon a curious errand, Mr. Chattaway, and no doubt an
+unwelcome one; though, from what I hear, it may not be altogether
+unexpected," began the lawyer, as they took seats opposite each other.
+"A question has been arising of late, whether Rupert Trevlyn may not
+possess some right to the Hold. I am here to demand if you will give it
+up to him."</p>
+
+<p>Was the world coming to an end? Chattaway thought it must be. He sat and
+stared at the speaker as if he were in a dream. Was <i>every one</i> turning
+against him? He rubbed his handkerchief over his hot face, and
+imperiously demanded of Mr. Peterby what on earth he meant, and where he
+could have picked up his insolence.</p>
+
+<p>"I am not about to wrest the estate from you, Mr. Chattaway, or to
+threaten to do so," was the answer. "You need not fear that. But&mdash;you
+must be aware that you have for the last twenty years enjoyed a position
+that ought in strict justice to belong to the grandson of Squire
+Trevlyn."</p>
+
+<p>"I am not aware of anything of the sort," groaned Chattaway. "What do
+you mean by 'wresting the estate'?"</p>
+
+<p>"Softly, my good sir; there's no need to put yourself out with me. I am
+come on a straightforward, peaceable errand; not one of war. A friendly
+errand, if you will allow me so to express myself."</p>
+
+<p>The master of the Hold could only marvel at the words. A friendly
+errand! requiring him to give up his possessions!</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Peterby proceeded to explain; and as there is no time to give the
+interview in detail, it shall be condensed. It appeared that the
+Reverend Mr. Daw had in his zeal sought out the solicitors of the late
+Squire Trevlyn. He had succeeded in impressing upon them a sense of the
+great injustice dealt out to Rupert; had avowed his intention of
+endeavouring, by any means in his power, to remedy this injustice; but
+at this point he had been somewhat obscure, and had, in fact, caused the
+lawyers to imagine that this power was real and tangible. Could there
+be, they asked themselves afterwards, any late will of Squire Trevlyn's
+which would supersede the old one? It was the only hinge on which the
+matter could turn; and Mr. Daw's mysterious hints certainly encouraged
+the thought. But Mr. Daw had said, "Perhaps Chattaway will give up
+amicably, if you urge it upon him," and Mr. Peterby had now come for
+that purpose.</p>
+
+<p>"What you say is utterly absurd," urged Chattaway; the long explanation,
+which Mr. Peterby had given openly and candidly, having afforded him
+time to recover somewhat of his fears and his temper. "I can take upon
+myself most positively to assert that no will or codicil was made, or
+attempted to be made, by Squire Trevlyn, subsequently to the one on
+which I inherit. Your firm drew that up."</p>
+
+<p>"I know we did," replied the lawyer. "But that does not prove that none
+was drawn up after it."</p>
+
+<p>"But I tell you there was not any. I am certain upon the point."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, it was the only conclusion we could come to," rejoined Mr.
+Peterby. "This Mr. Daw must have some grounds for urging the thing on;
+he wouldn't be so stupid as to do so if he had none."</p>
+
+<p>"He has none," said Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, but I am sure he has. But for being convinced of this, do you
+suppose I should have come to you now, asking you to give up an estate
+which you have so long enjoyed? I assure you I came as much in your
+interests as in his. If there is anything in existence by which you can
+be disturbed, it is only fair you should know of it."</p>
+
+<p>Fair! In Mr. Chattaway's frame of mind, he could scarcely tell what was
+fair and what was not fair. The interview was prolonged, but it brought
+forth no satisfactory conclusion. Perhaps none could be expected. Mr.
+Peterby took his departure, impressed with the conviction that the
+present owner of Trevlyn Hold would retain possession to the end,
+contesting it inch by inch; and as he walked down the avenue he asked
+himself whether he had not been induced to enter upon a foolish errand,
+in coming to suggest that it should be voluntarily resigned.</p>
+
+<p>The master of Trevlyn Hold watched him away, and then opened the
+breakfast-room door. "Where's Rupert?" he inquired, not seeing Rupert
+there.</p>
+
+<p>"Rupert?" answered Mrs. Chattaway, looking up. "I think he has gone to
+Blackstone. He wished me good morning; and I saw him walk down the
+avenue."</p>
+
+<p>All things seemed to be against Mr. Chattaway. Here was Rupert out of
+sight now; it was hard to say where he might have gone, or what mischief
+he might be up to. As he turned from the door, Cris Chattaway's
+horse&mdash;the unlucky new one which had damaged the dog-cart&mdash;was brought
+up, and Cris appeared, prepared to mount him.</p>
+
+<p>"Where are you going, Cris?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nowhere in particular this morning," answered Cris. "I have a nasty
+headache, and a canter may take it away."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I'll ride your horse to Blackstone," returned Mr. Chattaway.
+"Alter the stirrups, Sam."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, where's your own horse?" cried Cris, with a blank look.</p>
+
+<p>"In the stable," shortly returned Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>He mounted the horse and rode away, his many cares perplexing him. A
+hideous wall separating him from all good fortune seemed to be rising up
+round about him; and the catastrophe he so dreaded&mdash;a contest between
+himself and Rupert Trevlyn for possession of the Hold&mdash;appeared to be
+drawing within the range of probability. In the gloomy prospect before
+him, only one loophole of escape presented itself to his
+imagination&mdash;the death of Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>But you must not think worse of Mr. Chattaway than he deserves. He did
+not deliberately contemplate such a calamity; or set himself to hope for
+it. The imagination is rebelliously evil, often uncontrollable; and the
+thought rose up unbidden and unwished for. Mr. Chattaway could not help
+it; could not at first drive it away again; the somewhat dangerous
+argument, "Were Rupert dead I should be safe, and it is the only means
+by which I can feel assured of safety," did linger with him longer than
+was expedient; but he never for one moment contemplated the possibility
+as likely to take place; most certainly it never occurred to him that he
+could be accessory to it. Though not a good man, especially in the way
+of temper and covetousness, Chattaway would have started with horror had
+he supposed he could ever be so bad as that.</p>
+
+<p>He rode swiftly along in the autumn morning, urging his horse to a hard
+gallop. Was his haste merely caused by his anxiety to be at Blackstone,
+or that he would escape from his own thoughts? He rode directly to the
+coal mine, up to the mouth of the pit. Two or three men, looking like
+blackamoors, were standing about.</p>
+
+<p>"Why are you not down at work?" angrily demanded Mr. Chattaway. "What do
+you do idling here!"</p>
+
+<p>They had been waiting for Pennet, the men replied. But word had just
+been brought that Pennet was not coming.</p>
+
+<p>"Where is he?" asked Mr. Chattaway. "Skulking again?"</p>
+
+<p>"I dunna think he be skulking, sir," was the reply of one. "He's bad
+a-bed."</p>
+
+<p>An angry frown darkened Mr. Chattaway's countenance. Truth to say, this
+man, Pennet, though a valuable workman from his great strength, his
+perseverance when in the pit, did occasionally absent himself from it,
+to the wrath of his overseers; and Mr. Chattaway knew that illness might
+be only an excuse for taking a holiday in the drinking shop.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll soon see that," he cried. "Bring that horse back. If Pennet is
+skulking, I'll discharge him this very day."</p>
+
+<p>He had despatched his horse round to the stable; but now mounted him
+again, and was riding away, after ordering the men down to their work,
+when he stopped to ask a question respecting one of his overseers.</p>
+
+<p>"Is Bean down the shaft?"</p>
+
+<p>No; the men thought not. They believed he was round at the office.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway turned his horse's head towards the office, and galloped
+off, reining in at the door. The clerk Ford and Rupert Trevlyn both came
+out.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, so you have got here!" ungraciously grunted Mr. Chattaway to
+Rupert. "I want Bean."</p>
+
+<p>"Bean's in the pit, sir," replied Ford.</p>
+
+<p>"The man told me he was not in the pit," returned Mr. Chattaway. "They
+said he was here."</p>
+
+<p>"Then they knew nothing about it," observed Ford. "Bean has been down
+the pit all the morning."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway turned to Rupert. "Go down the shaft and tell Bean to come
+up. I want him."</p>
+
+<p>He rode off as he spoke, and Rupert departed for the pit. The man Pennet
+lived in a hovel, one of many, about a mile and a half away. Chattaway,
+between haste and temper, was in a heat when he arrived. A
+masculine-looking woman with tangled hair came out to salute him.</p>
+
+<p>"Where's Pennet?"</p>
+
+<p>"He's right bad, master."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway's lip curled. "Bad from drink?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," replied the woman, defiantly; for the owner of the mine was held
+in no favour, and this woman was of too independent a nature to conceal
+her sentiments when provoked. "Bad from rheumatiz."</p>
+
+<p>He got off his horse, rudely pushed her aside, and went in. Pennet was
+dressed, but was lying on a wooden settle, as the benches were called in
+that district.</p>
+
+<p>"I be too bad for the pit to-day, sir; I be, indeed. This, rheumatiz
+have been a-flying about me for weeks; and now it's settled in my loins,
+and I can't stir."</p>
+
+<p>"Let's see you walk," responded Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>Pennet got off the bench with difficulty, and walked across the brick
+floor slowly, his arms behind him.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought so," said Chattaway. "I knew you were skulking. You are as
+well able to walk as I am. Be off to the pit."</p>
+
+<p>The man lifted his face. "If you was in the pain I be, master, you
+wouldn't say so. I mote drag myself down to 'im, but I couldn't work."</p>
+
+<p>"We will see about that," said Mr. Chattaway, in his determined manner.
+"You work to-day, my man, or you never work again for me: so take your
+choice."</p>
+
+<p>There was a pause. Pennet looked irresolute, the woman bitter. Perhaps
+what these people hated most of all in Chattaway was his personal
+interference and petty tyranny. What he was doing now&mdash;looking up the
+hands&mdash;was the work of an overseer; not of the owner.</p>
+
+<p>"Come," he authoritatively repeated. "I shall see you start before me.
+We are too busy for half of you to be basking in idleness. Are you
+going? Work to-day, or leave the pit, just which you please."</p>
+
+<p>The man glanced at his children&mdash;a ragged little group, cowering in
+silence in a corner, awed by the presence of the master; took his cap
+without a word, and limped slowly away, though apparently scarcely able
+to drag one foot before the other.</p>
+
+<p>"Where be your bowels of compassion?" cried the woman, in her audacity,
+placing herself before Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"I know where my whip will be if you don't get out of my way and change
+your tone," was his answer. "What do you mean, woman, by speaking so to
+me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Them as have no compassion for their men, but treads 'em down like
+beasts o' burden, may come, perhaps, to be treaded down themselves," was
+the woman's retort, as she withdrew out of Mr. Chattaway's vicinity.</p>
+
+<p>He made no answer, except that he lifted his whip significantly. As he
+rode off, he saw Pennet pursuing his way to the mine by the nearest
+path&mdash;one inaccessible to horses. When he was near the man, he lifted
+his whip as significantly at him as he had done at the wife, and then
+urged his horse to a gallop. It was a busy day, both in the office and
+in the mine; and Chattaway, taking as you perceive a somewhat practical
+part in his affairs, had wished to be present some two hours before.
+Consequently, these delays had not improved his temper.</p>
+
+<p>About midway between the Pennets' hut and the mine were the decaying
+walls of what had once been a shed. Part of the wall was still standing,
+about four feet high. It lay right in Mr. Chattaway's way: one single
+minute given to turning either to the right or left, and he would have
+avoided it. But he saw no reason for avoiding it: he had leaped it
+often: it was not likely that he would in his hurry turn from it now.</p>
+
+<p>He urged his horse to it, and the animal was in the very act of taking
+the leap, when a sudden obstacle interposed. A beggar, who had been
+quietly ensconced on the other side, basking in the sun and eating his
+dinner, heard the movement, and not wishing to be run over started up to
+escape the danger. The movement frightened the horse, causing him to
+strike the wall instead of clearing it: he fell, and his master with
+him.</p>
+
+<p>The horse was not hurt, and soon found its legs. If the animal had
+misbehaved himself a few days previously, under the hands of Mr. Cris,
+he appeared determined to redeem his character now. He stood patient and
+silent, turning his head to Mr. Chattaway, as if waiting for him to get
+up.</p>
+
+<p>Which that gentleman strove to do. But he found he could not. Something
+was the matter with one of his ankles, and he was in a towering passion.
+The offending beggar scampered off, frightened at his unbounded rage and
+threats of vengeance.</p>
+
+<p>The intemperate words did him no good; you may be very sure of that;
+they never do any one good. For more than an hour Mr. Chattaway lay
+there, his horse patiently standing by him, and no one coming to his
+aid. It would have seemed that he lay three times as long, but that he
+had his watch, and could consult it as often as he pleased. It was an
+unfrequented by-road, leading nowhere in particular, except to the
+hovels; and Chattaway had therefore full benefit of the solitude.</p>
+
+<p>The first person to come up was no other than Mrs. Pennet&mdash;Meg Pennet,
+as she was familiarly called. Her tall, gaunt form came striding along,
+and her large eyes grew larger as she saw who was lying there.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, master! what's it your turn a'ready! Have you been there ever sin'?
+Can't you get up?"</p>
+
+<p>"Find assistance," he cried in curt tones of authority. "Mount my horse
+and you'll go the quicker."</p>
+
+<p>"Na, na; I mount na horse. The brute might be flinging me, as it seems
+he ha' flinged you. Women and horses be best apart. Shall I help you
+up?"</p>
+
+<p>His haughty, ill-conditioned spirit would have prompted him to say "No";
+his helplessness and impatience obliged him to say "Yes." The powerful
+woman took him by the shoulders and raised him. So far, so good. But his
+ankle gave him intense pain; was, in short, almost useless; and a cry
+escaped him. In his agony, he flung her rudely from him with his elbow.
+"Go and get assistance, woman."</p>
+
+<p>"Be that'n the thanks I get? Ah! it be coming home to ye, be it! Ye sent
+my man off to work in pain; he couldn't hardly crawl: how d'you like
+pain yerself? If the leg's broke, Squire, you'll ha' time to lie and
+think on't."</p>
+
+<p>She strode on, Chattaway sending an ugly word after her, and soon came
+in sight of the mine&mdash;which appeared to be in an unusual bustle. A crowd
+had collected round the mouth of the pit, and people were running to it
+from all quarters. Loud talking, gesticulating, confusion prevailed:
+what could be causing it?</p>
+
+<p>"Happen they be looking for him as is lying yonder!" quoth she. But
+scarcely were the words out of her mouth when a group of women running,
+filling the air with cries and lamentations, came in sight. Her coarse
+face grew white and her heart turned sick as the fatal truth burst upon
+her conviction. There had been an accident in the mine!</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI"></a>CHAPTER XXXI</h2>
+
+<h3>DOWN THE SHAFT</h3>
+
+
+<p>It was only too true. Whether from fire-damp, the rushing in of water,
+or some other mischief to which coal-pits are liable, was as yet
+scarcely known: nothing was certain except the terrible calamity itself.
+Of the men who had gone down the mine that morning, some were dead,
+others dying. Meg Pennet echoed the shrieks of the women as she flew
+forward and pushed through the crowd collected round the mouth of the
+pit. The same confusion prevailed there that prevails in similar scenes
+of distress and disaster elsewhere.</p>
+
+<p>"And Mr. Chattaway himself was down the shaft, you say? He went down
+this morning? My friends, it is altogether an awful calamity."</p>
+
+<p>The woman pushed in yet further and confronted the speaker, her white
+face drawn with anguish. He was the minister of a dissenting chapel, a
+Mr. Lloyd, and well known to the miners, some of whom went regularly to
+hear him preach.</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir; Chattaway was na down the shaft; he is na one of the dead,
+more luck to him," she said, her words brought out brokenly, her bosom
+heaving. "Chattaway have this morning made me a widda and my young
+children fatherless. My man was stiff with rheumatiz, he was&mdash;no more
+fit to go to work nor I be to go down that shaft and carry up his poor
+murdered body. I knowed his errand as soon as I heerd his horse's feet.
+He made him get off the settle, and druv him out to work as he'd drive a
+dog; and when I told him of his hardness, he lifted up his whip agin me.
+Yes! Pennet's down with the rest of 'em; sent by him: and I be a lone
+widda."</p>
+
+<p>"Her says right," interposed a voice. "It wasn't the master as went down
+the shaft; it were young Rupert Trevlyn."</p>
+
+<p>"Rupert Trevlyn," uttered the minister in startled tones. "I hope he is
+not down."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, he's down, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"But where can Mr. Chattaway be?" exclaimed Ford, the clerk, who made
+one of the throng. "Do you know, Meg Pennet?"</p>
+
+<p>"He's where ill-luck have overtook him for his cruelty to us," answered
+Meg Pennet, flinging her hair from her sorrowful face. "I telled him the
+ill he forced on others might happen come home to him&mdash;that he might
+soon be lying in his pain, for aught he knew. And he went right off to
+the ill then and there&mdash;and he's a-lying in it."</p>
+
+<p>The sympathies of the hearers were certainly not given to Mr. Chattaway.
+He was no favourite with his dependants at Blackstone, any more than
+with his neighbours around the Hold. But the woman's words were strange,
+and they pressed for an explanation.</p>
+
+<p>"He be lying under the wall o' the old ruin," was her reply. "I come
+upon him there, and I guess his brave horse had flung him. When I'd ha'
+lifted him, he cried out with pain&mdash;as my poor man was a-crying in the
+night with his back&mdash;and I saw him lay hisself down again after I'd left
+him. And Chattaway he swore at me for my help&mdash;and you can go to him and
+be swore at too. Happen his leg be broke."</p>
+
+<p>The minister turned away to seek Mr. Chattaway. Unless completely
+disabled, it was necessary that he should be at the scene; no one of any
+particular authority was there to give orders; and the inevitable
+confusion attendant on such a calamity was thereby increased. Ford, the
+clerk, sped after Mr. Lloyd, and one or two stragglers followed him; but
+the rest were chained to the more exciting scene of the disaster.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway had raised himself when they reached him, and was holding
+on by the wall. He broke into a storm of grumbling, especially at Ford,
+and asked why he could not have found him out sooner. As if Ford could
+divine what had befallen him! Mr. Lloyd stooped and touched the ankle,
+which was a good deal swollen. It was sprained, Chattaway said; but he
+thought he could manage to get on his horse with their assistance. He
+abused the beggar unmercifully, and expressed his intention of calling a
+meeting of his brother-magistrates, that measures might be taken to rid
+the country of tramps and razor-grinders; and he finished up in the heat
+of argument by calling the accident which had befallen him a cursed
+misfortune.</p>
+
+<p>"Hush!" quietly interrupted Mr. Lloyd. "I should call it a blessing."</p>
+
+<p>Chattaway stared at him and deemed that he was carrying religion rather
+too far. As he looked, it struck him that both his rescuers wore very
+sad countenances; Ford in particular was excessively crestfallen. A
+sarcastic smile crossed his face.</p>
+
+<p>"A blessing! to have my ankle sprained, and waste my morning in this
+fashion? Thank you, Mr. Lloyd! You gentlemen who have nothing better to
+do with your time than preach it away may think little of such an
+interruption, but to men of business it is not agreeable. A blessing!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I believe it to have come to you as such&mdash;sent direct from God.
+Were you not going into the pit this morning?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I was," impatiently answered Mr. Chattaway. "I should be there
+now, but for this&mdash;blessing! I wish you would not&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Just so," interrupted Mr. Lloyd, calmly. "And this fall has no doubt
+saved your life. There has been an accident in the pit, and the poor
+fellows who went down a few hours ago full of health and life, are about
+to be carried up dead."</p>
+
+<p>The words brought Mr. Chattaway to his senses. "An accident!" he
+repeated. "What accident?&mdash;of what nature?" turning hastily to Ford.</p>
+
+<p>"Fire-damp, I believe, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Who was down?" was the next eager question.</p>
+
+<p>"The usual men, sir. And&mdash;and&mdash;Mr. Rupert Trevlyn."</p>
+
+<p>Chattaway with some difficulty repressed a shout. Idea after idea
+crowded upon his brain, one chasing another. Foremost amongst them rose
+distinctly the one thought of the morning from which he had striven to
+escape and could not: "Nothing can bring me security save the death of
+Rupert." Had the half-encouraged wish brought its realisation.</p>
+
+<p>"Rupert Trevlyn down the shaft!" he repeated, the moisture breaking over
+his face. "I know he went down; I sent him; but&mdash;but&mdash;did he not come up
+again?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," gloomily replied Ford, who really liked Rupert; "he is down now.
+There's no hope that he'll come up alive."</p>
+
+<p>Whether consternation deadened his physical suffering, or his ankle,
+from the rest it had had, was really less painful, Mr. Chattaway
+contrived to get pretty comfortably to the scene of action. The crowd
+had increased; people were coming up from far and near. Medical men had
+arrived, ready to give their services in case any sufferers were brought
+up alive. One of them examined Mr. Chattaway's ankle, and bound it up;
+the hurt, he said, was only a temporary one.</p>
+
+<p>He, the owner of that pit, sat down on the side of a hand-barrow, for he
+could not stand, and issued his orders in sharp, concise tones; and the
+bodies began to be brought to the surface. One of the first to appear
+was that of the unfortunate man, Bean, to whom he had sent the message
+by Rupert. Chattaway looked on, half-dazed. Would Rupert's body be the
+next? He could not realise the fact that he, from whom he had dreaded he
+knew not what, should soon be laid at his feet, cold and lifeless. Was
+he glad or sorry? Did grief for Rupert predominate? Or did the intense
+relief the death must bring overpower any warmer feeling? Perhaps Mr.
+Chattaway could not yet tell.</p>
+
+<p>They were being brought up pretty quickly now, and were laid on the
+ground beside him, to be recognised by the unhappy relatives. The men to
+whom Chattaway had spoken that morning were amongst them: he had ordered
+them down as he rode off, and one and all had obeyed the mandate. Did he
+regret their fate? Did he compassionate the weeping wives and children?
+In a degree, perhaps, yes; but not as most men would have done.</p>
+
+<p>A tall form interposed between him and the mouth of the pit&mdash;that of Meg
+Pennet. She had been watching for a body which had not yet been brought
+up. Suddenly she turned to Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"You have killed him, master; you have made my children orphans. But for
+your coming in your hardness to drive him out when he warn't fit to go,
+we should ha' had somebody still to work for us. Happen you may have
+heered of a curse? I'd like to give ye one now."</p>
+
+<p>"Somebody take this woman away," cried Chattaway. "She'll be better at
+home."</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, take her away," retorted Meg; "don't let her plaints be heered,
+lest folk might say they be just. Send her home to her fatherless
+children, and send her dead man after her to lie among 'em till his
+burial. Happen, when you come to your death, Mr. Chattaway, you'll have
+us all afore your mind, to comfort you!"</p>
+
+<p>She stopped. Another ill-fated man was being drawn up, and she turned to
+wait for it, her hands clenched, her face white and haggard in its
+intensity. The burden came, and was laid near the rest; but it was not
+the one for which she waited. Another woman darted forward; <i>she</i> knew
+it too well; and she clasped her hands round it, and sobbed in agony.
+Meg Pennet turned resolutely to the mouth of the pit again, watching
+still.</p>
+
+<p>"Be they all dead? How many was down?"</p>
+
+<p>The voice came from behind Meg Pennet, and she screamed and started.
+There stood her husband. How had he escaped from the pit?</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't been a-nigh it," he answered. "I couldn't get down to the
+pit, try as I would, without a rest, and I halted at Green's. Who's dead
+among 'em, and who's alive?"</p>
+
+<p>"God be thanked!" exclaimed Meg Pennet, with a sob of emotion.</p>
+
+<p>All Mr. Chattaway's faculties were strained on the mouth of that yawning
+pit, and what it might yield up. As body after body was brought to the
+surface&mdash;seven of them were up now&mdash;he cast his anxious looks upon it,
+expecting to recognise the fair face of Rupert Trevlyn. Expecting and
+yet dreading&mdash;don't think him worse than he was; with the frightened,
+half-shrinking dread ordinarily experienced by women, or by men of
+nervous and timid temperament. So utterly did this suspense absorb him
+as to make him almost oblivious to the painful features of the scene,
+the wails of woe and bursts of lamentation.</p>
+
+<p>Happening for a minute to turn his eyes from the pit, he saw in the
+distance a pony-carriage approaching, which looked uncommonly like that
+of Miss Diana Trevlyn. Instinct told him that the two figures seated in
+it were his wife and Miss Diana, although as yet he could not see
+whether they were women or men. It was slowly winding down a distant
+hill, and would have to ascend another and come over the flat stretch of
+country ere it could reach them. He beckoned his clerk Ford to him in a
+sort of terror.</p>
+
+<p>"Run, Ford! Make all speed. I think I see Miss Trevlyn's pony-carriage
+yonder with the ladies in it. Don't let them approach. Tell them to turn
+aside, to the office, and I'll come to them. Anywhere; anywhere but
+here."</p>
+
+<p>Ford ran with all his might. He met the carriage just at the top of the
+nearest hill, and unceremoniously laid his hand upon the pony, giving
+Mr. Chattaway's message as well as his breathless state would
+allow&mdash;begging they would turn aside and not approach the pit.</p>
+
+<p>It was evident that they were strangers as yet to the news, but the
+crowd and excitement round the pit had been causing them apprehension
+and a foreshadowing of the truth. Miss Diana, paying, as it appeared,
+little heed to the message, extended her whip in the direction of the
+scene.</p>
+
+<p>"I see what it is, Ford. Don't beat about the bush. How many were down
+the shaft?"</p>
+
+<p>"A great many, ma'am," was Ford's reply. "The pit was in full work
+to-day."</p>
+
+<p>"Was it fire-damp?"</p>
+
+<p>"I believe so."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Chattaway's safe, you say? He was not down? I suppose he was not
+likely to be down?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," answered Ford. But the thought of Mr. Chattaway's accident from
+another source, which he did not know whether to disclose or not, and
+the consciousness of a worse calamity, caused him to speak hesitatingly.
+Miss Diana was quick of apprehension, and awoke it.</p>
+
+<p>"Was any one down the shaft besides the men? Was&mdash;where's Rupert
+Trevlyn?"</p>
+
+<p>Ford looked as if he dared not answer.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway caught the alarm. She half rose in the low carriage, and
+stretched out her hands in a pleading attitude; as though Ford held the
+issues of life and death.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, speak, speak! He was not down the shaft! Surely Rupert was not down
+the shaft!"</p>
+
+<p>"He had gone down but a short time before," said the young man in a
+whisper&mdash;for where was the use of denying the fact, now that they had
+guessed it? "We shall all mourn him, ma'am. I had almost as soon it had
+been me."</p>
+
+<p>"Gone down the shaft but a short time before!" mechanically repeated
+Miss Diana in her horror. But she was interrupted by a cry from Ford.
+Mrs. Chattaway had fallen back on her seat in a fainting-fit.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII"></a>CHAPTER XXXII</h2>
+
+<h3>A SHOCK FOR MR. CHATTAWAY</h3>
+
+
+<p>The brightness of the day was turning to gloom, as if the heavens
+sympathised with the melancholy scene upon earth. Quietly pushing his
+way through the confusion, moans and lamentations, the mass of human
+beings surrounding the mouth of the pit, was a tall individual whose
+acquaintance you have made before. It was Mr. Daw with his red umbrella:
+the latter an unvarying appendage, whether the sun was shining or the
+clouds dropped rain. He went straight up to certain pale faces lying
+there in a row, and glanced at them one by one.</p>
+
+<p>"They are saying that Rupert Trevlyn is amongst the sufferers," he
+observed to those nearest to him.</p>
+
+<p>"So he is, master."</p>
+
+<p>"I do not see him here."</p>
+
+<p>"No; he ain't up yet."</p>
+
+<p>"Is there no hope that he may be brought to the surface alive?"</p>
+
+<p>They shook their heads. "Not now. He have been down too long. There's
+not a chance for him."</p>
+
+<p>Something like emotion passed over Mr. Daw's features.</p>
+
+<p>"How came <i>he</i> to be down the pit?" he asked. "Was it his business to go
+down?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not in ord'nary. No: 'tworn't once in six months as there was aught to
+take him there."</p>
+
+<p>"Then what took him there to-day?" was Mr. Daw's next question.</p>
+
+<p>"The master sent him," replied the man, pointing towards Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>Apparently Mr. Daw had not observed Chattaway before, and he turned and
+walked towards him. Vexation at the loss of Rupert&mdash;it may surely be
+called vexation rather than grief, since he had not known Rupert
+sufficiently long to <i>love</i> him&mdash;a loss so sudden and terrible, was
+rendering Mr. Daw unjust. Chattaway's worst enemy could not fairly blame
+him with reference to the fate of Rupert: but Mr. Daw was in a hasty
+mood.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it true that you sent Rupert Trevlyn down the shaft only a few
+minutes before this calamity occurred?"</p>
+
+<p>The address and the speaker equally took Mr. Chattaway by surprise. His
+attention was riveted on something then being raised from the shaft, and
+he had not noticed the stranger. Hastily turning his head, he saw, first
+the conspicuous red umbrella, next its obnoxious and dangerous owner.</p>
+
+<p>Ah, but no longer dangerous now. That terrible fear was over for ever.
+With the first glimpse, Mr. Chattaway's face had turned to a white heat,
+from the force of habit; but the next moment's reflection reassured him,
+and he retained his equanimity.</p>
+
+<p>"What did you say, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>"Was there no one else, Mr. Chattaway, to serve your turn, but you must
+send down your wronged and unhappy nephew?" reiterated Mr. Daw, in tones
+that penetrated to every ear. "I have heard it said, since I came into
+this neighbourhood, that Mr. Chattaway would be glad, if by some lucky
+chance Squire Trevlyn's grandson and legal heir could be put out of his
+path. It seems he has succeeded in accomplishing it."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway's face grew dark and frowning. "Take care what you say,
+sir, or you shall answer for your words. I ask you what you mean."</p>
+
+<p>"And I ask you&mdash;Was there no one you could despatch this morning into
+that dangerous mine, then on the very eve of exploding, but that
+helpless boy, Rupert, who might not resist your authority, and so went
+to his death? Was there no one, I ask?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Daw's zeal was decidedly outrunning his discretion. It is the
+province of exaggeration to destroy its cause, and the unfounded
+charge&mdash;which, temperately put, might have inflicted its sting&mdash;fell
+comparatively harmless on the ear of Mr. Chattaway. He could only stare
+and wonder&mdash;as if a proposition had been put to him in some foreign
+language.</p>
+
+<p>"Why&mdash;bless my heart!&mdash;are you mad?" he presently exclaimed. His tone
+was sufficiently equable. "Could <i>I</i> tell the mine was going to explode?
+Had but the faintest warning reached me, do you suppose I should not
+have emptied the pit of all human souls? I am as sorry for Rupert as you
+can be: but the blame is not mine. It is not any one's&mdash;unless it be his
+own. There was plenty of time to leave the pit after he had delivered
+the message I sent him down with, had he chosen to do so. But I suppose
+he stopped gossiping with the men. This land belongs to me, sir. Unless
+you have any business here, I must request you to leave it."</p>
+
+<p>There was so much truth in what Mr. Chattaway urged that the stranger
+began to be a little ashamed of his heat. "Nevertheless, it is a thorn
+removed from your path," he cried aloud. "And you would have removed him
+from it yourself long ago, could you have done it without sin."</p>
+
+<p>A half murmur of assent arose from the crowd. The stranger had hit the
+exact facts. Could the master of Trevlyn Hold have removed Rupert
+Trevlyn from his path without "sin," without danger or trouble, it had
+been done long ago. In short, were it as easy to put some obnoxious
+individual out of life, as it is to stow away an offending piece of
+furniture, Mr. Chattaway had most assuredly not waited until now to rid
+himself of Rupert: and those listeners knew it.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway turned his frowning face on the murmurers; but before more
+could be said by any one, the circle was penetrated by some new-comers,
+one of them in distress of mind that could not be hidden or controlled.
+Mrs. Chattaway having recovered from her apparent fainting-fit&mdash;though
+in reality she had not lost consciousness, and her closed eyes and
+intense pallor had led to the mistake&mdash;the pony-carriage had been urged
+with all speed to the scene of action. In vain the clerk Ford reiterated
+Mr. Chattaway's protest against their approach. Miss Diana Trevlyn was
+not one to attend against her will to the protests of Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"I would have saved his life with my own; I would have gone down in his
+place had it been possible," wailed poor Mrs. Chattaway, wringing her
+hands, and wholly forgetting the reticence usually imparted by the
+presence of her husband.</p>
+
+<p><i>Her</i> grief was genuine; and the crowd sympathised with her almost as it
+did with those despairing women, weeping in their new widowhood. But the
+neighbours had not now to learn that Madame Chattaway loved her dead
+brother's children, if her husband did not.</p>
+
+<p>"For Heaven's sake don't make a scene here!" growled Mr. Chattaway, in
+impotent anger. "Have you no sense of the fitness of things?"</p>
+
+<p>But his wife, however meekly submissive at other times, was not in a
+state for submission then. Unable to define the sensations that
+oppressed her, she only felt that all was over; the unhappy boy had gone
+from them for ever; the cruel wrongs inflicted on him throughout life
+were now irreparable.</p>
+
+<p>"He has gone with all our unkindness on his head," she wailed, partially
+unconscious, no doubt, of what she said; "gone to meet his father, my
+poor lost brother, bearing to him the tale of his wrongs! Oh, if&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Be silent, will you?" shrieked Chattaway. "Are you going mad?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway covered her face with her hands, and leaned against the
+barrow on which her husband was sitting. Miss Diana Trevlyn, who had
+been gathering various particulars from the crowd, who had said a word
+of comfort&mdash;though it was little comfort they could listen to yet&mdash;to
+the miserable women, came up at this moment to Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"It was a very unhappy thing that you should have sent Rupert into the
+pit this morning," she said, her face wearing its most haughty
+expression.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," he answered. "But I could not foresee what was about to happen.
+It&mdash;it might have been Cris. Had Cris been in the way at the time, and
+not Rupert, I should have despatched him."</p>
+
+<p>"Chattaway, I would give all my fortune to have him back again. I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>A strange commotion on the outskirts of the crowd attracted their
+attention, and Miss Diana brought her sentence to an abrupt conclusion,
+and turned sharply towards it, for the shouts bore the sound of triumph;
+and a few voices were half breaking into hurrahs. Strange sounds, in
+that awful death-scene!</p>
+
+<p>Who was this advancing towards them? The crowd had parted to give him
+place, and he came leaping to the centre, all haste and excitement&mdash;a
+fair, gentlemanly young man, his silken hair uncovered, his cheeks
+hectic with excitement. Mrs. Chattaway cried aloud with a joyful cry,
+and her husband's eyes and mouth slowly opened as though he saw a
+spectre.</p>
+
+<p>It was Rupert Trevlyn. Rupert, it appeared, had not been down the pit at
+all. Sufficiently obedient to Mr. Chattaway, but not obedient to the
+letter, Rupert, when he reached the pit's mouth, had seen the last of
+those men descending whom Chattaway had imperiously ordered down, and
+sent the message to Bean by him. His chief inducement was that he had
+just met an acquaintance who had come to tell him of a pony for
+sale&mdash;for Rupert, commissioned by Miss Trevlyn, had been making
+inquiries for one. It required little pressing to induce Rupert to
+abandon the office and Blackstone for some hours, and start off to see
+this pony. And that was where he had been. Mrs. Chattaway clasped her
+arms around his neck, in utter defiance of her husband's prejudices,
+unremembered then, and sobbed forth her emotion.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Aunt Edith, you never thought I was one of them, did you? Bless
+you! I am never down the pit. I should not be likely to fall into such a
+calamity as that. Poor fellows! I must go and ascertain who was there."</p>
+
+<p>The crowd, finding Rupert safe, broke into a cheer, and a voice
+shouted&mdash;could it have been Mr. Daw's?&mdash;"Long live the heir! long live
+young Squire Trevlyn!" and the words were taken up and echoed in the
+air.</p>
+
+<p>And Mr. Chattaway? If you want me to describe his emotions to you, I
+cannot do it. They were of a mixed nature. We must not go so far as to
+say he <i>regretted</i> to see Rupert back in life; felt no satisfaction at
+his escape; but with his reappearance all the old fears returned. They
+returned tenfold from the very fact of his short immunity from them, and
+the audacious words of the crowd turned his face livid. In conjunction
+with the yet more audacious words previously spoken by the stranger and
+the demonstrative behaviour of his wife, they were as a sudden blow to
+Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>Those shouters saw his falling countenance, his changed look, and drew
+their own conclusions. "Ah! he'd put away the young heir if he could,"
+they whispered one to another. "But he haven't got shut of him this
+time."</p>
+
+<p>No; Mr. Chattaway certainly had not.</p>
+
+<p>"God has been merciful to your nephew," interposed the peaceful voice of
+Mr. Lloyd, drawing near. "He has been pleased to save him, though He has
+seen fit to take others. We know not why it should be&mdash;some struck down,
+others spared. His ways are not as our ways."</p>
+
+<p>They lay there, a long line of them, and the minister pointed with his
+finger as he spoke. Most of the faces looked calm and peaceful. Oh! were
+they ready? Had they lived to make God their friend? Trusting in Christ
+their Saviour? My friends, this sudden call comes to others as well as
+to miners: it behoves us all to be ready for it.</p>
+
+<p>As the day drew on, the excitement did not lessen; and Mr. Chattaway
+almost forgot the hurt, which he would have made a great deal of at
+another time. But the ankle was considerably swollen and inflamed,
+giving him pain still, and it caused him to quit the scene for home
+earlier than he might otherwise have done.</p>
+
+<p>He left Cris to superintend. Cris was not incompetent for the task; but
+he might have displayed a little more sympathy with the sufferers
+without compromising his dignity. Cris had arrived in much bustle and
+excitement at the scene of action: putting eager questions about Rupert,
+as to how he came to be down the shaft, and whether he was really dead.
+The report that he was dead had reached Cris Chattaway's ears at some
+miles' distance, as it had reached those of many others.</p>
+
+<p>It reached Maude Trevlyn's. The servants at the Hold heard it, and
+foolishly went to her. "There had been an explosion in the pit, and
+Master Rupert was amongst the killed." Maude was as one stricken with
+horror. She did not faint or cry; putting on a shawl and bonnet
+mechanically, as she would for any ordinary walk, she left the house on
+her way to Blackstone. "Don't go, Maude; it will only be more painful to
+you," Octave had said in kindly tones, as she saw her departing; but
+Maude, as though she heard not, bore swiftly on with a dry eye and
+burning brow. Turning from the fields into the road, she met George
+Ryle.</p>
+
+<p>"Where are you going, Maude?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, George, don't stop me! I had no one but him."</p>
+
+<p>But George did stop her. He saw her countenance of despair, and
+suspected what was wrong. Putting his arm gently round her, he held her
+to him. Maude supposed he had heard the tidings, and was unwilling that
+she should approach the terrible scene.</p>
+
+<p>"My darling, be comforted. You have been hearing that Rupert shared the
+calamity, but the report was a false one. Rupert is alive and well. It
+is the happy truth, Maude."</p>
+
+<p>Overcome by emotion, Maude leaned upon him and sobbed out more blissful
+tears than perhaps she had ever shed. Mr. George would have had no
+objection to apply himself to the task of soothing her until the shades
+of night fell; but scarcely a minute had they so stood when an
+interruption, in the shape of some advancing vehicle, was heard. These
+envious interruptions will occur at the most unwelcome moments, as
+perhaps your own experience may bear witness to.</p>
+
+<p>It proved to be the pony-carriage of Miss Diana Trevlyn. Mr. Chattaway
+with his lame foot sat beside her, and Mrs. Chattaway occupied the
+groom's place behind. Miss Diana, who chose to drive her own pony,
+although she had a gentleman at hand, drew up in surprise at the sight
+of Maude.</p>
+
+<p>"I had heard that Rupert was killed," she explained, advancing to the
+carriage, her face still wet with tears. "But George Ryle has told me
+the truth."</p>
+
+<p>"And so you were starting for Blackstone!" returned Miss Diana. "Would
+it have done any good, child? But that is just like you, Maude. You will
+act upon impulse to the end of life."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway bent forward with her sweet smile. "Rupert is on his way
+home, Maude, alive and well. I am sorry you should have heard what you
+did."</p>
+
+<p>"It seems to me the whole parish has heard it," ejaculated Mr.
+Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>Room was made for Maude beside Mrs. Chattaway, and the pony-carriage
+went on. It had gone only a few paces when the Reverend Mr. Daw came in
+sight. Was the man gifted with ubiquity! But an hour or two, as it
+seemed, and he had been bearding Mr. Chattaway at the mine. He lifted
+his hat as he passed, and Miss Diana and Maude bowed in return. He did
+not approach the carriage, or attempt to stop it; but went on with long
+strides, as one in a hurry.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway, who had never looked towards the man, never moved a
+muscle of his face, turned his head to steal a glance when he deemed him
+at a safe distance. There stood Mr. Daw, talking to George Ryle, one
+hand stretched out in the heat of argument, the other grasping the red
+umbrella, which was turned over his shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"Treason, treason!" mentally ejaculated the master of Trevlyn Hold, as
+he raised his handkerchief to his heated face. "How I might have laughed
+at them now, if&mdash;if&mdash;if that had turned out to be true about Rupert!"</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII</h2>
+
+<h3>THE OLD TROUBLE AGAIN</h3>
+
+
+<p>From ten days to a fortnight went by, and affairs were resuming their
+ordinary routine. All outward indications of the accident were over; the
+bodies of the poor sufferers were buried; the widows, mothers, orphans,
+had begun to realise their destitution. It was not all quite done with,
+however. The inquest, adjourned from time to time, was not yet
+concluded; and popular feeling ran high against Mr. Chattaway. Certain
+precautions, having reference to the miners' safety, which ought to have
+been observed in the pit, had not been observed; hence the calamity.
+Other mine owners in the vicinity had taken these precautions long ago;
+but Mr. Chattaway, whether from inertness, or regard to expense, had not
+done so. People spoke out freely now, not only in asserting that these
+safeguards must no longer be delayed&mdash;and of that Mr. Chattaway was
+himself sensible, in a sullen sort of way&mdash;but also that it was
+incumbent on him to do something for the widows and orphans. A most
+distasteful hint to a man of so near a disposition. Miss Diana Trevlyn
+had gone down to the desolate homes and rendered them glad with her
+bounty; but to make anything like a permanent provision for them was Mr.
+Chattaway's business, and not hers. The sufferers believed Mr. Chattaway
+was not likely to make even the smallest for them; and they were not far
+wrong. His own hurt, the sprained ankle, had speedily recovered, and he
+was now well again.</p>
+
+<p>And the officious stranger, and his interference for the welfare of
+Rupert? That also was falling to the ground, and he, Mr. Daw, was now on
+the eve of departure. However well meant these efforts had been, they
+could only be impotent in the face of Squire Trevlyn's will. Mr. Daw
+himself was at length convinced of the fact, and began to doubt whether
+his zeal had not outrun his discretion. Messrs. Peterby and Jones
+angrily told him that it had, when he acknowledged, in answer to their
+imperative question, that he had had no grounds whatever to go upon,
+save goodwill to Rupert. Somewhat of this changed feeling may have
+prompted him to call at Trevlyn Hold to pay a farewell visit of
+civility; which he did, and got into hot water.</p>
+
+<p>He asked for Miss Diana Trevlyn. But Miss Diana happened to be out, and
+Octave, who was seated at the piano when he was shown in, whirled round
+upon the stool in anger. She had taken the most intense dislike to this
+officious man: possibly a shadow of the same dread which filled her
+father's heart had penetrated to hers.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Trevlyn! If Miss Trevlyn were at home, she would not receive you,"
+was her haughty salutation, as she rose from her stool. "It is
+impossible that you can be received at the Hold. Unless I am mistaken,
+sir, you had an intimation of this from Squire Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>"My visit, young lady, was not to Mr. Chattaway, but to Miss Trevlyn. So
+long as the Hold is Miss Trevlyn's residence, her friends must call
+there&mdash;although it may happen to be also that of Mr. Chattaway. I am
+sorry she is out: I wish to say a word to her before my departure. I
+leave to-night for good."</p>
+
+<p>"And a good thing too," said angry Octave, forgetting her manners. But
+this answer had not conciliated her, especially the very pointed tone
+with which he had called her father <i>Mr.</i> Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>She rang the bell loudly to recall the servant. She did not ask him to
+sit down, but stood pointing to the door; and Mr. Daw had no resource
+but to obey the movement and go out&mdash;somewhat ignominously it must be
+confessed.</p>
+
+<p>In the avenue he met Miss Trevlyn, and she was more civil than Octave
+had been. "I leave to-night," he said to her. "I go back to my residence
+abroad, never in all probability to quit it again. I should have been
+glad to serve poor Rupert by helping him to his rights&mdash;Miss Trevlyn, I
+cannot avoid calling them so&mdash;but I find the law and Mr. Chattaway
+stronger than my wishes. It was, perhaps, foolish ever to take up the
+notion, and I feel half inclined to apologise to Mr. Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>"Of all visionary notions, that was about the wildest I ever heard of,"
+said Miss Diana.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, utterly vain and useless. I see it now. I do not the less feel
+Rupert Trevlyn's position, you must understand; the injustice dealt out
+to him lies on my mind with as keen a sense as ever: but I do see how
+hopeless, and on my part how foolish, was any attempt at remedy. I
+should be willing to say this to Mr. Chattaway if I saw him, and to tell
+him I had done with it. Mr. Freeman hints that I was not justified in
+thus attempting to disturb the peace of a family, and he may be right.
+But, Miss Trevlyn, may I ask you to be kind to Rupert?"</p>
+
+<p>Miss Trevlyn threw back her head. "I have yet to learn that I am not
+kind to him, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"I mean with a tender kindness. I fancy I see in him indications of the
+disease that was so fatal to his father. It has been on my mind to
+invite him to go back home with me, and try what the warmer climate may
+do for him; but the feeling (amounting almost to a prevision) that the
+result in his case would be the same as his father's, withholds me. I
+should not like to take him out to die: neither would I charge myself
+with the task of nursing one in a fatal malady."</p>
+
+<p>"You are very good," said Miss Diana, somewhat stiffly. "Rupert will do
+well where he is, I have no doubt: and for myself, I do not anticipate
+any such illness for him. I wish you a pleasant journey, Mr. Daw."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, madam. I leave him to your kindness. It seems to me only a
+duty I owe to his dead father to mention to you that he <i>may</i> need extra
+care and kindness; and none so fitting to bestow it upon him as you&mdash;the
+guardian appointed by his mother."</p>
+
+<p>"By the way, I cannot learn anything about that document," resumed Miss
+Diana. "Mr. Chattaway says that it never came to hand."</p>
+
+<p>"Madam, it must have come to hand. If the letter in which it was
+enclosed reached Trevlyn Hold, it is a pretty good proof that the
+document also reached it. Mr. Chattaway must be mistaken."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Diana did not see how, unless he was wilfully, falsely denying the
+fact. "A thought struck me the other day, which I wish to mention to
+you," she said aloud, quitting the subject for a different one. "The
+graves of my brother and his wife&mdash;are they kept in order?"</p>
+
+<p>"Quite so," he answered. "I see to that."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you must allow me to repay to you any expense you may have been
+put to. I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Not so," he interrupted. "There is no expense&mdash;or none to speak of. The
+ground was purchased for ever, <i>à perpétuité</i>, as we call it over there,
+and the shrubs planted on the site require little or no care in the
+keeping. Now and then I do a half-day's work there myself, for the love
+of my lost friends. Should you ever travel so far&mdash;and I should be happy
+to welcome you&mdash;you will find their last resting-place well attended to,
+Miss Trevlyn."</p>
+
+<p>"I thank you much," she said in heartier tones, as she held out her
+hand. "And I regret now that circumstances have prevented my extending
+hospitality to you."</p>
+
+<p>And so they parted amicably. And the great ogre Mr. Chattaway had feared
+would eat him up, had subsided into a very harmless man indeed. Miss
+Diana went on to the Hold, deciding that her respected brother-in-law
+was a booby for having been so easily frightened into terror.</p>
+
+<p>As Mr. Daw passed the lodge, old Canham was airing himself at the door,
+Ann being out at work. The gentleman stopped.</p>
+
+<p>"You were not here when I passed just now," he said. "I looked in at the
+window, and opened the door, but could see no one."</p>
+
+<p>"I was in the back part, maybe, sir. When Ann's absent, I has to get my
+own meals, and wash up my cups and things."</p>
+
+<p>"I must say farewell to you. I leave to-night."</p>
+
+<p>"Leave the place! What, for good, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," replied Mr. Daw. "In a week's time from this, I hope to be
+comfortably settled in my own home, some hundreds of miles away."</p>
+
+<p>"And Master Rupert? and the Hold?" returned old Canham, the corners of
+his mouth considerably drawn down. "Is he to be rei'stated in it?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Daw shook his head. "I did all I could, and it did not succeed: I
+can do no more. My will is good enough&mdash;as I think I have proved; but I
+have no power."</p>
+
+<p>"Then it's all over again, sir&mdash;dropped through, as may be said?"</p>
+
+<p>"It has."</p>
+
+<p>Old Canham leaned heavily on his crutch, lost in thought. "It won't drop
+for ever, sir," he presently raised his head to say. "There have been
+something within me a long, long while, whispering that Master Rupert's
+as safe to come to his own before he dies, as that I be to go into my
+grave. When this stir took place, following on your arrival here, I
+thought the time had come then. It seems it hadn't; but come it <i>will</i>,
+as sure as I be saying it&mdash;as sure as he's the true heir of Squire
+Trevlyn."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope it will," was the warm answer. "You will none of you rejoice
+more truly than I. My friend Freeman has promised to write occasionally
+to me, and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Daw was interrupted. Riding his shaggy pony in at the lodge gate&mdash;a
+strong, brisk little Welsh animal bought a week ago by Miss Diana, was
+Rupert himself. Upon how slender a thread do the great events of life
+turn! The reflection is so trite that it seems the most unnecessary
+reiteration to record it; but there are times when it is brought to the
+mind with an intensity that is positively startling.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway, by the merest accident&mdash;as it appeared to him&mdash;had
+forgotten a letter that morning when he went to Blackstone. He had
+written it before leaving home, intending to post it on his road, but
+left it on his desk. It was drawing towards the close of the afternoon
+before he remembered it. He then ordered Rupert to ride home as fast as
+possible and post it, so that it might be in time for the evening mail.
+And this Rupert had now come to do. All very simple, you will say: but I
+can tell you that but for the return of Rupert Trevlyn at that hour, the
+most tragical part of this history would in all probability never have
+taken place.</p>
+
+<p>"The very man I was wishing to see!" exclaimed Mr. Daw, arresting Rupert
+and his pony in their career. "I feared I should have to leave without
+wishing you good-bye."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you going to-day?" asked Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>"To-night. You seem in a hurry."</p>
+
+<p>"I am in a hurry," replied Rupert, as he explained about the letter. "If
+I don't make haste, I shall lose the post."</p>
+
+<p>"But I want to talk to you a bit. Do you go back to Blackstone?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh no; not to-day."</p>
+
+<p>"Suppose you come in to the parsonage for an hour or two this evening?"
+suggested Mr. Daw. "Come to tea. I am sure they'll be glad to see you."</p>
+
+<p>"All right; I'll come," cried Rupert, cantering off.</p>
+
+<p>But a few minutes, and he cantered down again, letter in hand. Old
+Canham was alone then. Rupert looked towards him, and nodded as he went
+past. There was a receiving-house for letters at a solitary general
+shop, not far beyond Trevlyn Farm, and to this Rupert went, posted the
+letter, and returned to Trevlyn Hold. Sending his pony to the stable, he
+began to get ready for his visit to Mr. Freeman's&mdash;a most ill-fated
+visit, as it was to turn out.</p>
+
+<p>They took tea at the parsonage at six, and he had to hasten to be in
+time. He had made his scanty dinner, as usual, at Blackstone. In
+descending the stairs from his room he encountered Mrs. Chattaway in the
+lower corridor.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you going out, Rupert?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am going to the parsonage, Aunt Edith. Mr. Daw leaves this evening,
+and he asked me to go in for an hour or two."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well. Remember me kindly to Mrs. Freeman. And, Rupert&mdash;my
+dear&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"What?" he asked, arresting his hasty footsteps and turning to speak.</p>
+
+<p>"You will not be late?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no," he answered, his careless tone a contrast to her almost solemn
+one. "It's all right, Aunt Edith."</p>
+
+<p>But for that encounter with Mrs. Chattaway, the Hold would have been in
+ignorance of Rupert's movements that evening. He spent a very pleasant
+one. It happened that George Ryle called in also at the parsonage on Mr.
+Freeman, and was induced to remain. Mrs. Freeman was hospitable, and
+they sat down to a good supper, to which Rupert at least did justice.</p>
+
+<p>The up-train was due at Barbrook at ten o'clock, and George Ryle and
+Rupert accompanied Mr. Daw to it. The parson remained at home not caring
+to go out at night, unless called forth by duty. They reached the
+station five minutes before the hour, and Mr. Daw took his ticket and
+waited for the train.</p>
+
+<p>Waited a long time. Ten o'clock struck, and the minutes went on and on.
+George, who was pacing the narrow platform with him, drew Rupert aside
+and spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"Should you not get back to the Hold? Chattaway may lock you out again."</p>
+
+<p>"Let him," carelessly answered Rupert. "I shall get in somehow, I dare
+say."</p>
+
+<p>It was not George's place to control Rupert Trevlyn, and they paced the
+platform as before, talking with Mr. Daw. Half-past ten, and no train!
+The porters stood about, looking and wondering; the station-master was
+fidgety, wanting to get home to bed.</p>
+
+<p>"Will it come at all?" asked Mr. Daw, whose patience appeared exemplary.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, it'll come, safe enough," replied one of the two porters. "It never
+keeps its time, this train don't: but it's not often as late as this."</p>
+
+<p>"Why does it not keep its time?"</p>
+
+<p>"It has got to wait at Layton's Heath for a cross-train; and if that
+don't keep its time&mdash;and it never do&mdash;this one can't."</p>
+
+<p>With which satisfactory explanation, the porter made a dash into a shed,
+and appeared to be busy with what looked like a collection of dark
+lanthorns.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall begin to wish I had taken my departure this afternoon, as I
+intended, if this delay is to be much prolonged," remarked Mr. Daw.</p>
+
+<p>Even as he spoke, there were indications of the arrival of the train. At
+twenty minutes to eleven it came up, and the station-master gave some
+sharp words to the guard. The guard returned them in kind; its want of
+punctuality was not his fault. Mr. Daw took his seat, and George and
+Rupert hastened away to their respective homes. But it was nearly eleven
+o'clock and Rupert, in spite of his boasted bravery, did fear the wrath
+of Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>The household had retired to their rooms, but that gentleman was sitting
+up, looking over some accounts. The fact of Rupert's absence was known
+to him, and he experienced a grim satisfaction in reflecting that he was
+locked out for the night. It is impossible for me to explain to you why
+this should have gratified the mind of Mr. Chattaway; there are things
+in this world not easily accounted for, and you must be contented with
+the simple fact that it was so.</p>
+
+<p>But Mrs. Chattaway? She had gone to her chamber sick and trembling,
+feeling that the old trouble was about to be renewed to-night. If the
+lad was not allowed to come in, where could he go? where find a shelter?
+Could <i>she</i> let him in, was the thought that hovered in her mind. She
+would, if she could accomplish it without the knowledge of her husband.
+And that might be practicable to-night, for he was shut up and absorbed
+by those accounts of his.</p>
+
+<p>Gently opening her dressing-room window, she watched for Rupert: watched
+until her heart failed her. You know how long the time seems in this
+sort of waiting. It appeared to her that he was never coming&mdash;as it had
+recently appeared to Mr. Daw, with regard to the train. The distant
+clocks were beginning to chime eleven when he arrived. He saw his aunt;
+saw the signs she made to him, and contrived to hear and understand her
+whispered words.</p>
+
+<p>"Creep round to the back-door, and I will let you in."</p>
+
+<p>So Rupert crept softly round; walking on the grass: and Mrs. Chattaway
+crept softly down the stairs without a light, undid the bolt silently,
+and admitted Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, dear Aunt Edith. I could not well help being late. The
+train&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Not a word, not a breath!" she interrupted, in a terrified whisper.
+"Take off your boots, and go up to bed without noise."</p>
+
+<p>Rupert obeyed in silence. They stole upstairs, one after the other. Mrs.
+Chattaway turned into her room, and Rupert went on to his.</p>
+
+<p>And the master of Trevlyn Hold, bending over his account-books, knew
+nothing of the disobedience enacted towards him, but sat expecting and
+expecting to hear Rupert's ring echoing through the house. Better, far
+better that he had heard it!</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV</h2>
+
+<h3>THE NEXT MORNING</h3>
+
+
+<p>The full light of day had not come, and the autumn night's gentle frost
+lingered yet upon the grass, when the master of Trevlyn Hold rose from
+his uneasy couch. Things were troubling him; and when the mind is
+uneasy, the night's rest is apt to be disturbed.</p>
+
+<p>That business of the mine explosion was not over, neither were its
+consequences to Mr. Chattaway's pocket. The old far regarding the
+succession, which for some days had been comparatively quiet, had broken
+out again in his mind, he could not tell why or wherefore; and the
+disobedience of Rupert, not only in remaining out too late the previous
+night, but in not coming in at all, angered him beyond measure.
+Altogether, his bed had not been an easy one, and he arose with the dawn
+unrefreshed.</p>
+
+<p>It was not the fact of having slept little which got him up at that
+unusually early hour; but necessity has no law, and he was obliged to
+rise. A famous autumn fair, held at some fifteen miles' distance, and
+which he never failed to attend, was the moving power. His horse was to
+be ready for him, and he would ride there to breakfast; according to his
+annual custom. Down he went; sleepy, cross, gaping; and the first thing
+he did was to stumble over a pair of boots at the back-door.</p>
+
+<p>The slightest thing would put Mr. Chattaway out when in his present
+temper. For the matter of that, a slight thing would put him out at any
+time. What business had the servants to leave boots about in <i>his</i> way?
+They knew he would be going out by the back-door the first thing in the
+morning, on his way to the stables. Mr. Chattaway gave the things a
+kick, unbolted the door, and drew it open. Whose were they?</p>
+
+<p>Now that the light was admitted, he saw at a glance that they were a
+gentleman's boots, not a servant's. Had Cris stolen in by the back-door
+last night and left his there? No; Cris came in openly at the front,
+came in early, before Mr. Chattaway went to bed. And&mdash;now that he looked
+more closely&mdash;those boots were too small for Cris.</p>
+
+<p>They were Rupert's! Yes, undoubtedly they were Rupert's boots. What
+brought them there? Rupert could not pass through thick walls and barred
+up doors. Mr. Chattaway, completely taken back, stooped and stared at
+the boots as if they had been two curious animals.</p>
+
+<p>A faint sound interrupted him. It was the approach of the first servant
+coming down to her day's work; a brisk young girl called Bridget, who
+acted as kitchenmaid.</p>
+
+<p>"What brings these boots here?" demanded Mr. Chattaway, in the repelling
+tone he generally used to his servants.</p>
+
+<p>Bridget advanced and looked at them. "They are Mr. Rupert's, sir,"
+answered she.</p>
+
+<p>"I did not ask you whose they were: I asked what brought them here.
+These boots must have been worn yesterday."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose he left them here last night; perhaps came in at this door,"
+returned the girl, wondering what business of her master's the boots
+could be.</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps he did not," retorted Mr. Chattaway. "He did not come in at all
+last night."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh yes, he did, sir. He's in his room now."</p>
+
+<p>"Who's in his room?" rejoined Mr. Chattaway, believing the girl was
+either mistaken or telling a wilful untruth.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Rupert, sir. Wasn't it him you were asking about?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Rupert is not in his room. How dare you say so to my face?"</p>
+
+<p>"But he is," said the girl. "Leastways, unless he has gone out of it
+this morning."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you been in his room to see?" demanded Mr. Chattaway, in his
+ill-humour.</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir, I have not; it's not likely I should presume to do such a
+thing. But I saw Mr. Rupert go into his room last night; so it's only
+natural to suppose he is there this morning."</p>
+
+<p>The words confounded Mr. Chattaway. "You must have been dreaming, girl."</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir, I wasn't; I'm sure I saw him. I stepped on my gown and tore it
+as I was going up to bed last night, and I went to the housemaid's room
+to borrow a needle and cotton to mend it. I was going back across the
+passage when I saw Mr. Rupert at the end of the corridor turn into his
+chamber." So far, true. Bridget did not think it necessary to add that
+she had remained a good half-hour gossiping with the housemaid. Mr.
+Chattaway, however, might have guessed that, for he demanded the time,
+and Bridget confessed it was past eleven.</p>
+
+<p>Past eleven! The whole house, himself excepted, had gone upstairs at
+half-past ten, and Rupert was then not in. Who had admitted him?</p>
+
+<p>"Which of you servants opened the door to him?" thundered Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"I shouldn't think any of us did, sir. I can answer for me and cook and
+Mary. We never heard Mr. Rupert ring at all last night: and if we had,
+we shouldn't have dared let him in after your forbidding it."</p>
+
+<p>The girl was evidently speaking the truth, and Mr. Chattaway was thrown
+into perplexity. Who <i>had</i> admitted him? Could it have been Miss Diana
+Trevlyn? Scarcely. Miss Diana, had she taken it into her head, would
+have admitted him without the least reference to Mr. Chattaway; but she
+would not have done it in secret. Had it pleased Miss Diana to come down
+and admit Rupert, she would have done it openly; and what puzzled Mr.
+Chattaway more than anything, was the silence with which the admission
+had been accomplished. He had sat with his ears open, and not the
+faintest sound had reached them. Was it Maude? No: he felt sure Maude
+would be even more chary of disobeying him than the servants. Then who
+was it? A half-suspicion of his wife suggested itself to him, only to be
+flung away the next moment. His submissive, timorous wife! She would be
+the last to array herself against him.</p>
+
+<p>But the minutes were passing, and Mr. Chattaway had no time to waste.
+The fair commenced early, its business being generally over before
+mid-day. He went round to the stables, found his horse ready, and rode
+away, the disobedience he had just discovered filling his mind to the
+exclusion of every other annoyance.</p>
+
+<p>He soon came up with company. Riding out of the fold-yard of Trevlyn
+Farm as he passed it, came George Ryle and his brother Treve. They were
+bound for the same place, and the three horses fell in together.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you going?" exclaimed Mr. Chattaway to Trevlyn, surprise in his
+tone.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course I am," answered Treve. "There's always some fun at Whitterbey
+fair. George is going to initiate me to-day into the mysteries of buying
+and selling cattle."</p>
+
+<p>"Against you set up for yourself?" remarked Mr. Chattaway, cynically.</p>
+
+<p>"Just so," said Treve. "I hope you'll find me as good a tenant as you
+have found George."</p>
+
+<p>George was smiling. "He is about to settle down into a steady-going
+farmer, Mr. Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>"When?" asked Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>George hesitated, and glanced at Trevlyn, as if waiting for the answer
+to come from him.</p>
+
+<p>"At once," said Treve, readily. "There's no reason why it should not be
+known. I am home for good, Mr. Chattaway, and don't intend to leave it
+again."</p>
+
+<p>"And Oxford?" returned Chattaway, surprised at the news. "You had
+another term to keep."</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, but I shall not keep it. I have had enough of Oxford. One can't
+keep straight there, you know: there's no end of expense to be gone
+into; and my mother is tired of it."</p>
+
+<p>"Tired of the bills?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Not but that paying them has been George's concern more than hers.
+No one can deny that; but George is a good fellow, and <i>he</i> has not
+complained."</p>
+
+<p>"Are there to be two masters on Trevlyn Farm?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," cried Treve. "I know my place better, I hope, than to put my
+incompetent self above George&mdash;whatever my mother may wish. So long as
+George is on Trevlyn Farm, he is sole master. But he is going to leave
+us, he says."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway turned to George, as if for confirmation. "Yes," answered
+George, quietly; "I shall try to take a farm on my own account. You have
+one soon to be vacant that I should like, Mr. Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>"I have?" exclaimed Mr. Chattaway. "There's no farm of mine likely to be
+vacant that would suit your pocket. You <i>can't</i> mean you are turning
+your ambitious eyes to the Upland?" he added, after a moment's pause.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I am," replied George. "And I must have a talk with you about it.
+I should like the Upland Farm."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, it would take&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>George did not wait to hear the conclusion of the sentence.</p>
+
+<p>They were at that moment passing the parsonage, and Mr. Freeman, in a
+velvet skull-cap and slippers, was leaning over the gate. George checked
+his horse.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, did he get safe off last night?" asked Mr. Freeman.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, at last. The train was forty minutes behind time."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! it's a shame they don't arrange matters so as to make that
+ten-o'clock train more punctual. Passengers are often kept waiting
+half-an-hour. Did you and Rupert remain to see him off?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," replied George.</p>
+
+<p>"Then Rupert would be late home," observed the clergyman, turning to
+Chattaway, who had also reined in. "I hope you excused him, Mr.
+Chattaway, under the circumstances."</p>
+
+<p>Chattaway answered something very indistinctly, and the clergyman took
+it to imply that he <i>had</i> excused Rupert. George said good morning, and
+turned his horse onwards; they must make good speed, unless they would
+be "a day too late for the fair."</p>
+
+<p>Not a syllable of the above conversation had Mr. Chattaway understood;
+it had been as Hebrew to him. He did not like Mr. Freeman's allusion to
+his "excusing the lateness of Rupert's return," for it proved that his
+harsh rule had become public property.</p>
+
+<p>"I did not quite take Mr. Freeman," he said, turning equably to George,
+and speaking in careless accents. "Were you out last night with Rupert?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. We spent the evening at the parsonage with Mr. Daw, and then went
+to see him off by the ten-o'clock train. It is a shame, as Mr. Freeman
+says, that the train is not made to keep better time. It was Mr. Daw's
+last night here."</p>
+
+<p>"And therefore you and Rupert must spend it with him! It is a sudden
+friendship."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know that there's much friendship in the matter," replied
+George. "Rupert, I believe, was at the parsonage by appointment, but I
+called in accidentally. I did not know that Mr. Daw was leaving."</p>
+
+<p>"Is he returning to France?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. He crosses the Channel to-night. We shall never see him again, I
+expect; he said he should never more quit his home, so far as he
+believed."</p>
+
+<p>"Is he a madman?"</p>
+
+<p>"A madman! Certainly not."</p>
+
+<p>"He talked enough folly and treason for one."</p>
+
+<p>"Run away with by his zeal, I suppose," remarked George. "No one paid
+any attention to him. Mr. Chattaway, do you think we Barbrook people
+could not raise a commotion about the irregularity of that ten-o'clock
+train, and so get it rectified?"</p>
+
+<p>"Its irregularity does not concern me," returned Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"It would if you had to travel by it; or to see friends off by it as
+Rupert and I had last night. Nearly forty-five minutes were we cooling
+our heels on the platform. It must have been eleven o'clock when Rupert
+reached the Hold. I suppose he was let in."</p>
+
+<p>"It appears he did get in," replied Mr. Chattaway, in by no means a
+genial tone. "I don't know by whom yet; but I will know before
+to-night."</p>
+
+<p>"If any one locked me out of my home, I should break the first window
+handy," cried bold Treve, who had been brought up by his mother in
+defiance of Mr. Chattaway, and would a great deal rather treat him with
+contempt than civility. "Rupert's a muff not to do it."</p>
+
+<p>George urged on his horse. Words between Treve and Mr. Chattaway would
+not be agreeable, and the latter gentleman's face was turning fiery. "I
+am sure we shall be late," he cried. "Let us see what mettle our steeds
+are made of."</p>
+
+<p>It diverted the anticipated dispute. Treve, who was impulsive at times,
+dashed on with a spring, and Mr. Chattaway and George followed. Before
+they reached Whitterbey, they fell in with other horsemen, farmers and
+gentlemen, bound on the same errand, and got separated.</p>
+
+<p>Beyond a casual view of them now and then in the crowded fair, Mr.
+Chattaway did not again see George and Treve until they all met at what
+was called the ordinary&mdash;the one-o'clock dinner. Of these ordinaries
+there were several held in the town on the great fair day, but Mr.
+Chattaway and George Ryle had been in the habit of attending the same.
+Immediately after the meal was over, Mr. Chattaway ordered his horse,
+and set off home.</p>
+
+<p>It was earlier than he usually left, for the men liked to sit an hour or
+two after dinner at these annual meetings, and discuss the state of
+affairs in general, especially those relating to farming; but Mr.
+Chattaway intended to take Blackstone on his road home, and that would
+carry him some miles out of his way.</p>
+
+<p>He did not arrive at Blackstone until five o'clock. Rupert had gone
+home; Cris, who had been playing at master all day in the absence of Mr.
+Chattaway, had also gone home, and only Ford was there. That Cris should
+have left, Mr. Chattaway thought nothing of; but his spirit angrily
+resented the departure of Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>"It's coming to a pretty pass," he exclaimed, "if he thinks he can go
+and come at any hour he pleases. What has he been about to-day?"</p>
+
+<p>"We have none of us done much to-day, sir," replied Ford. "There have
+been so many interruptions. They had Mr. Rupert before them at the
+inquest, and examined him&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Examined <i>him</i>!" interrupted Chattaway. "What about?"</p>
+
+<p>"About the precautions taken for safety, and all that," rejoined Ford,
+who liked to launch a shaft or two at his master when he might do it
+with discretion. "Mr. Rupert could not tell them much, though, as he was
+not in the habit of being down in the pit; and then they called some of
+the miners again."</p>
+
+<p>"To what time is it adjourned?" growled Mr. Chattaway, after a pause.</p>
+
+<p>"It's not adjourned, sir; it's over."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh," said Mr. Chattaway, feeling a sort of relief. "What was the
+verdict?"</p>
+
+<p>"The verdict, sir? Mr. Cris wrote it down, and took it up to the Hold
+for you."</p>
+
+<p>"What was it? You can tell me its substance, I suppose."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, it was 'Accidental death.' But there was something also about the
+absence of necessary precautions in the mine; and a strong
+recommendation was added that you should do something for the widows."</p>
+
+<p>The very verdict Chattaway had so dreaded! As with many cowards, he
+<i>could not</i> feel independent of his neighbours' opinion, and knew the
+verdict would not add to his popularity. And the suggestion that he
+should do something for the widows positively appalled him. Finding no
+reply, Ford continued.</p>
+
+<p>"We had some gentlemen in here afterwards, sir. I don't know who they
+were; strangers: they said they must see you, and are coming to-morrow.
+We wondered whether they were Government inspectors, or anything of that
+sort. They asked when the second shaft to the pit was going to be
+begun."</p>
+
+<p>"The second shaft to the pit!" repeated Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"It's what they said," answered Ford. "But it will be a fine expense, if
+that has to be made."</p>
+
+<p>An expense the very suggestion of which turned that miserly heart cold.
+Mr. Chattaway thought the world was terribly against him. Certainly,
+what with one source of annoyance and another, the day had not been one
+of pleasure. In point of fact, Mr. Chattaway was of too suspicious a
+nature ever to enjoy much ease. It may be thought that with the
+departure of the dreaded stranger, he would have experienced complete
+immunity from the fears which had latterly so shaken him. Not so; the
+departure had only served to augment them. He had been informed by Miss
+Diana on the previous night of Mr. Daw's proposed return to his distant
+home, of his having relinquished Rupert's cause, of his half apology for
+having ever taken it up; he had heard again from George Ryle this
+morning that the gentleman had actually gone. Most men would have
+accepted this as a termination to the unpleasantness, and been thankful
+for it; but Mr. Chattaway, in his suspicious nature, doubted whether it
+did not mean treachery; whether it was not, in short, a <i>ruse</i> of the
+enemy. Terribly awakened were his fears that day. He suspected an ambush
+in every turn, a thief behind every tree; and he felt that he hated
+Rupert with a bitter hatred.</p>
+
+<p>Poor Rupert at that moment did not look like one to be either hated or
+dreaded, could Mr. Chattaway have seen him through some telescope. When
+Chattaway was sitting in his office, Ford meekly standing to be
+questioned, Rupert was toiling on foot towards Trevlyn Hold. In his good
+nature he had left his pony at home for the benefit of Edith and Emily
+Chattaway. Since its purchase, they had never ceased teasing him to let
+them try it, and he had this day complied, and walked to Blackstone. He
+looked pale, worn, weary; his few days' riding to and fro had unfitted
+him for the walk, at least in inclination, and Rupert seemed to feel the
+fatigue this evening more than ever.</p>
+
+<p>That day had not brought happiness to Rupert, any more than to Mr.
+Chattaway. It was impossible but his hopes should have been excited by
+the movement made by Mr. Daw. And now all was over. That gentleman had
+taken his departure for good, and the hopes had faded, and there was an
+end to it altogether. Rupert had felt it keenly that morning as he
+walked to Blackstone; felt that he and hope had bid adieu to each other
+for ever. Was his life to be passed at that dreary mine? It seemed so.
+The day, too, was spent even more unpleasantly than usual, for Cris was
+in one of his overbearing moods, and goaded Rupert's spirit almost to
+explosion. Had Rupert been the servant of Cris Chattaway, the latter
+could not have treated him with more complete contempt and unkindness
+than he did this day. Cris asked him who let him in to the Hold the
+previous night, and Rupert answered that it was no business of his. Cris
+then insisted upon knowing, but Rupert only laughed at him; and so Cris,
+in his petty spite, paid him out for it, and made the day one long
+humiliation to Rupert. Rupert reached home at last, and took tea with
+the family. He kissed Mrs. Chattaway ten times, and whispered to her
+that he had kept counsel, and would never, never, for her sake, be late
+again.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXV" id="CHAPTER_XXXV"></a>CHAPTER XXXV</h2>
+
+<h3>AN ILL-STARRED CHASTISEMENT</h3>
+
+
+<p>It was growing dark on this same night, and Rupert Trevlyn stood in the
+rick-yard, talking to Jim Sanders. Rupert had been paying a visit to his
+pony in the stable, to see that it was alive after the exercise the
+girls had given it,&mdash;not a little, by all accounts. The nearest way from
+the stables to the front of the house was through the rick-yard, and
+Rupert was returning from his visit of inspection when he came upon Jim
+Sanders, leaning against a hay-rick. Mr. Jim had stolen up to the Hold
+on a little private matter of his own. In his arms was a little black
+puppy, very, very young, as might be known by the faint squeaks it made.</p>
+
+<p>"Jim! Is that you?" exclaimed Rupert, having some trouble to discern who
+it was in the fading light. "What have you got squeaking there?"</p>
+
+<p>Jim displayed the little animal. "He's only a few days old, sir," said
+he, "but he's a fine fellow. Just look at his ears!"</p>
+
+<p>"How am I to see?" rejoined Rupert. "It's almost pitch dark."</p>
+
+<p>"Stop a bit," said Jim, producing a sort of torch from under his
+smock-frock, and by some contrivance setting it alight. The wood blazed
+away, sending up its flame in the yard, but they advanced into the open
+space, away from the ricks and danger. These torches, cut from a
+peculiar wood, were common enough in the neighbourhood, and were found
+very useful on a dark night by those who had to go about any outdoor
+work. They gave the light of a dozen candles, and were not extinguished
+with every breath of wind. Dangerous things for a rick-yard, you will
+say: and so they were, in incautious hands.</p>
+
+<p>They moved to a safe spot at some distance from the ricks. The puppy lay
+in Rupert's arms now, and he took the torch in his hand, whilst he
+examined it. But not a minute had they thus stood, when some one came
+upon them with hasty steps. It was Mr. Chattaway. He had, no doubt, just
+returned from Blackstone, and was going in after leaving his horse in
+the stable. Jim Sanders disappeared, but Rupert stood his ground, the
+lighted torch still in his one hand, the puppy lying in the other.</p>
+
+<p>"What are you doing here?" angrily demanded Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"Not much," said Rupert. "I was only looking at this little puppy,"
+showing it to Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>The puppy did not concern Mr. Chattaway. It could not work him treason,
+and Rupert was at liberty to look at it if he chose; but Mr. Chattaway
+would not let the opportunity slip of questioning him on another matter.
+It was the first time they had met, remember, since that little episode
+which had so disturbed Mr. Chattaway in the morning&mdash;the finding of
+Rupert's boots.</p>
+
+<p>"Pray where did you spend last evening?" he began.</p>
+
+<p>"At the parsonage," freely answered Rupert; and Mr. Chattaway detected,
+or fancied he detected, defiance in the voice, which, to his ears, could
+only mean treason. "It was Mr. Daw's last evening there, and he asked me
+to spend it with him."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway saw no way of entering opposition to this; he could not
+abuse him for taking tea at the parsonage; could not well forbid it in
+the future. "What time did you come home?" he continued.</p>
+
+<p>"It was eleven o'clock," avowed Rupert. "I went with Mr. Daw to the
+station to see him off, and the train was behind time. I thought it was
+coming up every minute, or I would not have stayed."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway had known as much before. "How did you get in?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>Rupert hesitated for a moment before speaking. "I was let in."</p>
+
+<p>"I conclude you were. By whom?"</p>
+
+<p>"I would rather not tell."</p>
+
+<p>"But I choose that you shall tell."</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Rupert. "I can't tell, Mr. Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>"But I insist on your telling," thundered Chattaway. "I order you to
+tell."</p>
+
+<p>He lifted his riding-whip menacingly as he spoke. Rupert stood his
+ground fearlessly, the expression of his face showing out calm and firm,
+as the torchlight fell upon it.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you defy me, Rupert Trevlyn?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't wish to defy you, sir, but it is quite impossible that I can
+tell you who let me in last night. It would not be fair, or honourable."</p>
+
+<p>His refusal may have looked like defiance to Mr. Chattaway, but in point
+of fact it was dictated by a far different feeling&mdash;regard for his aunt
+Edith. Had any one else in the Hold admitted him, he might have
+confessed it, under Mr. Chattaway's stern command; but he would have
+died rather than bring <i>her</i>, whom he so loved, into trouble with her
+husband.</p>
+
+<p>"Once more, sir, I ask you&mdash;will you tell me?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, I will not," answered Rupert, with that quiet determination which
+creates its own firmness more surely than any bravado. Better for him
+that he had told! better even for Mrs. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway caught Rupert by the shoulder, lifted his whip, and struck
+him&mdash;struck him not once, but several times. The last stroke caught his
+face, raising a thick weal across it; and then Mr. Chattaway, his work
+done, walked quickly away towards his house, never speaking, the whip
+resting quietly in his hand.</p>
+
+<p>Alas, for the Trevlyn temper! Maddened by the outrage, smarting under
+the pain, the unhappy Rupert lost all self-command. Passion had never
+overcome him as it overcame him now. He knew not what he did; he was as
+one insane; in fact, he was insane for the time being&mdash;irresponsible
+(may it not be said?) for his actions. With a yell of rage he picked up
+the torch, then blazing on the ground, dashed into the rick-yard as one
+possessed, and thrust the torch into the nearest rick. Then leaping the
+opposite palings, he tore away across the fields.</p>
+
+<p>Jim Sanders had been a witness to this: and to describe Jim's
+consternation would be beyond the power of any pen. Standing in the
+darkness, out of reach of Mr. Chattaway's eyes, he had heard and seen
+all. Snatching the torch out of the rick&mdash;for the force with which
+Rupert had driven it in kept it there&mdash;Jim pulled out with his hands the
+few bits of hay already ignited, stamped on them, and believed the
+danger to be over. Next, he began to look for his puppy.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Rupert can't have taken it off with him," soliloquised he, pacing
+the rick-yard dubiously with his torch, eyes and ears on the alert. "He
+couldn't jump over them palings with that there puppy in his arms. It's
+a wonder that a delicate one like him could jump 'em at all, and come
+clean over 'em."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Jim Sanders was right: it was a wonder, for the palings were high.
+But it is known how strong madmen are, and I have told you that Rupert
+was mad at that moment.</p>
+
+<p>Jim's search was interrupted by fresh footsteps, and Bridget, the maid
+you saw in the morning talking to Mr. Chattaway, accosted him. She was a
+cousin of Jim's, three or four years older than he; but Jim was very
+fond of her, in a rustic fashion, deeming the difference of age nothing,
+and was always finding his way to the Hold with some mark of good will.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, then! What do you want to-night?" cried she, for it was the
+pleasure of her life to snub him. "Hatch comes in just now, and says,
+'Jim Sanders is in the rick-yard, Bridget, a-waiting for you.' I'll make
+you know better, young Jim, than send me in messages before a
+kitchen-ful."</p>
+
+<p>"I've brought you a little present, Bridget," answered Jim,
+deprecatingly; and it was this offering which had taken Jim to the Hold.
+"The beautifullest puppy you ever see&mdash;if you'll accept him; black and
+shiny as a lump of coal. Leastways, I had brought him," he added,
+ruefully. "But he's gone, and I can't find him."</p>
+
+<p>Bridget had a weakness for puppies&mdash;as Jim knew; consequently, the
+concluding part of his information was not agreeable to her.</p>
+
+<p>"You have brought me the beautifullest puppy&mdash;and have lost him and
+can't find him! What d'ye mean by that, Jim? Can't you speak sense, so
+as a body may understand?"</p>
+
+<p>Jim supposed he had worded his communication imperfectly. "There's been
+a row here," he explained, "and it frighted me so that I dun know what I
+be saying. The master took his riding-whip to Mr. Rupert and
+horsewhipped him."</p>
+
+<p>"The master!" uttered the girl. "What! Mr. Chattaway?"</p>
+
+<p>"He come through the yard when I was with Mr. Rupert a-showing him the
+puppy, and they had words, and the master horsewhipped him. I stood
+round the corner frighted to death for fear Chattaway should see me. And
+Mr. Rupert must have dropped the puppy somewhere, but I can't find him."</p>
+
+<p>"Where is Mr. Rupert? How did it end?"</p>
+
+<p>"He dashed into the yard across to them palings, and leaped 'em clean,"
+responded Jim. "And he'd not have cleared 'em with the puppy in his
+arms, so I know it must be somewhere about. And he a'most set that there
+rick a-fire first," the boy added, in a whisper, pointing in the
+direction of the particular rick, from which they had strayed in Jim's
+search. "I pretty nigh dropped when I saw it catch alight."</p>
+
+<p>Bridget felt awed, yet uncertain. "How could he set a rick a-fire,
+stupid?" she cried.</p>
+
+<p>"With the torch. I had lighted it to show him the puppy, and he had it
+in his hand; had it in his hand when Chattaway began to horsewhip him,
+but he dropped it then; and when Chattaway went away, Mr. Rupert picked
+it up and pushed it into the rick."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't like to hear this," said the girl, shivering. "Suppose the
+rick-yard had been set a-fire! Which rick was it? It mayn't&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Just hush a minute, Bridget!" suddenly interrupted Jim. "There he is!"</p>
+
+<p>"There's who?" asked she, peering around in the darkness. "Not master!"</p>
+
+<p>"Law, Bridget! I meant the puppy. Can't you hear him? Them squeaks is
+his."</p>
+
+<p>Guided towards the sound, Jim at length found the poor little animal. It
+was lying close to the spot where Rupert had leaped the palings. The boy
+took it up, fondling it almost as a mother would fondle a child.</p>
+
+<p>"See his glossy skin, Bridget! feel how sleek it is! He'll lap milk out
+of a saucer now! I tried him&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>A scream from Bridget. Jim seemed to come in for nothing but shocks to
+his nerves this evening, and almost dropped the puppy again. For it was
+a loud, shrill, prolonged scream, carrying a strange amount of terror as
+it went forth in the still night air.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile Mr. Chattaway had entered his house. Some of the children who
+were in the drawing-room heard him and went into the hall to welcome him
+after his long day's absence. But they were startled by the pallor of
+his countenance; it looked perfectly livid as the light of the hall-lamp
+fell upon it. Mr. Chattaway could not inflict such chastisement on
+Rupert without its emotional effects telling upon himself. He took off
+his hat, and laid his whip upon the table.</p>
+
+<p>"We thought you would be home before this, papa."</p>
+
+<p>"Where's your mother?" he rejoined, paying no attention to their remark.</p>
+
+<p>"She is upstairs in her sitting-room."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway turned to the staircase and ascended. Mrs. Chattaway was
+not in her room; but the sound of voices in Miss Diana's guided him to
+where he should find her. This sitting-room, devoted exclusively to Miss
+Diana Trevlyn, was on the side of the house next the rick-yard and
+farm-buildings, which it overlooked.</p>
+
+<p>The apartment was almost in darkness; the fire had dimmed, and neither
+lamp nor candles had been lighted. Mrs. Chattaway and Miss Diana sat
+there conversing together.</p>
+
+<p>"Who is this?" cried the former, looking round. "Oh, is it you, James? I
+did not know you were home again. What a fine day you have had for
+Whitterbey!"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway growled something about the day not having been
+particularly fine.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you buy the stock you thought of buying?" asked Miss Diana.</p>
+
+<p>"I bought some," he said, rather sulkily. "Prices ran high to-day."</p>
+
+<p>"You are home late," she resumed.</p>
+
+<p>"I came round by Blackstone."</p>
+
+<p>It was evident by his tone and manner that he was in one of his least
+genial humours. Both ladies knew from experience that the wisest plan at
+those times was to leave him to himself, and they resumed their own
+converse. Mr. Chattaway stood with his back to them, his hands in his
+pockets, his eyes peering into the dark night. Not in reality looking at
+anything, or attempting to look; he was far too deeply engaged with his
+thoughts to attend to outward things.</p>
+
+<p>He was beginning very slightly to repent of the horsewhipping, to doubt
+whether it might not have been more prudent had he abstained from
+inflicting it. As many more of us do, when we awake to reflection after
+some act committed in anger. If Rupert <i>was</i> to be dreaded; if he, in
+connection with others, was hatching treason, this outrage would only
+make him a more bitter enemy. Better, perhaps, not to have gone to the
+extremity.</p>
+
+<p>But it was done; it could not be undone; and to regret it were worse
+than useless. Mr. Chattaway began thinking of the point which had led to
+it&mdash;the refusal of Rupert to say who had admitted him. This at least Mr.
+Chattaway determined to ascertain.</p>
+
+<p>"Did either of you let in Rupert last night?" he suddenly inquired,
+looking round.</p>
+
+<p>"No, we did not," promptly replied Miss Diana, answering for Mrs.
+Chattaway as well as for herself, which she believed she was perfectly
+safe in doing. "He was not in until eleven, I hear; we went up to bed
+long before that."</p>
+
+<p>"Then who did let him in?" exclaimed Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"One of the servants, of course," rejoined Miss Diana.</p>
+
+<p>"But they say they did not," he answered.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you asked them all?"</p>
+
+<p>No. Mr. Chattaway remembered that he had not asked them all, and he came
+to the conclusion that one of them must have been the culprit. He turned
+to the window again, standing sulkily as before, and vowing in his own
+mind that the offender, whether man or woman, should be summarily turned
+out of the Hold.</p>
+
+<p>"If you have been to Blackstone, you have heard that the inquest is
+over, James," observed Mrs. Chattaway, anxious to turn the conversation
+from the subject of last night. "Did you hear the verdict?"</p>
+
+<p>"I heard it," he growled.</p>
+
+<p>"It is not an agreeable verdict," remarked Miss Diana. "Better you had
+made these improvements in the mine&mdash;as I urged upon you long ago&mdash;than
+wait to be forced to do them."</p>
+
+<p>"I am not forced yet," retorted Chattaway. "They must&mdash;&mdash;Halloa! What's
+that?"</p>
+
+<p>His sudden exclamation called them both to the window. A bright light, a
+blaze, was shooting up into the sky. At the same moment a shrill scream
+of terror&mdash;the scream from Bridget&mdash;arose with it.</p>
+
+<p>"The rick-yard!" exclaimed Miss Diana. "It is on fire!"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway stood for an instant as one paralysed. The next he was
+leaping down the stairs, something like a yell bursting from him.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI</h2>
+
+<h3>THE FIRE</h3>
+
+
+<p>There is a terror which shakes man's equanimity to its foundation&mdash;and
+that terror fell upon Trevlyn Hold. At the evening hour its inmates were
+sitting in idleness; the servants gossiping quietly in the kitchen, the
+girls lingering over the fire in the drawing-room; when those terrible
+sounds disturbed them. With a simultaneous movement, all flew to the
+hall, only to see Mr. Chattaway leaping down the stairs, followed by his
+wife and Miss Diana Trevlyn.</p>
+
+<p>"What is it? What is the matter?"</p>
+
+<p>"The rick-yard is on fire!"</p>
+
+<p>None knew who answered. It was not Mr. Chattaway's voice; it was not
+their mother's; it did not sound like Miss Diana's. A startled pause,
+and they ran out to the rick-yard, a terrified group. Little Edith
+Chattaway, a most excitable girl, fell into hysterics, and added to the
+confusion of the scene.</p>
+
+<p>The blaze was shooting upwards, and men were coming from the
+out-buildings, giving vent to their dismay in various exclamations. One
+voice was heard distinctly above all the rest&mdash;that of Miss Diana
+Trevlyn.</p>
+
+<p>"Who has done this? It must have been purposely set on fire."</p>
+
+<p>She turned sharply on the group of servants as she spoke, as if
+suspecting one of them. The blaze fell on their alarmed faces, and they
+visibly recoiled; not from any consciousness of guilt, but from the
+general sense of fear which lay upon all. One of the grooms spoke
+impulsively.</p>
+
+<p>"I heard voices not a minute ago in the rick-yard," he cried. "I was
+going across the top there to fetch a bucket of water from the pump, and
+heard 'em talking. One was a woman's. I saw a light, too."</p>
+
+<p>The women-servants were grouped together, staring helplessly at the
+blaze. Miss Diana directed her attention particularly to them: she
+possessed a ready perception, and detected such unmistakable signs of
+terror in the face of one of them, that she drew a rapid conclusion. It
+was not the expression of general alarm, seen on the countenance of the
+rest; but a lively, conscious terror. The girl endeavoured to draw
+behind, out of sight of Miss Diana.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Diana laid her hand upon her. It was Bridget, the kitchenmaid. "You
+know something of this!"</p>
+
+<p>Bridget burst into tears. A more complete picture of helpless fear than
+she presented at that moment could not well be drawn. In her apron was
+something hidden.</p>
+
+<p>"What have you got there?" sharply continued Miss Diana, whose thoughts
+may have flown to incendiary adjuncts.</p>
+
+<p>Bridget, unable to speak, turned down the apron and disclosed a little
+black puppy, which began to whine. There was nothing very guilty about
+that.</p>
+
+<p>"Were you in the rick-yard?" questioned Miss Diana; "was it your voice
+Sam heard?" And Bridget was too frightened to deny it.</p>
+
+<p>"Then, what were you doing? What brought you in the rick-yard at all?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway, timid Mrs. Chattaway, trembling almost as much as
+Bridget, but who had compassion for every one in distress, came to the
+rescue. "Don't, Diana," she said. "I am sure Bridget is too honest a
+girl to have taken part in anything so dreadful as this. The rick may
+have got heated and taken fire spontaneously."</p>
+
+<p>"No, Madam, I'd die before I'd do such a thing," sobbed Bridget,
+responding to the kindness. "If I was in the rick-yard, I wasn't doing
+no harm&mdash;and I'm sure I'd rather have went a hundred miles the other way
+if I'd thought what was going to happen. I turned sick with fright when
+I saw the flame burst out."</p>
+
+<p>"Was it you who screamed?" inquired Miss Diana.</p>
+
+<p>"I did scream, ma'am. I couldn't help it."</p>
+
+<p>"Diana," whispered Mrs. Chattaway, "you may see she's innocent."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, most likely; but there's something behind for all that," replied
+Miss Diana, decisively. "Bridget, I mean to come to the bottom of this
+business, and the sooner you explain it, the less trouble you'll get
+into. I ask what took you to the rick-yard?"</p>
+
+<p>"It wasn't no harm, ma'am, as Madam says," sobbed Bridget, evidently
+very unwilling to enter on the explanation. "I never did no harm in
+going there, nor thought none."</p>
+
+<p>"Then it is the more easily told," responded Miss Diana. "Do you hear
+me? What business took you to the rick-yard, and who were you talking
+to?"</p>
+
+<p>There appeared to be no help for it; Bridget had felt this from the
+first; she should have to confess to her rustic admirer's stolen visit.
+And Bridget, whilst liking him in her heart, was intensely ashamed of
+him, from his being so much younger than herself.</p>
+
+<p>"Ma'am, I only came into it for a minute to speak to a young boy; my
+cousin, Jim Sanders. Hatch came into the kitchen and said Jim wanted to
+see me, and I came out. That's all&mdash;if it was the last word I had to
+speak," she added, with a burst of grief.</p>
+
+<p>"And what did Jim Sanders want with you?" pursued Miss Diana, sternly.</p>
+
+<p>"It was to show me this puppy," returned Bridget, not choosing to
+confess that the small animal was brought as a present. "Jim seemed
+proud of it, ma'am, and brought it up for me to see."</p>
+
+<p>A very innocent confession; plausible also; and Miss Diana saw no reason
+for disbelieving it. But she was one who liked to be on the sure side,
+and when corroborative testimony was to be had, did not allow it to
+escape her. "One of you find Hatch," she said, addressing the maids.</p>
+
+<p>Hatch was found with the men-servants and labourers, who were tumbling
+over each other in their endeavours to carry water to the rick under the
+frantic directions of their master. He came up to Miss Diana.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you go into the kitchen, and tell Bridget Jim Sanders wanted her in
+the rick-yard?" she questioned.</p>
+
+<p>I think it has been mentioned once before that this man, Hatch, was too
+simple to answer anything but the straightforward truth. He replied that
+he did so; had been called to by Jim Sanders as he was passing along the
+rick-yard near the stables, who asked him to go to the house and send
+out Bridget.</p>
+
+<p>"Did he say what he wanted with her?" continued Miss Diana.</p>
+
+<p>"Not to me," replied Hatch. "It ain't nothing new for that there boy to
+come up and ask for Bridget, ma'am. He's always coming up for her, Jim
+is. They be cousins."</p>
+
+<p>A well-meant speech, no doubt, on Hatch's part; but Bridget would have
+liked to box his ears for it there and then. Miss Diana, sufficiently
+large-hearted, saw no reason to object to Mr. Jim's visits, provided
+they were paid at proper times and seasons, when the girl was not at her
+work. "Was any one with Jim Sanders?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Not as I saw, ma'am. As I was coming back after telling Bridget, I see
+Jim a-waiting there, alone. He&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"How could you see him? Was it not too dark?" interrupted Miss Diana.</p>
+
+<p>"Not then. Bridget kep' him waiting ever so long afore she came out. Jim
+must a' been a good half-hour altogether in the yard; 'twas that, I
+know, from the time he called me till the blaze burst out. But Jim might
+have went away afore that," added Hatch, reflectively.</p>
+
+<p>"That's all, Hatch; make haste back again," said Miss Diana. "Now,
+Bridget, was Jim Sanders in the yard when the flames broke out, or was
+he not?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, ma'am, he was there."</p>
+
+<p>"Then if any suspicious characters got into the rick-yard, he would no
+doubt have seen them," thought Miss Diana, to herself. "Do you know who
+did set it on fire?" she impatiently asked.</p>
+
+<p>Bridget's face, which had regained some of its colour, grew white again.
+Should she dare to tell what she had heard about Rupert? "I did not see
+it done," she gasped.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, Bridget, this will not do," cried Miss Diana, noting the signs.
+"There's more behind, I see. Where's Jim Sanders?"</p>
+
+<p>She looked around as she spoke but Jim was certainly not in sight. "Do
+you know where he is?" she sharply resumed.</p>
+
+<p>Instead of answering, Bridget was taken with a fresh fit of shivering.
+It amazed Miss Diana considerably.</p>
+
+<p>"Did Jim do it?" she sharply asked.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no," answered Bridget. "When I got to Jim he had somehow lost the
+puppy"&mdash;glancing down at her apron&mdash;"and we had to look about for it. It
+was just in the minute he found it that the flames broke forth. Jim was
+showing of it to me, ma'am, and started like anything when I shrieked
+out."</p>
+
+<p>"And what has become of Jim?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know," sobbed Bridget. "Jim seemed like one dazed when he
+turned and saw the blaze. He stood a minute looking at it, and I could
+see his face turn all of a fright; and then he flung the puppy into my
+arms and scrambled off over the palings, never speaking a word."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Diana paused. There was something suspicious in Jim's making off in
+the manner described; it struck her so at once. On the other hand she
+had known Jim from his infancy&mdash;known him to be harmless and
+inoffensive.</p>
+
+<p>"An honest lad would have remained to see what assistance he could
+render towards putting it out, not have run off in that cowardly way,"
+spoke Miss Diana. "I don't like the look of this."</p>
+
+<p>Bridget made no reply. She was beginning to wish the ground would open
+and swallow her up for a convenient half-hour; wished Jim Sanders had
+been buried also before he had brought this trouble upon her. Miss
+Diana, Madam, and the young ladies were surrounding her; the
+maid-servants began to edge away suspiciously; even Edith had dismissed
+her hysterics to stare at Bridget.</p>
+
+<p>Cris Chattaway came leaping past them. Cris, who had been leisurely
+making his way to the Hold when the flames broke out, had just come up,
+and after a short conference with his father, was now running to the
+stables. "You are a fleet horseman, Cris," Mr. Chattaway had said to
+him: "get the engines here from Barmester." And Cris was hastening to
+mount a horse, and ride away on the errand.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway caught his arm as he passed. "Oh, Cris, this is dreadful!
+What can have caused it?"</p>
+
+<p>"What?" returned Cris, in savage tones&mdash;not, however, meant for his
+mother, but induced by the subject. "Don't you know what has caused it?
+He ought to swing for it, the felon!"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway in her surprise connected his words with what she had
+just been listening to. "Cris!&mdash;do you mean&mdash;&mdash;It never could have been
+Jim Sanders!"</p>
+
+<p>"Jim Sanders!" slightingly spoke Cris. "What should have put Jim Sanders
+into your head, mother? No; it was your favoured nephew, Rupert
+Trevlyn!"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway broke into a cry as the words came from his lips. Maude
+started a step forward, her face full of indignant protestation; and
+Miss Diana imperiously demanded what he meant.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't stop me," said Cris. "Rupert Trevlyn was in the yard with a torch
+just before it broke out, and he must have set it on fire."</p>
+
+<p>"It can't be, Cris!" exclaimed Mrs. Chattaway, in accents of intense
+pain, arresting her son as he was speeding away. "Who says this?"</p>
+
+<p>Cris twisted himself from her. "I can't stop, mother, I say. I am going
+for the engines. You had better ask my father; it was he told me. It's
+true enough. Who <i>would</i> do it, except Rupert?"</p>
+
+<p>The shaft lanced at Rupert struck to the heart of Mrs. Chattaway;
+unpleasantly on the ear of Miss Diana Trevlyn: was anything but
+agreeable to the women-servants. Rupert was liked in the household, Cris
+hated. One of the latter spoke up in her zeal.</p>
+
+<p>"It's well to try to throw it off the shoulders of Jim Sanders on to Mr.
+Rupert! Jim Sanders&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"And what have you to say agin' Jim Sanders?" interrupted Bridget,
+fearing, it may be, that the crime should be fastened on him. "Perhaps
+if I had spoken my mind, I could have told it was Mr. Rupert as well as
+others could; perhaps Jim Sanders could have told it, too. At any rate,
+it wasn't&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"What is that, Bridget?"</p>
+
+<p>The quiet but imperative interruption came from Miss Diana. Excitement
+was overpowering Bridget. "It was Mr. Rupert, ma'am; Jim saw him fire
+it."</p>
+
+<p>"Diana! Diana! I feel ill," gasped Mrs. Chattaway, in faint tones. "Let
+me go to him; I cannot breathe under this suspense."</p>
+
+<p>She meant her husband. Pressing across the crowded rick-yard&mdash;for
+people, aroused by the sight of the flames, were coming up now in
+numbers&mdash;she succeeded in reaching Mr. Chattaway. Maude, scared to
+death, followed her closely. She caught him just as he had taken a
+bucket of water to hand on to some one standing next him in the line,
+causing him to spill it. Mr. Chattaway turned with a passionate word.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you want here?" he roughly asked, although he saw it was his
+wife.</p>
+
+<p>"James, tell me," she whispered. "I felt sick with suspense, and could
+not wait. What did Cris mean by saying it was Rupert?"</p>
+
+<p>"There's not a shadow of doubt that it was Rupert," answered Mr.
+Chattaway. "He has done it out of revenge."</p>
+
+<p>"Revenge for what?"</p>
+
+<p>"For the horsewhipping I gave him. When I joined you upstairs just now,
+I came straight from it. I horsewhipped him on this very spot,"
+continued Mr. Chattaway, as if it afforded him satisfaction to repeat
+the avowal. "He had a torch with him, and I&mdash;like a fool&mdash;left it with
+him, never thinking of consequences, or that he might use it in the
+service of felony. He must have fired the rick in revenge."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway had been gradually drawing away from the heat of the
+blaze; from the line formed to pass buckets for water on to the flames,
+which crackled and roared on high; from the crowd and confusion
+prevailing around the spot. Mr. Chattaway had drawn with her, leaving
+his place in the line to be filled by another. She fell against a
+distant rick, sick unto death.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, James! Why did you horsewhip him? What had he done?"</p>
+
+<p>"I horsewhipped him for insolence; for bearding me to my face. I bade
+him tell me who let him in last night when he returned home, and he set
+me at defiance by refusing to tell. One of my servants must be a
+traitor, and Rupert is screening him."</p>
+
+<p>A great cry escaped her. "Oh, what have you done? It was I who let him
+in."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>You!</i>" foamed Mr. Chattaway. "It is not true," he added, the next
+moment. "You are striving also to deceive me&mdash;to defend him."</p>
+
+<p>"It is true," she answered. "I saw him come to the house from my
+dressing-room window, and I went down the back-stairs and opened the
+door for him. If he refused to betray me, it was done in good feeling,
+out of love for me, lest you should reproach me. And you have
+horsewhipped him for it!&mdash;you have goaded him on to this crime! Oh,
+Rupert! my darling Rupert!"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway turned impatiently away; he had no time to waste on
+sentiment when his ricks were burning. His wife detained him.</p>
+
+<p>"It has been a wretched mistake altogether, James," she whispered. "Say
+you will forgive him&mdash;forgive him for my sake!"</p>
+
+<p>"Forgive him!" repeated Mr. Chattaway, his voice assuming quite a
+hissing angry sound. "Forgive this? Never. I'll prosecute him to the
+extremity of the law; I'll try hard to get him condemned to penal
+servitude. Forgive <i>this</i>! You are out of your mind, Madam Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>Her breath was coming shortly, her voice rose amidst sobs, and she
+entwined her arms about him caressingly, imploringly, in her agony of
+distress and terror.</p>
+
+<p>"For my sake, my husband! It would kill me to see it brought home to
+him. He must have been overcome by a fit of the Trevlyn temper. Oh,
+James! forgive him for my sake."</p>
+
+<p>"I never will," deliberately replied Mr. Chattaway. "I tell you that I
+will prosecute him to the utmost limit of the law; I swear it. In an
+hour's time from this he shall be in custody."</p>
+
+<p>He broke from her; she staggered against the rick, and but for Maude
+might have fallen. Poor Maude, who had stood and listened, her face
+turning to stone, her heart to despair.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII</h2>
+
+<h3>A NIGHT SCENE</h3>
+
+
+<p>Alas for the Trevlyn temper! How many times has the regret to be
+repeated! Were the world filled with lamentations for the unhappy state
+of mind to which some of its mortals give way, they could not atone for
+the ill inflicted. It is not a pleasant topic to enlarge upon, and I
+have lingered in my dislike to approach it.</p>
+
+<p>When Rupert leaped the palings and flew away over the field, he was
+totally incapable of self-government for the time being. I do not say
+this in extenuation. I say that such a state of things is lamentable,
+and ought not to be. I only state that it was so. The most passionate
+temper ever born with man <i>may</i> be kept under, where the right means are
+used&mdash;prayer, ever-watchful self-control, stern determination; but how
+few there are who find the means! Rupert Trevlyn did not. He had no
+clear perception of what he had done; he probably knew he had thrust the
+blazing torch into the rick; but he gave no thought whatever to
+consequences, whether the hay was undamaged or whether it burst forth
+into a flame.</p>
+
+<p>He flew over the field as one possessed; he flew over a succession of
+fields; the high-road intervened, and he was passing over it in his
+reckless career, when he was met by Farmer Apperley. Not, for a moment,
+did the farmer recognise Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>"Hey, lad! What in the name of fortune has taken you?" cried he, laying
+his hand upon him.</p>
+
+<p>His face distorted with passion, his eyes starting with fury, Rupert
+tore on. He shook the farmer's hand off him, and pressed on, leaping the
+low dwarf hedge opposite, and never speaking.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Apperley began to doubt whether he had not been deceived by some
+strange apparition&mdash;such, for instance, as the Flying Dutchman. He ran
+to a stile, and stood there gazing after the mad figure, which seemed to
+be rustling about without purpose; now in one part of the field, now in
+another: and Mr. Apperley rubbed his eyes and tried to penetrate more
+clearly the obscurity of the night.</p>
+
+<p>"It <i>was</i> Rupert Trevlyn&mdash;if I ever saw him," decided he, at length.
+"What can have put him into this state? Perhaps he's gone mad!"</p>
+
+<p>The farmer, in his consternation, stood he knew not how long: ten
+minutes possibly. It was not a busy night with him, and he would as soon
+linger as go on at once to Bluck the farrier&mdash;whither he was bound. Any
+time would do for his orders to Bluck.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't make it out a bit," soliloquised he, when at length he turned
+away. "I'm sure it was Rupert; but what could have put him into that
+state? Halloa! what's that?"</p>
+
+<p>A bright light in the direction of Trevlyn Hold had caught his eye. He
+stood and gazed at it in a second state of consternation equal to that
+in which he had just gazed after Rupert Trevlyn. "If I don't believe
+it's a fire!" ejaculated he.</p>
+
+<p>Was every one running about madly? The words were escaping Mr.
+Apperley's lips when a second figure, white, breathless as the other,
+came flying over the road in the selfsame track. This one wore a
+smock-frock, and the farmer recognised Jim Sanders.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Jim, is it you? What's up?"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't stop me, sir," panted Jim. "Don't you see the blaze? It's
+Chattaway's rick-yard."</p>
+
+<p>"Mercy on me! Chattaway's rick-yard! What has done it? Have we got the
+incendiaries in the county again?"</p>
+
+<p>"It was Mr. Rupert," answered Jim, dropping his voice to a whisper. "I
+see him fire it. Let me go on, please, sir."</p>
+
+<p>In very astonishment, Mr. Apperley loosed his hold of the boy, who went
+speeding off in the direction of Barbrook. The farmer propped his back
+against the stile, that he might gather his scared senses together.</p>
+
+<p>Rupert Trevlyn had set fire to the rick-yard! Had he really gone
+mad?&mdash;or was Jim Sanders mad when he said it? The farmer, slow to arrive
+at conclusions, was sorely puzzled. "The one looked as mad as the other,
+for what I saw," deliberated he. "Any way, there's the fire, and I'd
+better make my way to it: they'll want hands if they are to put that
+out. Thank God, it's a calm night!"</p>
+
+<p>He took the nearest way to the Hold; another helper amidst the many now
+crowding the busy scene. What a babel it was!&mdash;what a scene for a
+painting!&mdash;what a life's remembrance! The excited workers as they passed
+the buckets; the deep interjections of Mr. Chattaway; the faces of the
+lookers-on turned up to the lurid flames. Farmer Apperley, a man more
+given to deeds than words, rendered what help he could, speaking to
+none.</p>
+
+<p>He had been at work some time, when a shout broke simultaneously from
+the spectators. The next rick had caught fire. Mr. Chattaway uttered a
+despairing word, and the workers ceased their efforts for a few
+moments&mdash;as if paralysed with the new evil.</p>
+
+<p>"If the fire-engines would only come!" impatiently exclaimed Mr.
+Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>Even as he spoke a faint rumbling was heard in the distance. It came
+nearer and nearer; its reckless pace proclaiming it a fire-engine. And
+Mr. Chattaway, in spite of his remark, gazed at its approach with
+astonishment; for he knew there had not been time for the Barmester
+engines to arrive.</p>
+
+<p>It proved to be the little engine from Barbrook, one kept in the
+village. A very despised engine indeed; from its small size, one rarely
+called for; and which Mr. Chattaway had not so much as thought of, when
+sending to Barmester. On it came, bravely, as if it meant to do good
+service, and the crowd in the rick-yard welcomed it with a shout, and
+parted to make way for it.</p>
+
+<p>Churlish as was Mr. Chattaway's general manner, he could not avoid
+showing pleasure at its arrival. "I am glad you have come!" he
+exclaimed. "It never occurred to me to send for you. I suppose you saw
+the flames, and came of your own accord?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir, we saw nothing," was the reply of the man addressed. "Mr.
+Ryle's lad, Jim Sanders, came for us. I never see a chap in such
+commotion; he a'most got the engine ready himself."</p>
+
+<p>The mention of Jim Sanders caused a buzz around. Bridget's assertion
+that the offender was Rupert Trevlyn had been whispered and commented
+upon; and if some were found to believe the whisper, others scornfully
+rejected it. There was Mr. Chattaway's assertion also; but Mr.
+Chattaway's ill-will to Rupert was remembered that night, and the
+assertion was doubtfully received. A meddlesome voice interrupted the
+fireman.</p>
+
+<p>"Jim Sanders! why 'twas he fired it. There ain't no doubt he did. Little
+wonder he seemed frighted."</p>
+
+<p>"Did he fire it?" interrupted Farmer Apperley, eagerly. "What, Jim? Why,
+what possessed him to do such a thing? I met him just now, looking
+frightened out of his life, and he laid the guilt on Rupert Trevlyn."</p>
+
+<p>"Hush, Mr. Apperley!" whispered a voice at his elbow, and the farmer
+turned to see George Ryle. The latter, with an almost imperceptible
+movement, directed his attention to the right: the livid face of Mrs.
+Chattaway. As one paralysed stood she, her hands clasped as she
+listened.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, it was Mr. Rupert," protested Bridget, with a sob. "Jim Sanders
+told me he watched Mr. Rupert thrust the lighted torch into the rick. He
+seemed not to know what he was about, Jim said; seemed to do it in
+madness."</p>
+
+<p>"Hold your tongue, Bridget," interposed a sharp commanding voice. "Have
+I not desired you already to do so? It is not upon the hearsay evidence
+of Jim Sanders that you can accuse Mr. Rupert."</p>
+
+<p>The speaker was Miss Diana Trevlyn. In good truth, Miss Diana did not
+believe Rupert could have been guilty of the act. It had been disclosed
+that the torch in the rick-yard belonged to Jim Sanders, had been
+brought there by him, and she deemed that fact suspicious against Jim.
+Miss Diana had arrived unwillingly at the conclusion that Jim Sanders
+had set the rick on fire by accident; and in his fright had accused
+Rupert, to screen himself. She imparted her view of the affair to Mr.
+Apperley.</p>
+
+<p>"Like enough," was the response of Mr. Apperley. "Some of these boys
+have no more caution in 'em than if they were children of two years old.
+But what could have put Rupert into such a state? If anybody ever looked
+insane, he did to-night."</p>
+
+<p>"When?" asked Miss Diana, eagerly, and Mrs. Chattaway pressed nearer
+with her troubled countenance.</p>
+
+<p>"It was just before I came up here. I was on my way to Bluck's and
+someone with a white face, breathless and panting, broke through the
+hedge right across my path. I did not know him at first; he didn't look
+a bit like Rupert; but when I saw who it was, I tried to stop him, and
+asked what was the matter. He shook me off, went over the opposite hedge
+like a wild animal, and there tore about the field. If he had been an
+escaped lunatic from the county asylum, he couldn't have run at greater
+speed."</p>
+
+<p>"Did he say nothing?" a voice interrupted.</p>
+
+<p>"Not a word," replied the farmer. "He seemed unable to speak. Well,
+before I had digested that shock, there came another, flying up in the
+same mad state, and that was Jim Sanders. I stopped <i>him</i>. Nearly at the
+same time, or just before it, I had seen a light shoot up into the sky.
+Jim said as well as he could speak for fright, that the rick-yard was on
+fire, and Mr. Rupert had set it alight."</p>
+
+<p>"At all events, the mischief seems to lie between them," remarked some
+voices around.</p>
+
+<p>There would have been no time for this desultory conversation&mdash;at least,
+for the gentlemen's share in it&mdash;but that the fire-engine had put a stop
+to their efforts. It had planted itself on the very spot where the line
+had been formed, scattering those who had taken part in it, and was
+rapidly getting itself into working order. The flames were shooting up
+terribly now, and Mr. Chattaway was rushing here, there, and everywhere,
+in his frantic but impotent efforts to subdue them. He was not insured.</p>
+
+<p>George Ryle approached Mrs. Chattaway, and bent over her, a strange tone
+of kindness in his every word: it seemed to suggest how conscious he was
+of the great sorrow that was coming upon her. "I wish you would let me
+take you indoors," he whispered. "Indeed it is not well for you to be
+here."</p>
+
+<p>"Where is he?" she gasped, in answer. "Could you find him, and remove
+him from danger?"</p>
+
+<p>A sure conviction had been upon her from the very moment that her
+husband had avowed his chastisement of Rupert&mdash;the certainty that it was
+he, Rupert, and no other who had done the mischief. Her own
+brothers&mdash;but chiefly her brother Rupert&mdash;had been guilty of one or two
+acts almost as mad in their passion. He could not help his temper, she
+reasoned&mdash;some, perhaps, may say wrongly; and if Mr. Chattaway had
+provoked him by that sharp, insulting punishment, he, more than Rupert,
+was in fault.</p>
+
+<p>"I would die to save him, George," she whispered. "I would give all I am
+worth to save him from the consequences. Mr. Chattaway says he will
+prosecute him to the last."</p>
+
+<p>"I am quite sure you will be ill if you stay here," remonstrated George,
+for she was shivering from head to foot; not, however, with cold, but
+with emotion. "I will go with you to the house, and talk to you there."</p>
+
+<p>"To the house!" she repeated. "Do you suppose I could remain in the
+house to-night? Look at them; they are all out here."</p>
+
+<p>She pointed to her children; to the women-servants. It was even so: all
+were out there. Mr. Chattaway, in passing, had once or twice sharply
+demanded what they, a pack of women, did in such a scene, and the women
+had drawn away at the rebuke, but only to come forward again. Perhaps it
+was not in human nature to keep wholly away from that region of
+excitement.</p>
+
+<p>A half-exclamation of fear escaped Mrs. Chattaway's lips, and she
+pressed a few steps onwards.</p>
+
+<p>Holding a close and apparently private conference with Mr. Apperley, was
+Bowen, the superintendent of the very slight staff of police stationed
+in the place. As a general rule, these rustic districts are too
+peaceable to require much supervision from the men in blue.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Apperley, you will not turn against him!" she implored, from
+between her fevered and trembling lips; and in good truth, Mrs.
+Chattaway gave indications of being almost as much beside herself that
+night as the unhappy Rupert. "Is Bowen asking you where you saw Rupert,
+that he may go and search for him? Do not <i>you</i> turn against him!"</p>
+
+<p>"My dear, good lady, I haven't a thing to tell," returned Mr. Apperley,
+looking at her in surprise, for her manner was strange. "Bowen heard me
+say, as others heard, that Mr. Rupert was in the Brook field when I came
+from it. But I have nothing else to tell of him; and he may not be there
+now. It's hardly likely he would be."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway lifted her white face to Bowen. "You will not take him?"
+she imploringly whispered.</p>
+
+<p>The man shook his head&mdash;he was an intelligent officer, much respected in
+the neighbourhood&mdash;and answered her in the same low tone. "I can't help
+myself, ma'am. When charges are given to us, we are obliged to take
+cognisance of them, and to arrest, if need be, those implicated."</p>
+
+<p>"Has this charge been given you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, this half-hour ago. I was up here almost with the breaking out of
+the flames, for I happened to be close by, and Mr. Chattaway made his
+formal complaint to me, and put it in my care."</p>
+
+<p>Her heart sank within her. "And you are looking for him?"</p>
+
+<p>"Chigwell is," replied the superintendent, alluding to a constable. "And
+Dumps has gone after Jim Sanders."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank Heaven!" exclaimed a voice at her elbow. It was that of George
+Ryle; and Mrs. Chattaway turned in amazement. But George's words had not
+borne reference to her, or to anything she was saying.</p>
+
+<p>"It is beginning to rain," he exclaimed. "A fine, steady rain would do
+us more good than the engines. What does that noise mean?"</p>
+
+<p>A murmur of excitement had arisen on the opposite side of the rick-yard,
+and was spreading as fast as did the flame. George looked in vain for
+its cause: he was very tall, and raised himself on tiptoe to see the
+better: as yet without result.</p>
+
+<p>But not for long. The cause soon showed itself. Pushing his way through
+the rick-yard, pale, subdued, quiet now, came Rupert Trevlyn. Not in
+custody; not fettered; not passionate; only very worn and weary, as if
+he had undergone some painful amount of fatigue. It was only that the
+fit of passion had left him; he was worn-out, powerless. In the days
+gone by it had so left his uncle Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Bowen walked up, and laid his hand upon his shoulder. "I am sorry to
+do it, sir," he said, "but you are my prisoner."</p>
+
+<p>"I can't help it," wearily responded Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>But what brought Rupert Trevlyn back into the very camp of the
+Philistines? In his terrible passion, he had partly fallen to the
+ground, partly flung himself down in the field where Mr. Apperley saw
+him, and there lay until the passion abated. After a time he sat up,
+bent his head upon his knees, and revolved what had passed. How long he
+might have stayed there, it is impossible to say, but that shouts and
+cries in the road aroused him, and he looked up to see that red light,
+and men running in its direction. He went and questioned them. "The
+rick-yard at the Hold was on fire!"</p>
+
+<p>An awful consciousness came across him that it was <i>his</i> work. It is a
+fact, that he did not positively remember what he had done: that is, had
+no clear recollection of it. Giving no thought to the personal
+consequences&mdash;any more than an hour before he had measured the effects
+of his work&mdash;he began to hasten to the Hold as fast as his depressed
+physical state would permit. If he had created that flame, it was only
+fair he should do what he could towards putting it out.</p>
+
+<p>The clouds cleared, and the rain did not fulfil its promise as George
+Ryle had fondly hoped. But the little engine from Barbrook did good
+service, and the flames were not spreading over the whole rick-yard.
+Later, the two great Barmester engines thundered up, and gave their aid
+towards extinguishing the fire.</p>
+
+<p>And Rupert Trevlyn was in custody for having caused it!</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII</h2>
+
+<h3>NORA'S DIPLOMACY</h3>
+
+
+<p>Amidst all the human beings collected in and about the burning rick-yard
+of Trevlyn Hold, perhaps no one was so utterly miserable, not even
+excepting the unhappy Rupert, as its mistress, Mrs. Chattaway. <i>He</i>
+stood there in custody for a dark crime; a crime for which the
+punishment only a few short years before would have been the extreme
+penalty of the law; he whom she had so loved. In her chequered life she
+had experienced moments of unhappiness than which she had thought no
+future could exceed in intensity; but had all those moments been
+concentrated into one dark and dreadful hour, it could not have equalled
+the trouble of this. Her vivid imagination leaped over the present, and
+held up to view but one appalling picture of the future&mdash;Rupert working
+in chains. Poor, unhappy, wronged Rupert! whom they had kept out of his
+rights; whom her husband had now by his ill-treatment goaded to the
+ungovernable passion which was the curse of her family: and this was the
+result.</p>
+
+<p>Every pulse of her heart beating with its sense of terrible wrong; every
+chord of love for Rupert strung to its utmost tension; every fear that
+an excitable imagination can depict within her, Mrs. Chattaway leaned
+against the palings in utter faintness of spirit. Her ears took in with
+unnatural quickness the comments around. She heard some hotly avowing
+their belief that Rupert was not guilty, except in the malicious fancy
+of Mr. Chattaway; heard them say that Chattaway was scared and startled
+that past day when he found Rupert was alive, instead of dead, down in
+the mine: even the more moderate observed that after all it was only Jim
+Sanders's word for it; and if Jim did not appear to confirm it, Mr.
+Rupert must be held innocent.</p>
+
+<p>The wonder seemed to be, where was Jim? He had not reappeared on the
+scene, and his absence certainly looked suspicious. In moments of
+intense fear, the mind receives the barest hint vividly and
+comprehensively, and Mrs. Chattaway's heart bounded within her at that
+whispered suggestion. <i>If Jim Sanders did not appear Rupert must be held
+innocent.</i> Was there no possibility of keeping Jim back? By
+persuasion&mdash;by stratagem&mdash;by force, even, if necessary? The blood
+mounted to her pale cheek at the thought, red as the lurid flame which
+lighted up the air. At that moment she saw George Ryle hastening across
+the yard near to her and glided towards him. He turned at her call.</p>
+
+<p>"You see! They have taken Rupert!"</p>
+
+<p>"Do not distress yourself, dear Mrs. Chattaway," he answered. "I wish
+you could have been persuaded not to remain in this scene: it is
+altogether unfit for you."</p>
+
+<p>"George," she gasped, "do <i>you</i> believe he did it?"</p>
+
+<p>George Ryle did believe it. He had heard about the horsewhipping; and
+aware of that mad passion called the Trevlyn temper, he could not do
+otherwise than believe it.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, don't speak!" she interrupted, perceiving his hesitation. "I see
+you condemn him, as some around us are condemning him. But," she added,
+with feverish eagerness, "there is only the word of Jim Sanders against
+him. They are saying so."</p>
+
+<p>"Very true," replied George, heartily desiring to give her all the
+comfort he could. "Mr. Jim must make good his words before we can
+condemn Rupert."</p>
+
+<p>"Jim Sanders has always been looked upon as truthful," interposed Octave
+Chattaway, who had drawn near. Surely it was ill-natured to say so at
+that moment, however indisputable the fact might be!</p>
+
+<p>"It has yet to be proved that Jim made the accusation," said George,
+replying to Octave. "Although Bridget asserts it, it is not obliged to
+be fact. And even if Jim did say it, he may have been mistaken. He must
+show that he was not mistaken before the magistrates to-morrow, or the
+charge will fall to the ground."</p>
+
+<p>"And Rupert be released?" added Mrs. Chattaway eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly. At least, I suppose so."</p>
+
+<p>He passed on his way; Octave went back to where she had been standing,
+and Mrs. Chattaway remained alone, buried in thought.</p>
+
+<p>A few minutes, and she glided out of the yard. With stealthy steps, and
+eyes that glanced fearfully around her, she escaped by degrees beyond
+the crowd, and reached the open field. Then, turning an angle at a fleet
+pace, she ran against some one who was coming as swiftly up. A low cry
+escaped her. It seemed to her that the mere fact of being encountered
+like this, was sufficient to betray the wild project she had conceived.
+Conscience is very suggestive.</p>
+
+<p>But it was only Nora Dickson: and Nora in a state of wrath. When the
+alarm of fire reached Trevlyn Farm, its inmates had hastened to the
+scene with one accord, leaving none in the house but Nora and Mrs. Ryle.
+Mrs. Ryle, suffering from some temporary indisposition, was in bed, and
+Nora, consequently, had to stay and take care of the house, doing
+violence to her curiosity. She stood leaning over the gate, watching the
+people hasten by to the excitement from which she was excluded; and when
+the Barbrook engine thundered past, Nora's anger was unbounded. She felt
+half inclined to lock up the house, and start in the wake of the engine;
+the fierce if innocent anathemas she hurled at the head of the truant
+Nanny were something formidable; and when that damsel at length
+returned, Nora would have experienced the greatest satisfaction in
+shaking her. But the bent of her indignation changed; for Nanny, before
+Nora had had time to say so much as a word, burst forth with the news
+she had gathered at the Hold. Rupert Trevlyn fired the hay-rick because
+Mr. Chattaway had horsewhipped him.</p>
+
+<p>Nora's breath was taken away: wrath for her own grievance merged in the
+greater wrath she felt for Rupert's sake. Horsewhipped him? That brute
+of a Chattaway had horsewhipped Rupert Trevlyn? A burning glow rushed
+over her as she listened; a resentful denial broke from her lips: but
+Nanny persisted in her statement. Chattaway had locked out Rupert the
+previous night, and Madam, unknown to her husband, admitted him:
+Chattaway had demanded of Rupert who let him in, but Rupert, fearing to
+compromise Madam, refused to tell, and then Chattaway used the
+horsewhip.</p>
+
+<p>Nora waited to hear no more. She started off to the Hold in her
+indignation; not so much now to take part in the bustling scene, or to
+indulge her curiosity, as to ascertain the truth of this shameful story.
+Rupert could scarcely have felt more indignant pain at the chastisement,
+than Nora at hearing it. Close to the outer gate of the fold-yard, she
+encountered Mrs. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>A short explanation ensued. Nora, forgetting possibly that it was Mrs.
+Chattaway to whom she spoke, broke into a burst of indignation at Mr.
+Chattaway, a flood of sympathy for Rupert. It told Mrs. Chattaway that
+she might trust her, and her delicate fingers entwined themselves
+nervously around Nora's stronger ones in her hysterical emotion.</p>
+
+<p>"It must have been done in a fit of the Trevlyn temper, Nora," she
+whispered imploringly, as if beseeching Nora's clemency. "The temper was
+born with him, you know, and he could not help that&mdash;and to be
+horsewhipped is a terrible thing."</p>
+
+<p>If Nora felt inclined to doubt the report before, these words dispelled
+the doubt, and brought a momentary shock. Nora was not one to excuse or
+extenuate a crime so great as that of wilfully setting fire to a
+rick-yard: to all who have to do with farms, it is especially abhorrent,
+and Nora was no exception to the rule; but in this case by some
+ingenious sophistry of her own, she did shift the blame from Rupert's
+shoulders, and lay it on Mr. Chattaway's; and she again expressed her
+opinion of that gentleman's conduct in very plain terms.</p>
+
+<p>"He is in custody, Nora!" said Mrs. Chattaway with a shiver. "He is to
+be examined to-morrow before the magistrates, and they will either
+commit him for trial, or release him, according to the evidence. Should
+he be tried and condemned for it, the punishment might be penal
+servitude for life!"</p>
+
+<p>"Heaven help him!" ejaculated Nora in her dismay at this new feature
+presented to her view. "That would be a climax to his unhappy life!"</p>
+
+<p>"But if they can prove nothing against him to-morrow, the magistrates
+will not commit him," resumed Mrs. Chattaway. "There's nothing to prove
+it but Jim Sanders's word: and&mdash;Nora,"&mdash;she feverishly added&mdash;"perhaps
+we can keep Jim back?"</p>
+
+<p>"Jim Sanders's word!" repeated Nora, who as yet had not heard of Jim in
+connection with the affair. "What has Jim to do with it?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway explained. She mentioned all that was said to have
+passed, Bridget's declaration, and her own miserable conviction that it
+was but too true. She just spoke of the suspicion cast on Jim by several
+doubters, but in a manner which proved the suspicion had no weight with
+her: and she told of his disappearance from the scene. "I was on my way
+to search for him," she continued; "but I don't know where to search.
+Oh, Nora, won't you help me? I would kneel to Jim, and implore him not
+to come forward against Rupert; I will be ever kind to Jim, and look
+after his welfare, if he will only hear me! I will try to bring him on
+in life."</p>
+
+<p>Nora, impulsive as Mrs. Chattaway, but with greater calmness of mind and
+strength of judgment, turned without a word. From that moment she
+entered heart and soul into the plot. If Jim Sanders could be kept back
+by mortal means, Nora would keep him. She revolved matters rapidly in
+her mind as she went along, but had not proceeded many steps when she
+halted, and laid her hand on the arm of her companion.</p>
+
+<p>"I had better go alone about this business, Madam Chattaway. If you'll
+trust to me, it shall be done&mdash;if it can be done. You'll catch your
+death, coming out with nothing on, this cold night: and I'm not sure
+that it would be well for you to be seen in it."</p>
+
+<p>"I must go on, Nora," was the earnest answer. "I cannot rest until I
+have found Jim. As to catching cold, I have been standing in the open
+air since the fire broke out, and have not known whether it was cold or
+hot. I am too feverish to-night for any cold to affect me."</p>
+
+<p>Nevertheless, she untied her black silk apron, and folded it over her
+head, concealing all her fair falling curls. Nora made no further
+remonstrance.</p>
+
+<p>The most obvious place to look for Jim was his own home; at least so it
+occurred to Nora. Jim had the honour of residing with his mother in a
+lonely three-cornered cottage, which boasted two rooms and a loft. It
+was a good step to it, and they walked swiftly, exchanging a sentence
+now and then in hushed tones. As they came within view of it, Nora's
+quick sight detected the head (generally a very untidy one) of Mrs.
+Sanders, airing itself at the open door.</p>
+
+<p>"You halt here, Madam Chattaway," she whispered, pointing to a friendly
+hedge, "and let me go on and feel my way with her. She'll be a great
+deal more difficult to deal with than Jim; and the more I reflect, the
+more I am convinced it will not do for you to be seen in it."</p>
+
+<p>So far, Mrs. Chattaway acquiesced. She remained under cover of the
+hedge, and Nora went on alone. But when she had really gained the door,
+it was shut; no one was there. She lifted the old-fashioned wooden
+latch, and entered. The door had no other fastening; strange as that
+fact may sound to dwellers in towns. The woman had backed against the
+further wall, and was staring at the intruder with a face of dread. Keen
+Nora noted the signs, drew a very natural deduction, and shaped her
+tactics accordingly.</p>
+
+<p>"Where's Jim?" began she, in decisive but not unkindly tones.</p>
+
+<p>"It's not true what they are saying, Miss Dickson," gasped the woman. "I
+could be upon my Bible oath that he never did it. Jim ain't of that
+wicked sort, he'd not harm a fly."</p>
+
+<p>"But there are such things as accidents, you know, Mrs. Sanders,"
+promptly answered Nora, who had no doubt as to her course now. "It's
+certain that he was in the rick-yard with a lighted torch; and boys, as
+everyone knows, are the most careless animals on earth. I suppose you
+have Jim in hiding?"</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't set eyes on Jim since night fell," the woman answered.</p>
+
+<p>"Look here, Mrs. Sanders, you had better avow the truth to me. I have
+come as a friend to see what can be done for Jim; and I can tell you
+that I would rather keep him in hiding&mdash;or put him into hiding, for the
+matter of that&mdash;than betray him to the police, and say, 'You'll find Jim
+Sanders so-and-so.' Tell me the whole truth, and I'll stand Jim's
+friend. He has been about our place from a little chap in petticoats,
+when he was put to hurrish the crows, and it's not likely we should want
+to harm him."</p>
+
+<p>Her words reassured the woman, but she persisted in her denial. "I
+declare to goodness, ma'am, that I know nothing of him," she said,
+pushing back her untidy hair. "He come in here after he left work, and
+tidied hisself a bit, and went off with one of them puppies of his; and
+he has never been back since."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Nora. "He took the puppy to the Hold, and was showing it to
+Bridget when the fire broke out&mdash;that's the tale that's told to me. But
+Jim had a torch, they say; and torches are dangerous things in
+rick-yards&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Jim's a fool!" was the complimentary interruption of Jim's mother. "His
+head's running wild over that flighty Bridget, as ain't worth her salt.
+I asked him what he was bringing on that puppy for, and he said for
+Bridget&mdash;and I told him he was a simpleton for his pains. And now this
+has come of it!"</p>
+
+<p>"How did you hear of Jim's being connected with the fire?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have had a dozen past here, opening their mouths," resentfully spoke
+the woman. "Some of 'em said Mr. Rupert was mixed up in it, and the
+police were after him as well as after Jim."</p>
+
+<p>"It is true that Mr. Rupert is said to be mixed up in it," said Nora,
+speaking with a purpose. "And he is taken into custody."</p>
+
+<p>"Into custody?" echoed Mrs. Sanders, in a scared whisper.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; and Jim must be hidden away for the next four and twenty hours, or
+they'll take him. Where's he to be found?"</p>
+
+<p>"I couldn't tell you if you killed me for't," protested Mrs. Sanders;
+and her tones were earnestly truthful. "Maybe he is in hiding&mdash;has gone
+and put himself into 't in his fear of Chattaway and the police. Though
+I'll take my oath he never did it wilful. If he <i>had</i> a torch, why, a
+spark of it might have caught a loose bit of hay and fired it: but he
+never did it wilful. It ain't a windy night, either," she added
+reflectively. "Eh! the fool that there Jim has been ever since he was
+born!"</p>
+
+<p>Nora paused. In the uncertainty as to where to look for Jim, she did not
+see her way very clearly to accomplishing the object in view, and took a
+few moments' rapid counsel with herself.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen, Mrs. Sanders, and pay attention to what I say," she cried
+impressively. "I can't do for Jim what I wanted to do, because he is not
+to be found. But now mind: should he come in after I am gone, send him
+off instantly to the farm. Tell him to dodge under the trees and hedges
+on his way, and take care that no one catches sight of him. When he gets
+to the farm, he must come to the front-door, and knock gently with his
+knuckles: I shall be in the room."</p>
+
+<p>"And then?" questioned Mrs. Sanders, looking puzzled.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll take care what then; I'll take care of <i>him</i>. Now, do you
+understand?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes," said the woman. "I'll be sure to do it, Miss Dickson."</p>
+
+<p>"Mind you do," said Nora. "And now, good-night to you."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Sanders was officiously coming to the door with the candle, to
+light her visitor; but Nora peremptorily sent her back, giving her at
+the same time a piece of advice in rather sharp tones&mdash;to keep her
+cottage dark and silent that night, lest the attention of passers-by
+might be drawn to it.</p>
+
+<p>It was not cheering news to carry back to poor Mrs. Chattaway. That
+timid, trembling, unhappy lady had left the shelter of the hedge&mdash;where
+she probably found her crouching position not a very easy one&mdash;and was
+standing behind the trunk of a tree at a little distance, her whole
+weight leaning upon it. To stand long, unaided, was almost a physical
+impossibility to her, for her spine was weak. She saw Nora, and came
+forward.</p>
+
+<p>"Where is he?"</p>
+
+<p>"He is not at home. His mother does not know where he is. She had
+heard&mdash;&mdash;Hush! Who's this?"</p>
+
+<p>Nora's voice dropped, and they retreated behind the tree. To be seen in
+the vicinity of Jim Sanders's cottage would not have furthered the
+object they had in view&mdash;that of burying the gentleman for a time. The
+steps advanced, and Nora, stealing a peep, recognised Farmer Apperley.</p>
+
+<p>He was coming from the direction of the Hold; and they rightly judged,
+seeing him walking leisurely, that the danger must be over. At the same
+moment they became conscious of footsteps approaching from another
+direction. They were crossing the road, bearing rather towards the Hold,
+and in another moment would meet Mr. Apperley. Footsore, weary, yet
+excited, and making what haste he could, their owner came into view,
+disclosing the person of Mr. Jim Sanders. Mrs. Chattaway uttered an
+exclamation, and would have started forward; but Nora, with more
+caution, held her back.</p>
+
+<p>The farmer heard the cry, and looked round, but seeing nothing, probably
+thought his ears had deceived him. As he turned his head again, there,
+right in front of him, was Jim Sanders. Quick as lightning his grasp was
+laid upon the boy's shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"Now then! Where have you been skulking?"</p>
+
+<p>"Lawk a mercy! I han't been skulking, sir," returned Jim, apparently
+surprised at the salutation. "I be a'most ready to drop with the speed
+I've made."</p>
+
+<p>Poor, ill-judged Jim! In point of fact he had done more, indirectly,
+towards putting out the fire, than Farmer Apperley and ten of the best
+men at his back. Jim's horror and consternation when he saw the flames
+burst forth had taken from him all thought&mdash;all power, as may be
+said&mdash;except instinct. Instinct led him to Barbrook, to warn the
+fire-engine there: he saw it off, and then hastened all the way to
+Barmester, and actually gave notice to the engines and urged their
+departure before the arrival of Cris Chattaway on horseback. From
+Barmester Jim started to Layton's Heath&mdash;a place standing at an acute
+angle between Barmester and Barbrook&mdash;and posted off the engines from
+there also. And now Jim was toiling back again, footsore and weary, but
+bending his course to Trevlyn Hold to render his poor assistance in
+putting out the flames. Rupert Trevlyn had always been a favourite of
+Jim's. Rupert in his good-natured way had petted Jim, and the boy in his
+unconscious gratitude was striving to amend the damage which Rupert had
+caused. In after-days, this night's expedition of Jim's was talked of as
+a marvel verging on the impossible. Men are apt to forget the marvels
+that may be done under the influence of great emotion.</p>
+
+<p>Something of this&mdash;of where he had been and for what purpose&mdash;Jim
+explained to the farmer, and Mr. Apperley released his hold upon him.</p>
+
+<p>"They are saying up there, lad"&mdash;indicating the Hold&mdash;"that you had a
+torch in the rick-yard."</p>
+
+<p>"So I had," replied Jim. "But I didn't do no damage with it."</p>
+
+<p>"You told me it was Rupert Trevlyn who had fired the rick."</p>
+
+<p>"And so it was," replied Jim. "He was holding that there torch of mine,
+when Mr. Chattaway came up; looking at the puppy, we was. And Chattaway
+had a word or two with him, and then horsewhipped him; and Mr. Rupert
+caught up the torch, which he had let fall, and pushed it into the rick.
+I see him," added Jim, conclusively.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Apperley stroked his chin. He also liked Rupert, and very much
+condemned the extreme chastisement inflicted by Mr. Chattaway. He did
+not go so far as Nora and deem it an excuse for the mad act; but it is
+certain he did not condemn it as he would have condemned it in another,
+or if committed under different circumstances. He felt grieved and
+uncomfortable; he was conscious of a sore feeling in his mind; and he
+heartily wished the whole night's work could be blotted out from the
+record of deeds done, and that Rupert was free again and guiltless.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, lad, it's a bad job altogether," he observed; "but you don't seem
+to have been to blame except for taking a lighted torch into a
+rick-yard. Never you do such a thing again. You see what has come of
+it."</p>
+
+<p>"We warn't nigh the ricks when I lighted the torch," pleaded Jim. "We
+was yards off 'em."</p>
+
+<p>"That don't matter. There's always danger. I'd turn away the best man I
+have on my farm, if I saw him venture into the rick-yard with a torch.
+Don't you be such a fool again. Where are you off to now?" for Jim was
+passing on.</p>
+
+<p>"Up to the Hold, sir, to help put out the fire."</p>
+
+<p>"The fire's out&mdash;or nigh upon it; and you'd best stop where you are. If
+you show your face there, you'll get taken up by the police&mdash;they are
+looking out for you. And I don't see that you've done anything to merit
+a night's lodging in the lock-up," added the farmer, in his sense of
+justice. "Better pass it in your bed. You'll be wanted before the Bench
+to-morrow; but it's as good to go before them a free lad as a prisoner.
+The prisoner they have already taken, Rupert Trevlyn, is enough. Never
+you take a torch near ricks again."</p>
+
+<p>With this reiterated piece of advice, Mr. Apperley departed. Jim stood
+in indecision, revolving in a hazy kind of way the various pieces of
+information gratuitously bestowed upon him. He himself suspected; in
+danger of being taken up by the police!&mdash;and Mr. Rupert a prisoner! and
+the fire out, or almost out! It might be better, perhaps, that he went
+in to his cottage, and got to sleep as Mr. Apperley advised, if he was
+not too tired to sleep.</p>
+
+<p>But before Jim saw his way clearly out of the maze, or had come to any
+decision, he found himself seized from behind with a grasp fast and firm
+as Mr. Apperley's. A vision of a file of policemen brought a rush of
+fear to Jim's mind, hot blood to his face. But the arms proved to be
+only Nora Dickson's, and a soft, gentle voice of entreaty was whispering
+a prayer into his ear, almost as the prayer of an angel. Jim started in
+amazement, and looked round.</p>
+
+<p>"Lawk a mercy!" ejaculated he. "Why, it's Madam Chattaway!"</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXXIX</h2>
+
+<h3>ANOTHER VISITOR FOR MRS. SANDERS</h3>
+
+
+<p>A few minutes after his encounter with Jim Sanders, to which interview
+Mrs. Chattaway and Nora had been unseen witnesses, Farmer Apperley met
+Policeman Dumps, to whom, you may remember, the superintendent had
+referred as having been sent after Jim. He came up from the direction of
+Barbrook.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't find him nowhere," was his salutation to Mr. Apperley. "I have
+been a'most all over Mr. Ryle's land, and in every hole and corner of
+Barbrook, and he ain't nowhere. I'm going on now to his own home, just
+for form's sake; but that's about the last place he'd hide in."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you speaking of Rupert Trevlyn?" asked Mr. Apperley, who knew
+nothing of the man's search for Jim.</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir; Jim Sanders."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, you need not look after him," replied the farmer. "I have just met
+him. Jim's all right. It was not he who did the mischief. He has been
+after all the fire-engines on foot, and is just come back, dead-beat. He
+was going on to the Hold to help put out the fire, but I told him it was
+out, and he could go home. There's not the least necessity to look after
+Jim."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Dumps&mdash;whose clearness of vision was certainly not sufficient to set
+the Thames on fire&mdash;received the news without any doubt. "I thought it
+an odd thing for Jim Sanders to do. He haven't daring enough," he
+remarked. "That kitchenmaid was right, I'll be bound, as to its being
+Mr. Rupert in his passion. Gone in home, did you say, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>"In bed by this time, I should say," replied the farmer. "They have got
+Mr. Rupert, Dumps."</p>
+
+<p>"Have they?" returned Dumps. "It's a nasty charge, sir. I shouldn't be
+sorry that he got off it."</p>
+
+<p>The farmer continued his road towards Barbrook; the policeman went the
+other way. As he came to the cottage inhabited by the Sanders family, it
+occurred to him that he might as well ascertain the fact of Jim's
+safety, and he went to the door and knocked. Mrs. Sanders opened it
+instantly, believing it to be the wanderer. When she saw policeman Dumps
+standing there, she thought she should have died with fright.</p>
+
+<p>"Your son has just come in all right, I hear, Madge Sanders. Farmer
+Apperley have told me."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir," replied she, dropping a curtsey. The untruthful reply was
+spoken in her terror, almost unconsciously; but there may have been some
+latent thought in her heart to mislead the policeman.</p>
+
+<p>"Is he gone to bed? I don't want to disturb him if he is."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir," replied she again.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, they have got Mr. Rupert Trevlyn, so the examination will take
+place to-morrow morning. Your son had better go right over to Barmester
+the first thing after breakfast; tell him to make for the
+police-station, and stop there till he sees me. He'll have to give
+evidence, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well, sir," repeated the woman, in an agony of fear lest Jim
+should make his appearance. "Jim ain't guilty, sir: he wouldn't harm a
+fly."</p>
+
+<p>"No, he ain't guilty; but somebody else is, I suppose; and Jim must tell
+what he knows. Mind he sets off in time. Or&mdash;stop. Perhaps he had better
+come to the little station at Barbrook, and go over with us. Yes,
+that'll be best."</p>
+
+<p>"To-night, sir?" asked she timidly.</p>
+
+<p>"To-night?&mdash;no. What should we do with him to-night? He must be there at
+eight o'clock in the morning; or a little before it. Good night."</p>
+
+<p>"Good night, sir."</p>
+
+<p>She watched him off, quite unable to understand the case, for she had
+seen nothing of Jim, and Nora Dickson had not long gone. Mr. Dumps made
+his way to the headquarters at Barbrook; and when, later on, Bowen came
+in with Rupert Trevlyn, Dumps informed him that Jim Sanders was all
+right, and would be there by eight o'clock.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you got him&mdash;all safe?"</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't got him," replied Dumps. "There wasn't no need for that. He
+was a-bed and asleep," he added, improving upon his information. "It was
+him that went for all the injines, and he was dead tired."</p>
+
+<p>"Your orders were to take him," curtly returned Bowen, who believed in
+Jim's innocence as much as Dumps did, but would not tolerate
+disobedience to orders. "He was seen with a lighted torch in the
+rick-yard, and that's enough."</p>
+
+<p>Rupert Trevlyn looked round quickly. This conversation had occurred as
+Bowen was going through the room with his prisoner to consign the latter
+to a more secure one. "Jim Saunders did no harm with the torch, Bowen.
+He lighted it to show me a little puppy of his; nothing more. There is
+no need to accuse Jim&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I beg your pardon, Mr. Trevlyn, but I'd rather not hear anything from
+you one way or the other," interrupted Bowen. "Don't as much as open
+your mouth about it, sir, unless you're obliged; and I speak in your
+interest when I give you this advice. Many a prisoner has brought the
+guilt home to himself through his own tongue."</p>
+
+<p>Rupert took the hint, and subsided into silence. He was consigned to his
+quarters for the night, and no doubt passed it as agreeably as was
+consistent with the circumstances.</p>
+
+<p>The fire had not spread beyond a rick or two. It was quite out before
+midnight; and the engines, which had done effectual service, were on
+their way home again. At eight o'clock the following morning a fly was
+at the door to convey Rupert Trevlyn to Barmester. Bowen, a cautious
+man, deemed it well that the chief witness&mdash;it may be said, the only
+witness to any purpose&mdash;should be transported there by the same
+conveyance. But that witness, Mr. Jim Sanders, delayed his appearance
+unwarrantably, and Dumps, in much wrath, started in search of him. Back
+he came&mdash;it was not more than a quarter-of-a-mile to the mother's
+cottage.</p>
+
+<p>"He has gone on, the stupid blunderer," cried he to Bowen; "Mrs. Sanders
+says he's at Barmester by this time. He'll be at the station there, no
+doubt."</p>
+
+<p>So the party started in state: Bowen, Dumps, and Rupert Trevlyn inside;
+and Chigwell, who had been sent to capture him, on the box. There was
+just as much necessity for the presence of the two men as for yours or
+mine; but they would not have missed the day's excitement for the world:
+and Bowen did not interpose his veto.</p>
+
+<p>The noise and bustle at the fire had been great, but it was scarcely
+greater than that which prevailed that morning at Barmester. As a matter
+of course, various contradictory versions were afloat; it is invariably
+the case. All that was certainly known were the bare facts; Mr.
+Chattaway had horsewhipped Rupert Trevlyn; a fire had almost immediately
+broken out in the rick-yard; and Rupert was in custody on the charge of
+causing it.</p>
+
+<p>Belief in Rupert's guilt was accorded a very limited degree. People
+could not forget the ill-feeling supposed to exist towards him in the
+breast of Mr. Chattaway; and the flying reports that it was Jim Sanders
+who had been the culprit, accidentally, if not wilfully, obtained far
+more credence than the other. The curious populace would have subscribed
+a good round sum to be allowed to question Jim to their hearts' content.</p>
+
+<p>But a growing rumour, freezing the very marrow in the bones of their
+curiosity, had come abroad. It was said that Jim had disappeared: was
+not to be found under the local skies; and it was this caused the chief
+portion of the public excitement. For in point of fact, when Bowen and
+the rest arrived at Barmester, Jim Sanders could not be seen or heard
+of. Dumps was despatched back to Barbrook in search of him.</p>
+
+<p>The hearing was fixed for ten o'clock; and before that hour struck, the
+magistrates&mdash;a full bench of them&mdash;had taken their places. Many familiar
+faces were to be seen in the crowded court&mdash;familiar to you, my readers;
+for the local world was astir with interest and curiosity. In one part
+of the crowd might be seen the face of George Ryle, grave and subdued;
+in another, the dark flashing eyes of Nora Dickson; yonder the red
+cheeks of Mr. Apperley; nearer, the pale concerned countenance of Mr.
+Freeman. Just before the commencement of the proceedings, the carriage
+from Trevlyn Hold drove up, and there descended from it Mr. and Madam
+Chattaway, and Miss Diana Trevlyn. A strange proceeding, you will say,
+that the ladies should appear; but it was not deemed strange in the
+locality. Miss Diana had asserted her determination to be present in
+tones quite beyond the power of Mr. Chattaway to contradict, even had he
+wished to do so; and thus he had no plea for refusing his wife. How ill
+she looked! Scarcely a heart but ached for her. The two ladies sat in a
+retired spot, and Mr. Chattaway&mdash;who was in the commission of the peace,
+but did not exercise the privilege once in a dozen years&mdash;took his place
+on the bench.</p>
+
+<p>Then the prisoner was brought in, civilly conducted by Superintendent
+Bowen. He looked pale, subdued, gentlemanly&mdash;not in the least like one
+who would set fire to a hay-rick.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you all your witnesses, Bowen?" inquired the presiding magistrate.</p>
+
+<p>"All but one, sir, and I expect him here directly; I have sent after
+him," was the reply. "In fact, I'm not sure but he is here," added the
+man, standing on tiptoe, and stretching his neck upwards; "the crowd's
+so great one can't see who's here and who isn't. If he can be heard
+first, his evidence may be conclusive, and save the trouble of examining
+the others."</p>
+
+<p>"You can call him," observed the magistrate. "If he is here, he will
+answer. What's the name?"</p>
+
+<p>"James Sanders, your worship."</p>
+
+<p>"Call James Sanders," returned his worship, exalting his voice.</p>
+
+<p>The call was made in obedience, and "James Sanders!" went ringing
+through the court; and walls and roof echoed the cry.</p>
+
+<p>But there was no other answer.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XL" id="CHAPTER_XL"></a>CHAPTER XL</h2>
+
+<h3>THE EXAMINATION</h3>
+
+
+<p>The morning sun shone upon the crowded court, as the Bench waited for
+the appearance of Mr. Jim Sanders. The windows, large, high, and
+guiltless of blinds, faced the south-east, and the warm autumn rays
+poured in, to the discomfort of those on whom they directly fell. They
+fell especially on the prisoner; his fair hair, his winning countenance.
+They fell on the haughty features of Miss Diana Trevlyn, leaning forward
+to speak to Mr. Peterby, who had been summoned in haste by herself, that
+he might watch the interests of Rupert. They fell on the sad face of
+Mrs. Chattaway, bent downwards until partly hidden under its falling
+curls; and they fell on the red face of Farmer Apperley, who was in a
+brown study, gently flicking his top-boot with his riding-whip.</p>
+
+<p>One, who had come pressing through the crowd, extended her hand, and
+touched the farmer on the shoulder. He turned to behold Nora Dickson.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Apperley, did your wife make those inquiries for me about that
+work-woman at the upholsterer's, whether she goes out by the day or
+not?" asked Nora, as though speaking for the benefit of the court in
+general.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Apperley paused to collect his thoughts upon the subject. "I <i>did</i>
+hear the missis say something about that woman," he remarked at length.
+"I can't call to mind what, though. Brown, isn't her name?"</p>
+
+<p>"We must have her, or somebody else," continued Nora, in the same tones.
+"Our drawing-room winter-curtains must be turned top for bottom; and as
+to the moreen bed-furniture&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Silence there!" interrupted an authoritative voice. And then there came
+again the same call which had already been echoed through the court
+twice before&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"James Sanders!"</p>
+
+<p>"Just step here to the back, and I'll send your wife a message for the
+woman," resumed Nora, in defiance of the mandate just issued.</p>
+
+<p>The farmer did not see why the message could not have been given to him
+where he was; but we are all apt to yield to a ruling power, and he
+followed Nora.</p>
+
+<p>She struggled through the crowded doorway of the court into a
+comparatively empty stone hall. The farmer contrived to follow her; but
+he was short and stout, and emerged purple with the exertion. Nora cast
+her cautious eyes around, and then bent towards him with the softest
+whisper.</p>
+
+<p>"Look here, Mr. Apperley. If they examine <i>you</i>, you have no need to
+tell everything, you know."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Apperley, none of the keenest at taking a hint, stared at Nora. He
+could not understand. "Are you talking about the upholstering woman?"
+asked he, in his perplexity.</p>
+
+<p>"Rubbish!" retorted Nora. "Do you suppose I brought you here to talk
+about her? You have not a bit of gumption&mdash;as everybody knows. Jim
+Sanders is not to be found; at least, it seems so," continued Nora, with
+a short cough; "for that's the third time they have called him. Now, if
+they examine you&mdash;as I suppose they will, by Bowen saying you might be
+wanted, there's no need to go and repeat what Jim said about Rupert
+Trevlyn's guilt when you met him last night down by his cottage."</p>
+
+<p>"Why! how did you know I met Jim last night?" cried the farmer, staring
+at Nora.</p>
+
+<p>"There's no time to explain now: I didn't dream it. You liked Joe
+Trevlyn: I have heard you say it."</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, I did," replied the farmer, casting his thoughts back.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, then, just bring to your mind how that poor lad, his son, has
+been wronged and put upon through life; think of the critical position
+he stands in now; before a hundred eyes&mdash;brought to it through that
+usurper, Chattaway. Don't <i>you</i> help on the hue and cry against him, I
+say. You didn't see him fire the rick; you only heard Jim Sanders say
+that he fired it; and you are not called upon to repeat that hearsay
+evidence. <i>Don't do it</i>, Mr. Apperley."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose I am not," assented he, after digesting the words.</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed you are not. If Jim can't be found, and you don't speak, I think
+it's not much of a case they'll make out against him. After all, Jim
+<i>may</i> have done it himself, you know."</p>
+
+<p>She turned away, leaving the farmer to follow her, and he, slow at
+coming to conclusions, stopped where he was, pondering all sides of the
+question in his mind.</p>
+
+<p>But there's a word to say about Policeman Dumps. Nothing could exceed
+the consternation experienced by that functionary at the non-appearance
+of Jim Sanders. On their arrival at Barmester, they had searched for him
+in vain. Dumps would not believe that he had been purposely deceived,
+although the stern eyes of his superior were bent on him with a very
+significant look. "Get the fleetest conveyance you can, and be off to
+Barbrook and see about it," were the whispered commands of the latter.
+"A pretty go, this is! I shall have the Bench blowing me up in public!"</p>
+
+<p>The Bench, vexed at the fruitless calls for Jim Sanders, looked much
+inclined to blow some one up. They were better off in regard to the sun
+than their audience, since they had their backs to it. The chairman, who
+sat in the middle, was a Mr. Pollard, a kindly, but hasty and
+opinionated man. He ordered the case to proceed, while the principal
+witness, Jim Sanders, was being looked for.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Flood, the lawyer from Barmester, acting for Mr. Chattaway, stated
+the case shortly and concisely. And the first witness called upon was
+Mr. Chattaway, who descended from the bench to give his evidence.</p>
+
+<p>He was obliged to confess to his shame. He stood there before the
+condemning faces around, and acknowledged that the chastisement spoken
+to was a fact&mdash;that he <i>had</i> laid his horsewhip on the shoulders of
+Rupert Trevlyn. He was pressed for the why and wherefore&mdash;Chattaway was
+no favourite with his brother-magistrates, and they did not show him any
+remarkable favour&mdash;and he had further to confess that the provocation
+was totally inadequate to the punishment.</p>
+
+<p>"State your grounds for charging your nephew, Rupert Trevlyn, with the
+crime," said the Bench.</p>
+
+<p>"There is not the slightest doubt that he did it in a fit of passion,"
+said Mr. Chattaway. "There was no one but him in the rick-yard, so far
+as I saw, and he had a lighted torch in his hand. This torch he dropped
+for a moment, but I suppose picked it up again."</p>
+
+<p>"It is said that James Sanders was also in the rick-yard; and the torch
+was his."</p>
+
+<p>"I did not see James Sanders. I saw only Rupert Trevlyn, and he had the
+torch in his hand when I went up. Not many minutes after I quitted the
+rick-yard the flames broke out."</p>
+
+<p>Apparently this was all Mr. Chattaway knew of the actual facts. The man
+Hatch was called, and testified to the fact that Jim Sanders was in the
+rick-yard. Bridget, the kitchenmaid, in a state of much tremor,
+confirmed this, and confessed she was there subsequently with Jim, that
+he had a torch, and they saw the flames break out. She related her story
+pretty circumstantially, winding up with the statement that Jim told her
+Mr. Rupert had set it on fire.</p>
+
+<p>"Stop a bit, lass," interrupted Mr. Peterby. "You have just stated to
+their worships that Jim Sanders flew off the moment he saw the flames
+burst forth, never stopping to speak a word. <i>Now</i> you say he told you
+it was Mr. Rupert who fired it. How do you reconcile the contradiction?"</p>
+
+<p>"He had told me first, sir," answered the girl. "He said he saw the
+master horsewhip Mr. Rupert, and Mr. Rupert in his passion caught up the
+torch which had fell, thrust it into the rick, and then leaped over the
+palings and got away. Jim pulled the torch out of the rick, and all the
+hay that had caught, as he thought; he told me all this when he was
+showing me the puppy. I suppose a spark must have been left in to
+smoulder, unknown to him."</p>
+
+<p>"Now don't you think that you and he and the torch and the puppy,
+between you, managed to get the spark there, instead of its having
+'smouldered,' eh, girl?" sarcastically asked Mr. Peterby.</p>
+
+<p>Bridget burst into tears. "No, I am sure we did not," she answered.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you likewise think that this pretty little bit of news regarding
+Mr. Rupert may have been a fable of Mr. Jim's invention, to excuse his
+own carelessness?" went on the lawyer.</p>
+
+<p>"I am certain it was not, sir," she sobbed. "When Jim told me about Mr.
+Rupert, he never thought the rick was on fire."</p>
+
+<p>They could not get on at all without Jim Sanders. Mr. Peterby's
+insinuations were pointed; nay, more; for he boldly asserted that the
+rick was far more likely to have been fired by Jim than Rupert&mdash;that is,
+by a spark from that gentleman's torch, whilst engaged with two objects
+so exacting as a puppy and Bridget. Jim himself could alone clear up the
+knotty question, and the Court gave vent to its impatience, and wished
+they were at the heels of Policeman Dumps who had gone in search of him.</p>
+
+<p>But the heels of Policeman Dumps could not by any means have flown more
+quickly over the ground, had the whole court been after him in full cry.
+In point of fact, they were not his own heels that were at work, but
+those of a fleet little horse, drawing the light gig in which the
+policeman sat. So effectually did he whip up this horse, that in
+considerably less time than half-an-hour, Mr. Dumps was nearing Jim's
+dwelling. As he passed the police-station at Barbrook, the only solitary
+policeman left to take care of the interests of the district was
+fulfilling his duty by taking a lounge against the door-post.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you seen anything of Jim Sanders?" called out Mr. Dumps, partially
+checking his horse. "He has never made his appearance yonder, and I'm
+come after him."</p>
+
+<p>"I hear he's off," answered the man.</p>
+
+<p>"Off! Off where?"</p>
+
+<p>"Cut away," was the explanatory reply. "He hasn't been seen since last
+night."</p>
+
+<p>Allowing himself a whole minute to take in the news, Mr. Dumps whipped
+on his horse, and gave utterance to a very unparliamentary word. When he
+burst into Mrs. Sanders's cottage, which was full of steam, and she
+before a washing-tub, he seized that lady's arm in so emphatic a manner
+that perceiving what was coming, she gave a scream, and very nearly
+plunged her head into the soap-suds.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Dumps ungallantly shook her. "Now, you just answer me," cried he;
+"and if you speak a word of a lie this time you'll get transported, or
+something as bad. What made you tell me last night Jim had come home and
+was in bed? Where is he?"</p>
+
+<p>She supposed he knew all&mdash;all the wickedness of her conduct in screening
+him; and it had the effect of hardening her. She was, as it were, at
+bay; and deceit was no longer possible.</p>
+
+<p>"If you did transport me I couldn't tell where he is. I don't know. I
+never set eyes on him all the blessed night, and that's the naked truth.
+Let me go, Mr. Dumps: it's no good choking me."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Dumps looked ready to choke himself. He had been deceived, and
+turned aside from the execution of his duty, his brother constables
+would have the laugh against him, Bowen would blow up, the Bench at
+Barmester was waiting, Jim was off&mdash;and that wretched woman had done it
+all! Mr. Dumps ground his teeth in impotent rage.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll have you punished as sure as my name's what it is, Madge Sanders,
+if you don't tell me the truth," he foamed. "Is Jim in this here house?"</p>
+
+<p>"You be welcome to search the house," she replied, throwing open the
+staircase door, which led to the loft. "I'm telling nothing but truth
+now, though I was frighted into doing summit else last night; frighted
+to death a'most, and so I was this morning when I said he'd gone on to
+Barmester."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Dumps felt inclined to shake her again: we are sure to be more angry
+with others when we have ourselves to blame; how could he have been fool
+enough to place such blind confidence in Farmer Apperley? One thing
+forced itself on his conviction; the woman was stating nothing but fact
+now.</p>
+
+<p>"You persist in it to my face that you don't know where Jim is?" he
+cried.</p>
+
+<p>"I swear I don't. There! I swear I have never set eyes on him since last
+night when he came home after work, and went out to take his black puppy
+to Trevlyn Hold. He never came in after that."</p>
+
+<p>"You just dry those soap-suddy arms of yours, put your bonnet on, and
+come straight off, and tell that to the magistrates," commanded Mr.
+Dumps, in sullen tones.</p>
+
+<p>She did not dare resist. Putting on her bonnet, flinging her old shawl
+across her shoulders, she was marshalled by Mr. Dumps to the gig. To
+look after Jim was a secondary consideration. To make his own excuse
+good was the first; and if Jim had had a matter of twelve-hours' start,
+he might be at twelve-hours' distance.</p>
+
+<p>Not to be found! Jim Sanders had made his escape, and was not to be
+found! reiterated the indignant Bench, when Mrs. Sanders and her escort
+appeared. What did Bowen mean, by asserting that Jim was ready to be
+called upon?</p>
+
+<p>Bowen shifted the blame from his own shoulders to those of Dumps; and
+Dumps, with a red face, shifted it on to Mrs. Sanders. She was sternly
+questioned, and made the same excuse she had made to Dumps&mdash;it was his
+saying to her that Jim had returned, and was in bed, that caused her in
+her fright to agree with it, and reply that he was. But she had not seen
+Jim, and he had never been a-nigh home since he went out with the puppy
+in the earlier part of the evening. She knew no more where Jim was than
+Dumps himself knew.</p>
+
+<p>That she told the truth appeared to be pretty clear to the magistrates,
+and to punish her for having so far used deceit to screen her son, might
+have been neither just nor legal. They turned back on Dumps.</p>
+
+<p>"What induced you to put such a leading question to the woman, assuming
+the boy was at home and in bed?" they severely asked.</p>
+
+<p>Dumps began rather to excuse himself than to explain. Such a thing
+hadn't never happened to him before; and it was Mr. Apperley's fault,
+for he met that gentleman nigh Meg Sanders's door, who told him Jim was
+all right, and gone home to bed.</p>
+
+<p>This was the first time Mr. Apperley's name had been mentioned in
+connection with the affair, and the magistrates ordered him before them.
+Nora insinuated her way to the front, and Mrs. Chattaway's face bent
+lower, to conceal its anxious expression, the wild beating of her heart.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you meet James Sanders last night, Mr. Apperley?" inquired the
+chairman.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; I did, sir. I was going home, when the danger was over, and the
+fire had got low, and I came upon Jim Sanders near his cottage, coming
+from the direction of Layton's Heath. Knowing he had been wanted, I laid
+hold of him: but the boy told me, simply enough, where he had been,&mdash;to
+Barbrook, Barmester, and Layton's Heath after the engines. He was then
+hastening to the Hold to help at the fire. I told him the fire was out,
+and he might get to bed."</p>
+
+<p>"And you told Dumps that he had gone to bed?"</p>
+
+<p>"I did. I never supposed but Jim went home then and there; and when I
+met Dumps a few minutes afterwards, I told him so. I can't understand it
+at all. The boy seemed almost too tired to move, and no wonder&mdash;and
+where he could have gone instead, is uncommon odd to me. It's to know
+whether his mother speaks truth in saying he did not go in," added the
+farmer, gratuitously imparting a little of his mind to the Bench.</p>
+
+<p>"What did he say to you?"</p>
+
+<p>"He said where he had been, and that he was going up to the Hold,"
+replied the witness, in tones of palpable hesitation, as if weighing his
+words.</p>
+
+<p>"You are sure it was Jim Sanders?" asked a very silent magistrate who
+sat at the end of the bench.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Apperley opened his eyes at this. "Sure it was Jim Sanders? Why, of
+course I'm sure of it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, it appears that only you, so far as can be learnt, saw Jim
+Sanders at all near the spot after the alarm went out."</p>
+
+<p>"Like enough," answered the farmer. "If the boy went to all these
+places, one after the other, he couldn't be at the Hold. But there's no
+mistake about my having seen him, and talked to him."</p>
+
+<p>The danger appeared to be over. The Bench seemed to have no intention of
+asking further questions of Mr. Apperley, and Nora breathed freely
+again. But it often happens that when we deem ourselves most secure,
+hidden danger is all the nearer. As the witness was turning round to
+retire, Flood, the lawyer, stepped forward.</p>
+
+<p>"A moment yet, if you please, Mr. Apperley. I must ask you a question or
+two, with the permission of the Bench. I believe you had met Jim Sanders
+before that, last night&mdash;soon after the breaking out of the fire?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," replied the farmer; "it was at the bend of the road between the
+Hold and Barbrook. I had that minute caught sight of the flame, not
+knowing rightly where it was or what it was, and Jim came running up and
+said, as well as he could speak for his hurry and agitation, that it was
+in Mr. Chattaway's rick-yard."</p>
+
+<p>"Agitated, was he?" asked the Bench; and a keen observer might have
+noticed Mr. Flood's brow contract with a momentary annoyance.</p>
+
+<p>"So agitated as hardly to know what he was saying, as it appeared to
+me," returned the witness. "He went away at great speed in the direction
+of Barbrook; on his way&mdash;as I learnt afterwards&mdash;to fetch the
+fire-engines."</p>
+
+<p>"And very laudable of him to do so," spoke up the lawyer. "But I have a
+serious question to put to you now, Mr. Apperley; be so good as to
+attend to me, and speak up. Did not Jim Sanders distinctly tell you that
+it was Rupert Trevlyn who had fired the rick?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Apperley paused in indecision. On the one hand, he was a plain,
+straightforward, honest man, possessing little tact, no cunning; on the
+other, he shrank from harming Rupert. Nora's words had left a strong
+impression upon him, and the mysterious absence of Jim Sanders was also
+producing its effect, as it was on three-parts of the people in court.
+He and they were beginning to ask why Jim should run away unless he had
+been guilty.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you lost your voice, Mr. Apperley?" resumed the lawyer. "Did or
+did not Jim Sanders say it was Rupert Trevlyn who fired the rick?"</p>
+
+<p>"I cannot say but he did," replied Mr. Apperley, as an unpleasant
+remembrance came across him that he had proclaimed this fact the
+previous night to as many as chose to listen, to which incaution Mr.
+Flood no doubt owed his knowledge. "But Jim appeared so flustered and
+wild," he continued, "that my belief is&mdash;and I have said this
+before&mdash;that he didn't rightly know what he was saying."</p>
+
+<p>"Unless I am misinformed, you had just before met Rupert Trevlyn,"
+continued Mr. Flood. "<i>He</i> was wild and flustered, was he not?"</p>
+
+<p>"He was."</p>
+
+<p>"Were both coming from the same direction?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. As if they had run straight from the Hold."</p>
+
+<p>"From the rick-yard, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"It might be that they had; 'twas pretty straight, if they leaped a
+hedge or two."</p>
+
+<p>"Just so. You were walking soberly along the high-road, on your way to
+Bluck the farrier's, when you were startled by the apparition of Rupert
+Trevlyn flying from the direction of the rick-yard like a wild animal&mdash;I
+only quote your own account of the fact, Mr. Apperley. Rupert was pale
+and breathless; in short, as you described him, he must have been under
+the influence of some great terror, or <i>guilt</i>. Was this so? Tell their
+worships."</p>
+
+<p>"It was so," replied Mr. Apperley.</p>
+
+<p>"You tried to stop him, and you could not; and as you stood looking
+after him, wondering whether he was mad, and, if not mad, what could
+have put him into such a state, Jim Sanders came up and told you a piece
+of news that was sufficient to account for any amount of
+agitation&mdash;namely, that Rupert Trevlyn had just set fire to one of the
+ricks in the yard at the Hold."</p>
+
+<p>It was utterly impossible that Mr. Apperley in his truth could deny
+this, and a faint cry broke from the lips of Mrs. Chattaway. But when
+Mr. Flood had done with the farmer, it was Mr. Peterby's turn to
+question him. He had not much to ask him, but elicited the positive
+avowal&mdash;and the farmer seemed willing to make as much of it as did Mr.
+Peterby&mdash;that Jim Sanders was in as great a state of agitation as Rupert
+Trevlyn, or nearly so. He, Mr. Apperley, summed up the fact by certain
+effective words.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, they were both agitated&mdash;both wild; and if those signs were any
+proof of the crime, the one looked as likely to have committed it as the
+other."</p>
+
+<p>The words told with the Bench. Mr. Flood exerted his eloquence to prove
+that Rupert Trevlyn, and he alone, must have been guilty. Not that he
+had any personal ill-feeling towards Rupert; he only spoke in his
+lawyerly instinct, which must do all it could for his client's cause.
+Mr. Peterby, on the other hand, argued that the circumstances were more
+conclusive of the guilt of James Sanders. Mr. Apperley had testified
+that both were nearly equally agitated; and if Rupert was the most so,
+it was only natural, for a gentleman's feelings were more easily stirred
+than an ignorant day-labourer's. In point of fact, this agitation might
+have proceeded from terror alone in each of them. Looking at the case
+dispassionately, what real point was there against Rupert Trevlyn? None.
+Who dared to assert that he was guilty? No one but the runaway, James
+Sanders, who most probably proffered the charge to screen himself. Where
+was James Sanders, Mr. Peterby continued, looking round the court.
+Nowhere: he had decamped; and this, of itself, ought to be taken by all
+sensible people as conclusive of guilt. He asked the Bench, in their
+justice, not to remand Rupert Trevlyn, as was urged by Mr. Flood, but to
+discharge him, and issue a warrant for the apprehension of James
+Sanders.</p>
+
+<p>Ah, what anxious hearts were some of those in court as the magistrates
+consulted with each other. Mr. Chattaway had had the grace not to return
+to his seat, and waited, as did the rest of the audience. Presently the
+chairman spoke&mdash;and it is very possible that the general disfavour in
+which Mr. Chattaway was held had insensibly influenced their decision.</p>
+
+<p>It appeared to the Bench, he said, that there were not sufficient facts
+proved against Rupert Trevlyn to justify their keeping him in custody,
+or in remanding the case. That he may have smarted in passion under the
+personal chastisement inflicted by Mr. Chattaway was not unlikely, and
+that gentleman had proved that, when he left the rick-yard, the lighted
+torch was, so to say, in possession of the prisoner. Mr. Apperley had
+likewise testified to meeting Rupert Trevlyn soon afterwards in a state
+of wild agitation. In the opinion of the Bench, these facts were not
+worth much: the lighted torch was proved to be in the possession of
+James Sanders in the rick-yard after this, as it had been before it; and
+the prisoner's agitation might have been solely the effect of the
+beating inflicted on him by Mr. Chattaway. Except the assertion of the
+boy, James Sanders, as spoken to by Mr. Apperley and the servant-maid,
+Bridget Sanders, there was nothing to connect the prisoner with the
+actual crime. It had been argued by Mr. Peterby that James Sanders
+himself had probably committed it, wilfully or accidentally, and that
+his absence might be regarded as pretty conclusive proof of this. Be
+that as it might, the Bench had come to the decision that there were not
+sufficient grounds for detaining the prisoner, and therefore he was
+discharged.</p>
+
+<p>He was discharged! And the shout of approbation that arose in court made
+the very walls ring.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLI" id="CHAPTER_XLI"></a>CHAPTER XLI</h2>
+
+<h3>A NIGHT ENCOUNTER</h3>
+
+
+<p>The first to press up to Rupert Trevlyn after his restored liberty was
+George Ryle. George held a very decided opinion upon the unhappy case;
+but strove to bury it five-fathom deep in his heart, and he hated Mr.
+Chattaway for the inflicted horsewhipping. Holding his arm out to
+Rupert, he led him towards the exit; but the sea of faces, of friendly
+voices, of shaking hands, was great, and somehow he and Rupert were
+separated.</p>
+
+<p>"It is a new lease of life for me, George," whispered a soft, sweet
+voice in his ear, and he turned to behold the glowing cheeks of Mrs.
+Chattaway, glowing with thanksgiving and unqualified happiness.</p>
+
+<p>Unqualified? Ah, if she could only have looked into the future, as
+George did in his forethought! Jim Sanders would probably not remain
+absent for ever. But he suffered his face to become radiant as Mrs.
+Chattaway's, as he stayed to talk with her.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, dear Mrs. Chattaway, was it not a shout! I will drive Rupert home.
+I have my gig here. Treve shall walk. I wonder&mdash;I have been wondering
+whether it would not be better for all parties if Rupert came and stayed
+a week with Treve at the Farm? It might give time for the unpleasantness
+to blow over between him and Mr. Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>"How good you are, George! If it only might be! I'll speak to Diana."</p>
+
+<p>She turned to Miss Diana Trevlyn and George saw Rupert talking with Mr.
+Peterby. At that moment, some one took possession of George.</p>
+
+<p>It was Mr. Wall, the linen-draper. He had been in court all the time,
+his sympathies entirely with the prisoner, in spite of his early
+friendship with the master of Trevlyn Hold. Ever since that one month
+passed at Mr. Wall's house, which George at the time thought the
+blackest month that could have fallen to the lot of mortal, Mr. Wall and
+George had been great friends.</p>
+
+<p>"This has been a nasty business," he said in an undertone. "Where <i>is</i>
+Jim Sanders?"</p>
+
+<p>George disclaimed, and with truth, all knowledge on the point. Mr. Wall
+resumed.</p>
+
+<p>"I guess how it was; an outbreak of the Trevlyn temper. Chattaway was a
+fool to provoke it. Cruel, too. He had no more right to take a whip to
+Rupert Trevlyn than I have to take one to my head-shopman. Were the
+ricks insured?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. There's the smart. Chattaway never would insure his ricks; never
+has insured them. It is said that Miss Diana has often told him he
+deserved to have his ricks burnt down for being penny wise and pound
+foolish."</p>
+
+<p>"How many were burnt?"</p>
+
+<p>"Two: and another damaged by water. It is a sharp loss."</p>
+
+<p>"Ay. One he won't relish. Rupert is not <i>secure</i>, you know," continued
+Mr. Wall in a spirit of friendly warning. "He can be taken up again."</p>
+
+<p>"I am aware of that. And this time I think it will be very difficult to
+lay the spirit of anger in Mr. Chattaway. Good evening. I am going to
+drive Rupert home. Where has he got to?"</p>
+
+<p>George had cause to reiterate the words "Where has he got to?" for he
+could not see him anywhere. His eyes roved in vain in search of Rupert.
+Mr. Peterby was alone now.</p>
+
+<p>George went hunting everywhere. He inquired of every one, friend and
+stranger, if they had seen Rupert, but all in vain; he could not meet or
+hear of him. At last he gave up the search, and started for home, Treve
+occupying the place in the gig he had offered to Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>Where was Rupert? In a state of mind not to be described, he had stolen
+away in the dusky night from the mass of faces, the minute he was
+released by Mr. Peterby, and made the best of his way out of Barmester,
+taking the field way towards the Hold. He felt in a sea of guilt and
+shame. To stand there a prisoner, the consciousness of guilt upon
+him&mdash;for he knew he had set fire to the rick&mdash;was as the keenest agony.
+When his previous night's passion cooled down, it was replaced by an
+awful sense&mdash;and the word is not misplaced&mdash;of the enormity of his act.
+It was a positive fact that he could not remember the details of that
+evil moment; but an innate conviction was upon him that he did thrust
+the burning brand into the rick and had so revenged himself on Mr.
+Chattaway. He turned aghast as he thought of it: in his sober senses he
+would be one of the last to commit so great a wickedness&mdash;would shudder
+at its bare thought. Not only was the weight of the guilt upon his mind,
+but a dread of the consequences. Rupert was no hero, and the horror of
+the punishment that might follow was working havoc in his brain. If he
+had escaped it for this day, he knew sufficient of our laws to be aware
+that he might not escape it another, and that Chattaway would prove
+implacable. The disgrace of a trial, the brand of felon&mdash;all might be
+his. Perhaps it was fear as much as shame which took Rupert alone out of
+Barmester.</p>
+
+<p>He knew not where to go. He reached the neighbourhood of the Hold,
+passed it, and wandered about in the moonlight, sick with hunger, weary
+with walking. He began to wish he had gone home with George Ryle; and he
+wished he could see George Ryle then, and ask his advice. To the Hold,
+to face Chattaway, he dared not yet go; nay, with that consciousness of
+guilt upon him, he shrank from facing his kind aunt Edith, his sister
+Maude, his aunt Diana. A sudden thought flashed into his mind&mdash;and for
+the moment it seemed like an inspiration&mdash;he would go after Mr. Daw and
+beg a shelter with him.</p>
+
+<p>But to get to Mr. Daw, who lived in some unknown region in the Pyrenees,
+and had no doubt crossed the Channel, would take money, time, and
+strength. As the practical views of the idea came up before him, he
+abandoned it in utter despair. Where should he go and what should he do?
+He sat down on the stile forming the entrance to a small grove of trees,
+through which a near road led to Barbrook; in fact, it was at the end of
+that very field in which Mr. Apperley had seen him the previous evening.
+Some subtle instinct, perhaps, took his wandering steps to it. As he
+leaned against the stile, he became conscious of the advance of some one
+along the narrow path leading from Barbrook&mdash;a woman, by her petticoats.</p>
+
+<p>It was a lovely night. The previous night had been dull, but on this one
+the moon shone in all her splendour. Rupert did not fear a woman, least
+of all the one approaching, for he saw that it was Ann Canham. She had
+been at work at the parsonage. Mrs. Freeman, taking advantage of the
+departure of their guest, had instituted the autumn cleaning, delayed on
+his account; and Ann had been there to-day, helping Molly, and was to go
+also on the morrow. A few happy tears dropped from her eyes when she saw
+him.</p>
+
+<p>"The parson's already home with the good news, sir. But why ever do you
+sit here, Master Rupert?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because I have nowhere to go to," returned Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>Ann paused, and then spoke timidly. "Isn't there the Hold, as usual,
+sir?"</p>
+
+<p>"I can't go there. Chattaway might horsewhip me again, you know, Ann."</p>
+
+<p>The bitter mockery with which he spoke brought pain to her. "Where shall
+you go, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know. Lie down under these trees till morning. I am awfully
+hungry."</p>
+
+<p>Ann Canham opened a basket which she carried, and took out a small loaf,
+or cake. She offered it to Rupert, curtseying humbly.</p>
+
+<p>"Molly has been baking to-day, sir; and the missis, she gave me this
+little loaf for my father. Please take it, sir."</p>
+
+<p>Rupert's impulse was to refuse, but hunger was strong within him. He
+took a knife from his pocket, cut it in two, and gave one half back to
+Ann Canham.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell Mark I had the other, Ann. He won't grudge it to me. And now go
+home. It's of no use your stopping here."</p>
+
+<p>She made as if she would depart, but hesitated. "Master Rupert, I don't
+like to leave you here so friendless. Won't you come to the lodge, sir,
+and shelter there for the night?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, that I won't," he answered. "Thank you, Ann; but I am not going to
+get you and Mark into trouble as I have got myself."</p>
+
+<p>She sighed as she finally went away. Would this unhappy trouble touching
+Rupert ever be over?</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps Rupert was asking the same. He ate the bread, and sat on the
+stile afterwards, ruminating. He was terribly bitter against Chattaway;
+but for his wicked conduct he should not now be the outcast he was. All
+the wrongs of his life rose up before him. The Hold that ought to be
+his, the rank he was deprived of, the wretched humiliations that were
+his daily portion. They assumed quite an exaggerated importance to his
+mind. He worked himself into&mdash;not the passion of the previous night, but
+into an angry, defiant temper; and he wished he could meet Chattaway
+face to face, and return the blows, the pain of which was still upon
+him.</p>
+
+<p>With a cry that almost burst from his lips in terror, with a feeling
+verging on the supernatural, he suddenly saw Chattaway before him.
+Rupert recovered himself, and though his heart beat pretty fast, he kept
+his seat on the stile in his defiant humour.</p>
+
+<p>And Mr. Chattaway? Every drop of blood in that gentleman's body had
+bubbled up with the unjust leniency shown by the magistrates, and had
+remained at fever heat. Never, never had his feelings been so excited
+against Rupert as on this night. As he came along he was plotting with
+himself how Rupert could be recaptured on the morrow&mdash;on what pretext he
+could apply for a warrant against him. That miserable, detested Rupert!
+He made his life a terror through that latent dread, he was a burden on
+his pocket, he brought him into disfavour with the neighbourhood, he
+treated him with cavalier insolence, and now had set his ricks on fire.
+And&mdash;there he was! Before him in the moonlight. Mr. Chattaway bounded
+forward, and seized him by the shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>A struggle ensued. Blows were given on either side. But Mr. Chattaway
+was the stronger: he flung Rupert to the ground; and a dull, heavy human
+sound went forth on the still night air.</p>
+
+<p>Did the sound come from Rupert, or from Chattaway? No; Rupert was lying
+motionless, and Chattaway knew he had made no sound himself. He looked
+up in the trees; but it had not been the sound of a night-bird. A
+rustling caught his ear behind the narrow grove, and Chattaway bounded
+towards it, just in time to see a man's legs flying over the ground in
+the direction of Barbrook.</p>
+
+<p>Who had been a witness to the scene?</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLII" id="CHAPTER_XLII"></a>CHAPTER XLII</h2>
+
+<h3>NEWS FOR TREVLYN HOLD</h3>
+
+
+<p>When Mr. and Mrs. Chattaway and Miss Diana had driven home from
+Barmester, they were met with curious faces, and eager questions, the
+result of the day's proceedings not having reached the Hold. It added to
+the terrible mortification gnawing the heart of Mr. Chattaway to confess
+that Rupert was discharged. He had been too outspoken that morning
+before his children and household of the certain punishment in store for
+Rupert&mdash;his committal for trial.</p>
+
+<p>And the mortification was destined to be increased on another score.
+Whilst they were seated at a sort of high tea&mdash;Cris came in from
+Blackstone with some news. The Government inspectors had been there that
+day, and chosen to put themselves out on account of the absence of Mr.
+Chattaway, whom they had expected at the office.</p>
+
+<p>"They mean mischief," observed Cris. "How far <i>can</i> they interfere?" he
+asked, turning to his father. "Could they force you to go to the expense
+they hint at?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway really did not know. He sat looking surly and gloomy,
+buried in rumination, and by-and-by rose and left the room. Soon after
+this, George Ryle entered, to take Rupert to the farm. George knew now
+that Rupert had walked home: Bluck, the farrier, had told him so. But
+Rupert, it appeared, was not yet come in.</p>
+
+<p>So George waited: waited and waited. It was a most uncomfortable
+evening. Mrs. Chattaway was palpably nervous and anxious, and Maude, who
+sat apart, as if conscious that Rupert's fault in some degree reflected
+upon her, was as white as a sheet. When George rose to leave it was
+nearly eleven. Rupert, it must be supposed, had taken shelter somewhere
+for the night, and Mr. Chattaway did not appear in a hurry to return.
+None had any idea where Mr. Chattaway was to be found: when he left the
+house, they only supposed him to be going to the out-buildings.</p>
+
+<p>The whole flood of moonlight came flushing on George Ryle, as he stood
+for a moment at the door of the Hold. He lifted his face to it, thinking
+how beautiful it was, when the door was softly opened behind him, and
+Maude came out, pale and shivering.</p>
+
+<p>"Forgive my following you, George," she whispered, in pleading tones. "I
+could not ask you before them, but I am ill with suspense. Tell me, is
+the danger over for Rupert?"</p>
+
+<p>George took her hand in his. He looked down with tender fondness upon
+the unhappy girl; but hesitated in his answer.</p>
+
+<p>She bent her head, and there came a half-breathed whisper of pain. "Do
+you believe he did it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Maude, my darling, I do believe he did it; you ask me for the truth,
+and I will not give you anything else. But I believe that he must have
+been in a state of madness, irresponsible for his actions."</p>
+
+<p>"What can be done?" she gasped.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing. Nothing, except that we must endeavour to conciliate Mr.
+Chattaway. If he can be appeased, the danger will pass."</p>
+
+<p>"Never will he be appeased!" she answered. "He will think of the value
+of the ricks, the money lost to him. George, if it comes to the
+worst&mdash;if they try Rupert, I shall die."</p>
+
+<p>"Hush, my dear, hush! Try and look on the bright side of things, Maude;
+your grieving cannot influence Rupert, and will harm you. Nothing shall
+be left undone on my part to serve him. I wish I had more influence with
+Mr. Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>"No one has any influence with him,&mdash;no one in the world; unless it is
+Aunt Diana."</p>
+
+<p>"She has&mdash;and I can talk to her as I could not to Chattaway. I intend to
+see her privately in the morning. Maude, how you shiver!"</p>
+
+<p>George bent to take his farewell, and went on his way. Ere he was quite
+out of sight, he turned to take a last look at her. She was standing in
+the white moonlight, her hands clasped, her face one sad expression of
+distress and despair. A vague feeling came over George that this
+despondency of Maude's bore ill omen for poor Rupert. But he could not
+have told why the feeling should come to him, and he put it from him as
+absurd and foolish.</p>
+
+<p>The night wore on at the Hold, and its master did not return. All sat
+up, ladies, children, and servants; wondering where he could be. It was
+close upon midnight when his ring sounded at the locked door.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway came in with his face scratched and a bruise over one eye.
+The servant stared in astonishment, and noticed, as his master
+unbuttoned a light overcoat, that the front of his shirt was torn. Mr.
+Chattaway was not one to be questioned by his servants, and the man went
+off to the kitchen and reported the news.</p>
+
+<p>"Good Heavens, papa! what have you done to your face?"</p>
+
+<p>The exclamation came from Octave, who was the first to catch sight of
+him as he entered the room. Mr. Chattaway responded by an angry demand
+why they were not in bed, what they did sitting up at that hour: and he
+began to light the bed-candles.</p>
+
+<p>"What <i>have</i> you done to your face?" reiterated Miss Diana, coming close
+to take a nearer view.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing," was his curt response.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the use of saying that?" retorted Miss Diana. "It looks as
+though you had been fighting. And your shirt's torn!"</p>
+
+<p>"I tell you there's nothing the matter with it; or with my shirt
+either," he said testily. "Can't you take an answer?" And, as if to put
+an end to questioning, he took a candle and went up to his room.</p>
+
+<p>The scratches were less apparent in the morning, and the bruise was only
+a slight one. Cris, in his indifferent manner, said the Squire must have
+walked into the branches of a thorny tree.</p>
+
+<p>By tacit consent they avoided all mention of Rupert. It is possible that
+even Miss Diana did not care to mention his name to Mr. Chattaway.
+Whilst they were at breakfast, Hatch came and put his head inside the
+door.</p>
+
+<p>"Jim Sanders is back, sir."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway started up, a certain flashing light in his dull eyes that
+boded no good to Jim. "Where is he?" he cried. "How do you know?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ted, the cow-boy, has just seen him at work at Mr. Ryle's as usual,
+sir. I thought you might like to know it, and made bold to come in and
+tell ye. Ted asked him where he had runned away to yesterday, and Jim
+answered he had not runned away at all; only overslep' hisself."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway hastened from the room, followed by Cris; and Mrs.
+Chattaway took the opportunity to ask Hatch if he had seen or heard
+anything of Mr. Rupert. But Hatch only stood stolidly in the middle of
+the carpet, and made no reply.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you not hear Madam's question, Hatch?" sharply asked Miss Diana.
+"Why don't you answer it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because I don't like to," responded stolid Hatch. "Happen Madam mayn't
+like to hear the answer, Miss Diana."</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense!" quickly cried Miss Trevlyn. "Have you heard of him?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, yes, I have," answered Hatch. "They be talking of it now in the
+sheep-pen."</p>
+
+<p>"What are they saying?" asked Mrs. Chattaway, in eager tones.</p>
+
+<p>But the man remained silent, staring at his mistress.</p>
+
+<p>"What are they saying?&mdash;do you hear?" imperatively repeated Miss Diana.</p>
+
+<p>Hatch could not hold out longer. "They be saying that he's dead, ma'am."</p>
+
+<p>"That he is&mdash;<i>what</i>?"</p>
+
+<p>"They be saying that Mr. Rupert's dead," equably repeated Hatch; "he was
+killed down in the little grove last night, as you go through the fields
+to Barbrook. I didn't like to tell the Squire, because they be saying
+that if he be killed, happen the Squire have killed him."</p>
+
+<p>Only for a moment did Miss Diana Trevlyn lose her self-possession. She
+raised her hands to still the awestruck terror around her, and glanced
+at Mrs. Chattaway's blanched face. "Hatch, where did you hear this?"</p>
+
+<p>"In the sheep-pen, ma'am. The men be a-talking on't. They say he was
+killed last night&mdash;murdered."</p>
+
+<p>Her own face for once in her life was turning white. "Be still, all of
+you, and remain here," she said. "Edith, if ever you had need of
+self-command, it is now."</p>
+
+<p>She went straight off to the sheep-pen, bidding Hatch follow her. From
+the first moment Hatch had spoken, there had risen up before her, as an
+ugly picture&mdash;a dream to be shunned&mdash;the scratched and bruised face of
+Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>The sheep-pen was empty: the men had dispersed. Cris came out of the
+stables, and she signed to him. He advanced to meet her. "Where is your
+father?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Off to Barbrook," returned Cris. "Sam wasn't long getting his horse
+ready, was he? He has gone to order Bowen to look after Mr. Jim
+Sanders."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you heard this report about Rupert?" she resumed, her hushed tones
+imparting to Cris a vague sense of something unpleasant.</p>
+
+<p>"I have not heard any report about him. What is the report? That he's
+dead?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; that he is dead."</p>
+
+<p>Cris had spoken in a half-jesting, half-sneering tone; but his face
+changed at the answer, consternation in every feature, "What on earth do
+you mean, Aunt Diana? Rupert&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Good morning, Miss Diana."</p>
+
+<p>They turned to behold George Ryle. He had come up thus early to know if
+they had news of Rupert. The scared expression of their faces struck him
+that something was wrong.</p>
+
+<p>"You have bad news, I see. What is it?"</p>
+
+<p>Miss Diana rapidly turned over a question in her mind. Should she
+mention this report to George? Yes; he was thoroughly trustworthy; and
+might be of use.</p>
+
+<p>"Hatch came in a few minutes ago, and frightened us very greatly," she
+said. "I was just telling Cris about it. The man says there's a report
+going about that Rupert is&mdash;is"&mdash;she scarcely liked to bring out the
+word&mdash;"is dead."</p>
+
+<p>"What?" uttered George.</p>
+
+<p>"That he has been killed&mdash;murdered," continued Miss Diana. "George, I
+want to get at the truth of it."</p>
+
+<p>He could not rejoin just at first. News, such as that, takes time to
+revolve. He could only look at them alternately; his heart, for Rupert's
+sake, beating fast. Miss Diana repeated what Hatch had said. "George,"
+she concluded, "I cannot go after these men, examining into the truth or
+falsehood of the report, but you might."</p>
+
+<p>George started away impulsively ere she had well spoken. Hatch mentioned
+the names of the men who had been talking, and George hastened to look
+for them over the fields. Cris was following, but Miss Diana caught him
+by the arm.</p>
+
+<p>"Not you, Cris; stop where you are."</p>
+
+<p>"Stop where I am?" returned Cris, indignantly, who had a very great
+objection to being interfered with by Miss Diana. "I shall not, indeed.
+I don't pretend to have had much love for Rupert, but I'm sure I shall
+look into it if there's such a report as that about. He must have killed
+himself, if he is dead."</p>
+
+<p>But Miss Diana kept her hand upon him. "Remain where you are, I say.
+They are connecting your father's name with it in a manner I do not
+understand, and it will be better you should be quiet until we know
+more."</p>
+
+<p>She went on to the house as she spoke. Cris stared after her in blank
+dismay, wondering what the words meant, yet sufficiently discomposed to
+give up his own will for once, and remain quiet, as she had suggested.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, Mr. Chattaway, unconscious of the commotion at the Hold, was
+galloping towards Barbrook. He reined in at the police-station, and
+Bowen came out to him.</p>
+
+<p>"I know what you have come about, Mr. Chattaway," cried the man, before
+that gentleman could speak. "It's to tell us that Jim Sanders has turned
+up. We know all about it, and Dumps has gone after him. Hang the boy!
+giving us all this bother."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll have him punished, Bowen."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, sir, it's to know whether he won't get enough punishment as it
+is. His going off looks uncommonly suspicious&mdash;as I said yesterday:
+looks as if he had had a finger in the pie."</p>
+
+<p>"Is Dumps going to bring him on here?"</p>
+
+<p>"Right away, as fast as he can march him. Impudent monkey, going to work
+this morning, just as if nothing had happened! Dumps'll be on to him.
+They won't be long, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I'll wait," decided Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLIII" id="CHAPTER_XLIII"></a>CHAPTER XLIII</h2>
+
+<h3>JAMES SANDERS</h3>
+
+
+<p>George Ryle speedily found the men spoken of by Hatch as having held the
+conversation in the sheep-pen. But he could gather nothing more certain
+from them than Miss Diana had gathered from Hatch. Upon endeavouring to
+trace the report to its source he succeeded in finding out that one man
+alone had brought it to the Hold. This man declared he heard it from his
+wife, and his wife had heard it from Mrs. Sanders.</p>
+
+<p>Away sped George Ryle to the cottage of Mrs. Sanders: passing through
+the small grove of trees, spoken of in connection with this fresh
+report, the nearest way to Barbrook and the cottage from the upper road,
+but lonely and unfrequented. He found the woman busy at the work Mr.
+Dumps had interrupted the previous day&mdash;washing. With some unwillingness
+on her part and much circumlocution, George drew her tale from her. And
+to that evening we may as well return for a few minutes, for we shall
+arrive at the conclusion much more quickly than Mrs. Sanders.</p>
+
+<p>It was dark when the woman walked home from Barmester&mdash;Dumps not having
+had the politeness to drive her, as in going,&mdash;and she found her kitchen
+as she had left it. Her children&mdash;she had three besides Jim&mdash;were out in
+the world, Jim alone being at home with her. Mrs. Sanders lighted a
+candle, and surveyed the scene: grate black and cold; washing-tub on the
+bench, wet clothes lying over it; bricks sloppy. "Drat that old Dumps!"
+ejaculated she. "I'd serve him out if I could. And I'd like to serve out
+that Jim, too. This comes of dancing up to the Hold after Bridget with
+that precious puppy!"</p>
+
+<p>She put things tolerably straight for the night, made herself some tea,
+and began to think. What had become of Jim? And did he or did he not
+have anything to do with the fire? Not wilfully; she could answer for
+that; but accidentally? She looked into vacancy, and shook her head in a
+timid, doubtful manner, for she knew that torches in rick-yards might
+prove dangerous adjuncts to suspicion.</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder what they could do to him, happen they proved it were a spark
+from his torch?" she deliberated. "Sure they'd never transport for an
+accident! Dumps said transportation were too good for Jim, but&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>The train of thought was interrupted, the door burst open, and by no
+less a personage than Jim himself. Jim, as it appeared, in a state of
+fear and agitation. His breath came fast, and his eyes had a wild,
+terrified stare in them.</p>
+
+<p>With his presence, Mrs. Sanders's maternal apprehensions for his safety
+merged into anger. She laid hold of Jim and shook him&mdash;kindly, as she
+expressed it; but poor Jim found little kindness in it.</p>
+
+<p>"Mother, what's that for?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's what it's for," retorted his mother, giving him a sound box on
+the ear. "You'll dance out with puppies again up to that
+good-for-nothing minx of a Bridget!&mdash;and you'll set rick-yards
+a-fire!&mdash;and you'll go off and hide yourself, and let the place be
+searched by the police!&mdash;and me drawn into trouble, and took off by that
+insolent Dumps in a stick-up gig to Barmester, and lugged afore the
+court! Now, where have you been?"</p>
+
+<p>Jim made no return in kind. All the spirit the boy possessed seemed to
+have gone out of him. He sat down meekly on a broken chair, and began to
+shiver. "Don't, mother," said he. "I've got a fright."</p>
+
+<p>"A fright!" indignantly responded Mrs. Sanders. "And what sort of a
+fright do you suppose you have given others? Happen Madam Chattaway
+might have died of it, they say. <i>You</i> talk of a fright! Who hasn't been
+in a fright since you took the torch into the yard and set the ricks
+alight?"</p>
+
+<p>"It isn't that," said Jim. "I ain't afraid of that; I didn't do it. Nora
+knows I didn't, and Mr. Apperley knows, and Bridget knows. I've no cause
+to be afeard of that."</p>
+
+<p>"Then what are you quaking for?" angrily demanded Mrs. Sanders.</p>
+
+<p>"I've just got a fright," he answered. "Mother, as true as we be here,
+Mr. Rupert's dead. I've just watched him killed."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Sanders's first proceeding on receipt of this information was to
+stare; her second to discredit it, believing Jim was out of his mind, or
+dreaming. "Talk sense, will you?" cried she.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not a-talking nonsense," he answered. "Mother, as sure as us two be
+living here, I see it. It were in the grove, up by the field. I saw him
+struck down."</p>
+
+<p>The woman began to think there must be something in the tale. "It's Mr.
+Rupert you be talking of?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, and it was him as set the rick a-fire. And now he's murdered!
+Didn't I run fast! I was in mortal fear."</p>
+
+<p>"Who killed him?"</p>
+
+<p>Jim looked round timorously, as if thinking the walls might have ears.
+"I daren't say," he shivered.</p>
+
+<p>"But you must say."</p>
+
+<p>He shook his head. "No, I'll never tell it&mdash;unless I'm forced. He might
+be for killing <i>me</i>. When the hue and cry goes about to-morrow, and
+folks is asking who did it, there'll be nobody to answer. I shall keep
+dark, because I must. But if Ann Canham had waited and seen it, I
+wouldn't ha' minded saying; she'd ha' been a witness as I told the
+truth."</p>
+
+<p>"If you don't speak plainer I'll box your ears again," was the retort.
+"What about Ann Canham?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I met her at the top o' the field as I was turning into 't. That
+were but a few minutes afore. She'd been to work at the parson's, she
+said. I say, mother, you don't think they'll come after me here?" he
+questioned, his tone full of doubt.</p>
+
+<p>"They <i>did</i> come after ye, to some purpose," wrathfully responded Mrs.
+Sanders. "My belief is you've come home with your head turned. I'd like
+to know where you've been hiding."</p>
+
+<p>"I've been nowhere but up in the tallet at master's," replied Jim. "I
+crep' in there last night, dead tired, and never woke this morning. Hay
+do make one sleep; it's warmer than bed."</p>
+
+<p>We need not follow the interview any further. At the close of the night
+she knew little more than she had known at its commencement beyond the
+assertion that Rupert Trevlyn was killed. Jim went off in the morning to
+his work as usual, and she resumed her labours of the day before. Nora
+had scarcely shown her wisdom in releasing Jim so quickly; but it may be
+that to keep him longer concealed in the "tallet" was next door to
+impossible.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Sanders was interrupted in her work by George Ryle. She smoothed
+down the coarse towel pinned before her, and put her untidy hair behind
+her ears as her master entered. He questioned her as to the report which
+had been traced to her, and she disclosed what she had heard from Jim.
+Not much in itself, but it wore an air of mystery George could not
+understand and did not like. He left her to go in search of Jim.</p>
+
+<p>But another, as we have heard, had taken precedence of him in searching
+for that gentleman&mdash;Policeman Dumps. Mr. Dumps found him in the
+out-buildings at Trevlyn Farm, working as unconcernedly as though
+nothing had happened. The man's first move, fearing perhaps a second
+escape, was to clap a pair of handcuffs on him.</p>
+
+<p>"There, you young reptile! You'll go off again, will you, after
+committing murder!"</p>
+
+<p>Now, in point of fact, Mr. Dumps had really no particular reason for
+using the word. He only intended to imply that Mr. Jim's general
+delinquency deserved a strong name. Jim took it in a different light.</p>
+
+<p>"It wasn't me murdered him!" he said, terrified almost out of his life
+at the handcuffs. "I only see it done. Why should I murder him, Mr.
+Dumps?"</p>
+
+<p>"Who's talking about murder?" cynically returned Dumps, forgetting
+probably that he had used the word. "The setting of the rick-yard on
+fire was enough for you, warn't it, without anything else added on to
+it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, you mean the fire," said Jim, considerably relieved. "I didn't do
+that, neither, and there'll be plenty to prove it. I thought you meant
+the murder."</p>
+
+<p>Dumps surveyed his charge critically, uncertain what to make of him. He
+proceeded to questioning; setting about it in an artistic manner that
+was perhaps characteristic of his calling.</p>
+
+<p>"Which murder might be you meaning of, pray?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Rupert's."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr.&mdash;&mdash;What be you talking of?" uttered Dumps, staring at Jim in the
+utmost astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>And now Jim Sanders found he had been caught in a trap, one not
+expressly laid for him. He could have bitten his tongue out with
+vexation. That the death of Rupert Trevlyn would become public property,
+he had never doubted, but he had intended to remain silent upon the
+subject.</p>
+
+<p>It was too late to retract now, and he must make the best of it, and put
+up with the consequences.</p>
+
+<p>"Who says Mr. Rupert's murdered?" persisted Dumps.</p>
+
+<p>"So he is," sullenly answered Jim. "But I didn't do it."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Dumps's rejoinder was to seize Jim by the collar, and march him off
+in the direction of the station as fast as he could walk. The farming
+men, who had been collecting since the policeman's arrival, followed to
+the fold-yard gate, and stood staring, supposing he was taken on
+suspicion of having caused the fire. Nora, shut up in her dairy, had
+seen nothing, or there's no knowing but she might have flown out to the
+rescue.</p>
+
+<p>Not another word was spoken; indeed the pace at which Mr. Dumps chose to
+walk prevented it. When they reached the station, Mr. Chattaway was
+talking to Bowen. Jim went into a shivering fit at the sight of
+Chattaway, and strove to hide behind Policeman Dumps.</p>
+
+<p>"So you have turned up!" exclaimed Bowen. "And now, where did you get to
+yesterday?"</p>
+
+<p>Jim did not answer; he appeared to wish to avoid Mr. Chattaway, and
+trembled visibly. Bowen was on the point of inquiring what made him
+quake in that fashion, when Mr. Chattaway's voice broke in like a peal
+of thunder.</p>
+
+<p>"How dared you be guilty of suppressing evidence? How dared you run
+away?"</p>
+
+<p>Bowen turned the boy round to face him. "Just state where you got to,
+Jim Sanders."</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't run away," replied Jim. "I lay down in the tallet at the farm
+atop o' the hay, and never woke all day yesterday. Miss Dickson can say
+I was there, for she come and found me there at night, and sent me off.
+There warn't no cause for me to run away," he somewhat fractiously
+repeated, as if weary of having to harp upon the same string. "It wasn't
+me that fired the rick."</p>
+
+<p>"But you saw it fired?" cried Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>Jim stole round, so as to put Dumps between him and the questioner. Mr.
+Bowen brought him to again. "There's no need to dodge about like that,"
+cried he, repeating Jim's words. "Just speak up the truth; but you are
+not forced to say anything to criminate yourself."</p>
+
+<p>"I can tell 'em," thought Jim to himself; "it won't hurt him, now he's
+dead. It was Mr. Rupert," he said aloud. "After he got the
+horsewhipping, he caught up the torch and pushed it into one o' the
+ricks; and that's as true as I be living."</p>
+
+<p>"You saw him do this?"</p>
+
+<p>"I was watching all the while, round the pales. He seemed like one
+a'most mad, and it frighted me. I pulled the burning hay out o' the
+rick, and thought I pulled it all out, but suppose a spark must ha'
+stopped in. I was frighted worse afterwards when the flames burst out,
+and I ran off for the engines. I telled Mr. Apperley I'd been for 'em
+when I met him at night."</p>
+
+<p>The boy's earnest tones and honest eyes, lifted to Bowen's, convinced
+that experienced officer that it was the truth. But he chose to gaze
+implacably at the culprit, never relaxing his sternness of voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Then what made you go and hide yourself? Out with the truth!"</p>
+
+<p>Jim's eyes fell now. "I was tired to death," he said, "and crep' up into
+the tallet at master's, and went to sleep. And I never woke in the
+morning, when I ought to ha' woke."</p>
+
+<p>This was so far probable that it <i>might</i> be true. But before Bowen could
+go on questioning he was interrupted by Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"He has confessed sufficient, Bowen&mdash;it was Rupert Trevlyn. But he
+deserves punishment for the trouble he has put everyone to; and there
+must be a fresh examination. Keep him safely here, and take care he's
+not tampered with. I am obliged to go to Blackstone to-day, but the
+hearing can take place to-morrow, if you'll apprise the magistrates.
+And&mdash;Bowen&mdash;mind you accomplish that other matter to-day that I have
+charged you with."</p>
+
+<p>The last sentence, spoken emphatically and slowly, Mr. Chattaway turned
+round to deliver as he was going out. Bowen nodded in acquiescence; and
+Chattaway mounted his horse and rode off in the direction of Blackstone.</p>
+
+<p>Jim Sanders, looking the picture of misery in his handcuffs, stood
+awkwardly in a corner of the room; it was a square room with a boarded
+floor; and a railed-off desk. Bowen had gone within these rails as Mr.
+Chattaway departed, and was busy writing a few detached words or
+sentences, that looked like memoranda. Dumps was gazing after the
+retreating figure of Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"Call Chigwell," said Bowen, glancing at the small door which led into
+the inner premises. "There's work for both of you to-day."</p>
+
+<p>But before Dumps could do this, he was half-knocked over by some one
+entering. It was George Ryle. He took in a view of affairs at a glance:
+Bowen writing; Dumps doing nothing; Mr. Jim Sanders handcuffed.</p>
+
+<p>"So you have come to grief?" said George to the latter. "You are just
+the man I wanted, Jim. Bowen," he added, going within the railings and
+lowering his voice, "have you heard this report about Rupert Trevlyn?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have heard he is probably off, sir," was Bowen's answer. "Two of the
+men are going out now to look after him. Mr. Chattaway has signed a
+warrant for his apprehension."</p>
+
+<p>George paused. "There is a report that he is dead," he resumed.</p>
+
+<p>"Dead!" echoed Bowen, aghast. "Rupert Trevlyn dead! Who says it?"</p>
+
+<p>George looked round at Jim. The boy stood white and shivery; but before
+any questions could be asked, Dumps came forward and spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>He</i> was talking of that," he said to Bowen, indicating Jim. "When I
+clapped the handcuffs on him, he turned scared, and began denying it was
+him that did the murder. I asked him what he meant, and who was
+murdered, and he said it was Mr. Rupert Trevlyn."</p>
+
+<p>Bowen looked thunderstruck, little as it is in the way of police
+officers to show emotion of any kind. "What grounds has he for saying
+that?" he exclaimed, gazing keenly at Jim. "Mr. Ryle, where did you hear
+the report?"</p>
+
+<p>"I heard it just now at Trevlyn Hold. It would have alarmed them very
+much had they believed it. Mr. Chattaway was away, and Miss Trevlyn
+requested me to inquire into it, and bring back news&mdash;as she assumed I
+should&mdash;of its absurdity. I believe we must go to Jim for information,"
+added George, "for I have traced the report to him."</p>
+
+<p>Bowen beckoned Jim within the railings; where there was just sufficient
+space for the three. Dumps stood outside, leaning on the bars. "Have you
+been doing mischief to Mr. Rupert Trevlyn?" asked the superintendent.</p>
+
+<p>"Me!" echoed Jim&mdash;and it was evident that his astonishment was genuine.
+"I wouldn't have hurt a hair of his head," he added, bursting into
+tears. "I couldn't sleep for vexing over it. It wasn't me."</p>
+
+<p>Bowen quietly took off the handcuffs, and laid them on the desk.
+"There," said he, in a kindlier tone; "now you can talk at your ease.
+Let us hear about this."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afeard, sir," responded Jim.</p>
+
+<p>"There's nothing to be afeard of, if you are innocent. Do you know of
+any ill having happened to Mr. Rupert Trevlyn?"</p>
+
+<p>"I know he's dead," answered Jim. "They blowed me up for saying it was
+him set the rick a-fire, and I was sorry I had said it; but now he's
+gone, it don't matter, and I can say still that it was him fired it."</p>
+
+<p>"Who blew you up?"</p>
+
+<p>"Some on 'em," answered Jim, doing his best to evade the question.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, what is this about Mr. Rupert? If you are afraid to tell me, tell
+your master there," suggested Bowen. "I'm sure he is a kind master to
+you; all the parish knows that."</p>
+
+<p>"It <i>must</i> be told, Jim," said George Ryle, impressively, as he laid his
+hand upon the boy's shoulder. "What are you afraid of?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Chattaway might kill me for telling, sir," said unwilling Jim.</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense! Mr. Chattaway would be as anxious to know the truth as we
+are."</p>
+
+<p>"But if it was him did it?" whispered Jim, glancing fearfully round the
+whitewashed walls of the room, as he had glanced around those of his
+mother's cottage.</p>
+
+<p>A blank pause. Mr. Bowen looked at George, whose face had turned hectic
+with the surprise, the <i>dread</i> the words had brought. "You must speak
+out, Jim," was all he said.</p>
+
+<p>"It was in the little grove last night," rejoined the boy. "I was
+running home after Nora Dickson turned me out o' the tallet, and when I
+got up to 'em they was having words&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Who were having words?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Chattaway and Master Rupert. I was scared, and crep' in amid the
+trees, and they never saw me. And then I heard blows, and I looked out
+and saw Mr. Rupert struck down to the earth, and he fell as one who
+hasn't got no life in him, and I knew he was dead."</p>
+
+<p>"And what happened next?" asked Bowen.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know, sir. I come off then, and got into mother's. I didn't
+dare tell her it was Chattaway killed him. I wouldn't tell now, only you
+force me."</p>
+
+<p>Bowen was revolving things in his mind, this and that. "Not five minutes
+ago Chattaway gave me orders to have Rupert Trevlyn searched for and
+taken up to-day," he muttered, more to himself than to George Ryle. "He
+knew he was skulking somewhere in the neighbourhood, he said; skulking,
+that was the word. I don't know what to think of this."</p>
+
+<p>Neither did his hearers know, Mr. Jim Sanders possibly excepted. "I
+wonder," slowly resumed Bowen, a curious light coming into his eyes,
+"what brought those scratches on the face of Mr. Chattaway?"</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLIV" id="CHAPTER_XLIV"></a>CHAPTER XLIV</h2>
+
+<h3>FERMENT</h3>
+
+
+<p>Strange rumours were abroad in the neighbourhood of Trevlyn Hold, and
+the excitement increased hourly. Mr. Chattaway had murdered Rupert
+Trevlyn&mdash;so ran the gossip&mdash;and Jim Sanders was in custody. Before the
+night of the day on which you saw Jim in the police-station, these
+reports, with many wild and almost impossible additions, were current,
+and spreading largely.</p>
+
+<p>With the exception of the accusation made by Jim Sanders, the only
+corroboration to the tale appeared to rest in the fact that Rupert
+Trevlyn was not to be found. Dumps and his brother-constable scoured the
+locality high and low, and could find no traces of him. Sober lookers-on
+(but it is rare to find them in times of great excitement) regarded this
+as a favourable fact. Had Rupert really been murdered, or even
+accidentally killed by a chance blow from Mr. Chattaway, surely his body
+would be forthcoming to confirm the tale. But there were not wanting
+others who believed, and did not shrink from the avowal, that Mr.
+Chattaway was quite capable of suppressing all signs of the affray,
+including the dead body itself; though by what sleight-of-hand the act
+could have been accomplished seemed likely to remain a mystery.</p>
+
+<p>Before Mr. Chattaway got home from Blackstone in the evening, all the
+rumours, good and bad, were known at Trevlyn Hold.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway was not unprepared to find this the case. In returning, he
+had turned his horse to the police-station, and reined in. Bowen, who
+saw him, came out.</p>
+
+<p>"Has he been taken?" demanded Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>He put the question in an earnest tone, some impatience dashed with it,
+that was apparently genuine. "No, he has not," replied Bowen, stroking
+his chin, taking note of Mr. Chattaway's face. "Dumps and Chigwell have
+been at it all day; are at it still; but as yet without result."</p>
+
+<p>"Then they are laggards at their work!" retorted Mr. Chattaway, his
+countenance darkening. "He was wandering about the place last night, and
+is sure to be not far off it to-day. By Heaven, he shall be unearthed!
+If there's any screening going on, as I know there was yesterday with
+regard to Jim Sanders, I'll have the actors brought to justice!"</p>
+
+<p>Bowen came out of a reverie. "Would you be so good as to step inside for
+a few minutes, Mr. Chattaway? I have a word to say to you."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway got off his horse, hooked the bridle to the rails, as he
+had hooked it in the morning, and followed Bowen. The man saw that the
+doors were closed, and then spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"There's a tale flying about, Mr. Chattaway, that Rupert Trevlyn has
+come to some harm. Do you know anything of it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not I," slightingly answered Mr. Chattaway. "What harm should come to
+him?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is said that you and he met last night, had some sort of encounter
+by moonlight, and that Rupert was&mdash;in short, that some violence was done
+him."</p>
+
+<p>For a full minute they remained looking at each other. The policeman
+appeared intent on biting the feathers of his pen; in reality, he was
+studying the face of Mr. Chattaway with a critical acumen his apparently
+careless demeanour imparted little idea of. He saw the blood mount under
+the dark skin; he saw the eye lighten with emotion: but the emotion was
+more like that called forth by anger than guilt. At least, so the police
+officer judged; and habit had rendered him a pretty correct observer.
+Mr. Chattaway was the first to speak.</p>
+
+<p>"How do you know anything of the sort took place?&mdash;any interview?"</p>
+
+<p>"It was watched&mdash;that is, accidentally seen. A person was passing at the
+time, and has mentioned it to-day."</p>
+
+<p>"Who was the person?"</p>
+
+<p>Bowen did not reply to the question. The omission may have been
+accidental, since he was hastening to put one on his own account.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you deny this, Mr. Chattaway?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. I wish I had the opportunity of acknowledging it to Mr. Rupert
+Trevlyn in the manner he deserves," continued Mr. Chattaway, in what
+looked like a blaze of anger.</p>
+
+<p>"It is said that after the&mdash;the encounter, Rupert Trevlyn was left as
+one dead," cautiously resumed Bowen.</p>
+
+<p>"Psha!" was the scornful retort. "Dead! He got up and ran away."</p>
+
+<p>A very different account from that of Jim Sanders. Bowen was silent for
+a minute, endeavouring, most likely, to reconcile the two. "Have you any
+objection to state what took place, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know that I have," was the reply, somewhat sullenly delivered.
+"But I can't see what business it is of yours."</p>
+
+<p>"People are taking up odd notions about it," said Bowen.</p>
+
+<p>"People be hanged! It's no concern of theirs."</p>
+
+<p>"But if they come to me and oblige me to make it my concern?" returned
+the officer, in significant tones. "If it's all fair and above-board,
+you had better tell me, Mr. Chattaway. If it's not, perhaps the less you
+say the better."</p>
+
+<p>It was a hint not calculated to conciliate a chafed spirit, and Mr.
+Chattaway resented it. "How dare you presume to throw out insinuations
+to me?" he cried, snatching his riding-whip off the desk, where he had
+laid it, and stalking towards the door. "I'll tell you nothing; and you
+may make the best and the worst of it. Find Rupert Trevlyn, if you must
+know, and get it out of him. I ask you who has been spreading the rumour
+that I met Rupert Trevlyn last night?"</p>
+
+<p>Bowen saw no reason why he should not disclose it. "Jim Sanders," he
+replied.</p>
+
+<p>"Psha!" contemptuously ejaculated Mr. Chattaway: and he mounted his
+horse and rode away.</p>
+
+<p>So that after this colloquy, Chattaway was in a degree prepared to find
+unpleasant rumours had reached the Hold. When he entered he could not
+avoid seeing the shrinking, timid looks cast on him by his children; the
+haughty, questioning face of Miss Diana; the horror in that of Mrs.
+Chattaway. He took the same sullen, defiant tone with them that he had
+taken with Bowen, denying the thing by implication more than by direct
+assertions. He asked them all whether they had gone out of their minds,
+that they should listen to senseless tales; and threatened the most dire
+revenge against Rupert when he was found.</p>
+
+<p>Thus matters went on for a few days. But the rumours did not die away:
+on the contrary, they gathered strength and plausibility. Things were in
+a most uncomfortable state at the Hold: the family were tortured by
+dread and doubt they dared not give utterance to, and strove to hide;
+the very servants went about with silent footsteps, casting covert
+glances at their master from dark corners, and avoiding a direct meeting
+with him. Mr. Chattaway could not help seeing all this, and it did not
+tend to give him equanimity.</p>
+
+<p>The only thing that could clear up this miserable doubt was to find
+Rupert. But Rupert was not found. Friends and foes, police and public,
+put out their best endeavours to accomplish it; but no more trace could
+be discovered of Rupert than if he had never existed&mdash;or than if, as
+many openly said, he were buried in some quiet corner of Mr. Chattaway's
+grounds. To do Mr. Chattaway justice, he appeared the most anxious of
+any for Rupert's discovery: not with a view to clearing himself from
+suspicion; <i>that</i> he trampled under foot, as it were; but that Rupert
+might be brought to justice for burning the ricks.</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps Mr. Chattaway's enemies may be pardoned for their doubts. It
+cannot be denied that there were apparent grounds for them: many a man
+has been officially accused of murder upon less. There was the
+well-known ill-feeling which had long existed on Mr. Chattaway's part
+towards Rupert; there was the dread of being displaced by him, which had
+latterly arisen through the visit of Mr. Daw; there was the sore feeling
+excited on both sides by the business of the rick-yard and the
+subsequent examination; there was the night contest spoken of by Jim
+Sanders, which Mr. Chattaway did not deny; there were the scratches and
+bruises visible on that gentleman's face; and there was the total
+disappearance of Rupert. People could remember the blank look which had
+passed over Mr. Chattaway's countenance when Rupert ran into the circle
+gathered round the pit at Blackstone. "He'd ha' bin glad that he were
+dead," they had murmured then, one to another. "And happen he have put
+him out o' the way," they murmured now.</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps they did not all go so far as to suspect Mr. Chattaway of the
+crime of premeditated murder: he might have killed him wilfully in the
+passion of the moment; or killed him accidentally by an unlucky blow
+that had done its work more effectually than he had intended. The
+fruitless search was no barrier to these doubts; murdered men had been
+hidden away before, and would be again.</p>
+
+<p>I have not yet mentioned the last point of suspicion, but it was one
+much dwelt upon&mdash;the late return of Mr. Chattaway to his home on the
+night in question. The servants had not failed to talk of this, and the
+enemies outside took it up and discussed it eagerly. It was most unusual
+for Mr. Chattaway to be away from home at night. Unsociable by nature,
+and a man whose company was not sought by his neighbours&mdash;for they
+disliked him&mdash;it was a rare thing for Mr. Chattaway to spend his
+evenings out. He attended evening parties now and then in the company of
+his wife and Miss Trevlyn, but not once a year was he invited out alone.
+His absence therefore on this night, coupled with his late entrance,
+close upon midnight, was the more remarkable. Where had he been until
+that hour? Everyone wondered: everyone asked it. Mr. Chattaway
+carelessly answered his wife and Miss Diana that he had been on business
+at Barbrook, but condescended to give no reply whatever to any other
+living mortal amongst the questioners.</p>
+
+<p>As the days went on without news of Rupert, Mr. Chattaway expressed a
+conviction that he had made his way to Mr. Daw, and was being sheltered
+there. A most unsatisfactory conviction, if he really and genuinely
+believed it. With those two hatching plots against him, he could never
+know a moment's peace. He was most explosive against Rupert; at home and
+abroad he never ceased to utter threats of prosecution for the crime of
+which he had been guilty. He rode every other day to the station,
+worrying Bowen, asking whether any traces had turned up: urged&mdash;this was
+in the first day or so of the disappearance&mdash;that houses and cottages
+should be searched. Bowen quite laughed at the suggestion. If Mr.
+Chattaway had reason to suspect any particular house or cottage, they
+might perhaps go the length of getting a search warrant; but to enter
+dwellings indiscriminately would be an intolerable and unjustifiable
+procedure.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway was unable to say that he had especial cause to suspect
+any house or cottage: unless, he added in his temper, it might be
+Trevlyn Farm. Jim Sanders had, it appeared, hidden there in an
+outbuilding: why not Rupert Trevlyn? But Bowen saw and knew that Mr.
+Chattaway had only spoken in exasperation. Trevlyn Farm was not more
+likely to conceal Rupert Trevlyn than any other house of its
+standing&mdash;in fact less; for Mrs. Ryle would not have permitted it. Her
+dislike to any sort of underhand dealing was so great, that she would
+not have concealed Rupert, or countenanced his being concealed, had it
+been to save him from hanging. In that she resembled Miss Diana Trevlyn.
+Miss Diana would have spent her last shilling nobly to defend Rupert on
+his trial&mdash;had it come to a trial&mdash;but ignominiously conceal him from
+the reach of the law, that she would never have done. Chattaway's remark
+travelled to George Ryle: George happened to meet Bowen the same day,
+not an hour after, and spoke of it. He told Bowen that the bare idea of
+Rupert's being concealed on their premises was absurd, and added, on his
+word of honour, not only that he did not know where Rupert was, but
+where he was likely to be: the thing was to him a complete mystery.
+Bowen nodded. In Bowen's opinion the idea of his being concealed in any
+house was all moonshine.</p>
+
+<p>The days went on and on, and it did appear very mysterious where Rupert
+could be, or what his fate. His clothes, his effects, remained unclaimed
+at Trevlyn Hold. When Mrs. Chattaway came unexpectedly upon anything
+that had belonged to him, she turned sick with the fears that darted
+across her heart. A faint hope arose within her at times that Rupert had
+gone, as Mr. Chattaway loudly, and perhaps others more secretly,
+surmised, to Mr. Daw in his far-off home, but it was rejected the next
+moment. She knew, none better, that Rupert had no means to take him
+there. Oh, how often did she wish, in her heart of hearts, that they had
+never usurped Trevlyn Hold! It seemed they were beginning to reap all
+the bitter fruits, which had been so long ripening.</p>
+
+<p>But this supposition was soon to be set aside. Two letters arrived from
+Mr. Daw: one to Mr. Freeman, the other to Rupert himself; and they
+completely did away with the idea that Rupert Trevlyn had found his way
+to the Pyrenees.</p>
+
+<p>It appeared that Rupert had written an account to Mr. Daw of these
+unhappy circumstances; his setting the rick on fire in his passion, and
+his arrest. He had written it on the evening of the day he was
+discharged from custody. And by the contents of his letter, it was
+evident that he then contemplated returning to the Hold.</p>
+
+<p>"These letters from Mr. Daw settle the question: Rupert has not gone
+there," observed Mr. Freeman. "But they only make the mystery greater."</p>
+
+<p>Yes, they did. And the news went forth to the neighbourhood that Rupert
+Trevlyn had written a letter subsequent to the examination at Barmester,
+wherein he stated that he was going straight home to the Hold. Gossip
+never loses in the carrying, you know.</p>
+
+<p>Jim Sanders, who was discharged and at work again, became quite the lion
+of the day. He had never been made so much of in his life. Tea here,
+supper there, ale everywhere. Everyone was asking Jim the particulars of
+that later night, and Jim, nothing loth, gave them, with the addition of
+his own comments.</p>
+
+<p>And the days went on, and the ferment and the doubts increased.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLV" id="CHAPTER_XLV"></a>CHAPTER XLV</h2>
+
+<h3>AN APPLICATION</h3>
+
+
+<p>The ferment increased. The arguments in the neighbourhood were worthy of
+being listened to, if only from a logical point of view. If Rupert
+Trevlyn had stated that he was going back to the Hold after the
+proceedings at Barmester; and if Rupert Trevlyn never reached the Hold,
+clearly Mr. Chattaway had killed and buried him. Absurd as the deduction
+may be from a dispassionate point of view, to those excited gentry it
+appeared not only a feasible but a certain conclusion. The thing could
+not rest; interviews were held with Mr. Peterby, who was supposed to be
+the only person able to take up the matter on the part of the missing
+and ill-used Rupert; and that gentleman bestirred himself to make secret
+inquiries.</p>
+
+<p>One dark night, between eight and nine, the inmates of the lodge were
+disturbed by a loud imperative knocking at their door. Ann
+Canham&mdash;trying her poor eyes over some dark sewing by the light of the
+solitary candle&mdash;started from her chair, and remarked that her heart had
+leaped into her mouth.</p>
+
+<p>Which may have been a reason, possibly, for standing still, face and
+hands uplifted in consternation, instead of answering the knock. It was
+repeated more imperatively.</p>
+
+<p>Old Canham turned his head and looked at her, as he smoked his last
+evening pipe over the fire. "Thee must open it, Ann."</p>
+
+<p>Seeing no help for it, she went meekly to the door, wringing her hands.
+What she feared was best known to herself; but in point of fact, since
+Bowen, the superintendent, had pounced upon her a few days before, as
+she was going past the police-station, handed her inside, and put her
+through sundry questions as we put a boy through his catechism, she had
+lived in a state of tremor. She may have concluded it was Bowen now,
+with the fellow handcuffs to those which had adorned Jim Sanders.</p>
+
+<p>It proved to be Mr. Peterby. Ann looked surprised, but lost three parts
+of her fear. Dropping her humble curtsey, she was about to ask his
+pleasure, when he brushed past her without ceremony, and stepped into
+the kitchen.</p>
+
+<p>"Shut the door," were his first words to her. "How are you, Canham?"</p>
+
+<p>Mark had risen, and stood with doubtful gaze, wondering, no doubt, what
+the visit could mean. "I be but middlin', sir," he answered, putting his
+pipe in the corner of the hearth. "We ain't none of us too well, I
+reckon, with this uncertainty hanging over our minds, as to poor Master
+Rupert."</p>
+
+<p>"It is the business I have come about. Sit down, Ann," Mr. Peterby
+added, settling himself on the bench opposite Mark. "I want to ask you a
+few questions."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir," she meekly answered. But her hands shook, and she nearly
+dropped the work she had taken up.</p>
+
+<p>"There's nothing to be afraid of," cried Mr. Peterby, noticing the
+emotion. "I am not going to accuse you of putting him out of sight, as
+it seems busy tongues are accusing somebody else. On the night the
+encounter took place between Mr. Chattaway and Rupert Trevlyn, you were
+passing near the spot, I believe. You must tell me all you saw. First of
+all, as I am told, you encountered Rupert."</p>
+
+<p>Ann Canham raised her shaking hand to her brow. Mr. Peterby had begun
+his questioning in a hard, matter-of-fact tone, as if he were examining
+a witness in court, and it did not tend to reassure her. Ann was often
+laughed at for her timidity. She gave him the account of her interview
+with Rupert as correctly as she could remember it.</p>
+
+<p>"He said nothing of his intention of going off anywhere?" asked Mr.
+Peterby, when she had finished.</p>
+
+<p>"Not a word, sir. He said he had nowhere to go to; if he went to the
+Hold, Mr. Chattaway might be for horsewhipping him again. He thought he
+should lie under the trees till morning."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you leave him there?"</p>
+
+<p>"I left him sitting on the stile, sir, eating the bread. He had
+complained of hunger, and I got him to take a part of a cake Mrs.
+Freeman had given me for my father."</p>
+
+<p>"You told Bowen, the superintendent of the police-station, that you
+asked him to take refuge in the lodge for the night?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir," after a slight pause. "Mr. Bowen put a heap of questions to
+me, and what with being confused, and the fright of his calling me into
+the place, I didn't well know what I said to him."</p>
+
+<p>"But you did ask Rupert Trevlyn?"</p>
+
+<p>"I asked him if he'd be pleased to take shelter in the lodge till the
+morning, as he seemed to have nowhere to go to. But he spoke out quite
+sharp, at my asking it, and said, did I think he wanted to get me and
+father into trouble with Mr. Chattaway? So I went away, leaving him
+there."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, now, just tell me whom you met afterwards."</p>
+
+<p>"I hadn't got above three-parts up the field, sir, when I met Mr.
+Chattaway. I stood off the narrow path to let him pass, and wished him
+good night, but he didn't answer me: he went on. Just as I came close to
+the road-stile, I see Jim Sanders coming over it, so I asked him where
+he had been, and how he had got back again, having heard he'd not been
+found all day, and he answered rather impertinently that he'd been up in
+the moon. The moon was uncommon bright that night, sir," she simply
+added.</p>
+
+<p>"Was that all Jim Sanders said?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir, every word. He went on down the path as if he was in a
+hurry."</p>
+
+<p>"In the direction Mr. Chattaway had taken?"</p>
+
+<p>"The very same. There is but that one path, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"And that was the last you saw of them?"</p>
+
+<p>Ann Canham stopped to snuff the candle before she answered. "That was
+all, sir. I was hastening to get back to father, knowing he'd be wanting
+me, for I was late. Mr. Bowen kep' on telling me it was strange I heard
+nothing of the encounter, but I never did. I must ha' been out of the
+field long before Mr. Chattaway could get up to Master Rupert."</p>
+
+<p>"Pity but you had waited and gone back," observed Mr. Peterby, musingly.
+"It might have prevented what occurred."</p>
+
+<p>"Pity, perhaps, but I had, sir. It never entered my head that anything
+bad would come of their meeting. Since, after I came to know what did
+happen, I wondered I had not thought of it. But if I had, sir, I
+shouldn't have dared go back after Mr. Chattaway. It wouldn't have been
+my place."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Peterby sat looking at Ann, as she imagined. In point of fact he was
+so buried in thought as to see nothing. He rose from the settle. "And
+this is all you know about it! Well, it amounts to nothing beyond
+establishing the fact that all three&mdash;Rupert Trevlyn, Mr. Chattaway, and
+the boy&mdash;were on the spot at that time. Good night, Canham. I hope your
+rheumatism will get easier."</p>
+
+<p>Ann Canham opened the door, and wished him good night. When he was
+fairly gone she slipped the bolt, and stood with her back against it, to
+recover her equanimity.</p>
+
+<p>"Father, my heart was in my mouth all the time he was here," she
+repeated. "I be all of a twitter."</p>
+
+<p>"More stupid you!" was the sympathising answer of old Canham.</p>
+
+<p>The public ferment, I say, did not lessen, and the matter was at length
+carried before the magistrates; so far as that the advice of one of them
+was asked by Mr. Peterby. It happened that Mr. Chattaway had gone this
+very day to Barmester. He was standing at the entrance to the inn-yard
+where he generally put up, when his solicitor, Flood, approached,
+evidently in a state of excitement.</p>
+
+<p>"What a mercy I found you!" he exclaimed, quite out of breath. "Jackson
+told me you were in town. Come along!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, what's the matter?" asked Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"Matter? There's matter enough. Peterby's before the magistrates at this
+very moment preferring a charge against you for having murdered Rupert
+Trevlyn. I got word of it in the oddest manner, and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>What</i> do you say?" interrupted Chattaway, his face blazing, as he
+stood stock still, and refused to stir another step without an answer.</p>
+
+<p>"Come along, I say. There's some application being made to the
+magistrates about you, and my advice is&mdash;&mdash;Mr. Chattaway," added the
+lawyer, in a deeper, almost an agitated tone, as he abruptly broke off
+his words, "I assume that you are innocent of this. You <i>are</i>?"</p>
+
+<p>"Before Heaven, I am innocent!" thundered Chattaway. "What do you mean,
+Flood?"</p>
+
+<p>"Then make haste. My advice to you is, go right into the midst of it,
+and confront Peterby. Don't let the magistrates hear only one side of
+the question. Make your explanation and set these nasty rumours at rest.
+It is what you ought to have done at first."</p>
+
+<p>Apparently eager as himself now, Mr. Chattaway strode along. They found
+on reaching the courts that some trifling cause was being heard by the
+magistrates, nothing at all connected with Mr. Chattaway. But the
+explanation was forthcoming, Mr. Peterby was in a private room with one
+of the Bench only&mdash;a Captain Mynn. With scant ceremony the interview was
+broken in upon by the intruders.</p>
+
+<p>There was no formal complaint being made, no accusation lodged, or
+warrant applied for. Mr. Peterby, who was on terms of intimacy with
+Captain Mynn, was laying the case before him unofficially, and asking
+his advice as a friend. A short explanation on either side ensued, and
+Mr. Peterby turned to Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"This has been forced upon me," he said. "For days and days past I have
+been urged to apply for a warrant against you, and have declined. But
+public opinion is becoming so urgent, that if I don't act it will be
+taken out of my hands, and given to those who have less scruple than I.
+Therefore I resolved to adopt a medium course; and came here asking
+Captain Mynn's opinion as a friend&mdash;not as a magistrate&mdash;whether I
+should have sufficient grounds for acting. For myself, I honestly
+confess I think them very slight; and assure you, Mr. Chattaway, that I
+am no enemy of yours, although it may look like it at this moment."</p>
+
+<p>"By whom have you been urged to this?" coldly asked Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"By more than I should care to name: the public, to give them a
+collective term. But how you obtained cognisance of my being here, I
+can't make out," he added, turning to Mr. Flood. "Not a soul knew I was
+coming."</p>
+
+<p>"As we have met here, we had better have it out," was Mr. Flood's
+indirect answer. "It is my advice to Mr. Chattaway, and he wishes it. If
+Captain Mynn hears your side unofficially he must, in justice, hear
+ours. That's fair, all the world over."</p>
+
+<p>It was, doubtless, a very unusual, perhaps unorthodox, mode of
+proceeding; but things far more unorthodox than that are done in local
+courts every day. Captain Mynn knew all the doubts and rumours just as
+well as Mr. Peterby could state them, but he listened attentively, as in
+duty bound. Mr. Chattaway did not deny the encounter with Rupert: never
+had denied it. He acknowledged they were neither of them very cool;
+Rupert was the first to strike, and Rupert fell or was knocked down.
+Immediately upon that, he, Chattaway, heard a sound, went to see what it
+was, and found they had had an eavesdropper, who was then making off
+across the field, on the other side of the grove. Chattaway, angry at
+the fact, gave pursuit, in the hope of identifying the intruder (whom he
+had since discovered to be Jim Sanders), but was unable to catch him.
+When he got back to the spot, Rupert was gone.</p>
+
+<p>"How long were you absent?" inquired Captain Mynn of Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"About six or seven minutes, I think. I ran to the other end of the
+field, and looked into the lane, but the boy had escaped out of sight,
+and I walked back again. It would take about seven minutes; the field is
+large."</p>
+
+<p>"And after that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Finding, as I tell you, that Rupert had disappeared, I re-traversed the
+ground over the lower field, and went on to Barbrook, where I had
+business. I never saw Rupert Trevlyn after I left him on the ground. The
+inference, therefore&mdash;nay, the absolute certainty&mdash;is, that he got up
+and escaped."</p>
+
+<p>A pause. "You did not reach home, I believe, until midnight, or
+thereabouts," remarked Captain Mynn. "Some doubts have been raised as to
+where you could have spent your time."</p>
+
+<p>And this question led to the very core of the suspicion. Mr. Chattaway
+appeared to feel that it did, and hesitated. So far he had spoken freely
+and openly enough, not with the ungracious, sullen manner that generally
+characterised him, but he hesitated now.</p>
+
+<p>"Strange to say," he resumed, "I could not account for the whole of my
+time that evening. That is, if I were asked for proof, I am not sure
+that it could be furnished. I was anxious to see Hurnall, the agent for
+the Boorfield mines, and that's where I went. My son had brought home
+news from Blackstone, that they were going to force me to make certain
+improvements in my pit, and I wanted to consult Hurnall about it. He is
+up to every trick and turn, and knows what they can compel an owner to
+do and what they can't. When I reached Hurnall's house, he was out;
+might return immediately, the servant said, or might not be home till
+late. She asked me if I would go in and wait; but I had no fancy for a
+close room, after being boxed up all day in the court <i>here</i>, and said I
+would walk about. I walked about for two mortal hours before Hurnall
+came; and then went indoors with him. That's the whole truth, I'll
+swear."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I would have avowed it before, had I been you," cried Mr. Peterby.
+"It's your silence has done half the mischief, and given colouring to
+the rumours."</p>
+
+<p>"Silence!" cried Mr. Chattaway, angrily. "When a man's accused of murder
+by a set of brainless idiots it is punishment he'd like to give them,
+not self-defence."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" said the lawyer, "but we can't always do as we like; if we could,
+the world might be better worth living in."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway turned to the magistrate. "I have told you the whole
+truth, so far as I know it; and you may judge whether these
+unneighbourly reports have not merited all my contempt. You can question
+Hurnall, who will tell you where he met me, and how long I stayed with
+him. As to Rupert Trevlyn, I have no more idea where he is than Mr.
+Peterby himself has. He will turn up some time, there's not the least
+doubt about it; and I solemnly declare that I'll then bring him to
+justice, should it be ten years hence."</p>
+
+<p>There was nothing more for Mr. Chattaway to wait for, and he went out
+with his solicitor. Mr. Peterby turned to Captain Mynn with a
+questioning glance.</p>
+
+<p>The magistrate shook his head. "My opinion is that you cannot proceed
+with this, Mr. Peterby. Were you to bring the matter officially before
+the Bench, I for one would not entertain it; neither, I am sure, would
+my brother-magistrates. Mr. Chattaway is no favourite of ours, but he
+must receive justice. That there are suspicious points connected with
+the case, I can't deny; but every one may be explained away. If what he
+says be true, they are explained now."</p>
+
+<p>"All but the two hours, when he says he was walking about, waiting for
+Hurnall."</p>
+
+<p>"It may have been so. No; upon these very slight grounds, it is of no
+use to press for a warrant against Mr. Chattaway. The very enormity of
+the crime would almost be its answer. A man of position and property, a
+county magistrate, guilty of the crime of murder in these enlightened
+days! Nonsense, Peterby!"</p>
+
+<p>And Mr. Peterby mentally echoed the words; and went forth prepared to
+echo them to those who had urged him to make the charge.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLVI" id="CHAPTER_XLVI"></a>CHAPTER XLVI</h2>
+
+<h3>A FRIGHT FOR ANN CANHAM</h3>
+
+
+<p>So the magistrates declined to interfere, and Mr. Chattaway went about a
+free man. But not untainted; for the neighbourhood was still free in its
+comments, and openly accused him of having made away with Rupert. Mr.
+Chattaway had his retaliation; he offered a reward for the recovery of
+the incendiary, Rupert Trevlyn, and the walls for miles round were
+placarded with handbills. Urged by him, the police recommenced their
+search, and Mr. Chattaway actually talked of sending for an experienced
+detective. One thing was indisputable&mdash;if Rupert were in life he must
+keep from the neighbourhood of Trevlyn Hold. Nothing could save him from
+the law, if taken the second time. Jim Sanders would not be kidnapped
+again; he had already testified to it officially; and Mr. Chattaway
+thirsted for vengeance.</p>
+
+<p>Take it for all in all, it was breaking the heart of Mrs. Chattaway.
+Looked at in any light, it was bad enough. The fear touching her
+husband, not the less startling from its improbability, was over, for he
+had succeeded in convincing her that so far he was innocent; but her
+fears for Rupert kept her in a constant state of terror. Miss Diana
+publicly condemned Rupert. This hiding from justice (if he was hiding)
+she regarded as only a degree less reprehensible than the crime itself;
+as did Mrs. Ryle; and had Miss Diana met Rupert returning some fine day,
+she would have laid her hand upon him as effectually as Mr. Dumps
+himself, and said, "You shall not escape again." Do not mistake Miss
+Diana; it would not have pleased her to see Rupert standing at the bar
+of justice to be judged by the laws of his country. She would have taken
+Rupert home to the Hold, and said to Chattaway, "Here he is, but you
+must and shall forgive him: you must forgive him, because he is a
+Trevlyn; and a Trevlyn cannot be disgraced." Miss Diana had full
+confidence in her own power to command this. Others wisely doubted
+whether any amount of interference on any part would now avail with Mr.
+Chattaway. His wife felt that it would not. She felt that were poor
+Rupert to venture home, even twelve months hence, trusting that time and
+mercy had effected his pardon, he would be sacrificed; between Miss
+Diana's and Mr. Chattaway's opposing policies, he would inevitably be
+sacrificed. Altogether, Mrs. Chattaway's life was more painful now
+Rupert had gone than it had been when he was at the Hold.</p>
+
+<p>Cris was against Rupert; Octave was bitterly against him; Maude went
+about the house with a white face and beating heart, health and spirits
+giving way under the tension. Suspense is, of all evils, the worst to
+bear: and they who loved Rupert, Maude and her Aunt Edith, were hourly
+victims to it. The bow was always strung. On the one hand was the latent
+doubt that he had come to some violent end that night, in spite of Mr.
+Chattaway's denial; on the other hand, the lively dread that he was
+concealing himself, and might be discovered by the police every new day
+the sun rose. They had speculated so much upon where he could be, that
+the ever-recurring thought now brought only its heart-sickness; and
+Maude had the additional pain of hearing petty shafts launched at her
+because she was his sister. Mrs. Chattaway prayed upon her bended knees
+that, hard to be borne as the suspense was, Rupert might not return
+until time should have softened the heart of Mr. Chattaway, and the
+grievous charge be done away with for want of a prosecutor.</p>
+
+<p>Nora was in the midst of bustle at Trevlyn Farm. And Nora was also in a
+temper. It was the annual custom there, when the busy time of harvest
+was over, to institute a general house-renovating: summer curtains were
+taken down, winter ones were put up, carpets were shaken, floors and
+paint scoured; and the place, in short, to use an ordinary expression,
+was turned inside out.</p>
+
+<p>There was more than usual to be done this year: for mendings and
+alterations had to be made in sundry curtains, and the upholstering
+woman, named Brown, had been at Trevlyn Farm the last day or two,
+getting forward with her work. Nora's <i>ruse</i> in the court at Barmester,
+to wile Farmer Apperley to a private conference, had really some point
+in it, for negotiations were going on with that industrious member of
+the upholstering society through Mrs. Apperley, who had recommended her.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Brown sat in the centre of a pile of curtains, steadily plying her
+needle: the finishing stitches were being put to the work; at least,
+they would be before night closed in. Mrs. Brown, a sallow woman with a
+chronic cold in her head, preferred to work in outdoor costume; a black
+poke bonnet and faded woollen shawl crossed over her shoulders. Nora
+stood by her in a very angry mood, her arms folded, just as though she
+had nothing to do: a circumstance to be recorded in these cleaning
+times.</p>
+
+<p>For Nora never let the grass grow under her feet, or under any one
+else's feet, when there was work in hand. By dint of beginning hours
+before daylight, and keeping at it hours after nightfall, she succeeded
+in getting it all over in one day. Herself, Nanny, and Ann Canham put
+their best energies into it, one or two of the men were set to rub up
+the mahogany furniture, and Mrs. Ryle had almost entirely to dispense
+with being waited upon. And Nora's present anger arose from the fact
+that Ann Canham, by some extraordinary mischance, had not made her
+appearance.</p>
+
+<p>It was bringing things almost to a standstill, as Nora complained to
+Mrs. Brown. The two cleaners were Nanny and Ann Canham. Nanny was doing
+her part, but what was to become of the other part? And where was Ann
+Canham? Nora kept her eyes turned to the window, as she talked and
+grumbled, watching for the return of Jim Sanders, whom she had
+despatched to see after Ann.</p>
+
+<p>Presently she saw him approaching, went to the door and threw it open
+long before the lad reached it. "She can't come," he called out at
+length.</p>
+
+<p>"Not come!" echoed Nora, in wrathful consternation, looking as if she
+felt inclined to beat Jim for bringing the message. "What on earth does
+she mean by that?"</p>
+
+<p>"She said her father was ill, and she couldn't leave him," returned Jim.</p>
+
+<p>Nora could scarcely speak from indignation. Old Canham, as was known to
+the neighbourhood, had been ailing for years, and it had never kept Ann
+at home before. "I don't believe it," said she, in her perplexity.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think I do, neither," returned Jim. "I'm a'most sure old Canham
+was right afore the fire, smoking his pipe as usual. She put the door to
+behind her, all in a hurry, while she talked to me, but not afore I see
+old Canham there. I be next to certain of it."</p>
+
+<p>Nora could not understand the state of affairs. Ann Canham, humble,
+industrious, grateful for any day's work offered to her, had never
+failed to come, when engaged, in all Barbrook's experience. What was to
+be done? The morrow was Saturday, and to have the cleaning extended to
+that day would have upset the farm's regularity and Nora's temper for a
+month.</p>
+
+<p>Nora took a sudden resolution. She put on her bonnet and shawl and set
+off for the lodge, determined to bring Ann Canham back willing or
+unwilling, or know the reason why. This <i>contretemps</i> would be quite a
+life-long memory for Nora.</p>
+
+<p>Without any superfluous knocking, Nora turned the handle of the door
+when she reached the lodge. But the door was locked. "What can that be
+for?" ejaculated Nora&mdash;for she had never known the lodge locked in the
+day-time. "She expects I shall come after her, and thinks she'll keep me
+out!"</p>
+
+<p>Without an instant's delay, Nora's face was at the window, to
+reconnoitre the interior. She saw the smock-frock of old Mark
+disappearing through the opposite door as quickly as was consistent with
+his rheumatism. Nora rattled the handle of the door with one hand, and
+knocked sharply on its panel with the other. Ann opened it.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Ann Canham, what's the meaning of this?" she began, pushing past
+Ann, who stood in the way, almost as if she would have kept her out.</p>
+
+<p>"I beg a humble pardon, ma'am, a hundred times," was the low,
+deprecating answer. "I'd do anything rather than disappoint you&mdash;such a
+thing has never happened to me yet&mdash;but I'm obliged. Father's too poorly
+for me to leave him."</p>
+
+<p>Nora surveyed her critically. The woman was evidently in a state of
+discomfort, if not terror. She trembled visibly, and her lips were
+white.</p>
+
+<p>"I got a boy to run down to Mrs. Sanders's this morning at daylight, and
+ask her to take my place," resumed Ann Canham. "Until Jim came up here a
+short while ago, I never thought but she had went."</p>
+
+<p>"What's the reason <i>you</i> can't come?" demanded Nora, uncompromisingly
+stern.</p>
+
+<p>"I'd come but for father."</p>
+
+<p>"You needn't peril your soul with deliberate untruths," interrupted
+angry Nora. "There's nothing the matter with your father; nothing that
+need hinder your coming out. If he's well enough to be in the
+house-place, smoking his pipe, he's well enough to be left. He <i>was</i>
+smoking. And what's that?"&mdash;pointing to the pipe her eyes had detected
+in the corner of the hearth.</p>
+
+<p>Ann Canham stood the picture of helplessness under the reproach. She
+stammered out that she "daredn't leave him: he wasn't himself to-day."</p>
+
+<p>"He was sufficiently himself to make off on seeing me," said angry Nora.
+"What's to become of my cleaning? Who's to do it if you don't? I insist
+upon your coming, Ann Canham."</p>
+
+<p>It appeared almost beyond Ann Canham's courage to bring out a second
+refusal, and she burst into tears. She had never failed before, and
+hoped, if forgiven this time, never to fail again: but to leave her
+father that day was impossible.</p>
+
+<p>And Nora had to make the best of the refusal. She went away searching
+the woman's motive, and came to the conclusion that she must have some
+sewing in hand she was compelled to finish: that Mark's illness was
+detaining her, she did not believe. Still, she could not comprehend it.
+Ann had always been so eager to oblige, so simple and straightforward.
+Had sewing really detained her, she would have brought it out to Nora;
+would have told the truth, not making her father's health the excuse.
+Nora was puzzled, and that was a thing she hated. Ruminating upon all
+this as she walked along, she met Mrs. Chattaway. Nora, who, when
+suffering under a grievance, must dilate upon it to everyone, favoured
+Mrs. Chattaway with an account of Ann Canham's extraordinary conduct and
+ingratitude.</p>
+
+<p>"Rely upon it, her father is ill," answered Mrs. Chattaway. "I will tell
+you why I think so, Nora. Yesterday I was at Barmester with my sister,
+and as we pulled up at the chemist's where I had business, Ann Canham
+came out with a bottle of medicine in her hand. I asked her who was ill,
+and she said it was her father. I remarked to the chemist afterwards
+that I supposed Mark Canham had a fresh attack of rheumatism, but he
+replied that it was fever."</p>
+
+<p>"Fever!" echoed Nora.</p>
+
+<p>"I exclaimed as you do: but the chemist persisted that Mark must be
+suffering from a species of low fever. As we returned, my sister stopped
+the pony carriage at the lodge, and Ann came out to us. She explained it
+differently from the chemist. What she had meant to imply when she went
+for the medicine was, that her father was feverish&mdash;but he was better
+then, she said. Altogether, I suppose he is worse than usual, and she is
+afraid to leave him to-day."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Nora, "all I can say is that I saw old Canham stealing out
+of the room when I knocked at it, just as though he did not want to be
+seen. He was smoking, too. I can't make it out."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway was neither so speculative nor so curious as Nora;
+perhaps not so keen: she viewed it as nothing extraordinary that Mark
+Canham should be rather worse than usual, or that his daughter should
+decline to leave him.</p>
+
+<p>Much later in the day&mdash;in fact, when the afternoon was passing&mdash;Ann
+Canham, with a wild look in her face, turned out of the lodge and took
+the road towards Trevlyn Farm. Not openly, as people do who have nothing
+to fear, but in a timorous, uncertain, hesitating manner. Plunging into
+the fields when she was nearing the farm, she stole along under cover of
+the hedge, until she reached the one which skirted the fold-yard.
+Cautiously raising her head to see what might be on the other side, it
+almost came into contact with another head, raised to see anything that
+might be on this&mdash;the face of Policeman Dumps.</p>
+
+<p>Ann Canham uttered a shrill scream, and flew away as fast as her legs
+could carry her. Perhaps of all living beings, Mr. Dumps was about the
+last she would wish to encounter just then. That gentleman made his way
+to a side-gate, and called after her.</p>
+
+<p>"What be you afeard of, Ann Canham? Did you think I was a mad bull
+looking over at you?"</p>
+
+<p>It occurred to Ann Canham that to start away in that extraordinary
+fashion could only be regarded as consistent with a guilty conscience,
+and the policeman might set himself to discover her motive&mdash;as it lay in
+the nature of a policeman to do. That or some other thought made her
+turn slowly back again, and confront Mr. Dumps.</p>
+
+<p>"What was you afeard of?" he repeated.</p>
+
+<p>"Of nothing in particular, please, sir," she answered. "It was the
+suddenness like of seeing a face that startled me."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Dumps thought she looked curiously startled still. But that
+complacent official, accustomed to strike terror to the hearts of boys
+and other scapegraces, did not give it a second thought. "Were you
+looking for anyone?" he asked, simply as an idle question.</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir. I just put my head over the hedge without meaning. I didn't
+want nothing."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Dumps loftily turned on his heel without condescending so much as a
+"good afternoon." Ann Canham pursued her way along the hedge which
+skirted the fold-yard. Any one observing her closely might have detected
+indications of fear about her still. In a cautious and timid manner, she
+at length turned her head, to obtain a glimpse of Mr. Dumps's movements.</p>
+
+<p>Dumps had turned into the road, and was pursuing his way slowly down it.
+Every step carried him farther from her; and when he was fairly out of
+sight, her sigh of relief was long and deep.</p>
+
+<p>But of course there was no certainty that he would not return. Possibly
+that insecurity caused Ann to take stolen looks into the fold-yard, and
+then dive under the hedge, as if she had been at some forbidden play.
+But Dumps did not return; and yet she continued her game.</p>
+
+<p>A full hour had she been at it: and by her countenance, and the
+occasional almost despairing movement of her hands, it might be inferred
+that she was growing sadly anxious and weary: when Jim Sanders emerged
+from one of the out-buildings at the upper end of the fold-yard, and
+began to make for the other end. To do this he had to pass within a few
+yards of the hedge where the by-play was going on; and somewhat to his
+surprise he heard himself called to in hushed tones. Casting his eyes to
+the spot whence the voice proceeded, he saw the care-worn brow and weak
+eyes of Ann Canham above the hedge. She beckoned to him mysteriously,
+and then all signs of her disappeared.</p>
+
+<p>"If ever I see the like o' that!" soliloquised Jim. "What's up with Ann
+Canham?" He approached the hedge, and bawled out to know what she
+wanted.</p>
+
+<p>"Hush&mdash;sh&mdash;sh&mdash;sh!" came the warning from the other side. "Come here,
+Jim."</p>
+
+<p>Considerably astonished, thinking perhaps Ann Canham had a litter of
+puppies to show him&mdash;for, if Jim had a weakness for anything on earth,
+it was for those charming specimens of the animal world&mdash;he made his way
+through the gate. Ann had no puppies; nothing but a small note in her
+hand wafered and pressed with a thimble.</p>
+
+<p>"Is the master anywhere about, Jim?"</p>
+
+<p>"He's just gone into the barn now. The men be thrashing."</p>
+
+<p>Ann paused a moment. Jim stared at her.</p>
+
+<p>"Could you just do me a service, Jim?"</p>
+
+<p>Jim, good-natured at all times, replied that he supposed he could if he
+tried. But he stared, still puzzled by this extraordinary behaviour on
+the part of quiet Ann Canham.</p>
+
+<p>"I want this bit of a letter given to him," she said, pointing to what
+she held. "I want it given to him when he's by himself, so that it don't
+get seen. Could you manage it, Jim?"</p>
+
+<p>"I dare say I could," replied Jim. "What is the letter? What's inside
+it?"</p>
+
+<p>"It concerns Mr. Ryle," said Ann, after a perceptible hesitation. "Jim,
+if you'll do this faithful, I won't forget it. Watch your opportunity;
+and keep the letter inside your smock-frock, for fear anybody should see
+it."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll do it," said Jim. He took the note from her, put it in his
+trousers pocket, and went back towards the barn whistling. Ann turned
+homewards, flying over the ground as if she were running a race.</p>
+
+<p>Jim had not to wait for an opportunity. He met his master coming out of
+the barn. The doorway was dark; the thrashing men were at the upper end
+of the barn, and no eyes were near. Jim could not help some of the
+mystery which had appeared in Ann Canham's manner extending to his own.</p>
+
+<p>"What's this?" asked George.</p>
+
+<p>"Ann Canham brought it, sir. She was hiding t'other side the hedge and
+called to me, and telled me to be sure give it when nobody was by."</p>
+
+<p>George took the missive to the door and looked at it. A piece of white
+paper, which had apparently served to wrap up tea or something of that
+sort, awkwardly folded and wafered. No direction.</p>
+
+<p>He opened it; and saw a few words in a sprawling hand:</p>
+
+<p>"Don't betray me, George. Come to me in secret as soon as you can. I
+think I am dying."</p>
+
+<p>And in spite of its being without signature; in spite of the scrawled
+characters, and blotted words, George Ryle recognised the handwriting of
+Rupert Trevlyn.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLVII" id="CHAPTER_XLVII"></a>CHAPTER XLVII</h2>
+
+<h3>SURPRISE</h3>
+
+
+<p>On the hard flock bed in the upper back room at the lodge, he lay. As
+George Ryle stood there bending over him, he could have touched each of
+the surrounding walls. The remark of Jim Sanders that Ann Canham had
+brought the note, guided George naturally to the lodge; otherwise he
+would not have known where to look for him. One single question to old
+Canham as he entered&mdash;"Is he here?"&mdash;and George bounded up the stairs.</p>
+
+<p>Ann Canham, who was standing over the bed&mdash;her head just escaping the
+low ceiling&mdash;turned to George: trouble and pain on her countenance as
+she spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"He is in delirium now, sir. I was afeared he would be."</p>
+
+<p>George Ryle was too astonished to make any reply. Never had he cast a
+shadow of suspicion to Rupert's being concealed at the lodge. "Has he
+been here long?" he whispered.</p>
+
+<p>"All along, sir, since the night he was missed," was the reply. "After I
+had got home that night, and was telling father about Master Rupert's
+having took the half-loaf in his hunger, he come knocking at the door to
+be let in. Chattaway and him had met and quarrelled, and he was knocked
+down, his shoulder was hurt, and he felt tired and sick; and he said
+he'd stop with us till morning, and be away afore daylight, so that we
+should not get into trouble for sheltering him. He got me to lend him my
+pen and ink, and wrote a letter to that there foreign gentleman, Mr.
+Daw. After that, with a dreadful deal of pressing, sir, I got him to
+come up to bed here, and I lay on the settle downstairs for the night.
+Before daylight I was up, and had the fired lighted, and the kettle on,
+to make him a cup o' tea before starting, but he did not come down. I
+came up here and found him ill. His shoulder was stiff and painful, he
+was bruised and sore all over, and thought he couldn't get out o' bed.
+Well, sir, he stopped, and have been here ever since, getting worse, and
+me just frightened out of my life, for fear he should be found by Mr.
+Chattaway or the police, and took off to prison. I was sick for the
+whole day after, sir, that time Mr. Bowen called me into his
+station-house and set on to question me."</p>
+
+<p>George was looking at Rupert. There could not be a doubt that he was in
+a state of partial delirium. George feared there could not be a doubt
+that he was in danger. The bed was low and narrow, evidently hard; the
+bolster small and thin. Rupert's head lay on it quietly enough; his
+hair, which had grown long since his confinement, fell around him in
+wavy masses; his cheeks wore the hectic of fever, his blue eyes were
+unnaturally bright. There was no speculation in those eyes. They were
+partially closed, and though at the entrance of George they were turned
+to him, there was no recognition in them. His arms were flung outside
+the bed, the wristbands pushed up as if from heat.</p>
+
+<p>"I have put him on a shirt o' father's, sir, when his have wanted
+washing," explained Ann Canham, to whom it was natural to relate minute
+details.</p>
+
+<p>"How long has he been without consciousness?" inquired George.</p>
+
+<p>"Just for the last hour, sir. He wrote the letter I brought to you, and
+when I come back he was like this. Maybe he'll come to himself again
+presently; he's been as bad as this at times in the last day or two. I'm
+so afeard of its going on to brain-fever or some other fever. If he
+should get raving, we could never keep his being here a secret; he'd be
+heard outside."</p>
+
+<p>"He ought to have had a doctor before this."</p>
+
+<p>"But how is one to be got here?" debated Ann Canham. "Once a doctor knew
+where Mr. Rupert was, he might betray it&mdash;there's the reward, you know,
+sir. And how could we get a doctor in without its being known at the
+Hold? What mightn't Chattaway suspect?"</p>
+
+<p>George remained silent, revolving the matter. There were difficulties
+undoubtedly in the way.</p>
+
+<p>"Nobody knows the trouble I've been in, sir, especially since he grew
+worse. At first, he just lay here quiet, more as if glad of the rest,
+and my chief care was to keep folks as far as I could out o' the lodge,
+bathe his shoulder, and bring him up a share of our poor meals. But
+since the fever came upon him, I've been half dazed, wondering what I
+ought to do. There were two people I thought I might speak to&mdash;you, sir,
+and Madam. But Mr. Rupert was against it, and father was dead against
+it. They were afraid, you see, that if only one was told, it might come
+to be known he was here. Father's old now, and helpless; he couldn't do
+a stroke towards getting his own living. If I be out before daylight at
+any of my places, it's as much as he can do to open the gate and fasten
+it back: and he knows Mr. Chattaway would turn us right off the estate
+if it come to be known we had sheltered Mr. Rupert. But yesterday Mr.
+Rupert found he was getting worse and worse, and I said to father what
+would become of us if he should die? And they both said that you should
+be told to-day if he was no better. We did think him a trifle better
+this morning, but later the fever came on again, and Mr. Rupert himself
+said he'd write you a word, and I found a bit o' paper and brought him
+the big Bible, and held it while he wrote the letter on it."</p>
+
+<p>She ceased. George, as before, was looking at Rupert. It seemed to Ann
+Canham that he could not gaze sufficiently, but in truth he was lost in
+thought; fairly puzzled with the difficulties encompassing the case.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it anything more than low fever?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think it is, sir, yet. But it may go on to more, you know."</p>
+
+<p>George did know. He knew that assistance was necessary in more ways than
+one, if worse was to be avoided. Medical attendance, a more airy room,
+generous nourishment; and how was even one of them to be accomplished,
+let alone all? The close closet&mdash;it could scarcely be called more&mdash;had
+no chimney in it; air and light could come in only through a small pane
+ingeniously made to open in the roof. The narrow bed and one chair
+occupied almost all the space, leaving very little for George and Ann
+Canham as they stood. George, coming in from the fresh air, felt
+half-stifled with the closeness of the room: and this must be dangerous
+for the invalid. It is a mercy that these inconveniences are soothed to
+those who have to endure them&mdash;as most inconveniences and trials are in
+life. To an outsider they appear unbearable; but to the sufferers they
+are tempered. George Ryle felt as if a day in that atmosphere would half
+kill him; but Rupert, lying there always, was sensible of no discomfort.
+It was not, however, the less injurious; and it appeared that there was
+no remedy; could be no removal.</p>
+
+<p>"What have you given him?" inquired George.</p>
+
+<p>"I have made him some herb tea, sir, but it didn't seem to do him good,
+and then I went over to Barmester and got a bottle o' physic. I had to
+say it was for father, and the druggist told me I ought to call in a
+doctor, when I described the illness. Coming out of the shop there was
+Miss Diana's pony-carriage at the door, and Madam met me and asked who
+the physic was for: I never was so took aback. But the physic didn't
+seem to do him good neither."</p>
+
+<p>"I meant as to food," returned George.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! sir&mdash;what could I give him but our poor fare? milk porridge and
+such like. I went up to the Hold one day and begged a basin o'
+curds-and-whey, and he eat it all and drank up the whey quite greedy;
+but I didn't dare go again, for fear of their suspecting something. It's
+meat and wine he ought to have had from the first, sir, but we can't get
+such things as that. Why, sir, I shouldn't dare be seen cooking a bit o'
+meat: it would set Mr. Chattaway wondering at once. What's to be done?"</p>
+
+<p>What, indeed? There was the question. Idea after idea shot through
+George Ryle's brain; wild fancies, because impossible to be acted upon.
+It might be dangerous to call in a doctor. Allowing that the man of
+medicine proved true and kept the secret, the very fact of his
+attendance would cause a stir at the Hold. Miss Diana would come down,
+questioning old Canham; and would inevitably find that he was <i>not</i> ill
+enough to need a doctor. A doctor might venture there once: but
+regularly? George did not see the way by any means clear.</p>
+
+<p>But Rupert must not be left to die. George took up his delicate
+hand&mdash;Rupert's hands had always been delicate&mdash;and held it as he spoke
+to him. It was hot; fevered; the dry lips were parched; the hectic
+cheeks, the white brow, all burning with fever. "Don't you know me,
+Rupert?" he bent lower to ask.</p>
+
+<p>The words were so far heard that Rupert moved his head on the bolster;
+perhaps the familiar name struck some chord in his memory; but there was
+no recognition, and he began to twitch at the bed-clothes with one of
+his hands.</p>
+
+<p>George turned away. He went down the ladder of a staircase, feeling that
+little time was to be lost. Old Canham stood in his tottering fashion,
+leaning upon his crutch, watching the descent.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you think of him, Mr. George?"</p>
+
+<p>"I hardly know what to think, Mark. Or rather, I know what to think, but
+I don't know what to do. A doctor must be got here; and without loss of
+time."</p>
+
+<p>Old Canham lifted his hands with a gesture of despair. "Once the secret
+is give over to a doctor, sir, there's no telling where it'll travel, or
+what'll be the consequence to us all."</p>
+
+<p>"I think King would be true," said George. "Nay, I feel sure he would
+be. The worst is, he's simple-minded, and might betray it through sheer
+inadvertency. I would a great deal rather bring Mr. Benage to him; I
+<i>know</i> we might rely on Benage, and he is more skilful than King; but it
+is not practicable. To see the renowned Barmester doctor in attendance
+on you might create greater commotion at the Hold than would be
+desirable. No, it must be King."</p>
+
+<p>"Sir, couldn't you go to one o' the gentlemen yourself and describe
+what's the matter with Master Rupert. You needn't say who's ill."</p>
+
+<p>George shook his head. "It would not do, Mark; the responsibility is too
+great. Were anything to happen to Rupert&mdash;and I believe he is in
+danger&mdash;you and I should blame ourselves for not having called in advice
+at all risks. I shall get King here somehow."</p>
+
+<p>He went out as he spoke, partly perhaps to avoid further opposition to
+what he felt <i>must</i> be done. Yet he did not see the surrounding
+difficulties the less, and halted in thought outside the lodge door.</p>
+
+<p>At that moment, Maude Trevlyn came into view, walking slowly down the
+avenue. George advanced to meet her, and could not help noticing her
+listless step, her pale, weary face.</p>
+
+<p>"Maude, what is the trouble now?"</p>
+
+<p>That she had been grieving, and recently, her eyes betrayed. Struggling
+for a brief moment with her feelings, she gave way to a burst of tears.</p>
+
+<p>George drew her into the trees. "Maude, Maude, if you go on like this
+you will be ill. What is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"This suspense!&mdash;this agony!" she breathed. "Every day, almost every
+hour, something or other occurs to renew the trouble. If it could only
+end! I cannot bear it much longer. I feel as if I must go off to the
+ends of the earth in search of him. If I only knew he was living, it
+would be something."</p>
+
+<p>George took rapid counsel with himself. Surely Maude would be safe;
+surely it would be a charity, nay, a duty, to tell her! He drew her hand
+in his, and bent his face near to hers.</p>
+
+<p>"Maude! what will you give me for news I have heard? I can give you
+tidings of Rupert. He is not dead; not even very far away!"</p>
+
+<p>For an instant her heart stood still. But George glanced round as with
+fear, and his tones were sad.</p>
+
+<p>"He is taken!" she exclaimed, her pulses bounding on.</p>
+
+<p>"No. But care must be observed if we would prevent it. In that sense, he
+is at liberty. But it is not all sunshine, Maude; he is very ill."</p>
+
+<p>"Where is he?" she gasped.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you compose yourself if I take you to him? But we have need of
+great caution; we must make sure no prying eyes are spying at us."</p>
+
+<p>Her very agitation proved how great had been the strain upon her nervous
+system; for a few minutes he thought she would faint, as she stood
+leaning against the tree. "Only take me to him, George," she murmured.
+"I will bless you forever."</p>
+
+<p>Into the lodge and up old Canham's narrow staircase he led her. She
+entered the room timidly, not with the eager bound of hope, but with
+slow and hesitating steps, almost as she had once entered into the
+presence of the dead, that long past night at Trevlyn Farm.</p>
+
+<p>He lay as he had lain when George went out: the eyes fixed, the head
+beginning to turn restlessly, one hand picking at the coarse brown
+sheet. "Come in, Maude; there is nothing to fear; but he will not know
+you."</p>
+
+<p>She went in and stood for a moment gazing at him who lay there, as
+though it required time to take in the scene; then she fell on her knees
+in a strange burst, half joy, half grief, and kissed his hands and
+fevered lips.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Rupert, Rupert! My brother Rupert!"</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLVIII" id="CHAPTER_XLVIII"></a>CHAPTER XLVIII</h2>
+
+<h3>DANGER</h3>
+
+
+<p>The residence of Mr. King, the surgeon, was situated on the road to
+Barbrook, not far from the parsonage: a small, square, red-brick house,
+two storeys high, with a great bronze knocker on the particularly narrow
+and modest door. If you wanted to enter, you could either raise this
+knocker, which would most likely bring forth Mr. King himself; or,
+ignoring ceremony, turn the handle and walk in of your own accord, as
+George Ryle did, and admitted himself into the narrow passage. On the
+right was the parlour, quite a fashionable room, with a tiger-skin
+stretched out by way of hearth-rug; on the left a small apartment fitted
+up with bottles and pill-boxes, where Mr. King saw his patients. One sat
+there as George Ryle entered, and the surgeon turned round, as he poured
+some liquid from what looked like a jelly-glass, into a green bottle.</p>
+
+<p>Now, of all the disagreeable <i>contretemps</i> that could have occurred, to
+meet that particular patient was about the worst. Ann Canham had not
+been more confounded at the sight of Policeman Dumps's head over the
+hedge, than George was at Policeman Dumps himself&mdash;for it was no other
+than that troublesome officer who sat in the patient's chair, the late
+afternoon's sun streaming on his head. George's active mind hit on a
+ready excuse for his own visit.</p>
+
+<p>"Is my mother's medicine ready, Mr. King?"</p>
+
+<p>"The medicine ready! Why, I sent it three good hours ago!"</p>
+
+<p>"Did you? I understood them to say&mdash;&mdash;But there's no harm done; I was
+coming down this way. A nice warm afternoon!" he exclaimed, throwing
+himself into a chair as if he would take a little rest. "Are you having
+a tooth drawn, Dumps?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir, but I've got the face-ache awful," was Dumps's reply, who was
+holding a handkerchief to his right cheek. "It's what they call
+tic-douloureux, I fancy, for it comes on by fits and starts. I'm out of
+sorts altogether, and thought I'd ask Doctor King to make me up a bottle
+of physic."</p>
+
+<p>So the physic was for Dumps. Mr. King seemed a long time over it,
+measuring this liquid, measuring that, shaking it all up together, and
+gossiping the while. George, in his impatience, thought it would never
+come to an end. Dumps seemed to be in no hurry to depart, Mr. King in no
+hurry to dismiss him. They talked over half the news of the parish. They
+spoke of Rupert Trevlyn and his prolonged absence, and Mr. Dumps gave it
+as his opinion that "if he wasn't in hiding somewhere, he was gone for
+good." Whether Mr. Dumps meant gone to some foreign terrestrial country,
+or into a celestial, he did not explain.</p>
+
+<p>Utterly out of patience he rose and left the room, standing outside
+against the door-post, as if he would watch the passers-by. Perhaps the
+movement imparted an impetus to Mr. Dumps, for he also rose and took his
+bottle of medicine from the hands of the surgeon. But he lingered yet:
+and George thought he never would come forth.</p>
+
+<p>That desirable consummation arrived at last. The man departed, and paced
+away on his beat with his official tread. George returned indoors.</p>
+
+<p>"I fancied you were waiting to see me," observed Mr. King. "Is anything
+the matter?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not with me. I want to put you upon your honour, doctor," continued
+George, a momentary smile crossing his lips.</p>
+
+<p>"To put me upon my honour!" echoed the surgeon, staring at George.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish to let you into a secret: but you must give me your word of
+honour that you will be a true man, and not betray it. In short, I want
+to enlist your sympathies, your kindly nature, heartily in the cause."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose some of the poor have got into trouble?" cried Mr. King, not
+very well knowing what to make of the words.</p>
+
+<p>"No," said George. "Let me put a case to you. One under the ban of the
+law and his fellow-men, whom a word could betray to years of
+punishment&mdash;lies in sore need of medical skill; if he cannot obtain it
+he may soon die. Will you be a good Samaritan, and give it; and
+faithfully keep the secret?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. King regarded George attentively, slowly rubbing his bald head: he
+was a man of six-and-sixty now. "Are you speaking of Rupert Trevlyn?" he
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>George paused, perhaps rather taken back; but the surgeon's face was
+kindly, its expression benevolent. "What if I were? Would you be true to
+<i>him</i>?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I would: and I am surprised that you thought it necessary to ask.
+Were the greatest criminal on earth lying in secret, and wanting my aid,
+I would give it and be silent. I go as a healing man; not in the name of
+the law. Were a doctor taken to a patient under such circumstances, to
+betray trust, he would violate his duty. Medical men are not informers."</p>
+
+<p>"I felt we might trust you," said George. "It is Rupert Trevlyn. He took
+refuge that night at old Canham's, it seems, and has been ill ever
+since, growing worse and worse. But they fear danger now, and thought
+fit this afternoon to send for me. Rupert scrawled a few lines himself,
+but before I could get there he was delirious."</p>
+
+<p>"Is it fever?"</p>
+
+<p>"Low fever, Ann Canham says. It may go on to worse, you know, doctor."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. King nodded his head. "Where can they have concealed him at
+Canham's?"</p>
+
+<p>"Upstairs in a bed-closet. The most stifling hole you can imagine! I
+felt ill as I stood there. It is a perplexing affair altogether. The
+place itself is enough to kill any one in a fever, and there's no chance
+of removing him from it; hardly a chance of getting you in to see him:
+it must be accomplished in the most cautious manner. Were Chattaway to
+see you entering, who knows what it might lead to? If he should, by ill
+luck, see you," added George, after a pause, "your visit is to old
+Canham, remember."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. King gave a short, emphatic nod; his frequent substitute for an
+answer. "Rupert Trevlyn at Canham's!" he exclaimed. "Well, you have
+surprised me!"</p>
+
+<p>"I cannot tell you how surprised I was," returned George. "But we had
+better be going; I fear he is in danger."</p>
+
+<p>"Ay. Delirious, you say?"</p>
+
+<p>"I think so. He was quiet, but evidently did not know me. He did not
+know Maude. I met her as I was leaving the lodge, and thought it only
+kind to tell her of the discovery. It has been an anxious time for her."</p>
+
+<p>"There's another it's an anxious time for; and that's Madam Chattaway,"
+remarked the surgeon. "I was called in to her a few days ago. But I can
+do nothing; the malady is on the mind. Now I am ready."</p>
+
+<p>He had been putting one or two papers into his pocket, probably
+containing some cooling powder or other remedy for Rupert. George walked
+with him; he wished to go in with him if it could be managed, anxious to
+hear his opinion. They pursued their way unmolested, meeting no one of
+more consequence than Mr. Dumps, who appeared to be occupied in nursing
+his cheek.</p>
+
+<p>"So far so good," cried George, as they came in sight of the lodge. "But
+now for the tug of war; my walking with you is nothing; but to be seen
+entering the lodge with you might be a great deal. There seems no one
+about."</p>
+
+<p>Ah! unlucky chance! By some untoward fatality the master of Trevlyn Hold
+emerged in sight, coming quickly down the avenue, at the moment Mr. King
+had his feet on the lodge steps to enter. George suppressed a groan of
+irritation.</p>
+
+<p>"There's no help for it; you must have your wits about you," he
+whispered. "I shall go straight on as if I had come to pay a visit to
+the Hold."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. King was not perhaps the best of men to "have his wits about him" on
+a sudden emergency, and almost as the last word left George's lips, Mr.
+Chattaway was upon them.</p>
+
+<p>"Good afternoon, Mr. Chattaway," said George. "Is Cris at home?"</p>
+
+<p>George continued his way as he spoke, brushing past Mr. Chattaway. You
+know what a very coward is self-consciousness. The presence of Chattaway
+at that ill-omened moment set them all inwardly quaking. George, the
+surgeon, old Canham sitting inside, and Ann peeping from the window,
+felt one and all as if Chattaway must divine some part of the great
+secret locked within their breasts.</p>
+
+<p>"Cris? I don't think Cris is at home," called out Chattaway. "He went
+out after dinner."</p>
+
+<p>"I am going to see," replied George, looking back.</p>
+
+<p>The little delay had given the doctor time to collect himself, and he
+strove to look and speak as much at ease as possible. He stood on the
+lodge step, waiting to greet Mr. Chattaway. It would never do to make
+believe he was not going into the lodge, as George did, for Mr.
+Chattaway had seen him step up to it.</p>
+
+<p>"How d'ye do, Mr. Chattaway? Fine weather this!"</p>
+
+<p>"We shall have a change before long; the glass is shifting. Anyone ill
+here?" continued Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"Not they, I hope!" returned the surgeon with a laugh. "I give old
+Canham a look in now and then, when I am passing and can spare the time,
+just for a dish of gossip and to ask after his rheumatism. I suppose you
+thought I had quite forgotten you," he added, turning to the old man,
+who had risen and stood leaning on his crutch, looking, if Mr. Chattaway
+could but have understood it, half frightened to death. "It's a long
+time since I was here, Mark."</p>
+
+<p>He sat down on the settle as he spoke, as if to intimate that he
+intended to take a dish of gossip then. Chattaway&mdash;ah! can he suspect?
+thought old Mark as he entered the lodge; a thing he did not do once in
+a year. Conscience does make cowards of us all&mdash;and it need not be
+altogether a guilty conscience to do this&mdash;and it was rendering Ann
+Canham as one paralysed. She would have given the whole world to leave
+the room, go up to Rupert, and guard as far as possible against noise;
+but she feared to excite suspicion. Foolish fears! Had Rupert not been
+there, Ann Canham would have passed in and out of the room twenty times
+without thinking of Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"Madam Chattaway said you were ill, I remember," said he to Mark Canham.
+"Fever, I understood. She said something about seeing your fever mixture
+at the chemist's at Barmester."</p>
+
+<p>Ann Canham turned hot and cold. She did not dare to even glance at her
+father, still less prompt him; but it so happened that, willing to spare
+him unnecessary worry, she had not mentioned the little episode of
+meeting Mrs. Chattaway at Barmester. Old Mark was cautious, however.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Squire. I've had a deal o' fever lately, on and off. Perhaps
+Doctor King could give me some'at better for't than them druggists
+gives."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps I can," said Mr. King. "I'll have a talk with you presently.
+How is Madam to-day, Mr. Chattaway?"</p>
+
+<p>"As well as usual, except in the matter of grumbling," was the
+ungracious answer. And the master of the Hold, perhaps not finding it
+particularly lively there, went out as he delivered it, giving a short
+adieu to Mr. King.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, George Ryle reached the Hold. Maude saw his approach from the
+drawing-room window, and came to the hall-door. "I want to speak to
+you," she whispered.</p>
+
+<p>He followed her into the room; there was no one in it. Maude closed the
+door, and spoke in a gentle whisper.</p>
+
+<p>"May I tell Aunt Edith?"</p>
+
+<p>George looked dubious. "That is a serious question, Maude."</p>
+
+<p>"It would give her renewed life," returned Maude, her tone intensely
+earnest. "George, if this suspense is to continue, she will sink under
+it. It was very, very bad for me to bear, and I am young and strong. I
+fear, too, that my aunt gets the dreadful doubt upon her now and then
+whether&mdash;whether&mdash;what was said of Mr. Chattaway is not true; and Rupert
+was killed that night. Oh, let me tell her!"</p>
+
+<p>"Maude, I should be glad for her to know it. My only doubt is, whether
+she would <i>dare</i> keep the secret from her husband, Rupert being actually
+within the precincts of the Hold."</p>
+
+<p>"She can be braver in Rupert's cause than you imagine. I am sure that
+she will be as safe as you or I."</p>
+
+<p>"Then let us tell her."</p>
+
+<p>Maude's eyes grew bright with gladness. Taking all circumstances into
+view, there was not much cause for congratulation; but, compared with
+what had been, it seemed as joy to Maude, and her heart grew light.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall never repay you, George," she cried, with enthusiasm, lifting
+her eyes gratefully to his.</p>
+
+<p>George laughed, and made a prisoner of her. "I can repay myself, Maude."</p>
+
+<p>And Mrs. Chattaway was told.</p>
+
+<p>In the twilight of that same evening, when the skies were grey, and the
+trees in the lonely avenue were gloomy, there glided one beneath them
+with timid and cautious step. It was Mrs. Chattaway. A soft black shawl
+was thrown over her head and shoulders, and her gown was black;
+precautions rendering her less easy to be observed; and curious eyes
+might be about. She kept close to the trees as she stole along, ready to
+conceal herself amidst them if necessary.</p>
+
+<p>And it was necessary. Surely there was a fatality clinging to the spot
+this evening, or Mr. Chattaway was haunting it in suspicion. One moment
+more, and he would have met his wife; but she heard the footsteps in
+time.</p>
+
+<p>Her heart beating, her hands pressed upon her bosom, she waited in her
+hiding-place until he had gone past: waited until she believed him safe
+at home, and then she went on.</p>
+
+<p>The shutters were closed at the lodge, and Mrs. Chattaway knocked softly
+at them. Alas! alas! I tell you there was some untoward fate in the
+ascendant. In the very act of doing so she was surprised by Cris running
+in at the gate.</p>
+
+<p>"Goodness, mother! who was to know you in that guise? Why, what on earth
+are you trembling at?"</p>
+
+<p>"You have startled me, Cris. I did not know you; I thought it some
+strange man running in upon me."</p>
+
+<p>"What are you doing down here?"</p>
+
+<p>Ah! what was she doing? What was she to say? what excuse to make?</p>
+
+<p>"Poor old Canham has been so ailing, Cris. I must just step in to see
+him."</p>
+
+<p>Cris tossed his head in scorn. To make friendly visits to sick old men
+was not in <i>his</i> line. "I'm sure I should not trouble myself about old
+Canham if I were you, mother," cried he.</p>
+
+<p>He ran on as he spoke, but had not gone many steps when he found his
+mother's arm gently laid on his.</p>
+
+<p>"Cris, dear, oblige me by not saying anything of this at home. Your
+father has prejudices, you know; he thinks as you do; and perhaps would
+be angry with me for coming. But I like to visit those who are ill, to
+say a kind word to them; perhaps because I am so often ill myself."</p>
+
+<p>"I sha'n't bother myself to say anything about it," was Cris's
+ungracious response. "I'm sure you are welcome to go, mother, if it
+affords you any pleasure. Fine fun it must be to sit with that rheumatic
+old Canham! But as to his being ill, he is not that&mdash;if you mean worse
+than usual: I have seen him about to-day."</p>
+
+<p>Cris finally went off, and Mrs. Chattaway returned to the door, which
+was opened about an inch by Ann Canham. "Let me in, Ann! let me in!"</p>
+
+<p>She pushed her way in; and Ann Canham shut and bolted the door. Ann's
+course was uncertain: she was not aware whether or not it was known to
+Mrs. Chattaway. That lady's first words enlightened her, spoken as they
+were in the lowest whisper.</p>
+
+<p>"Is he better to-night? What does Mr. King say?"</p>
+
+<p>Ann lifted her hands in trouble. "He's no better, Madam, but seems
+worse. Mr. King said it would be necessary that he should visit him once
+or twice a day: and how can he dare venture? It passed off very well his
+saying this afternoon that he just called in to see old father; but he
+couldn't make that excuse to Mr. Chattaway a second time."</p>
+
+<p>"To Mr. Chattaway!" she quickly repeated. "Did Mr. Chattaway see Mr.
+King here?"</p>
+
+<p>"Worse luck, he did, Madam. He came in with him."</p>
+
+<p>A fear arose to the heart of Mrs. Chattaway. "If we could only get him
+away to a safe distance!" she exclaimed. "There would be less danger
+then."</p>
+
+<p>But it could not be; Rupert was too ill to be moved. Mrs. Chattaway was
+turning to the stairs, when a gentle knocking was heard at the outer
+door.</p>
+
+<p>It was only Mr. King. Mrs. Chattaway eagerly accosted him with the one
+anxious question&mdash;was Rupert in danger?</p>
+
+<p>"Well I hope not: not in actual danger," was the surgeon's answer.
+"But&mdash;you see&mdash;circumstances are against him."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," she said, hesitatingly, not precisely understanding to what
+circumstances he alluded. Mr. King resumed.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing is more essential in these cases of low fever than plenty of
+fresh air and generous nourishment. The one he cannot get, lying where
+he does; to obtain the other may be almost as difficult. If these low
+fevers cannot be checked, they go on very often to&mdash;to&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"To what?" a terrible dread upon her that he meant to say, "to death."</p>
+
+<p>"To typhus," quietly remarked the surgeon.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, but that is dangerous!" she cried, clasping her hands. "That
+sometimes goes on to death."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Mr. King; and it struck her that his tone was significant.</p>
+
+<p>"You must try and prevent it, doctor&mdash;you must save him," she cried; and
+her imploring accents, her trembling hands, proved to the surgeon how
+great was her emotion.</p>
+
+<p>He shook his head: the issues of life and death were not in his power.
+"My dear lady, I will do what I am enabled to do; more, I cannot. We
+poor human doctors can only work under the hand of God."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLIX" id="CHAPTER_XLIX"></a>CHAPTER XLIX</h2>
+
+<h3>A RED-LETTER DAY</h3>
+
+
+<p>There are some happy days in the most monotonous, the least favoured
+life; periods on which we can look back always, even to the life's end,
+and say, "That was a red-letter day!"</p>
+
+<p>Such a day had arisen for Trevlyn Farm. Perhaps never, since the unhappy
+accident which had carried away its master, had so joyful a day dawned
+for Mrs. Ryle and George&mdash;certainly never one that brought half the
+satisfaction; for George Ryle was going up to the Hold to clear off the
+last instalment of Mr. Chattaway's debt.</p>
+
+<p>It was the lifting of a heavy tax; the removal of a cruel nightmare&mdash;a
+nightmare that had borne them down, had all but crushed them with its
+weight. How they had toiled, striven, persevered, saved, George and Nora
+alone knew. They knew it far better than Mrs. Ryle; she had joined in
+the saving, but little in the work. To Mrs. Ryle the debt seemed to have
+been cleared off quickly&mdash;far more quickly than had appeared likely at
+the time of Mr. Ryle's death. And so it had been. George Ryle was one of
+those happy people who believe in the special interposition and favour
+of God; and he believed that God had shown favour to him, and helped him
+with prosperity. It could not be denied that Trevlyn Farm had been
+blessed with remarkable prosperity since George's reign there. Season
+after season, when other people complained of short returns, those of
+Trevlyn Farm had flourished. Harvests had been abundant; cattle, sheep,
+poultry&mdash;all had richly prospered. It is true George brought keen
+intelligence, ever-watchful care to bear upon it; but returns, even with
+these, are not always satisfactory. They had been so with him. His
+bargains in buying and selling stock had been always good, yielding a
+profit&mdash;for he had entered into them somewhat largely&mdash;never dreamt of
+by his father. The farmers around, seeing how all he put his hand to
+seemed to flourish, set it down to his superior skill, and talked one to
+another, at their fairs and markets, of "young Ryle's cuteness." Perhaps
+the success might be owing to a very different cause, as George
+believed&mdash;and nothing could have shaken that belief&mdash;the special
+blessing of Heaven!</p>
+
+<p>Yes, in spite of Mr. Chattaway's oppression, they had flourished. It had
+seemed like magic to that gentleman how they had kept up and increased
+the payments to him, in addition to their other expenses. That the debt
+should be ready to be finally cancelled he scarcely believed, although
+he had received intimation to that effect.</p>
+
+<p>It did not please him. Dear as money was to the master of Trevlyn Hold,
+he had been better pleased to keep George Ryle still under his thumb.
+<i>He</i> had not been favoured with the same success: his corn had, some
+seasons, been thin in the ear; his live stock unhealthy; his bargains
+had turned out losses instead of gains; he had made bad debts; his
+coal-mine had exploded; his ricks had been burnt. Certainly no
+extraordinary luck had followed Mr. Chattaway&mdash;rather the contrary; and
+he regarded George Ryle with anger and envy; a great deal more than
+would have pleased George, had he known it. Not that George cared, in
+the abstract, whether he had Mr. Chattaway's anger or good will; but
+George wanted to stand so far well with him as to obtain the lease of
+his best farm. A difficult task!</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway sat in what was called the steward's room that fine autumn
+morning&mdash;but autumn was merging into winter now. When rents were paid to
+him, it was here he sat to receive them. It was where the steward, in
+the old days of Squire Trevlyn, sat to receive them; see the tenants and
+work-people upon other matters; transact business generally&mdash;for it was
+not until the advent of Mr. Chattaway that Trevlyn Hold had been without
+its steward or bailiff. In the estimation of Miss Diana, it ought not to
+be without one now.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway was not in a good humour that morning&mdash;which is not saying
+much: but he was in an unusually bad one. A man who rented a small farm
+of fifty acres under him had come in to pay his annual rent. That is, he
+had paid part of it, pleading unavoidable misfortune for not being able
+to make up the remainder, and begging time and grace. It did not please
+Mr. Chattaway&mdash;never a more exacting man than he with his tenants&mdash;and
+the unhappy defaulter wound up the displeasure to a climax by inquiring,
+innocently and simply, really not meaning any offence, whether any news
+of the poor young Squire had come to light.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway had not done digesting the unpalatable remark when George
+entered. "Good morning, Mr. Chattaway," was his greeting. And perhaps of
+all his tenants George Ryle was the only one who did not on these
+occasions, when they met face to face as landlord and tenant, address
+him by his coveted title of "Squire."</p>
+
+<p>"Good morning," returned Mr. Chattaway, shortly and snappishly. "Take a
+seat."</p>
+
+<p>George drew a chair to the table at which Mr. Chattaway sat. Opening a
+substantial bag, he counted out notes and gold, and a few shillings in
+silver, which he divided into two portions; then, with his hands, he
+pushed each nearer Mr. Chattaway, one after the other.</p>
+
+<p>"This is the year's rent, Mr. Chattaway; and this, I am happy to say, is
+the last instalment of the debt and interest which my father owed&mdash;or
+was said to owe&mdash;to Squire Trevlyn. Will you be so good as to give me a
+receipt in full?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway swept towards him the heap designated as the rent,
+apparently ignoring the other. "What have you deducted?" he asked, in
+angry tones, as he counted it over, and found that it came somewhat
+short of the sum expected.</p>
+
+<p>"Not much," replied George; "only what I have a right to deduct. The
+fences, and&mdash;&mdash;But I have the accounts with me," he continued, taking
+three or four papers from his pocket. "You can look them over."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway scrutinised the papers one by one, but he was unable to
+find anything to object to in the items. George Ryle knew better than to
+deduct money for anything that did not fall legally to the landlord. But
+it was in Mr. Chattaway's nature to dispute.</p>
+
+<p>"If I brought this matter of the fences into court I believe it would be
+given against you."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think you believe anything of the sort," returned George,
+good-humouredly. "If you have any great wish to try it, you can do so:
+but the loss would be yours."</p>
+
+<p>Probably Mr. Chattaway knew that it would be. He said no more, but
+proceeded to count the other money. It was all there, both principal and
+interest. In vain Mr. Chattaway opened his books of the days gone by,
+and went over old figures; he could not claim another fraction. The
+long-pending two thousand pounds, the disputed loan, which had caused so
+much heart-burning, and had led in a remote degree to Mr. Ryle's violent
+death, was at length paid off.</p>
+
+<p>"As I have paid former sums under the same protest that my father did,
+so I now pay this last and final one," said George, in a civil but
+straightforward and business-like tone. "I believe that Squire Trevlyn
+cancelled the debt on his death-bed; I and my mother have lived in that
+belief; but there was no document to prove it, and we have had to bear
+the consequences. It is all, however, honourably paid now."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway could not demur to this, and gave a receipt&mdash;in full, as
+George expressed it&mdash;for that and the year's rent. As George put the
+former safely in his pocket-book, he felt like a bird released from a
+long and cruel imprisonment. He was a free man and a joyous one.</p>
+
+<p>"That farm of yours has turned out well of late years," observed Mr.
+Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"Very well: there's the proof," pointing to the money. "To tell you the
+truth, I gave myself two more years to pay it off in, and Mrs. Ryle
+thought it would take longer. But I have prospered in my bargains with
+stock. Would you be afraid to try me on a farm on my own account?"</p>
+
+<p>Had it been any eligible person except George Ryle, Mr. Chattaway would
+probably have said he should not be afraid; but Chattaway did not like
+George Ryle. He disliked him, as a mean, ill-principled man will dislike
+and shun an honourable one.</p>
+
+<p>"I should think that when you are making Trevlyn Farm answer so well,
+you would be loth to leave it," he remarked ungraciously.</p>
+
+<p>"So I might be, were Trevlyn Farm mine alone. Of all the returns which
+have accrued from my care and labour, not a shilling has found its way
+to me: I have worked entirely for others. But for the heavy costs which
+have been upon us, the chief of which were Treve's expenses and this old
+debt of Squire Trevlyn's, there would have been a fair sum to put by
+yearly, and I imagine my mother would have allowed me to take my
+portion. I believe she intends to do so by Treve, and I hope Treve will
+make as good a thing of the farm as I have made."</p>
+
+<p>"That's not likely," slightingly spoke Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"He may do well if he chooses; there's no doubt about it, and he can
+always come to me for advice. I shall not be far off&mdash;at least, if I can
+settle as I hope. My mother wishes the lease transferred into Trevlyn's
+name. I suppose there will be no objection to it."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll consider it," shortly replied Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"And now, Mr. Chattaway," George continued, with a smile, "I want you to
+promise me the lease of the Upland Farm. It will be vacant in spring."</p>
+
+<p>"You are mad to ask it," said Chattaway. "A man without a shilling&mdash;and
+you have just informed me you don't possess one&mdash;can't undertake the
+Upland Farm. That farm's only suited to a gentleman"&mdash;and he laid an
+offensive stress upon the word: "one whose pockets are lined with money.
+I have had an application for the Upland Farm, which I think I shall
+accept. In fact, for the matter of that, I had some thought of retaining
+it in my own hands, and putting in a bailiff to manage it."</p>
+
+<p>"You had better let it to me," returned George, not losing his good
+humour. "Was the application made to you by Mr. Peterby?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway stared in surprise at his knowing so much. "What if it
+was?" he returned resentfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, then, I can tell you that it will not be repeated. Mr. Peterby's
+client&mdash;I am not sure that I am at liberty to mention his name&mdash;has
+given up the idea. Partly because I have told him I want the farm
+myself, and he says he won't oppose me, out of respect to my father's
+memory; partly because Mr. Peterby has heard of another likely to suit
+him as well, if not better. All the neighbours would be glad to see me
+take the Upland Farm."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway's breath was almost taken away with the insolence. "Had
+you not better constitute yourself manager of my estate, and let my
+farms to whom you please?" he cried sarcastically. "How dare you
+interfere with my tenants, or with those who would become my tenants?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have not interfered with them. This client of Mr. Peterby's happened
+to mention to me that he had asked the firm to make inquiries about the
+Upland Farm. I immediately rejoined that it was the very farm I was
+hoping to take myself; and he determined of his own goodwill not to
+oppose me."</p>
+
+<p>"Who was it?"</p>
+
+<p>"One who would not have suited you, if you have set your mind upon a
+gentleman," freely answered George. "He is an honest man, and a man
+whose coffers are well lined through his own industry; but he could not
+by any stretch of imagination be called a gentleman. It is Cope, the
+butcher&mdash;I may as well tell you. Since he retired from his shop, he
+finds time hangs on his hands, and has resolved to turn farmer. Mr.
+Chattaway, I hope you will let me have it."</p>
+
+<p>"It appears to me nothing less than audacity to ask it," was the
+chilling retort. "Pray, where's your money to come from to stock it?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's all ready," said George.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway looked at him, thinking the assertion a joke. "If you have
+nothing better to do with your time than to jest it away, I have with
+mine," was the delicate hint he gave in reply.</p>
+
+<p>"I repeat that the money is ready," continued George. "Mr. Chattaway, I
+do not wish to conceal anything from you: to be otherwise than quite
+open with you. The money to stock the Upland Farm is going to be lent to
+me; you will be surprised when I tell you by whom&mdash;Mr. Apperley."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway was very much surprised. It was not much in Farmer
+Apperley's line to lend money: he was too cautious a man.</p>
+
+<p>"It's quite true," said George, laughing. "He has so good an opinion of
+my skill as a farmer, or of the Upland Farm's capabilities, that he has
+offered to lend me sufficient money to take it."</p>
+
+<p>"I should have thought you had had enough of farming land upon borrowed
+money," ungenerously retorted Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"So I have&mdash;from one point of view," was the composed answer. "But I
+have managed to clear off the debt, you see, and don't doubt I shall be
+able to do the same again. Apperley proposes only a fair rate of
+interest; considerably less than I have been paying you."</p>
+
+<p>"It is strange that you, a young and single man, should raise your
+ambitious eyes to the Upland Farm."</p>
+
+<p>"Not at all. If I don't take the Upland, I shall take some other equally
+large. But I should have to go a greater distance, and I don't care to
+do that. As to being a single man&mdash;perhaps that might be remedied if you
+will let me have the Upland."</p>
+
+<p>He spoke with a laugh; yet Mr. Chattaway detected a serious meaning in
+the tone, and he gazed hard at George. It may be that his thoughts
+glanced at his daughter Octave.</p>
+
+<p>There was a long pause. "Are you thinking of marrying?"</p>
+
+<p>"As soon as circumstances will allow me to do so."</p>
+
+<p>"And who is the lady?"</p>
+
+<p>George shook his head; a very decisive shake, in spite of the smile on
+his lips. "I cannot tell you now; you will know sometime."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose I shall, if the match ever comes off," returned Chattaway, in
+a very cross-grained manner. "If it has to wait until you rent the
+Upland Farm, it may wait indefinitely."</p>
+
+<p>"You will promise me the lease of it, Mr. Chattaway. You cannot think
+but I shall do the land justice, or be anything but a good tenant."</p>
+
+<p>"I won't promise anything of the sort," was the dogged reply. "I'll
+promise you, if you like, that you never shall have the lease of it."</p>
+
+<p>And, talk as George would, he could not get him into a more genial frame
+of mind. At length he rose, good-humoured and gay; as he had been
+throughout the interview.</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind for the present, Mr. Chattaway. I shall not let you alone
+until you promise me the farm. There's plenty of time between now and
+spring."</p>
+
+<p>As he was crossing the hall on his way to the door, he saw Miss Diana
+Trevlyn, and stopped to shake hands with her. "You have been paying your
+rent, I suppose," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"My rent and something else," replied George, in high spirits&mdash;the
+removal of that incubus which had so long lain on him had sent them up
+to fever heat. "I have handed over the last instalment of the debt and
+interest, Miss Diana, and have the receipt here"&mdash;touching his
+breast-pocket. "I have paid it under protest, as I have always told Mr.
+Chattaway; for I fully believe Squire Trevlyn cancelled it."</p>
+
+<p>"If I thought my father cancelled it, Mr. Chattaway should never have
+had my approbation in pressing it," severely spoke Miss Diana. "Is it
+true that you think of leaving Trevlyn Farm? Rumour says so."</p>
+
+<p>"Quite true. It is time I began life on my own account. I have been
+asking Mr. Chattaway to let me have the Upland."</p>
+
+<p>"The Upland! You!" There was nothing offensive in Miss Diana's
+exclamation: it was spoken in simple surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"Why not? I may be thinking of getting a wife; and the Upland is the
+only farm in the neighbourhood I would take her to."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Diana smiled in answer to his joke, as she thought it. "The house
+on the Upland Farm is quite a mansion," she returned, keeping up the
+jest. "Will no lesser one suffice her?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. She is a gentlewoman born and bred, and must live as one."</p>
+
+<p>"George, you speak as if you were in earnest. Are you really thinking of
+being married?"</p>
+
+<p>"If I can get the Upland Farm. But&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>George was startled from the conclusion of his sentence. Over Miss
+Diana's shoulder, gazing at him with a strangely wild expression, was
+the face of Octave Chattaway, her lips parted, her face crimson.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_L" id="CHAPTER_L"></a>CHAPTER L</h2>
+
+<h3>DILEMMAS</h3>
+
+
+<p>About ten days elapsed, and Rupert Trevlyn, lying in concealment at the
+lodge, was both better and worse. The prompt remedies applied by Mr.
+King had effected their object in abating the fever; it had not
+developed into brain-fever or typhus, and the tendency to delirium was
+arrested; so far he was better. But these symptoms had been replaced by
+others that might prove not less dangerous in the end: great
+prostration, alarming weakness, and what appeared to be a settled cough.
+The old tendency to consumption was showing itself more plainly than it
+had ever shown itself before.</p>
+
+<p>He had had a cough often enough, which had come and gone again, as
+coughs come to a great many of us; but the experienced ear of Mr. King
+detected a difference in this one. "It has a nasty sound in it," the
+doctor privately remarked to George Ryle. Poor Ann Canham, faint at
+heart lest this cough should betray his presence, pasted up all the
+chinks, and kept the door hermetically closed when any one was
+downstairs. Things usually go by contrary, you know; and it seemed that
+the lodge had never been so inundated with callers.</p>
+
+<p>Two great cares were upon those in the secret: to keep Rupert's presence
+in the lodge from the knowledge of the outside world, and to supply him
+with proper food. Upon none did the first press so painfully as upon
+Rupert himself. His dread lest his place of concealment should be
+discovered by Mr. Chattaway was never ceasing. When he lay awake, his
+ears were on the strain for what might be happening downstairs, who
+might be coming in; if he dozed&mdash;as he did several times in the course
+of the day&mdash;his dreams were haunted by pursuers, and he would start up
+wildly in bed, fancying he saw Mr. Chattaway entering with the police at
+his heels. For twenty minutes afterwards he would lie bathed in
+perspiration, unable to get the fright or the vision out of his mind.</p>
+
+<p>There was no doubt that this contributed to increase his weakness and
+keep him back. Let Rupert Trevlyn's future be what it might; let the
+result be the very worst; one thing was certain&mdash;any actual punishment
+in store for him could not be worse than this anticipation. Imagination
+is more vivid than reality. He would lie and go through the whole ordeal
+of his future trial: would see himself in the dock, not before the
+magistrates of Barmester, but before a scarlet-robed judge; would listen
+to the evidence of Mr. Chattaway and Jim Sanders, bringing home the
+crime to him; would hear the irrevocable sentence from those grave
+lips&mdash;that of penal servitude. Nothing could be worse for him than these
+visions. And there was no help for them. Had Rupert been in strong
+health, he might have shaken off some of these haunting fears; lying as
+he did in his weakness, they took the form of morbid disease, adding
+greatly to his bodily sickness.</p>
+
+<p>His ear strained, he would start up whenever a footstep was heard to
+enter the downstairs room, breathing softly to Ann Canham, or whoever
+might be sitting with him, the question: "Is it Chattaway?" And Ann
+would cautiously peep down the staircase, or bend her ear to listen, and
+tell him who it really was. But sometimes several minutes would elapse
+before she could find out; sometimes she would be obliged to go down
+upon some plausible errand, and then come back and tell him. The state
+that Rupert would fall into during these moments of suspense no pen
+could describe. It was little wonder that Rupert grew weaker.</p>
+
+<p>And the fears of discovery were not misplaced. Every hour brought its
+own danger. It was absolutely necessary that Mr. King should visit him
+at least once a day, and each time he ran the risk of being seen by
+Chattaway, or by some one equally dangerous. Old Canham could not feign
+to be on the sick list for ever; especially, sufficiently sick to
+require daily medical attendance. George Ryle ran the risk of being seen
+entering the lodge; as well as Mrs. Chattaway and Maude, who <i>could not</i>
+abandon their stolen interviews with the poor sufferer. "It is my only
+happy hour in the four-and-twenty; you must not fail me!" he would say
+to them, imploringly holding out his fevered hands. Some evenings Mrs.
+Chattaway would steal there, sometimes Maude, now and then both
+together.</p>
+
+<p>Underlying it all in Rupert's mind was the sense of guilt for having
+committed so desperate a crime. Apart from those moments of madness,
+which the neighbourhood had been content for years to designate as the
+Trevlyn temper, few living men were so little likely to commit the act
+as Rupert. Rupert was of a mild, kindly temperament, a very sweet
+disposition; one of those inoffensive people of whom we are apt to say
+they would not hurt a fly. Of Rupert it was literally true. Only in
+these rare fits was he transformed; and never had the fit been upon him
+as on that unhappy night. It was not so much repentance for the actual
+crime that overwhelmed him, as surprise that he had perpetrated it. "I
+was not conscious of the act," he would groan aloud; "I was mad when I
+did it." Perhaps so; but the consequences remained. Poor Rupert! Remorse
+was his portion, and he was in truth repenting in sackcloth and ashes.</p>
+
+<p>The other care upon him&mdash;supplying Rupert with appropriate
+nourishment&mdash;brought almost as much danger and difficulty in its train
+as concealing him. A worse cook than Ann Canham could not be found. It
+was her misfortune, rather than her fault. Living in extreme poverty all
+her life, no opportunity for learning or improving herself in cooking
+had ever been afforded her. The greatest luxury that ever entered old
+Canham's lodge was a bit of toasted or boiled bacon.</p>
+
+<p>It was not invalid dishes that Rupert wanted now. As soon as the fever
+began to leave him, his appetite returned. Certain cases of incipient
+consumption are accompanied by a craving for food difficult to satisfy,
+and this unfortunately became the case with Rupert. Had he been at the
+Hold, or in a plentiful home, he would have played his full part at the
+daily meals, and assisted their digestion with interludes besides.</p>
+
+<p>How was he to get sufficient food at the lodge? Mr. King said he must
+have full nourishment, with wine, strong broths, and other things in
+addition. It was the only chance, in his opinion, to counteract the
+weakness that was growing upon him, and which bid fair soon to attain an
+alarming height. Mrs. Chattaway, George Ryle, even the doctor himself
+would have been quite willing to supply the cost; but even so, where was
+the food to be dressed?&mdash;who was to do it?&mdash;how was it to be smuggled
+in? This may appear a trifling difficulty in theory, but in practice it
+was found almost insurmountable.</p>
+
+<p>"Can't you dress a sweetbread?" Mr. King testily asked Ann Canham, when
+she was timidly confessing her incapability in the culinary art. "I'd
+easily manage to get it up here."</p>
+
+<p>This was the first day Rupert's appetite had come back to him, just
+after the turn of the fever. Ann Canham hesitated. "I'm not sure, sir,"
+she said meekly. "Could it be put in a pot and boiled?"</p>
+
+<p>"Put in a pot and boiled!" repeated Mr. King, nettled at the question.
+"Much goodness there'd be in it when it came out! It's just blanched and
+dipped in egg crumbs, and toasted in the Dutch oven. That's the best way
+of doing them."</p>
+
+<p>Egg crumbs were as much of a mystery to Ann Canham as sweetbreads
+themselves. She shook her head. "And if, by ill-luck, Mr. Chattaway came
+in and saw a sweetbread in our Dutch oven before our fire, sir; or smelt
+the savour of it as he passed&mdash;what then?" she asked. "What excuse could
+we make to him?"</p>
+
+<p>This phase of the difficulty had not before presented itself to the
+surgeon's mind. It was one that could not well be got over; the more he
+dwelt upon it the more he became convinced of this. George Ryle, Mrs.
+Chattaway, Maude, all, when appealed to, were of the same opinion. There
+was too much at stake to permit the risk of exciting any suspicions on
+the part of Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>But it was not only Chattaway. Others who possessed noses were in the
+habit of passing the lodge: Cris, his sisters, Miss Diana, and many
+more: and some of them were in the habit of coming into it. Ann Canham
+was giving mortal offence, causing much wonder, in declining her usual
+places of work; and many a disappointed housewife, following Nora
+Dickson's example, had come up, in consequence, to invade the lodge and
+express her sentiments upon the point. Ann Canham was driven to the very
+verge of desperation in trying to frame plausible excuses, and had
+serious thoughts of making believe to take to her bed herself&mdash;had she
+possessed just then a bed to take to.</p>
+
+<p>In the dilemma Mrs. Chattaway came to the rescue. "I will contrive it,"
+she said: "the food shall be supplied from the Hold. My sister does not
+personally interfere, giving her orders in the morning, and I know I can
+manage it."</p>
+
+<p>But Mrs. Chattaway found she had undertaken what it would scarcely be
+possible to perform. What had flashed across her mind when she spoke
+was, "The cook is a faithful, kind-hearted woman, and I know I can trust
+her." Mrs. Chattaway did not mean trust her with the secret of Rupert,
+but trust her to cook a few extra dishes quietly and say nothing about
+them. Yes, she might, she was sure; the woman would be true. But it now
+struck Mrs. Chattaway with a sort of horror, to ask herself how she was
+to get them away when cooked. She could not go into the kitchen herself,
+have meat, fowl, or jelly put into a basin, and carry it off to the
+lodge. However, that was an after-care. She spoke to the cook, who was
+called Rebecca, told her she wanted some nice things dressed for a poor
+pensioner of <i>her own</i>, and nothing said about it. The woman was pleased
+and willing; all the servants were fond of their mistress; and she
+readily undertook the task and promised to be silent.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LI" id="CHAPTER_LI"></a>CHAPTER LI</h2>
+
+<h3>A LETTER FOR MR. CHATTAWAY</h3>
+
+
+<p>Although an insignificant place, Barbrook and its environs received
+their letters early. The bags were dropped by the London mail train at
+Barmester in the middle of the night; and as the post-office
+arrangements were well conducted&mdash;which cannot be said for all towns&mdash;by
+eight o'clock Barbrook had its letters.</p>
+
+<p>Rather before that hour than after it, they were delivered at Trevlyn
+Hold. Being the chief residence in the neighbourhood, the postman was in
+the habit of beginning his round there; it had been so in imperious old
+Squire Trevlyn's time, and was so still. Thus it generally happened that
+breakfast would be commencing at the Hold when the post came in.</p>
+
+<p>It was a morning of which we must take some notice&mdash;a morning which, as
+Mr. Chattaway was destined afterwards to find, he would have cause to
+remember to his dying day. If Miss Diana Trevlyn happened to see the
+postman approaching the house, she would most likely walk to the
+hall-door and receive the letters into her own hands. And it was so on
+this morning.</p>
+
+<p>"Only two, ma'am," the postman said, as he delivered them to her.</p>
+
+<p>She looked at the addresses. The one was a foreign letter, bearing her
+own name, and she recognised the handwriting of Mr. Daw; the other bore
+the London postmark, and was addressed "James Chattaway, Esquire,
+Trevlyn Hold, Barmester."</p>
+
+<p>With an eager movement, somewhat foreign to the cold and stately motions
+of Miss Diana Trevlyn, she broke the seal of the former; there, at the
+hall-door as she stood. A thought flashed into her mind that Rupert
+might have found his way at length to Mr. Daw, and that gentleman was
+intimating the same&mdash;as Miss Diana by letter had requested him to do. It
+was just the contrary, however. Mr. Daw wrote to beg a line from Miss
+Diana, as to whether tidings had been heard of Rupert. He had visited
+his father and mother's grave the previous day, he observed, and did not
+know whether that had caused him to think more than usual of Rupert;
+but, all the past night and again to-day, he had been unable to get him
+out of his head; a feeling was upon him (no doubt a foolish one, he
+added in a parenthesis) that the boy was taken, or that some other
+misfortune had befallen him, or was about to befall him, and he presumed
+to request a line from Miss Diana Trevlyn to end his suspense.</p>
+
+<p>She folded the letter when read; put it into the pocket of her black
+silk apron, and returned to the breakfast-room, with the one for Mr.
+Chattaway. As she did so, her eyes happened to fall upon the reverse
+side of the letter, and she saw it was stamped with the name of a
+firm&mdash;Connell, Connell, and Ray.</p>
+
+<p>She knew the firm by name; they were solicitors of great respectability
+in London. Indeed, she remembered to have entertained Mr. Charles
+Connell at the Hold for a few days in her father's lifetime, that
+gentleman being at the time engaged in some legal business for Squire
+Trevlyn. They must be old men now, she knew, those brothers Connell; and
+Mr. Ray, she believed to have heard, was son-in-law to one of them.</p>
+
+<p>"What can they have to write to Chattaway about?" marvelled Miss Diana;
+but the next moment she remembered they were the agents of Peterby and
+Jones, of Barmester, and concluded it was some matter connected with the
+estate.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Diana swept to her place at the head of the breakfast-table. It was
+filled, with the exception of two seats: the armchair opposite to her
+own, Mr. Chattaway's; and Cris's seat at the side. Cris was not down,
+but Mr. Chattaway had gone out to the men. Mrs. Chattaway was in her
+place next Miss Diana. She used rarely to be down in time to begin
+breakfast with the rest, but that was altered now. Since these fears had
+arisen concerning Rupert, it seemed that she could not rest in her bed,
+and would quit it almost with the dawn.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway came in as Miss Diana was pouring out the tea, and she
+passed the letter down to him. Glancing casually at it as it lay beside
+his plate, he began helping himself to some cold partridge. Cris was a
+capital shot, and the Hold was generally well supplied with game.</p>
+
+<p>"It is from Connell and Connell," remarked Miss Diana.</p>
+
+<p>"From Connell and Connell!" repeated Mr. Chattaway, in a tone of
+bewilderment, as if he did not recognise the name. "What should they be
+writing to me about?" But he was too busy with the partridge just then
+to ascertain.</p>
+
+<p>"Some local business, I conclude," observed Miss Diana. "They are
+Peterby's agents, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"And what if they are?" retorted Mr. Chattaway. "Peterby's have nothing
+to do with me."</p>
+
+<p>That was so like Chattaway! To cavil as to what might be the contents of
+the letter, rather than put the question at rest by opening it. However,
+when he looked up from his plate to stir his tea, he tore open the
+envelope.</p>
+
+<p>He tore it open and cast his eyes over the letter. Miss Diana happened
+to be looking at him. She saw him gaze at it with an air of
+bewilderment; she saw him go over it again&mdash;there were apparently but
+some half-dozen lines&mdash;and then she saw him turn green. You may cavil at
+the expression, but it is a correct one. The leaden complexion with
+which nature had favoured Mr. Chattaway did assume a green tinge in
+moments of especial annoyance.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter?" questioned Miss Diana.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway replied by a half-muttered word, and dashed the letter
+down. "I thought we had had enough of that folly," he presently said.</p>
+
+<p>"What folly?"</p>
+
+<p>He did not answer, although the query was put by Miss Diana Trevlyn. She
+pressed it, and Mr. Chattaway flung the letter across the table to her.
+"You can read it, if you choose." With some curiosity Miss Diana took it
+up, and read as follows:&mdash;</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,</p>
+
+<p>"We beg to inform you that the true heir of Trevlyn Hold,
+Rupert Trevlyn, is about to put in his claim to the estate, and
+will shortly require to take possession of it. We have been
+requested to write this intimation to you, and we do so in a
+friendly spirit, that you may be prepared to quit the house,
+and not be taken unawares, when Mr. Trevlyn&mdash;henceforth Squire
+Trevlyn&mdash;shall arrive at it.</p>
+
+<p>"We are, sir, your obedient servants,</p>
+
+<p>"<span class="smcap">Connell, Connell, and Ray</span>.</p>
+
+<p>"James Chattaway, Esquire."</p></blockquote>
+
+<p>"Then Rupert's not dead!" were the first words that broke from Miss
+Diana's lips. And the exclamation, and its marked tone of satisfaction,
+proved of what nature her fears for Rupert had been.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway started up with white lips. "What of Rupert?" she gasped;
+believing nothing else than that discovery had come.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Diana, without in the least thinking it necessary to consult Mr.
+Chattaway's pleasure first, handed her the letter. She read it rapidly,
+and her fears calmed down.</p>
+
+<p>"What an absurdity!" she exclaimed. Knowing as she did the helpless
+position of Rupert, the contents sounded not only absurd, but
+impossible. "Some one must have written it to frighten you, James."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Mr. Chattaway, compressing his thin lips; "it comes from the
+Peterby quarter. A felon threatening to take possession of Trevlyn
+Hold!"</p>
+
+<p>But in spite of the scorn he strove to throw into his manner; in spite
+of his indomitable resolution to bring Rupert to punishment when he
+appeared; in spite of even his wife, Rupert's best friend, acknowledging
+the absurdity of this letter, it disturbed him in no measured degree. He
+stretched out his hand for it, and read it again, pondering over every
+word; he pushed his plate from him, as he gazed on it. He had had
+sufficient breakfast for one day; and gulping down his tea, declined to
+take more. Yes, it was shaking his equanimity to its centre; and the
+Miss Chattaways and Maude, only imperfectly understanding what was
+amiss, looked at each other, and at him.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway began to feel indignant that poor Rupert's name should be
+thus made use of; only, so far as she could see, for the purpose of
+exciting Mr. Chattaway further against him. "But Connells' is a most
+respectable firm," she said aloud, following out her thoughts; "I cannot
+comprehend it."</p>
+
+<p>"I say it comes from Peterby," roared Mr. Chattaway. "He and Rupert are
+in league. I dare say Peterby knows where he's concealed."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh no, no; you are mistaken," broke incautiously from the lips of Mrs.
+Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"No! Do you know where he is, pray, that you speak so confidently?"</p>
+
+<p>The taunt recalled her to a sense of the danger. "James, what I meant
+was this: it is scarcely likely Rupert would be in league with any one
+against you," she said in low tones. "I think he would rather try to
+conciliate you."</p>
+
+<p>"If you think this letter emanates from Peterbys' why don't you go down
+and demand what they mean by writing it?" interposed Miss Diana Trevlyn,
+in her straightforward, matter-of-fact tone.</p>
+
+<p>He nodded his head significantly. "I shall not let the grass grow under
+my feet before I am there."</p>
+
+<p>"I cannot think it's Peterby and Jones," resumed Miss Diana. "They are
+quite as respectable as the Connells, and I don't believe they would
+ally themselves with Rupert, after what he has done. I don't believe
+they would work mischief secretly against any one. Anything they may
+have to do, they'd do openly."</p>
+
+<p>Had Mr. Chattaway prevailed with himself so far as to put his temper and
+prejudices aside, this might not have been far from his own opinion. He
+had always, in a resentful sort of way, considered Mr. Peterby an
+honourable man. But if Peterby was not at the bottom of this, who was?
+Connell, Connell, and Ray were his town agents.</p>
+
+<p>The very uncertainty only made him the more eager to get to them and set
+the matter at rest. He knew it was of no use attempting to see Mr.
+Peterby before ten o'clock, but he would see him then. He ordered his
+horse to be ready, and rode into Barmester attended by his groom. As ten
+o'clock struck, he was at their office-door.</p>
+
+<p>A quarter-of-an-hour's detention, and then he was admitted to Mr.
+Peterby's room. That gentleman was sweeping a pile of open letters into
+a corner of the table at which he sat, and the master of Trevlyn Hold
+shrewdly suspected that his waiting had been caused by Mr. Peterby's
+opening and reading them. He proceeded at once to the business that
+brought him there, and taking his own letter out of his pocket, handed
+it to Mr. Peterby.</p>
+
+<p>"Connell, Connell, and Ray are your agents in London, I believe? They
+used to be."</p>
+
+<p>"And are still," said Mr. Peterby. "What is this?"</p>
+
+<p>"Be so good as to read it," replied Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>The lawyer ran his eyes over it carelessly, as it seemed to those eyes
+watching him. Then he looked up. "Well?"</p>
+
+<p>"In writing this letter to me&mdash;I received it, you perceive, by post this
+morning, if you'll look at the date&mdash;were Connell and Connell instructed
+by you?"</p>
+
+<p>"By me!" echoed Mr. Peterby. "Not they. I know nothing at all about it.
+I can't make it out."</p>
+
+<p>"You are a friend of Rupert Trevlyn's, and they are your agents,"
+remarked Mr. Chattaway, after a pause.</p>
+
+<p>"My good sir, I tell you I know nothing whatever of this. Connells are
+our agents; but I never sent any communication to them with regard to
+Rupert Trevlyn in my life; never had cause to send one. If you ask me my
+opinion, I should say that if the lad&mdash;should he be still
+living&mdash;entertains hopes of coming into Trevlyn Hold after this last
+escapade of his, he must be a great simpleton. I expect you'd prosecute
+him, instead of giving him up the Hold."</p>
+
+<p>"I should," quietly answered Mr. Chattaway. "But what do Connell and
+Connell mean by sending me such a letter as this?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is more than I can tell you, Mr. Chattaway. We have received a
+communication from them ourselves this morning upon the subject. I was
+opening it when you were announced to me as being here."</p>
+
+<p>He bent over the letters previously spoken of, selected one, and held it
+out to Mr. Chattaway. Instead of being written by the firm, it was a
+private letter from Mr. Ray to Mr. Peterby. It merely stated that the
+true heir of Squire Trevlyn, Rupert, was about shortly to take
+possession of his property, the Hold, and they (Connell, Connell, and
+Ray) should require Mr. Peterby to act as local solicitor in the
+proceedings, should a solicitor be necessary.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway began to feel cruelly uneasy. Rupert had committed that
+great fault, and was in danger of punishment&mdash;<i>would</i> be punished by his
+country's laws; but in this new uneasiness that important fact seemed to
+lose half its significance. "And you have not instructed them?" he
+repeated.</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense, Mr. Chattaway! it is not likely. I cannot make out what they
+mean, any more than you can. The nearest conclusion I can come to is,
+that they must be acting from instructions received from that
+semi-parson who was over here, Mr. Daw."</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Mr. Chattaway, "I think not. Miss Trevlyn heard from that man
+this morning, and he appears to know nothing about Rupert. He asks for
+news of him."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, it is a curious thing altogether. I shall write by to-night's
+post to Ray, and inquire what he means."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway, suspicious Mr. Chattaway, pressed one more question.
+"Have you any idea at all where Rupert is likely to be? That he is in
+hiding, and accessible to some people, is evident from these letters.</p>
+
+<p>"I have already informed you that I know nothing whatever of Rupert
+Trevlyn," was the lawyer's answer. "Whether he is alive or whether he is
+dead, I know not. You cannot know less of him yourself than I do."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway was obliged to be contented with the answer. He went out
+and proceeded direct to Mr. Flood's, and laid the letter&mdash;his
+letter&mdash;before him. "What sort of thing do you call that?" he
+intemperately uttered, when it was read. "Connell and Connell must be
+infamous men to write it."</p>
+
+<p>"Stop a bit," said Mr. Flood, who had his eyes strained on the letter.
+"There's more in this than meets the eye."</p>
+
+<p>"You don't think it's a joke&mdash;done to annoy me?"</p>
+
+<p>"A joke! Connell and Connell would not lend themselves to a joke. No, I
+don't think it's that."</p>
+
+<p>"Then what do you think?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Flood was several minutes before he replied, and his silence drove
+Mr. Chattaway to the verge of exasperation. "It is difficult to know
+what to think," said the lawyer presently. "I should be inclined to say
+they have been brought into personal communication with Rupert Trevlyn,
+or with somebody acting for him: perhaps the latter is the more
+probable. And I should also say they must have been convinced, by
+documentary or other evidence, that a good foundation exists for
+Rupert's claims to the Hold. Mr. Chattaway&mdash;if I may speak the truth to
+you&mdash;I should dread this letter."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway felt as if a bucket of cold water had been suddenly flung
+over him, and was running down his back. "Why is it that you turn
+against me?"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Turn</i> against you! I don't know what you mean. I don't turn against
+you; quite the opposite. I am willing to act for you; to do anything I
+legally can to meet the fear."</p>
+
+<p>"Why <i>do</i> you fear?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because Connell, Connell, and Ray are keen and cautious practitioners
+as well as honourable men, and I do not think they would write so
+decided a letter as this, unless they knew they were fully justified in
+doing so, and were prepared to follow it out."</p>
+
+<p>"You are a pretty Job's comforter," gasped Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LII" id="CHAPTER_LII"></a>CHAPTER LII</h2>
+
+<h3>A DAY OF MISHAPS</h3>
+
+
+<p>Rebecca the servant was true and crafty in her faithfulness to her
+mistress, and contrived to get various dainties prepared and conveyed
+unsuspiciously under her apron, watching her opportunity, to the
+sitting-room of Madam, where they were hidden away in a closet, and the
+key turned upon them. So far, so good. But that was not all: the
+greatest difficulty lay in transporting them to Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>The little tricks and <i>ruses</i> that the lodge and those in its secret
+learnt to be expert in at this time were worthy of a private inquiry
+office. Ann Canham, at a given hour, would be standing at the open door
+of the lodge; and Mrs. Chattaway, with timid steps, and eyes that
+wandered everywhere lest witnesses were about, would come down the
+avenue: opposite the lodge door, by some sleight of hand, a parcel, or
+basket, or bottle would be transferred from under her shawl to Ann
+Canham's hands. The latter would close the door and slip the bolt,
+whilst the lady would walk swiftly on through the gate, for the purpose
+of taking exercise in the road. Or perhaps it would be Maude that went
+through this little rehearsal, instead of Madam. But at the best it was
+all difficult to accomplish for many reasons, and might at any time be
+stopped. If only the extra cooking came to the knowledge of Miss Diana
+Trevlyn, it would be quite impossible to venture to continue it, and
+next to impossible any longer to conceal Rupert's hiding place.</p>
+
+<p>One day a disastrous <i>contretemps</i> occurred. It happened that Miss Diana
+Trevlyn had arranged to take the Miss Chattaways to a morning concert at
+Barmester. Maude might have gone, but excused herself: whilst Rupert's
+fate hung in the balance, it was scarcely seemly, she thought, that she
+should be seen at public festivals. Cris had gone out shooting that day;
+Mr. Chattaway, as was supposed, was at Barmester; and when dinner was
+served, only Mrs. Chattaway and Maude sat down to it. It was a plain
+sirloin; and during a momentary absence of James, who was waiting at
+table, Maude exclaimed in a low tone:</p>
+
+<p>"Aunt Edith, if we could only get some of this to Rupert!"</p>
+
+<p>"I was thinking so," said Mrs. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>The servant returned to the room, and the conversation ceased. But his
+mistress, under some plea, dismissed him, saying she would ring. And
+then the thought was carried out. A sauce-tureen which happened to be on
+the table was made the receptacle for some of the hot meat, and Maude
+put on her bonnet and stole away with it.</p>
+
+<p>An unlucky venture. In her haste to reach the lodge unmolested, she
+spilt some of the gravy on her dress, and was stopping to wipe it with
+her handkerchief, when she was interrupted by Mr. Chattaway. It was
+close to the lodge. Maude's heart, as the saying runs, came into her
+mouth.</p>
+
+<p>"What's that? Where are you taking it to?" he demanded, for his eyes had
+caught the tureen before she could slip it under her mantle.</p>
+
+<p>He peremptorily took it from her unresisting hand, raised the cover, and
+saw some tempting slices of hot roast beef, and part of a cauliflower.
+Had Maude witnessed the actual discovery of Rupert, she could not have
+felt more utterly terrified.</p>
+
+<p>"I ask you, to whom were you taking this?"</p>
+
+<p>His resolute tones, coupled with her own terror, were more than poor
+Maude could brave. "To Mark Canham," she faltered. There was no one she
+could mention with the least plausibility: and she could not pretend to
+be merely taking a walk with a tureen of meat in her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Was it Madam's doings to send this?"</p>
+
+<p>Again she could only answer in the affirmative. Chattaway stalked off to
+the Hold, carrying the tureen.</p>
+
+<p>His wife sat at the dinner-table, and James was removing some pastry as
+he entered. Regardless of the man's presence, he gave vent to his anger,
+reproaching her in no measured terms for what she had done. Meat and
+vegetables from his own table to be supplied to that profitless,
+good-for-nothing man, Canham, who already enjoyed a house and
+half-a-crown a week for doing nothing! How dared she be guilty of
+extravagance so great, of wilful waste?</p>
+
+<p>The scene was prolonged but came to an end at last; all such scenes do,
+it is to be hoped; and the afternoon went on. Mr. Chattaway went out
+again, Cris had not come in, Miss Diana and the girls did not return,
+and Mrs. Chattaway and Maude were still alone. "I shall go down to see
+him, Maude," the former said in low tones, breaking an unhappy silence.
+"And I shall take him something to eat; I will risk it. He has had
+nothing from us to-day."</p>
+
+<p>Maude scarcely knew what to answer: her own fright was not yet over.
+Mrs. Chattaway dressed herself, took the little provision-basket and
+went out. It was all but dark; the evening was gloomy. Meeting no one,
+she gained the lodge, opened its door with a quick hand, and&mdash;&mdash;stole
+away again silently and swiftly, with perhaps greater terror than she
+had ever felt rushing over her heart.</p>
+
+<p>For the first figure she saw there was that of her husband, and the
+first voice she heard was his. She made her way amidst the trunks of the
+almost leafless trees, and concealed herself as she best could.</p>
+
+<p>In returning that evening, it had struck Mr. Chattaway as he passed the
+lodge that he could not do better than favour old Canham with a piece of
+his mind, and forbid him, under pain of instant dismissal, to rob the
+Hold (as he phrased it) of so much as a scrap of bread. Old Canham,
+knowing what was at stake, took it patiently, never denying that the
+food (which Mr. Chattaway enlarged upon) might have been meant for him.
+Ann Canham stood against Rupert's door, shivering and shaking; and poor
+Rupert himself, who had not failed to recognise that loud voice, lay as
+one in agony.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway was in the midst of his last sentence, when the front-door
+was suddenly opened, and as suddenly shut again. He had his back to it,
+but turned just in time to catch a glimpse of somebody's petticoats
+before the door closed.</p>
+
+<p>It was a somewhat singular proceeding, and Mr. Chattaway, always curious
+and suspicious, opened the door after a minute's pause, and looked out.
+He could see no one. He looked up the avenue, he looked down; he stepped
+out to the gate, and gazed up and down the road. Whoever it was had
+disappeared.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you see who it was opened the door in that manner?" he demanded of
+old Canham.</p>
+
+<p>Old Canham had stood deferentially during the lecture, leaning on his
+stick. He had not seen who it was, and therefore could answer readily,
+but he strongly suspected it to be Mrs. Chattaway. "Maybe 'twas some
+woman bringing sewing up for Ann, Squire. They mostly comes at dusk, not
+to hinder their own work."</p>
+
+<p>"Then why couldn't they come in?" retorted Mr. Chattaway. "Why need they
+run away as if caught at some mischief?"</p>
+
+<p>Old Canham wisely declined an answer: and Mr. Chattaway, after a parting
+admonition, finally quitted the lodge, and took his way towards the
+Hold. But for her dark attire, and the darker shades of evening, he
+might have detected his wife there, watching for him to pass.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed an unlucky day. Mrs. Chattaway, her heart beating, came out of
+her hiding-place as the last echoes of his steps died away and almost
+met the carriage as it turned into the avenue, bringing her daughters
+and Miss Diana from Barmester. When she did reach the lodge, Ann Canham
+had the door open an inch or two. "Take it," she cried, giving the
+basket to Ann as she advanced to the stairs. "I have not a minute to
+stop. How is he to-night?"</p>
+
+<p>"Madam," whispered Ann Canham, in her meek voice, but meek though it
+was, there was that in its tones to-night which arrested Mrs. Chattaway,
+"if he continues to get worse and weaker, if he cannot be got away from
+here and from these frights, I fear me he'll die. He has never been as
+bad as he is to-night."</p>
+
+<p>She untied her bonnet, and stole upstairs to Rupert's room. By the
+rushlight she could see the ravages of illness on his wasting features;
+features that seemed to have changed for the worse even since she had
+seen him that time last night. He turned his blue eyes, bright and wild
+with disease, on her as she entered.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Aunt Edith! Is he gone? I thought I should have died with fright,
+here as I lay."</p>
+
+<p>"He is gone, darling," she answered, bending over him, and speaking with
+reassuring tenderness. "You look worse to-night, Rupert."</p>
+
+<p>"It is this stifling room, aunt; it is killing me. At least, it gives me
+no chance to get better. If I only had a large, airy room at the
+Hold&mdash;where I could lie without fear, and be waited on&mdash;I might get
+better. Aunt Edith, I wish the past few weeks could be blotted out. I
+wish I had not been overtaken by that fit of madness?"</p>
+
+<p>Ah! he could not wish it as she did. Her tears silently fell, and she
+began in the desperate need to debate in her own heart whether the
+impossible might not be accomplished&mdash;disarming the anger of Mr.
+Chattaway, and getting him to pardon Rupert. In that case only could he
+be removed. Perhaps Diana might effect it? If she could not, no one else
+could. As she thought of its utter hopelessness, there came to her
+recollection that recent letter from Connell and Connell, which had so
+upset the equanimity of Mr. Chattaway. She had not yet mentioned it to
+Rupert, but must do so now. Her private opinion was, that Rupert had
+written to the London lawyers for the purpose of vexing Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"It is not right, Rupert, dear," she whispered. "It can only do harm. If
+it does no other harm, it will by increasing Mr. Chattaway's anger.
+Indeed, dear, it was wrong."</p>
+
+<p>He looked up in surprise from his pillow.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know what you mean, Aunt Edith. Connell and Connell? What
+should I do, writing to Connell and Connell?"</p>
+
+<p>She explained about the letter, reciting its contents as accurately as
+she remembered them. Rupert only stared.</p>
+
+<p>"Acting for me!&mdash;I to take possession of the Hold! Well, I don't know
+anything about it," he wearily answered. "Why does not Mr. Chattaway go
+up and ask them what they mean? Connell and Connell don't know me, and I
+don't know them. Am I in a fit state to write letters, Aunt Edith?"</p>
+
+<p>"It seemed to me the most unlikely thing in the world, Rupert, but what
+else was I to think?"</p>
+
+<p>"They'd better have written to say I was going to take possession of the
+grave," he resumed; "there'd be more sense in that. Perhaps I am, Aunt
+Edith."</p>
+
+<p>More sense in it? Ay, there would be. Every pulse in Mrs. Chattaway's
+heart echoed the words. She did not answer, and a pause ensued only
+broken by his somewhat painful breathing.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think I shall die, Aunt Edith?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, my boy, I hope not; I hope not! But it is all in God's will.
+Rupert, darling, it seems a sad thing, especially to the young, to leave
+this world; but do you know what I often think as I lie and sigh through
+my sleepless nights: that it would be a blessed change both for you and
+for me if God were to take us from it, and give us a place in heaven."</p>
+
+<p>Another pause. "You can tell Mr. Chattaway you feel sure I had nothing
+to do with the letter, Aunt Edith."</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head. "No, Rupert; the less I say the better. It would not
+do; I should fear some chance word on my part might betray you: and all
+I could say would not make any impression on Mr. Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>"You are not going!" he exclaimed, as she rose from her seat on the bed.</p>
+
+<p>"I must. I wish I could stay, but I dare not; indeed it was not safe
+to-night to come in at all."</p>
+
+<p>"Aunt Edith, if you could only stay! It is so lonely. Four-and-twenty
+hours before I shall see you or Maude again! It is like being left alone
+to die."</p>
+
+<p>"Not to die, I trust," she said, her tears falling fast. "We shall be
+together some time for ever, but I pray we may have a little happiness
+on earth first!"</p>
+
+<p>Very full was her heart that night, and but for the fear that her red
+eyes would betray her, she could have wept all the way home. Stealing in
+at a side door, she gained her room, and found that Mr. Chattaway,
+fortunately, had not discovered her absence.</p>
+
+<p>A few minutes after she entered, the house was in a commotion. Sounds
+were heard proceeding from the kitchen, and Mrs. Chattaway and others
+hastened towards it. One of the servants was badly scalded. Most
+unfortunately, it happened to be the cook, Rebecca. In taking some
+calve's-foot jelly from the fire, she had inadvertently overturned the
+boiling liquid.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Diana, who was worth a thousand of Mrs. Chattaway in an emergency,
+had the woman placed in a recumbent position, and sent one of the grooms
+on horseback for Mr. King. But Miss Diana, while sparing nothing that
+could relieve the sufferer, did not conceal her displeasure at the
+awkwardness.</p>
+
+<p>"Was it <i>jelly</i> you were making, Rebecca?" she sternly demanded.</p>
+
+<p>Rebecca was lying back in a large chair, her feet raised. Everyone was
+crowding round: even Mr. Chattaway had come to ascertain the cause of
+the commotion. She made no answer.</p>
+
+<p>Bridget did; rejoicing, no doubt, in her superior knowledge. "Yes,
+ma'am, it was jelly: she had just boiled it up."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Diana wheeled round to Rebecca. "Why were you making jelly? It was
+not ordered."</p>
+
+<p>Rebecca, not knowing what to say, glanced at Mrs. Chattaway. "Yes, it
+was ordered," murmured the latter. "I ordered it."</p>
+
+<p>"You!" returned Miss Diana. "What for?" But Miss Diana spoke in surprise
+only; not objecting: it was so very unusual for Mrs. Chattaway to
+interfere in the domestic arrangements. It surprised them all, and her
+daughters looked at her. Poor Mrs. Chattaway could not put forth the
+plea that it was being made for herself, for calve's-foot jelly was a
+thing she never touched. The confusion on his wife's face attracted the
+notice of Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"Possibly you intended to regale old Canham?" he scornfully said,
+alluding to what had passed that day. Not that he believed anything so
+improbable.</p>
+
+<p>"Madam knows the young ladies like it, and she told me to make some,"
+good-naturedly spoke up Rebecca in the midst of her pain.</p>
+
+<p>The excuse served, and the matter passed. Miss Diana privately thought
+what a poor housekeeper her sister would make, ordering things when they
+were not required, and Mr. Chattaway quitted the scene. When the doctor
+arrived and had attended to the patient, Mrs. Chattaway, who was then in
+her room, sent to request him to come to her before he left, adding to
+the message that she did not feel well.</p>
+
+<p>He came up immediately. She put a question or two about the injury to
+the girl, which was trifling, he answered, and would not keep her a
+prisoner long; and then Mrs. Chattaway lowered her voice, and spoke in
+the softest whisper.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. King, you must tell me. Is Rupert worse?"</p>
+
+<p>"He is very ill," was the answer. "He certainly grows worse instead of
+better."</p>
+
+<p>"Will he die?"</p>
+
+<p>"I do believe he will die unless he can be got out of that unwholesome
+place. The question is, how is it to be done?"</p>
+
+<p>"It cannot be done; it cannot be done unless Mr. Chattaway can be
+propitiated. That is the only chance."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Chattaway never will be," thought Mr. King. "Everything is against
+him where he is," he said aloud: "the air of the room, the constant fear
+upon him, the want of proper food. The provisions conveyed to him at
+chance times are a poor substitute for the meals he requires."</p>
+
+<p>"And they will be stopped now," said Mrs. Chattaway. "Rebecca has
+prepared them privately, but she cannot do so now. Mr. King, <i>what</i> can
+be done!"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know, indeed. It will not be safe to attempt to move him. In
+fact, I question if he would consent to it, his dread of being
+discovered is so great."</p>
+
+<p>"Will you do all you can?" she urged.</p>
+
+<p>"To be sure," he replied. "I <i>am</i> doing all I can. I got him another
+bottle of port in to-day. If you only saw me trying to dodge into the
+lodge unperceived, and taking observations before I whisk out again, you
+would say that I am as anxious as you can be, my dear lady. Still&mdash;I
+don't hesitate to avow it&mdash;I believe it will be life or death, according
+as we can manage to get him away from that hole and set his mind at
+rest."</p>
+
+<p>He wished her good night, and went out.</p>
+
+<p>"Life or death!" Mrs. Chattaway stood at the window, and gazed into the
+dusky night, recalling over and over again the ominous words. "Life or
+death!" There was no earthly chance, except the remote one of appeasing
+Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LIII" id="CHAPTER_LIII"></a>CHAPTER LIII</h2>
+
+<h3>A SURPRISE FOR MR. CHATTAWAY</h3>
+
+
+<p>George Ryle by no means liked the uncertainty in which he was kept as to
+the Upland Farm. Had Mr. Chattaway been any other than Mr. Chattaway,
+had he been a straightforward man, George would have said, "Give me an
+answer, Yes or No." In point of fact, he did say so; but was unable to
+get a reply from him, one way or the other. Mr. Chattaway was pretty
+liberal in his sneers as to one with no means of his own taking so
+extensive a farm as the Upland; but he did not positively say, "I will
+not lease it to you." George bore the sneers with equanimity. He
+possessed that very desirable gift, a sweet temper; and he was, and
+could not help feeling that he was, so really superior to Mr. Chattaway,
+that he could afford that gentleman's evil tongue some latitude.</p>
+
+<p>But the time was going on; it was necessary that a decision should be
+arrived at; and one morning George went up again to the Hold, determined
+to receive a final answer. As he was entering the steward's room, he met
+Ford, the Blackstone clerk, coming out of it.</p>
+
+<p>"Is Mr. Chattaway in there?" asked George.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," replied Ford. "But if you want any business out of him this
+morning, you won't get it. I have tramped all the way up here about a
+hurried matter and have had my walk for my pains. Chattaway won't do
+anything or say anything; doesn't seem capable; says he shall be at
+Blackstone by-and-by. And that's all I've got to go back with."</p>
+
+<p>"Why won't he?"</p>
+
+<p>"Goodness knows. He seems to have had a shock or fright: was staring at
+a letter when I went in, and I left him staring at it when I came out,
+his wits evidently wool-gathering. Good morning, Mr. Ryle."</p>
+
+<p>The young man went his way, and George entered the room. Mr. Chattaway
+was seated at his desk; an open letter before him, as Ford had said. It
+was one that had been delivered by that morning's post, and it had
+brought the sweat of dismay upon his brow. He looked at George angrily.</p>
+
+<p>"Who's this again? Am I never to be at peace? What do you want?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Chattaway, I want an answer. If you will not let me the Upland
+Farm&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I will give you no answer this morning. I am otherwise occupied, and
+cannot be bothered with business."</p>
+
+<p>"Will you give me an answer&mdash;at all?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, to-morrow. Come then."</p>
+
+<p>George saw that something had indeed put Mr. Chattaway out; he appeared
+incapable of business, as Ford had intimated, and it would be policy,
+perhaps, to let the matter rest until to-morrow. But a resolution came
+into George's mind to do at once what he had sometimes thought of
+doing&mdash;make a friend, if possible, of Miss Diana Trevlyn. He went about
+the house until he found her, for he was almost as much at home there as
+poor Rupert had been. Miss Diana happened to be alone in the
+breakfast-room, looking over what appeared to be bills, but she
+laid them aside at his entrance, and&mdash;it was a most unusual
+thing&mdash;condescended to ask after the health of her sister, Mrs. Ryle.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Diana, I want you to be my friend," he said, in the winning manner
+that made George Ryle liked by everyone, as he drew a chair near to her.
+"Will you whisper a word for me into Mr. Chattaway's ear?"</p>
+
+<p>"About the Upland Farm?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. I cannot get an answer from him. He has promised me one to-morrow
+morning, but I do not rely upon it. I must be at some certainty. I have
+my eye on another farm if I cannot get Mr. Chattaway's; but it is at
+some distance, and I shall not like it half as well. Whilst he keeps me
+shilly-shallying over this one, I may lose both. There's an old proverb,
+you know, about two stools."</p>
+
+<p>"Was that a joke the other day, the hint you gave about marrying?"
+inquired Miss Diana.</p>
+
+<p>"It was sober earnest. If I can get the Upland Farm, I shall, I hope,
+take my wife home to it almost as soon as I am installed there myself."</p>
+
+<p>"Is she a good manager, a practical woman?"</p>
+
+<p>George smiled. "No. She is a lady."</p>
+
+<p>"I thought so," was the remark of Miss Diana, delivered in very knowing
+tones. "I can tell you and your wife, George, that it will be uphill
+work for both of you."</p>
+
+<p>"For a time; I know that. But, Miss Diana, ease, when it comes, will be
+all the more enjoyable for having been worked for. I often think the
+prosperity of those who have honestly earned it must be far sweeter than
+the monotonous abundance of those who are born rich."</p>
+
+<p>"True. The worst is, that sometimes the best years of life are over
+before prosperity comes."</p>
+
+<p>"But those years have had their pleasure, in working on for it. I
+question whether actual prosperity ever brings the pleasure we enjoy in
+anticipation. If we had no end to work for, we should not be happy. Will
+you say a word for me, Miss Diana?"</p>
+
+<p>"First of all, tell me the name of the lady. I suppose you have no
+objection&mdash;you may trust me."</p>
+
+<p>George's lips parted with a smile, and a faint flush stole over his
+features. "I shall have to tell you before I win her, if only to obtain
+your consent to taking her from the Hold."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>My</i> consent! I have nothing to do with it. You must get that from Mr.
+and Madam Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>"If I have yours, I am not sure that I should care to ask&mdash;his."</p>
+
+<p>"Of whom do you speak?" she rejoined, looking puzzled.</p>
+
+<p>"Of Maude Trevlyn."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Diana rose from her chair, and stared at him in astonishment.
+"Maude Trevlyn!" she repeated. "Since when have you thought of Maude
+Trevlyn?"</p>
+
+<p>"Since I thought of any one&mdash;thought at all, I was going to say. I loved
+Maude&mdash;yes, <i>loved</i> her, Miss Diana&mdash;when she was only a child."</p>
+
+<p>"And you have not thought of anyone else?"</p>
+
+<p>"Never. I have loved Maude, and I have been content to wait for her. But
+that I was so trammelled with the farm at home, keeping it for Mrs. Ryle
+and Treve, I might have spoken before."</p>
+
+<p>Maude Trevlyn was evidently not the lady upon whom Miss Diana's
+suspicions had fallen, and she seemed unable to recover from her
+surprise or realise the fact. "Have you never given cause to another
+to&mdash;to&mdash;suspect any admiration on your part?" she resumed, breaking the
+silence.</p>
+
+<p>"Believe me, I never have. On the contrary," glancing at Miss Diana with
+peculiar significance for a moment, his tone most impressive, "I have
+cautiously abstained from doing so."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, I see." And Miss Trevlyn's tone was not less significant than his.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you give her to me?" he pleaded, in his softest and most
+persuasive voice.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know, George, there may be trouble over this."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you mean with Mr. Chattaway?"</p>
+
+<p>"I mean&mdash;&mdash;No matter what I mean. I think there will be trouble over
+it."</p>
+
+<p>"There need be none if you will sanction it. But that you might
+misconstrue me, I would urge you to give her to me for Maude's own sake.
+This escapade of poor Rupert's has rendered Mr. Chattaway's roof an
+undesirable one for her."</p>
+
+<p>"Maude is a Trevlyn, and must marry a gentleman," spoke Miss Diana.</p>
+
+<p>"I am one," said George quietly. "Forgive me if I remind you that my
+ancestors are equal to those of the Trevlyns. In the days gone by&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You need not enter upon it," was the interruption. "I do not forget it.
+But gentle descent is not all that is necessary. Maude will have money,
+and it is only right that she should marry one who possesses it in an
+equal degree."</p>
+
+<p>"Maude will not have a shilling," cried George, impulsively.</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed! Who told you so?"</p>
+
+<p>George laughed. "It is what I have always supposed. Where is her money
+to come from?"</p>
+
+<p>"She will have a great deal of money," persisted Miss Diana. "The half
+of my fortune, at least, will be Maude's. The other half I intended for
+Rupert. Did you suppose the last of the Trevlyns, Maude and Rupert,
+would be turned penniless into the world?"</p>
+
+<p>So! It had been Miss Diana's purpose to bequeath them money! Yes; loving
+power though she did; acquiescing in the act of usurping Trevlyn Hold as
+she had, she intended to make it up in some degree to the children.
+Human nature is full of contradictions. "Has Maude learnt to care for
+you?" she suddenly asked. "You hesitate!"</p>
+
+<p>"If I hesitate it is not because I have no answer to give, but whether
+it would be quite fair to Maude to give it. The truth may be best,
+however; she <i>has</i> learnt to care for me. Perhaps you will answer me a
+question&mdash;have you any objection to me personally?"</p>
+
+<p>"George Ryle, had I objected to you personally, I should have ordered
+you out of the room the instant you mentioned Maude's name. Were your
+position a better one, I would give you Maude to-morrow&mdash;so far as my
+giving could avail. But to enter the Upland Farm upon borrowed
+money?&mdash;no; I do not think that will do for Maude Trevlyn."</p>
+
+<p>"It would be a better position for her than the one she now holds, as
+Mr. Chattaway's governess," replied George, boldly. "A better, and a far
+happier."</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense. Maude Trevlyn's position at Trevlyn Hold is not to be looked
+upon as that of governess, but as a daughter of the house. It was well
+that both she and Rupert should have some occupation."</p>
+
+<p>"And on the other score?" resumed George. "May I dare to say the truth
+to you, that in quitting the Hold for the home I shall make for her, she
+will be leaving misery for happiness?"</p>
+
+<p>Miss Diana rose. "That is enough for the present," said she. "It has
+come upon me with surprise, and I must give it some hours' consideration
+before I can even realise it. With regard to the Upland Farm, I will ask
+Mr. Chattaway to accord you preference if he can do so; the two matters
+are quite distinct and apart one from the other. I think you might
+prosper at the Upland Farm, and be a good tenant; but I decline&mdash;and
+this you must distinctly understand&mdash;to give you any hope now with
+regard to Maude."</p>
+
+<p>George held out his hand with his sunny smile. "I will wait until you
+have considered it, Miss Diana."</p>
+
+<p>She took her way at once to Mrs. Chattaway's room. Happening, as she
+passed the corridor window, to glance to the front of the house, she saw
+George Ryle cross the lawn. At the same moment, Octave Chattaway ran
+after him, evidently calling to him.</p>
+
+<p>He stopped and turned. He could do no less. And Octave stood with him,
+laughing and talking rather more freely than she might have done, had
+she been aware of what had just taken place. Miss Diana drew in her
+severe lips, changed her course, and sailed back to the hall-door.
+Octave was coming in then.</p>
+
+<p>"Manners have changed since I was a girl," remarked Miss Diana. "It
+would scarcely have been deemed seemly then for a young lady to run
+after a gentleman. I do not like it, Octave."</p>
+
+<p>"Manners do change," returned Miss Chattaway, in tones she made as
+slighting as she dared. "It was only George Ryle, Aunt Diana."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know where Maude is?"</p>
+
+<p>"No; I know nothing about her. I think if you gave Maude a word of
+reprimand instead of giving one to me, it might not be amiss, Aunt
+Diana. Since Rupert turned runagate&mdash;or renegade might be a better
+word&mdash;Maude has shamefully neglected her duties with Emily and Edith.
+She passes her time in the clouds and lets them run wild."</p>
+
+<p>"Had Rupert been your brother you might have done the same," curtly
+rejoined Miss Diana. "A shock like that cannot be lived down in a day.
+Allow me to give you a hint, Octave; should you lose Maude for the
+children, you will not so efficiently replace her."</p>
+
+<p>"We are not likely to lose her," said Octave, opening her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know that. It is possible that we shall. George Ryle wants
+her."</p>
+
+<p>"Wants her for what?" asked Octave, staring very much.</p>
+
+<p>"He can want her but for one thing&mdash;to be his wife. It seems he has
+loved her for years."</p>
+
+<p>She quitted Octave as she said this, on her way up again to Mrs.
+Chattaway's room; never halting, never looking back at the still, white
+face, that seemed to be turning into stone as it was strained after her.</p>
+
+<p>In Mrs. Chattaway's sitting-room she found that lady and Maude. She
+entered suddenly and hastily, and had Miss Diana been of a suspicious
+nature it might have arisen then. In their close contact, their start of
+surprise, the expression of their haggard countenances, there was surely
+evidence of some unhappy secret. Miss Diana was closely followed by Mr.
+Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you not hear me call?" he inquired of his sister-in-law.</p>
+
+<p>"No," she replied. "I only heard you on the stairs behind me. What is
+it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Read that," said Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>He tossed an open letter to her. It was the one which had so put him
+out, rendering him incapable of attending to business. After digesting
+it alone in the best manner he could, he had now come to submit it to
+the keen and calm inspection of Miss Trevlyn.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh," said she carelessly, as she looked at the writing, "another letter
+from Connell and Connell."</p>
+
+<p>"Read it," repeated Mr. Chattaway, in low tones. He was too completely
+shaken to be anything but subdued.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Diana proceeded to do so. It was a letter shorter, if anything,
+than the previous one, but even more decided. It simply said that Mr.
+Rupert Trevlyn had written to inform them of his intention of taking
+immediate possession of Trevlyn Hold, and had requested them to acquaint
+Mr. Chattaway with the same. Miss Diana read it to herself, and then
+aloud for the general benefit.</p>
+
+<p>"It is the most infamous thing that has ever come under my notice," said
+Mr. Chattaway. "What <i>right</i> have those Connells to address me in this
+strain? If Rupert Trevlyn passes his time inventing such folly, is it
+the work of a respectable firm to perpetuate the jokes on me?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway and Maude gazed at each other, perfectly confounded. It
+was next to impossible that Rupert could have thus written to Connell
+and Connell. If they had only dared defend him! "Why suffer it to put
+you out, James?" Mrs. Chattaway ventured to say. "Rupert <i>cannot</i> be
+writing such letters; he <i>cannot</i> be thinking of attempting to take
+possession here; the bare idea is absurd: treat it as such."</p>
+
+<p>"But these communications from Connell and Connell are not the less
+disgraceful," was the reply. "I'd as soon be annoyed with anonymous
+letters."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Diana Trevlyn had not spoken. The affair, to her keen mind, began
+to wear a strange appearance. She looked up from the letter at Mr.
+Chattaway. "Were Connell and Connell not so respectable, I should say
+they have lent themselves to a sorry joke for the purpose of the worst
+sort of annoyance: being what they are, that view falls to the ground.
+There is only one possible solution to it: but&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"And what's that?" eagerly interrupted Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"That Rupert is amusing himself, and has contrived to impose upon
+Connell and Connell&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"He never has," broke in Mrs. Chattaway. "I mean," she more calmly
+added, "that Connell and Connell could not be imposed upon by any
+foolish claim put forth by a boy like Rupert."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish you would hear me out," was the composed rejoinder of Miss
+Diana. "It is what I was about to say. Had Connell and Connell been
+different men, they might be so imposed upon; but I do not think they,
+or any firm of similar standing, would presume to write such letters to
+the master of Trevlyn Hold, unless they had substantial grounds for
+doing so."</p>
+
+<p>"Then what can they mean?" cried Mr. Chattaway, wiping his hot face.</p>
+
+<p>Ay, what could they mean? It was indeed a puzzle, and the matter began
+to assume a serious form. What had been the vain boastings of Mr. Daw,
+compared with this? Cris Chattaway, when he reached home, and this
+second letter was shown to him, was loudly indignant, but all the
+indignation Mr. Chattaway had been prone to indulge in seemed to have
+gone out of <i>him</i>. Mr. Flood wrote to Connell and Connell to request an
+explanation, and received a courteous and immediate reply. But it
+contained no further information than the letters themselves&mdash;or than
+even Mr. Peterby had elicited when he wrote up, on his own part,
+privately to Mr. Ray: nothing but that Mr. Rupert Trevlyn was about to
+take possession of his own again, and occupy Trevlyn Hold.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LIV" id="CHAPTER_LIV"></a>CHAPTER LIV</h2>
+
+<h3>A GHOST FOR OLD CANHAM</h3>
+
+
+<p>Trevlyn Hold was a fine place, the cynosure and envy of the
+neighbourhood around; and yet it would perhaps be impossible in all that
+neighbourhood to find any family so completely miserable as that which
+inhabited the house. The familiar saying is a very true one: "All is not
+gold that glitters."</p>
+
+<p>Enough has been said of the trials and discomforts of Mrs. Chattaway;
+they had been many and varied, but never had trouble accumulated upon
+her head as now. The terrible secret that Rupert was within hail,
+wasting unto death, was torturing her brain night and day. It seemed
+that the whole weight of it lay upon her; that she was responsible for
+his weal and woe: if he died would reproach not lie at her door, remorse
+be her portion for ever? It might be that she should have disclosed the
+secret, and not have left him there to die.</p>
+
+<p>But how disclose it? Since the second letter received from Connell,
+Connell, and Ray, Mr. Chattaway had been doubly bitter against
+Rupert&mdash;if that were possible; and to disclose Rupert's hiding-place
+would only be to consign him to prison. Mr. Chattaway was another who
+was miserable in his home. Suspense is far worse than reality; and the
+present master would never realise in his own heart the evils attendant
+on being turned from the Hold as he was realising them now. His days
+were one prolonged scene of torture. Miss Diana Trevlyn partook of the
+general discomfort: for the first time in her life a sense of ill
+oppressed her. She knew nothing of the secret regarding Rupert; somewhat
+scornfully threw away the vague ideas imparted by the letters from
+Connell and Connell; and yet Miss Diana was conscious of being oppressed
+with a sense of ill, which weighed her down, and made life a burden.</p>
+
+<p>The evil had come at last. Retribution, which they too surely invoked
+when they diverted God's laws of right and justice from their direct
+course years ago, was working itself just now. Retribution is a thing
+that <i>must</i> come; though tardy, as it had been in this case, it is sure.
+Look around you, you who have had much of life's experience, who may be
+drawing into its "sear and yellow leaf." It is impossible but that you
+have gathered up in the garner of your mind instances you have noted in
+your career. In little things and in great, the working of evil
+inevitably brings forth its reward. Years, and years, and years may
+elapse; so many, that the hour of vengeance seems to have rolled away
+under the glass of time; but we need never hope that, for it cannot be.
+In your day, ill-doer, or in your children's, it will surely come.</p>
+
+<p>The agony of mind, endured now by the inmates of Trevlyn Hold, seemed
+sufficient punishment for a whole lifetime and its misdoings. Should
+they indeed be turned from it, as these mysterious letters appeared to
+indicate, that open, tangible punishment would be as nothing to what
+they were mentally enduring now. And they could not speak of their
+griefs one to another, and so lessen them in ever so slight a degree.
+Mr.</p>
+
+<p>Chattaway would not speak of the dread tugging at his heart-strings&mdash;for
+it seemed to him that only to speak of the <i>possibility</i> of being driven
+forth, might bring it the nearer; and his unhappy wife dared not so much
+as breathe the name of Rupert, and the fatal secret she held.</p>
+
+<p>She, Mrs. Chattaway, was puzzled more than all by these letters from
+Connell and Connell. Mr. Chattaway could trace their source (at least he
+strove to do so) to the malicious mind and pen of Rupert; but Mrs.
+Chattaway knew that Rupert it could not well be. Nevertheless, she had
+been staggered on the arrival of the second to find it explicitly stated
+that Rupert Trevlyn had written to announce his speedy intention of
+taking possession of the Hold. "Rupert had written to them!" What was
+she to think? If it was not Rupert, someone else must have written in
+his name; but who would be likely to trouble themselves now for the lost
+Rupert?&mdash;regarded as dead by three parts of the world. Had Rupert
+written? Mrs. Chattaway determined again to ask him, and to set the
+question so far at rest.</p>
+
+<p>But she did not do this for two days after the arrival of the letter.
+She waited the answer which Mr. Flood wrote up to Connell and Connell,
+spoken of in the last chapter. As soon as that came, and she found that
+it explained nothing, then she resolved to question Rupert at her next
+stolen visit. That same afternoon, as she returned on foot from
+Barmester, she contrived to slip unseen into the lodge.</p>
+
+<p>Rupert was sitting up. Mr. King had given it as his opinion that to lie
+constantly in bed, as he was doing, was worse than anything else; and in
+truth Rupert need not have been entirely confined to it had there been
+any other place for him. Old Canham's chamber opposite was still more
+stifling, inasmuch as the builder had forgotten to make the small window
+to open. Look at Rupert now, as Mrs. Chattaway enters! He has managed to
+struggle into his clothes, which hang upon him like sacks, and he sits
+uncomfortably on a small rush-bottomed chair. Rupert's back looks as if
+it were broken; he is bent nearly double with weakness; his lips are
+white, his cheeks hollow, and his poor, weak hands tremble with joy as
+they are feebly raised to greet Mrs. Chattaway. Think what it was for
+him! lying for long hours, for days, in that stifling room, a prey to
+his fears, sometimes seeing no one for two whole days&mdash;for it was not
+every evening that an opportunity could be found of entering the lodge.
+What with the Chattaways' passing and repassing the lodge, and Ann
+Canham's grumbling visitors, an entrance for those who might not be seen
+to enter it was not always possible. Look at poor Rupert; the lighting
+up of his eye, the kindling hectic of his cheek!</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway contrived to squeeze herself between Rupert and the door,
+and sat down on the edge of the bed as she took his hand in hers. "I am
+so glad to see you have made an effort to get up, Rupert!" she
+whispered.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think I shall make it again, Aunt Edith. You have no conception
+how it has tired me. I was a good half-hour getting into my coat and
+waistcoat."</p>
+
+<p>"But you will be all the better for it."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know," said Rupert, in a spiritless tone. "I feel as if there
+would never be any 'better' for me again."</p>
+
+<p>She began telling him of what she had been purchasing for him at
+Barmester&mdash;a dressed tongue, a box of sardines, potted meats, and
+similar things found in the provision shops. They were not precisely the
+dishes suited to Rupert's weakly state; but since the accident to
+Rebecca he had been fain to put up with what could be thus procured. And
+then Mrs. Chattaway opened gently upon the subject of the letters.</p>
+
+<p>"It seems so strange, Rupert, quite inexplicable, but Mr. Chattaway has
+had another of those curious letters from Connell and Connell."</p>
+
+<p>"Has he?" answered Rupert, with apathy.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway looked at him with all the fancied penetration she
+possessed&mdash;in point of fact she was one of those persons who possess
+none&mdash;but she could not detect the faintest sign of consciousness. "Was
+there anything about me in it?" he asked wearily.</p>
+
+<p>"It was all about you. It said you had written to Connell and Connell
+stating your intention of taking immediate possession of the Hold."</p>
+
+<p>This a little aroused him. "Connell and Connell have written that to Mr.
+Chattaway! Why, what queer people they must be!"</p>
+
+<p>"Rupert! You have <i>not</i> written to them, have you?"</p>
+
+<p>He looked at Mrs. Chattaway in surprise; for she had evidently asked the
+question seriously. "You know I have not. I am not strong enough to play
+jokes, Aunt Edith. And if I were, I should not be so senseless as to
+play <i>that</i> joke. What end would it answer?"</p>
+
+<p>"I thought not," she murmured; "I was sure not. Setting everything else
+aside, Rupert, you are not well enough to write."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I don't think I am. I could hardly scrawl those lines to George
+Ryle some time ago&mdash;when the fever was upon me. No, Aunt Edith: the only
+letter I have written since I became a prisoner was the one I wrote to
+Mr. Daw, the night I first took shelter here, just after the encounter
+with Mr. Chattaway, and Ann Canham posted it at Barmester the next day.
+What on earth can possess Connell and Connell?"</p>
+
+<p>"Diana argues that Connell and Connell must be receiving these letters,
+or they would not write to Mr. Chattaway in the manner they are doing.
+For my part, I can't make it out."</p>
+
+<p>"What does Mr. Chattaway say?" asked Rupert, when a fit of coughing was
+over. "Is he angry?"</p>
+
+<p>"He is worse than angry," she seriously answered; "he is troubled. He
+thinks you are writing them."</p>
+
+<p>"No! Why, he might know that I shouldn't dare do it: he might know that
+I am not well enough to write them."</p>
+
+<p>"Nay, Rupert, you forget that Mr. Chattaway does not know you are ill."</p>
+
+<p>"To be sure; I forgot that. But I can't believe Mr. Chattaway is
+<i>troubled</i>. How could a poor, weak, friendless chap, such as I, contend
+for the possession of Trevlyn Hold? Aunt Edith, I'll tell you what it
+must be. If Connells are not playing this joke themselves, to annoy Mr.
+Chattaway, somebody must be playing it on them."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway acquiesced: it was the only conclusion she could come to.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Aunt Edith, if he would only forgive me!" sighed Rupert. "When I
+get well&mdash;and I should get well, if I could go back to the Hold and get
+this fear out of me&mdash;I would work night and day to repay him the cost of
+the ricks. If he would only forgive me!"</p>
+
+<p>Ah! none knew better than Mrs. Chattaway how vain was the wish; how
+worse than vain any hope of forgiveness. She could have told him, had
+she chosen, of an unhappy scene of the past night, when she, Edith
+Chattaway, urged by the miserable state of existing things and her
+tribulation for Rupert, had so far forgotten prudence as to all but
+kneel to her husband and beg him to forgive that poor culprit; and Mr.
+Chattaway, excited to the very depths of anger, had demanded of his wife
+whether she were mad or sane, that she should dare ask it.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Rupert," she meekly said, "I wish it also, for your sake. But, my
+dear, it is just an impossibility."</p>
+
+<p>"If I could be got safely out of the country, I might go to Mr. Daw for
+a time, and get up my strength there."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, <i>if</i> you could. But in your weak state discovery would be the
+result before you were clear from these walls. You cannot take flight in
+the night. Everyone knows you: and the police, we have heard, are
+keeping their eyes open."</p>
+
+<p>"I'd bribe Dumps, if I had money&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Rupert's voice dropped. A commotion had suddenly arisen downstairs, and,
+his fears ever on the alert touching the police and Mr. Chattaway, he
+put up his hand to enjoin caution, and bent his head to listen. But no
+strange voice could be distinguished: only those of old Canham and his
+daughter. A short time, and Ann came up the stairs, looking strange.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter?" panted Rupert, who was the first to catch sight of
+her face.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't think what's come to father, sir," she returned. "I was in the
+back place, washing up, and heard a sort o' cry, as one may say, so I
+ran in. There he was standing with his hair all on end, and afore I
+could speak he began saying he'd seen a ghost go past. He's staring out
+o' window still. I hope his senses are not leaving him!"</p>
+
+<p>To hear this assertion from sober-minded, matter-of-fact old Canham,
+certainly did impart a suspicion that his senses were departing. Mrs.
+Chattaway rose to descend, for she had already lingered longer than was
+prudent. She found old Canham as Ann had described him, with that
+peculiarly scared look on the face some people deem equivalent to "the
+hair standing on end." He was gazing with a fixed expression towards the
+Hold.</p>
+
+<p>"Has anything happened to alarm you, Mark?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway's gentle question recalled him to himself. He turned
+towards her, leaning heavily on his stick, his eyes full of vague
+terror.</p>
+
+<p>"It happened, Madam, as I had got out o' my seat, and was standing to
+look out o' window, thinking how fine the a'ternoon was, when he come in
+at the gate with a fine silver-headed stick in his hand, turning his
+head about from side to side as if he was taking note of the old place
+to see what changes there might be in it. I was struck all of a heap
+when I saw his figure; 'twas just the figure it used to be, only maybe a
+bit younger; but when he moved his head and looked full at me, I felt
+turned to stone. It was his face, ma'am, if I ever saw it."</p>
+
+<p>"But whose?" asked Mrs. Chattaway, smiling at his incoherence.</p>
+
+<p>Old Canham glanced round before he spoke; glanced at Mrs. Chattaway,
+with a half-compassionate, half-inquiring look, as if not liking to
+speak. "Madam, it was the old Squire, my late master."</p>
+
+<p>"It was&mdash;who?" demanded Mrs. Chattaway, less gentle than usual in her
+great surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"It was Squire Trevlyn; Madam's father."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway could do nothing but stare. She thought old Canham's
+senses were decidedly gone.</p>
+
+<p>"There never was a face like his. Miss Maude&mdash;that is, Mrs. Ryle
+now&mdash;have his features exact; but she's not as tall and portly, being a
+woman. Ah, Madam, you may smile at me, but it was Squire Trevlyn."</p>
+
+<p>"But, Mark, you know it is impossible."</p>
+
+<p>"Madam, 'twas him. He must ha' come out of his grave for some purpose,
+and is visiting his own again. I never was a believer in them things
+afore, or thought as the dead come back to life."</p>
+
+<p>Ghosts have gone out of fashion; therefore the enlightened reader will
+not be likely to endorse old Canham's belief. But when Mrs. Chattaway,
+turning quickly up the avenue on her way to the Hold, saw, at no great
+distance from her, a gentleman standing to talk to some one whom he had
+encountered, she stopped, as one in sudden terror, and seemed about to
+fall or faint. Mrs. Chattaway did not believe in "the dead coming back"
+any more than old Canham had believed in it; but in that moment's
+startled surprise she did think she saw her father.</p>
+
+<p>She gazed at the figure, her lips apart, her bright complexion fading to
+ashy paleness. Never had she seen so extraordinary a likeness. The tall,
+fine form, somewhat less full perhaps than of yore, the
+distinctly-marked features with their firm and haughty expression, the
+fresh clear skin, the very manner of handling that silver-headed stick,
+spoke in unmistakable terms of Squire Trevlyn.</p>
+
+<p>Not until they parted, the two who were talking, did Mrs. Chattaway
+observe that the other was Nora Dickson. Nora came down the avenue
+towards her; the stranger went on with his firm step and his
+firmly-grasped stick. Mrs. Chattaway was advancing then.</p>
+
+<p>"Nora, who is that?" she gasped.</p>
+
+<p>"I am trying to collect my wits, if they are not scared away for good,"
+was Nora's response. "Madam Chattaway, you might just have knocked me
+down with a feather. I was walking along, thinking of nothing, except my
+vexation that you were not at home&mdash;for Mr. George charged me to bring
+this note to you, and to deliver it instantly into your own hands, and
+nobody else's&mdash;when I met him. I didn't know whether to face him, or
+scream, or turn and run; one doesn't like to meet the dead; and I
+declare to you, Madam Chattaway, I believed, in my confused brain, that
+it was the dead. I believed it was Squire Trevlyn."</p>
+
+<p>"Nora, I never saw two persons so strangely alike," she breathed,
+mechanically taking the note from Nora's hand. "Who is he?"</p>
+
+<p>"My brain's at work to discover," returned Nora, dreamily. "I am trying
+to put two and two together, and can't do it; unless the dead have come
+to life&mdash;or those we believed dead."</p>
+
+<p>"Nora! you cannot mean my father!" exclaimed Mrs. Chattaway, gazing at
+her with a strangely perplexed face. "You know he lies buried in
+Barbrook churchyard. What did he say to you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not much. He saw me staring at him, I suppose, and stopped and asked me
+if I belonged to the Hold. I answered, no; I did not belong to it; I was
+Miss Dickson, of Trevlyn Farm. And then it was his turn to stare at me.
+'I think I should have known you,' he said. 'At least, I do now that I
+have the clue. You are not much altered. Should you have known me?' 'I
+don't know you now,' I answered: 'unless you are old Squire Trevlyn come
+out of his grave. I never saw such a likeness.'"</p>
+
+<p>"And what did he say?" eagerly asked Mrs. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing more. He laughed a little at my speech, and went on. Madam
+Chattaway, will you open the note, please, and see if there's any
+answer. Mr. George said it was important."</p>
+
+<p>She opened the note, which had lain unheeded in her hand, and read as
+follows:</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>"Do not attempt further visits. Suspicions are abroad.</p>
+
+<p>"G. B. R."</p></blockquote>
+
+<p>She had just attempted one, and paid it. Had it been watched? A rush of
+fear bounded within her for Rupert's sake.</p>
+
+<p>"There's no answer, Nora," said Mrs. Chattaway: and she turned
+homewards, as one in a dream. Who <i>was</i> that man before her? What was
+his name? where did he come from? Why should he bear this strange
+likeness to her dead father? Ah, why, indeed! The truth never for one
+moment entered the mind of Mrs. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>He went on: he, the stranger. When he came to the lawn before the house,
+he stepped on to it and halted. He looked to this side, he looked to
+that; he gazed up at the house; just as one loves to look on returning
+to a beloved home after an absence of years. He stood with his head
+thrown back; his right hand stretched out, the stick it grasped planted
+firm and upright on the ground. How many times had old Squire Trevlyn
+stood in the selfsame attitude on that same lawn!</p>
+
+<p>There appeared to be no one about; no one saw him, save Mrs. Chattaway,
+who hid herself amidst the trees, and furtively watched him. She would
+not have passed him for the world, and she waited until he should be
+gone. She was unable to divest her mind of a sensation akin to the
+supernatural, as she shrank from this man who bore so wonderful a
+resemblance to her father. He, the stranger, did not detect her behind
+him, and presently he walked across the lawn, ascended the steps, and
+tried the door.</p>
+
+<p>But the door was fastened. The servants would sometimes slip the bolt as
+a protection against tramps, and they had probably done so to-day.
+Seizing the bell-handle, the visitor rang such a peal that Sam Atkins,
+Cris Chattaway's groom, who happened to be in the house and near the
+door, flew with all speed to open it. Sam had never known Squire
+Trevlyn; but in this stranger now before him, he could not fail to
+remark a great general resemblance to the Trevlyn family.</p>
+
+<p>"Is James Chattaway at home?"</p>
+
+<p>To hear the master of the Hold inquired for in that unceremonious
+manner, rather took Sam back; but he answered that he was at home. He
+had no need to invite the visitor to walk in, for the visitor had walked
+in of his own accord. "What name, sir?" demanded Sam, preparing to usher
+the stranger across the hall.</p>
+
+<p>"Squire Trevlyn."</p>
+
+<p>This concluded Sam Atkins's astonishment. "<i>What</i> name, sir, did you
+say?"</p>
+
+<p>"Squire Trevlyn. Are you deaf, man? Squire Trevlyn, of Trevlyn Hold."</p>
+
+<p>And the haughty motion of the head, the firm pressure of the lips, might
+have put a spectator all too unpleasantly in mind of the veritable old
+Squire Trevlyn, had one who had known him been there to see.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LV" id="CHAPTER_LV"></a>CHAPTER LV</h2>
+
+<h3>THE DREAD COME HOME</h3>
+
+
+<p>Nothing could well exceed Mr. Chattaway's astonishment at hearing that
+George Ryle wished to make Maude Trevlyn his wife. And nothing could
+exceed his displeasure. Not that Mr. Chattaway had higher views for
+Maude, or deemed it an undesirable match in a pecuniary point of view,
+as Miss Diana Trevlyn had intimated. Had Maude chosen to marry without
+any prospect at all, that would not have troubled Mr. Chattaway. But
+what did trouble Mr. Chattaway was this&mdash;that a sister of Rupert Trevlyn
+should become connected with George Ryle. In Mr. Chattaway's foolish and
+utterly groundless prejudices, he had suspected, as you may remember,
+that George Ryle and Rupert had been ever ready to hatch mischief
+against him; and he dreaded for his own sake any bond of union that
+might bring them closer together.</p>
+
+<p>There was something else. By some intuitive perception Mr. Chattaway had
+detected that misplaced liking of his daughter's for George Ryle: and
+<i>this</i> union would not have been unpalatable to Mr. Chattaway. Whatever
+may have been his ambition for his daughter's settlement in life,
+whatever his dislike to George Ryle, he was willing to forego it all for
+his own sake. Every consideration was lost sight of in that one which
+had always reigned paramount with Mr. Chattaway&mdash;self-interest. You have
+not waited until now to learn that James Chattaway was one of the most
+selfish men on the face of the earth. Some men like, as far as they can,
+to do their duty to God and to their fellow-creatures; the master of
+Trevlyn Hold had made self the motive-spring through life. And what sort
+of a garner for the Great Day do you suppose he had been laying up for
+himself? He was soon to experience a little check here, but that was
+little, in comparison. The ills our evil conduct entails upon ourselves
+here, are as nothing to the dread reckoning we must render up hereafter.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway would have leased the Upland Farm to George Ryle with all
+the pleasure in life, provided he could have leased his daughter with
+it. Were George Ryle his veritable son-in-law, he would fear no longer
+plotting against himself. Somehow, he did fear George Ryle, feared him
+as a good man, brave, upright, honourable, who might be tempted to make
+common cause with the oppressed against the oppressor. It may be, also,
+that Miss Chattaway did not render herself as universally agreeable at
+home as she might have done, for her naturally bad temper did not
+improve with years; and for this reason Mr. Chattaway was not sorry that
+the Hold should be rid of her. Altogether, he contemplated with
+satisfaction, rather than the contrary, the connection of George Ryle
+with his family. And he could not be quite blind to certain
+predilections shown by Octave, though no hint or allusion had ever been
+spoken on either side.</p>
+
+<p>And on that first day when George Ryle, after speaking to Mr. Chattaway
+about the lease of the Upland Farm, said a joking word or two to Miss
+Diana of his marriage, Octave had overheard. You saw her with her
+scarlet face looking over her aunt's shoulder: a face which seemed to
+startle George, and caused him to take his leave somewhat abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>Poor Octave Chattaway! When George had remarked that his coveted wife
+was a gentlewoman, and must live accordingly, the words had imparted to
+her a meaning George himself never gave them. <i>She</i> was the gentlewoman
+to whom he alluded.</p>
+
+<p>Ere the scarlet had faded, her father entered the room. Octave bent over
+the table drawing a pattern. Mr. Chattaway stood at the window, his
+hands in his pockets, a habit of his when in thought, and watched George
+Ryle walking away in the distance.</p>
+
+<p>"He wants the Upland Farm, Octave."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway presently remarked, without turning round. "He thinks he
+can get on in it."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Chattaway carried her pencil to the end of the line, and bent her
+face lower. "I should let him have it, papa."</p>
+
+<p>"The Upland Farm will take money to stock and carry on; no slight sum,"
+remarked Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Did he say how he should manage to get it?"</p>
+
+<p>"From Apperley. He will have his work cut out if he is to begin farming
+on borrowed money; as his father had before him. It is only this very
+day that he has paid off that debt, contracted so many years ago."</p>
+
+<p>"And no wonder, on that small Trevlyn Farm. The Upland is different. A
+man would grow rich on the one, and starve on the other."</p>
+
+<p>"To take the best farm in the world on borrowed money, would entail
+uphill work. George Ryle will have to work hard; and so must his wife,
+should he marry."</p>
+
+<p>Octave paused for a moment, apparently mastering some intricacies in her
+pattern. "Not his wife; I do not see that. Aunt Maude is a case in
+point; she has never worked at Trevlyn Farm."</p>
+
+<p>"She has had her cares, though," returned Mr. Chattaway. "And she would
+have had to work&mdash;but for Nora Dickson."</p>
+
+<p>"The Upland Farm could afford a housekeeper if necessary," was Octave's
+answer.</p>
+
+<p>Not another word was spoken. Mr. Chattaway's suspicions were confirmed,
+and he determined when George Ryle again asked for the farm lease and
+for Octave, to accord both with rather more graciousness than he was
+accustomed to accord anything.</p>
+
+<p>Things did not turn out, however, quite in accordance with his
+expectations. The best of us are disappointed sometimes, you know.
+George Ryle pressed for the farm, but did not press for Octave. In point
+of fact, he never mentioned her name, or so much as hinted at any
+interest he might feel in her; and Mr. Chattaway, rather puzzled and
+very cross, abstained from promising the farm. He put off the question,
+very much to George's inconvenience, who set it down to caprice.</p>
+
+<p>But the time came for Mr. Chattaway's eyes to be opened, and he awoke to
+the cross-purposes which had been at work. On the afternoon of the day
+mentioned in the last chapter, during Mrs. Chattaway's stolen visit to
+Rupert, Mr. Chattaway was undeceived. He had been at home all day, busy
+over accounts and other matters in the steward's room; and Miss Diana,
+mindful of her promise to George Ryle, to speak a word in his favour
+relative to the Upland Farm, entered that room for the purpose, deeming
+it a good opportunity. Mr. Chattaway had been so upset since the receipt
+of the second letter from Connell and Connell, that she had hitherto
+abstained from mentioning the subject. He was seated at his desk, and
+looked up with a start as she abruptly entered; the start of a man who
+lives in fear.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you decided whether George Ryle is to have the Upland Farm?" she
+asked, plunging into the subject without circumlocution, as it was the
+habit of Miss Diana Trevlyn to do.</p>
+
+<p>"No, not precisely. I shall see in a day or two."</p>
+
+<p>"But you promised him an answer long before this."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah," slightingly spoke Mr. Chattaway. "It's not always convenient to
+keep one's promises."</p>
+
+<p>"Why are you holding off?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, for one thing, I thought of retaining that farm in my own hands,
+and keeping a bailiff to look after it."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you'll burn your fingers, James Chattaway. Those who manage the
+Upland Farm should live at the Upland Farm. You can't properly manage
+both places, that and Trevlyn Hold; and you live at Trevlyn Hold. I
+don't see why you should not let it to George Ryle."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway sat biting the end of his pen. Miss Diana waited; but he
+did not speak, and she resumed.</p>
+
+<p>"I believe he will do well on it. One who has done so much with that
+small place, Trevlyn Farm, and its indifferent land, will not fail to do
+well on the Upland. Let him have it, Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>"You speak as if you were interested in the matter," remarked Mr.
+Chattaway, resentfully.</p>
+
+<p>"I am not sure but I am," equably answered Miss Diana. "I see no reason
+why you should not let him the farm; for there's no doubt he will prove
+a good tenant. He has spoken to me about its involving something more,
+should he obtain it," she continued, after a pause.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah," said Mr. Chattaway, without surprise. "Well?"</p>
+
+<p>"He wants us to give him Maude."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway let fall his pen and it made a dreadful blot on his
+account-book, as he turned his head sharply on Miss Diana.</p>
+
+<p>"Maude! You mean Octave."</p>
+
+<p>"Pooh!" cried Miss Diana. "Octave has been spending her years looking
+after a mare's nest: people who do such foolish things must of necessity
+meet disappointment. George Ryle has never cared for her, never cast a
+thought to her."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway's face was turning its disagreeable colour; and his lips
+were drawn as he glared at Miss Trevlyn. "He has been always coming
+here."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. For Maude&mdash;as it turns out. I confess I never thought of it."</p>
+
+<p>"How do you know this?"</p>
+
+<p>"He has asked for Maude, I tell you. His hopes for years have been fixed
+upon her."</p>
+
+<p>"He shall never have her," said Mr. Chattaway, emphatically. "He shall
+never have the Upland Farm."</p>
+
+<p>"It was the decision&mdash;with regard to Maude&mdash;that crossed me in the first
+moment. I like him; quite well enough to give him Maude, or to give him
+Octave, had she been the one sought; but I do not consider his position
+suitable&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Suitable! Why, he's a beggar," interrupted Mr. Chattaway, completely
+losing sight of his own intentions with regard to his daughter. "George
+Ryle shall smart for this. Give him Maude, indeed!"</p>
+
+<p>"But if Maude's happiness is involved in it, what then?" quietly asked
+Miss Diana.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be an idiot," was the retort of Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"I never was one yet," said Miss Diana, equably. "But I have nearly made
+up my mind to give him Maude."</p>
+
+<p>"You cannot do it without my consent. She is under my roof and
+guardianship, and I tell you that she shall never leave it for that of
+George Ryle."</p>
+
+<p>"You should bring a little reason to your aid before you speak,"
+returned Miss Diana, with that calm assumption of intellectual
+superiority which so vexed Mr. Chattaway whenever it peeped out. "What
+are the true facts? Why, that no living being, neither you nor any one
+else, can legally prevent Maude from marrying whom she will. You have no
+power to prevent it. She and Rupert have never had a legally-appointed
+guardian, remember. But for the loss of that letter, written at the
+instance of their mother when she was dying, and which appears to have
+vanished so mysteriously, <i>I</i> should have been their guardian,"
+pointedly concluded Miss Diana. "And might have married Maude as I
+pleased."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway made no reply, except that he nervously bit his lips. If
+Diana Trevlyn turned against him, all seemed lost. That letter was upon
+his conscience as he sat there; for he it was who had suppressed it.</p>
+
+<p>"And therefore, as in point of fact we have no power whatever vested in
+us, as Maude might marry whom she chose without consulting us, and as I
+like George Ryle on his own account, and <i>she</i> likes him better than the
+whole world, I consider that we had better give a willing consent. It
+will be making a merit of necessity, you see, Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway saw nothing of the sort; but he dared not too openly defy
+Miss Trevlyn. "You would marry her to a beggar!" he cried. "To a man who
+does not possess a shilling! You must have a great regard for her!"</p>
+
+<p>"Maude has no money, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"I do know it. And that is all the more reason why her husband should
+possess some."</p>
+
+<p>"They will get on, Chattaway, at the Upland Farm."</p>
+
+<p>"I dare say they will&mdash;when they have it. I shall not lease the Upland
+Farm to a man who has to borrow money to go into it."</p>
+
+<p>"I might be brought to obviate that difficulty," rejoined Miss Diana, in
+her coldest and hardest manner, as she gazed full at Mr. Chattaway.
+"Since I learnt that their mother left the children to me, I have felt a
+sort of proprietary right in them, and shall perhaps hand over to Maude,
+when she leaves us, sufficient money to stock the Upland Farm. The half
+at least of what I possess will some time be hers."</p>
+
+<p>Was <i>this</i> the result of his having suppressed that dying mother's
+letter? Be very sure, Mr. Chattaway, that such dealings can never
+prosper! So long as there is a just and good God above us, they can but
+bring their proper recompense.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway did not trust himself to reply. He drew a sheet of paper
+towards him, and dashed off a few lines upon it. It was a peremptory
+refusal to lease the Upland Farm to George Ryle. Folding it, he placed
+it in an envelope, directed it, and rang the bell.</p>
+
+<p>"What's that?" asked Miss Diana.</p>
+
+<p>"My reply to Ryle. He shall never rent the Upland Farm."</p>
+
+<p>In Mr. Chattaway's impatience, he did not give time for the bell to be
+answered, but opened the door and shouted. It was no one's business in
+particular to answer that bell; and Sam Atkins, who was in the kitchen,
+waiting for orders from Cris, ran forward at Mr. Chattaway's call.</p>
+
+<p>"Take this letter down to Trevlyn Farm instantly," was the command.
+"Instantly, do you hear?"</p>
+
+<p>But in the very act of the groom's taking it from Mr. Chattaway's hand,
+there came that violent ringing at the hall-door of which you have
+heard. Sam Atkins, thinking possibly the Hold might be on fire, as the
+ricks had been not so long ago, flew to open it, though it was not his
+place to do so.</p>
+
+<p>And Mr. Chattaway, disturbed by the loud and imperative summons, stood
+where he was, and looked and listened. He saw the entrance of the
+stranger, and heard the announcement: "Squire Trevlyn, of Trevlyn Hold."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Diana Trevlyn heard it, and came forth, and they stood like two
+living petrifactions, gazing at the apparition. Miss Diana,
+strong-minded woman that she was, did think for the moment that she saw
+her father. But her senses came to her, and she walked slowly forward to
+meet him.</p>
+
+<p>"You must be my brother, Rupert Trevlyn!&mdash;risen from the dead."</p>
+
+<p>"I am; but not risen from the dead," he answered, taking the hands she
+held out. "Which of them are you? Maude?"</p>
+
+<p>"No; Diana. Oh, Rupert! I thought it was my father."</p>
+
+<p>It was indeed him they had for so many years believed to be dead; Rupert
+Trevlyn, the runaway. He had come home to claim his own; come home in
+his true character; Squire Trevlyn, of Trevlyn Hold.</p>
+
+<p>But Mr. Chattaway, in his worse and wildest dreams, had never bargained
+for this!</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LVI" id="CHAPTER_LVI"></a>CHAPTER LVI</h2>
+
+<h3>DOUBTS CLEARED AT LAST</h3>
+
+
+<p>Many a painting has been handed down to posterity whose features bore
+not a tithe of the interest presented at that moment in the old hall of
+the Trevlyns. The fine figure of the stranger, standing with the air of
+a chieftain, conscious of his own right; the keen gaze of Miss Diana,
+regarding him with puzzled equanimity; and the slow horror of conviction
+that was rising to the face of Mr. Chattaway. Behind all, stealing in by
+a side-door, came the timid steps, the pale questioning looks of Mrs.
+Chattaway, not yet certain whether the intruder was an earthly or a
+ghostly visitor.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway was the first to recover himself. He looked at the
+stranger with a face that strove to be haughty, and would have given the
+whole world to possess the calm equanimity of the Trevlyns, the
+unchanged countenance of Miss Diana; but his leaden face wore its worst
+and greenest tinge, his lips quivered as he spoke&mdash;and he was conscious
+of it.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Who</i> do you say you are? Squire Trevlyn? He has been in his grave long
+ago. We do not tolerate impostors here."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope you do not," was the reply of the stranger, turning his face
+full on the speaker. "<i>I</i> will not in future, I can tell you that. True,
+James Chattaway: one Squire Trevlyn is in his grave; but he lives again
+in me. I am Rupert Trevlyn, and Squire of Trevlyn Hold."</p>
+
+<p>Yes, it was Rupert Trevlyn. The young Rupert Trevlyn of the old days;
+the runaway heir. He, whom they had so long mourned as dead (though
+perhaps none had mourned very greatly), had never died, and now had come
+home, after all these years, to claim his own.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway backed against the wall, and stood staring with his livid
+face. To contend was impossible. To affect to believe that it was not
+Rupert Trevlyn and the true heir, next in legal succession to his
+father, the old Squire, would have been child's play. The
+well-remembered features of Rupert grew upon his memory one by one.
+Putting aside that speaking likeness to the Squire, to the Trevlyns
+generally, Mr. Chattaway, now that the first moments of surprise were
+over, would himself have recognised him. He needed not the
+acknowledgment of Miss Diana, the sudden recognition of his wife, who
+darted forward, uttering her brother's name, and fell sobbing into his
+arms, to convince him that it was indeed Rupert Trevlyn, the
+indisputable master from henceforth of Trevlyn Hold.</p>
+
+<p>He leaned against the wall, and took in all the despair of his position.
+The latent fear so long seated in his heart, that he would some time
+lose Trevlyn Hold, had never pointed to <i>this</i>. In some far-away mental
+corner Chattaway had vaguely looked forward to lawsuits and contentions
+between him and its claimant, poor Rupert, son of Joe. He had fancied
+that the lawsuits might last for years, he meanwhile keeping possession,
+perhaps up to the end. Never had he dreamed that it would suddenly be
+wrested from him by indisputable right; he had never believed that he
+himself was the usurper; that a nearer and direct heir, the Squire's
+son, was in existence. The Squire's will, leaving Trevlyn Hold to his
+eldest son, had never been cancelled.</p>
+
+<p>And this was the explanation of the letters from Connell, Connell and
+Ray, which had so annoyed Mr. Chattaway and puzzled his wife. "Rupert
+Trevlyn was about to take up his own again&mdash;as Squire of Trevlyn Hold."
+True; but it was this Rupert Trevlyn, not that one.</p>
+
+<p>The explanation he might have entered into is of little moment to us;
+the bare fact is sufficient. It was an explanation he gave only
+partially to those around, descending to no details. He had been
+shipwrecked at the time of his supposed death, and knew that an account
+of his death had been sent home. That was true. Why he had suffered it
+to remain uncontradicted he did not explain; and they could only surmise
+that the crime of which he had been suspected kept him silent. However
+innocent he knew himself to be, whilst others at home believed him
+guilty he was not safe, and he had never known until recently that his
+reputation had been cleared. So much he did say. He had been half over
+the world, he told them, but had lived chiefly in South America, where
+he had made a handsome fortune.</p>
+
+<p>"And whose children are these?" he asked, as he passed into the
+drawing-room, where the sea of wondering faces was turned upon him.
+"<i>You</i> should be James Chattaway's daughter," he cried, singling out
+Octave, "for you have the face of your father over again."</p>
+
+<p>"I am Miss Chattaway," she answered, drawing from him with a scornful
+gesture. "Papa," she whispered, going up to the cowed, shrinking figure,
+who had followed in the wake of the rest, "who is that man?"</p>
+
+<p>"Hush, Octave! He has come to turn us out of our home."</p>
+
+<p>Octave gazed as one suddenly blinded. She saw the strange likeness to
+the Trevlyns, and it flashed into her mind that it must be the Uncle
+Rupert, risen from the supposed dead, of whom she had heard so much. She
+saw him notice her two sisters; saw him turn to Maude, and gaze
+earnestly into her face.</p>
+
+<p>"You should be a Trevlyn. A softer, fairer face than Joe's, but the same
+outlines. What is your name, my dear?"</p>
+
+<p>"Maude Trevlyn, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Ay. Joe's child. Have you any brothers or sisters?"</p>
+
+<p>"One brother."</p>
+
+<p>Squire Trevlyn&mdash;we must give him his title henceforth&mdash;looked round the
+room, as if in search of the brother. "Where is he?"</p>
+
+<p>Maude shivered; but he waited for an answer, and she gave it. "He is not
+here, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"And now tell me a little of the past," he cried, wheeling round on his
+sister Diana. "Who is the reigning master of Trevlyn Hold?"</p>
+
+<p>She indicated Chattaway with her finger. "He is."</p>
+
+<p>"He! Who succeeded my father&mdash;in my place?"</p>
+
+<p>"He did. James Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>"Then where was Joe?"</p>
+
+<p>"Joe was dead. He had died a few months previously."</p>
+
+<p>"Leaving&mdash;how many children did you say&mdash;two?"</p>
+
+<p>"Two&mdash;Maude and Rupert."</p>
+
+<p>"The latter still an infant, I presume, at the time of my father's
+death?"</p>
+
+<p>"Quite an infant."</p>
+
+<p>"Nevertheless, he was Squire of Trevlyn Hold, failing me. Why did he not
+succeed?"</p>
+
+<p>There came no answer. He looked at them all in succession; but even Miss
+Diana Trevlyn's undisturbable equanimity was shaken for the moment. It
+was Mr. Chattaway who plucked up courage to reply, and he put on as bold
+a front as he could.</p>
+
+<p>"Squire Trevlyn judged it well to will the estate to me. What would a
+child in petticoats do, reigning at Trevlyn Hold?"</p>
+
+<p>"He might have reigned by deputy. Where is Rupert? I must see him!"</p>
+
+<p>But had they been keen observers they might have detected that Squire
+Trevlyn put the questions not altogether with the tone of a man who
+seeks information. In point of fact he was as wise as they were as to
+the principal events which had followed on the Squire's death. He had
+remained in London two or three weeks since landing; had gathered all
+the information that could be afforded him by Connell and Connell, and
+had himself dictated the letters which had so upset Mr. Chattaway; more
+than that, he had, this very morning, halted at Barmester, on his way to
+Trevlyn Hold, had seen Mr. Peterby, and gleaned many details. One thing
+Mr. Peterby had not been able to tell him, whether the unfortunate
+Rupert was living or dead.</p>
+
+<p>"Where is Maude?" he suddenly asked.</p>
+
+<p>Maude stepped forward, somewhat surprised.</p>
+
+<p>"Not you, child. One who must be thirty good years older than you. My
+sister, Maude Trevlyn."</p>
+
+<p>"She married Thomas Ryle, of the Farm," answered Miss Diana, who had
+rapidly determined to be the best of friends with her brother. "It was
+not a fitting match for her, and she entered upon it without our
+consent; nay, in defiance of us all. She lives there still;
+and&mdash;and&mdash;here she is!"</p>
+
+<p>For once in her life Miss Diana was startled into betraying surprise.
+There, coming in at the door, was her sister Maude, Mrs. Ryle; and she
+had not been at the Hold for years and years.</p>
+
+<p>Nora, keen-witted Nora, had fathomed the mystery as she walked home. One
+so strangely resembling old Squire Trevlyn must be very closely
+connected with him, she doubted not, and worked out the problem. It must
+be Rupert Trevlyn, come (may it not be said?) to life again. Before she
+entered, his features had been traced on her memory, and she hastened to
+acquaint Mrs. Ryle.</p>
+
+<p>That lady lost no time in speeding to the Hold. George accompanied her.
+There was no agitation on her face; it was a true Trevlyn's in its calm
+and quiet, but she greeted her brother with words of welcome.</p>
+
+<p>"I have not entered this house, Rupert, my brother, since its master
+died; I would not enter it whilst a usurper reigned. Thank Heaven, you
+have come. It will end all heart-burnings."</p>
+
+<p>"Heart-burnings? of what nature? But who are you?" he broke off, looking
+at George. Then he raised his hand, and laying it on his shoulder, gazed
+into his face. "Unless I am mistaken, you are your father's son."</p>
+
+<p>George laughed. "My father's son, I believe, sir, and people tell me I
+am like him; yet more like my mother. I am George Berkeley Ryle."</p>
+
+<p>"Is he here? I and Tom Ryle were good friends once."</p>
+
+<p>"Here!" uttered George, with emotion he could not wholly suppress. "He
+has been dead many years. He was killed."</p>
+
+<p>Squire Trevlyn lifted his hands. "It will all come out, bit by bit, I
+suppose: one record of the past after another. Maude"&mdash;turning to his
+sister&mdash;"I was inquiring of the days gone by. If the Trevlyns have held
+a name for nothing else in the county, they have held one for justice;
+and I want to know how it was that my father&mdash;my father and
+yours&mdash;willed away his estate from poor Joe's boy. Good Heavens," he
+broke off abruptly, as he caught sight of her face in the red light of
+the declining sun, "how wonderfully you have grown like my father! More
+so even than I have!"</p>
+
+<p>It was so. As Mrs. Ryle stood there, haughty and self-possessed, they
+might have deemed it the old Squire over again. "You want to know why my
+father willed away his estate from Joe's son?" she said. "Ask Chattaway;
+ask Diana Trevlyn," with a sweep of the hand to both. "Ask them to tell
+you who kept it from him that a son was born to Joe. <i>They</i> did. The
+Squire made his will, went to his grave, never knowing that young Rupert
+was born. Ask them to tell you how it was that, when in accordance with
+this fact the will was made, my father constituted his second daughter's
+husband his heir, instead of my husband; mine, his eldest daughter's.
+Ask them, Rupert."</p>
+
+<p>"Heart-burnings? Yes, I can understand," murmured Squire Trevlyn.</p>
+
+<p>"Ask <i>him</i>&mdash;Chattaway&mdash;about the two thousand pounds debt to Mr. Ryle,"
+she continued, never flinching from her stern gaze, never raising her
+voice above its calm tones of low, concentrated indignation. "You have
+just said that you and Tom Ryle were friends, Rupert. Yes, you were
+friends; and had you reigned after my father, he, my husband, would not
+have been hunted to his death."</p>
+
+<p>"Maude! What are you saying?"</p>
+
+<p>"The truth. Wherever that man Chattaway could lay his oppressive hand,
+he has laid it. He pursued my husband incessantly during life; it was
+through that pursuit&mdash;indirectly, I admit&mdash;that he met his death. The
+debt of two thousand pounds, money which had been lent to Mr. Ryle, he,
+my father, cancelled on his death-bed; he made my husband a present of
+it; he would have handed him the bond then and there, but it was in
+Chattaway's possession, and he said he would send it to him. It never
+was sent, Rupert; and the first use Chattaway made of his new power when
+he came into the Hold, was to threaten to sue my husband upon the bond.
+The Squire had given my husband his word to renew the lease on the same
+terms, and <i>you</i> know that his word was never broken. The second thing
+Chattaway did was to raise the rent. It has been nothing but uphill work
+with us."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll right it now, Maude," he cried, with all the generous impulse of
+the Trevlyns. "I'll right that, and all else."</p>
+
+<p>"We have righted it ourselves," she answered proudly. "By dint of
+perseverance and hard work, not on my part, but on <i>his</i>"&mdash;pointing to
+George&mdash;"we have paid it off. Not many days ago, the last instalment of
+the debt and interest was handed to Chattaway. May it do him good! <i>I</i>
+should not like to grow rich upon unjust gains."</p>
+
+<p>"But where is Rupert?" repeated Squire Trevlyn. "I must see Rupert."</p>
+
+<p>Ah, there was no help for it, and the whole tale was poured into his
+ear. Between Mrs. Ryle's revelations on the one side, and Chattaway's
+denials on the other, it was all poured into the indignant but perhaps
+not surprised ear of the new master of Trevlyn. The unkindness and
+oppression dealt out to Rupert throughout his unhappy life, the burning
+of the rick, the strange disappearance of Rupert. He gave no token that
+he had heard it all before. Mrs. Ryle spared nothing. She told him of
+the suspicion so freely dealt out by the neighbourhood that Chattaway
+had made away with Rupert. Even then the Squire returned no sign that he
+knew of the suspicion as well as they did.</p>
+
+<p>"Maude," he said, "where is Rupert? Diana, <i>you</i> answer me&mdash;where is
+Rupert?"</p>
+
+<p>They were unable to answer. They could only say that he was absent, they
+knew not how or where.</p>
+
+<p>It may be that Squire Trevlyn feared the suspicion might be too true a
+one; for he turned suddenly on James Chattaway, his eye flashing with a
+severe light.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me where the boy is."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know," said Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"He may be dead!"</p>
+
+<p>"He may&mdash;for all I can say to the contrary."</p>
+
+<p>Squire Trevlyn paused. "Rupert Trevlyn is my heir," he slowly said, "and
+I will have him found. James Chattaway, I insist on your producing
+Rupert."</p>
+
+<p>"Nobody can insist upon the impossible."</p>
+
+<p>"Then listen. You don't know much of me, but you knew my father; and you
+may remember that when he <i>willed</i> a thing, he did it: that same spirit
+is mine. Now I register a vow that if you do not produce Rupert Trevlyn,
+or tell me where I may find him, dead or alive, I will publicly charge
+you with the murder."</p>
+
+<p>"I have as much reason to charge you with it, as you have to charge me,"
+returned Mr. Chattaway, his anger rising. "You have heard them tell you
+of my encounter with Rupert on the evening following the examination
+before the magistrates. I declare on my sacred word of honour&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Your</i> word of honour!" scornfully apostrophised Mrs. Ryle.</p>
+
+<p>"That I have never seen Rupert Trevlyn since the moment I left him on
+the ground," he continued, turning his dark looks on Mrs. Ryle, but
+never pausing. "I have sought in vain for him since; the police have
+sought; and he is not to be found."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well," said the Squire. "I have given you the alternative."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway opened his lips to reply; but to the surprise of all who
+knew him, suddenly closed them again, and left the room. To describe the
+trouble the man was in would be impossible. Apart from the general
+perplexity brought by this awful arrival of a master for Trevlyn Hold,
+there was the lesser doubt as to what should be his own conduct. Should
+it be abject submission, or war to the knife? Mr. Chattaway's temper
+would have inclined him to the latter; but he feared it might be bad
+policy for his own interest; and self-interest had always been paramount
+with James Chattaway. He stood outside the house, where he had wandered,
+and cast his eyes on the fine old place, the fair domain stretching
+around. Facing him was the rick-yard, which had given rise to so much
+discomfort, trouble, and ill-feeling. Oh, if he could only dispute
+successfully, and retain possession! But a conviction lay on his heart
+that even to attempt such would be the height of folly. That he, thus
+returned, was really the true Rupert Trevlyn, who had decamped in his
+youth, now a middle-aged man, was apparent as the sun at noon-day. It
+was apparent to him; it would be apparent to the world. The returned
+wanderer had remarked that his identity would be established by proof
+not to be disputed; but Mr. Chattaway felt no proof was necessary. Of
+what use then to hold out? And yet! to quit this fine possession, to
+sink into poverty and obscurity in the face and eyes of the local
+world&mdash;that world which had been ready enough, as it was, to cast
+contempt on the master of Trevlyn Hold&mdash;would be as the bitterest fate
+that ever fell upon man. In that cruel moment, when all was pressing
+upon his imagination with fearfully vivid colours, it seemed that death
+would be as a boon in comparison.</p>
+
+<p>Whilst he was thus standing, torn with contending emotions, Cris ran up
+in excitement from the direction of the stables. He had left his horse
+there on his return from Blackstone, and some vague and confused version
+of the affair had been told him. "What's this, father?" he asked, in
+loud anger. "They are saying that Rupert Trevlyn has come boldly back,
+and claims the Hold. Have you given him into custody?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway raised his dull eyes. The question only added to his
+misery. "Yes, Rupert Trevlyn has come back," he said; "but&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Is he in custody?" impatiently interrupted Cris. "Are the police here?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is another Rupert Trevlyn, Cris; not that one."</p>
+
+<p>Something in his father's manner struck unpleasantly on the senses of
+Cris Chattaway, subduing him considerably. "Another Rupert Trevlyn!" he
+repeated, in hesitating tones. "What are you saying?"</p>
+
+<p>"The Rupert Trevlyn of old; the Squire's runaway son; the heir," said
+Mr. Chattaway, as if it comforted him to tell out all the bitter truth.
+"He has come back to claim his own, Cris&mdash;Trevlyn Hold."</p>
+
+<p>And Mr. Cris fell against the wall, side by side with his father, and
+stared in dismayed consternation.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LVII" id="CHAPTER_LVII"></a>CHAPTER LVII</h2>
+
+<h3>A VISIT TO RUPERT</h3>
+
+
+<p>And what were the emotions of Mrs. Chattaway? They were of a mixed
+nature. In spite of the very small comfort which possession of the Hold
+had brought her individually; in spite of the feeling of usurpation, of
+<i>wrong</i>, which had ever rested unpleasantly upon her; she would have
+been superior to frail human nature, had not a sense of dismay struck
+upon her at its being thus suddenly wrested from them. She knew not what
+her husband's means might be: whether he had anything or nothing, by
+saving or otherwise, that he could call his own, apart from the revenues
+of the Hold: but she did know sufficient to be sure that it could not be
+a tithe of what was needed to keep them; and where were they to go with
+their helpless daughters? That these unpleasant considerations floated
+through her mind in a vague, confused vision was true; but far above
+them came a rush of thought, of care, closer to the present hour. Her
+brother had said&mdash;and there was determination not to be mistaken in his
+tones&mdash;that unless Mr. Chattaway produced Rupert Trevlyn, he would
+publicly charge him with the murder. Nothing but the strongest
+self-control had restrained Mrs. Chattaway from avowing all when she
+heard this. Mr. Chattaway was a man not held in the world's favour, but
+he was her husband; and in her eyes his faults and failings had ever
+appeared in a venial light. She would have given much to stand out and
+say, "You are accusing my husband wrongfully; Rupert is alive, and I am
+concealing him."</p>
+
+<p>But she did not dare do this. That very husband would have replied,
+"Then I order Rupert into custody&mdash;how dared you conceal him?" She took
+an opportunity of asking George Ryle the meaning of the warning
+despatched by Nora. George could not explain it. He had met Bowen
+accidentally, and the officer had told him in confidence that they had
+received a mysterious hint that Rupert Trevlyn was not far off&mdash;hence
+George's intimation. It was to turn out that the <i>other</i> Rupert Trevlyn
+had been spoken of: but neither Bowen nor George knew this.</p>
+
+<p>George Ryle rapidly drew his own conclusion from this return of Squire
+Trevlyn: it would be the preservation of Rupert; was the very best thing
+that could have happened for him. It may be said, the only thing. The
+tether had been lengthened out to its extreme limits, and to keep him
+much longer where he was, would be impossible; or, if they so kept him,
+it would mean death. George Ryle saw that a protector for Rupert had
+arisen in Squire Trevlyn.</p>
+
+<p>"He must be told the truth," he whispered to Mrs. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, perhaps it may be better," she answered; "but I dare not tell him.
+Will you undertake it?"</p>
+
+<p>He nodded, and began to wonder what excuse he could invent for seeking a
+private conference with the newly-returned Squire. But while he plotted
+and planned, Maude rendered it unnecessary.</p>
+
+<p>By a sense of the fitness of things, the state-rooms at the Hold,
+generally kept for visitors, were assigned by Miss Diana to her brother.
+He was shown to them, and was in the act of gazing from the window at
+the well-remembered features of the old domain when there stole in upon
+him one, white and tearless, but with a terrified imploring despair in
+her countenance.</p>
+
+<p>"Maude, my child, what is it? I like your face, my dear, and must have
+you henceforth for my very own child!"</p>
+
+<p>"Not me, Uncle Rupert, never mind me," she said, the kindly tones
+telling upon her breaking heart and bringing forth a gush of tears. "If
+you will only love Rupert!&mdash;only get Mr. Chattaway to forgive him!"</p>
+
+<p>"But he may be dead, child."</p>
+
+<p>"Uncle Rupert, if he were not dead&mdash;if you found him now, to-day," she
+reiterated&mdash;"would <i>you</i> deliver him up to justice? Oh, don't blame him;
+don't visit it upon him! It was the Trevlyn temper, and Mr. Chattaway
+should not have provoked it by horsewhipping him."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>I</i> blame him! <i>I</i> deliver a Trevlyn up to justice!" echoed Squire
+Trevlyn, with a threatening touch of the Trevlyn temper at that very
+moment. "What are you saying, child? If Rupert is in life he shall have
+his wrongs righted from henceforth. The cost of a burnt rick? The ricks
+were mine, not Chattaway's. Rupert Trevlyn is my heir, and he shall so
+be recognised and received."</p>
+
+<p>She sank down before him crying softly with the relief his words brought
+her. Squire Trevlyn placed his hand on her pretty hair, caressingly.
+"Don't grieve so, child; he may not be dead. I'll find him if he is to
+be found. The police shall know they have a Squire Trevlyn amongst them
+again."</p>
+
+<p>"Uncle Rupert, he is very near; lying in concealment&mdash;ill&mdash;almost dying.
+We have not dared to betray it, and the secret is nearly killing us."</p>
+
+<p>He listened in amazement, and questioned her until he gathered the
+outlines of the case. "Who has known of this, do you say?"</p>
+
+<p>"My aunt Edith, and I, and the doctor; and&mdash;and&mdash;George Ryle."</p>
+
+<p>The consciousness with which the last name was brought out, the sudden
+blush, whispered a tale to keen Squire Trevlyn.</p>
+
+<p>"Halloa, Miss Maude! I read a secret. <i>That</i> will not do, you know. I
+cannot spare you from the Hold for all the George Ryles in the world.
+You must be its mistress."</p>
+
+<p>"My aunt Diana will be that," murmured Maude.</p>
+
+<p>"That she never shall be whilst I am master," was the emphatic
+rejoinder. "If Diana could look quietly on and see her father deceived,
+help to deceive him; see Chattaway usurp the Hold to the exclusion of
+Joe's son, and join in the wickedness, she has forfeited all claim to
+it: she shall neither reign nor reside in it. No, my little Maude, you
+must live with me, as mistress of Trevlyn Hold."</p>
+
+<p>Maude's tears were flowing in silence. She kept her head down.</p>
+
+<p>"What is George Ryle to you?" somewhat sternly asked Squire Trevlyn. "Do
+you love him?"</p>
+
+<p>"I had no one else to love: they were not kind to me&mdash;except my aunt
+Edith," she murmured.</p>
+
+<p>He sat lost in thought. "Is he a good man, Maude? Upright, honourable,
+just?"</p>
+
+<p>"That, and more," she whispered.</p>
+
+<p>"And I suppose you love him? Would it quite break your heart were I to
+issue my edict that you should never have him; to say you must turn him
+over to Octave Chattaway?"</p>
+
+<p>It was only a jest. Maude took it differently, and lifted her glowing
+face. "But he does not like Octave! It is Octave who likes&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>She had spoken impulsively, and now that recollection came to her she
+hesitated. Squire Trevlyn, undignified as it was, broke into a subdued
+whistle.</p>
+
+<p>"I see, young lady. And so, Mr. George has had the good taste to like
+some one better than Octave. Well, perhaps I should do so, in his
+place."</p>
+
+<p>"But about Rupert?" she pleaded.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, about Rupert. I must go to him at once. Mark Canham stared as I
+came through the gate just now, as one scared out of his wits. He must
+have been puzzled by the likeness."</p>
+
+<p>Squire Trevlyn went down to the hall, and was putting on his hat when
+they came flocking around, asking whether he was going out, offering to
+accompany him, Diana requesting him to wait whilst she put on her
+bonnet. But he waved them off: he preferred to stroll out alone, he
+said; he might look in and have a talk with some of his father's old
+dependants&mdash;if any were left.</p>
+
+<p>George Ryle was standing outside, deliberating as to how he should
+convey the communication, little thinking it had already been done.
+Squire Trevlyn came up, and passed an arm within his.</p>
+
+<p>"I am going to the lodge," he remarked. "You may know whom I want to see
+there."</p>
+
+<p>"You have heard, then!" exclaimed George.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. From Maude. By-the-by, Mr. George, what secret understanding is
+there between you and that young lady?"</p>
+
+<p>George looked surprised; but he was not one to lose his equanimity. "It
+is no longer a secret, sir. I have confided it to Miss Diana. If Mr.
+Chattaway will grant me the lease of a certain farm, I shall speak to
+him."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Chattaway! The farms don't belong to him now, but to me."</p>
+
+<p>George laughed. "Yes, I forgot. I must come to you for it, sir. I want
+the Upland."</p>
+
+<p>"And you would like to take Maude with it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes! I must take her with it."</p>
+
+<p>"Softly, sir. Maude belongs to me, just as the farms do: and I can tell
+you for your consolation, and you must make the best of it, that I
+cannot spare her from the Hold. There; that's enough. I have not come
+home to have my will disputed: I am a true Trevlyn."</p>
+
+<p>A somewhat uncomfortable silence ensued, and lasted until they reached
+the lodge. Squire Trevlyn entered without ceremony. Old Mark, who was
+sitting before the hearth apparently in deep thought, turned his head,
+saw who was coming in, rose as quickly as his rheumatism allowed him,
+and stared as if he saw an apparition.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know me, Mark?"</p>
+
+<p>"To my dazed eyes it looks like the Squire," was Mark's answer, slowly
+shaking his head, as one in perplexity. "But I know it cannot be. I
+stood at these gates as he was carried out to his last home in Barbrook
+churchyard. The Squire was older, too."</p>
+
+<p>"The Squire left a son, Mark."</p>
+
+<p>"Sir&mdash;sir!" burst forth the old man, after a pause, as the light flashed
+upon him. "Sir&mdash;sir! You surely are never the young heir, Mr. Rupert, we
+have all mourned as dead?"</p>
+
+<p>"Do you remember the young heir's features, Mark?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, I have never forgot them, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Then look at mine."</p>
+
+<p>There was doubt no longer; and Mark Canham, in his enthusiastic joy
+forgetting his rheumatism, would almost have gone down on his knees in
+thankfulness. He brought himself up with a groan. "I be fit for nothing
+now but to nurse my rheumatiz, sir. And you be the true Rupert
+Trevlyn&mdash;Squire from henceforth? Oh, sir, say it!"</p>
+
+<p>"I am the Squire, Mark. But I came here to see another Rupert
+Trevlyn&mdash;he who will be Squire after me."</p>
+
+<p>Old Mark shook his head. He glanced towards the staircase as he spoke,
+and dropped his voice to a whisper, as if fearing that it might
+penetrate to one who was lying above.</p>
+
+<p>"If he don't get better soon, sir, he'll never live to be the Squire.
+He's very ill. Circumstances have been against him, it can't be denied;
+but I fear me it was in his constitution from the first to go off, as
+his father, poor Mr. Joe, went off afore him."</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense," said the Squire. "We'll get him well again!"</p>
+
+<p>"And what of Chattaway?" asked old Canham. "He'll never forego his
+vengeance, sir. I have been in mortal fear ever since Master Rupert's
+been lying here. The fear had selfishness in it, maybe," he added,
+ingenuously; "for Chattaway'd turn me right off, without a minute's
+warning, happen he come to know of it. He's never liked my being at the
+lodge at all, sir; and would have sent me away times and again but for
+Miss Diana."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah," said the Squire. "Well, it does not rest with him now. What has he
+allowed you, Mark?"</p>
+
+<p>"Half-a-crown a week, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Half-a-crown a week?" repeated Squire Trevlyn, his mouth curling with
+displeasure. "How have you lived?"</p>
+
+<p>"It have been a poor living at best, sir," was the simple answer. "Ann
+works hard, at home or out, but she don't earn much. Her eyes be bad,
+sir; happen you may call to mind they was always weak and ailing. The
+Squire fixed my pay here at five shillings a week, and Chattaway changed
+it when he come into power. Miss Diana's good to us; but for her and the
+bit o' money Ann can earn, I don't see as we could ha' got along at
+all."</p>
+
+<p>"Would you like the half-a-crown changed back again to five shillings,
+Mark?"</p>
+
+<p>"I should think it was riches come to me right off, Squire."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you may reckon upon it from this day."</p>
+
+<p>He moved to the staircase as he spoke, leaving the old man in an ecstasy
+of delight. Ann Canham, who had shrunk into hiding, came forward. Her
+father turned triumphantly.</p>
+
+<p>"Didn't I tell ye it was the Squire? And you to go on at me, saying I
+was clean off my wits to think it! I know'd it was no other."</p>
+
+<p>"But you said it was the dead Squire, father," was poor Ann's meek
+response.</p>
+
+<p>"It's all the same," cried old Canham. "There'll be a Trevlyn at the
+Hold again; and our five shillings a week is to come back to us. Bless
+the Trevlyns! they was always open-handed."</p>
+
+<p>"Father, what a dreadful come-down for Chattaway! What will he do? He'll
+have to turn out."</p>
+
+<p>"Serve him right!" shouted Mark. "How many homes have he made empty in
+his time! Ann, girl, I have kep' my eyes a bit open through life, in
+spite of limbs cramped with rheumatiz, and I never failed to notice one
+thing&mdash;them who are fond o' making others' homes desolate, generally
+find their own desolate afore they die. Chattaway'll get a taste now of
+what he have been so fond o' dealing out to others. I hope the bells'll
+ring the day he turns out o' the Hold!"</p>
+
+<p>"But Madam will have to turn out with him!" meekly suggested Ann Canham.</p>
+
+<p>It took Mark back. He liked Madam as much as he disliked her husband.
+"Happen something'll be thought of for Madam," said he. "Maybe the new
+Squire'll keep her at the Hold."</p>
+
+<p>George Ryle had gone upstairs, and prepared the wondering Rupert for the
+appearance of his uncle. As the latter entered, his tall head bowing, he
+halted in dismay. In the fair face bent towards him from the bed, the
+large blue eyes, the bright, falling hair, he believed for the moment he
+saw the beloved brother Joe of his youth. But in the hollow, hectic
+cheeks, the drawn face, the parched lips, the wasted hands, the
+attenuated frame, he read too surely the marks of the disease which had
+taken off that brother; and a conviction seated itself in the Squire's
+mind that he must look elsewhere for his heir.</p>
+
+<p>"My poor boy! Joe's boy! This place is killing you!"</p>
+
+<p>"No, Uncle Rupert, it is not that at all. It is the fear."</p>
+
+<p>Squire Trevlyn could not breathe. He looked up at the one pane, and
+pushed it open with his stick. The cold air came in, and he seemed
+relieved, drawing a long breath. But the same current, grateful to him,
+found its way to the lungs of Rupert, and he began to cough violently.
+"It's the draught," panted the poor invalid.</p>
+
+<p>George Ryle closed the window again, and the Squire bent over the bed.
+"You must come to the Hold at once, Rupert."</p>
+
+<p>The hectic faded on Rupert's face. "It is not possible," he answered.
+"Mr. Chattaway would denounce me."</p>
+
+<p>"Denounce you!" hotly repeated Squire Trevlyn. "Denounce my nephew and
+my brother Joe's son! He had better let me see him attempt it."</p>
+
+<p>In the impulse, characteristic of the Trevlyns, the Squire turned to
+descend the stairs. He was going to have Rupert brought home at once.
+George Ryle followed him, and arrested him in the avenue.</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon me, Squire Trevlyn. You must first of all make sure of
+Chattaway. I am not clear also but you must make sure of the police."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"The police have the matter in hand. Are they able to relinquish it,
+even for you?"</p>
+
+<p>They stood gazing at each other in doubt and discomfort. It was an
+unpleasant phase of the affair; and one which had certainly not until
+that moment presented itself to Squire Trevlyn's view.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LVIII" id="CHAPTER_LVIII"></a>CHAPTER LVIII</h2>
+
+<h3>A CONVERSATION WITH MR. CHATTAWAY</h3>
+
+
+<p>They stood together, deep in dispute&mdash;Squire Trevlyn of the Hold, and he
+who had so long reigned at the Hold, its usurper. In that very rick-yard
+which had recently played so prominent a part in the career of the
+unhappy Rupert, stood they: the Squire&mdash;bold, towering, haughty;
+Chattaway&mdash;cowardly, shrinking, indecisive.</p>
+
+<p>It was of that very Rupert they were talking. Squire Trevlyn hastened
+home from the lodge, and found Chattaway in the rick-yard: he urged upon
+him the claims of Rupert for forgiveness, for immunity from the
+consequences of his crime; urged upon him its <i>necessity</i>; for a
+Trevlyn, he said, must not be disgraced. And Mr. Chattaway appeared to
+be turning obstinate; to say that he never would forgive him or release
+him from its consequences. He pointed to the blackened spots, scarcely
+yet cleared of their <i>débris</i>. "Is a crime like that to be pardoned?" he
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>"What caused the crime? Who drove him to it?" And Mr. Chattaway had no
+plausible answer at hand.</p>
+
+<p>"When you married into the Trevlyn family, you married into its faults,"
+resumed the Squire. "At any rate, you became fully acquainted with them.
+You knew as much of the Trevlyn temper as we ourselves know. I ask you,
+then, how could you be so unwise&mdash;to put the question moderately&mdash;as to
+provoke it in Rupert?"</p>
+
+<p>"Evil tempers can be subdued," returned Mr. Chattaway. "And ought to
+be."</p>
+
+<p>"Just so. They can be, and they ought to be. But unfortunately we don't
+all of us do as we can and ought to do. Do you? I have heard it said in
+the old days that James Chattaway's spirit was a sullen one: have you
+subdued its sullenness?"</p>
+
+<p>"I wish you wouldn't wander from the point, Mr. Trevlyn."</p>
+
+<p>"I am keeping pretty near to the point. But I can go nearer to it, if
+you please. How could you, James Chattaway, dare to horsewhip a Trevlyn?
+Your wife's nephew, and her brother's son! Whatever might be the
+provocation&mdash;but, so far as I can learn, there was no just
+provocation&mdash;how came you so far to forget yourself and your temper as
+to strike him? One, possessing the tamest spirit ever put into man,
+might be expected to turn at the cruel insult you inflicted on Rupert.
+Did you do it with the intention of calling up the Trevlyn temper?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense," said Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"It will not do to say nonsense to me, sir. Setting fire to the rick was
+your fault, not his; the crime was occasioned by you; and I, the actual
+owner of those ricks, shall hold you responsible for it. Yes, James
+Chattaway, those ricks were mine; you need not dispute what I say; the
+ricks were mine then, as they are now. They have been mine, in point of
+fact, ever since my father's death. You may rely upon one thing&mdash;that
+had I known the injustice that was being enacted, I should have returned
+long ago."</p>
+
+<p>"Injustice!" cried Mr. Chattaway. "What injustice?"</p>
+
+<p>"What injustice! Has there been anything <i>but</i> injustice? When my
+father's breath left his body, his legitimate successor (in my absence
+and supposed death) was his grandson Rupert; this very Rupert you have
+been goading on to ill, perhaps to death. Had my brother Joe lived,
+would you have allowed <i>him</i> to succeed, pray?"</p>
+
+<p>"But your brother Joe did not live; he was dead."</p>
+
+<p>"You evade the question."</p>
+
+<p>"It is a question that will answer no end," cried Mr. Chattaway, biting
+his thin lips, and feeling very like a man being driven to bay. "Of
+course he would have succeeded. But he was dead, and Squire Trevlyn
+chose to make his will in my favour, and appoint me his successor."</p>
+
+<p>"Beguiled by treachery. He was suffered to go to his grave never knowing
+that a grandson was born to him. Were I guilty of the like treachery, I
+could not rest in my bed. I should dread that the anger of God would be
+ever coming down upon me."</p>
+
+<p>"The Squire did well," growled Mr. Chattaway. "What would an infant have
+done with Trevlyn Hold?"</p>
+
+<p>"Granted for a single moment that it had been inexpedient to leave
+Trevlyn Hold to an infant, it was not to you it should have been left.
+If Squire Trevlyn must have bequeathed it to a son-in-law, it should
+have been to him who was the husband of his eldest daughter, Thomas
+Ryle."</p>
+
+<p>"Thomas Ryle!" contemptuously ejaculated Mr. Chattaway. "A poor,
+hard-working farmer&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't attempt to disparage Thomas Ryle to me, sir," thundered the
+Squire; and the voice, the look, the rising anger were so like the old
+Squire of the days gone by, that Mr. Chattaway positively recoiled.
+"Thomas Ryle was a good and honourable man, respected by all; he was a
+gentleman by birth and breeding; he was a gentleman in mind and
+manners&mdash;and that could never be said of you, James Chattaway. Work! To
+be sure he worked; and so did his father. They had to work to live.
+Their farm was a poor one; and extra labour was needed to make up for
+the money which ought to have been spent upon it, but which they
+possessed not, for their patrimony had dwindled away. They might have
+taken a more productive farm; but they preferred to remain upon that one
+because it was their own, descended from their forefathers. It had to be
+sold at last, but they still remained on it, and they worked, always
+hoping to prosper. You used the word 'work' as a term of reproach! Let
+me tell you, that if the fact of working is to take the gentle blood out
+of a man, there will be little gentle blood left for the next
+generation. This is a working age, sir; the world has grown wise, and we
+most of us work with hands or head. Thomas Ryle's son is a gentleman, if
+I ever saw one&mdash;and I am mistaken if his looks belie his mind&mdash;and he
+works. Do not disparage Thomas Ryle again to me. I think a sense of the
+injury you did him, must induce you to do it."</p>
+
+<p>"What injury did I do Thomas Ryle?"</p>
+
+<p>"To usurp Trevlyn Hold over him was an injury. It was Rupert's: neither
+yours nor his; but had it come to one of you, it should have been to
+him; <i>you</i> had no manner of right to it. And what about the two thousand
+pounds bond?"</p>
+
+<p>Squire Trevlyn asked the last question in an altered and very
+significant tone. Mr. Chattaway's green face grew greener.</p>
+
+<p>"I held the bond, and I enforced its payment in justice to my wife and
+children. I could do no less."</p>
+
+<p>"In justice to your wife and children!" retorted Squire Trevlyn. "James
+Chattaway, did a thought ever cross you of God's justice? I believe from
+my very heart that my father cancelled that bond upon his dying bed,
+died believing Thomas Ryle released from it; and you, in your grasping,
+covetous nature, kept the bond with an eye to your own profit. Did you
+forget that the eye of the Great Ruler of all things was upon you, when
+you pretended to destroy that bond? Did you suppose that Eye was turned
+away when you usurped Trevlyn Hold to the prejudice of Rupert? Did you
+think you would be allowed to enjoy it in security to the end? It may
+look to you, James Chattaway, as it would to any superficial observer,
+that there has been wondrous favour shown you in this long delay of
+justice. I regard it differently. It seems to me that retribution has
+overtaken you at the worst time: not the worse for you, possibly, but
+for your children. By that inscrutable law which we learn in childhood,
+a man's ill-doings are visited on his children: I fear the result of
+your ill-doing will be felt by yours. Had you been deposed from Trevlyn
+Hold at the time you usurped it, or had you not usurped it, your
+children must have been brought up to play their parts in the busy walks
+of life; to earn their own living. As it is, they have been reared to
+idleness and luxury, and will feel their fall in proportion. Your son
+has lorded it as the heir of Trevlyn Hold, as the future owner of the
+works at Blackstone, and lorded it, as I hear, in a very offensive
+manner. He will not like to sink down to a state of dependency; but he
+will have to do it."</p>
+
+<p>"Where have you been gathering your account of things?" interposed Mr.
+Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind where. I have gathered it, and that is sufficient. And
+now&mdash;to go back to Rupert Trevlyn. Will you give me a guarantee that he
+shall be held harmless?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," growled Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"Then it will be war to the knife between you and me. Mind you&mdash;I do not
+think there's any necessity to ask you this; as the ricks were not
+yours, but mine, at the time of the occurrence, you could not, as I
+believe, become the prosecutor. But I prefer to be on the safe side. On
+the return of Rupert, if you attempt to prosecute him, the first thing
+that I shall do will be to insist that he prosecutes you for the
+assault, and I shall prosecute you for the usurpation of Trevlyn Hold.
+So it will be prosecution and counter-prosecution, you see. Mark you,
+James Chattaway, I promise you to do this, and you know I am a man of my
+word. I think we had better let bygones be bygones. What are you going
+to do about the revenues of the Hold?"</p>
+
+<p>"The revenues of the Hold!" stammered Mr. Chattaway, wiping his hot
+face, for he did not like the question.</p>
+
+<p>"The past rents. The mesne profits you have received and appropriated
+since Squire Trevlyn's death. Those profits are mine."</p>
+
+<p>"In law, possibly," was the answer. "Not in justice."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, we'll go by law," complacently returned the Squire, a spice of
+mischief in his eye. "Which have you gone by all these years? Law, or
+justice? The law would make you refund all to me."</p>
+
+<p>"The law would be cunning to do it," was the answer. "If I have received
+the revenues, I have spent them in keeping up Trevlyn Hold."</p>
+
+<p>"You have not spent them all, I suspect; and it would be productive of
+great trouble and annoyance to you were I to come upon you for them. But
+now, look you, James Chattaway: I will be more merciful than you have
+been to others, and say nothing about them, for my sister Edith's sake.
+In the full sense of the word, I will let bygones be bygones."</p>
+
+<p>The ex-master of Trevlyn Hold gazed out from the depths of his dull gray
+eyes: gazed upon vacancy, buried in thought. It might be well to make a
+friend of the Squire. On the one hand was the long-cherished revenge
+against Rupert; on the other was his own interest. Should he gratify
+revenge, or study himself? Ah, you need not ask; revenge may be sweet,
+but with Mr. Chattaway his own interest was sweeter. The scales were not
+equally balanced.</p>
+
+<p>He saw that Squire Trevlyn's heart was determined on the pardon of
+Rupert; he knew that the less he beat about the bush the better; and he
+spoke at once. "I'll forgive him," he said. "Rupert Trevlyn behaved
+infamously, but&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Stop, James Chattaway. Pardon him, or don't pardon him, as you please;
+but we will have no names over it. Rupert Trevlyn shall have none cast
+at him in my presence."</p>
+
+<p>"It is of no consequence. He did the wrong in the eyes of the
+neighbourhood, and they don't need to be reminded of what he is."</p>
+
+<p>"And how have the neighbourhood judged?" sternly asked Squire Trevlyn.
+"Which side have they espoused&mdash;yours, or his? Don't talk to me, sir; I
+have heard more than you suppose. I know what shame the neighbours have
+cast on you for years on the score of Rupert; the double shame cast on
+you since these ricks were burnt. Will you pardon him?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have said so," was the sullen reply.</p>
+
+<p>"Then come and ratify it in writing," rejoined the Squire, turning
+towards the Hold.</p>
+
+<p>"You are ready to doubt my word," resentfully spoke Mr. Chattaway,
+feeling considerably aggrieved.</p>
+
+<p>Squire Trevlyn threw back his head. It spoke as plainly as ever motion
+spoke that he did doubt it. As he strode on to the house, Chattaway in
+his wake, they came across Cris. Unhappy Cris! His day of authority and
+assumption had set. No longer was he the son of the master of Trevlyn
+Hold; henceforth Mr. Cris must set his wits to work, and take his share
+in the active labour of life. He stood leaning over the palings, biting
+a bit of straw as he gazed at Squire Trevlyn; but he did not say a word
+to the Squire or the Squire to him.</p>
+
+<p>With the aid of pen and ink Mr. Chattaway gave an ungracious promise to
+pardon Rupert. Of course it had nothing formal in it, but the Squire was
+satisfied, and put it in his pocket.</p>
+
+<p>"Which is Rupert's chamber here?" he asked. "It had better be got ready.
+Is it an airy one?"</p>
+
+<p>"For what purpose is it to be got ready?" returned Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"In case we find him, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"You would bring him home? Here? to my house?"</p>
+
+<p>"No; I bring him home to mine."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway's face went quite dark with pain. In good truth it was
+Squire Trevlyn's house; no longer his; and he may be pardoned for
+momentarily forgetting the fact. There are brief intervals even in the
+deepest misery when we lose sight of the present.</p>
+
+<p>Cris came in. "Dumps, the policeman, is outside," he said. "Some tale
+has been carried to the police-station that Rupert Trevlyn has returned,
+and Dumps has come to see about it. The felon Rupert!" pointedly
+exclaimed Cris.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't call names, sir," said Squire Trevlyn to him as he went out.
+"Look here, Mr. Christopher Chattaway," he stopped to add. "You may
+possibly find it to your advantage to be in my good books; but that is
+not the way to get into them; abuse of my nephew and heir, Rupert
+Trevlyn, will not recommend you to my favour."</p>
+
+<p>The police-station had certainly heard a confused story of the return of
+Rupert Trevlyn, but before Dumps reached the Hold he learnt the wondrous
+fact that it was another Rupert; the one so long supposed to be dead;
+the real Squire Trevlyn. He had learnt that Mr. Chattaway was no longer
+master of the Hold, but had sunk down to a very humble individual
+indeed. Mr. Dumps was not particularly gifted with the perceptive
+faculties, but the thought struck him that it might be to the interest
+of the neighbourhood generally, including himself and the station, to be
+on friendly terms with Squire Trevlyn.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you want me?" asked the Squire.</p>
+
+<p>"I beg pardon, sir. It was the other Mr. Rupert Trevlyn that I come up
+about. He has been so unfortunate as to get into a bit of trouble, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, that's nothing," said the Squire. "Mr. Chattaway withdraws from the
+prosecution. In point of fact, if any one prosecuted it must be myself,
+since the ricks were mine. But I decline to do so. It is not my
+intention to prosecute my nephew and heir. Mr. Rupert will be the Squire
+of Trevlyn Hold when I am gone."</p>
+
+<p>"Will he though, sir?" said Mr. Dumps, humbly.</p>
+
+<p>"He will. You may tell your people at the station that I put up with the
+loss of the ricks. What do you say&mdash;the magistrates? The present
+magistrates and I were boys together, Mr. Constable: companions; and
+they'll be glad to see me home again; you need not trouble your head
+about the magistrates. You are all new at the police-station, I expect,
+since I left the country&mdash;in fact, I forget whether there was such a
+thing as a police-station then or not&mdash;but you may tell your superiors
+that it is not the custom of the Squires of Trevlyn to proclaim what
+they cannot carry out. The prosecution of Rupert Trevlyn is at an end,
+and it never ought to have been instituted."</p>
+
+<p>"Please, sir, I had nothing to do with it."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course not. The police have not been to blame. I shall walk down
+to-night, or to-morrow morning, to the station, and put things on a
+right footing. Your name is Dumps, I think?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir&mdash;at your service."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Dumps, that's for yourself. Hush! not a word. It's not given to
+you as a constable, but as an honest man to whom I wish to offer an
+earnest of my future favour. And now come into the Hold, and take
+something to eat and drink."</p>
+
+<p>The gratified Dumps, hardly knowing whether he stood on his head or his
+heels, and inwardly vowing eternal allegiance to the new Squire, stepped
+into the Hold, and was consigned to the hospitality of the lower
+regions. Mr. Chattaway groaned in agony when he heard the kindly orders
+echoing through the hall&mdash;to put before Mr. Dumps everything that was
+good to eat and drink. That is, he would have groaned, but for the
+questionable comfort of recollecting that the Hold and its contents no
+longer belonged to him.</p>
+
+<p>As the Squire was turning round, he encountered Diana.</p>
+
+<p>"I have been inquiring after my nephew's chamber. Is it an airy one?"</p>
+
+<p>"Your nephew's?" repeated Miss Diana, not understanding. "Do you mean
+Christopher's?"</p>
+
+<p>"I mean Rupert's. Let me see it."</p>
+
+<p>He stepped up the stairs as he spoke, with the air of a man not born to
+contradiction. Miss Diana followed, wonderingly. The room she showed him
+was high up, and very small. The Squire threw his head back.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>This</i> his room? I see! it has been all of a piece. This room was a
+servant's in my time. I am surprised at <i>you</i>, Diana."</p>
+
+<p>"It is a sufficiently comfortable room," she answered: "and I used
+occasionally to indulge him with a fire. Rupert never complained."</p>
+
+<p>"No, poor fellow! complaint would be of little use from him, as he knew.
+Is there a large chamber in the house unoccupied? one that would do for
+an invalid."</p>
+
+<p>"The only large spare rooms in the house are the two given to you,"
+replied Miss Diana. "They are the best, as you know, and have been kept
+vacant for visitors. The dressing-room may be used as a sitting-room."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't want it as a sitting-room, or a dressing-room either," replied
+the Squire. "I prefer to dress in my bedroom, and there are sufficient
+sitting-rooms downstairs for me. Let this bed of Rupert's be carried
+down to that room at once."</p>
+
+<p>"Who for?"</p>
+
+<p>"For one who ought to have occupied the best rooms from the
+first&mdash;Rupert. Had he been properly treated, Diana, he would not have
+brought this disgrace upon himself."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Diana wondered whether her ears deceived her. "For Rupert!" she
+repeated. "Where is Rupert? Is he found?"</p>
+
+<p>"He has never been lost," was the curt rejoinder. "He has been all the
+time within a stone's throw&mdash;sheltered by Mark Canham, whom I shall not
+forget."</p>
+
+<p>She could not speak from perplexity; scarcely knowing whether to believe
+the words or not.</p>
+
+<p>"Your sister Edith&mdash;and James Chattaway may thank fortune that she is
+his wife, or I should visit the past in a very different manner upon
+him&mdash;and little Maude, and that handsome son of Tom Ryle's, have been in
+the secret; have visited him in private; stealthily doing for him what
+they could: but the fear and responsibility have well-nigh driven Edith
+and Maude to despair. That's where Rupert has been, Diana: where he is.
+I have not long come from him."</p>
+
+<p>Anger blazed forth from the eyes of Miss Diana Trevlyn. "And why could
+not Edith have communicated the fact to me?" she cried. "I could have
+done for him better than they."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps not," significantly replied the Squire: "considering that
+Chattaway was ruler of Trevlyn Hold, and you have throughout upheld his
+policy. But Trevlyn has another ruler now, and Rupert a protector."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Diana made no reply. She was too vexed to make one. Turning away,
+she flung a shawl over her shoulders, and marched onwards to the lodge,
+to pay a visit to the unhappy Rupert.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LIX" id="CHAPTER_LIX"></a>CHAPTER LIX</h2>
+
+<h3>NEWS FOR MAUDE</h3>
+
+
+<p>You should have seen the procession going up the avenue. Not that first
+night; but in the broad glare of the following noon-day. How Squire
+Trevlyn contrived to make things straight with the superintendent,
+Bowen, he best knew. Poor misguided Rupert was a free man again, and
+Policeman Dumps was busiest of all in helping to move him.</p>
+
+<p>The easiest carriage the Hold afforded was driven to the lodge. A
+shrunken, emaciated object Rupert looked as he tottered down the
+staircase, Squire Trevlyn standing below to catch him if he made a false
+step, George Ryle, ready with his protecting arm, and Mr. King,
+talkative as ever, following close behind. Old Canham stood leaning on
+his stick, and Ann curtsied behind the door.</p>
+
+<p>"It is the proudest day of my life, Master Rupert, to see you come to
+your rights," cried old Mark, stepping forward.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you for all, Mark!" cried Rupert, impulsively, as he held out his
+hand. "If I live, you shall see that I can be grateful."</p>
+
+<p>"You'll live fast enough now," interposed the Squire in his tone of
+authority. "If King does not bring you round in no time, he and I shall
+quarrel."</p>
+
+<p>"Good-bye, Ann," said Rupert. "I owe you more than I can ever repay. She
+has waited on me night and day, Uncle Rupert; has lain on that hard
+settle at night, and had no other bed since I have been here. She has
+offended all her employers, to stop at home and attend on me."</p>
+
+<p>Poor Ann Canham's tears were falling. "I shall get my places back, sir,
+I dare say. All I hope is, that you'll soon be about again, Master
+Rupert&mdash;and that you'll please excuse the poor accommodation father and
+me have been obliged to give you."</p>
+
+<p>Squire Trevlyn stood and looked at her. "Don't let it break your heart
+if the places don't come back to you. What did you earn? ten shillings a
+week?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no, sir! Poor folks like us couldn't earn such a sum as that."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Rupert will settle that upon you from to-day. Don't be overcome,
+woman. It is only fair, you know, that if he has put your living in
+peril, he should make it good to you."</p>
+
+<p>She was too overcome to answer; and the Squire stepped out with Rupert
+and found himself in the midst of a crowd. The incredible news of his
+return had spread far and wide, and people of all grades were flocking
+to the Hold to welcome him home. Old men, friends of the late Squire;
+middle-aged men, who had been hot-headed youths when he, Rupert, went
+away to exile and supposed death; younger ones, who had been children
+then and could not remember him, all were there. The chairman of the
+magistrates' bench himself helped Rupert into the carriage. He shook
+hands twenty times with the Squire, and linked his arm with that
+gentleman's to accompany him to the Hold. The carriage went at a
+foot-pace, Mr. King inside it with Rupert. "Go slowly; he must not be
+shaken," were the surgeon's orders to the coachman.</p>
+
+<p>The spectators looked on at the young heir as he leaned his head back in
+the carriage, which had been thrown open to the fine day. The air seemed
+to revive Rupert greatly. They watched him as he talked with George
+Ryle, who walked with his arm on the carriage door; they pressed round
+to get a word with him. Rupert, emancipated from the close confinement,
+the terrible <i>dread</i>, felt as a bird released from its cage, and his
+spirits went up to fever-heat.</p>
+
+<p>He held out his hands to one and another; and laughingly told them that
+in a week's time he should be in a condition to run a race with the best
+of them. "But you needn't expect him," put in Mr. King, by way of
+warning. "Before he is well enough to run races, I shall order him off
+to a warmer climate."</p>
+
+<p>As Rupert stepped out of the carriage, he saw, amongst the sea of faces
+pressing round, one face that struck upon his notice above all others,
+in its yearning, earnest sympathy, and he held out his hand impulsively.
+It was that of Jim Sanders, and as the boy sprang forward he burst into
+tears.</p>
+
+<p>"You and I must be better friends than ever, Jim. Cheer up. What's the
+matter?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's to see you looking like this, sir. You'll get well, sir, won't
+you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh yes; I feel all right now, Jim. A little tired, that's all. Come up
+and see me to-morrow, and I'll tell my uncle who you are and all about
+you."</p>
+
+<p>Standing at the door of the drawing-room, in an uncertain sort of
+attitude, was Mr. Chattaway. He was evidently undecided whether to
+receive the offending Rupert with a welcome, burst forth into a
+reproach, or run away and hide himself. Rupert decided it by walking up
+to him, and holding out his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Let us be friends, Mr. Chattaway. I have long repented of my mad
+passion, and I thank you for absolving me from its consequences. Perhaps
+you are sorry on your side for the treatment that drove me to it. We
+will be friends, if you like."</p>
+
+<p>But Mr. Chattaway did not respond to the generous feeling or touch the
+offered hand. He muttered something about its having been Rupert's
+fault, not his, and disappeared. Somehow he could not stand the keen eye
+of Squire Trevlyn that was fixed upon him.</p>
+
+<p>In truth it was a terrible time for Chattaway, and the man was living
+out his punishment. All his worst dread had come upon him without
+warning, and he could not rebel against it. There might be no attempt to
+dispute the claims of Squire Trevlyn; Mr. Chattaway was as completely
+deposed as though he had never held it.</p>
+
+<p>Rupert was installed in his luxurious room, everything within it that
+could contribute to his ease and comfort. Squire Trevlyn had been
+tenderly attached to his brother Joe when they were boys together. He
+robust, manly; Joe delicate. It may be that the want of strength in the
+younger only rendered him dearer to the elder brother. Perhaps it was
+only the old affection for Joe transferred now to the son; certain it
+was, that the Squire's love had already grown for Rupert, and all care
+was lavished on him.</p>
+
+<p>But as the days went on it became evident to all that Rupert had only
+come home to die. The removal over, the excitement of those wonderful
+changes toned down, the sad fact that he was certainly fading grew on
+Squire Trevlyn. Some one suggested that a warmer climate should be
+tried; but Mr. King, on being appealed to, answered that he must get
+stronger first; and his tone was significant.</p>
+
+<p>Squire Trevlyn noticed it. Later, when he had the surgeon to himself, he
+spoke to him. "King, you are concealing the danger? Can't we move him?"</p>
+
+<p>"I would have told you before, Squire, had you asked me. As to moving
+him to a warmer climate&mdash;certainly he could be moved, but he would only
+go there to die; and the very fatigue of the journey would shorten his
+life."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't believe it," retorted the Squire, awaking out of his dismay.
+"You are a croaker, King. I'll call in a doctor from Barmeston."</p>
+
+<p>"Call in all the doctors you like, Squire, if it will afford you
+satisfaction. When they understand his case, they will tell you as I
+do."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you mean to say that he must die?"</p>
+
+<p>"I fear he must; and speedily. The day before you came home I tried his
+lungs, and from that moment I have known there was no hope. The disease
+must have been upon him for some time; I suppose he inherits it from his
+father."</p>
+
+<p>The same night Squire Trevlyn sent for a physician: an eminent man: but
+he only confirmed the opinion of Mr. King. All that remained now was to
+break the tidings to Rupert; and to lighten, as far as might be, his
+passage to the grave.</p>
+
+<p>But a word must be spoken of the departure of Mr. Chattaway and his
+family from the Hold. That they must inevitably leave it had been
+unpleasantly clear to Mr. Chattaway from the very hour of Squire
+Trevlyn's arrival. He gave a day or two to digesting the dreadful
+necessity, and then began to turn his thoughts practically to the
+future.</p>
+
+<p>Squire Trevlyn had promised not to take from him anything he might have
+put by of his ill-gotten gains. These gains, though a fair sum, were not
+sufficient to enable him to live and keep his family, and Mr. Chattaway
+knew that he must do something in the shape of work. His thoughts
+turned, not unnaturally, to the Upland Farm, and he asked Squire Trevlyn
+to let him have the lease of it.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll let you have it upon one condition," said the Squire. "I should
+not choose my sister Edith to sink into obscurity, but she may live upon
+the Upland Farm without losing caste; it is a fine place both as to land
+and residence. Therefore, I'll let it you, I say, upon one condition."</p>
+
+<p>Maude Trevlyn happened to be present at the conversation, and spoke in
+the moment's impulse.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Uncle Rupert! you promised&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Miss Maude?" he cried, and fixing his eyes on her glowing face.
+Maude timidly continued.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought you promised someone else the Upland Farm."</p>
+
+<p>"That favourite of yours and of Rupert's, George Ryle? But I am not
+going to let him have it. Well, Mr. Chattaway?"</p>
+
+<p>"What is the condition?" inquired Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"That you use the land well. I shall have a clause inserted in the lease
+by which you may cease to be my tenant at any time by my giving you a
+twelvemonth's notice; and if I find you carrying your parsimonious
+nature into the management of the Upland Farm, as you have on this land,
+I shall surely take it from you."</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter with this land?" asked Mr. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"The matter is, that I find the land impoverished. You have spared money
+upon it in your mistaken policy, and the inevitable result has followed.
+You have been penny wise and pound foolish, Chattaway; as you were when
+you suffered the rick-yard to remain uninsured."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway's face darkened, but he made no reply to the allusion.
+"I'll undertake to do the farm justice, Squire Trevlyn, if you will
+lease it to me."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well. Let me, however, candidly assure you that, but for Edith's
+sake, I'd see you starve before you should have had a homestead on this
+land. It is my habit to be plain-spoken: I must be especially so with
+you. I suffer from you in all ways, James Chattaway. I suffer always in
+my nephew Rupert. When I think of the treatment dealt out to him from
+you, I can scarcely refrain from treating you to a taste of the
+punishment you inflicted upon him. It is possible, too, that had the boy
+been more tenderly cared for, he might have had strength to resist this
+disease which has crept upon him. About that I cannot speak; it must lie
+between you and God; his father, with every comfort, could not escape
+it, it seems; and possibly Rupert might not have done so."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway made no reply. The Squire, after a pause, during which he
+had been plunged in thought, continued. "I suffer also in the matter of
+the two-thousand-pound debt of Thomas Ryle's, and I have a great
+mind&mdash;do you hear me, sir?&mdash;I have a great mind that the refunding it
+should come out of your pocket instead of mine; even though I had to get
+it from you by suing you for so much of the mesne profits."</p>
+
+<p>"Refunding the debt?" repeated Mr. Chattaway, looking absolutely
+confounded. "Refunding it to whom?"</p>
+
+<p>"To the Ryles, of course. That money was as surely given by my father to
+them on his death-bed, as that I am here, talking to you. I feel, I know
+that it was. I know that Thomas Ryle, ever a man of honour, spoke the
+truth when he asserted it. Do you think I can do less than refund it? I
+don't, if you do."</p>
+
+<p>"George Ryle does not want it; he is capable of working for his living,"
+was the only answer Mr. Chattaway in his anger could give.</p>
+
+<p>"I do not suppose he will want it," was the quiet remark of Squire
+Trevlyn; "I dare say he'll manage to do without it. It is to Mrs. Ryle
+that I shall refund it, sir. Between you all, I find that she was cut
+off with a shilling at my father's death."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway liked the conversation less and less. He deemed it might
+be as agreeable to leave details to another opportunity, and withdrew.
+Squire Trevlyn looking round for Maude, discerned her at the end of the
+room, her head bent in sorrow.</p>
+
+<p>"What's this, young lady? Because I don't let Mr. George Ryle the Upland
+Farm? You great goose! I have reserved a better one for him."</p>
+
+<p>The tone was peculiar, and she raised her timid eyelids. "A better one!"
+she stammered.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Trevlyn Hold."</p>
+
+<p>Maude looked aghast. "What do you mean, Uncle Rupert?"</p>
+
+<p>"My dear, but for this unhappy fiat which appears to have gone forth for
+your brother Rupert, perhaps I might have let the Upland Farm to George.
+As it is, I cannot part with both of you. If poor Rupert is to be taken
+from me, you must remain."</p>
+
+<p>She looked up, utterly unable to understand him.</p>
+
+<p>"And as you appear not to be inclined to part with Mr. George, all that
+can be done in the matter, so far as I see, is that we must have him at
+the Hold."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Uncle Rupert!" And Maude's head and her joyous tears were hidden in
+the loving arms that were held out to shelter her.</p>
+
+<p>"Child! Did you think I had come home to make my dead brother's children
+unhappy? You will know me better by and by, Maude."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LX" id="CHAPTER_LX"></a>CHAPTER LX</h2>
+
+<h3>A BETTER HEIRSHIP</h3>
+
+
+<p>A short time, and people had settled down in their places. Squire
+Trevlyn was alone at the Hold with Maude and Rupert, the Chattaways were
+at the Upland Farm, and Miss Diana Trevlyn had taken up her abode in a
+pretty house belonging to herself. Circumstances had favoured the
+removal of Mr. Chattaway from the Hold almost immediately after the
+arrival of Squire Trevlyn. The occupant of the Upland Farm, who only
+remained in it because his time was not up until spring, was glad to
+find it would be an accommodation if he quitted it earlier; he did so,
+and by Christmas the Chattaways were installed in it.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chattaway had set to work in earnest.</p>
+
+<p>Things were changed with him. At the Hold, whether he was up and doing,
+or lay in bed in idleness, his revenues came in to him. At the Upland
+Farm he must be up early and in bed late, for the eye of a master was
+necessary if the land was to yield its increase; and by that increase he
+and his family had now to live. There was a serious battle with Cris. It
+was deemed advisable for the interest of both parties&mdash;that is, for Mr.
+Cris and his father&mdash;that the younger man should enter upon some
+occupation of his own; but Cris resolutely refused. He could find plenty
+to do on the Upland Farm, he urged, and wouldn't be turned out of his
+home. In fact, Mr. Cris had lived so long without work, that it was
+difficult, now he was leaving his youth behind him, to begin it. Better,
+as Squire Trevlyn said, the change had been made years ago. It was
+certainly hard for Cris; let us acknowledge it. He had been reared to
+the expectation of Trevlyn Hold and its revenues; had lorded it as the
+future master. When he rose in the morning, early or late, as
+inclination prompted him, he had nothing more formidable before him than
+to ride about attended by his groom. He had indulged in outdoor sports,
+hunting, shooting, fishing, at will; no care upon him, except how he
+could most agreeably get through the day. He had been addicted to riding
+or driving into Barmester, lounging about the streets for the benefit of
+admiring spectators, or taking a turn in the billiard-rooms. All that
+was over now; Mr. Cris's leisure and greatness had come to an end; his
+groom would take service elsewhere, his fine horse must be used for
+other purposes than pleasure. In short, poor Cris Chattaway had fallen
+from his high estate, as many another has fallen before him, and must
+henceforth earn his bread before he ate it. "There's room for both on
+the Upland Farm, and a good living for both," Cris urged upon his
+father; and though Mr. Chattaway demurred, he gave way, and allowed Cris
+to remain. With all his severity to others, he had lost his authority
+over his children, especially over Cris and Octave, and perhaps he
+scarcely dared to maintain his own will against that of Cris, or tell
+him he should go if he chose to stay. Cris had no more love for work
+than anyone else has brought up to idleness; and Cris knew quite well
+that the easiest life he could now enter upon would be that of
+pretending to be busy upon the farm. When the dispute was at its height
+between himself and his father, as to what the future arrangements
+should be, Cris so far bestirred himself as to ask Squire Trevlyn to
+give him the post of manager at Blackstone. But the Squire had heard
+quite enough of the past doings there, and told Cris, with the plainness
+that was natural to him, that he would not have either him or his father
+in power at Blackstone, if they paid him in gold. And so Cris was at
+home.</p>
+
+<p>There were other changes also in Mr. Chattaway's family. Maude's
+tuition, that Octave had been ever ready to find fault with, was over
+for ever, and Octave had taken her place. Amelia was at home, for
+expenses had to be curtailed. An outlay quite suitable for the master of
+Trevlyn Hold would be imprudent in the tenant of the Upland Farm. They
+found Maude's worth now that they had lost her; could appreciate the
+sweetness of her temper, her gentle patience. Octave, who also liked an
+idle life, had undertaken the tuition of her sisters with a very bad
+grace: hating the trouble and labour. She might have refused but for
+Miss Diana Trevlyn. Miss Diana had not lost her good sense or love of
+ruling on leaving Trevlyn Hold, and openly told Octave that she must
+bend to circumstances as well as her parents, and that if she would not
+teach her sisters, she had better go out as governess and earn her
+living. Octave could have annihilated Miss Diana for the unwelcome
+suggestion&mdash;but she offered no further opposition to the arrangement.</p>
+
+<p>Life was very hard just then for Octave Chattaway. She had inherited the
+envious, selfish disposition of her father, and the very fact that Maude
+and herself had changed positions was sufficient to vex her almost
+beyond endurance. She had become the drudge whose days must be passed
+beating grammar into the obtuse minds of her rebellious sisters; Maude,
+the mistress of Trevlyn Hold. How things would go on it was difficult to
+say; for the scenes that frequently took place between Octave and her
+pupils disturbed to a grave degree the peace of the Upland Farm. Octave
+was impatient, fretful, and exacting; they were tantalising and
+disobedient. Quarrels were incessant; and now and then it came to blows.
+Octave's temper urged her to personal correction, and the girls retorted
+in kind.</p>
+
+<p>It is in human nature to exaggerate, and Octave not only exaggerated her
+troubles but wilfully made the worst of them. Instead of patiently
+sitting down to her new duties, and striving to perform them so that in
+time they might become a pleasure, she steeled herself against them. A
+terrible jealousy of Maude had taken possession of her; jealousy in more
+senses than one. There was a gate in their grounds overlooking the
+highway to Trevlyn Hold, and it was Octave's delight to stand there and
+watch, at the hour when Maude might be expected to pass. Sometimes in
+the open carriage&mdash;sometimes she would drive in a closed one, but always
+accompanied by the symbols of wealth and position, fine horses,
+attendant servants&mdash;Miss Maude Trevlyn, of Trevlyn Hold. And Octave
+would watch stealthily until they were out of sight, and gather fresh
+food for her unhappy state of mind. It would seem strange she should
+thus torment herself, but that the human heart is full of such
+contradictions.</p>
+
+<p>One day that she was standing there, Mrs. Ryle passed. And it may as
+well be remarked that, Mr. Chattaway excepted, Mrs. Ryle seemed most to
+resent the changes: not her brother's return, but some of its results.
+In the certainty of Rupert's not living to succeed&mdash;and it was a
+certainty now&mdash;Mrs. Ryle had again cherished hopes for her son Trevlyn.
+She had been exceedingly vexed when she heard the Upland Farm was leased
+to Mr. Chattaway, and thought George must have played his cards badly.
+She allowed her resentment to smoulder for a time, but one day so far
+forgot herself as to demand of George whether he thought two masters
+would answer upon the Farm; and hinted that it was time he left, and
+made room for Treve.</p>
+
+<p>George, though his cheek burnt&mdash;for her, not for himself&mdash;calmly
+answered, that he expected shortly to leave it: relieving her of his
+presence, Treve of his personal advice and help.</p>
+
+<p>"But you did not get the Upland?" she reiterated. "And I have been told
+this morning that the other farm you thought of is let over your head."</p>
+
+<p>"Stay, mother," was George's answer. "You are ready to blame Squire
+Trevlyn for letting these farms, and not to me; but my views have
+altered. I do not now wish to lease the Upland, or any other farm.
+Squire Trevlyn has proposed something else to me&mdash;I am to manage his own
+land for him."</p>
+
+<p>"Manage his land for him! Do you mean the land attached to Trevlyn?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"And where shall you live?"</p>
+
+<p>"With him: at Trevlyn Hold."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Ryle could scarcely speak from amazement. "I never heard of such a
+thing!" she exclaimed, staring excessively at the smile hovering on his
+lips, which he vainly endeavoured to suppress. "What can it mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is assured, unhappily, that Rupert cannot live. Had he regained
+health and strength, he would have filled this place. But he will not
+regain it. Squire Trevlyn spoke to me, and I am to be with him at the
+Hold."</p>
+
+<p>George did not add that he at first fought with Squire Trevlyn against
+going to the Hold, as <i>its heir</i>&mdash;for indeed it meant nothing less. He
+would rather make his own fortune than have it made for him, he said.
+Very well, the Squire answered equably, he could give up the Hold if he
+liked, but he must give up Maude with it. And you may guess whether
+George would do that.</p>
+
+<p>But Mrs. Ryle did not recover from her surprise or see things clearly.
+"Of course, I can understand that Rupert Trevlyn would have held sway on
+the estate, just as a son would; but what my brother can mean by wanting
+a 'manager' I cannot understand. You say you are to <i>live</i> at Trevlyn
+Hold?"</p>
+
+<p>The smile grew very conspicuous on George's lips. "It is so arranged,"
+he answered. "And therefore I no longer wish to rent the Upland."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Ryle stared as if she did not believe it. She fell into deep
+thought&mdash;from which she suddenly started, put on her bonnet, and went
+straight to Trevlyn Hold.</p>
+
+<p>A pretty little mare's nest she indulged in as she went along. If Rupert
+was to be called away from this world, the only fit and proper person to
+succeed him as the Squire's heir was her son Treve. In which case,
+George would not be required as manager, and their anticipated positions
+might be reversed; Treve take up his abode at the Hold, George remain at
+the farm.</p>
+
+<p>Squire Trevlyn was alone. She gave herself no time to reconsider the
+propriety of speaking at all, or what she should say; but without
+circumlocution told him that, failing Rupert, Trevlyn must be the heir.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, dear, no," said the Squire. "You forget Maude."</p>
+
+<p>"Maude!"</p>
+
+<p>"If poor Rupert is to be taken, Maude remains to me. And she will
+inherit Trevlyn Hold."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Ryle compressed her lips. "Is it well to leave Trevlyn Hold to a
+woman? Your father would not do it, Rupert."</p>
+
+<p>"I am not bound to adopt the prejudices of my father. I imagine the
+reason of his disinheriting Maude&mdash;whose birth and existence it appears
+he did know of&mdash;was the anger he felt towards Joe and her mother, for
+having married in opposition to him. But that does not extend to me.
+Were I capable of leaving the estate away from Joe's children, I should
+deem myself as bad as Chattaway."</p>
+
+<p>"Maude is a girl; it ought not to be held by a girl," was Mrs. Ryle's
+reiterated answer.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, that objection need not trouble you; for in point of fact, it
+will be held by Maude's husband. Indeed, I am not sure but I shall
+bequeath it direct to him. I believe I shall do so."</p>
+
+<p>"She may never marry."</p>
+
+<p>"She will marry immediately. You don't mean to say he has not let you
+into the secret?" as he gazed on her puzzled face. "Has George told you
+nothing?"</p>
+
+<p>"He has just told me that he was coming here as your manager," she
+replied, not in the least comprehending Squire Trevlyn's drift.</p>
+
+<p>"And as Maude's husband. My manager, eh? He put it in that way, did he?
+He will come here as my son-in-law&mdash;I may say so for I regard Maude as
+my daughter and recognised successor. George Ryle comes here as the
+future Squire of Trevlyn Hold."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Ryle was five minutes recovering herself. Utterly unable to digest
+the news, she could do nothing but stare. George Ryle inheritor of
+Trevlyn Hold! Was she awake or dreaming?</p>
+
+<p>"It ought to be Trevlyn's," she said at length. "He is your direct
+relative; George Ryle is none."</p>
+
+<p>"I know he is not. I leave it to him as Maude's husband, and he will
+take the name of Trevlyn. You should have got Maude to fall in love with
+the other one, if you wished him to succeed."</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps it was the most unhappy moment in all Mrs. Ryle's life. Never
+had she given up the hope of her son's succession until now. That George
+should supplant him!&mdash;George, whom she had so despised! She sat beating
+her foot on the carpet, her pale face bent.</p>
+
+<p>"It is not right; it is not right," she said, at length. "George Ryle is
+not worthy to succeed to Trevlyn Hold: it is reversing the order of
+things."</p>
+
+<p>"Not worthy!" echoed Squire Trevlyn. "Your judgment must be strangely
+prejudiced to say so. Of all who have flocked from far and near to
+welcome me home, I have looked in vain for a second George Ryle. He has
+not his equal. If I hesitated at the first moment to give him Maude, I
+don't hesitate now that I know him. I can tell you that had Maude chosen
+unworthily, as your sister Edith did, her husband should never have come
+in for Trevlyn Hold."</p>
+
+<p>"Is your decision irrevocable?"</p>
+
+<p>"Entirely so. I wish them to be married immediately; for I should like
+George to be installed here as soon as possible, and, of course, he
+cannot come until Maude is his wife. Rupert wishes it."</p>
+
+<p>"It appears to me that this arrangement is very premature," resumed Mrs.
+Ryle. "You may marry yet, and have children of your own."</p>
+
+<p>A change came over Squire Trevlyn's face. "I shall never marry," he
+said, with emphasis; and to Mrs. Ryle's ears there was a strange
+solemnity in his tones. "You need not ask me why, for I shall not enter
+into reasons; let the assurance suffice&mdash;<i>I shall never marry</i>. Trevlyn
+Hold will be as securely theirs as though I bequeathed it to them by
+deed of gift."</p>
+
+<p>"Rupert, this is a blow for my son."</p>
+
+<p>"If you persist in considering it so, I cannot help that. It must have
+been very foolish of you ever to cast a thought to your son's
+succeeding, whilst Joe's children were living."</p>
+
+<p>"Foolish! when one of my sons&mdash;my step-son, at any rate&mdash;is to succeed,
+as it seems!"</p>
+
+<p>The Squire laughed. "You must talk to Maude about that. They had settled
+their plans together before I came home. If Treve turns out all he
+should be, I may remember him before I die. Trevlyn Farm was originally
+the birthright of the Ryles; I may possibly make it so again in the
+person of Treve. Don't let us go on with the discussion; it will only be
+lost labour. Will you see Rupert?"</p>
+
+<p>She had the sense to see that if it were prolonged until night, it would
+indeed be useless, and she rose to follow him into the next room.
+Rupert, not looking very ill to-day, sat near the fire. Maude was
+reading to him.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it you, Aunt Ryle!" he called out feebly. "You never come to see
+me."</p>
+
+<p>"I am sorry to hear you are so poorly, Rupert."</p>
+
+<p>"I am not half as ill as I feared I should be," he said. "I thought by
+this time it&mdash;it would have been all over. But I seem better. Where's
+George?"</p>
+
+<p>"George is at home. I have been talking to your uncle about him. Until
+to-day I did not know what was in contemplation."</p>
+
+<p>"He'll make a better Squire than I should have made," cried Rupert,
+lifting his eyes&mdash;bluer and brighter than ever, from disease&mdash;to her
+face. Maude made her escape from the room, and Squire Trevlyn had not
+entered it, so they were alone. "But, Aunt Ryle, I want it to be soon;
+before I die. I should like George to be here to see the last of me."</p>
+
+<p>"I think I might have been informed of this before," observed Mrs. Ryle.</p>
+
+<p>"It has not been told to any one. Uncle Rupert and I, George and Maude
+have kept the secret between us. Only think, Aunt Ryle! that after all
+the hopes, contentions, heart-burnings, George Ryle should succeed to
+Trevlyn Hold."</p>
+
+<p>She could not bear this repeated harping on the one string. George's
+conduct to his step-mother had been exemplary, and she was not
+insensible to the fact; but she was one of those second wives who feel
+an instinctive dislike to their step-children. Very bitter, for Treve's
+sake, was her heart-jealousy now.</p>
+
+<p>"I will come in and see you another day, Rupert," she said, rising
+abruptly. "This morning I am too vexed to remain longer."</p>
+
+<p>"What has vexed you, Aunt Ryle?"</p>
+
+<p>"I hoped that Treve&mdash;failing you&mdash;would have been the heir."</p>
+
+<p>Rupert opened his eyes in wonder. "Treve?&mdash;whilst Maude lives! Not he. I
+can tell you what I think, Aunt Ryle; that had there been no Maude,
+Treve would never have come in for the Hold. I don't fancy Uncle Rupert
+would have left it to him."</p>
+
+<p>"To whom would he have left it, do you fancy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well&mdash;I suppose," slowly turning the matter over in his mind&mdash;"I
+suppose, in that case, it would have been Aunt Diana. But there is
+Maude, Aunt Ryle, and we need not discuss it. George and Maude will have
+it, and their children after them."</p>
+
+<p>"Poor boy!" she said, with a touch of compassion; "it is a sad fate for
+you! Not to live to inherit!"</p>
+
+<p>A gentle smile rose to his face, and he pointed upwards. "There's a
+better heirship for me, Aunt Ryle."</p>
+
+<p>It was upon returning from this memorable interview with Squire Trevlyn,
+that Mrs. Ryle met Octave Chattaway and stopped to speak.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you getting settled, Octave?"</p>
+
+<p>"Tolerably so. Mamma says she shall not be straight in six months to
+come. Have you been to the Hold?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," replied Mrs. Ryle, turning her determined gaze on Octave. "Have
+you heard the news? That the Squire has chosen his heir?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," breathlessly rejoined Octave. "We have heard that Rupert is beyond
+hope; but nothing else. It will be Maude, I conclude."</p>
+
+<p>"It is to be George Ryle."</p>
+
+<p>"George Ryle!" repeated Octave, in amazement.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. I believe it will be left to him, not to Maude. But it will be all
+the same. He is to marry her, and to take the name of Trevlyn. George
+never told me this. He just said to-day that he was going to live at the
+Hold; but he never said it was as Maude's husband and the Squire's heir.
+How prospects have changed!"</p>
+
+<p>Changed! Ay, Octave felt it to her inmost soul, as she leaned against
+the gate, and gazed in thought after Mrs. Ryle. Gazed without seeing or
+hearing, deep in her heart's tribulation, her hand pressed upon her
+bosom, her pale face quivering as it was turned to the winter sky.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LXI" id="CHAPTER_LXI"></a>CHAPTER LXI</h2>
+
+<h3>A BETTER HEIRSHIP</h3>
+
+
+<p>Bending in tenderness over the couch of Rupert Trevlyn was Mrs.
+Chattaway. Madam Chattaway no longer; she had quitted that distinctive
+title on quitting Trevlyn Hold. It was a warm day early in May, and
+Rupert had lingered on; the progress of the disease being so gradual, so
+imperceptible, that even the medical men were deceived; and now that the
+end had come, they were still saying that he might last until the
+autumn.</p>
+
+<p>Rupert had been singularly favoured: some, stricken by this dire malady,
+are so. Scarcely any of its painful features were apparent; and Mr. Daw
+wrote word that they had not been in his father. There was scarcely any
+cough or pain, and though the weakness was certainly great, Rupert had
+not for one single day taken to his bed. Until within two days of this
+very time, when you see Mrs. Chattaway leaning over him, he had gone out
+in the carriage whenever the weather permitted. He could not sit up
+much, but chiefly lay on the sofa as he was lying now, facing the
+window, open to the warm noon-day sun. The room was the one you have
+frequently seen before, once the sitting-room of Mrs. Chattaway. When
+the Chattaways left the Hold, Rupert had changed to their rooms; and
+would sit there and watch the visitors who came up the avenue.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway had been staying at the Hold since the previous Tuesday,
+for Maude was away from it. Maude left it with George Ryle on that day,
+but they were coming home this Saturday evening, for both were anxious
+not to be long away from Rupert. Rupert sadly wanted to attend the
+wedding, and the Squire and Mr. Freeman strove to invent all sorts of
+schemes for warming the church; but it persisted in remaining cold and
+damp, and Rupert was not allowed to venture. He sat with them, however,
+at the breakfast afterwards, and but for his attenuated form and the
+hectic excitement brought to his otherwise white and hollow cheeks,
+might have passed very well for a guest. George, with his marriage, had
+taken the name of Trevlyn, for the Squire insisted upon it, and he would
+come home to the Hold to-day as his permanent abode. Miss Diana received
+mortal offence at the wedding-breakfast, and sat cold and impenetrable,
+for the Squire requested his elder sister to preside in right of birth,
+and Miss Diana had long considered herself far more important than Mrs.
+Ryle, and had expected to be chief on that occasion herself.</p>
+
+<p>"Shall we invite Edith or Diana to stay with you whilst Maude's away?"
+the Squire had inquired of Rupert. And a flush of pleasure came into the
+wan face as he answered, "My aunt Edith. I should like to be again with
+Aunt Edith."</p>
+
+<p>So Mrs. Chattaway had remained with him, and passed the time as she was
+doing now&mdash;hovering round his couch, giving him all her care, caressing
+him in her loving, gentle manner, whispering of the happy life on which
+he was about to enter.</p>
+
+<p>She had some eau-de-cologne in her hand, and was pouring it on a
+handkerchief to pass it lightly over his brow and temples. In doing this
+a drop went into his eye.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Rupert, I am so sorry! How awkward I am!"</p>
+
+<p>It smarted very much, but Rupert smiled bravely. "Just a few minutes'
+pain, Aunt Edith. That's all. Do you know what I have got to think
+lately?"</p>
+
+<p>She put the cork into the long green bottle, and sat down close to his
+sofa. "What, dear?"</p>
+
+<p>"That we must be blind, foolish mortals to fret so much under
+misfortunes. A little patience, and they pass away."</p>
+
+<p>"It would be better for us all if we had more patience, more trust," she
+answered. "If we could leave things more entirely to God."</p>
+
+<p>Rupert lay with his eyes cast upwards, blue as the sky he looked at. "I
+would have tried to put that great trust in God, had I lived," he said,
+after a pause. "Do you know, Aunt Edith, at times I do wish I could have
+lived."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish so, too," she murmured.</p>
+
+<p>"At least, I should wish it but for this feeling of utter fatigue that
+is always upon me. I sha'n't feel it up there, Aunt Edith."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no," she whispered.</p>
+
+<p>"When you get near to death, knowing that it is upon you, as I know it,
+I think you obtain clearer views of the reality of things. It seems to
+me, looking back on the life I am leaving, as if it were of no
+consequence at what period of life we die; whether young or old; and yet
+how terrible a calamity death is looked upon by people in general."</p>
+
+<p>"It needs sorrow or illness to reconcile us to it, Rupert. Most of us
+must be tired of this life ere we can bring ourselves to anticipate
+another, and wish for it."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I have not had so happy a life here," he unthinkingly remarked.
+"I ought not to murmur at exchanging it for another."</p>
+
+<p>No, he had not. The words had been spoken without thought, innocent of
+intentional reproach; but she was feeling them to the very depths of her
+long-tried heart. Mrs. Chattaway was not famous for the control of her
+emotions, and she broke into tears as she rose and bent over him.</p>
+
+<p>"The recollection of the past is ever upon me, Rupert, night and day.
+Say you forgive me! Say it now, ere the time for it shall have gone by."</p>
+
+<p>He looked surprised. "Forgive you, dear Aunt Edith? I have never had
+anything to forgive you; and others I have forgiven long ago."</p>
+
+<p>"I lie awake at night and think of it, Rupert," she said, her tones
+betraying her great emotion. "Had you been differently treated, you
+might not have died just as your rights are recognised. You might have
+lived to be the inheritor as well as the heir of Trevlyn."</p>
+
+<p>Rupert lay pondering. "But I must have died at last," he said. "And I
+might not have been any the better for it. Aunt Edith, it seems to me to
+be just this. I am twenty-one years old, and a life of some sort is
+before me, a life <i>here</i>, or a life <i>there</i>. At my age it is only
+natural that I should look forward to the life here, and I did so until
+I grew sick with weariness and pain. But if that life is the better and
+happier one, does it not seem a favour to be taken to it before my time?
+Aunt Edith, I say that as death comes on, I believe we see things as
+they really are, not as they seem. I was to have inherited Trevlyn Hold:
+but I shall exchange it for a better inheritance. Let this comfort you."</p>
+
+<p>She sat, weeping silently, holding his hand in hers. Rupert said no
+more, but kept his eyes fixed upwards in thought. Gradually the lids
+closed, and his breathing, somewhat more regular than when awake, told
+that he slept. Mrs. Chattaway laid his hand on the coverlet, dried her
+eyes, and busied herself about the room.</p>
+
+<p>About half-an-hour afterwards he awoke. She was sitting down then,
+watching him. It almost seemed as if her gaze had awakened him, for she
+had only just taken her seat.</p>
+
+<p>"Have they come?" were his first words.</p>
+
+<p>"Not yet, Rupert."</p>
+
+<p>"Not yet! Will they be long? I feel sinking."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway hastily called for the refreshment Rupert had until now
+constantly taken. But he turned his head away as it was placed before
+him.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear, you said you were sinking!"</p>
+
+<p>"Not <i>that</i> sort of sinking, Aunt Edith. Nothing that food will remedy."</p>
+
+<p>A tremor came over Mrs. Chattaway. She detected a change in his voice,
+saw the change in his countenance. It has just been said, and not for
+the first time in this history, that she could not boast of much
+self-control: and she hurried from the room, calling for Squire Trevlyn.
+He heard her, and came immediately, wondering much. "It is Rupert," she
+said in irrepressible excitement. "He says he is dying."</p>
+
+<p>Rupert had not said so: though, perhaps, what he did say was almost
+equivalent to it, and she had jumped to the conclusion. When Squire
+Trevlyn reached him, he was lying with his eyes closed and the changed
+look on his white face. A servant stood near the table where the tray of
+refreshment had been placed, gazing at him.</p>
+
+<p>The Squire hastily felt his forehead, then his hand. "What ails you, my
+boy?" he asked, subduing his voice as it never was subdued, save to the
+sick Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>Rupert opened his eyes. "Have they come, uncle? I want Maude."</p>
+
+<p>"They won't be long now," looking at his watch. "Don't you feel so well,
+Rupert?"</p>
+
+<p>"I feel like&mdash;going," was the answer: and as Rupert spoke he gasped for
+breath. The servant stepped forward and raised his head. Mrs. Chattaway,
+who had again come in, broke into a cry.</p>
+
+<p>"Edith!" reproved the Squire. "A pretty one you are for a sick room! If
+you cannot be calm and quiet, better keep out of it."</p>
+
+<p>He quitted it himself as he spoke, called for his own groom, and bade
+him hasten for Mr. King. Rupert looked better when he returned; the
+spasm, or whatever it was, had passed, and he was holding the hand of
+Mrs. Chattaway.</p>
+
+<p>"Aunt Edith was frightened," he said, turning his eyes on his uncle.</p>
+
+<p>"She always was one to be frightened at nothing," cried the Squire. "Do
+you feel faint, my boy?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's gone now," answered Rupert.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chattaway poured out some cordial, and he drank it without
+difficulty. Afterwards he seemed to revive, and spoke to them now and
+then, though he lay so still as to give an idea that all motion had
+departed from him. Even when the sound of wheels was heard in the avenue
+he did not stir, though he evidently heard.</p>
+
+<p>"It's only Ralph," remarked the Squire. "I sent him out in the gig."</p>
+
+<p>Rupert slightly shook his head and a half-smile illumined his face. The
+Squire also became aware of the fact that what they heard was not the
+noise of gig-wheels. He went down to the hall-door.</p>
+
+<p>It was the carriage bringing back the bride and bridegroom. Maude sprang
+lightly in, and the Squire took her in his arms.</p>
+
+<p>"Welcome home, my darling!"</p>
+
+<p>Maude laughed and blushed, and the Squire left her and turned to George.</p>
+
+<p>"How is Rupert, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>"He has been famous until half-an-hour ago. Since then there has been a
+change. You had better go up at once; he has been asking for you and
+Maude. I have sent for King."</p>
+
+<p>George drew his wife's hand within his arm, and led her upstairs. No one
+was in the room with Rupert, except Mrs. Chattaway. He never moved or
+stirred, as they advanced and bent over him, Maude throwing off her
+bonnet; he only gazed up at their faces with a happy smile.</p>
+
+<p>Maude's eyes were swimming; George was startled. Surely death was even
+now upon him. It had come closer in this short interval between Squire
+Trevlyn's departure from the room and his return.</p>
+
+<p>Rupert lay passively, his wasted hands in theirs. Maude was the first to
+give way. "My darling brother! I did not expect to find you like this."</p>
+
+<p>"I am going on before, Maude," he breathed, his voice so low they had to
+stoop to catch it. "You will come later."</p>
+
+<p>A cry from Mrs. Chattaway interrupted him. "Oh, Rupert, say you forgive
+the past! You have not said it. You must not die with unforgiveness in
+your heart."</p>
+
+<p>He looked at her wonderingly; a look which seemed to ask if she had
+forgotten his assertion only an hour ago. He laid his hands feebly
+together holding them raised. "God bless and forgive all who may have
+been unkind to me, as I forgive them&mdash;as I have forgiven them long ago.
+God bless and forgive us all, and take us when this life is over to our
+heavenly home; for the sake of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ."</p>
+
+<p>"Amen!" said the Squire.</p>
+
+<p>A deep silence fell on them only to be broken by the entrance of Mr.
+King. He came quietly up to the sofa, glanced at Rupert, and kept his
+eyes fixed for the space of a minute. Then he turned to the Squire. The
+face was already the face of the dead. With the sorrows and joys of this
+world, Rupert Trevlyn had done for ever.</p>
+
+
+<h3>THE END</h3>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="By_Charles_W_Wood_FRGS" id="By_Charles_W_Wood_FRGS"></a>By Charles W. Wood, F.R.G.S.</h2>
+
+<h3>Glories of Spain.</h3>
+
+<p><i>EXTRACTS FROM THE PRESS.</i></p>
+
+<blockquote><p>"In 'Glories of Spain' Mr. Charles W. Wood has added another
+highly-interesting volume to his series of books dealing with
+Continental travel. We ourselves have seen just enough of Spain
+to make us long to see more, and the beautifully illustrated
+book before us, with its glowing descriptions of architecture
+and scenery, renders this longing well-nigh irresistible. Mr.
+Wood has all the zeal of an enthusiast for all that is really
+beautiful in Nature or in art. He has the pen of a ready
+writer, he is keenly observant of all those small details which
+go to make up a beautiful picture, and he is able to transfer
+to paper, in most realistic form, the impressions he has
+gathered.... This book is something more than a guide, even of
+the highest character. The author makes friends with all sorts
+and conditions of men and women, and by his own sympathetic
+character draws from each his life's story, which is here set
+down in telling manner. Mr. Wood is gifted, too, with an ample
+fund of humour."&mdash;<i>Westminster Gazette.</i></p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Wood is an ideal guide. A keen observer, nothing escapes
+his practised eye, whilst his highly cultivated artistic
+instincts and tastes revel in the atmosphere of romance and
+poetry in which the country is steeped; and his 'enthusiasm for
+humanity' makes him feel an interest in every human being with
+whom he is brought into contact. There are some delightful
+talks with all sorts and conditions of men and women in the
+book."&mdash;<i>Literature.</i></p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Wood's new volume has all the charm of his earlier books.
+It is a world of enchantment into which we wander, and Mr. Wood
+knows how to excite our interest in the quaint houses, the
+gorgeous cathedrals, and the warm-hearted people in the
+north-eastern corner of Spain. Mr. Wood is an enthusiast, and
+his readers will quickly share his enthusiasm. His pictures are
+works of art, steeped in poetry and sunshine."&mdash;<i>London
+Quarterly Review.</i></p>
+
+<p>"This narrative of travel affords light and pleasant reading.
+Mr. Wood has an agreeable way, like certain old-fashioned
+travellers, of breaking the stream of travel or of description
+with some romantic story. These episodes add not a little to
+the reader's enjoyment."&mdash;<i>St. James's Gazette.</i></p>
+
+<p>"Readers of Mr. Wood's travel books scarcely require any
+reminder of the bright and facile style in which he records the
+impressions and incidents of his wayfaring."&mdash;<i>Westminster
+Gazette.</i></p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Wood is an excellent cicerone and, moreover, has what
+every traveller in a foreign country has not&mdash;an evident
+capacity for making friends with the natives. He is an
+enthusiastic admirer of the beauties alike of Spanish nature
+and Spanish art."&mdash;<i>Pall Mall Gazette.</i></p>
+
+<p>"By degrees the persevering reader begins to realise that he is
+'doing' Catalonia in the company of one who not only possesses
+a fund of quiet humour and a cultivated mind, and an observant
+eye for the beauties of Nature and of the works of man, but is
+also endowed with a fine power of sympathy, which attracts to
+him, in quite an unusual degree, the confidence of those with
+whom he comes in contact."&mdash;<i>Daily News.</i></p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Wood's 'Glories of Spain' is enough to increase
+perceptibly the flow of travellers in Spain.... The real value
+of the book will be found in its treatment of the architectural
+and other glories which still remain to the impoverished
+Peninsula. Mr. Wood's account of them and their associations
+ought to divert the attention of tourists with means and energy
+from more conventional paths."&mdash;<i>Yorkshire Post.</i></p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Wood has a singularly fascinating style in presenting his
+impressions of these old-world lands. To an observant eye and a
+listening ear he adds a charm of manner which is rare amongst
+authors who specialise in travel-talk. The book makes excellent
+reading. It is a book to get, a book to read, and a book to
+keep."&mdash;<i>Sheffield Daily Telegraph.</i></p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Wood has provided us with such a charming description of
+his travels that deep regret is felt when the sojourn in Spain
+draws to its close&mdash;regret which, we are sure, must have been
+very keenly felt by the author. This regret will be thus felt
+by Mr. Wood's readers. Mr. Wood is a consummate artist in his
+special field of literature, as the reading public long since
+discovered. In this last book we are not disappointed. 'Glories
+of Spain' is indeed a charming literary production, and seems
+to us a book to keep in a prominent place upon the exclusive
+bookshelf, a book to be read and re-read, a book to
+love."&mdash;<i>Western Daily Press.</i></p>
+
+<p>"We should like to dwell at greater length on a book which is
+so brimful of the charm of a lovely land and an interesting
+people; but we trust enough has been said to recommend it to
+the attention of all lovers of the picturesque, whether in
+Nature or humanity."&mdash;<i>Glasgow Herald.</i></p>
+
+<p>"A subject so entrancing in the hands of so experienced a
+traveller as Mr. Charles W. Wood could not fail to prove
+interesting.... Mr. Wood has a keen appreciation of the
+ludicrous, and can relate a comical incident or a practical
+joke with appropriate lightness; while he is by no means
+insensible to the pathos and romance inseparable from Spanish
+story.... The book is so equal in style that it is difficult to
+select one portion of it as being better than the rest.... He
+relates tales of Saragosa as moving and pathetic as any ever
+imagined by poet or novelist. Valencia, the 'Garden of Spain,'
+also receives its share of eloquent and vivid language; and,
+indeed, there is no place within the wide range of this tour
+which does not supply some prolific theme for the author's
+glowing pen."&mdash;<i>Dundee Advertiser.</i></p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Wood's brilliant word-sketches, with never a line too
+much, give exactly the true feeling for Spanish architecture
+and the picturesque scenes of Spanish life.... What one finds
+above all is the insight into human nature and the
+comprehension of suffering and self-denial in unexpected
+places, which are qualities in an author the rarest and
+choicest. Anyone can describe, after a fashion, the old cities
+of northern Spain, but very few can make their people live in
+cold print and draw the reader to them by the warm touch of
+sympathy. This Mr. Wood does, and does amazingly. This book is
+a gallery of Spanish portraits, full of character, and pathos,
+and humour, and simplicity. We would not spare one of them, and
+we do not know which we like best; all we wish is that the
+author may go again and paint us some more."&mdash;<i>Saturday
+Review.</i></p></blockquote>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/ad1.jpg" alt=""/>
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Trevlyn Hold, by Mrs. Henry Wood
+
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Trevlyn Hold, by Mrs. Henry Wood
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Trevlyn Hold
+
+Author: Mrs. Henry Wood
+
+Release Date: May 14, 2011 [EBook #36106]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TREVLYN HOLD ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Delphine Lettau, Mary Meehan and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
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+
+
+                             TREVLYN HOLD
+
+                               A Novel
+
+                          BY MRS. HENRY WOOD
+
+     AUTHOR OF "EAST LYNNE," "THE CHANNINGS," "JOHNNY LUDLOW," ETC.
+
+
+    _ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTH THOUSAND_
+
+    London
+    MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
+    NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
+
+    1904
+
+    _All rights reserved_
+
+
+
+
+TREVLYN HOLD
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+THOMAS RYLE
+
+
+The fine summer had faded into autumn, and the autumn would soon be
+fading into winter. All signs of harvest had disappeared. The farmers
+had gathered the golden grain into their barns; the meads looked bare,
+and the partridges hid themselves in the stubble left by the reapers.
+
+Perched on the top of a stile which separated one field from another,
+was a boy of some fifteen years. Several books, a strap passed round to
+keep them together, were flung over his shoulder, and he sat throwing
+stones into a pond close by, softly whistling as he did so. The stones
+came out of his pocket. Whether stored there for the purpose to which
+they were now being put, was best known to himself. He was a slender,
+well-made boy, with finely-shaped features, a clear complexion, and eyes
+dark and earnest. A refined face; a good face--and you have not to learn
+that the face is the index of the mind. An index that never fails for
+those gifted with the power to read the human countenance.
+
+Before him at a short distance, as he sat on the stile, lay the village
+of Barbrook. A couple of miles beyond the village was the large town of
+Barmester. But you could reach the town without taking the village _en
+route_. As to the village itself, there were several ways of reaching
+it. There was the path through the fields, right in front of the stile
+where that schoolboy was sitting; there was the green and shady lane
+(knee-deep in mud sometimes); and there were two high-roads. From the
+signs of vegetation around--not that the vegetation was of the richest
+kind--you would never suspect that the barren and bleak coal-fields lay
+so near. Only four or five miles away in the opposite direction--that
+is, behind the boy and the stile--the coal-pits flourished. Farmhouses
+were scattered within view, had the boy on the stile chosen to look at
+them; a few gentlemen's houses, and many cottages and hovels. To the
+left, glancing over the field and across the upper road--the road which
+did not lead to Barbrook, but to Barmester--on a slight eminence, rose
+the fine old-fashioned mansion called Trevlyn Hold. Rather to the right,
+behind him, was the less pretentious but comfortable dwelling called
+Trevlyn Farm. Trevlyn Hold, formerly the property and residence of
+Squire Trevlyn, had passed, with that gentleman's death, into the hands
+of Mr. Chattaway, who now lived in it; his wife having been the Squire's
+second daughter. Trevlyn Farm was tenanted by Mr. Ryle; and the boy
+sitting on the stile was Mr. Ryle's eldest son.
+
+There came, scuffling along the field-path from the village, as fast as
+her dilapidated shoes permitted her, a wan-looking, undersized girl. She
+had almost reached the pond, when a boy considerably taller and stronger
+than the boy on the stile came flying down the field on the left, and
+planted himself in her way.
+
+"Now then, little toad! Do you want another buffeting?"
+
+"Oh, please, sir, don't stop me!" she cried, beginning to sob loudly.
+"Father's dying, and mother said I was to run and tell them at the farm.
+Please let me go by."
+
+"Did I not order you yesterday to keep out of these fields?" asked the
+tall boy. "The lane and roads are open to you; how dare you come this
+way? I promised you I'd shake the inside out of you if I caught you here
+again, and now I'll do it."
+
+"I say," called out at this juncture the lad on the stile, "keep your
+hands off her."
+
+The child's assailant turned sharply at the sound. He had not seen that
+any one was there. For one moment he relaxed his hold, but the next
+appeared to change his mind, and began to shake the girl. She turned her
+face, in its tears and dirt, towards the stile.
+
+"Oh, Master George, make him let me go! I'm hasting to your house,
+Master George. Father's lying all white upon the bed; and mother said I
+was to come off and tell of it."
+
+George leaped off the stile, and advanced. "Let her go, Cris Chattaway!"
+
+Cris Chattaway turned his anger upon George. "Mind your own business,
+you beggar! It is no concern of yours."
+
+"It is, if I choose to make it mine. Let her go, I say. Don't be a
+coward."
+
+"What's that you call me?" asked Cris Chattaway. "A coward? Take that!"
+
+He had picked up a clod of earth, and dashed it in George Ryle's face.
+The boy was not one to stand a gratuitous blow, and Mr. Christopher,
+before he knew what was coming, found himself on the ground. The girl,
+released, flew to the stile and scrambled over it. George stood his
+ground, waiting for Cris to get up; he was less tall and strong, but he
+would not run away.
+
+Christopher Chattaway slowly gathered himself up. He _was_ a coward; and
+fighting, when it came to close quarters, was not to his liking.
+Stone-throwing, water-squirting, pea-shooting--any annoyance that might
+safely be carried on at a distance--he was an adept in; but hand-to-hand
+fighting--Cris did not relish that.
+
+"See if you don't suffer for this, George Ryle!"
+
+George laughed good-humouredly, and sat down on the stile as before.
+Cris was dusting the earth off his clothes.
+
+"You have called me a coward, and you have knocked me down. I'll enter
+it in my memorandum-book, George Ryle."
+
+"Do," equably returned George. "I never knew any _but_ cowards set upon
+girls."
+
+"I'll set upon her again, if I catch her using this path. There's not a
+more impudent little wretch in the whole parish. Let her try it, that's
+all."
+
+"She has a right to use this path as much as I have."
+
+"Not if I choose to say she sha'n't use it. _You_ won't have the right
+long."
+
+"Oh, indeed!" said George. "What is to take it from me?"
+
+"The Squire says he shall cause this way through the fields to be
+closed."
+
+"_Who_ says it?" asked George, with marked emphasis--and the sound
+grated on Cris Chattaway's ear.
+
+"The Squire says so," he roared. "Are you deaf?"
+
+"Ah," said George. "But Mr. Chattaway can't close it. My father says he
+has not the power to do so."
+
+"_Your_ father!" contemptuously rejoined Cris Chattaway. "He would like
+his leave asked, perhaps. When the Squire says he shall do a thing, he
+means it."
+
+"At any rate, it is not done yet," was the significant answer. "Don't
+boast, Cris."
+
+Cris had been making off, and was some distance up the field. He turned
+to address George.
+
+"You know, you beggar, that if I don't go in and polish you off it's
+because I can't condescend to tarnish my hands. When I fight, I like to
+fight with gentlefolk." And with that he turned tail, and decamped
+quicker than before.
+
+"Just so," shrieked George. "Especially if they wear petticoats."
+
+A sly shower of earth came back in answer. But it happened, every bit of
+it, to steer clear of him, and George kept his seat and his equanimity.
+
+"What has he been doing now, George?"
+
+George turned his head; the question came from one behind him. There
+stood a lovely boy of some twelve years old, his beautiful features set
+off by dark blue eyes and bright auburn curls.
+
+"Where did you spring from, Rupert?"
+
+"I came down by the hedge. You were calling after Cris and did not hear
+me. Has he been threshing you, George?"
+
+"Threshing me!" returned George, throwing back his handsome head with a
+laugh. "I don't think he would try that on, Rupert. He could not thresh
+me with impunity, as he does you."
+
+Rupert Trevlyn laid his cheek on the stile, and fixed his eyes on the
+clear blue evening sky--for the sun was drawing towards its setting. He
+was a sensitive, romantic, strange sort of boy; gentle and loving by
+nature, but given to violent fits of passion. People said he inherited
+the latter from his grandfather, Squire Trevlyn. Other of the Squire's
+descendants had inherited the same. Under happier auspices, Rupert might
+have learnt to subdue these bursts of passion. Had he possessed a kind
+home and loving friends, how different might have been his destiny!
+
+"George, I wish papa had lived!"
+
+"The whole parish has need to wish that," returned George. "I wish you
+stood in his shoes! That's what I wish."
+
+"Instead of Uncle Chattaway. Old Canham says I ought to stand in them.
+He says he thinks I shall, some time, because justice is sure to come
+uppermost in the end."
+
+"Look here, Rupert!" gravely returned George Ryle. "Don't go listening
+to old Canham. He talks nonsense, and it will do neither of you any
+good. If Chattaway heard a tithe of what he sometimes says, he'd turn
+him from the lodge, neck and crop, in spite of Miss Diana. What _is_,
+can't be helped, you know, Rupert."
+
+"But Cris has no right to inherit Trevlyn over me."
+
+"He has legal right, I suppose," answered George; "at least, he will
+have it. Make the best of it, Ru. There are lots of things I have to
+make the best of. I had a caning yesterday for another boy, and I had to
+make the best of that."
+
+Rupert still looked up at the sky. "If it were not for Aunt Edith,"
+quoth he, "I'd run away."
+
+"You little stupid! Where would you run to?"
+
+"Anywhere. Mr. Chattaway gave me no dinner to-day."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Because Cris carried a tale to him. But it was false, George."
+
+"Did you tell Chattaway it was false?"
+
+"Yes. But where's the use? He always believes Cris before me."
+
+"Have you had no dinner?"
+
+Rupert shook his head. "I took some bread off the tray as they were
+carrying it through the hall. That's all I have had."
+
+"Then I'd advise you to make double haste home to your tea," said
+George, jumping over the stile, "as I am going to do to mine."
+
+George ran swiftly across the back fields towards his home. Looking
+round when he was well on his way, he saw Rupert still leaning on the
+stile with his face turned upward.
+
+Meanwhile the little tatterdemalion had scuffled along to Trevlyn
+Farm--a very moderately-sized house with a rustic porch covered with
+jessamine, and a large garden, more useful than ornamental, intervening
+between it and the high-road. The garden path, leading to the porch, was
+straight and narrow; on either side rose alternately cabbage-rose trees
+and hollyhocks. Gooseberries, currants, strawberries, raspberries, and
+other plain fruit-trees grew amidst vegetables of various sorts. A
+productive if not an elegant garden. At the side of the house the
+fold-yard palings and a five-barred gate separated it from the public
+road, and behind the house were the barns and other outdoor buildings
+belonging to the farm.
+
+From the porch the entrance led direct into a room, half sitting-room,
+half kitchen, called "Nora's room." Nora generally sat in it; George and
+his brother did their lessons there; the actual kitchen being at the
+back of it. A parlour opening from this room on the right, whose window
+looked into the fold-yard, was the general sitting-room. The best
+sitting-room, a really handsome apartment, was on the other side of the
+house. As the girl scuffled up to the porch, an active, black-eyed,
+talkative little woman, of five or six-and-thirty saw her approaching
+from the window of the best kitchen. That was Nora. What with her ragged
+frock and tippet, broken straw bonnet, and slipshod shoes, the child
+looked wretched enough. Her father, Jim Sanders, was carter to Mr. Ryle.
+He had been at home ill the last day or two; or, as the phrase ran in
+the farm, was "off his work."
+
+"If ever I saw such an object!" was Nora's exclamation. "How _can_ her
+mother keep her in that state? Just look at Letty Sanders, Mrs. Ryle!"
+
+Sorting large bunches of sweet herbs on a table at the back of the room
+was a tall, upright woman. Her dress was plain, but her manner and
+bearing betrayed the lady. Those familiar with the district would have
+recognised in her handsome but somewhat masculine face a likeness to the
+well-formed, powerful features of the late Squire Trevlyn. She was that
+gentleman's eldest daughter, and had given mortal umbrage to her family
+when she quitted Trevlyn Hold to become the second wife of Mr. Ryle.
+George Ryle was not her son. She had only two children; Trevlyn, a boy
+two years younger than George; and a little girl of eight, named
+Caroline.
+
+Mrs. Ryle turned, and glanced at the path and Letty Sanders. "She is
+indeed an object! See what she wants, Nora."
+
+Nora, who had no patience with idleness and its signs, flung open the
+door. The girl halted a few paces from the porch, and dropped a curtsey.
+
+"Please, father be dreadful bad," began she. "He be lying on the bed and
+don't stir, and his face is white; and, please, mother said I was to
+come and tell the missus, and ask her for a little brandy."
+
+"And how dare your mother send you up to the house in this trim?"
+demanded Nora. "How many crows did you frighten as you came along?"
+
+"Please," whimpered the child, "she haven't had time to tidy me to-day,
+father's been so bad, and t'other frock was tored in the washin'."
+
+"Of course," assented Nora. "Everything is 'tored' that she has to do
+with, and never gets mended. If ever there was a poor, moithering,
+thriftless thing, it's that mother of yours. She has no needles and no
+thread, I suppose, and neither soap nor water?"
+
+Mrs. Ryle came forward to interrupt the colloquy. "What is the matter
+with your father, Letty? Is he worse?"
+
+Letty dropped several curtseys in succession. "Please, 'm, his inside's
+bad again, but mother's afeared he's dying. He fell back upon the bed,
+and don't stir nor breathe. She says, will you please send him some
+brandy?"
+
+"Have you brought anything to put it into?" inquired Mrs. Ryle.
+
+"No, 'm."
+
+"Not likely," chimed in Nora. "Madge Sanders wouldn't think to send so
+much as a cracked teacup. Shall I put a drop in a bottle, and give it to
+her?" continued Nora, turning to Mrs. Ryle.
+
+"No," replied Mrs. Ryle. "I must know what's the matter with him before
+I send brandy. Go back to your mother, Letty. Tell her I shall be going
+past her cottage presently, and will call in."
+
+The child turned and scuffled off. Mrs. Ryle resumed:
+
+"Should it be another attack of internal inflammation, brandy would be
+the worst thing he could take. He drinks too much, does Jim Sanders."
+
+"His inside's like a barrel--always waiting to be filled," remarked
+Nora. "He'd drink the sea dry, if it ran beer. What with his drinking,
+and her untidiness, small wonder the children are in rags. I am
+surprised the master keeps him on!"
+
+"He only drinks by fits and starts, Nora. His health will not let him do
+more."
+
+"No, it won't," acquiesced Nora. "And I fear this bout may be the ending
+of him. That hole was not dug for nothing."
+
+"Nonsense," said Mrs. Ryle. "How can you be so foolishly superstitious,
+Nora? Find Treve, will you, and get him ready."
+
+"Treve," a young gentleman given to having his own way, and to be kept
+very much from school on account of "delicate health," a malady less
+real than imaginary, was found somewhere about the farm, and put into
+visiting condition. He and his mother were invited to take tea at
+Barbrook. In point of fact, the invitation had been for Mrs. Ryle only;
+but she could not bear to stir anywhere without her darling boy Trevlyn.
+
+They had barely departed when George entered. Nora had then laid the
+tea-table, and was standing cutting bread-and-butter.
+
+"Where are they all?" asked George, depositing his books upon a
+sideboard.
+
+"Your mother and Treve are off to tea at Mrs. Apperley's," replied Nora.
+"And the master rode over to Barmester this afternoon, and is not back
+yet. Sit down, George. Would you like some pumpkin pie?"
+
+"Try me," responded George. "Is there any?"
+
+"I saved it from dinner,"--bringing forth a plate from a closet. "It is
+not much. Treve's stomach craves for pies as much as Jim Sanders's for
+beer; and Mrs. Ryle would give him all he wanted, if it cleared the
+larder----Is some one calling?" she broke off, going to the window.
+"George, it's Mr. Chattaway! See what he wants."
+
+A gentleman on horseback had reined in close to the gate: a spare man,
+rather above the middle height, with a pale, leaden sort of complexion,
+small, cold light eyes and mean-looking features. George ran down the
+path.
+
+"Is your father at home?"
+
+"No. He is gone to Barmester."
+
+A scowl passed over Mr. Chattaway's brow. "That's the third time I have
+been here this week, and cannot get to see him. Tell your father that I
+have had another letter from Butt, and will trouble him to attend to it.
+And further tell your father I will not be pestered with this business
+any longer. If he does not pay the money right off, I'll make him pay
+it."
+
+Something not unlike an ice-bolt shot through George Ryle's heart. He
+knew there was trouble between his house and Mr. Chattaway; that his
+father was, in pecuniary matters, at Mr. Chattaway's mercy. Was this
+message the result of his recent encounter with Cris Chattaway? A hot
+flush dyed his face, and he wished--for his father's sake--that he had
+let Mr. Cris alone. For his father's sake he was now ready to eat
+humble-pie, though there never lived a boy less inclined to humble-pie
+in a general way than George Ryle. He went close up to the horse and
+raised his honest eyes fearlessly.
+
+"Has Christopher been complaining to you, Mr. Chattaway?"
+
+"No. What has he to complain of?"
+
+"Not much," answered George, his fears subsiding. "Only I know he does
+carry tales."
+
+"Were there no tales to carry he could not carry them," coldly remarked
+Mr. Chattaway. "I have not seen Christopher since dinner-time. It seems
+to me that you are always suspecting him of something. Take care you
+deliver my message correctly, sir."
+
+Mr. Chattaway rode away, and George returned to his pumpkin pie. He had
+scarcely finished it--with remarkable relish, for the cold dinner he
+took with him to school daily was little more than a luncheon--when Mr.
+Ryle entered by the back-door, having been round to the stables with his
+horse. He was a tall, fine man, with light curling hair, mild blue eyes,
+and a fair countenance pleasant to look at in its honest simplicity.
+George delivered the message left by Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"He left me that message, did he?" cried Mr. Ryle, who, if he could be
+angered by anything, it was on this very subject of Chattaway's claims
+against him. "He might have kept it until he saw me himself."
+
+"He bade me tell you, papa."
+
+"Yes; it is no matter to Chattaway how he browbeats me and exposes my
+affairs. He has been at it for years. Has he gone home?"
+
+"I think so," replied George. "He rode that way."
+
+"I'll stand it no longer, and I'll tell him so to his face," continued
+Mr. Ryle. "Let him do his best and his worst."
+
+Taking up his hat, Mr. Ryle strode out of the house, disdaining Nora's
+invitation to tea, and leaving on the table a scarf of soft scarlet
+merino, which he had worn into Barmester. Recently suffering from sore
+throat, Mrs. Ryle had induced him to put it on when he rode out that
+afternoon.
+
+"Look there!" cried Nora. "He has left his cravat on the table."
+
+Snatching it up, she ran after Mr. Ryle, catching him half-way down the
+path. He took the scarf from her with a hasty movement, and went along
+swinging it in his hand. But he did not attempt to put it on.
+
+"It is just like the master," grumbled Nora to George. "He has worn that
+warm woollen thing for hours, and now goes off without it! His throat
+will be bad again."
+
+"I am afraid papa's gone to have it out with Mr. Chattaway," said
+George.
+
+"And serve Chattaway right if he has," returned Nora. "It is what the
+master has threatened this many a day."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+SUPERSTITION
+
+
+Later, when George was working diligently at his lessons, and Nora was
+sewing--both by the help of the same candle: for an array of candles was
+not more indulged in than other luxuries in Mr. Ryle's house--footsteps
+were heard approaching the porch, and a modest knock came to the door.
+
+"Come in," called out Nora.
+
+A very thin woman, in a washed-out cotton gown, with a thin face and
+inflamed eyes, came in, curtseying. It was an honest face, a meek face;
+although it looked as if its owner had a meal about once a week.
+
+"Evening, Miss Dickson; evening, Master George. I have stepped round to
+ask the missis whether I shall be wanted on Tuesday."
+
+"The missis is out," said Nora. "She has been talking of putting off the
+wash till the week after, but I don't know that she will do so. If you
+sit down a bit, Ann Canham, she'll come in, perhaps."
+
+Ann Canham seated herself respectfully on the edge of a remote chair.
+And Nora, who liked gossiping above every earthly thing, began to talk
+of Jim Sanders's illness.
+
+"He has dreadful bouts, poor fellow!" observed Ann Canham.
+
+"But six times out of seven he brings them on through his own fault,"
+tartly returned Nora. "Many and many a time I have told him he'd do for
+himself, and now I think he has done it. This bout, it strikes me, is
+his last."
+
+"Is he so ill as that?" exclaimed Ann Canham. And George looked up from
+his exercise-book in surprise.
+
+"I don't know that he is," said Nora; "but----"
+
+Nora broke suddenly off, dropped her work, and bent her head towards Ann
+Canham.
+
+"We have had a strange thing happen here," she continued, her voice
+falling to a whisper; "and if it's not a warning of death, never believe
+me again. This morning----George, did you hear the dog in the night?"
+
+"No," answered George.
+
+"Boys sleep soundly," she remarked to Ann Canham. "You might drive a
+coach-and-six through their room, and not wake them. His room's at the
+back, too. Last night the dog got round to the front of the house, and
+there he was, all night long, sighing and moaning like a human creature.
+You couldn't call it a howl; there was too much pain in it. He was at it
+all night long; I couldn't sleep for it. The missis says she couldn't
+sleep for it. Well, this morning I was up first, the master next, Molly
+next; but the master went out by the back-way and saw nothing. By-and-by
+I spied something out of this window on the garden path, as if some one
+had been digging there; so out I went. It was for all the world like a
+grave!--a great hole, with the earth thrown up on either side of it.
+That dog had done it in the night!"
+
+Ann Canham, possibly feeling uncomfortably aloof from the company when
+graves became the topic, drew her chair nearer the table. George sat,
+his pen arrested; his large wide-open eyes turned on Nora--not with
+fear, but merriment.
+
+"A great hole, twice the length of our rolling-pin, and wide in
+proportion, all hollowed and scratched out," went on Nora. "I called the
+cow-boy, and asked him what it looked like. 'A grave,' said he, without
+a moment's hesitation. Molly came out, and they two filled it in again,
+and trod the path down. The marks have been plain enough all day. The
+master has been talking a long while of having that path gravelled, but
+it has not been done."
+
+"And the hole was scratched by the dog?" proceeded Ann Canham, unable to
+get over the wonder.
+
+"It was scratched by the dog," answered Nora. "And every one knows it's
+a sign that death's coming to the house, or to some one belonging to the
+house. Whether it's your own dog scratches it, or somebody else's dog,
+no matter; it's a sure sign that a real grave is about to be dug. It may
+not happen once in fifty years--no, not in a hundred; but when it does
+come, it's a warning not to be neglected."
+
+"It's odd how the dogs can know!" remarked Ann Canham, meekly.
+
+"Those dumb animals possess an instinct we can't understand," said Nora.
+"We have had that dog ever so many years, and he never did such a thing
+before. Rely upon it, it's Jim Sanders's warning. How you stare,
+George!"
+
+"I may well stare, to hear you," was George's answer. "How can you put
+faith in such rubbish, Nora?"
+
+"Just hark at him!" exclaimed Nora. "Boys are half heathens. I wouldn't
+laugh in that irreverent way, if I were you, George, because Jim
+Sanders's time has come."
+
+"I am not laughing at that," said George; "I am laughing at you. Nora,
+your argument won't hold water. If the dog had meant to give notice that
+he was digging a hole for Jim Sanders, he would have dug it before his
+own door, not before ours."
+
+"Go on!" cried Nora, sarcastically. "There's no profit arguing with
+unbelieving boys. They'd stand it to your face the sun never shone."
+
+Ann Canham rose, and put her chair back in its place with much humility.
+Indeed, humility was her chief characteristic. "I'll come round in the
+morning, and know about the wash, if you please, ma'am," she said to
+Nora. "Father will be wanting his supper, and will wonder where I'm
+staying."
+
+She departed. Nora gave George a lecture upon unbelief and irreverence
+in general, but George was too busy with his books to take much notice
+of it.
+
+The evening went on. Mrs. Ryle and Trevlyn returned, the latter a
+diminutive boy, with dark curls and a handsome face.
+
+"Jim Sanders is much better," remarked Mrs. Ryle. "He is all right again
+now, and will be at work in a day or two. It must have been a sort of
+fainting-fit he had this afternoon, and his wife got frightened. I told
+him to rest to-morrow, and come up the next day if he felt strong
+enough."
+
+George turned to Nora, his eyes dancing. "What of the hole now?" he
+asked.
+
+"Wait and see," snapped Nora. "And if you are impertinent, I'll never
+save you pie or pudding again."
+
+Mrs. Ryle went into the sitting-room, but came back speedily when she
+found it dark and untenanted. "Where's the master?" she exclaimed.
+"Surely he has returned from Barmester!"
+
+"Papa came home ages ago," said George. "He has gone up to the Hold."
+
+"The Hold?" repeated Mrs. Ryle in surprise, for there was something like
+deadly feud between Trevlyn Hold and Trevlyn Farm.
+
+George explained; telling of Mr. Chattaway's message, and the subsequent
+proceedings. Nora added that "as sure as fate, he was having it out with
+Chattaway." Nothing else would keep him at Trevlyn Hold.
+
+But Mrs. Ryle knew that her easy-natured husband was not one to "have it
+out" with any one, even his enemy Chattaway. He might say a few words,
+but it was all he would say, and the interview would end almost as soon
+as begun. She took off her things, and Molly carried the supper-tray
+into the parlour.
+
+But still there was no Mr. Ryle. Ten o'clock struck, and Mrs. Ryle grew,
+not exactly uneasy, but curious as to what could have become of him.
+What _could_ be detaining him at the Hold?
+
+"It wouldn't surprise me to hear that he has been taken too bad to come
+back," said Nora. "He unwound his scarlet cravat from his throat, and
+went away swinging it in his hand. John Pinder's waiting all this time
+in the kitchen."
+
+"Have you finished your lessons, George?" asked Mrs. Ryle, perceiving
+that he was putting his books away.
+
+"Every one," answered George.
+
+"Then you shall go up to the Hold, and walk home with your father. I
+cannot think what is delaying his return."
+
+"Perhaps he has gone somewhere else," said George.
+
+"He would neither go anywhere else nor remain at Chattaway's," said Mrs.
+Ryle. "This is Tuesday evening."
+
+A conclusive argument. Tuesday evening was invariably devoted by Mr.
+Ryle to his farm accounts, and he never suffered anything to interfere
+with that evening's work. George put on his cap and started on his
+errand.
+
+It was a starlight night, cold and clear, and George went along
+whistling. A quarter of an hour's walk up the turnpike road brought him
+to Trevlyn Hold. The road rose gently the whole way, for the land was
+higher at Trevlyn Hold than at Trevlyn Farm. A white gate, by the side
+of a lodge, opened to the shrubbery or avenue--a dark walk wide enough
+for two carriages to pass, with the elm trees nearly meeting overhead.
+The shrubbery wound up to a lawn stretched before the windows of the
+house: a large, old-fashioned stone-built house, with gabled roofs, and
+a flight of steps leading to the entrance-hall. George ascended the
+steps and rang the bell.
+
+"Is my father ready to come home?" he asked, not very ceremoniously, of
+the servant who answered it.
+
+The man paused, as though he scarcely understood. "Mr. Ryle is not here,
+sir," was the answer.
+
+"How long has he been gone?"
+
+"He has not been here at all, sir, that I know of. I don't think he
+has."
+
+"Just ask, will you?" said George. "He came here to see Mr. Chattaway.
+It was about five o'clock."
+
+The man went away and returned. "Mr. Ryle has not been here at all, sir.
+I thought he had not."
+
+George wondered. Could he be out somewhere with Chattaway? "Is Mr.
+Chattaway at home?" he inquired.
+
+"Master is in bed," said the servant. "He came home to-day about five,
+or thereabouts, not feeling well, and he went to bed as soon as tea was
+over."
+
+George turned away. Where could his father have gone to? Where to look
+for him? As he passed the lodge, Ann Canham was locking the gate, of
+which she and her father were the keepers. It was a whim of Mr.
+Chattaway's that the larger gate should be locked at night; but not
+until after ten. Foot-passengers could enter by the side-gate.
+
+"Have you seen my father anywhere, since you left our house this
+evening?" he asked.
+
+"No, I have not, Master George."
+
+"I can't imagine where he can be. I thought he was at Chattaway's, but
+they say he has not been there."
+
+"At Chattaway's! He wouldn't go there, would he, Master George?"
+
+"He started to do so this afternoon. It's very odd! Good night, Ann."
+
+"Master George," she interrupted, "do you happen to have heard how it's
+going with Jim Sanders?"
+
+"He is much better," said George.
+
+"Better!" slowly repeated Ann Canham. "Well, I hope he is," she added,
+in doubting tones. "But, Master George, I didn't like what Nora told us.
+I can't bear tokens from dumb animals, and I never knew them fail."
+
+"Jim Sanders is all right, I tell you," said heathen George. "Mamma has
+been there, and he is coming to his work the day after to-morrow. Good
+night."
+
+"Good night, sir," answered Ann Canham, as she retreated within the
+lodge. And George went through the gate, and stood in hesitation,
+looking up and down the road. But it was apparently of no use to search
+elsewhere in the uncertainty; and he turned towards home, wondering
+much.
+
+What had become of Mr. Ryle?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+IN THE UPPER MEADOW
+
+
+The stars shone bright and clear as George Ryle walked down the slight
+descent of the turnpike-road, wondering what had become of his father.
+Any other night but this, he might not have wondered about it; but
+George could not remember the time when Tuesday evening had been devoted
+to anything but the farm accounts. John Pinder, who acted as a sort of
+bailiff, had been in the kitchen some hours with his weekly memoranda,
+to go through them as usual with his master; and George knew his father
+would not willingly keep the man waiting.
+
+George went along whistling a tune; he was given to whistling. About
+half-way between Trevlyn Hold and his own house, the sound of another
+whistle struck upon his ear. A turn in the road brought a lad into view,
+wearing a smock-frock. It was the waggoner's boy at Trevlyn Hold. He
+ceased when he came up to George, and touched his hat in rustic fashion.
+
+"Have you seen anything of my father, Bill?"
+
+"Not since this afternoon, Master George," was the answer. "I see him,
+then, turning into that field of ours, next to where the bull be. Going
+up to the Hold, mayhap; else what should he do there?"
+
+"What time was that?" asked George.
+
+The boy considered a moment. "'Twas afore the sun set," he said at
+length, "I am sure o' that. He had some'at red in his hand, and the sun
+shone on it fit to dazzle one's eyes."
+
+The boy went his way; George stood and thought. If his father had turned
+into the field indicated, there could be no doubt that he was hastening
+to Chattaway's. Crossing this field and the one next to it, both large,
+would bring one close to Trevlyn Hold, cutting off, perhaps, two minutes
+of the high-road, which wound round the fields. But the fields were
+scarcely ever favoured, on account of the bull. This bull had been a
+subject of much contention in the neighbourhood, and was popularly
+called "Chattaway's bull." It was a savage animal, and had once got out
+of the field and frightened several people almost to death. The
+neighbours said Mr. Chattaway ought to keep it under lock and key. Mr.
+Chattaway said he should keep it where he pleased: and he generally
+pleased to keep it in the field. This barred it to pedestrians; and Mr.
+Ryle must undoubtedly have been in hot haste to reach Trevlyn Hold to
+choose the route.
+
+A hundred fears darted through George Ryle's mind. He was more
+thoughtful, it may be said more imaginative, than boys of his age
+generally are. George and Cris Chattaway had once had a run from the
+bull, and only saved themselves by desperate speed. Venturing into the
+field one day when the animal was apparently grazing quietly in a remote
+corner, they had not anticipated his running at them. George remembered
+this; he remembered the terror excited when the bull had broken loose.
+Had his father been attacked by the bull?--perhaps killed by it?
+
+His heart beating, George retraced his steps, and turned into the first
+field. He hastened across it, glancing on all sides as keenly as the
+night allowed him. Not in this field would the danger be; and George
+reached the gate of the other, and stood looking into it.
+
+Apparently it was quite empty. The bull was probably safe in its shed
+then, in Chattaway's farmyard. George could see nothing--nothing except
+the grass stretched out in the starlight. He threw his eyes in every
+direction, but could not perceive his father, or any trace of him. "What
+a simpleton I am," thought George, "to fear that such an out-of-the-way
+thing could have happened! He must----"
+
+What was that? George held his breath. A sound, not unlike a groan, had
+smote upon his ear. And there it came again! "Holloa!" shouted George,
+and cleared the gate with a bound. "What's that? Who is it?"
+
+A moan answered him; and George Ryle, guided by the sound, hastened to
+the spot. It was only a little way off, down by the hedge separating the
+fields. All the undefined fear George, not a minute ago, had felt
+inclined to treat as groundless, was indeed but a prevision of the
+terrible reality. Mr. Ryle lay in a narrow, dry ditch: and, but for that
+friendly ditch, he had probably been gored to death on the spot.
+
+"Who is it?" he asked feebly, as his son bent over him, trying to
+distinguish what he could in the darkness. "George?"
+
+"Oh, papa! what has happened?"
+
+"Just my death, lad."
+
+It was a sad tale. One that is often talked of in the place, in
+connection with Chattaway's bull. In crossing the second field--indeed,
+as soon as he entered it--Mr. Ryle was attacked by the furious beast,
+and tossed into the ditch, where he lay helpless. The people said then,
+and say still, that the red cravat he carried excited the anger of the
+bull.
+
+George raised his voice in a shout for help, hoping it might reach the
+ears of the boy whom he had recently encountered. "Perhaps I can get you
+out, papa," he said, "though I may not be able myself to get you home."
+
+"No, George; it will take stronger help than yours to get me out of
+this."
+
+"I had better go up to the Hold, then. It is nearer than our house."
+
+"You will not go to the Hold," said Mr. Ryle, authoritatively. "I will
+not be beholden to Chattaway. He has been the ruin of my peace, and now
+his bull has done for me."
+
+George bent down closer. There was no room for him to get into the
+ditch, which was very narrow. "Papa, are you shivering with cold?"
+
+"With cold and pain. The frost strikes keenly upon me, and my pain is
+great."
+
+George instantly took off his jacket and waistcoat, and laid them gently
+on his father, his tears dropping silently in the dark night. "I'll run
+home for help," he said, speaking as bravely as he could. "John Pinder
+is there, and we can call up one or two of the men."
+
+"Ay, do," said Mr. Ryle. "They must bring a shutter, and carry me home
+on it. Take care you don't frighten your mother, George. Tell her at
+first that I am a little hurt, and can't walk; break it to her so that
+she may not be alarmed."
+
+George flew away. At the end of the second field, staring over the gate
+near the high-road, stood the boy Bill, whose ears George's shouts had
+reached. He was not a sharp-witted lad, and his eyes and mouth opened
+with astonishment to see George Ryle come flying along in his
+shirt-sleeves.
+
+"What's a-gate?" asked he. "Be that bull loose again?"
+
+"Run for your life to the second field," panted George, seizing him in
+his desperation. "In the ditch, a few yards along the hedge to the
+right, my father is lying. Go and stay by him, until I come back with
+help."
+
+"Lying in the ditch!" repeated Bill, unable to collect his startled
+senses. "What's done it, Master George?"
+
+"Chattaway's bull has done it. Hasten down to him, Bill. You might hear
+his groans all this way off, if you listened."
+
+"Is the bull there?" asked Bill.
+
+"I have seen no bull. The bull must have been in its shed hours ago.
+Stand by him, Bill, and I'll give you sixpence to-morrow."
+
+They separated. George tore down the road, wondering how he should
+fulfil his father's injunction not to frighten Mrs. Ryle in telling the
+news. Molly, very probably looking after her sweetheart, was standing at
+the fold-yard gate as he passed. George sent her into the house the
+front way, and bade her whisper to Nora to come out; to tell her
+"somebody" wanted to speak to her. Molly obeyed; but executed her
+commission so bunglingly, that not only Nora, but Mrs. Ryle and Trevlyn
+came flocking to the porch. George could only go in then.
+
+"Don't be frightened, mamma," he said, in answer to their questions. "My
+father has had a fall, and--and says he cannot walk home. Perhaps he has
+sprained his ankle."
+
+"What has become of your jacket and waistcoat?" cried Nora, amazed to
+see George standing in his shirt-sleeves.
+
+"They are safe enough. Is John Pinder still in the kitchen?" continued
+George, escaping from the room.
+
+Trevlyn ran after him. "George, have you been fighting?" he asked. "Is
+your jacket torn to ribbons?"
+
+George drew the boy into a dark angle of the passage. "Treve," he
+whispered, "if I tell you something about papa, you won't cry out?"
+
+"No, I won't cry out," answered Treve.
+
+"We must get a stretcher of some sort up to him, to bring him home. I am
+going to consult John Pinder."
+
+"Where is papa?" interrupted Treve.
+
+"Lying in a ditch in the large meadow. Chattaway's bull has attacked
+him. I am not sure but he will die."
+
+The first thing Treve did _was_ to cry out. George put his hand over his
+mouth. But Mrs. Ryle and Nora, who were full of curiosity, both as to
+George's jacketless state and George's news, had followed into the
+passage. Treve began to cry.
+
+"He has dreadful news about papa, he says," sobbed Treve. "Thinks he's
+dead."
+
+It was all over. George must tell now, and he could not help himself.
+"No, no, Treve, you should not exaggerate," he said, turning to Mrs.
+Ryle in his pain and earnestness. "There is an accident, mamma; but it
+is not so bad as that."
+
+Mrs. Ryle retained perfect composure; very few people had seen _her_
+ruffled. It was not in her nature to be so, and her husband had little
+need to caution George as he had done. She laid her hand upon George's
+shoulder and looked calmly into his face. "Tell me the truth," she said
+in tones of quiet command. "What is the injury?"
+
+"I do not know yet----"
+
+"The truth, boy, I said," she sternly interposed.
+
+"Indeed I do not yet know what it is. He has been attacked by
+Chattaway's bull."
+
+It was Nora's turn now. "By Chattaway's bull?" she shrieked.
+
+"Yes," said George. "It must have happened immediately after he left
+here at tea-time, and he has been lying ever since in the ditch in the
+upper meadow. I put my jacket and waistcoat over him; he was shivering
+with cold and pain."
+
+While George was talking, Mrs. Ryle was acting. She sought John Pinder
+and issued her orders clearly and concisely. Men were got together; a
+mattress with holders was made ready; and the procession started under
+the convoy of George, who had been made to put on another jacket. Bill,
+the waggoner's boy, had been faithful, and was found by the side of Mr.
+Ryle.
+
+"I'm glad you be come," was the boy's salutation. "He's been groaning
+and shivering awful. It set me shivering too."
+
+As if to escape from the evil, Bill ran off, there and then, across the
+field, and never drew in until he reached Trevlyn Hold. In spite of his
+somewhat stolid propensities, he felt a sort of pride in being the first
+to impart the story there. Entering the house by the back, or farmyard
+door--for farming was carried on at Trevlyn Hold as well as at Trevlyn
+Farm--he passed through sundry passages to the well-lighted hall. There
+he seemed to hesitate at his temerity, but at length gave an awkward
+knock at the door of the general sitting-room.
+
+A large, handsome room. Reclining in an easy-chair was a pretty and
+pleasing woman, looking considerably younger than she really was. Small
+features, a profusion of curling auburn hair, light blue eyes, a soft,
+yielding expression, and a gentle voice, were the adjuncts of a young
+woman, rather than of one approaching middle-age. A stranger, entering,
+might have taken her for a young unmarried woman; and yet she was
+mistress of Trevlyn Hold, the mother of that great girl of sixteen at
+the table, now playing backgammon and quarrelling with her brother
+Christopher. Mistress in name only. Although the wife of its master, Mr.
+Chattaway, and daughter of its late master, Squire Trevlyn; although
+universally called _Madam_ Chattaway--as from time immemorial it had
+been customary to designate the mistress of Trevlyn Hold--she was in
+fact no better than a nonentity in it, possessing little authority, and
+assuming less. She has been telling her children several times that
+their hour for bed has passed; she has begged them not to quarrel; she
+has suggested that if they will not go to bed, Maude should do so; but
+she may as well talk to the winds.
+
+Miss Chattaway possesses a will of her own. She has the same
+insignificant features, pale leaden complexion, small, sly, keen light
+eyes that characterise her father. She would like to hold undisputed
+sway as the house's mistress; but the inclination has to be concealed;
+for the real mistress of Trevlyn Hold may not be displaced. She is
+sitting in the background, at a table apart, bending over her desk. A
+tall, majestic lady, in a stiff green silk dress and an imposing cap, in
+person very like Mrs. Ryle. It is Miss Trevlyn, usually called Miss
+Diana, the youngest daughter of the late Squire. You would take her to
+be at least ten years older than her sister, Mrs. Chattaway, but in
+point of fact she is that lady's junior by a year. Miss Trevlyn is, to
+all intents and purposes, mistress of Trevlyn Hold, and she rules its
+internal economy with a firm sway.
+
+"Maude, you should go to bed," Mrs. Chattaway had said for the fourth or
+fifth time.
+
+A graceful girl of thirteen turned her dark, violet-blue eyes and pretty
+light curls upon Mrs. Chattaway. She had been leaning on the table
+watching the backgammon. Something of the soft, sweet expression visible
+in Mrs. Chattaway's face might be traced in this child's; but in Maude
+it was blended with greater intellect.
+
+"It is not my fault, Aunt Edith," she gently said. "I should like to go.
+I am tired."
+
+"Be quiet, Maude!" broke from Miss Chattaway. "Mamma, I wish you
+wouldn't worry about bed! I don't choose Maude to go up until I go. She
+helps me to undress."
+
+Poor Maude looked sleepy. "I can be going on, Octave," she said to Miss
+Chattaway.
+
+"You can hold your tongue and wait, and not be ungrateful," was the
+response of Octavia Chattaway. "But for papa's kindness, you would not
+have a bed to go to. Cris, you are cheating! that was not sixes!"
+
+It was at this juncture that the awkward knock came to the door. "Come
+in!" cried Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+Either her gentle voice was not heard, for Cris and his sister were
+disputing just then, or the boy's modesty would not allow him to
+respond. He knocked again.
+
+"See who it is, Cris," came forth the ringing voice of Miss Trevlyn.
+
+Cris did not choose to obey. "Open the door, Maude," said he.
+
+Maude did as she was bid: she had little chance allowed her in that
+house of doing otherwise. Opening the door, she saw the boy standing
+there. "What is it, Bill?" she asked in surprise.
+
+"Please, is the Squire there, Miss Maude?"
+
+"No," answered Maude. "He is not well, and has gone to bed."
+
+This appeared to be a poser for Bill, and he stood considering. "Is
+Madam in there?" he presently asked.
+
+"Who is it, Maude?" came again in Miss Trevlyn's commanding tones.
+
+Maude turned her head. "It is Bill Webb, Aunt Diana."
+
+"What does he want?"
+
+Bill stepped in. "Please, Miss Diana, I came to tell the Squire the
+news. I thought he might be angry with me if I did not, seeing as I
+knowed of it."
+
+"The news?" repeated Miss Diana, looking imperiously at Bill.
+
+"The mischief the bull have done. He's gone and gored Farmer Ryle."
+
+The words arrested the attention of all. They came forward, as with one
+impulse. Cris and his sister, in their haste, upset the
+backgammon-board.
+
+"_What_ do you say, Bill?" gasped Mrs. Chattaway, with white face and
+faltering voice.
+
+"It's true, ma'am," said Bill. "The bull set on him this afternoon, and
+tossed him into the ditch. Master George found him there a short while
+agone, groaning awful."
+
+There was a startled pause. "I--I--hope he is not much injured?" said
+Mrs. Chattaway at last, in her consternation.
+
+"He says it's his death, ma'am. John Pinder and others have brought a
+bed, and be carrying of him home on it."
+
+"What brought Mr. Ryle in that field?" asked Miss Diana.
+
+"He telled me, ma'am, he was a-coming up here to see the Squire, and
+took that way to save time."
+
+Mrs. Chattaway fell back a little. "Cris," said she to her son, "go down
+to the farm and see what the injury is. I cannot sleep in the
+uncertainty. It may be fatal."
+
+Cris tossed his head. "You know, mother, I'd do almost anything to
+oblige you," he said, in his smooth accents, which had ever a false
+sound in them, "but I can't go to the farm. Mrs. Ryle might insult me:
+there's no love lost between us."
+
+"If the accident happened this afternoon, why was it not discovered when
+the bull was brought to his shed to-night?" cried Miss Trevlyn.
+
+Bill shook his head. "I dun know, ma'am. For one thing, Mr. Ryle was in
+the ditch, and couldn't be seen. And the bull, maybe, had gone to the
+top o' the field again, where the groaning wouldn't be heard."
+
+"If I had only been listened to!" exclaimed Mrs. Chattaway, in wailing
+accents. "How many a time have I asked that the bull should be parted
+with, before he did some fatal injury. And now it has come!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+LIFE OR DEATH?
+
+
+Mr. Ryle was carried home on the mattress, and laid on the large table
+in the sitting-room, by the surgeon's directions. Mrs. Ryle,
+clear-headed and of calm judgment, had sent for medical advice even
+before sending for her husband. The only doctor available for immediate
+purposes was Mr. King, who lived about half-way between the farm and the
+village. He attended at once, and was at the house before his patient.
+Mrs. Ryle had sent also to Barmester for another surgeon, but he could
+not arrive just yet. It was by Mr. King's direction that the mattress
+was placed on the large table in the parlour.
+
+"Better there; better there," acquiesced the sufferer, when he heard the
+order given. "I don't know how they'd get me up the stairs."
+
+Mr. King, a man getting in years, was left alone with his patient. The
+examination over, he came forth from the room and sought Mrs. Ryle, who
+was waiting for the report.
+
+"The internal injuries are extensive, I fear," he said. "They lie
+chiefly here"--touching his chest and right side.
+
+"Will he _live_, Mr. King?" she interrupted. "Do not temporise, but let
+me know the truth. Will he live?"
+
+"You have asked me a question I cannot yet answer," returned the
+surgeon. "My examination has been hasty and superficial: I was alone,
+and knew you were anxiously waiting. With the help of Mr. Benage, we may
+be able to arrive at some decisive opinion. I fear the injuries are
+serious."
+
+Yes, they were serious; and nothing could be done, as it seemed, to
+remedy them or alleviate the pain. Mr. Ryle lay helpless on the bed,
+giving vent to his regret and anguish in somewhat homely phraseology. It
+was the phraseology of this simple farmhouse; that to which he had been
+accustomed; and he was not likely to change it now. Gentlemen by birth
+and pedigree, he and his father had been content to live as plain
+farmers only, in language as well as work.
+
+He lay groaning, lamenting his imprudence, now that it was too late, in
+venturing within the reach of that dangerous animal. The rest waited
+anxiously and restlessly the appearance of the surgeon. For Mr. Benage
+of Barmester had a world-wide reputation, and such men seem to bring
+consolation with them. If any one could apply healing remedies and save
+his life, it was Mr. Benage.
+
+George Ryle had taken up his station at the garden gate. His hands
+clasped, his head lying lightly upon them, he was listening for the
+sound of the gig which had been despatched to Barmester. Nora at length
+came out to him.
+
+"You'll catch cold, George, out here in the keen night air."
+
+"The air won't hurt me to-night. Listen, Nora! I thought I heard
+something. They might be back again by this."
+
+He was right. The gig was bowling swiftly along, containing the
+well-known surgeon and messenger despatched for him. The surgeon, a
+little man, quick and active, was out of the gig before it had well
+stopped, passed George and Nora with a nod, and entered the house.
+
+A short time, and the worst was known. There would be but a few more
+hours of life for Mr. Ryle.
+
+Mr. King would remain, doing what he could to comfort, to soothe pain.
+Mr. Benage must return to Barmester, for he was wanted there.
+Refreshment was offered him, but he declined it. Nora waylaid him in the
+garden as he was going down.
+
+"Will the master see to-morrow's sun, sir?"
+
+"It's rising now; he may do so. He will not see its setting."
+
+Can you picture to yourselves what that night was for the house and its
+inmates? In the parlour, gathered round the table on which lay the dying
+man supported by pillows and covered with blankets, were Mrs. Ryle,
+George and Trevlyn, the surgeon, and sometimes Nora. In the outer room
+was collected a larger group: John Pinder, the men who had borne him
+home, and Molly; with a few others whom the news of the accident had
+brought together.
+
+Mrs. Ryle stood near her husband. George and Trevlyn seemed scarcely to
+know what to do with themselves; and Mr. King sat in a chair in the
+recess of the bay window. Mr. Ryle looked grievously wan, and the
+surgeon administered medicine from time to time.
+
+"Come here, my boys," he suddenly said. "Come close to me."
+
+They approached as he spoke, and leaned over him. He took a hand of
+each. George swallowed down his tears in the best way that he could.
+Trevlyn looked frightened.
+
+"Children, I am going. It has pleased God to cut me off in the midst of
+my career, just when I had least thought of death. I don't know how it
+will be with you, my dear ones, or how it will be with the old home.
+Chattaway can sell up everything if he chooses; and I fear there's
+little hope but he will do it. If he would let your mother stay on, she
+might keep things together, and get clear of him in time. George will be
+growing into more of a man every day, and may soon learn to be useful in
+the farm, if his mother thinks well to trust him. Maude, you'll do your
+best for them? For him, as for the younger ones?"
+
+"I will," said Mrs. Ryle.
+
+"Ay, I know you will. I leave them all to you, and you will act for the
+best. I think it's well George should be upon the farm, as I am taken
+from it; but you and he will see to that. Treve, you must do the best
+you can in whatever station you may be called to. I don't know what it
+will be. My boys, there's nothing before you but work. Do you understand
+that?"
+
+"Fully," was George's answer. Treve seemed too bewildered to give one.
+
+"To work with all your might; your shoulders to the wheel. Do your best
+in all ways. Be honest and single-hearted in the sight of God; work for
+Him whilst you are working for yourselves, and then He will prosper you.
+I wish I had worked for Him more than I have done!"
+
+A pause, broken only by George, who could no longer control his sobs.
+
+"My days seem to have been made up of nothing but struggling, and
+quarrelling, and care. Struggling to keep my head above water, and
+quarrelling with Chattaway. The end seemed far-off, ages away, something
+as heaven seems. And now the end's come, and heaven's come--that is, I
+must set out upon the journey that leads to it. I fear the end comes to
+many as suddenly; cutting them off in their carelessness and their sins.
+Do not spend your days in quarrelling, my boys; be working on a bit for
+the end whilst time is given you. I don't know how it will be in the
+world I am about to enter. Some fancy that when once we have entered it,
+we shall see what is going on here, in our families and homes. For that
+thought, if for no other, I would ask you to try and keep right. If you
+were to go wrong, think how it would grieve me! I should always be
+thinking that I might have trained you better, and had not done so.
+Children! it is only when we come to lie here that we see all our
+shortcomings. You would not like to grieve me, George?"
+
+"Oh, no! no!" said George, his sobs deepening. "Indeed I will try to do
+my best. I shall be always thinking that perhaps you are watching me."
+
+"One greater than I is always watching you, George. And that is God. Act
+well in His sight; not in mine. Doctor, I must have some more of that
+stuff. I feel a strange sinking."
+
+Mr. King rose, poured some drops into a wine-glass of water, and
+administered them. The patient lay a few moments, and then took his
+sons' hands, as before.
+
+"And now, children, for my last charge to you. Reverence and love your
+mother. Obey her in all things. George, she is not your own mother, but
+you have never known another, and she has been as one to you. Listen to
+her always, and she will lead you aright. If I had listened to her, I
+shouldn't be lying where I am now. A week or two ago I wanted the
+character of that outdoor man from Chattaway. 'Don't go through that
+field,' she said before I started. 'Better keep where the bull can't
+touch you.' Do you remember, Maude?"
+
+Mrs. Ryle simply bowed her head in reply. She was feeling the scene
+deeply, but emotion she would not show.
+
+"I heeded what your mother said, and went up to Chattaway's, avoiding
+the fields," resumed Mr. Ryle. "This last afternoon, when I was going up
+again and had got to the field gate, I turned into it, for it cut off a
+few steps, and my temper was up. I thought of what your mother would
+say, as I swung in, but it didn't stop me. It must have been that red
+neckerchief that put him up, for I was no sooner over the gate than he
+bellowed savagely and butted at me. It was all over in a minute; I was
+in the ditch, and he went on, bellowing and tossing and tearing at the
+cloth. If you go there to-morrow, you'll see it in shreds about the
+field. Children, obey your mother; there'll be still greater necessity
+for it when I am gone."
+
+The boys had been obedient hitherto. At least, George had been: Trevlyn
+was too indulged to be perfectly so. George promised that he would be so
+still.
+
+"I wish I could have seen the little wench," resumed the dying man, the
+tears gathering on his eyelashes. "But it may be for the best that she's
+away, for I should hardly have borne parting with her. Maude! George!
+Treve! I leave her to you all. Do the best you can by her. I don't know
+that she'll be spared to grow up, for she's a delicate little mite: but
+that is as God pleases. I wish I could have stayed with you all a bit
+longer--if it's not sinful to wish contrary to God's will. Is Mr. King
+there?"
+
+Mr. King had resumed his seat in the bay window, and was partially
+hidden by the curtain. He came forward. "Is there anything I can do for
+you, Mr. Ryle?"
+
+"You would oblige me by writing out a few directions. I should like to
+write them myself, but it is impossible; you'll enter the sentences just
+as I speak them. I have not made my will. I put it off, and put it off,
+thinking I could do it at any time; but now the end's come, and it is
+not done. Death surprises a great many, I fear, as he has surprised me.
+It seems that if I could only have one day more of health, I would do
+many things I have left undone. You shall write down my wishes, doctor.
+It will do as well; for there's only themselves, and they won't dispute
+one with the other. Let a little table be brought, and pen, ink, and
+paper."
+
+He lay quiet whilst these directions were obeyed, and then began again.
+
+"I am in very little pain, considering that I am going; not half as much
+as when I lay in that ditch. Thank God for it! It might have been that I
+could not have left a written line, or said a word of farewell to you.
+There's sure to be a bit of blue sky in the darkest trouble; and the
+more implicitly we trust, the more blue sky we shall find. I have not
+been what I ought to be, especially in the matter of disputing with
+Chattaway--not but that Chattaway's hardness has been in fault. But God
+is taking me from a world of care, and I trust He will forgive all my
+shortcomings for our Saviour's sake. Is everything ready?"
+
+"All is ready," said Mr. King.
+
+"Then leave me alone with the doctor a short time, dear ones," he
+resumed. "We shall not keep you out long."
+
+Nora, who had brought in the things required, held the door open for
+them to pass through. The pinched look that the face, lying there, was
+assuming, struck upon her ominously.
+
+"After all, the boy was right," she murmured. "The scratched hole was
+not meant for Jim Sanders."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+MAUDE TREVLYN
+
+
+The sun rose gloriously, dispersing the early October frost, and
+brightening the world. But the sunbeams fall upon dark scenes sometimes;
+perhaps more often than upon happy ones.
+
+George Ryle was leaning on the fold-yard gate. He had strolled out
+without his hat, and his head was bent in grief. Not that he was
+shedding tears now. He had shed plenty during the night; but tears
+cannot flow for ever, even from an aching heart.
+
+Hasty steps were heard approaching down the road, and George raised his
+head. They were Mr. Chattaway's. He stopped suddenly at sight of George.
+
+"What is this about your father? What has happened? Is he dead?"
+
+"He is dying," replied George. "The doctors are with him. Mr. King has
+been here all night, and Mr. Benage has just come again from Barmester.
+They have sent us out of the room; me and Treve. They let my mother
+remain with him."
+
+"But how on earth did it happen?" asked Chattaway. "I cannot make it
+out. The first thing I heard when I woke this morning was that Mr. Ryle
+had been gored to death by the bull. What brought him near the bull?"
+
+"He was passing through the field up to your house, and the bull
+attacked him----"
+
+"But when? when?" hastily interrupted Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"Yesterday afternoon. My father came in directly after you rode away,
+and I gave him your message. He said he would go up to the Hold at once,
+and speak to you; and took the field way instead of the road."
+
+"Now, how could he take it? He knew it was hardly safe for strangers.
+Not but that the bull ought to have known him."
+
+"He had a red cravat in his hand, and he thinks that excited the bull.
+It tossed him into the ditch, and he lay there, undiscovered, until past
+ten at night."
+
+"And he is badly hurt?"
+
+"He is dying," replied George, "dying now. I think that is why they sent
+us from the room."
+
+Mr. Chattaway paused in dismay. Though a hard, selfish man, who had
+taken delight in quarrelling with Mr. Ryle and putting upon him, he did
+possess some feelings of humanity as well as his neighbours; and the
+terrible nature of the case naturally called them forth. George strove
+manfully to keep down his tears; relating the circumstances was almost
+too much for him, but he did not care to give way before the world,
+especially before that unit in it represented by Mr. Chattaway. Mr.
+Chattaway rested his elbow on the gate, and looked down at George.
+
+"This is very shocking, lad. I am sorry to hear it. What will the farm
+do without him? How shall you all get on?"
+
+"Thinking of that has been troubling him all night," said George. "He
+said we might get a living at the farm, if you would let us do it. If
+you would not be hard," he added, determined to speak out.
+
+"Hard, he called me, did he?" said Mr. Chattaway. "It's not my hardness
+that has been in fault, but his pride. He has been as saucy and
+independent as if he did not owe me a shilling; always making himself
+out my equal."
+
+"He is your equal," said George, speaking gently in his sadness.
+
+"My equal! Working Tom Ryle the equal of the Chattaways! A man who rents
+two or three hundred acres and does half the work himself, the equal of
+the landlord who owns them and ever so many more to them!--equal to the
+Squire of Trevlyn Hold! Where did you pick up those notions, boy?"
+
+George had a great mind to say that in strict justice Mr. Chattaway had
+no more right to be Squire of Trevlyn Hold, or to own those acres, than
+his father had; not quite so much right, if it came to that. He had a
+great mind to say that the Ryles were gentlemen, and once owners of what
+his father now rented. But George remembered they were in Chattaway's
+power; he could sell them up, and turn them from the farm, if he
+pleased; and he held his tongue.
+
+"Not that I blame you for the notions," Mr. Chattaway resumed, in the
+same thin, unpleasant tones--never was there a voice more thin and wiry
+than his. "It's natural you should have got them from Ryle, for they
+were his. He was always----But there! I won't say any more, with him
+lying there, poor fellow. We'll let it drop, George."
+
+"I do not know how things are between you and my father," said George,
+"except that there's money owing to you. But if you will not press us,
+if you will let my mother remain on the farm, I----"
+
+"That's enough," interrupted Mr. Chattaway. "Never trouble your head
+about business that's above you. Anything between me and your father, or
+your mother either, is no concern of yours; you are not old enough to
+interfere yet. I should like to see him. Do you think I may go in?"
+
+"We can ask," answered George; some vague and indistinct idea floating
+to his mind that a death-bed reconciliation might help to smooth future
+difficulties.
+
+He led the way through the fold-yard. Nora was coming out at the
+back-door as they advanced.
+
+"Nora, do you think Mr. Chattaway may go in to see my father?" asked
+George.
+
+"If it will do Mr. Chattaway any good," responded Nora, who ever
+regarded that gentleman in the light of a common enemy, and could with
+difficulty bring herself to be commonly civil to him. "It's all over;
+but Mr. Chattaway can see what's left of him."
+
+"Is he dead?" whispered Mr. Chattaway; whilst George lifted his white
+and startled face.
+
+"He is dead!" broke forth Nora; "and perhaps there may be some that will
+wish now they had been less hard with him in life. The doctors and Mrs.
+Ryle have just come out, and the women have gone in to put him straight
+and comfortable. Mr. Chattaway can go in also, if he would like it."
+
+Mr. Chattaway, it appeared, did not like it. He turned from the door,
+drawing George with him.
+
+"George, tell your mother I am grieved at her trouble, and wish that
+beast of a bull had been stuck before he had done this. Tell her if
+there's any little thing she could fancy from the Hold, to let Edith
+know, and she'll gladly send it to her. Good-bye, lad. You and Treve
+must keep up, you know."
+
+He passed out by the fold-yard gate, as he had entered, and George
+leaned upon it again, with his aching heart; an orphan now. Treve and
+Caroline had their mother left, but he had no one. It is true he had
+never known a mother, and Mrs. Ryle, his father's second wife, had
+supplied the place of one. She had done her duty by him; but it had not
+been in love; nor very much in gentleness. Of her own children she was
+inordinately fond; she had not been so of George--which perhaps was in
+accordance with human nature. It had never troubled George much; but the
+fact now struck upon him with a sense of intense loneliness. His father
+had loved him deeply and sincerely: but--he was gone.
+
+In spite of his heavy sorrow, George was awake to sounds in the
+distance, the everyday labour of life. The cow-boy was calling to his
+cows; one of the men, acting for Jim Sanders, was going out with the
+team. And now there came a butcher, riding up from Barmester, and George
+knew he had come about some beasts, all unconscious that the master was
+no longer here to command, or deal with. Work, especially farm work,
+must go on, although death may have accomplished its mission.
+
+The butcher, riding fast, had nearly reached the gate, and George was
+turning away to retire indoors, when the unhappy thought came upon
+him--Who is to see this man? His father no longer there, who must
+represent him?--must answer comers--must stand in his place? It brought
+the fact of what had happened more practically before George Ryle's mind
+than anything else had done. He stood where he was, instead of turning
+away. That day he must rise superior to grief, and be useful; must rise
+above his years in the future, for his step-mother's sake.
+
+"Good morning, Mr. George," cried the butcher, as he rode up. "Is the
+master about?"
+
+"No," answered George, speaking as steadily as he could. "He will never
+be about again. He is dead."
+
+The butcher thought it a boy's joke. "None of that, young gentleman!"
+said he, with a laugh. "Where shall I find him?"
+
+"Mr. Cope," said George, raising his grave face--and its expression
+struck a chill to the man's heart--"I should not joke upon the subject
+of death. My father was attacked by Chattaway's bull yesterday evening,
+and has died of the injuries."
+
+"Lawk-a-mercy!" uttered the startled man. "Attacked by Chattaway's bull!
+and--and--died of the injuries! Surely it can't be so!"
+
+George had turned his face away; the strain was getting too much for
+him.
+
+"Has Chattaway killed the bull?" was the man's next question.
+
+"I suppose not."
+
+"Then he is no man and no gentleman if he don't do it. If a beast of
+mine injured a neighbour, I'd stay him from injuring another, no matter
+what its value. Dear me! Mr. George, I'd rather have heard any news than
+this."
+
+George's head was quite turned away now. The butcher roused himself to
+think of business. His time was short, for he had to be in the town
+again before his shop opened for the day.
+
+"I came up about the beasts," he said. "The master as good as sold 'em
+to me yesterday; it was only a matter of a few shillings split us. But
+I'll give in sooner than not have 'em. Who is going to carry on the
+dealings in Mr. Ryle's place? Who can I speak to?"
+
+"You can see John Pinder," answered George. "He knows most about
+things."
+
+The man guided his horse through the fold-yard, scattering the cocks and
+hens, and reached the barn. John Pinder came out to him; and George
+escaped indoors.
+
+It was a sad day. The excitement over, the doctors departed, the
+gossipers and neighbours dispersed, the village carpenter having come
+and taken certain measures, the house was left to its monotonous quiet;
+that distressing quiet which tells upon the spirits. Nora's voice was
+subdued, Molly went about on tiptoe. The boys wished it was over; that,
+and many more days to come. Treve fairly broke bounds about twelve, said
+he could not bear it, and went out amongst the men. In the afternoon
+George was summoned upstairs to the chamber of Mrs. Ryle, where she had
+remained since the morning.
+
+"George, you must go to Barmester," she said. "I wish to know how
+Caroline bears the news, poor child! Mr. Benage said he would call and
+break it to her; but I cannot get her grief out of my head. You can go
+over in the gig; but don't stay. Be home by tea-time."
+
+It is more than probable that George felt the commission as a relief,
+and he started as soon as the gig was ready. As he went out of the yard,
+Nora called after him to be careful how he drove. Not that he had never
+driven before; but Mr. Ryle, or some one else, had always been in the
+gig with him. Now he was alone; and it brought his loss again more
+forcibly before him.
+
+He reached Barmester, and saw his sister Caroline, who was staying there
+on a visit. She was not overwhelmed with grief, but, on the contrary,
+appeared to have taken the matter coolly and lightly. The fact was, the
+little girl had no definite ideas on the subject of death. She had never
+been brought into contact with it, and could not at all realise the fact
+told her, that she would never see papa again. Better for the little
+heart perhaps that it was so; sorrow enough comes with later years; and
+Mrs. Ryle judged wisely in deciding to keep the child where she was
+until after the funeral.
+
+When George reached home, he found Nora at tea alone. Master Treve had
+chosen to take his with his mother in her chamber. George sat down with
+Nora. The shutters were closed, and the room was bright with fire and
+candle; but to George all things were dreary.
+
+"Why don't you eat?" asked Nora, presently, perceiving the
+bread-and-butter remained untouched.
+
+"I'm not hungry," replied George.
+
+"Did you have tea in Barmester?"
+
+"I did not have anything," he said.
+
+"Now, look you here, George. If you are going to give way to----Mercy on
+us! What's that?"
+
+Some one had entered hastily. A lovely girl in a flowing white evening
+dress and blue ribbons in her hair. A heavy shawl fell from her
+shoulders to the ground, and she stood panting, as one who has run
+quickly, her fair curls falling, her cheeks crimson, her dark blue eyes
+glowing. On the pretty arms were coral bracelets, and a thin gold chain
+was on her neck. It was Maude Trevlyn, whom you saw at Trevlyn Hold last
+night. So out of place did she look in that scene, that Nora for once
+was silent, and could only stare.
+
+"I ran away, Nora," said Maude, coming forward. "Octave has a party, but
+they won't miss me if I stay only a little time. I have wanted to come
+all day, but they would not let me."
+
+"Who would not?" asked Nora.
+
+"Not any of them. Even Aunt Edith. Nora, is it _true_? Is it true that
+he is dead?" she reiterated, her pretty hands clasped with emotion, her
+great blue eyes cast upwards at Nora, waiting for the answer.
+
+"Oh, Miss Maude! you might have heard it was true enough up at the Hold.
+And so they have a party! Some folk in Madam Chattaway's place might
+have had the grace to put it off, when their sister's husband was lying
+dead!"
+
+"It is not Aunt Edith's fault. You know it is not, Nora. George, you
+know it also. She has cried very much to-day; and she asked long and
+long ago for the bull to be sent off. But he was not sent. Oh, George, I
+am so sorry! I wish I could have seen him before he died. There was no
+one I liked so well as Mr. Ryle."
+
+"Will you have some tea?" asked Nora.
+
+"No, I must not stay. Should Octave miss me she will tell of me, and
+then I should be punished. What do you think? Rupert displeased Cris in
+some way, and Miss Diana sent him to bed away from all the pleasure. It
+is a shame!"
+
+"It is all a shame together, up at Trevlyn Hold--all that concerns
+Rupert," said Nora, not, perhaps, very judiciously.
+
+"Nora, where did he die?" asked Maude, in a whisper. "Did they take him
+up to his bedroom when they brought him home?"
+
+"They carried him in there," said Nora, pointing to the sitting room
+door. "He is lying there now."
+
+"I want to see him," she continued.
+
+Nora received the intimation dubiously.
+
+"I don't know whether you had better," said she, after a pause.
+
+"Yes, I must, Nora. What was that about the dog scratching a grave
+before the porch?"
+
+"Who told you anything about that?" asked Nora, sharply.
+
+"Ann Canham came up to the Hold and spoke about it. Was it so, Nora?"
+
+Nora nodded. "A hole, Miss Maude, nearly big enough to lay the master
+in. Not that I thought it a token for _him_! I thought only of Jim
+Sanders. And some folk laugh at these warnings!" she added. "There sits
+one," pointing to George.
+
+"Well, never mind it now," said George, hastily. Never was a boy less
+given to superstition; but, with his father lying where he was, he
+somehow did not care to hear much about the mysterious hole.
+
+Maude moved towards the door. "Take me in to see him," she pleaded.
+
+"Will you promise not to be frightened?" asked Nora. "Some young people
+can't bear the sight of death."
+
+"What should I fear?" returned Maude. "He cannot hurt me."
+
+Nora rose in acquiescence, and took up the candle. But George laid his
+hand on the girl.
+
+"Don't go, Maude. Nora, you must not let her go in. She might regret it.
+It would not be right."
+
+Now, of all things, Nora disliked being dictated to, especially by those
+she called children. She saw no reason why Maude should not look upon
+the dead if she wished to do so, and gave a sharp word of reprimand to
+George, in an undertone. How could they speak aloud, entering that
+presence?
+
+"Maude, Maude!" he whispered. "I would advise you not to go in."
+
+"Let me go!" she pleaded. "I should like to see him once again. I did
+not see him for a whole week before he died. The last time I ever saw
+him was one day in the copse, and he got down some hazel-nuts for me. I
+never thanked him," she added, tears in her eyes. "In a hurry to get
+home, I never stayed to thank him. I shall always be sorry for it.
+George, I must see him."
+
+Nora was already in the room with the candle. Maude advanced on tiptoe,
+her heart beating with awe. She halted at the foot of the table and
+looked eagerly upwards.
+
+Maude Trevlyn had never seen the dead, and her heart gave a bound of
+terror, and she fell back with a cry. Before Nora knew well what had
+occurred, George had her in the other room, his arms wound about her
+with a sense of protection. Nora came out and closed the door, vexed
+with herself for having allowed her to enter.
+
+"You should have told me you had never seen any one dead before, Miss
+Maude," cried she, testily. "How was I to know? And you ought to have
+come right up to the top before looking."
+
+Maude was clinging tremblingly to George, sobbing hysterically. "Don't
+be angry with me," she whispered. "I did not think he would look like
+that."
+
+"Oh, Maude, I am not angry; I am only sorry," he said soothingly.
+"There's nothing really to be frightened at. Papa loved you very much;
+almost as much as he loved me."
+
+"Shall I take you back, Maude?" said George, when she was ready to go.
+
+"Yes, please," she eagerly answered. "I should not dare to go alone now.
+I should be fancying I saw--it--looking out at me from the hedges."
+
+Nora folded her shawl well over her again, and George drew her closer to
+him that she might feel his presence as well as see it. Nora watched
+them down the path, right over the hole the restless dog had favoured
+the house with a night or two ago.
+
+They went up the road. An involuntary shudder shook George's frame as he
+passed the turning which led to the fatal field. He seemed to see his
+father in the unequal conflict. Maude felt the movement.
+
+"It is never going to be out again," she whispered.
+
+"What?" he asked, his thoughts buried deeply just then.
+
+"The bull. I heard Aunt Diana talking to Mr. Chattaway. She said it must
+not be set at liberty again, or we might have the law down upon Trevlyn
+Hold."
+
+"Yes; that's all Miss Trevlyn and he care for--the law," returned
+George, in tones of pain. "What do they care for the death of my
+father?"
+
+"George, he is better off," said she, in a dreamy manner, her face
+turned towards the stars. "I am very sorry; I have cried a great deal
+over it; and I wish it had never happened; I wish he was back with us;
+but still he is better off; Aunt Edith says so. You don't know how she
+has felt it."
+
+"Yes," answered George, his heart very full.
+
+"Mamma and papa are better off," continued Maude. "Your own mother is
+better off. The next world is a happier one than this."
+
+George made no rejoinder. Favourite though Maude was with George Ryle,
+those were heavy moments for him. They proceeded in silence until they
+turned in at the great gate by the lodge: a round building, containing
+two rooms upstairs and two down. Its walls were not very substantial,
+and the sound of voices could be heard within. Maude stopped in
+consternation.
+
+"George, that is Rupert talking!"
+
+"Rupert! You told me he was in bed."
+
+"He was sent to bed. He must have got out of the window again. I am sure
+it is his voice. Oh, what will be done if it is found out?"
+
+George Ryle swung himself on to the very narrow ledge under the window,
+contriving to hold on by his hands and toes, and thus obtained a view of
+the room.
+
+"Yes, it is Rupert," said he, as he jumped down. "He is sitting talking
+to old Canham."
+
+But the slightness of structure which allowed voices to be heard within
+the lodge also allowed them to be heard without. Ann Canham came
+hastening to the door, opened it a few inches, and stood peeping. Maude
+took the opportunity to slip past her into the room.
+
+But no trace of her brother was there. Mark Canham was sitting in his
+usual invalid seat by the fire, smoking a pipe, his back towards the
+door.
+
+"Where has he gone?" cried Maude.
+
+"Where's who gone?" roughly spoke old Canham, without turning his head.
+"There ain't nobody here."
+
+"Father, it's Miss Maude," interposed Ann Canham, closing the outer
+door, after allowing George to enter. "Who be you taking the young lady
+for?"
+
+The old man, partly disabled by rheumatism, put down his pipe, and
+contrived to turn in his chair. "Eh, Miss Maude! Why, who'd ever have
+thought of seeing you to-night?"
+
+"Where is Rupert?" asked Maude.
+
+"Rupert?" composedly returned old Canham. "Is it Master Rupert you're
+asking after? How should we know where he is, Miss Maude?"
+
+"We saw him here," interposed George Ryle. "He was sitting on that
+bench, talking to you. We both heard his voice, and I saw him."
+
+"Very odd!" said the old man. "Fancy goes a great way. Folks is ofttimes
+deluded by it."
+
+"Mark Canham, I tell you----"
+
+"Wait a minute!" interrupted Maude. She opened the door leading into the
+inner room, and stood looking into its darkness. "Rupert!" she called;
+"it is only George and I. You need not hide."
+
+It brought forth Rupert; that lovely boy, with his large blue eyes and
+auburn curls. There was a great likeness between him and Maude; but
+Maude's hair was lighter.
+
+"I thought it was Cris," he said. "He is learning to be as sly as a fox:
+though I don't know that he was ever anything else. When I am ordered to
+bed before my time, he has taken to dodging into the room every ten
+minutes to see that I am safe in it. Have they missed me, Maude?"
+
+"I don't know," she answered. "I also came away without their knowing
+it. I have been down to Aunt Ryle's, and George has brought me home
+again."
+
+"Will you be pleased, to sit down, Miss, Maude?" asked Ann Canham,
+dusting a chair.
+
+"Eh, but that's a pretty picture!" cried old Canham, gazing at Maude,
+who had slipped off her heavy shawl, and stood warming her hands at the
+fire.
+
+Mark Canham was right. A very pretty picture. He extended the hand that
+was not helpless towards her.
+
+"Miss Maude, I mind me seeing your mother looking just as you look now.
+The Squire was out, and the young ladies at the Hold thought they'd give
+a dance, and Parson Dean and Miss Emily were invited to it. I don't know
+that they'd have been asked if the Squire had been at home, matters not
+being smooth between him and parson. She was older than you be; but she
+was dressed just as you be now; and I could fancy, as I look at you,
+that it was her over again. I was in the rooms, helping to wait. It
+doesn't seem so long ago! Miss Emily was the sweetest-looking of 'em all
+present; and the young heir seemed to think so. He opened the ball with
+Miss Emily in spite of his sisters; they wanted him to choose somebody
+grander. Ah, me! and both of 'em lying low so soon after, leaving you
+two behind 'em!"
+
+"Mark!" cried Rupert, throwing his eyes on the old man--eyes sparkling
+with excitement--"if they had lived, papa and mamma, I should not have
+been sent to bed to-night because there's another party at Trevlyn
+Hold."
+
+Mark's only answer was to put up his hands with an indignant gesture.
+Ann Canham was still offering the chair to Maude. Maude declined it.
+
+"I cannot stay, Ann. They will miss me if I don't return. Rupert, you
+will come?"
+
+"To be boxed up in my bedroom, whilst the rest of you are enjoying
+yourselves," cried Rupert. "They would like to take the spirit out of
+me; have been trying at it a long time."
+
+Maude wound her arm within his. "Do come, Rupert!" she whispered
+coaxingly. "Think of the disturbance if Cris should find you here and
+tell!"
+
+"And tell!" repeated Rupert, mockingly. "_Not_ to tell would be
+impossible to Cris Chattaway. It's what he'd delight in more than in
+gold. I wouldn't be the sneak Cris Chattaway is for the world."
+
+But Rupert appeared to think it well to depart with his sister. As they
+were going out, old Canham spoke to George.
+
+"And Mrs. Ryle, sir--how does she bear it?"
+
+"She bears it very well, Mark," answered George, as the tears rushed to
+his eyes unbidden. The old man marked them.
+
+"There's one comfort for ye, Master George," he said, in low tones:
+"that he has took all his neighbours' sorrow with him. And as much
+couldn't be said if every gentleman round about here was cut off by
+death."
+
+The significant tone was not needed to tell George that he alluded to
+Mr. Chattaway. The master of Trevlyn Hold was, in fact, no greater
+favourite with old Canham than he was with George Ryle.
+
+"Mind how you get in, Master Rupert, so they don't fall upon you,"
+whispered Ann Canham, as she held open the lodge door.
+
+"I'll mind," was the boy's answer. "Not that I should care much if they
+did," he added. "I am getting tired of it."
+
+She stood and watched them up the dark walk until a turn in the road hid
+them from view, and then closed the door. "If they don't take to treat
+him kinder, I misdoubt me but he'll do something desperate, as the
+dead-and-gone heir, Rupert, did," she remarked, sitting down near her
+father.
+
+"Like enough," was the old man's reply, taking up his pipe again. "He
+has the true Trevlyn temper, have young Rupert."
+
+"Maude," began Rupert, as they wound their way up the dark avenue,
+"don't they know you came out?"
+
+"They would not have let me come if they had known it," replied Maude.
+"I have been wanting to go down all day, but Aunt Diana and Octave kept
+me in. I begged to go down last night when Bill Webb brought the news;
+and they were angry with me."
+
+"Do you know what I should have done in Chattaway's place, George?"
+cried the boy, impulsively. "I should have loaded my gun the minute I
+heard of it, and shot the beast between the eyes. Chattaway would, if he
+were half a man."
+
+"It is of no use talking of it, Rupert," answered George, in sadly
+subdued tones. "That would not mend the evil."
+
+"Only fancy their having this rout to-night, while Mr. Ryle is lying
+dead!" indignantly resumed Rupert. "Aunt Edith ought to have interfered
+for once, and stopped it."
+
+"Aunt Edith did interfere," spoke up Maude. "She said it must be put
+off. But Octave would not hear of it, and Miss Diana said Mr. Ryle was
+no real rela----"
+
+Maude dropped her voice. They were now in view of the house and its
+lighted windows; and some one, probably hearing their footsteps, came
+bearing down upon them with a fleet step. It was Cris Chattaway. Rupert
+stole into the trees, and disappeared: Maude, holding George's arm, bore
+bravely on, and met him.
+
+"Where have you been, Maude? The house has been searched for you. What
+brings _you_ here?" he roughly added to George.
+
+"I came because I chose to come," was George's answer.
+
+"None of your insolence," returned Cris. "We don't want you here
+to-night. Just be off from this."
+
+Was Cris Chattaway's motive a good one, under his rudeness? Did he feel
+ashamed of the gaiety going on, whilst Mr. Ryle, his uncle by marriage,
+was lying dead, under circumstances so unhappy? Was he anxious to
+conceal the unseemly proceeding from George? Perhaps so.
+
+"I shall go back when I have taken Maude to the hall-door," said George.
+"Not before."
+
+Anything that might have been said further by Cris, was interrupted by
+the appearance of Miss Trevlyn. She was standing on the steps.
+
+"Where have you been, Maude?"
+
+"To Trevlyn Farm," was Maude's truthful answer. "You would not let me go
+during the day, so I have been now. It seemed to me that I must see him
+before he was put underground."
+
+"See _him_!" cried Miss Trevlyn.
+
+"Yes. It was all I went for. I did not see my aunt. George, thank you
+for bringing me home," she continued, stepping in. "Good-night. I would
+have given all I possess for it never to have happened."
+
+She burst into a flood of tears as she spoke--the result, no doubt, of
+her previous fright and excitement, as well as her sorrow for Mr. Ryle's
+unhappy fate. George wrung her hand, and lifted his hat to Miss Trevlyn
+as he turned away.
+
+But ere he had well plunged into the dark avenue, there came swift and
+stealthy steps behind him. A soft hand was laid upon him, and a soft
+voice spoke, broken by tears:
+
+"Oh, George, I am so sorry! I have felt all day as if it would almost be
+my death. I think I could have given my own life to save his."
+
+"I know, I know! I know how _you_ will feel it," replied George, utterly
+unmanned by the true and unexpected sympathy.
+
+It was Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+THE ROMANCE OF TREVLYN HOLD
+
+
+It is impossible to go on without a word of retrospect. The Ryles,
+gentlemen by a long line of ancestry, had once been rich men, but they
+were open-handed and heedless, and in the time of George's grandfather,
+the farm (not called the farm then) passed into the possession of the
+Trevlyns of the Hold, who had a mortgage on it. They named it Trevlyn
+Farm, and Mr. Ryle and his son remained on as tenants where they had
+once been owners.
+
+After old Mr. Ryle's death, his son married the daughter of the curate
+of Barbrook, the Reverend George Berkeley, familiarly known as Parson
+Berkeley. In point of fact, the parish knew no other pastor, for its
+Rector was an absentee. Mary Berkeley was an only child. She had been
+petted, and physicked, and nursed, after the manner of only children,
+and grew up sickly as a matter of course. A delicate, beautiful girl in
+appearance, but not strong. People (who are always fond, you know, of
+settling everybody else's business for them) deemed that she made a poor
+match in marrying Thomas Ryle. It was whispered, however, that he
+himself might have made a greater match, had he chosen--no other than
+Squire Trevlyn's eldest daughter. There was not so handsome, so
+attractive a man in all the country round as Thomas Ryle.
+
+Soon after the marriage, Parson Berkeley died--to the intense grief of
+his daughter, Mrs. Ryle. He was succeeded in the curacy and parsonage by
+a young clergyman just in priest's orders, the Reverend Shafto Dean. A
+well-meaning man, but opinionated and self-sufficient in the highest
+degree, and before he had been one month at the parsonage, he and Squire
+Trevlyn were at issue. Mr. Dean wished to introduce certain new fashions
+and customs into the church and parish; Squire Trevlyn held to the old.
+Proud, haughty, overbearing, but honourable and generous, Squire Trevlyn
+had known no master, no opposer; _he_ was lord of the neighbourhood, and
+was bowed down to accordingly. Mr. Dean would not give way, the Squire
+would not give way; and the little seed of dissension grew and spread.
+Obstinacy begets obstinacy. That which a slight yielding on either side,
+a little mutual good-feeling, might have removed at first, became at
+length a terrible breach, the talk of a county.
+
+Meanwhile Thomas Ryle's fair young wife died, leaving an infant
+boy--George. In spite of her husband's loving care, in spite of having
+been shielded from all work and management, so necessary on a farm, she
+died. Nora Dickson, a humble relative of the Ryle family, who had been
+partially brought up on the farm, was housekeeper and manager. She saved
+all trouble to young Mrs. Ryle: but she could not save her life.
+
+The past history of Trevlyn Hold was a romance in itself. Squire Trevlyn
+had five children: Rupert, Maude, Joseph, Edith and Diana. Rupert, Maude
+and Diana were imperious as their father; Joseph and Edith were mild,
+yielding, and gentle, as had been their mother. Rupert was of course
+regarded as the heir: but the property was not entailed. An ancestor of
+Squire Trevlyn's coming from some distant part--it was said
+Cornwall--bought it and settled down upon it. There was not a great deal
+of grass land on the estate, but the coal-mines in the distance made it
+very valuable. Of all his children, Rupert, the eldest, was the Squire's
+favourite: but poor Rupert did not live to come into the estate. He had
+inherited the fits of passion characteristic of the Trevlyns; was of a
+thoughtless, impetuous nature; and he fell into trouble and ran away
+from his country. He embarked for a distant port, which he did not live
+to reach. And Joseph became the heir.
+
+Very different, he, from his brother Rupert. Gentle and yielding, like
+his sister Edith, the Squire half despised him. The Squire would have
+preferred him passionate, haughty, and overbearing--a true Trevlyn. But
+the Squire had no intention of superseding him in the succession of
+Trevlyn Hold. Provided Joseph lived, none other would be its inheritor.
+_Provided_. Joseph--always called Joe--appeared to have inherited his
+mother's constitution; and she had died early, of decline.
+
+Yielding, however, as Joe Trevlyn was naturally, on one point he did not
+prove himself so--that of his marriage. He chose Emily Dean; the pretty
+and lovable sister of Squire Trevlyn's _bete noire_, the obstinate
+parson. "I would rather you took a wife out of the parish workhouse,
+Joe," the Squire said, in his anger. Joe said little in reply, but he
+held to his choice; and one fine morning the marriage was celebrated by
+the obstinate parson himself in the church at Barbrook.
+
+The Squire and Thomas Ryle were close friends, and the former was fond
+of passing his evenings at the farm. The farm was not a productive one.
+The land, never of the richest, had become poorer and poorer: it wanted
+draining and nursing; it wanted, in short, money laid out upon it; and
+that money Mr. Ryle did not possess. "I shall have to leave it, and try
+and take a farm in better condition," he said at length to the Squire.
+
+The Squire, with all his faults and his overbearing temper, was generous
+and considerate. He knew what the land wanted; money spent on it; he
+knew Mr. Ryle had not the money to spend, and he offered to lend it him.
+Mr. Ryle accepted it, to the amount of two thousand pounds. He gave a
+bond for the sum, and the Squire on his part promised to renew the lease
+upon the present terms, when the time of renewal came, and not raise the
+rent. This promise was not given in writing: but none ever doubted the
+word of Squire Trevlyn.
+
+The first of Squire Trevlyn's children to marry had been Edith: some
+years before she had married Mr. Chattaway. The two next to marry had
+been Maude and Joseph. Joseph, as you have heard, married Emily Dean;
+Maude, the eldest daughter, became the second wife of Mr. Ryle. A
+twelvemonth after the death of his fair young wife Mary, Miss Trevlyn of
+the Hold stepped into her shoes, and became the step-mother of the
+little child, George. The youngest daughter Diana, never married.
+
+Miss Trevlyn, in marrying Thomas Ryle, gave mortal offence to some of
+her kindred. The Squire himself would have forgiven it; nay, perhaps
+have grown to like it--for he never could do otherwise than like Thomas
+Ryle--but he was constantly incited against it by his family. Mr.
+Chattaway, who had no great means of living of his own, was at the Hold
+on a long, long visit, with his wife and two little children,
+Christopher and Octavia. They were always saying they must leave; but
+they did _not_ leave; they stayed on. Mr. Chattaway made himself useful
+to the Squire on business matters, and whether they ever would leave was
+a question. She, Mrs. Chattaway, was too gentle-spirited and loving to
+speak against her sister and Mr. Ryle; but Chattaway and Miss Diana
+Trevlyn kept up the ball. In point of fact, they had a motive--at least,
+Chattaway had--for making permanent the estrangement between the Squire
+and Mr. Ryle, for it was thought that Squire Trevlyn would have to look
+out for another heir.
+
+News had come home of poor Joe Trevlyn's failing health. He had taken up
+his abode in the south of France on his marriage: for even then the
+doctors had begun to say that a more genial climate than this could
+alone save the life of the heir to Trevlyn. Bitterly as the Squire had
+felt the marriage, angry as he had been with Joe, he had never had the
+remotest thought of disinheriting him. He was the only son left: and
+Squire Trevlyn would never, if he could help it, bequeath Trevlyn Hold
+to a woman. A little girl, Maude, was born in due time to Joe Trevlyn
+and his wife; and not long after this, there arrived the tidings that
+Joe's health was rapidly failing. Mr. Chattaway, selfish, mean, sly,
+covetous, began to entertain hopes that _he_ should be named the heir;
+he began to work on it in stealthy determination. He did not forget
+that, were it bequeathed to the husband of one of the daughters, Mr.
+Ryle, as the husband of the eldest, might be considered to possess most
+claim to it. No wonder then that he did all he could, secretly and
+openly, to incite the Squire against Mr. Ryle and his wife. And in this
+he was joined by Miss Diana Trevlyn. She, haughty and imperious,
+resented the marriage of her sister with one of inferior position, and
+willingly espoused the cause of Mr. Chattaway as against Thomas Ryle. It
+was whispered about, none knew with what truth, that Miss Diana made a
+compact with Chattaway, to the effect that she should reign jointly at
+Trevlyn Hold with him and enjoy part of its revenues, if he came into
+the inheritance.
+
+Before the news came of Joe Trevlyn's death--and it was some months in
+coming--Squire Trevlyn had taken to his bed. Never did man seem to fade
+so rapidly as the Squire. Not only his health, but his mind failed him;
+all its vigour seemed gone. He mourned poor Joe excessively. In rude
+health and strength, he would not have mourned him; at least, would not
+have shown that he did so; never a man less inclined than the Squire to
+allow his private emotions to be seen: but in his weakened state he gave
+way to lamentation for his heir (his _heir_, note you, more than his
+son) every hour in the day. Over and over again he regretted that the
+little child, Maude, left by Joe, was not a boy. Nay, had it not been
+for his prejudice against her mother, he would have willed the estate to
+her, girl though she was. Now was Mr. Chattaway's time: he put forth in
+glowing colours his own claims, as Edith's husband; he made golden
+promises; he persuaded the poor Squire, in his wrecked mind, that black
+was white--and his plans succeeded.
+
+To the will which had bequeathed the estate to the eldest son, dead
+Rupert, the Squire added a codicil, to the effect that, failing his two
+sons, James Chattaway was the inheritor. But all this was kept a
+profound secret.
+
+During the time the Squire lay ill, Mr. Ryle went to Trevlyn Hold, and
+succeeded in obtaining an interview. Mr. Chattaway was out that day, or
+he had never accomplished it. Miss Diana Trevlyn was out. All the
+Squire's animosity departed the moment he saw Thomas Ryle's
+long-familiar face. He lay clasping his hand, and lamenting their
+estrangement; he told him he should cancel the two-thousand-pound bond,
+giving the money as his daughter's dowry; he said his promise of
+renewing the lease of the farm to him on the same terms would be held
+sacred, for he had left a memorandum to that effect amongst his papers.
+He sent for a certain box, in which the bond for the two thousand pounds
+had been placed, and searched for it, intending to give it to him then;
+but the bond was not there, and he said that Mr. Chattaway, who managed
+all his affairs now, must have placed it elsewhere. But he would ask him
+for it when he came in, and it should be destroyed before he slept.
+Altogether, it was a most pleasant and satisfactory interview.
+
+But strange news arrived from abroad ere the Squire died. Not strange,
+certainly, in itself; only strange because it was so very unexpected.
+Joseph Trevlyn's widow had given birth to a boy! On the very day that
+little Maude was twelve months old, exactly three months after Joe's
+death, this little fellow was born. Mr. Chattaway opened the letter, and
+I will leave you to judge of his state of mind. A male heir, after he
+had made everything so safe and sure!
+
+But Mr. Chattaway was not a man to be thwarted. _He_ would not be
+deprived of the inheritance if he could by any possible scheming retain
+it, no matter what wrong he dealt out to others. James Chattaway had as
+little conscience as most people. The whole of that day he never spoke
+of the news; he kept it to himself; and the next morning there arrived a
+second letter, which rendered the affair a little more complicated.
+Young Mrs. Trevlyn was dead. She had died, leaving the two little ones,
+Maude and the infant.
+
+Squire Trevlyn was always saying, "Oh, that Joe had left a boy; that Joe
+had left a boy!" And now, as it was found, Joe _had_ left one. But Mr.
+Chattaway determined that the fact should never reach the Squire's ears
+to gladden them. Something had to be done, however, or the little
+children would be coming to Trevlyn. Mr. Chattaway arranged his plans,
+and wrote off hastily to stop their departure. He told the Squire that
+Joe's widow had died, leaving Maude; but he never said a word about the
+baby boy. Had the Squire lived, perhaps it could not have been kept from
+him; but he did not live; he went to his grave all too soon, never
+knowing that a male heir was born to Trevlyn.
+
+The danger was over then. Mr. Chattaway was legal inheritor. Had Joe
+left ten boys, they could not have displaced him. Trevlyn Hold was his
+by the Squire's will, and could not be wrested from him. The two
+children, friendless and penniless, were brought home to the Hold. Mrs.
+Trevlyn had lived long enough to name the infant "Rupert," after the old
+Squire and the heir who had run away and died. Poor Joe had always said
+that if ever he had a boy, it should be named after his brother.
+
+There they had been ever since, these two orphans, aliens in the home
+that ought to have been theirs; lovely children, both of them; but
+Rupert had the passionate Trevlyn temper. It was not made a
+systematically unkind home to them; Miss Diana would not have allowed
+that; but it was a very different home from that they ought to have
+enjoyed. Mr. Chattaway was at times almost cruel to Rupert; Christopher
+exercised upon him all sorts of galling and petty tyranny, as Octave
+Chattaway did upon Maude; and the neighbourhood, you may be quite sure,
+did not fail to talk. But it was known only to one or two that Mr.
+Chattaway had kept the fact of Rupert's birth from the Squire.
+
+He stood tolerably well with his fellow-men, did Chattaway. In himself
+he was not liked; nay, he was very much disliked; but he was owner of
+Trevlyn Hold, and possessed sway in the neighbourhood. One thing, he
+could not get the title of Squire accorded to him. In vain he strove for
+it; he exacted it from his tenants; he wrote notes in the third person,
+"Squire Chattaway presents his compliments," etc.; or, "the Squire of
+Trevlyn Hold desires," etc., etc., all in vain. People readily accorded
+his wife the title of Madam--as it was the custom to call the mistress
+of Trevlyn Hold--she was the old Squire's daughter, and they recognised
+her claim to it, but they did not give that of Squire to her husband.
+
+These things had happened years ago, for Maude and Rupert were now aged
+respectively thirteen and twelve, and all that time James Chattaway had
+enjoyed his sway. Never, never; no, not even in the still night when the
+voice of conscience in most men is so suggestive; never giving a thought
+to the wrong dealt out to Rupert.
+
+And it must be mentioned that the first thing Mr. Chattaway did, after
+the death of Squire Trevlyn, was to sue Mr. Ryle upon the bond; which he
+had _not_ destroyed, although ordered to do so by the Squire. The next
+thing he did was to raise the farm to a ruinous rent. Mr. Ryle,
+naturally indignant, remonstrated, and there had been ill-feeling
+between them from that hour to this; but Chattaway had the law on his
+own side. Some of the bond was paid off; but altogether, what with the
+increased rent, the bond and its interest, and a succession of ill-luck
+on the farm, Mr. Ryle had scarcely been able to keep his head above
+water. As he said to his wife and children, when the bull had done its
+work--he was taken from a world of care.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+MR. RYLE'S LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT
+
+
+Etiquette, touching the important ceremonies of buryings and
+christenings, is much more observed in the country than in towns. To
+rural districts this remark especially applies. In a large town people
+don't know their next-door neighbours, don't care for their neighbours'
+opinions. In a smaller place the inhabitants are almost as one family,
+and their actions are chiefly governed by that pertinent remark, "What
+will people say?" In these narrow communities, numbers of which are
+scattered about England, it is considered necessary on the occasion of a
+funeral to invite all kith and kin. Omit to do so, and it would be set
+down as a slight; affording the parish a theme of gossip for weeks
+afterwards. Hence Mr. Chattaway, being a connection--brother-in-law, in
+fact, of the deceased gentleman's wife--was invited to follow the
+remains of Thomas Ryle to the grave. In spite of the bad terms they had
+been on; in spite of Mrs. Ryle's own bitter feelings against Chattaway
+and Trevlyn Hold generally; in spite of Mr. Ryle's death having been
+caused by Chattaway's bull--Mr. Chattaway received a formal invitation
+to attend as mourner the remains to the grave. And it would never have
+entered into Mr. Chattaway's ideas of manners to decline it.
+
+An inquest had been held at the nearest inn. The verdict returned was
+"Accidental Death," with a deodand of five pounds upon the bull. Which
+Mr. Chattaway had to pay.
+
+The bull was already condemned. Not to annihilation; but to be taken to
+a distant fair, and there sold; whence he would be conveyed to other
+pastures, where he might possibly gore somebody else. It was not
+consideration for the feelings of the Ryle family which induced Mr.
+Chattaway to adopt this step, and so rid the neighbourhood of the
+animal; but consideration for his own pocket. Feeling ran high in the
+vicinity; fear also; the stoutest hearts could feel no security that the
+bull might not have a tilt at them: and Chattaway, on his part, was as
+little certain that an effectual silencer would not be dealt out to the
+bull some quiet night. Therefore he resolved to part with him. Apart
+from his misdoings, he was a valuable animal, worth a great deal more
+than Mr. Chattaway cared to lose; and the bull was dismissed.
+
+The day of the funeral arrived, and those bidden to it began to assemble
+about one o'clock: that is, the undertaker's men, the clerk, and the
+bearers. Of the latter, Jim Sanders made one. "Better he had gone than
+his master," said Nora, in a matter-of-fact, worldly spirit of
+reasoning, as her thoughts went back to the mysterious hole she had
+gratuitously, and the reader will say absurdly, coupled with Jim's fate.
+A table was laid out in the entrance-room groaning under an immense cold
+round of beef, bread-and-cheese, and large supplies of ale. To help to
+convey a coffin to church without being first regaled with a good meal,
+was a thing Barbrook had never heard of, and never wished to hear of.
+The select members of the company were shown to the drawing-room, where
+the refreshment consisted of port and sherry, and "pound" cake. These
+were the established rules of hospitality at all well-to-do funerals:
+wine and cake for the gentry; cold beef and ale for the men. They had
+been observed at Squire Trevlyn's; at Mr. Ryle's father's; at every
+substantial funeral within the memory of Barbrook. Mr. Chattaway, Mr.
+Berkeley (a distant relative of Mr. Ryle's first wife), Mr. King the
+surgeon, and Farmer Apperley comprised the assemblage in the
+drawing-room.
+
+At two o'clock, after some little difficulty in getting it into order,
+the sad procession started. It had then been joined by George and
+Trevlyn Ryle. A great many spectators had collected to view and attend
+it. The infrequency of a funeral in the respectable class, combined with
+the circumstances attending the death, drew them together: and before
+the church was reached, where it was met by the clergyman, it had a
+train half-a-mile long after it; chiefly women and children. Many
+dropped a tear for the premature death of one who had lived amongst them
+as a good master and kind neighbour.
+
+They left him in his grave, by the side of his long-dead wife, Mary
+Berkeley. As George stood at the head of his father's coffin, during the
+ceremony in the churchyard, the gravestone with its name was in front of
+him; his mother's name: "Mary, the wife of Thomas Ryle, and only
+daughter of the Rev. George Berkeley." None knew with what feeling of
+loneliness the orphan boy turned from the spot, as the last words of the
+minister died away.
+
+Mrs. Ryle, in her widow's weeds, was seated in the drawing-room on their
+return, as the gentlemen filed into it. In Barbrook custom, the
+relatives of the deceased, near or distant, were expected to assemble
+together for the remainder of the day; or for a portion of it. The
+gentlemen would sometimes smoke, and the ladies in their deep mourning
+sat with their hands folded in their laps, resting on their snow-white
+handkerchiefs. The conversation was only allowed to run on family
+matters, future prospects, and the like; and the voices were amicable
+and subdued.
+
+As the mourners entered, they shook hands severally with Mrs. Ryle.
+Chattaway put out his hand last, and with perceptible hesitation. It was
+many a year since his hand had been given in fellowship to Mrs. Ryle, or
+had taken hers. They had been friendly once, and in the old days he had
+called her "Maude": but that was over now.
+
+Mrs. Ryle turned from the offered hand. "No," she said, speaking in
+quiet but decisive tones. "I cannot forget the past sufficiently for
+that, James Chattaway. On this day it is forcibly present to me."
+
+They sat down. Trevlyn next his mother, called there by her. The
+gentlemen disposed themselves on the side of the table facing the fire,
+and George found a chair a little behind them; no one seemed to notice
+him. And so much the better; the boy's heart was too full to bear much
+notice then.
+
+On the table was placed the paper which had been written by the surgeon,
+at the dictation of Mr. Ryle, the night when he lay in extremity. It had
+not been unfolded since. Mr. King took it up; he knew that he was
+expected to read it. They were waiting for him to do so.
+
+"I must premise that the dictation of this is Mr. Ryle's," he said. "He
+expressly requested me to write down his _own words_, just as they came
+from his lips. He----"
+
+"Is it a will?" interrupted Farmer Apperley, a little man, with a red
+face and a large nose. He had come to the funeral in top boots, which
+constituted his idea of full dress.
+
+"You can call it a will, if you please," replied Mr. King. "I am not
+sure that the law would do so. It was in consequence of his not having
+made a will that he requested me to write down these few directions."
+
+The farmer nodded; and Mr. King began to read.
+
+"In the name of God: Amen. I, Thomas Ryle.
+
+"First of all, I bequeath my soul to God: trusting that He will pardon
+my sins, for the sake of Jesus Christ our Saviour. Amen.
+
+"It's a dreadful blow, this meeting my death by Chattaway's bull. The
+more so, that I am unable to leave things straightforward for my wife
+and children. They know--at least, my wife knows, and all the parish
+knows--the pressure that has been upon me, through Chattaway coming down
+upon me as he has done. I have been as a bird with its wings clipped. As
+soon as I tried to get up, I was pulled down again.
+
+"Ill luck has been upon me besides. Beasts have died off, crops have
+failed. The farm's not good for much, for all the money that has been
+laid out upon it, and I alone know the labour it has cost. When you
+think of these things, my dear wife and boys, you'll know why I do not
+leave you better provided for. Many and many a night have I lain awake
+upon my bed, fretting, and planning, and hoping, all for your sakes.
+Perhaps if that bull had spared me to old age, I might have left you
+better off.
+
+"I should like to bequeath the furniture and all that is in the house,
+the stock, the beasts, and all that I die possessed of, to my dear wife,
+Maude--but it's not of any use, for Chattaway will sell up--except the
+silver tankard, and that should go to Trevlyn. But for having 'T.R.'
+upon it, it should go to George, for he is the eldest. T.R. stood for my
+father, and T.R. has stood for me, and T.R. will stand for Trevlyn.
+George, though he is the eldest, won't grudge it him, if I know anything
+of his nature. And I give to George my watch, and I hope he'll keep it
+for his dead father's sake. It is only a silver one; but it's a very
+good one, and George can have his initials engraved on the shield. The
+three seals, and the gold key, I give to him with it. The red cornelian
+has our arms on it. For we had arms once, and my father and I have
+generally sealed our letters with them: not that they have done him or
+me any good. And let Treve keep the tankard faithfully, and never part
+with it. And remember, my dear boys, that your poor father would have
+left you better keepsakes had it been in his power. You must prize these
+for the dead giver's sake. But there! it's of no use talking, for
+Chattaway will sell up, watch and tankard, and all.
+
+"And I should like to leave that bay foal to my dear little Caroline. It
+will be a pretty creature when it's bigger. You must let it have the run
+of the three cornered paddock, and I should like to see her on it, sweet
+little soul!--but Chattaway's bull has stopped it. And don't grudge the
+cost of a little saddle for her; and Roger can break it in; and mind you
+are all true and tender with my dear little girl. You are good
+lads--though Treve is hasty when his temper's put out--and I know you'll
+be to her what brothers ought to be. I always meant that foal for Carry,
+since I saw how pretty it was likely to grow, though I didn't say so;
+and now I give it to her. But where's the use? Chattaway will sell up.
+
+"If he does sell up, to the last stick and stone, he won't get his debt
+in full. Perhaps not much above half of it; for things at a forced sale
+don't bring their value. You have put down 'his debt,' I suppose; but it
+is not his debt. I am on my death-bed, and I say that the two thousand
+pounds was made a present of to me by the Squire on _his_ death-bed. He
+told me it was made all right with Chattaway; that Chattaway understood
+the promise given to me, not to raise the rent; and that he'd be the
+same just landlord to me that the Squire had been. The Squire could not
+lay his hand on the bond, or he would have given it me then; but he said
+Chattaway should burn it as soon as he entered, which would be in an
+hour or two. Chattaway knows whether he has acted up to this; and now
+his bull has done for me.
+
+"And I wish to tell Chattaway that if he'll act a fair part as a man
+ought, and let my wife and the boys stop on the farm, he'll stand a much
+better chance of getting the money, than he would if he turns them out
+of it. I don't say this for their sakes more than for his; but because
+from my heart I believe it to be the truth. George has his head on his
+shoulders the right way, and I would advise his mother to keep him on
+the farm; he will be getting older every day. Not but that I wish her to
+use her own judgment in all things, for her judgment is good. In time,
+they may be able to pay off Chattaway; in time they may be able even to
+buy back the farm, for I cannot forget that it belonged to my
+forefathers, and not to the Squire. That is, if Chattaway will be
+reasonable, and let them stop on it, and not be hard and pressing. But
+perhaps I am talking nonsense, for he may turn them off and do for them,
+as his bull has done for me.
+
+"And now, my dear George and Treve, I repeat it to you, be good boys to
+your mother. Obey her in all things. Maude, I have left all to you in
+preference to dividing it between you and them, for which there is no
+time; but I know you'll do the right thing by them: and when it comes to
+your turn to leave--if Chattaway don't sell up--I wish you to bequeath
+to them in equal shares what you die possessed of. George is not your
+son, but he is mine, and----But perhaps I'd better not say what I was
+going to say. And, my boys, work while it's day. In that Book which I
+have not read so much as I ought to have read, it says, 'The night
+cometh when no man can work.' When we hear that read in church, or when
+we get the Book out on a Sunday evening and read it to ourselves, that
+night seems a long, long way off. It seems so far off that it can hardly
+ever be any concern of ours; and it is only when we are cut off suddenly
+that we find how very near it is. That night has come for me; and that
+night will come for you before you are aware of it. So, _work_--and
+score that, doctor. God has placed us in this world to work, and not to
+be ashamed of it; and to work for Him as well as for ourselves. It was
+often in my mind that I ought to work more for God--that I ought to
+think more of Him; and I used to say, 'I will do so when a bit of this
+bother's off my mind.' But the bother was always there, and I never did
+it. And now the end's come; and I can see things would have been made
+easier to me if I _had_ done it--score it again, doctor--and I say it as
+a lesson to you, my children.
+
+"And I think that's about all; and I am much obliged to you, doctor, for
+writing this. I hope they'll be able to manage things on the farm, and I
+would ask my neighbour Apperley to give them his advice now and then,
+for old friendship's sake, until George shall be older, and to put him
+in a way of buying and selling stock. If Chattaway don't sell up, that
+is. If he does, I hardly know how it will be. Perhaps God will put them
+in some other way, and take care of them. And I would leave my best
+thanks to Nora, for she has been a true friend to us all, and I don't
+know how the house would have got on without her. And now I'm growing
+faint, doctor, and I think the end is coming. God bless you all, my dear
+ones. Amen."
+
+A deep silence fell on the room as Mr. King ceased. He folded the paper,
+and laid it on the table near Mrs. Ryle. The first to speak was Farmer
+Apperley.
+
+"Any help that I can be of to you and George, Mrs. Ryle, and to all of
+you, is heartily at your service. It will be yours with right goodwill
+at all times and seasons. The more so, that you know if I had been cut
+off in this way, my poor friend Ryle would have been the first to offer
+to do as much for my wife and boys, and have thought no trouble of it.
+George, you can come over and ask me about things, just as you would ask
+your father; or send for me up here to the farm; and whatever work I may
+be at at home, though it was putting out a barn on fire, I'd come."
+
+"And now it is my turn to speak," said Mr. Chattaway. "And, Mrs. Ryle, I
+give you my promise, in the presence of these gentlemen, that if you
+choose to remain on the farm, I will put no hindrance upon it. Your
+husband thought me hard--unjust; he said it before my face and behind my
+back. My opinion always has been that he entirely mistook Squire Trevlyn
+in that last interview he had with him. I do not think it was ever the
+Squire's intention to cancel the bond; Ryle must have misunderstood him
+altogether: at any rate, I heard nothing of it. As successor to the
+estate, the bond came into my possession; and in my wife and children's
+interest I could not consent to destroy it. No one but a soft-hearted
+man--and that's what Ryle was, poor fellow--would have thought of asking
+such a thing. But I was willing to give him every facility for paying
+it, and I did do so. No! It was not my hardness that was in fault, but
+his pride and nonsense, and his thinking I ought not to ask for my own
+money----"
+
+"If you bring up these things, James Chattaway, I must answer them,"
+interrupted Mrs. Ryle. "I would prefer not to be forced to do it
+to-day."
+
+"I do not want to bring them up in any unpleasant spirit," answered Mr.
+Chattaway; "or to say it was his fault or my fault. We'll let bygones be
+bygones. He is gone, poor man; and I wish that savage beast of a bull
+had been in four quarters before he had done the mischief! All I would
+now say, is, that I'll put no impediment to your remaining on the farm.
+We will not go into business details this afternoon, but I will come in
+any day you like to appoint, and talk it over. If you choose to keep on
+the farm at its present rent--it is well worth it--to pay me interest
+for the money owing, and a yearly sum towards diminishing the debt, you
+are welcome to do it."
+
+Just what Nora had predicted! Mr. Chattaway loved money far too much to
+run the risk of losing part of the debt--as he probably would do if he
+turned them from the farm. Mrs. Ryle bowed her head in cold
+acquiescence. She saw no way open to her but that of accepting the
+offer. Mr. Chattaway probably knew there was no other.
+
+"The sooner things are settled, the better," she remarked. "I will name
+eleven o'clock to-morrow morning."
+
+"Very good; I'll be here," he answered. "And I am glad it is decided
+amicably."
+
+The rest of those present also appeared glad. Perhaps they had feared
+some unpleasant recrimination might take place between Mrs. Ryle and
+James Chattaway. Thus relieved, they unbent a little, and crossed their
+legs as if inclined to become more sociable.
+
+"What shall you do with the boys, Mrs. Ryle?" suddenly asked Farmer
+Apperley.
+
+"Treve, of course, will go to school as usual," she replied.
+"George----I have not decided about George."
+
+"Shall I have to leave school?" cried George, looking up with a start.
+
+"Of course you will," said Mrs. Ryle.
+
+"But what will become of my Latin; my studies altogether?" returned
+George, in tones of dismay. "You know, mamma----"
+
+"It cannot be helped, George," she interrupted, speaking in the
+uncompromising, decisive manner, so characteristic of her; as it was of
+her sister, Diana Trevlyn. "You must turn your attention to something
+more profitable than schooling, now."
+
+"If a boy of fifteen has not had schooling enough, I'd like to know when
+he has had it?" interposed Farmer Apperley, who neither understood nor
+approved of the strides education and intellect had made since he was a
+boy. Substantial people in his day had been content to learn to read and
+write and cipher, and deem that amount of learning sufficient to grow
+rich upon. As did the Dutch professor, to whom George Primrose wished to
+teach Greek, but who declined the offer. He had never learned Greek; he
+had lived, and ate, and slept without Greek; and therefore he did not
+see any good in Greek. Thus was it with Farmer Apperley.
+
+"What do you learn at school, George?" questioned Mr. Berkeley.
+
+"Latin and Greek, and mathematics, and----"
+
+"But, George, where will be the good of such things to you?" cried
+Farmer Apperley, not allowing him to end the catalogue. "Latin and Greek
+and mathematics! What next, I wonder!"
+
+"I don't see much good in giving a boy that sort of education myself,"
+put in Mr. Chattaway, before any one else had time to speak. "Unless he
+is to take up a profession, the classics only lie fallow in the mind. I
+hated them, I know that; I and my brother, too. Many and many a caning
+we have had over our Latin, until we wished the books at the bottom of
+the sea. Twelve months after we left school we could not have construed
+a page, had it been put before us. That's all the good Latin did for
+us."
+
+"I shall keep up my Latin and Greek," observed George, very
+independently, "although I may have to leave school."
+
+"Why need you keep it up?" asked Mr. Chattaway, turning full upon
+George.
+
+"Why?" echoed George. "I like it, for one thing. And a knowledge of the
+classics is necessary to a gentleman."
+
+"Necessary to what?" cried Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"To a gentleman," repeated George.
+
+"Oh," said Mr. Chattaway. "Do you think of being one?"
+
+"Yes, I do," repeated George, in tones as decisive as any ever used by
+his step-mother.
+
+This bold assertion nearly took away the breath of Farmer Apperley. Had
+George Ryle announced his intention of becoming a convict, Mr.
+Apperley's consternation had been scarcely less. The same word bears
+different constructions to different minds. That of "gentleman" in the
+mouth of George, could only bear one to the simple farmer.
+
+"Hey, lad! What wild notions have ye been getting into your head?" he
+asked.
+
+"George," said Mrs. Ryle almost at the same moment, "are you going to
+give me trouble at the very outset? There is nothing for you to look
+forward to but work. Your father said it."
+
+"Of course I look forward to work," returned George, as cheerfully as he
+could speak that sad afternoon. "But that will not prevent my being a
+gentleman."
+
+"George, I fancy you may be somewhat misusing terms," remarked the
+surgeon, who was an old inhabitant of that rustic district, and a little
+more advanced than the rest. "What you meant to say was, that you would
+be a good man, honourable and upright; nothing mean about you. Was it
+not?"
+
+"Yes," said George, after an imperceptible hesitation. "Something of
+that sort."
+
+"The boy did not express himself clearly, you see," said Mr. King,
+looking round on the rest. "He means well."
+
+"Don't you ever talk about being a gentleman again, my lad," cried
+Farmer Apperley, with a sagacious nod. "It would make the neighbours
+think you were going in for bad ways. A gentleman is one who follows the
+hounds in white smalls and scarlet coat, goes to dinners and drinks
+wine, and never puts his hands to anything, but leads an idle life."
+
+"That is not the sort of gentleman I meant," said George.
+
+"It is to be hoped not," replied the farmer. "A man may do this if he
+has a good fat balance at his banker's, but not else."
+
+George made no remark. To have explained how very different his ideas of
+a gentleman were from those of Farmer Apperley might have involved him
+in a long conversation. His silence was looked suspiciously upon by Mr.
+Chattaway.
+
+"Where idle and roving notions are taken up, there's only one cure for
+them!" he remarked, in short, uncompromising tones. "And that is hard
+work."
+
+But that George's spirit was subdued, he might have hotly answered that
+he had taken up neither idle nor roving notions. As it was, he sat in
+silence.
+
+"I doubt whether it will be prudent to keep George at home," said Mrs.
+Ryle, speaking generally, but not to Mr. Chattaway. "He is too young to
+do much on the farm. And there's John Pinder."
+
+"John Pinder would do his best, no doubt," said Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"The question is--if I do resolve to put George out, what can I put him
+to?" resumed Mrs. Ryle.
+
+"My father thought it best I should remain on the farm," interposed
+George, his heart beating a shade faster.
+
+"He thought it best that I should exercise my own judgment in the
+matter," corrected Mrs. Ryle. "The worst is, it takes money to place a
+lad out," she added, looking at Farmer Apperley.
+
+"It does that," replied the farmer.
+
+"There's nothing like a trade for boys," said Mr. Chattaway,
+impressively. "They earn a living, and are kept out of mischief. It
+appears to me that Mrs. Ryle will have expense enough upon her hands,
+without the cost and keep of George added to it. What good can so young
+a boy do the farm?"
+
+"True," mused Mrs. Ryle, agreeing for once with Mr. Chattaway. "He could
+not be of much use at present. But the cost of placing him out?"
+
+"Of course he could not," repeated Mr. Chattaway, with an eagerness
+which might have betrayed his motive, but that he coughed it down.
+"Perhaps I may be able to put him out for you without cost. I know of an
+eligible place where there's a vacancy. The trade is a good one, too."
+
+"I am not going to any trade," said George, looking Mr. Chattaway full
+in the face.
+
+"You are going where Mrs. Ryle thinks fit to send you," returned Mr.
+Chattaway, in his hard, cold tones. "If I can get you into the
+establishment of Wall and Barnes without premium, it will be a
+first-rate thing for you."
+
+All the blood in George Ryle's body seemed to rush to his face. Poor
+though they had become, trade had been unknown in their family, and its
+sound in George's ears, as applied to himself, was something terrible.
+"That is a retail shop!" he cried, rising from his seat.
+
+"Well?" said Mr. Chattaway.
+
+They remained gazing at each other. George with his changing face
+flushing to crimson, fading to paleness; Mr. Chattaway with his composed
+leaden features. His light eyes were sternly directed to George, but he
+did not glance at Mrs. Ryle. George was the first to speak.
+
+"You shall never force me there, Mr. Chattaway."
+
+Mr. Chattaway rose from his seat, took George by the shoulder, and
+turned him towards the window. The view did not take in much of the road
+to Barbrook; but a glimpse of it might be caught sight of here and
+there, winding along in the distance.
+
+"Boy! Do you remember what was carried down that road this
+afternoon--what you followed next to, with your younger brother? _He_
+said that you were not to oppose your mother, but obey her in all
+things. These are early moments to begin to turn against your father's
+dying charge."
+
+George sat down, heart and brain throbbing. He did not see his duty very
+distinctly before him then. His father certainty had charged him to obey
+his mother's requests; he had left him entirely subject to her control;
+but George felt perfectly sure that his father would never have placed
+him in a shop; would not have allowed him to enter one.
+
+Mr. Chattaway continued talking, but the boy heard him not. He was
+bending towards Mrs. Ryle, enlarging persuasively upon the advantages of
+the plan. He knew that Wall and Barnes had taken a boy into their house
+without premium, he said, and he believed he could induce them to waive
+it in George's case. He and Wall had been at school together; had passed
+many an impatient hour over the Latin previously spoken of; had often
+called in to have a chat with him in passing. Wall was a
+ten-thousand-pound man now; and George might become the same in time.
+
+"How would you like to place Christopher at it, Mr. Chattaway?" asked
+George, his heart beating rebelliously.
+
+"Christopher!" indignantly responded Mr. Chattaway. "Christopher's heir
+to Trev----Christopher isn't you," he concluded, cutting his first
+retort short. In the presence of Mrs. Ryle it might not be altogether
+prudent to allude to the heirship of Cris to Trevlyn Hold.
+
+The sum named conciliated the ear of Mr. Apperley, otherwise he had not
+listened with any favour to the plan. "Ten thousand pounds! And Wall
+hardly a middle-aged man! That's worth thinking of, George."
+
+"I could never live in a shop; the close air, the confinement, the
+pettiness of it, would stifle me," said George, with a groan, putting
+aside for the moment his more forcible objections.
+
+"You'd rather live in a thunder-storm, with the rain coming down on your
+head in bucketfuls," said Mr. Chattaway, sarcastically.
+
+"A great deal," said George.
+
+Farmer Apperley did not detect the irony of Mr. Chattaway's remark, or
+the bitterness of the answer. "You'll say next, boy, that you'd rather
+turn sailor, exposed to the weather night and day, perched midway
+between sky and water!"
+
+"A thousand times," was George's truthful answer. "Mother, let me stay
+at the farm!" he cried, the nervous motion of his hands, the strained
+countenance, proving how momentous was the question to his grieved
+heart. "You do not know how useful I should soon become! And my father
+wished it."
+
+Mrs. Ryle shook her head. "You are too young, George, to be of use. No."
+
+George seemed to turn white. He was approaching Mrs. Ryle with an
+imploring gesture; but Mr. Chattaway caught his arm and pushed him
+towards his seat again. "George, if I were you, I would not, on this
+day, cross my mother."
+
+George glanced at her. Not a shade of love, of relenting, was there on
+her countenance. Cold, haughty, self-willed, it always was; but more
+cold, more haughty, more self-willed than usual now. He turned and left
+the room, crossed the kitchen, and passed into the room whence his
+father had been carried only two hours before.
+
+"Oh, father! father!" he sobbed; "if you were only back again!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+REBELLION
+
+
+Borne down by the powers above him, George Ryle could only succumb to
+their will. Persuaded by the eloquence of Mr. Chattaway, Mrs. Ryle
+became convinced that placing George in the establishment of Wall and
+Barnes was the most promising thing that could be found for him. The
+wonder was, that she should have brought herself to listen to Chattaway
+at all, or have entertained for a moment any proposal emanating from
+him. There could have been but one solution to the riddle: that of her
+own anxiety to get George settled in something away from home. Deep down
+in the heart of Mrs. Ryle, there was seated a keen sense of injury--of
+injustice--of wrong. It had been seated there ever since the death of
+Squire Trevlyn, influencing her actions, warping her temper--the
+question of the heirship of Trevlyn. Her father had bequeathed Trevlyn
+Hold to Chattaway; and Chattaway's son was now the heir; whereas, in her
+opinion, it was her son, Trevlyn Ryle, who should be occupying that
+desirable distinction. How Mrs. Ryle reconciled it to her conscience to
+ignore the claims of young Rupert Trevlyn, she best knew.
+
+Ignore them she did. She gave no more thought to Rupert in connection
+with the succession to Trevlyn, than if he had not existed. He had been
+barred from it by the Squire's will, and there it ended. But, failing
+heirs to her two dead brothers, it was _her_ son who should have come
+in. Was she not the eldest daughter? What right had that worm,
+Chattaway, to have insinuated himself into the Squire's home? into--it
+may be said--his heart? and so willed over to himself the inheritance?
+
+A bitter fact to Mrs. Ryle; a fact which rankled in her heart night and
+day; a turning from the path of justice which she firmly intended to see
+turned back again. She saw not how it was to be accomplished; she knew
+not by what means it could be brought about; she divined not yet how she
+should help in it; but she was fully determined that it should be
+Trevlyn Ryle eventually to possess Trevlyn Hold. Never Cris Chattaway.
+
+A determination immutable as the rock: a purpose in the furtherance of
+which she never swerved or faltered; there it lay in the archives of her
+most secret thoughts, a part and parcel of herself, not the less
+indulged because never alluded to. It may be that in the death of her
+husband she saw her way to the end somewhat more clearly; his removal
+was one impediment taken from the path. She had never but once given
+utterance to her ambitious hopes for Trevlyn: and that had been to her
+husband. His reception of them was a warning never to speak of them
+again to him. No son of his, he said, should inherit Trevlyn Hold whilst
+the children of Joseph Trevlyn lived. If Chattaway chose to wrest their
+rights from them, make his son Cris usurper after him, he, Thomas Ryle,
+could not hinder it; but his own boy Treve should never take act or part
+in so crying a wrong. So long as Rupert and Maud Trevlyn lived, he could
+never recognise other rights than theirs. From that time forward Mrs.
+Ryle kept silence with her husband, as she did with others; but the
+roots of the project grew deeper and deeper in her heart, overspreading
+all its healthy fibres.
+
+With this destiny in view for Treve, it will readily be understood why
+she did not purpose bringing him up to any profession, or sending him
+out in the world. Her intention was, that Treve should live at home, as
+soon as his school-days were over; should be master of Trevlyn Farm,
+until he became master of Trevlyn Hold. And for this reason, and this
+alone, she did not care to keep George with her. Trevlyn Farm might be a
+living for one son; it would not be for two; neither would two masters
+on it answer, although they were brothers. It is true, a thought at
+times crossed her whether it might not be well, in the interests of the
+farm, to retain George. He would soon become useful; would be
+trustworthy; her interests would be his; and she felt dubious about
+confiding all management to John Pinder. But these suggestions were
+overruled by the thought that it would not be desirable for George to
+acquire a footing on the farm as its master, and be turned from it when
+the time came for Treve. As much for George's sake as for Treve's, she
+felt this; and she determined to place George at something away, where
+his interests and Treve's would not clash with each other.
+
+Wall and Barnes were flourishing and respectable silk-mercers and
+linen-drapers; their establishment a large one, the oldest and
+best-conducted in Barmester. Had it been suggested to Mrs. Ryle to place
+Treve there, she would have retorted in haughty indignation. And yet
+there she was sending George.
+
+What Mr. Chattaway's precise object could be in wishing to get George
+away from home, he alone knew. That he had such an object, there could
+be no shadow of doubt about; and Mrs. Ryle's usual clear-sightedness
+must have been just then obscured not to perceive it. Had his own
+interests or pleasure not been in some way involved, Chattaway would
+have taken no more heed as to what became of George than he did of a
+clod of earth in that miserable field just rendered famous by the
+ill-conditioned bull. It was Chattaway who did it all. He negotiated
+with Wall and Barnes; he brought news of his success to Mrs. Ryle; he
+won over Farmer Apperley. Wall and Barnes had occasionally taken a youth
+without premium--the youth being expected to perform an unusual variety
+of work for the favour, to be at once an apprentice and a general
+factotum, at the beck and call of the establishment. Under those
+concessions, Wall and Barnes had been known to forego the usual premium;
+and this great boon was, through Mr. Chattaway, offered to George Ryle.
+Chattaway boasted of it; enlarged upon his luck to George; and Mrs.
+Ryle--accepted it.
+
+And George? Every pulse in his body coursed on in fiery indignation
+against the measure, every feeling of his heart rebelled. But of
+opposition he could make none: none that served him. Chattaway quietly
+put him down; Mrs. Ryle met all remonstrances with the answer that she
+had _decided_; and Farmer Apperley laboured to convince him that it was
+a slice of good fortune, which any one (under the degree of a gentleman
+who rode to cover in a scarlet coat and white smalls) might jump at. Was
+not Wall, who had not yet reached his five-and-fortieth year, a
+ten-thousand pound man? Turn where George would, there appeared to be no
+escape for him. He must give up all the dreams of his life--not that the
+dreams had been as yet particularly defined--and become what his mind
+revolted at, what he knew he should ever dislike bitterly. Had he been a
+less right-minded boy, he would have defied Chattaway, and declined to
+obey Mrs. Ryle. But that sort of rebellion George did not enter upon.
+The injunction of his dead father lay on him all too forcibly--"Obey and
+reverence your mother." And so the agreement was made, and George Ryle
+was to go to Wall and Barnes, to be bound to them for seven years.
+
+He stood leaning out of the casement window the night before he was to
+enter; his aching brow bared to the cold air, cloudy as the autumn sky.
+Treve was fast asleep, in his own little bed in the far corner, shaded
+and sheltered by its curtains; but there was no such peaceful sleep for
+George. The thoughts he was indulging were not altogether profitable;
+and certain questions which arose in his mind had been better left out
+of it.
+
+"What _right_ have they so to dispose of me?" he soliloquised, alluding,
+it must be confessed, to the trio, Chattaway, Mrs. Ryle, and Apperley.
+"They _know_ that if my father had lived, they would not have dared to
+urge my being put to it. I wonder what it will end in? I wonder whether
+I shall have to be at it always? It is _not_ right to put a poor fellow
+to what he hates most of all in life, and will hate for ever and for
+ever."
+
+He gazed out at the low stretch of land lying under the night sky,
+looking as desolate as he. "I'd rather go for a sailor!" broke from him
+in his despair; "rather----"
+
+A hand on his shoulder caused him to start and turn. There stood Nora.
+
+"If I didn't say one of you boys was out of bed! What's this, George?
+What are you doing?--trying to catch your death at the open window."
+
+"As good catch my death, for all I see, as live in the world, now," was
+George's answer.
+
+"As good be a young simpleton and confess it," retorted Nora, angrily.
+"What's the matter?"
+
+"Why should they force me to that horrible place at Barmester?" cried
+George, following up his thoughts, rather than answering Nora. "I wish
+Chattaway had been a thousand miles away first! What business has he to
+interfere about me?"
+
+"I wish I was queen at odd moments, when work seems coming in seven ways
+at once, and only one pair of hands to do it," quoth Nora.
+
+George turned from the window. "Nora, look here! You know I am a
+gentleman born and bred: _is_ it right to put me to it?"
+
+Nora evaded an answer. She felt nearly as much as the boy did; but she
+saw no way of escape for him, and therefore would not oppose it.
+
+There was no way of escape. Chattaway had decided it, Mrs. Ryle had
+acquiesced, and George was conducted to the new house, and took up his
+abode in it, rebellious feelings choking his heart, rebellious words
+rising to his lips.
+
+But he did his utmost to beat down rebellion. The charge of his dead
+father was ever before him, and George was mindful of it. He felt as one
+crushed under a weight of despair; as one who had been rudely thrust
+from his proper place on earth: but he constantly battled with himself
+and his wrongs, and strove to make the best of it. How bitter the
+struggle, none save himself knew: its remembrance would never die out
+from memory.
+
+The new work seemed terrible; not for its amount, though that was great;
+but from its nature. To help make up this parcel, to undo that; to take
+down these goods, to put up others. He ran to the post with letters--and
+that was a delightful phase of his life, compared with the rest--he
+carried out brown paper parcels. He had to stand behind the counter, and
+roll and unroll goods, and measure tapes and ribbons. You will readily
+conceive what all this was to a proud boy. George might have run away
+from it altogether, but that the image of that table in the
+sitting-room, and of him who lay upon it, was ever before him,
+whispering to him not to shrink from his duty.
+
+Not a moment's idleness was George allowed; however the shopmen might
+enjoy leisure intervals when customers were few, there was no such
+interval for him. He was the new scapegoat of the establishment; often
+doing the work that of right did not belong to him. It was perfectly
+well known to the young men that he had entered as a working apprentice;
+one who was not to be particular in work he did, or its quantity; and
+therefore he was not spared. He had taken his books with him, classics
+and others; he soon found he might as well have left them at home. Not
+one minute in the twenty-four hours could he devote to them. His hands
+were full of work until bed-time; and no reading was permitted in the
+chambers. "Where is the use of my having gone to school at all?" he
+would sometimes ask himself. He would soon become as oblivious of Latin
+and Greek as Mr. Chattaway could wish; and his prospects of adding to
+his stock of learning were such as would have gladdened Farmer
+Apperley's heart.
+
+One Saturday, when George had been there about three weeks, and the day
+was drawing near for the indentures to be signed, binding him to the
+business for years, Mr. Chattaway rode up in the very costume that was
+the subject of Farmer Apperley's ire, when worn by those who ought not
+to afford to wear it. The hounds had met that day near Barmester, had
+found their fox, and been led a round-about chase, the fox bringing them
+back to their starting-point to resign his brush; and the master of
+Trevlyn Hold, on his splashed hunter, in his scarlet coat, white smalls
+and boots, splashed also, rode through Barmester on his return, and
+pulled up at the door of Wall and Barnes. Giving his horse to a street
+boy to hold, he entered the shop, whip in hand.
+
+The scarlet coat, looming in unexpectedly, caused a flutter in the
+establishment. Saturday was market-day, and the shop was unusually full.
+The customers looked round in admiration, the shopmen with envy. Little
+chance thought those hard-worked, unambitious young men, that they
+should ever wear a scarlet coat, and ride to cover on a blood hunter.
+Mr. Chattaway, of Trevlyn Hold, was an object of consideration just
+then. He shook hands with Mr. Wall, who came forward from some remote
+region; then turned and shook hands condescendingly with George.
+
+"And how does he suit?" blandly inquired Mr. Chattaway. "Can you make
+anything of him?"
+
+"He does his best," was the reply. "Awkward at present; but we have had
+others who have been as awkward at first, I think, and who have turned
+out valuable assistants in the long run. I am willing to take him."
+
+"That's all right then," said Mr. Chattaway. "I'll call in and tell Mrs.
+Ryle. Wednesday is the day he is to be bound, I think?"
+
+"Wednesday," assented Mr. Wall.
+
+"I shall be here. I am glad to take this trouble off Mrs. Ryle's hands.
+I hope you like your employment, George."
+
+"I do not like it at all," replied George. And he spoke out fearlessly,
+although his master stood by.
+
+"Oh, indeed!" said Mr. Chattaway, with a false-sounding laugh. "Well, I
+did not suppose you would like it too well at first."
+
+Mr. Wall laughed also, a hearty, kindly laugh. "Never yet did an
+apprentice like his work too well," said he. "It's their first taste of
+the labour of life. George Ryle will like it better when he is used to
+it."
+
+"I never shall," thought George. But he supposed it would not quite do
+to say so; neither would it answer any end. Mr. Chattaway shook hands
+with Mr. Wall, nodded to George, and he and his scarlet coat loomed out
+again.
+
+"Will it last for ever?--will this dreadful slavery last throughout my
+life?" broke from George Ryle's rebellious heart.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+EMANCIPATION
+
+
+On the following day, Sunday, George walked home: Mrs. Ryle had told him
+to come and spend the day at the Farm. All were at church except Molly,
+and George went to meet them. Several groups were coming along; and
+presently he met Cris Chattaway, Rupert Trevlyn, and his brother Treve,
+walking together.
+
+"Where's my mother?" asked George.
+
+"She stepped indoors with Mrs. Apperley," answered Treve. "Said she'd
+follow me on directly."
+
+"How do you relish linen-drapering?" asked Cris Chattaway, in a chaffing
+sort of manner, as George turned with them. "Horrid, isn't it?"
+
+"There's only about one thing in this world more horrid," answered
+George.
+
+"My father said you expressed fears before you went that you'd find the
+air stifling," went on Cris, not asking what the one exception might be.
+"Is it hopelessly so?"
+
+"The black hole in Calcutta must have been cool and pleasant in
+comparison with it," returned George.
+
+"I wonder you are alive," continued Cris.
+
+"I wonder I am," said George, equably. "I was quite off in a faint one
+day, when the shop was at the fullest. They thought they must have sent
+for you, Cris; that the sight of you might bring me to again."
+
+"There you go!" exclaimed Treve Ryle. "I wonder if you _could_ let each
+other alone if you were bribed to do it?"
+
+"Cris began it," said George.
+
+"I didn't," said Cris. "I _should_ like to see you at your work, though,
+George! I'll come some day. The Squire paid you a visit yesterday
+afternoon, he told us. He says you are getting to be quite the counter
+cut; one can't serve out yards of calico without it, you know."
+
+George Ryle's face burnt. He knew Mr. Chattaway had ridiculed him at
+Trevlyn Hold, in connection with his new occupation. "It would be a more
+fitting situation for you than for me, Cris," said he. "And now you hear
+it."
+
+Cris laughed scornfully. "Perhaps it might, if I wanted one. The master
+of Trevlyn won't need to go into a linen-draper's shop."
+
+"Look here, Cris. That shop is horrid, and I don't mind telling you that
+I find it so; not an hour in the day goes over my head but I wish myself
+out of it; but I would rather bind myself to it for twenty years than be
+master of Trevlyn Hold, if I came to it as you will come to it--by
+wrong."
+
+Cris broke into a shrill, derisive whistle. It was being prolonged to an
+apparently interminable length, when he found himself rudely seized from
+behind.
+
+"Is that the way you walk home from church, Christopher Chattaway?
+Whistling!"
+
+Cris looked round and saw Miss Trevlyn. "Goodness, Aunt Diana! are you
+going to shake me?"
+
+"Walk along as a gentleman should, then," returned Miss Trevlyn.
+
+She went on. Miss Chattaway walked by her side, not deigning to cast a
+word or a look to the boys as she swept past. Gliding up behind them,
+holding the hand of Maude, was gentle Mrs. Chattaway. They all wore
+black silk dresses and white silk bonnets: the apology for mourning
+assumed for Mr. Ryle. But the gowns were not new; and the bonnets were
+the bonnets of the past summer, with the coloured flowers removed.
+
+Mrs. Chattaway slackened her pace, and George found himself at her side.
+She seemed to linger, as if she would speak with him unheard by the
+rest.
+
+"Are you pretty well, my dear?" were her first words. "You look taller
+and thinner, and your face is pale."
+
+"I shall look paler before I have been much longer in the shop, Mrs.
+Chattaway."
+
+Mrs. Chattaway glanced her head timidly round with the air of one who
+fears she may be heard. But they were alone now.
+
+"Are you grieving, George?"
+
+"How can I help it?" he passionately answered, feeling that he could
+open his heart to Mrs. Chattaway as he could to no one else in the wide
+world. "Is it a proper thing to put me to, dear Mrs. Chattaway?"
+
+"I said it was not," she murmured. "I remarked to Diana that I wondered
+Maude should place you there."
+
+"It was not my mother so much as Mr. Chattaway," he answered, forgetting
+possibly that it was Mr. Chattaway's wife to whom he spoke. "At times,
+do you know, I feel as though I would almost rather be--be----"
+
+"Be what, dear?"
+
+"Be dead, than remain there."
+
+"Hush, George!" she cried, almost with a shudder. "Random figures of
+speech never do any good! I have learnt it. In the old days, when----"
+
+She suddenly broke off and glided forward without further notice. As she
+passed she caught up the hand of Maude, who was then walking by the side
+of the boys. George looked round for the cause of desertion, and found
+it in Mr. Chattaway. That gentleman was coming along with a quick step,
+one of his younger children in his hand.
+
+The Chattaways turned off towards Trevlyn Hold, and George walked on
+with Treve.
+
+"Do you know how things are going on at home, Treve, between my mother
+and Chattaway?" asked George.
+
+"Chattaway's a miserable screw," was Treve's answer. "He'd like to grind
+down the world, and doesn't let a chance escape him. Mamma says it's a
+dreadful sum he has put upon her to pay yearly, and she does not see how
+the farm will do it, besides keeping us. I wish we were clear of him! I
+wish I was as big as you, George! I'd work my arms off, but I'd get
+together the money to pay him!"
+
+"I'm not allowed to work," said George. "They have thrust me away from
+the farm."
+
+"I wish you were back at it; I know that! Nothing goes on as it used to,
+when you were there and papa was alive. Nora's cross, and mamma's cross;
+and I have not a soul to speak to. What do you think Chattaway did this
+week?"
+
+"Something mean, I suppose!"
+
+"Mean! We killed a pig, and while it was being cut up, Chattaway marched
+in. 'That's fine meat, John Pinder,' said he, when he had looked at it a
+bit; 'as fine as ever I saw. I should like a bit of this meat; I think
+I'll take a sparerib; and it can go against Mrs. Ryle's account with
+me.' With that, he laid hold of a sparerib, the finest of the two,
+called a boy who was standing by, and sent him up with it at once to
+Trevlyn Hold. What do you think of that?"
+
+"Think! That it's just the thing Chattaway would do every day of his
+life, if he could. Mamma should have sent for the meat back again."
+
+"And enrage Chattaway! It might be all the worse for us if she did."
+
+"Is it not early to begin pig-killing?"
+
+"Yes. John Pinder killed this one on his own authority; never so much as
+asking mamma. She was so angry. She told him, if ever he acted for
+himself again, without knowing what her pleasure might be, she should
+discharge him. But it strikes me John Pinder is fond of doing things on
+his own head," concluded Treve, sagaciously; "and will do them, in spite
+of everyone, now there's no master over him."
+
+The day soon passed. George told his mother how terribly he disliked
+being where he was placed; worse than that, how completely unsuited he
+was to the business. Mrs. Ryle coldly said we all had to put up with
+what we disliked, and he would grow reconciled to it in time. There was
+evidently no hope for him; and he returned to Barmester at night,
+feeling there was not any.
+
+On the following afternoon, Monday, some one in deep mourning entered
+the shop of Wall and Barnes, and asked if she could speak to Mr. Ryle.
+George was at the upper end of the shop. A box of lace had been
+accidentally upset on the floor, and he had been called to set it
+straight. Behind him hung two shawls, and, hidden by those shawls, was a
+desk, belonging to Mr. Wall. The visitor approached George and saluted
+him.
+
+"Well, you _are_ busy!"
+
+George lifted his head at the well-known voice--Nora's. Her attention
+appeared chiefly attracted by the lace.
+
+"What a mess it is in! And you don't go a bit handy to work, towards
+putting it tidy."
+
+"I shall never be handy at this sort of work. Oh, Nora! I cannot tell
+you how I dislike it!" he exclaimed, with a burst of feeling that
+betrayed its own pain. "I would rather be with my father in his coffin!"
+
+"Don't talk nonsense!" said Nora.
+
+"It is not nonsense. I shall never care for anything again in life, now
+they have put me here. It was Chattaway's doing; you know it was, Nora.
+My mother never would have thought of it. When I remember that my father
+would have objected to this for me just as strongly as I object to it
+myself, I can hardly _bear_ my thoughts. I think how he will grieve, if
+he can see what goes on in this world. You know he said something about
+that when he was dying--the dead retaining their consciousness of what
+is passing here."
+
+"Have you objected to be bound?"
+
+"I have not objected. I don't mean to object. My father charged me to
+obey Mrs. Ryle, and not cross her--and I won't forget that; therefore I
+shall remain, and do my duty to the very best of my power. But it was a
+cruel thing to put me to it. Chattaway has some motive for getting me
+off the farm; there's no doubt about it. I shall stay if--if----"
+
+"Why do you hesitate?" asked Nora.
+
+"Well, there are moments," he answered, "when a fear comes over me
+whether I _can_ bear and stay on. You see, Nora, it is Chattaway and my
+mother's will balancing against all the hopes and prospects of my life.
+I know that my father charged me to obey my mother; but, on the other
+hand, I know that if he were alive he would be pained to see me here;
+would be the first to take me away. When these thoughts come forcibly
+upon me, I doubt whether I can remain."
+
+"You must not encourage them," said Nora.
+
+"I don't encourage them; they come in spite of me. The fear comes; it is
+always coming. Don't say anything at home, Nora. I have made up my mind
+to stop, and I'll try hard to do it. As soon as I am out of my time I'll
+go off to India, or somewhere, and forget the old life in the new one."
+
+"My goodness!" uttered Nora. But having no good arguments at hand, she
+thought it as well to leave him, and took her departure.
+
+The day arrived on which George was to be bound. It was a gloomy
+November day, and the tall chimneys of Barmester rose dark and dismal
+against the outlines of the grey sky. The previous night had been
+hopelessly wet, and the mud in the streets was ankle-deep. People who
+had no urgent occasion to be abroad, drew closer to their comfortable
+fire-sides, and wished the dreary month of November was over.
+
+George stood at the door of the shop, having snatched a moment to come
+to it. A slender, handsome boy, with his earnest eyes and dark chestnut
+hair, looking far too gentlemanly to belong to that place. Belong to it!
+Ere the stroke of another hour should have been told on the dial of the
+church clock of Barmester, he would be irrevocably bound to it--have
+become as much a part and parcel of it as the silks displayed in its
+windows, the shawls exhibited in their gay and gaudy colours. As he
+stood there, he was feeling that no fate on earth was ever so hopelessly
+dark as his: feeling that he had no friend either in earth or heaven.
+
+One, two; three, four! chimed out over the town through the leaden
+atmosphere. Half-past eleven! It was the hour fixed for signing the
+indentures which would bind him to servitude for years; and he, George
+Ryle, looked to the extremity of the street, expecting the appearance of
+Mr. Chattaway.
+
+Considering the way in which Mr. Chattaway had urged on the matter,
+George had thought he would be half-an-hour before the time, rather than
+five minutes behind it. He looked eagerly to the extremity of the
+street, at the same time dreading the sight he sought for.
+
+"George Ryle!" The call came ringing in sharp, imperative tones, and he
+turned in obedience to it. He was told to "measure those trimmings, and
+card them."
+
+An apparently interminable task. About fifty pieces of ribbon-trimmings,
+some scores of yards in each piece, all off their cards. George sighed
+as he singled out one and began upon it--he was terribly awkward at the
+work.
+
+It advanced slowly. In addition to the inaptitude of his fingers for the
+task, to his intense natural distaste for it--and so intense was that
+distaste, that the ribbons felt as if they burnt his fingers--in
+addition to this, there were frequent interruptions. Any of the shopmen
+who wanted help called to George Ryle; and once he was told to open the
+door for a lady who was departing.
+
+As she walked away, George leaned out, and took another gaze. Mr.
+Chattaway was not in sight. The clocks were then striking a quarter to
+twelve. A feeling of something like hope, but vague and faint and
+terribly unreal, dawned over his heart. Could the delay augur good for
+him?--was it possible that there could be any change?
+
+How unreal it was, the next moment proved. There came round that far
+corner a horseman at a hand-gallop, his horse's hoofs scattering the mud
+in all directions. It was Mr. Chattaway. He reined up at the private
+door of Wall and Barnes, dismounted, and consigned his horse to his
+groom, who had followed at the same pace. The false, faint hope was
+over; and George walked back to his cards and his trimmings, as one from
+whom all spirit has gone out.
+
+A message was brought to him almost immediately by one of the house
+servants: Squire Chattaway waited in the drawing-room. Squire Chattaway
+had sent the message himself, not to George, to Mr. Wall; but Mr. Wall
+was engaged at the moment with a gentleman, and sent the message on to
+George. George went upstairs.
+
+Mr. Chattaway, in his top boots and spurs, stood warming his hands over
+the fire. He had not removed his hat. When the door opened, he raised
+his hand to do so; but seeing it was only George who entered, he left it
+on. He was much given to the old-fashioned use of boots and spurs when
+out riding.
+
+"Well, George, how are you?"
+
+George went up to the fireplace. On the centre table, as he passed it,
+lay an official-looking parchment rolled up, an inkstand by its side.
+George had not the least doubt that the parchment was no other than that
+formidable document, his Indentures.
+
+Mr. Chattaway had taken up the same opinion. He extended his riding whip
+towards the parchment, and spoke in a significant tone, turning his eye
+on George.
+
+"Ready?"
+
+"It is no use attempting to say I am not," replied George. "I would
+rather you had forced me to become one of the lowest boys in your
+coal-mines, Mr. Chattaway."
+
+"What's this?" asked Mr. Chattaway.
+
+He was pointing now to the upper part of the sleeve of George's jacket.
+Some ravellings of cotton had collected there unnoticed. George took
+them off, and put them in the fire.
+
+"It is only a badge of my trade, Mr. Chattaway."
+
+Whether Mr. Chattaway detected the bitterness of the words--not the
+bitterness of sarcasm, but of despair--cannot be told. He laughed
+pleasantly, and before the laugh was over, Mr. Wall came in. Mr.
+Chattaway removed his hat now, and laid it with his riding-whip beside
+the indentures.
+
+"I am later than I ought to be," observed Mr. Chattaway, as they shook
+hands. "The fact is, I was on the point of starting, when my colliery
+manager came up. His business was important, and it kept me the best
+part of an hour."
+
+"Plenty of time; plenty of time," said Mr. Wall. "Take a seat."
+
+They sat down near the table. George, apparently unnoticed, remained
+standing on the hearth-rug. A few minutes were spent conversing on
+different subjects, and then Mr. Chattaway turned to the parchment.
+
+"These are the indentures, I presume?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I called on Mrs. Ryle last evening. She requested me to say that should
+her signature be required, as the boy's nearest relative and
+guardian--as his only parent, it may be said, in fact--she should be
+ready to affix it at any given time."
+
+"It will not be required," replied Mr. Wall, in a clear voice. "I shall
+not take George Ryle as an apprentice."
+
+A stolid look of surprise struggled to Mr. Chattaway's leaden face. At
+first, he scarcely seemed to take in the full meaning of the words. "Not
+take him?" he rejoined, staring helplessly.
+
+"No. It is a pity these were made out," continued Mr. Wall, taking up
+the indentures. "It has been so much time and parchment wasted. However,
+that is not of great consequence. I will be at the loss, as the refusal
+comes from my side."
+
+Mr. Chattaway found his tongue--found it volubly. "Won't he do? Is he
+not suitable? I--I don't understand this."
+
+"Not at all suitable, in my opinion," answered Mr. Wall.
+
+Mr. Chattaway turned sharply upon George, a strangely evil look in his
+dull grey eye, an ominous curl in his thin, dry lip. Mr. Wall likewise
+turned; but on his face there was a reassuring smile.
+
+And George? George stood there as one in a dream; his face changing to
+perplexity, his eyes strained, his fingers intertwined with the nervous
+grasp of emotion.
+
+"What have you been guilty of, sir, to cause this change of intentions?"
+shouted Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"He has not been guilty of anything," interposed Mr. Wall, who appeared
+to be enjoying a smile at George's astonishment and Mr. Chattaway's
+discomfiture. "Don't blame the boy. So far as I know and believe, he has
+striven to do his best ever since he has been here."
+
+"Then why won't you take him? You _will_ take him," added Mr. Chattaway,
+in a more agreeable voice, as the idea dawned upon him that Mr. Wall had
+been joking.
+
+"Indeed, I will not. If Mrs. Ryle offered me a thousand pounds premium
+with him, I should not take him."
+
+Mr. Chattaway's small eyes opened to their utmost width. "And why not?"
+
+"Because, knowing what I know now, I believe that I should be committing
+an injustice upon the boy; an injustice which nothing could repair. To
+condemn a youth to pass the best years of his life at an uncongenial
+pursuit, to make the pursuit his calling, is a cruel injustice wherever
+it is knowingly inflicted. I myself was a victim to it. My boy," added
+Mr. Wall, laying his hand on George's shoulder, "you have a marked
+distaste to the mercery business. Is it not so? Speak out fearlessly.
+Don't regard me as your master--I shall never be that, you hear--but as
+your friend."
+
+"Yes, I have," replied George.
+
+"You think it a cruel piece of injustice to have put you to it: you will
+never more feel an interest in life; you'd as soon be with poor Mr. Ryle
+in his coffin! And when you are out of your time, you mean to start for
+India or some out-of-the-world place, and begin life afresh!"
+
+George was too much confused to answer. His face turned scarlet.
+Undoubtedly Mr. Wall had overheard his conversation with Nora.
+
+Mr. Chattaway was looking red and angry. When his face did turn red, it
+presented a charming brick-dust hue. "It is only scamps who take a
+dislike to what they are put to," he exclaimed. "And their dislike is
+all pretence."
+
+"I differ from you in both propositions," replied Mr. Wall. "At any
+rate, I do not think it the case with your nephew."
+
+Mr. Chattaway's brick-dust grew deeper. "He is no nephew of mine. What
+next will you say, Wall?"
+
+"Your step-nephew, then, to be correct," equably rejoined Mr. Wall. "You
+remember when we left school together, you and I, and began to turn our
+thoughts to the business of life? Your father wished you to go into the
+bank as clerk, you know; and mine----"
+
+"But he did not get his wish, more's the luck," again interposed Mr.
+Chattaway, not pleased at the allusion. "A poor start in life that would
+have been for the future Squire of Trevlyn Hold."
+
+"Pooh!" rejoined Mr. Wall, in a good-tempered, matter-of-fact tone. "You
+did not expect then to be exalted to Trevlyn Hold. Nonsense, Chattaway!
+We are old friends, you know. But, let me continue. I overheard a
+certain conversation of this boy's with Nora Dickson, and it seemed to
+bring my own early life back to me. With every word he spoke, I had a
+fellow-feeling. My father insisted that I should follow the business he
+was in; this one. He carried on a successful trade for years, in this
+very house, and nothing would do but I must succeed to it. In vain I
+urged my repugnance to it, my dislike; in vain I said I had formed other
+views for myself; I was not listened to. In those days it was not the
+fashion for sons to run counter to their fathers' will; at least, such
+was my experience; and into the business I came. I have reconciled
+myself to it by dint of time and habit; liked it, I never have; and I
+have always felt that it was--as I heard this boy express it--a cruel
+wrong to force me into it. You cannot, therefore, be surprised that I
+decline so to force another. I will never do it knowingly."
+
+"You decline absolutely to take him?" asked Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"Absolutely and positively. He can remain in the house a few days longer
+if it will suit his convenience, or he can leave to-day. I am not
+displeased with you," added Mr. Wall, turning to George, and holding out
+his hand. "We shall part good friends."
+
+George seized it and grasped it, his countenance glowing, a whole world
+of gratitude shining from his eyes as he lifted them to Mr. Wall. "I
+shall always think you have been the best friend I ever had, sir, next
+to my father."
+
+"I hope it will prove so. I trust you will find some pursuit in life
+more congenial to you than this."
+
+Mr. Chattaway took up his hat and whip. "This will be fine news for your
+mother, sir!" cried he, severely.
+
+"It may turn out well for her," replied George, boldly. "My belief is
+the farm never would have got along with John Pinder as manager."
+
+"You think you would make a better?" said Mr. Chattaway, his thin lip
+curling.
+
+"I can be true to her, at any rate," said George. "And I can have my
+eyes about me."
+
+"Good morning," resumed Mr. Chattaway to Mr. Wall, putting out
+unwillingly the tips of two fingers.
+
+Mr. Wall laughed. "I do not see why you should be vexed, Mr. Chattaway.
+The boy is no son of yours. For myself, all I can say is, that I have
+been actuated by motives of regard for his interest."
+
+"It remains to be proved whether it will be for his interest," coldly
+rejoined Mr. Chattaway. "Were I his mother, and this check were dealt
+out to me, I should send him off to break stones on the road. Good
+morning, Wall. And I beg you will not bring me here again upon a fool's
+errand."
+
+George went into the shop, to get from it some personal trifles he had
+left there. He deemed it well to depart at once, and carry the news home
+to Mrs. Ryle himself. The cards and trimmings lay in the unfinished
+state he had left them. What a change, that moment and this! One or two
+of the employes noticed his radiant countenance.
+
+"Has anything happened?" they asked.
+
+"Yes," answered George. "I have been suddenly lifted into paradise."
+
+He started on his way, leaving his things to be sent after him. His
+footsteps scarcely touched the ground. Not a rough ridge of the road
+felt he; not a sharp stone; not a hill. Only when he turned in at the
+gate did he remember there was his mother's displeasure to be met and
+grappled with.
+
+Nora gave a shriek when he entered the house. "_George!_ What brings you
+here?"
+
+"Where's my mother?" was George's only answer.
+
+"In the best parlour," said Nora. "And I can tell you she's not in the
+best of humours just now, so I'd advise you not to go in."
+
+"What about?" asked George, taking it for granted she had heard the news
+about himself, and that was the grievance. But he was agreeably
+undeceived.
+
+"It's about John Pinder. He has been having two of the meads ploughed
+up, and he never asked the missis first. She _is_ angry."
+
+"Has Chattaway been here to see my mother, Nora?"
+
+"He came up on horseback in a desperate hurry half-an-hour ago; but she
+was out on the farm, so he said he'd call again. It was through going
+out this morning that she discovered what they were about with the
+fields. She says she thinks John Pinder must be going out of his mind,
+to take things upon himself in the way he is doing."
+
+George bent his steps to the drawing-room. Mrs. Ryle was seated before
+her desk, writing a note. The expression of her face as she looked up at
+George between the white lappets of her widow's cap was resolutely
+severe. It changed to astonishment.
+
+Strange to say, she was writing to Mr. Wall to stop the signing of the
+indentures, or to desire that they might be cancelled if signed. She
+could not do without George at home, she said; and she told him why she
+could not.
+
+"Mamma," said George, "will you be angry if I tell you something that
+has struck me in all this?"
+
+"Tell it," said Mrs. Ryle.
+
+"I feel quite certain Chattaway has been acting with a motive; he has
+some private reason for wishing to get me away from home. That's what he
+has been working for; otherwise he would never have troubled himself
+about me. It is not in his nature."
+
+Mrs. Ryle gazed at George steadfastly, as if weighing his words, and
+presently knit her brow. George could read her countenance tolerably
+well. He felt sure she had arrived at a similar conclusion, and that it
+irritated her. He resumed.
+
+"It looks bad for you, mother; but you must not think I say this
+selfishly. Twenty minutes I have asked myself the question, Why does he
+wish me away? And I can only think that he would like the farm to go to
+rack and ruin, so that you may be driven from it."
+
+"Nonsense, George."
+
+"Well, what else can it be?"
+
+"If so, he is defeated," said Mrs. Ryle. "You will take your place as
+master of the farm from to-day, George, under me. Deferring to me in all
+things, you understand; giving no orders on your own responsibility,
+taking my pleasure upon the merest trifle."
+
+"I should not think of doing otherwise," replied George. "I will do my
+best for you in all ways, mother. You will soon see how useful I can
+be."
+
+"Very well. But I may as well mention one thing to you. When Treve shall
+be old enough, it is he who will be master here, and you must resign the
+place to him. It is not that I wish to set the younger of your father's
+sons unjustly above the head of the elder. This farm will be a living
+but for one of you; barely that; and I prefer that Treve should have it;
+he is my own son. We will endeavour to find a better farm for you before
+that time shall come."
+
+"Just as you please," said George, cheerfully. "Now that I am
+emancipated from that dreadful nightmare, my prospects look very bright
+to me. I'll do the best I can on the farm, remembering that I do it for
+Treve's future benefit; not for mine. Something else will turn up for
+me, no doubt, before I'm ready for it."
+
+"Which will not be for some years to come," said Mrs. Ryle, feeling
+pleased with the boy's acquiescent spirit. "Treve will not be old enough
+for----"
+
+Mrs. Ryle was interrupted. The door had opened, and there appeared Mr.
+Chattaway, showing himself in. Nora never affected to be too courteous
+to that gentleman; and on his coming to the house to ask for Mrs. Ryle a
+second time, she had curtly answered that Mrs. Ryle was in the best
+parlour (the more familiar name for the drawing-room in the farmhouse),
+and allowed him to find his own way to it.
+
+Mr. Chattaway looked surprised at seeing George; he had not bargained
+for his arriving home so soon. Extending his hand towards him, he turned
+to Mrs. Ryle.
+
+"There's a dutiful son for you! You hear what he has done?--returned on
+your hands as a bale of worthless goods."
+
+"Yes, I hear that Mr. Wall has declined to take him," was her composed
+answer. "It has happened for the best. When he arrived just now, I was
+writing to Mr. Wall requesting that he might _not_ be bound."
+
+"And why?" asked Mr. Chattaway in considerable amazement.
+
+"I find I am unable to do without him," said Mrs. Ryle, her tone harder
+and firmer than ever; her eyes, stern and steady, thrown full on
+Chattaway. "I have tried the experiment, and it has failed. I cannot do
+without one by my side devoted to my interests; and John Pinder cannot
+get on without a master."
+
+"And do you think you'll find what you want in him!--in that
+inexperienced schoolboy?" burst forth Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"I do," replied Mrs. Ryle, her tone so significantly decided, as to be
+almost offensive. "He takes his standing from this day as master of
+Trevlyn Farm; subject only to me."
+
+"I wish you joy of him!" angrily returned Chattaway. "But you must
+understand, Mrs. Ryle, that your having a boy at the head of affairs
+will oblige me to look more keenly after my interests."
+
+"My arrangements with you are settled," she said. "So long as I fulfil
+my part, that is all that concerns you, James Chattaway."
+
+"You'll not fulfil it, if you put him at the head of things."
+
+"When I fail you can come here and tell me of it. Until then, I prefer
+that you should not intrude on Trevlyn Farm."
+
+She rang the bell sharply as she spoke, and Molly, who was passing along
+the passage, immediately appeared. Mrs. Ryle extended her hand
+imperiously, the forefinger pointed.
+
+"The door for Mr. Chattaway."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+MADAM'S ROOM
+
+
+Leading out of Mrs. Chattaway's dressing-room was a comfortable
+apartment, fitted up as a sitting-room, with chintz hangings and
+maple-wood furniture. It was called in the household "Madam's Room," and
+here Mrs. Chattaway frequently sat. Yes; the house and the neighbourhood
+accorded her readily the title which usage had long given to the
+mistress of Trevlyn Hold: but they would not give that of "Squire" to
+her husband. I wish particularly to repeat this. Strive for it as he
+would, force his personal servants to observe the title as he did, he
+could not get it recognised or adopted. When a written invitation came
+to the Hold--a rare event, for the old-fashioned custom of inviting
+verbally was chiefly followed there--it would be worded, "Mr. and Madam
+Chattaway," and Chattaway's face would turn green as he read it. No,
+never! He enjoyed the substantial good of being proprietor of Trevlyn
+Hold, he received its revenues, he held sway as its lord and master; but
+its honours were not given to him. It was so much gall and wormwood to
+Chattaway.
+
+Mrs. Chattaway stood at this window on that dull morning in November
+mentioned in the last chapter, her eyes strained on the distance. What
+was she gazing at? Those lodge chimneys?--The dark, almost bare trees
+that waved to and fro in the wintry wind?--The extensive landscape
+stretching out in the distance, not fine to-day, but dull and
+cheerless?--Or on the shifting clouds in the grey skies? Not on any of
+these; her eyes, though apparently bent on all, in reality saw nothing.
+They were fixed on vacancy; buried, like her thoughts.
+
+She wore a muslin gown, with dark purple spots upon it; her collar was
+fastened with a bow of black ribbon, her sleeves were confined with
+black ribbons at the wrist. She was passing a finger under one of these
+wrist-ribbons, round and round, as if the ribbon were tight; in point of
+fact, it was only a proof of her abstraction. Her smooth hair fell in
+curls on her fair face, and her blue eyes were bright as with a slight
+touch of inward fever.
+
+Some one opened the door, and peeped in. It was Maude Trevlyn. Her frock
+was of the same material as Mrs. Chattaway's gown, and a sash of black
+ribbon encircled her waist. Mrs. Chattaway did not turn, and Maude came
+forward.
+
+"Are you well to-day, Aunt Edith?"
+
+"Not very, dear." Mrs. Chattaway took the pretty young head within her
+arm as she answered, and fondly stroked the bright curls. "You have been
+crying, Maude!"
+
+Maude shook back her curls with a smile, as if she meant to be brave;
+make light of the accusation. "Cris and Octave went on so shamefully,
+Aunt Edith, ridiculing George Ryle; and when I took his part, Cris hit
+me a sharp blow. It was stupid of me to cry, though."
+
+"Cris did?" exclaimed Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+"I know I provoked him," candidly acknowledged Maude. "I'm afraid I flew
+into a passion; and you know, Aunt Edith, I don't mind what I say when I
+do that. I told Cris that he would be placed at something not half as
+good as a linen-draper's some time, for he'd want a living when Rupert
+came into Trevlyn Hold."
+
+"Maude! Maude! hush!" exclaimed Mrs. Chattaway in tones of terror. "You
+must not say that."
+
+"I know I must not, Aunt Edith; I know it is wrong; wrong to think it,
+and foolish to say it. It was my temper. I am very sorry."
+
+She nestled close to Mrs. Chattaway, caressing and penitent. Mrs.
+Chattaway stooped and kissed her, a strangely marked expression of
+tribulation, shrinking and hopeless, upon her countenance.
+
+"Oh, Maude! I am so ill!"
+
+Maude felt awed; and somewhat puzzled. "Ill, Aunt Edith?"
+
+"There is an illness of the mind worse than that of the body, Maude. I
+feel as though I should sink under my weight of care. Sometimes I wonder
+why I am kept on earth."
+
+"Oh, Aunt Edith!"
+
+A knock at the room door, followed by the entrance of a female servant.
+She did not observe Mrs. Chattaway; only Maude.
+
+"Is Miss Diana here, Miss Maude?"
+
+"No. Only Madam."
+
+"What is it, Phoebe?" asked Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+"Master Cris wants to know if he can take the gig out, ma'am?"
+
+"I cannot tell anything about it. You must ask Miss Diana. Maude, see;
+that is your Aunt Diana's step on the stairs now."
+
+Miss Trevlyn came in. "The gig?" she repeated. "No; Cris cannot take it.
+Go and tell him so, Maude. Phoebe, return to your work."
+
+Maude ran away, and Phoebe went off grumbling, not aloud, but to
+herself; no one dared grumble in the hearing of Miss Trevlyn. She had
+spoken in sharp tones to Phoebe, and the girl did not like sharp
+tones. As Miss Trevlyn sat down opposite Mrs. Chattaway, the feverish
+state of that lady's countenance arrested her attention.
+
+"What is the matter, Edith?"
+
+Mrs. Chattaway buried her elbow on the sofa-cushion, and pressed her
+hand to her face, half covering it, before she spoke. "I cannot get over
+this business," she answered in low tones. "To-day--perhaps naturally--I
+am feeling it more than is good for me. It makes me ill, Diana."
+
+"What business?" asked Miss Trevlyn.
+
+"This apprenticing of George Ryle."
+
+"Nonsense," said Miss Diana.
+
+"It is not the proper thing for him, Diana; you admitted so yesterday.
+The boy says it is the blighting of his whole future life; and I feel
+that it is nothing less. I could not sleep last night for thinking about
+it. Once I dozed off, and fell into an ugly dream," she shivered. "I
+thought Mr. Ryle came to me, and asked whether it was not enough that we
+had heaped care upon him in life, and then sent him to his death, but
+must also pursue his son."
+
+"You always were weak, you know, Edith," was the composed rejoinder of
+Miss Trevlyn. "Why Chattaway should be interfering with George Ryle, I
+cannot understand; but it surely need not give concern to you. The
+proper person to put a veto on his being placed at Barmester, as he is
+being placed, was Mrs. Ryle. If she did not think fit to do it, it is no
+business of ours."
+
+"It seems to me as if he had no one to stand up for him. It seems,"
+added Mrs. Chattaway, with more passion in her tone, "as if his father
+must be looking down at us, and condemning us."
+
+"If you will worry yourself over it, you must," was the rejoinder of
+Miss Trevlyn. "It is very foolish, Edith, and it can do no earthly good.
+He is bound by this time, and the thing is irrevocable."
+
+"Perhaps that is the reason--because it is irrevocable--that it presses
+upon me to-day with greater weight. It has made me think of the past,
+Diana," she added in a whisper. "Of that other wrong, which I cheat
+myself sometimes into forgetting; a wrong----"
+
+"Be silent!" imperatively interrupted Miss Trevlyn, and the next moment
+Cris Chattaway bounded into the room.
+
+"What's the reason I can't have the gig?" he began. "Who says I can't
+have it?"
+
+"I do," said Miss Trevlyn.
+
+Cris insolently turned from her, and walked up to Mrs. Chattaway. "May I
+not take the gig, mother?"
+
+If there was one thing irritated the sweet temper of Mrs. Chattaway, it
+was being appealed to against any decision of Diana's. She knew that she
+possessed no power; was a nonentity in the house; and though she bowed
+to her dependency, and had no resource but to bow to it, she did not
+like it brought palpably before her.
+
+"Don't apply to me, Cris. I know nothing about things downstairs; I
+cannot say one way or the other. The horses and vehicles are specially
+the things that your father will not have meddled with. Do you remember
+taking out the dog-cart without leave, and the result?"
+
+Cris looked angry; perhaps the reminiscence was not agreeable. Miss
+Diana interfered.
+
+"You will _not_ take out the gig, Cris. I have said it."
+
+"Then see if I don't walk! And if I am not home to dinner, Aunt Diana,
+you can just tell the Squire the thanks are due to you."
+
+"Where do you wish to go?" asked Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+"I am going to Barmester. I want to wish that fellow joy of his
+indentures," added Cris, a glow of triumph lighting up his face. "He is
+bound by this time. I wonder the Squire is not back again!"
+
+The Squire was back again. As Cris spoke, his tread was heard on the
+stairs, and he came into the room. Cris was too full of his own concerns
+to note the expression of his face.
+
+"Father, may I take out the gig? I want to go to Barmester, to pay a
+visit of congratulation to George Ryle."
+
+"No, you will not take out the gig," said Mr. Chattaway, the allusion
+exciting his anger almost beyond bearing.
+
+Cris thought he might have been misunderstood. Cris deemed that his
+proclaimed intention would find favour with Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"I suppose you have been binding that fellow, father. I want to go and
+ask him how he likes it."
+
+"No, sir, I have not been binding him," thundered Mr. Chattaway. "What's
+more, he is not going to be bound. He has left it, and is at home
+again."
+
+Cris gave a blank stare of amazement, and Mrs. Chattaway let her hands
+fall silently upon her lap and heaved a gentle sigh, as though some
+great good had come to her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+RUPERT
+
+
+None of us can stand still in life. Everything rolls on its course
+towards the end of all things. In noting down a family's or a life's
+history, its periods will be differently marked. Years will glide
+quietly on, giving forth few events worthy of record; again, it will
+happen that occurrences, varied and momentous, will be crowded into an
+incredibly short space of time. Events, sufficient to fill up the
+allotted life of man, will follow one another in rapid succession in the
+course of as many months; nay, of as many days.
+
+Thus it was with the Trevlyns, and those connected with them. After the
+lamentable death of Mr. Ryle, the new agreement touching money-matters
+between Mr. Chattaway and Mrs. Ryle, and the settling of George Ryle
+into his own home, it may be said in his father's place, little occurred
+for some years worthy of note. Time seemed to pass uneventfully. Girls
+and boys grew into men and women; children into girls and boys. Cris
+Chattaway lorded it in his own offensive manner as the Squire's son--as
+the future Squire; his sister Octavia was not more amiable than of yore,
+and Maude Trevlyn was governess to Mr. and Mrs. Chattaway's younger
+children. Miss Diana Trevlyn had taken care that Maude should be well
+educated, and she paid the cost of it out of her own pocket, in spite of
+Mr. Chattaway's sneers. When Maude was eighteen years of age, the
+question arose, What shall be done with her? "She shall go out and be a
+governess," said Mr. Chattaway. "Of what profit her fine education, if
+it's not to be made use of?" "No," dissented Miss Diana; "a Trevlyn
+cannot be sent out into the world to earn her own living: our family
+have not come to that." "I won't keep her in idleness," growled
+Chattaway. "Very well," said Miss Diana; "make her governess to your
+girls, Edith and Emily: it will save the cost of schooling." The advice
+was taken; and Maude for the past three years had been governess at
+Trevlyn Hold.
+
+But Rupert? Rupert was found not to be so easily disposed of. There's no
+knowing what Chattaway, in his ill-feeling, might have put Rupert to,
+had he been at liberty to place him as he pleased. If he had not shown
+any superfluous consideration in placing out George Ryle--or rather in
+essaying to place him out--it was not likely he would show it to one
+whom he hated as he hated Rupert. But here Miss Diana again stepped in.
+Rupert was a Trevlyn, she said, and consequently could not be converted
+into a chimney-sweep or a shoe-black: he must get his living at
+something befitting his degree. Chattaway demurred, but he knew better
+than run counter to any mandate issued by Diana Trevlyn.
+
+Several things were tried for Rupert. He was placed with a clergyman to
+study for the Church; he went to an LL.D. to read for the Bar; he was
+consigned to a wealthy grazier to be made into a farmer; he was posted
+off to Sir John Rennet, to be initiated into the science of civil
+engineering. And he came back from all. As one venture after the other
+was made, so it failed, and a very short time would see Rupert return as
+ineligible to Trevlyn Hold. Ineligible! Was he deficient in capacity?
+No. He was only deficient in that one great blessing, without which life
+can bring no enjoyment--health. In his weakness of chest--his liability
+to take cold--his suspiciously delicate frame, Rupert Trevlyn was
+ominously like his dead father. The clergyman, the doctor, the hearty
+grazier, and the far-famed engineer, thought after a month's trial they
+would rather not take charge of him. He had a fit of illness--it may be
+better to say of weakness--in the house of each; and they, no doubt, one
+and all, deemed that a pupil predisposed to disease--it may be almost
+said to death--as Rupert Trevlyn appeared to be, would bring with him
+too much responsibility.
+
+So, times and again, Rupert was returned on the hands of Mr. Chattaway.
+To describe that gentleman's wrath would take a pen dipped in gall. Was
+Rupert _never_ to be got rid of? It was like the Eastern slippers which
+persisted in turning up. And, in like manner, up came Rupert Trevlyn.
+The boy could not help his ill-health; but you may be sure Mr.
+Chattaway's favour was not increased by it. "I shall put him in the
+office at Blackstone," said he. And Miss Diana acquiesced.
+
+Blackstone was the locality where Mr. Chattaway's mines were situated.
+An appropriate name, for the place was black enough, and stony enough,
+and dreary enough for anything. A low, barren, level country, its
+flatness alone broken by signs of the pits, its uncompromising gloom
+enlivened only by ascending fires which blazed up at night, and
+illumined the country for miles round. The pits were not all coal: iron
+mines and other mines were scattered with them. On Chattaway's property,
+however, there was coal alone. Long rows of houses, as dreary as the
+barren country, were built near: occupied by the workers in the mines.
+The overseer or manager for Mr. Chattaway was named Pinder, a brother to
+John Pinder, who was on Mrs. Ryle's farm: but Chattaway chose to
+interfere very much with the executive himself, and may almost have been
+called his own overseer. He had an office near the pits, in which
+accounts were kept, the men paid, and other business items transacted: a
+low building, of one storey only, consisting of three or four rooms. In
+this office he kept one regular clerk, a young man named Ford, and into
+this same office he put Rupert Trevlyn.
+
+But many and many and many a day was Rupert ailing; weak, sick,
+feverish, coughing, and unable to go to it. But for Diana Trevlyn,
+Chattaway might have driven him there ill or well. Not that Miss Diana
+possessed any extraordinary affection for Rupert: she did not keep him
+at home out of love, or from motives of indulgence. But hard, cold, and
+imperious though she was, Miss Diana owned somewhat of the large
+open-handedness of the Trevlyns: she could not be guilty of trivial
+spite, or petty meanness. She ruled the servants with an iron hand; but
+in case of their falling into sickness or trouble, she had them
+generously cared for. So with respect to Rupert. It may be that she
+regarded him as an interloper; that she would have been better pleased
+were he removed elsewhere. She had helped to deprive him of his
+birthright, but she did not treat him with personal unkindness; and she
+would have been the last to say he must go out to his daily occupation,
+if he felt ill or incapable of it. She deplored his ill-health; but, ill
+health upon him, Miss Diana was not one to ignore it, to reproach him
+with it, or put hindrances in the way of his being nursed.
+
+It was a tolerably long walk for Rupert in a morning to Blackstone. Cris
+Chattaway, when he chose to go over, rode on horseback; and Mr. Cris did
+not infrequently choose to go over, for he had the same propensity as
+his father--that of throwing himself into every petty detail, and
+interfering unwarrantably. In disposition, father and son were
+alike--mean, stingy, grasping. To save a sixpence, Chattaway would
+almost have sacrificed a miner's life. Improvements which other mine
+owners had introduced into their pits, into the working of them,
+Chattaway held aloof from. In his own person, however, Cris was not
+disposed to be saving. He had his horse, and he had his servant, and he
+favoured an extensive wardrobe, and was given altogether to various
+little odds and ends of self-indulgence.
+
+Yes, Cris Chattaway rode to Blackstone; with his groom behind him
+sometimes, when he chose to make a dash; and Rupert Trevlyn walked.
+Better that the order of travelling had been reversed, for that walk,
+morning and evening, was not too good for Rupert in his weakly state. He
+would feel it particularly in an evening. It was a gradual ascent nearly
+all the way from Blackstone to Trevlyn Hold, almost imperceptible to a
+strong man, but sufficiently apparent to Rupert Trevlyn, who would be
+fatigued with the day's work.
+
+Not that he had hard work to do. But even sitting on the office stool
+tired him. Another thing that tired him--and which, no doubt, was
+excessively bad for him--was the loss of his regular meals. Excepting on
+Sundays, or on days when he was not well enough to leave Trevlyn Hold,
+he had no dinner: what he had at Blackstone was only an apology for one.
+The clerk, Ford, who lived at nearly as great a distance from the place
+as Rupert, used to cook himself a chop or steak at the office grate. But
+that the coals were lying about in heaps and cost nothing, Chattaway
+might have objected to the fire being used for such a purpose. Rupert
+occasionally cooked himself some meat; but he more frequently dined upon
+bread and cheese, or scraps brought from Trevlyn Hold. It was not often
+that Rupert had the money to buy meat or anything else, his supply of
+that indispensable commodity, the current coin of the realm, being very
+limited. Deprived of his dinner, deprived of his tea--tea being
+generally over when he got back to the Hold--that, of itself, was almost
+sufficient to bring on the disease feared for Rupert Trevlyn. One sound
+in constitution, revelling in health and strength, might not have been
+much the worse in the long-run; but Rupert did not come under the head
+of that favoured class of humanity.
+
+It was a bright day in that mellow season when summer is merging into
+autumn. A few fields of the later grain were lying out yet, but most of
+the golden store had been gathered into barns. The sunlight glistened on
+the leaves of the trees, lighting up their rich tints of brown and
+red--tints which never come until the season of passing away.
+
+Halting at a stile which led to a field white with stubble, were two
+children and a young lady. Not very young children, either, for the
+younger of the two must have been thirteen. Pale girls both, with light
+hair, and just now a disagreeable expression of countenance. They were
+insisting upon crossing that stile to pass through the field: one of
+them, in fact, had already mounted, and they did not like to be thwarted
+in their wish.
+
+"You cross old thing!" cried she on the stile. "You always object to our
+going where we want to go. What dislike have you to the field, pray,
+that we may not cross it?"
+
+"I have no dislike to it, Emily. I am only obeying your father's
+injunctions. You know he has forbidden you to go on Mrs. Ryle's lands."
+
+She spoke in calm tones; a sweet, persuasive voice. She had a sweet and
+gentle face, too, with delicate features, and large blue eyes. It is
+Maude Trevlyn. Eight years have passed since you last saw her, and she
+is twenty-one. In spite of her girlish, graceful figure, which scarcely
+reaches middle height, she bears a look of the Trevlyns. Her head is
+well set upon her shoulders, thrown somewhat back, as you may see in
+Miss Diana Trevlyn. She wears a grey flowing cloak, and pretty blue
+bonnet.
+
+"The lands are not Mrs. Ryle's," retorted the girl on the stile. "They
+are papa's."
+
+"They are Mrs. Ryle's as long as she rents them. It is all the same. Mr.
+Chattaway has forbidden you to cross them. Come down from the stile,
+Emily."
+
+"No. I shall jump over it."
+
+It was ever thus. Except in the presence of Miss Diana Trevlyn, the
+girls were openly rude and disobedient to Maude. Expected to teach them,
+she was denied the ordinary authority vested in a governess. And Maude
+could not emancipate herself: she must suffer and submit.
+
+Emily Chattaway put her foot over the top bar of the stile, preparatory
+to jumping over it, when the sound of a horse was heard, and she turned
+her head. Riding along the lane at a quick pace was a gentleman of some
+three or four-and-twenty years: a tall man, as far as could be seen, who
+sat his horse well. He reined in when he saw them, and bent down a
+pleasant face, with a pleasant smile upon it. The sun shone into his
+fine dark eyes, as he stooped to shake hands with Maude.
+
+Maude's cheeks had turned crimson. "Quite well," she stammered, in
+answer to his greeting, somewhat losing her self-possession. "When did
+you return home?"
+
+"Last night. I was away two days only, instead of the four anticipated.
+Emily, you'll fall backwards if you don't mind."
+
+"No, I sha'n't," said Emily. "Why did you not stay longer?"
+
+"I found Treve away when I reached Oxford, so I came back again, and got
+home last night--to Nora's discomfiture."
+
+Maude looked into his face with a questioning glance. She had quite
+recovered her self-possession. "Why?" she asked.
+
+George Ryle laughed. "Nora had turned my bedroom inside out, and accused
+me, in her vexation, of coming back on purpose."
+
+"Where did you sleep?" asked Emily.
+
+"In Treve's room. Take care, Edith!"
+
+Maude hastily drew back Edith Chattaway, who had gone too near the
+horse. "How is Mrs. Ryle?" asked Maude. "We heard yesterday she was not
+well."
+
+"She is suffering from a cold. I have scarcely seen her. Maude," leaning
+down and whispering, "are things any brighter than they were?"
+
+Again the soft colour came into her face, and she threw him a glance
+from her dark blue eyes. If ever glance spoke of indignation, hers did.
+"What change can there be?" she breathed. "Rupert is ill again," she
+added in louder tones.
+
+"Rupert!"
+
+"At least, he is not well, and is at home to-day. But he is better than
+he was yesterday----"
+
+"Here comes Octave," interrupted Emily.
+
+George Ryle gathered up his reins. Shaking hands with Maude, he said a
+hasty good-bye to the other two, and cantered down the lane, lifting his
+hat to Miss Chattaway, who was coming up from a distance.
+
+She was advancing quickly across the common, behind the fence on the
+other side of the lane. A tall, thin young woman, looking her full age
+of four or five-and-twenty, with the same leaden complexion as of yore,
+and the disagreeably sly grey eyes. She wore a puce silk paletot, and a
+brown hat trimmed with black lace; an unbecoming costume for one so
+tall.
+
+"That was George Ryle!" she exclaimed, as she came up. "What brings him
+back already?"
+
+"He found his brother away when he reached Oxford," was Maude's reply.
+
+"I think he was very rude not to stop and speak to you, Octave,"
+observed Emily Chattaway. "He saw you coming."
+
+Octave made no reply. She mounted the stile and gazed after the
+horseman, apparently to see what direction he would take on reaching the
+end of the lane. Patiently watching, she saw him turn into another lane,
+which branched off to the left. Octave Chattaway jumped over the stile,
+and went swiftly across the field.
+
+"She's gone to meet him," was Emily's comment.
+
+It was precisely what Miss Chattaway _had_ gone to do. Passing through a
+copse after quitting the field, she emerged from it just as George was
+riding quietly past. He halted and stopped to shake hands, as he had
+done with Maude.
+
+"You are out of breath, Octave. Have you been hastening to catch me?"
+
+"I need not have done so but for your gallantry in riding off the moment
+you saw me," she answered, resentfully.
+
+"I beg your pardon. I did not know you wanted me. And I am in a hurry."
+
+"It seems so--stopping to speak so long to the children and Maude," she
+returned, with irony. And George Ryle's laugh was a conscious one.
+
+Latent antagonism was seated in the minds of both, and a latent
+consciousness of it running through their hearts. When George Ryle saw
+Octave hastening across the common, he knew she was speeding to reach
+him ere he should be gone; when Octave saw him ride away, a voice
+whispered that he did so to avoid meeting her; and each felt that their
+secret thoughts and motives were known to the other. Yes, there was
+constant antagonism between them; if the word may be applied to Octave
+Chattaway, who had learnt to value the society of George Ryle more
+highly than was good for her. Did he so value hers? Octave wore out her
+heart, hoping for it. But in the midst of her unwise love for him, her
+never-ceasing efforts to be in his presence, near to him, there
+constantly arose the bitter conviction that he did not care for her.
+
+"I wished to ask you about the book you promised to get me," she said.
+"Have you procured it?"
+
+"No; and I am sorry to say that I cannot meet with it," replied George.
+"I thought of it at Oxford, and went into nearly every bookseller's shop
+in the place, unsuccessfully. I told you it was difficult to find. I
+must get them to write to London for it from Barmester."
+
+"Will you come to the Hold this evening?" she asked, as he was riding
+away.
+
+"Thank you. I am not sure that I can. My day or two's absence has made
+me busy."
+
+Octave Chattaway drew back under cover of the trees and halted: never
+retreating until every trace of that fine young horseman had passed out
+of sight.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+UNANSWERED
+
+
+It is singular to observe how lightly the marks of Time occasionally
+pass over the human form and face. An instance of this might be seen in
+Mrs. Chattaway. It was strange that it should be so in her case. Her
+health was not good, and she certainly was not a happy woman. Illness
+was frequently her portion; care ever seemed to follow her; and it is
+upon these sufferers in mind and body that Time is fond of leaving his
+traces. He had not left them on Mrs. Chattaway; her face was fair and
+fresh as it had been eight years ago; her hair fell in its mass of
+curls; her eyes were still blue, and clear, and bright.
+
+And yet anxiety was her constant companion. It may be said that remorse
+never left her. She would sit at the window of her room
+upstairs--Madam's room--for hours, apparently contemplating the outer
+world; in reality seeing nothing.
+
+As she was sitting now. The glories of the bright day had faded into
+twilight; the sun no longer lit up the many hues of the autumn foliage;
+all the familiar points in the landscape had faded to indistinctness;
+old Canham's lodge chimneys were becoming obscure, and the red light
+from the mines and works was beginning to show out on the right in the
+extreme distance. Mrs. Chattaway leaned her elbow on the old-fashioned
+armchair, and rested her cheek upon her hand. Had you looked at her
+eyes, gazing out so upon the fading landscape, you might have seen that
+they were deep in the world of thought.
+
+That constitutional timidity of hers had been nothing but a blight to
+her throughout life. Reticence in a woman is good; but not that timid,
+shrinking reticence which is the result of fear; which dare not speak up
+for itself, even to oppose a wrong. Every wrong inflicted upon Rupert
+Trevlyn--every unkindness shown him--every pang, whether of mind or
+body, which happier circumstances might have spared him, was avenged
+over and over again in the person of Mrs. Chattaway. It may be said that
+she lived only in pain; her life was one never-ending sorrow--sorrow for
+Rupert.
+
+In the old days, when her husband had chosen to deceive Squire Trevlyn
+as to the existence of Rupert, she had not dared to avow the truth, and
+say to her father, "There is an heir born." She dared not fly in the
+face of her husband, and say it; and, it may be, that she was too
+willingly silent for her husband's sake. It would seem strange, but that
+we know what fantastic tricks our passions play us, that pretty, gentle
+Edith Trevlyn should have _loved_ that essentially disagreeable man,
+James Chattaway. But so it was. And, while deploring the fact of the
+wrong dealt out to Rupert--it may almost be said _expiating_ it--Mrs.
+Chattaway never visited that wrong upon her husband, even in thought, as
+it ought to have been visited. None could realise more intensely its
+consequences than she realised them in her secret heart. Expiate it? Ay,
+she expiated it again and again, if her sufferings could only have been
+reckoned as atonement.
+
+But they could not. _They_ were enjoying Trevlyn Hold and its
+advantages, and Rupert was little better than an outcast on the face of
+the earth. Every dinner put upon their table, every article of attire
+bought for their children, every honour or comfort their position
+brought them, seemed to rise up reproachfully before the face of Mrs.
+Chattaway, and say, "The money to procure all this is not yours and your
+husband's; it is stolen from Rupert." And she could do nothing to remedy
+it; could only wage ever-constant battle with the knowledge, and the
+sting it brought. No remedy existed. They had not come into the
+inheritance by legal fraud; had succeeded to it fairly and openly,
+according to the will of Squire Trevlyn. If the whole world ranged
+itself on Rupert's side, pressing that the property should be resigned
+to him, Mr. Chattaway had only to point to the will, and say, "You
+cannot act against that."
+
+It may be that this very fact brought remorse home with greater force to
+Mrs. Chattaway. It may be that incessantly dwelling upon it caused a
+morbid state of feeling, which increased the malady. Certain it is, that
+night and day the wrongs of Rupert pressed on her mind. She loved him
+with that strange intensity which brings an aching to the heart. When
+the baby orphan was brought home to her from its foreign birthplace,
+with its rosy cheeks and its golden curls--when it put out its little
+arms to her, and gazed at her with its large blue eyes, her heart went
+out to it there and then, and she caught it to her with a love more
+passionate than any ever given to her own children. The irredeemable
+wrong inflicted on the unconscious child, fixed itself on her conscience
+in that hour, never to be lifted from it.
+
+If ever a woman lived a dual life, that woman was Mrs. Chattaway. Her
+true aspect--that in which she saw herself as she really was--was as
+different from the one presented to the world as light from darkness. Do
+not blame her. It was difficult to help it. The world and her own family
+saw in Mrs. Chattaway a weak, gentle, apathetic woman, who did not take
+upon herself even the ordinary authority of the head of a household.
+They little imagined that that weak woman, remarkable for nothing but
+indifference, passed her days in sadness, in care, in thought. The
+hopeless timidity (inherited from her mother) which had been her bane in
+former days, was her bane still. She had not dared to rise up against
+her husband when the wrong was inflicted upon Rupert Trevlyn; she did
+not dare openly rise up now against the petty tyrannies daily dealt out
+to him. There may have been a latent consciousness in her mind that if
+she did interfere it would not change things for the better, and might
+make them worse for Rupert. Probably it would have done so.
+
+There were many things she could have wished for Rupert, and went so far
+as to hint some of them to Mr. Chattaway. She wished he could be
+altogether relieved from Blackstone; she wished greater indulgences for
+him at home; she wished he might be transported to a warmer climate. A
+bare suggestion she dropped, once in a way, to Mr. Chattaway, but they
+fell unheeded on his ear. He replied to the hint of the warmer climate
+with a prolonged stare and a demand as to what romantic absurdity she
+could be thinking of. Mrs. Chattaway had never mentioned it again. In
+these cases of constitutional timidity, a rebuff, be it ever so slight,
+is sufficient to close the lips for ever. Poor lady! she would have
+sacrificed her own comfort to give peace and comfort to the unhappy
+Rupert. He was miserably put upon; treated with less consideration than
+the servants; made to feel his dependent state daily and hourly by petty
+annoyances; and yet she could not openly interfere!
+
+Even now, as she sat watching the deepening shades, she was dwelling on
+this; resenting it in her heart, for his sake. It was the evening of the
+day when the girls had met George Ryle in the lane. She could hear
+sounds of merriment downstairs from her children and their visitors, and
+felt sure Rupert did not make one of them. It had long been the pleasure
+of Cris and Octave to exclude Rupert from the evening gatherings of the
+family, as far as they could do so; and if, through the presence of
+herself or Miss Diana, they could not absolutely deny his entrance, they
+treated him with studied indifference. She sat on, revolving these
+bitter thoughts in the gloom, until roused by the entrance of an
+intruder.
+
+It was Rupert himself. He approached Mrs. Chattaway, and she fondly
+threw her arm round him, and drew him down to a chair by her side. Only
+when they were alone could she show him these marks of affection, or
+prove to him that he did not stand in the world entirely isolated from
+all love.
+
+"Do you feel better to-night, Rupert?"
+
+"Oh, I am a great deal better. I feel quite well. Why are you sitting in
+the dark, Aunt Edith?"
+
+"It is not quite dark yet. What are they doing below, Rupert? I hear
+plenty of laughter."
+
+"They are playing at some game, I think."
+
+"At what?"
+
+"I don't know. I was joining them, when Octave, as usual, said they were
+enough without me; so I came away."
+
+Mrs. Chattaway made no reply. She never spoke a reproachful word of her
+children to Rupert, whatever she might feel; she never, by so much as a
+breathing, cast a reproach on her husband to living mortal. Rupert
+leaned his head on her shoulder, as though weary. Sufficient light was
+left to show how delicate his features, how attractive his face. The
+lovely countenance of his boyhood characterised him still--the
+suspiciously bright cheeks and silken hair. Of middle height, slender
+and fragile, he scarcely looked his twenty years. There was a
+resemblance in his face to Mrs. Chattaway: and it was not surprising,
+for Joe Trevlyn and his sister Edith had been remarkably alike when they
+were young.
+
+"Is Cris come in?" asked Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+"Not yet."
+
+Rupert rose as he spoke, and stretched himself. The verb _s'ennuyer_ was
+one he often felt obliged to conjugate, in his evenings at the Hold.
+
+"I think I shall go down for an hour to the farm."
+
+Mrs. Chattaway started: shrank from the words, as it seemed. "Not
+to-night, Rupert!"
+
+"It is so dull at home, Aunt Edith."
+
+"They are merry enough downstairs."
+
+"Yes. But Octave takes care that I shall not be merry with them."
+
+What could she answer?
+
+"Then, Rupert, you will _be sure_ to be home," she said, after a while.
+And the pained emphasis with which she spoke no pen could express. The
+words evidently conveyed some meaning, understood by Rupert.
+
+"Yes," was all he answered, the tones of his voice betraying his
+resentment.
+
+Mrs. Chattaway caught him to her, and hid her face upon his shoulder.
+"For my sake, Rupert, darling, for my sake!"
+
+"Yes, yes, dear Aunt Edith: I'll be sure to be in time," he reiterated.
+"I won't forget it, as I did the other night."
+
+She stood at the window, and watched him away from the house and down
+the avenue, praying that he might _not_ forget. It had pleased Mr.
+Chattaway lately to forbid Rupert the house, unless he returned to it by
+half-past ten. That this motive was entirely that of ill-naturedly
+crossing Rupert, there could be little doubt about. Driven by unkindness
+from the Hold, Rupert had taken to spending his evenings with George
+Ryle; sometimes at the houses of other friends; now and then he would
+invade old Canham's. Rupert's hour for coming in from these visits was
+about eleven; he had generally managed to be in by the time the clock
+struck; but the master of Trevlyn Hold suddenly issued a mandate that he
+must be in by half-past ten; failing strict obedience as to time, he was
+not to be let in at all. Rupert resented it, and one or two unpleasant
+scenes had ensued. A similar rule was not applied to Cris, who might
+come in at any hour he pleased.
+
+Mrs. Chattaway went down to the drawing-room. Two girls, the daughters
+of neighbours, were spending the evening there, and they were playing at
+proverbs with great animation: Maude Trevlyn, the guests, and the Miss
+Chattaways. Octave alone joined in it listlessly, as if her thoughts
+were far away. Her restless glances towards the door seemed to say she
+was watching for the entrance of one who did not come.
+
+By-and-by Mr. Chattaway came home, and they sat down to supper.
+Afterwards, the guests departed, and the younger children went to bed.
+Ten o'clock struck, and the time went on again.
+
+"Where's Rupert?" Mr. Chattaway suddenly asked his wife.
+
+"He went down to Trevlyn Farm," she said, unable, had it been to save
+her life, to speak without deprecation.
+
+He made no reply, but rang the bell, and ordered the household to bed.
+Miss Diana Trevlyn was out upon a visit.
+
+"Cris and Rupert are not in," observed Octave, as she lighted her
+mother's candle and her own.
+
+Mr. Chattaway took out his watch. "Twenty-five minutes past ten," he
+said, in his hard, impassive manner--a manner which imparted the idea
+that he was utterly destitute of sympathy for the whole human race. "Mr.
+Rupert must be quick if he intends to be admitted to-night; Give your
+mother her bed-candle."
+
+It may appear almost incredible that Mrs. Chattaway should meekly take
+her candle and follow her daughter upstairs without remonstrance, when
+she would have given the world to sit up longer. She was becoming quite
+feverish on Rupert's account, and would have wished to wait in that room
+until his ring was heard. But to oppose her own will to her husband's
+was a thing she had never yet done; in small things, as in great, she
+had bowed to his wishes without making the faintest shadow of
+resistance.
+
+Octave wished her mother good-night, went into her room, and closed the
+door. Mrs. Chattaway was turning into hers when she saw Maude creeping
+down the upper stairs. She came noiselessly along the corridor, her face
+pale with agitation, and her heart beating.
+
+"Oh, Aunt Edith, what will be done?" she murmured. "It is half-past ten,
+and he is not home."
+
+"Maude, my poor child, you can do nothing," was the whispered answer,
+the tone as full of pain as Maude's. "Go back to your room, dear; your
+uncle may come up."
+
+The great clock in the hall struck the half-hour, its sound falling as a
+knell. Hot tears were falling from the eyes of Maude.
+
+"What will become of him, Aunt Edith? Where will he sleep?"
+
+"Hush, Maude! Run back."
+
+It was time to run; and Mrs. Chattaway spoke the words in startled
+tones. The master's heavy footstep was heard crossing the hall. Maude
+stole back, and Mrs. Chattaway passed into her dressing-room.
+
+She sat down on a chair, and pressed her hands upon her bosom to still
+its beating. Her suspense and agitation were terrible. A sensitive
+nature, such as Mrs. Chattaway's, feels emotion in a most painful
+degree. Every sense was strung to its utmost tension. She listened for
+Rupert's footfall outside; waited with a sort of horror for the ringing
+of the house-bell announcing his arrival, her whole frame sick and
+faint.
+
+At last one came running up the avenue at a fleet pace, and the echoes
+of the bell were heard resounding through the house.
+
+Not daring to defy her husband by going down to let him in she knocked
+at his door and entered.
+
+"Shall I go down and open the door, James?"
+
+"No."
+
+"It is only five minutes past the half-hour."
+
+"Five minutes are the same in effect as five hours," answered Mr.
+Chattaway. "Unless he can be in before the half-hour, _he does not come
+in at all_."
+
+"It may be Cris," she resumed.
+
+"Nonsense! You know it is not Cris. Cris has his latch-key."
+
+Another alarming peal.
+
+"He can see the light in my dressing-room," she urged, with parched
+lips. "Oh, James, let me go down."
+
+"I tell you--No."
+
+There was no appeal against it. She knew there might be none. But she
+clasped her hands in agony, and gave utterance to the distress at her
+heart.
+
+"Where will he sleep? Where can he go, if we deny him entrance?"
+
+"Where he chooses. He does not enter here."
+
+And Mrs. Chattaway went back to her dressing-room, and listened in
+despair to further appeals from the bell. Appeals which she might not
+answer.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+OPINIONS DIFFER
+
+
+The nights were chilly in the early autumn, and a blazing fire lighted
+up the drawing-room at Trevlyn Farm. On a comfortable sofa, drawn close
+to it, sat Mrs. Ryle, a warm shawl thrown over her black silk gown--soft
+cushions heaped around her. A violent cold had made an invalid of her
+for some days past, but she was recovering. Her face was softened by a
+white cap of delicate lace; but its lines had grown haughtier and firmer
+with her years. She wore well, and was handsome still.
+
+Trevlyn Farm had prospered. It was a lucky day for Mrs. Ryle when she
+decided upon her step-son's remaining on it. He had brought energy and
+goodwill to bear on his work; a clear head and calm intelligence; and
+time had contributed judgment and experience. Mrs. Ryle knew that she
+could not have been more faithfully served, and gradually grew to feel
+his value. Had they been really mother and son, they could not have been
+better friends. In the beginning she was inclined to discountenance
+sundry ways and habits George favoured. He did not turn himself into a
+_working_ farmer, as his father had done, and as Mrs. Ryle thought he
+ought to do. George objected. A man who worked on his own farm must give
+it a less general supervision, he urged: and after all, it was only the
+cost of an additional day-labourer. His argument carried reason with it;
+and keen and active Farmer Apperley, who deemed idleness the greatest
+sin (next, perhaps, to hunting) a young farmer could commit, nodded
+approval. George did not put aside his books; his classics, and his
+studies in general literature; quite the contrary. In short, George Ryle
+appeared to be going in for a gentleman--as Cris Chattaway chose to term
+it--a great deal more than Mrs. Ryle considered would be profitable for
+him or for her. But George had held on his course, in a quiet,
+undemonstrative way; and Mrs. Ryle had at length fallen in with it.
+Perhaps she now saw its wisdom. That he was essentially a gentleman, in
+person and manners, in mind and conduct, she could only acknowledge, and
+she felt a pride in him she had never dreamed she should feel for any
+one but Treve.
+
+Could she feel pride in Treve? Not much, with all her partiality.
+Trevlyn Ryle was not turning out quite satisfactorily. There was nothing
+very objectionable to be urged against him; but Mrs. Ryle was accustomed
+to measure by a high standard of excellence; and of that Treve fell
+exceedingly short. She had not deemed it well that George Ryle should be
+too much of a gentleman, but she had determined Trevlyn should be one.
+Upon the completion of his school life, he was sent to Oxford. The cost
+might have been imprudently heavy for Mrs. Ryle, had she borne it
+unassisted; but Trevlyn had gained a scholarship at Barmester Grammar
+School, and the additional cost was light. Treve, once at Oxford, did
+not get on quite so fast as he might have done. Treve spent; Treve
+seemed to have plenty of wild-oats to sow; Treve thought he should like
+a life of idleness better than farming. His mother had foolishly
+whispered the fond hope that he might some time be owner of Trevlyn
+Hold, and Treve reckoned upon its fulfilment more confidently than was
+good for him. Meanwhile, until the lucky chance arrived which should
+give him the inheritance (though by what miracle the chance was to fall
+was at present hidden in the womb of mystery), Treve, upon leaving
+college, was to assume the mastership of Trevlyn Farm, in accordance
+with the plan originally decided upon by Mrs. Ryle. He would not be
+altogether unqualified for this: having been about the farm since he was
+a child, and seen how it should be worked. Whether he would give
+sufficient personal attention to it was another matter.
+
+Mrs. Ryle expressed herself as not being too confident of him--whether
+of his industry or qualifications she did not state. George had given
+one or two hints that when Treve came home for good, he must look out
+for something else; but Mrs. Ryle had waived away the hints as if they
+were unpleasant to her. Treve must prove what metal he was made of,
+before assuming the management, she briefly said. And George suffered
+the subject to drop.
+
+Treve had now but one more term to keep at the university. At the
+conclusion of the previous term he had not returned home: remaining on a
+visit to a friend, who had an appointment in one of the colleges. But
+Treve's demand for money had become somewhat inconvenient to Mrs. Ryle,
+and she had begged George to pay Oxford a few days' visit, that he might
+see how Treve was really going on. George complied, and proceeded to
+Oxford, where he found Treve absent--as in the last chapter you heard
+him say to Maude Trevlyn.
+
+Mrs. Trevlyn sat by the drawing-room fire, enveloped in her shawl, and
+supported by her pillows. The thought of these things was bringing a
+severe look to her proud face. She had scarcely seen George since his
+return; had not exchanged more than ten words with him. But those ten
+words had not been of a cheering nature; and she feared things were not
+going on satisfactorily with Treve. With that hard look on her features,
+how wonderfully her face resembled that of her dead father!
+
+Presently George came in. Mrs. Ryle looked up eagerly at his entrance.
+
+"Are you better?" he asked, advancing, and bending with a kindly smile.
+"It is long since you had such a cold as this."
+
+"I shall be all right in a day or two," she answered. "Yesterday I
+thought I was going to have a long illness, my chest was so painful. Sit
+down, George. What about Treve?"
+
+"Treve was not at Oxford. He had gone to London."
+
+"You told me so. What had he gone there for?"
+
+"A little change, Ferrars said. He had been gone a week."
+
+"A little change? In plain English, a little pleasure, I suppose. Call
+it what you will, it costs money."
+
+George had seated himself opposite to her, his arm resting on the centre
+table, and the red blaze lighting up his frank, pleasant face. In figure
+he was tall and slight; his father, at his age, had been so before him.
+
+"Why did you not follow him to London?" resumed Mrs. Ryle. "It would
+have been less than a two hours' journey from Oxford."
+
+George turned his large dark eyes upon her, some surprise in them. "How
+was I to know where to look for him, if I had gone?"
+
+"Could Mr. Ferrars not give you his address?"
+
+"No. I asked him. Treve had not told him where he should put up. In
+fact, Ferrars did not think Treve knew himself. Under these
+circumstances, my going to town would have been only waste of time and
+money."
+
+"It is of no use your keeping things from me," resumed Mrs. Ryle, after
+a pause. "Has Treve contracted fresh debts at Oxford?"
+
+"I fancy he has. A few."
+
+"A 'few'--and you 'fancy!' George, tell me the truth. That you know he
+has, and that they are not a few."
+
+"That he has, I believe to be true: I gathered as much from Ferrars. But
+I do not think they are serious; I do not indeed."
+
+"Why did you not inquire? I would have gone to every shop in the town,
+in order to ascertain. If he is contracting more debts, who is to pay
+them?"
+
+George was silent.
+
+"When shall we be clear of Chattaway?" she abruptly resumed. "When will
+the last payment be due?"
+
+"In a month or two's time. Principal and interest will all be paid off
+then."
+
+"It will take all your efforts to make up the sum."
+
+"It will be ready, mother. It shall be."
+
+"I don't doubt it. But it will not be ready, George, if a portion is to
+be taken from it for Treve."
+
+George knit his brow. He was falling into thought.
+
+"I _must_ get rid of Chattaway," she resumed. "He has been weighing us
+down all these years like an incubus; and now that emancipation has
+nearly come, were anything to delay it, I should--I think I should go
+mad."
+
+"I hope and trust nothing will delay it," answered George. "I am more
+anxious to get rid of Chattaway than, I think, even you can be. As to
+Treve, his debts must wait."
+
+"But it would be more desirable that he should not contract them."
+
+"Of course. But how are we to prevent his contracting them?"
+
+"He ought to prevent it himself. _You_ did not contract debts."
+
+"I!" he rejoined, in surprise. "I had no opportunity of doing so. Work
+and responsibility were thrown upon me before I was old enough to think
+of pleasure: and they kept me steady."
+
+"You were not naturally inclined to spend, George."
+
+"There's no knowing what I might have acquired, had I been sent out into
+the world, as Treve has," he rejoined.
+
+"It was necessary that Treve should go to college," said Mrs. Ryle,
+quite sharply.
+
+"I am not saying anything to the contrary," George quietly answered. "It
+was right that he should go--as you wished it."
+
+"I shall live--I hope I shall live--I pray that I may live--to see
+Trevlyn lawful possessor of the Hold. A gentleman's education was
+essential to him: hence I sent him to Oxford."
+
+George made no reply. Mrs. Ryle felt vexed. She knew George disapproved
+her policy in regard to Trevlyn, and charged him with it now. George
+would not deny it.
+
+"What I think unwise is your having led Treve to build hopes upon
+succeeding to Trevlyn Hold," he said.
+
+"Why?" she haughtily asked. "He will come into it."
+
+"I do not see how."
+
+"He has far more right to it than he who is looked upon as its
+successor--Cris Chattaway," she said, with flashing eyes. "You know
+that."
+
+George could have answered that neither of them had a just right to it,
+whilst Rupert Trevlyn lived; but Rupert and his claims had been so
+completely ignored by Mrs. Ryle, as by others, that his advancing them
+would have been waived away as idle talk. Mrs. Ryle resumed, her voice
+unsteady. It was most rare that she suffered herself to speak of these
+past grievances; but when she did, her vehemence mounted to agitation.
+
+"When my boy was born, the news that Joe Trevlyn's health was failing
+had come home to us. I knew the Squire would never leave the property to
+Maude, and I expected that my son would inherit. Was it not natural that
+I should do so?--was it not his right?--I was the Squire's eldest
+daughter. I had him named Trevlyn; I wrote a note to my father, saying
+he would not now be at fault for a male heir, in the event of poor Joe's
+not leaving one----"
+
+"He did leave one," interrupted George, speaking impulsively.
+
+"Rupert was not born then, and his succession was afterwards barred by
+my father's will. Through deceit, I grant you: but I had no hand in that
+deceit. I named my boy Trevlyn; I regarded him as the heir; and when the
+Squire died and his will was opened, it was found he had bequeathed all
+to Chattaway. If you think I have ever once faltered in my hope--my
+resolve--to see Trevlyn some time displace the Chattaways, you do not
+know much of human nature."
+
+"I grant what you say," replied George; "that, of the two, Trevlyn has
+more right to it than Cris Chattaway. But has it ever occurred to you to
+ask, _how_ Cris is to be displaced?"
+
+Mrs. Ryle did not answer. She sat beating her foot upon the ottoman, as
+one whose mind is not at ease. George continued:
+
+"It appears to me the wildest possible fallacy, the bare idea of
+Trevlyn's being able to displace Cris Chattaway in the succession. If we
+lived in the barbarous ages, when inheritances were wrested by force of
+arms, when the turn of a battle decided the ownership of a castle, then
+there might be a chance that Cris might lose Trevlyn Hold. As it is,
+there is none. There is not the faintest shadow of a chance that it can
+go to any one beside Cris. Failing his death--and he is strong and
+healthy--he _must_ succeed. Why, even were Rupert--forgive my alluding
+to him again--to urge _his_ claims, there would be no hope for him. Mr.
+Chattaway legally holds the estate; he has willed it to his son; and
+that son cannot be displaced by others."
+
+Her foot beat more impatiently; a heavier line settled on her brow.
+Often and often had the arguments now stated by her step-son occurred to
+her aching brain. George spoke again.
+
+"And therefore, the improbability--I may say the impossibility--of
+Treve's ever succeeding renders it unwise that he should have been
+taught to build upon it. Far better, mother, the thought had never been
+so much as whispered to him."
+
+"Why do you look at it in this unfavourable light?" she cried angrily.
+
+"Because it is the correct light. The property is Mr.
+Chattaway's--legally his, and it cannot be taken from him. It will be
+Cris's after him. It is simply madness to think otherwise."
+
+"Cris may die," said Mrs. Ryle sharply.
+
+"If Cris died to-morrow, Treve would be no nearer succession. Chattaway
+has daughters, and would will it to each in turn rather than to Treve.
+He can will it away as he pleases. It was left to him absolutely."
+
+"My father was mad when he made such a will in favour of Chattaway! He
+could have been nothing less. I have thought so many times."
+
+"But it was made, and cannot now be altered. Will you pardon me for
+saying that it would have been better had you accepted the state of
+affairs, and endeavoured to reconcile yourself to them?"
+
+"_Better?_"
+
+"Yes; much better. To rebel against what cannot be remedied can only do
+harm. I would a great deal rather Treve succeeded to Trevlyn Hold than
+Cris Chattaway: but I know Treve never will succeed: and, therefore, it
+is a pity it was ever suggested to him. He might have settled down more
+steadily had he never become possessed of the idea that he might some
+time supersede Cris Chattaway."
+
+"He _shall_ supersede him----"
+
+The door opened to admit a visitor, and he who entered was no other than
+Rupert Trevlyn. Ignore his claims as she would, Mrs. Ryle felt it would
+not be seemly to discuss before him Treve's chance of succession. She
+had in truth completely put from her all thought of the claims of
+Rupert. He had been deprived of his right by Squire Trevlyn's will, and
+there was an end to it. Mrs. Ryle rather liked Rupert; or, it may be
+better to say, she did not _dis_like him; really to like any one except
+Treve, was not in her nature. She liked Rupert in a negative sort of
+way; but would not have helped him to his inheritance by lifting a
+finger. In the event of her possessing no son to be jealous for, she
+might have taken up the wrongs of Rupert--just to thwart Chattaway.
+
+"Why, Rupert," said George, rising, and cordially shaking hands, "I
+heard you were ill again. Maude told me so to-day."
+
+"I am better to-night. Aunt Ryle, they said you were in bed."
+
+"I am better, too, Rupert. What has been the matter with you?"
+
+"Oh, my chest again," said Rupert, pushing the waving hair from his
+bright and delicate face. "I could hardly breathe this morning."
+
+"Ought you to have come out to-night?"
+
+"I don't think it matters," carelessly answered Rupert. "For all I see,
+I am as well when I go out as when I don't. There's not much to stay in
+for, there."
+
+Painfully susceptible to cold, he edged himself closer to the hearth
+with a slight shiver. George took the poker and stirred the fire, and
+the blaze went flashing up, playing on the familiar objects of the room,
+lighting up the slender figure, the well-formed features, the large blue
+eyes of Rupert, and bringing out all the signs of constitutional
+delicacy. The transparent fairness of complexion and the bloom of the
+cheeks, might have whispered a warning.
+
+"Octave thought you were going up there to-night, George."
+
+"Did she?"
+
+"The two Beecroft girls are there, and they turned me out of the
+drawing-room. Octave said 'I wasn't wanted.' Will you play chess
+to-night, George?"
+
+"If you like; after supper."
+
+"I must be home by half-past ten, you know. I was a minute over the
+half-hour the other night, and one of the servants opened the door for
+me. Chattaway pretty nearly rose the roof off, he was so angry; but he
+could not decently turn me out again."
+
+"Chattaway is master of Trevlyn Hold for the time being," remarked Mrs.
+Ryle. "Not Squire; never Squire"--she broke off, straying abruptly from
+her subject, and as abruptly resuming it. "You will do well to obey him,
+Rupert. When I make a rule in this house, I _never permit it to be
+broken_."
+
+A valuable hint, if Rupert had only taken it for guidance. He meant
+well: he never meant, for all his light and careless speaking, to
+disobey Mr. Chattaway's mandate. And yet it happened that very night!
+
+The chess-board was attractive, and the time slipped on to half-past
+ten. Rupert said a hasty good night, snatched up his hat, tore through
+the entrance-room and made the best speed his lungs allowed him to
+Trevlyn Hold. His heart was beating as he gained it, and he rang that
+peal at the bell which had sent its echoes through the house; through
+the trembling frame and weak heart of Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+He rang--and rang. There came back no sign that the ring was heard. A
+light shone in Mrs. Chattaway's dressing-room; and Rupert took up some
+gravel, and gently threw it against the window. No response was accorded
+in answer to it; not so much as the form of a hand on the blind; the
+house, in its utter stillness, might have been the house of the dead.
+Rupert threw up some more gravel as silently as he could.
+
+He had not to wait very long this time. Cautiously, slowly, as though
+the very movement feared being heard, the blind was drawn aside, and the
+face of Mrs. Chattaway appeared looking down at him. He could see that
+she had not begun to undress. She shook her head; raised her hands and
+clasped them with a gesture of despair; and her lips formed themselves
+into the words, "I may not let you in."
+
+He could not hear the words, but read the expression of the whole all
+too clearly--Chattaway would not suffer him to be admitted. Mrs.
+Chattaway, dreading possibly that her husband might cast his eyes within
+her dressing-room, quietly let the blind fall again, and removed her
+shadow from the window.
+
+What was Rupert to do? Lie on the grass that skirted the avenue, and
+take his night's rest under the trees in the freezing air and night
+dews? A strong frame, revelling in superfluous health, might possibly
+risk that; but not Rupert Trevlyn.
+
+A momentary thought come over him that he would go back to Trevlyn Farm,
+and ask for a night's shelter there. He would have done so, but for the
+recollection of Mrs. Ryle's stern voice and sterner face when she
+remarked that, as he knew the rule made for his going in, he must not
+break it. Rupert had never got on too cordially with Mrs. Ryle. He
+remembered shrinking from her haughty face when he was a child; and
+somehow he shrank from it still. No; he would not knock them up at
+Trevlyn Farm.
+
+What must he do? Should he walk about until morning? Suddenly a thought
+came to him--were the Canhams in bed? If not, he could go there, and lie
+on their settle. The Canhams never went to bed very early. Ann Canham
+sat up to lock the great gate--it was Chattaway's pleasure that it
+should not be done until after ten o'clock; and old Canham liked to sit
+up, smoking his pipe.
+
+With a brisk step, now that he had decided on his course, Rupert walked
+down the avenue. At the first turning he ran against Cris Chattaway, who
+was coming leisurely up it.
+
+"Oh, Cris! I am so glad! You'll let me in. They have shut me out
+to-night."
+
+"Let you in!" repeated Cris. "I can't."
+
+Rupert's blue eyes opened in the starlight. "Have you not your
+latch-key?"
+
+"What should hinder me?" responded Cris. "_I'm_ going in; but I can't
+let you in."
+
+"Why not?" hotly asked Rupert.
+
+"I don't choose to fly in the Squire's face. He has ordered you to be in
+before half-past ten, or not to come in at all. It has gone half-past
+ten long ago: is hard upon eleven."
+
+"If you can go in after half-past ten, why can't I?" cried Rupert.
+
+"It's not my affair," said Cris, with a yawn. "Don't bother. Now look
+here. It's of no use following me, for I shall not let you in."
+
+"Yes you will, Cris."
+
+"_I will not_," responded Cris, emphatically. Rupert's temper was
+getting up.
+
+"Cris, I wouldn't show myself such a hangdog sneak as you to be made
+king of England. If every one had their rights, Trevlyn Hold would be
+mine, to shut you out of it if I pleased. But I wouldn't please. If only
+a dog were turned out of his kennel at night, I would let him into the
+Hold for shelter."
+
+Cris put his latch-key into the lock. "_I_ don't turn you out. You must
+settle that question with the Squire. Keep off. If he says you may be
+let in at eleven, well and good; but I'm not going to encourage you in
+disobeying orders."
+
+He opened the door a few inches, wound himself in, and shut it in
+Rupert's face. He made a great noise in putting up the bar, which was
+not in the least necessary. Rupert had given him his true
+appellation--that of sneak. He was one: a false-hearted, plausible,
+cowardly sneak. As he stood at a table in the hall, and struck a match
+to light his candle, his puny face and dull light eyes betrayed the most
+complaisant enjoyment.
+
+He went upstairs smiling. He had to pass the angle of the corridor where
+his mother's rooms were situated. She glided silently out as he was
+going by. Her dress was off, and she had apparently thrown a shawl over
+her shoulders to come out to Cris: an old-fashioned spun-silk shawl,
+with a grey border and white centre: not so white, however, as the face
+of Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+"Cris!" she said, laying her hand upon his arm, and speaking in the most
+timid whisper, "why did you not let him in?"
+
+"I thought we had been ordered not to let him in," returned he of the
+deceitful nature. "_I_ have been ordered, I know that."
+
+"You might have done it just for once, Cris," his mother answered. "I
+know not what will become of him, out of doors this sharp night."
+
+Cris disengaged his arm, and continued his way up to his room. He slept
+on the upper floor. Maude was standing at the door of her chamber when
+he passed--as Mrs. Chattaway had been.
+
+"Cris--wait a minute," she said, for he was hastening by. "I want to
+speak a word to you. Have you seen Rupert?"
+
+"Seen him and heard him too," boldly avowed Cris. "He wanted me to let
+him in."
+
+"Which, of course, you would not do?" answered Maude, bitterly. "I
+wonder if you ever performed a good-natured action in your life?"
+
+"Can't remember," mockingly retorted Cris.
+
+"Where is Rupert? What is he going to do?"
+
+"You know where he is as well as I do: I suppose you could hear him. As
+to what he is going to do, I didn't ask him. Roost in a tree with the
+birds, perhaps."
+
+Maude retreated into her room and closed the door. She flung herself
+into a chair, and burst into a passionate flood of tears. Her heart
+ached for her brother with pain that amounted to agony: she could have
+forced down her proud spirit and knelt to Mr. Chattaway for him: almost
+have sacrificed her own life to bring comfort to Rupert, whom she loved
+so well.
+
+He--Rupert--stamped off when the door was closed against him, feeling he
+would like to stamp upon Cris himself. Arrived in front of the lodge, he
+stood and whistled, and presently Ann Canham looked from the upper
+casement in her nightcap.
+
+"Why, it's never you, Master Rupert!" she exclaimed, in intense
+surprise.
+
+"They have locked me out, Ann. Can you manage to come down and open the
+door without disturbing your father? If you can, I'll lie on the settle
+for to-night."
+
+Once inside, there ensued a contest. In her humble way, begging pardon
+for the presumption, Ann Canham proposed that Master Rupert should
+occupy her room, and she'd make herself contented with the settle.
+Rupert would not hear of it. He threw himself on the narrow bench they
+called the settle, and protested that if Ann said another word about
+giving up her room, he would go out and spend the night in the avenue.
+So she was fain to go back to it herself.
+
+A dreary night on that hard bench; and the morning found him cold and
+stiff. He was stamping one foot on the floor to stamp life into it, when
+old Canham entered, leaning on a crutch. Ann had told him the news, and
+the old man was up before his time.
+
+"But who shut you out, Master Rupert?" he asked.
+
+"Chattaway."
+
+"Ann says Mr. Cris went in pretty late last night. After she had locked
+the big gate."
+
+"Cris came up whilst I was ringing to be let in. He went in himself, but
+would not let me enter."
+
+"He's a reptile," said old Canham in his anger. "Eh me!" he added,
+sitting down with difficulty in his armchair, and extending the crutch
+before him, "what a mercy it would have been if Mr. Joe had lived!
+Chattaway would never have been stuck up in authority then. Better the
+Squire had left Trevlyn Hold to Miss Diana."
+
+"They say he would not leave it to a woman."
+
+"That's true, Master Rupert. And of his children there were but his
+daughters left. The two sons had gone. Rupert the heir first: he died on
+the high seas; and Mr. Joe next."
+
+"Mark, why did Rupert the heir go to sea?"
+
+Old Canham shook his head. "Ah, it was a bad business, Master Rupert,
+and it's as well not to talk of it."
+
+"But _why_ did he go?" persisted Rupert.
+
+"It was a bad business, I say. He, the heir, had fallen into wild ways,
+got to like bad company, and that. He went out one night with some
+poachers--just for the fun of it. It wasn't on these lands. He meant no
+harm, but he was young and random, and he went out and put a gauze over
+his face as they did,--just, I say, for the fun of it. Master Rupert,
+that night they killed a gamekeeper."
+
+A shiver passed through Rupert's frame. "_He_ killed him?--my uncle,
+Rupert Trevlyn?"
+
+"No, it wasn't he that killed him--as was proved a long while
+afterwards. But you see at the time it wasn't known exactly who had done
+it: they were all in league together, all in a mess, as may be said. Any
+way, the young heir, whether in fear or shame, went off in secret, and
+before many months had gone over, the bells were tolling for him. He had
+died far away."
+
+"But people never could have believed that a Trevlyn killed a man?" said
+Rupert, indignantly.
+
+Old Canham paused. "You have heard of the Trevlyn temper, Master
+Rupert?"
+
+"Who hasn't?" returned Rupert. "They say I have a touch of it."
+
+"Well, those that believed it laid it to that temper, you see. They
+thought the heir had been overtook by a fit of passion, and might have
+done the mischief in it. In those fits of passion a man is mad."
+
+"Is he?" abstractedly remarked Rupert, falling into a reverie. He had
+never before heard this episode in the history of the uncle whose name
+he bore--Rupert Trevlyn.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+NO BREAKFAST
+
+
+Old Canham stood at the door of his lodge, gazing after one who was
+winding through the avenue, in the direction of Trevlyn Hold, one whom
+old Canham delighted to patronise and make much of in his humble way;
+whom he encouraged in all sorts of vain and delusive notions--Rupert
+Trevlyn. Could Mr. Chattaway have divined the treason talked against him
+nearly every time Rupert dropped into the lodge, he might have tried
+hard to turn old Canham out of it. Harmless treason, however; consisting
+of rebellious words only. There was neither plotting nor hatching; old
+Canham and Rupert never glanced at that; both were perfectly aware that
+Chattaway held his place by a tenure which could not be disturbed.
+
+Many years ago, before Squire Trevlyn died, Mark Canham had grown ill in
+his service. In his service he had caught the cold which ended in an
+incurable rheumatic affection. The Squire settled him in the lodge, then
+just vacant, and allowed him five shillings a week. When the Squire
+died, Chattaway would have undone this. He wished to turn the old man
+out again (but it must be observed in a parenthesis that, though
+universally styled old Canham, the man was less old in years than in
+appearance), and place some one else in the lodge. I think, when there
+is no love lost between people, as the saying runs, each side is
+conscious of it. Chattaway disliked Mark Canham, and had a shrewd
+suspicion that Mark returned the feeling with interest. But he found he
+could not dismiss him from the lodge, for Miss Trevlyn put her veto upon
+it. She openly declared that Squire Trevlyn's act in placing his old
+servant there should be observed; she promised Mark he should not be
+turned out of it as long as he lived. Chattaway had no resource but to
+bow to it; he might not cross Diana Trevlyn; but he did succeed in
+reducing the weekly allowance. Half-a-crown a week was all the regular
+money enjoyed by the lodge since the time of Squire Trevlyn. Miss Diana
+sometimes gave him a trifle from her private purse; and the gardener was
+allowed to make an occasional present of vegetables in danger of
+spoiling: at the beginning of winter, too, a load of wood would be
+stacked in the shed behind the lodge, through the forethought of Miss
+Diana. But it was not much altogether to keep two people upon; and Ann
+Canham was glad to accept a day's hard work offered her at any of the
+neighbouring houses, or do a little plain sewing at home. Very fine
+sewing she could not do, for she suffered from weak eyes.
+
+Old Canham watched Rupert until the turnings of the avenue hid him from
+view, and then drew back into the room. Ann was busy with the breakfast.
+A loaf of oaten bread and a basin of skim milk, she had just heated, was
+placed before her father. A smaller cup served for her own share: and
+that constituted their breakfast. Three mornings a week Ann Canham had
+the privilege of fetching a quart of skim milk from the dairy at the
+Hold. Chattaway growled at the extravagance of the gift, but he did no
+more, for it was Miss Diana's pleasure that it should be supplied.
+
+"Chattaway'll go a bit too far, if he don't mind," observed old Canham
+to his daughter, in relation to Rupert. "He must be a bad nature, to
+lock him out of his own house. For the matter of that, however, he's a
+very bad one; and it's known he is."
+
+"It is not his own, father," Ann Canham ventured to retort. "Poor Master
+Rupert haven't no right to it now."
+
+"It's a shame but he had. Why, Chattaway has no more moral right to that
+fine estate than I have!" added the old man, holding up his left hand in
+the heat of argument. "If Master Rupert and Miss Maude were dead,--if
+Joe Trevlyn had never left a child at all,--others would have a right to
+it before Chattaway."
+
+"But Chattaway has it, father, and nobody can't alter it, or hinder it,"
+sensibly returned Ann. "You'll have your milk cold."
+
+The breakfast hour at Trevlyn Hold was early, and when Rupert entered,
+he found most of the family downstairs. Rupert ran up to his bedroom,
+where he washed and refreshed himself as much as was possible after his
+weary night. He was one upon whom only a night out of bed would tell
+seriously. When he went down to the breakfast-room, they were all
+assembled except Cris and Mrs. Chattaway. Cris was given to lying in bed
+in a morning, and the self-indulgence was permitted. Mrs. Chattaway also
+was apt to be late, coming down generally when breakfast was nearly
+over.
+
+Rupert took his place at the breakfast-table. Mr. Chattaway, who was at
+that moment raising his coffee-cup to his lips, put it down and stared
+at him. As he might have stared at some stranger who had intruded and
+sat down amongst them.
+
+"What do you want?" asked Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"Want?" repeated Rupert, not understanding. "My breakfast."
+
+"Which you will not get here," calmly and coldly returned Mr. Chattaway.
+"If you cannot come home to sleep at night, you shall not have your
+breakfast here in the morning."
+
+"I did come home," said Rupert; "but I was not let in."
+
+"Of course you were not. The household had retired."
+
+"Cris came home after I did, and was allowed to enter," objected Rupert
+again.
+
+"That is no business of yours," said Mr. Chattaway. "All you have to do
+is to obey the rules I lay down. And I will have them obeyed," he added,
+more sternly.
+
+Rupert sat on. Octave, who was presiding at the table, did not give him
+any coffee; no one attempted to hand him anything. Maude was seated
+opposite to him, and he could see that the unpleasantness was agitating
+her painfully; her colour went and came; she toyed with her breakfast,
+but could not swallow it: least of all, dared _she_ interfere to give
+even so much as bread to her ill-fated brother.
+
+"Where did you sleep last night, pray?" inquired Mr. Chattaway, pausing
+in the midst of helping himself to some pigeon-pie, as he looked at
+Rupert.
+
+"Not in this house," curtly replied Rupert. The unkindness seemed to be
+changing his very nature. It had continued long and long; had been shown
+in many and various forms.
+
+The master of Trevlyn Hold finished helping himself to the pie, and
+began eating it with apparent relish. He was about half-way through the
+plateful when he again stopped to address Rupert, who was sitting in
+silence, nothing but the table-cloth before him.
+
+"You need not wait. If you stop there until mid-day you'll get no
+breakfast. Gentlemen who sleep outside do not break their fasts in my
+house."
+
+Rupert pushed back his chair, and rose. Happening to glance across at
+Maude, he saw that her tears were dropping silently. It was a most
+unhappy home for both! He crossed the hall to the door: and thought he
+might as well depart at once for Blackstone. Fine as the morning was,
+the air, as he passed out, struck coldly upon him, and he turned back
+for an overcoat.
+
+It was in his bedroom. As he came down with it on his arm, Mrs.
+Chattaway was crossing the corridor, and she drew him inside her
+sitting-room.
+
+"I could not sleep," she murmured. "I was awake nearly all night,
+grieving and thinking of you. Just before daylight I dropped into a
+sleep, and then dreamt you were running up to the door from the waves of
+the sea, which were rushing onwards to overtake you. I thought you were
+knocking at the door, and we could not get down to it in time, and the
+waters came on and on. Rupert, darling, all this is telling upon me. Why
+did you not come in?"
+
+"I meant to be in, Aunt Edith; indeed I did; but I was playing chess
+with George Ryle, and did not notice the time. It was only just turned
+half-past when I got here; Mr. Chattaway might have let me in without
+any great stretch of indulgence," he added, bitterly. "So might Cris."
+
+"What did you do?" she asked.
+
+"I got in at old Canham's, and lay on the settle. Don't repeat this, or
+it may get the Canhams into trouble."
+
+"Have you breakfasted?"
+
+"I am not to have any."
+
+The words startled her. "Rupert!"
+
+"Mr. Chattaway ordered me from the table. The next thing, I expect, he
+will order me from the house. If I knew where to go I wouldn't stop in
+it another hour. I would not, Aunt Edith."
+
+"Have you had nothing--nothing?"
+
+"Nothing. I would go round to the dairy and get some milk, but I should
+be reported. I'm off to Blackstone now. Good-bye."
+
+Tears were filling her eyes as she lifted them in their sad yearning. He
+stooped and kissed her.
+
+"Don't grieve, Aunt Edith. You can't make it better for me. I have got
+the cramp like anything," he carelessly observed as he went off. "It is
+through lying on the cold, hard settle."
+
+"Rupert! Rupert!"
+
+He turned back, half in alarm. The tone was one of wild, painful
+entreaty.
+
+"You will come home to-night, Rupert?"
+
+"Yes. Depend upon me."
+
+She remained a few minutes longer watching him down the avenue. He had
+put on his coat, and went along with slow and hesitating steps; very
+different from the firm, careless steps of a strong frame, springing
+from a happy heart. Mrs. Chattaway pressed her hands to her brow, lost
+in a painful vision. If his father, her once dearly-loved brother Joe,
+could look on at the injustice done on earth, what would he think of the
+portion meted out to Rupert?
+
+She descended to the breakfast-room. Mr. Chattaway had finished his
+breakfast and was rising. She kissed her children one by one; sat down
+patiently and silently, smiling without cheerfulness. Octave passed her
+a cup of coffee, which was cold; and then asked her what she would take
+to eat. But she said she was not hungry that morning, and would eat
+nothing.
+
+"Rupert's gone away without his breakfast, mamma," cried Emily. "Papa
+would not let him have it. Serve him right! He stayed out all night."
+
+Mrs. Chattaway stole a glance at Maude. She was sitting pale and quiet;
+her air that of one who has to bear some long, wearing pain.
+
+"If you have finished your breakfast, Maude, you can be getting ready to
+take the children for their walk," said Octave, speaking with her usual
+assumption of authority--an assumption Maude at least might not dispute.
+
+Mr. Chattaway left the room, and ordered his horse to be got ready. He
+was going to ride over his land for an hour before proceeding to
+Blackstone. Whilst the animal was being saddled, he rejoiced his eyes
+with his rich stores; the corn in his barns, the hay-ricks in his yard.
+All very satisfactory, very consoling to the covetous master of the
+Hold.
+
+He went out, riding hither and thither. Half-an-hour afterwards, in the
+lane skirting Mrs. Ryle's lands on the one side and his on the other, he
+saw another horseman before him. It was George Ryle. Mr. Chattaway
+touched his horse with the spur, and rode up to him. George turned his
+head and continued his way. Chattaway had been better pleased had George
+stopped.
+
+"Are you hastening on to avoid me, Mr. Ryle?" he called out, sullenly.
+"You might have seen that I wished to speak to you, by the pace at which
+I urged my horse."
+
+George reined in, and turned to face Mr. Chattaway. "I saw nothing of
+the sort," he answered. "Had I known you wanted me, I should have
+stopped; but it is no unusual circumstance to see you riding fast about
+your land."
+
+"Well, what I have to say is this: that I'd recommend you not to get
+Rupert Trevlyn to your house at night, and keep him there to
+unreasonable hours."
+
+George paused. "I don't understand you, Mr. Chattaway."
+
+"Don't you?" retorted that gentleman. "I'm not talking Dutch. Rupert
+Trevlyn has taken to frequenting your house of late; it's not altogether
+good for him."
+
+"Do you fear he will get any harm in it?" quietly asked George.
+
+"I think it would be better that he should stay away. Is the Hold not
+sufficient for him to spend his evenings in, but he must seek amusement
+elsewhere? I shall be obliged to you not to encourage his visits."
+
+"Mr. Chattaway," said George, his face full of earnestness, "it appears
+to me that you are labouring under some mistake, or you would certainly
+not speak to me as you are now doing. I do not encourage Rupert to my
+mother's house, in one sense of the word; I never press for his visits.
+When he does come, I show myself happy to see him and make him
+welcome--as I should do by any other visitor. Common courtesy demands
+this of me."
+
+"You do press for his visits," said Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"I do not," firmly repeated George. "Shall I tell you why I do not? I
+have no wish but to be open in the matter. An impression has seated
+itself in my mind that his visits to our house displease you, and
+therefore I have not encouraged them."
+
+Perhaps Mr. Chattaway was rather taken back by this answer. At any rate,
+he made no reply to it.
+
+"But to receive him courteously when he does come, I cannot help doing,"
+continued George. "I shall do it still. If Trevlyn Farm is to be a
+forbidden house to Rupert, it is not from our side the veto shall come.
+As long as Rupert pays us these visits of friendship--and what harm you
+can think they do him, or why he should not pay them, I am unable to
+conceive--so long he will be met with a welcome."
+
+"Do you say this to oppose me?"
+
+"Far from it. If you look at the case in an unprejudiced light, you may
+see that I speak in accordance with the commonest usages of civility. To
+close the doors of our house to Rupert when there exists no reason why
+they should be closed--and most certainly he has given us none--would be
+an act we might blush to be guilty of."
+
+"You have been opposing me all the later years of your life. From that
+time when I wished to place you with Wall and Barnes, you have done
+nothing but act in opposition to me."
+
+"I have forgiven that," said George, pointedly, a glow rising to his
+face at the recollection. "As to any other opposition, I am unconscious
+of it. You have given me advice occasionally respecting the farm; but
+the advice has not in general tallied with my own opinion, and therefore
+I have not taken it. If you call that opposing you, Mr. Chattaway, I
+cannot help it."
+
+"I see you have been mending that fence in the three-cornered paddock,"
+remarked Mr. Chattaway, passing to another subject, and speaking in a
+different tone. Possibly he had had enough of the last.
+
+"Yes," said George. "You would not mend it, and therefore I have had it
+done. I cannot let my cattle get into the pound. I shall deduct the
+expense from the rent."
+
+"You'll not," said Mr. Chattaway. "I won't be at the cost of a
+penny-piece of it."
+
+"Oh yes, you will," returned George, equably. "The damage was done by
+your team, through your waggoner's carelessness, and the cost of making
+it good lies with you. Have you anything more to say to me?" he asked,
+after a pause. "I am very busy this morning."
+
+"Only this," replied Mr. Chattaway significantly. "That the more you
+encourage Rupert Trevlyn, by making a companion of him, the worse it
+will be for him."
+
+George lifted his hat in salutation. The master of Trevlyn Hold replied
+by an ungracious nod, and turned his horse back down the lane. As George
+rode on, he met Edith and Emily Chattaway--the children, as Octave had
+styled them--running towards him. They had seen their father, and were
+hastening after him. Maude came up more leisurely. George stopped to
+shake hands with her.
+
+"You look pale and ill, Maude," he said, his low voice full of sympathy,
+his hand retaining hers. "Is it about Rupert?"
+
+"Yes," she replied, striving to keep back her tears. "He was not allowed
+to come in last night, and has been sent away without breakfast this
+morning."
+
+"I know all about it," said George. "I met Rupert just now, and he told
+me. I asked him if he would go to Nora for some breakfast--I could not
+do less, you know," he added musingly, as if debating the question with
+himself. "But he declined. I am almost glad he did."
+
+Maude was surprised. "Why?" she asked.
+
+"Because I have had an idea--have felt it for some time--that any
+attention shown to Rupert, no matter by whom, only makes his position
+worse with Chattaway. And Chattaway has now confirmed it by telling me
+so."
+
+Maude's eyelids drooped. "How sad it is!" she exclaimed with
+emotion--"and for one in his weak state! If he were only strong as the
+rest of us are, it would matter less. I fear--I do fear he must have
+slept under the trees in the avenue," she continued. "Mr. Chattaway
+inquired where he had passed the night, and Rupert answered----"
+
+"I can so far relieve your fears, Maude," interrupted George, glancing
+round, as if to make sure no ears were near. "He was at old Canham's."
+
+Maude gave a deep sigh in her relief. "You are certain, George?"
+
+"Yes, yes. Rupert told me so just now. He said how hard he found the
+settle. Here come your charges, Maude; so I will say good-bye."
+
+She suffered her hand to linger in his, but her heart was too full to
+speak. George bent lower.
+
+"Do not make the grief weightier than you can bear, Maude. It is real
+grief; but happier times may be in store for Rupert--and for you."
+
+He released her hand, and cantered down the lane; and the two girls came
+up, telling Maude they should go home now, for they had walked long
+enough.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+TORMENTS
+
+
+There appeared to be no place on earth for Rupert Trevlyn. Most people
+have some little nook they can fit themselves into and call their own;
+but he had none. He was only on sufferance at the Hold, and was made to
+feel more of an interloper in it day by day.
+
+What could be the source of this ill-feeling towards Rupert? Did some
+latent dread exist in the heart of Mr. Chattaway, and from thence reach
+that of Cris, whispering that he, Rupert, the true heir of Trevlyn Hold,
+might at some future day, through some unforeseen and apparently
+impossible chance, come into his rights? No doubt it was so. There are
+no other means of accounting for it. It may be, they deemed, that the
+more effectually he was kept under, treated as an object to be despised,
+lowered from his proper station, the less chance would there be of that
+covert dread growing into a certainty. Whatever its cause, Rupert was
+shamefully put upon. It is true that he sat at their table, occupied the
+same sitting-room. But at table he was placed below the rest, was served
+last, and from the plainest dish. Mrs. Chattaway's heart would ache; it
+had ached for many a year; but she could not alter it. In their
+evenings, when the rest were gathered round the fire, Rupert would be
+left out in the cold. Nothing in the world did he so covet as a warm
+seat near the fire. It had been sought by his father when he was
+Rupert's age, and perhaps Miss Diana remembered this, for she would call
+Rupert forward, and sharply rebuke those who would have kept him from
+it.
+
+But Miss Diana was not always in the room; not often, in fact. She had
+her own sitting-room upstairs, as Mrs. Chattaway had hers; and both
+ladies more frequently retired to them in an evening, leaving the
+younger ones to enjoy themselves, with their books and work, their music
+and games, unrestrained by their presence. And poor Rupert was condemned
+to remote quarters, where no one noticed him.
+
+From that point alone, the cold, it was a severe trial. Of weakly
+constitution, a chilly nature, warmth was to Rupert Trevlyn almost an
+essential of existence. And it was what he rarely had at Trevlyn Hold.
+No wonder he was driven out. Even old Canham's wood fire, that he might
+get right into if he pleased, was an improvement upon the drawing-room
+at the Hold.
+
+After parting with George Ryle, Maude Trevlyn, in obedience to the
+imperious wills of her pupils, turned her steps homewards. Emily was a
+boisterous, troublesome, disobedient girl; Edith was more gentle and
+amiable, in looks and disposition resembling her mother; but the example
+of her sisters was infectious, and spoiled her. There was another
+daughter, Amelia, older than they were, and at school at Barmester: a
+very disagreeable girl indeed.
+
+"What was George Ryle saying to you, Maude?" somewhat insolently asked
+Emily.
+
+"He was talking of Rupert," she incautiously answered, her mind buried
+in thought.
+
+When they reached the Hold, Mr. Chattaway's horse was being led about by
+a groom, waiting for its master, who had returned, and was indoors. As
+they crossed the hall, they met him coming out of the breakfast-room.
+Octave was with him, talking.
+
+"Cris would have waited, no doubt, papa, had he known you wanted him. He
+ate his breakfast in a hurry, and went out. I suppose he has gone to
+Blackstone."
+
+"I particularly wanted him," grumbled Mr. Chattaway, who was never
+pleasant at the best of times, but would be unbearable if put out. "Cris
+knew I should want him this morning. First Rupert, and then Cris! Are
+you all going to turn disobedient?"
+
+He made a halt at the door, putting on his riding-glove. They stood
+grouped around him--Octave, Maude, and Emily. Edith had run out, and was
+near the horse.
+
+"I would give a crown-piece to know what Mr. Rupert did with himself
+last night," he savagely uttered. "John," exalting his voice, "have you
+any idea where Rupert Trevlyn hid himself all night?"
+
+The locking-out had been known to the household, and afforded
+considerable gossip. John had taken part in it; joined in its surmises
+and comments; therefore he was not at fault for a ready answer.
+
+"I don't know nothing certain, sir. It ain't unlikely he went down to
+the Sheaf o' Corn, and slept there."
+
+"No, no, he did not," involuntarily burst from Maude.
+
+It was an unlucky admission, for its tone was decisive, implying that
+she knew where he did sleep. She spoke in the moment's impulse. The
+Shear of Corn was the nearest public-house; notorious for its irregular
+doings; and Maude felt shocked at the bare suggestion that Rupert would
+enter such a place.
+
+Mr. Chattaway turned to her. "Where _did_ he sleep? What do you know
+about it?" Maude's face grew hot and cold. She opened her lips to
+answer, but closed them again without speaking, the words dying away in
+her uncertainty and hesitation.
+
+Mr. Chattaway may have felt surprised. He knew perfectly well that Maude
+had held no communication with Rupert that morning. He had seen Rupert
+come in and go out; and Maude had not stirred from his presence. He bent
+his cold grey eyes upon her.
+
+"From whom have you been hearing of Rupert's doings?"
+
+It is very probable that Maude would have been at a loss for an answer,
+but she was saved a reply, for Emily spoke up before she had time to
+give one, ill-nature in her tone and words.
+
+"Maude must have heard it from George Ryle. You saw her talking to him,
+papa. She said he had been speaking of Rupert."
+
+Mr. Chattaway did not ask another question. It would have been
+superfluous to do so, in the conclusion he had come to. He believed
+Rupert had slept at Trevlyn Farm. How else could George Ryle have become
+acquainted with his movements?
+
+"They'll be hatching a plot to try to over-throw me," he muttered to
+himself as he went out to his horse: for his was one of those mean,
+suspicious natures that are always fancying the world is antagonistic to
+them. "Maude Ryle has been wanting to get me out of Trevlyn Hold ever
+since I came into it. From the very hour she heard the Squire's will
+read, and found I had inherited, she has been planning and plotting for
+it. She would rather see Rupert in it than me; and rather see her
+pitiful Treve in it than anyone. Yes, yes, Mr. Rupert, we know what you
+frequent Trevlyn Farm for. But it won't answer. It's waste of time. They
+must change England's laws before they can upset Squire Trevlyn's will.
+But it's not less annoying to know that my tenure is constantly being
+hauled over and peered into, to see if they can't find a flaw in it, or
+insert one of their own making."
+
+It was strange that these fears should continually trouble the master of
+Trevlyn Hold. A man who legally holds an estate, on which no shade of a
+suspicion can be cast, need not dread its being wrested from him. It was
+in Squire Trevlyn's power to leave the Hold and its revenues to whom he
+would. Had he chosen to bequeath it to an utter stranger, it was in his
+power to do so: and he had bequeathed it to James Chattaway. Failing
+direct male heirs, it may be thought that Mr. Chattaway had as much
+right to it as anyone else. At any rate, it had been the Squire's
+pleasure to bequeath it to him, and there the matter ended. That the
+master of Trevlyn Hold was ever conscious of a dread his tenure was to
+be some time disturbed, was indisputable. He never betrayed it to any
+living being by so much as a word; he strove to conceal it even from
+himself; but there it was, deep in his secret heart. There it remained,
+and there it tormented him; however unwilling he might have been to
+acknowledge the fact.
+
+Could it be that a prevision of what was really to take place was cast
+upon him?--a mysterious foreshadowing of the future? There are people
+who tell us such warnings come.
+
+The singularity of the affair was, that no grounds could exist for this
+latent fear. Whence then should it arise? Why, from that source whence
+it arises in many people--a bad conscience. It was true the estate had
+been legally left to him; but he knew that his own handiwork, his
+deceit, had brought it to him; he knew that when he suppressed the news
+of the birth of Rupert, and suffered Squire Trevlyn to go to his grave
+uninformed of the fact, he was guilty of nothing less than a crime in
+the sight of God. Mr. Chattaway had heard of that inconvenient thing,
+retribution, and his fancy suggested that it might possibly overtake
+_him_.
+
+If he had only known that he might have set his mind at rest as to the
+plotting and planning, he would have cared less to oppose Rupert's
+visits to the Farm. Nothing could be further from the thoughts of
+Rupert, or George Ryle, than any plotting against Chattaway. Their
+evenings, when together, were spent in harmless conversation, in chess,
+without so much as a reference to Chattaway. But that gentleman did not
+know it, and tormented himself accordingly.
+
+He mounted his horse, and rode away. As he was passing Trevlyn Farm,
+buried in unpleasant thoughts, he saw Nora Dickson at the fold-yard
+gate, and turned his horse's head towards her.
+
+"How came your people to give Rupert Trevlyn a bed last night? They must
+know it would very much displease me."
+
+"Give Rupert Trevlyn a bed!" repeated Nora, regarding Mr. Chattaway with
+the uncompromising stare she was fond of according to that gentleman.
+"He did not sleep here."
+
+"No!" replied Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"No," reiterated Nora. "What should he want with a bed here? Has he not
+his own at Trevlyn Hold? A bed there isn't much for him, when he ought
+to have owned the whole place; but I suppose he can at least count upon
+that."
+
+Mr. Chattaway turned his horse short round, and rode away without
+another word. He always got the worst of it with Nora. A slight
+explosion of his private sentiments with regard to her was given to the
+air, and he again became absorbed on the subject of Rupert.
+
+"Where, then, _did_ he pass the night?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+MR. CHATTAWAY'S OFFICE
+
+
+It was Nora's day for churning. The butter was made twice a week at
+Trevlyn Farm, and the making fell to Nora. She was sole priestess of the
+dairy. It was many and many a long year since any one else had
+interfered in it: except, indeed, in the actual churning. One of the men
+on the farm did that for her in a general way; but to-day they were not
+forthcoming.
+
+When Nora was seen at the fold-yard gate by Mr. Chattaway, idly staring
+up and down the road, she was looking for Jim Sanders, to order him in
+to churn. Not the Jim Sanders mentioned in the earlier portion of our
+history, but Jim's son. Jim the elder was dead: he had brought on rather
+too many attacks of inflammation (a disease to which he was predisposed)
+by his love of beer; and at last one attack worse than the rest came,
+and proved too much for him. The present Jim, representative of his
+name, was a youth of fourteen, not over-burdened with brains, but strong
+and sound, and was found useful on the farm, where he was required to be
+willing to do any work that came first to hand.
+
+Just now he was wanted to churn. The man who usually performed that duty
+was too busy to be spared to-day; therefore it fell to Jim. But Jim
+could not be seen anywhere, and Nora returned indoors and commenced the
+work herself.
+
+The milk at the right temperature--for Nora was too experienced a
+dairy-woman not to know that if she attempted to churn at the wrong one,
+it would be hours before the butter came--she took out the thermometer,
+and turned the milk into the churn. As she was doing this, the servant,
+Nanny, entered: a tall, stolid girl, remarkable for little except
+height.
+
+"Is nobody coming in to churn?" asked she.
+
+"It seems not," answered Nora.
+
+"Shall I do it?"
+
+"Not if I know it," returned Nora. "You'd like to quit your work for
+this pastime, wouldn't you? Have you the potatoes on for the pigs?"
+
+"No," said Nanny.
+
+"Then go and see about, it. You know it was to be done to-day. And I
+suppose the fire's burning away under the furnace."
+
+Fanny stalked out of the dairy. Nora churned away steadily, and turned
+her butter on to the making-up board in about three-quarters of an hour.
+As she was proceeding with it, she saw George ride into the fold-yard,
+and leave his horse in the stable. Another minute and he came in.
+
+"Has Mr. Callaway not come yet, Nora?"
+
+"I have seen nothing of him, Mr. George."
+
+George took out his watch: the one bequeathed him by his father. It was
+only a silver one--as Mr. Ryle had remarked--but George valued it as
+though it had been set in diamonds. He would wear that watch and no
+other as long as he lived. His initials were engraved on it now: G. B.
+R. standing for George Berkeley Ryle.
+
+"If Callaway cannot keep his appointment better than this, I shall beg
+him not to make any more with me," he remarked. "The last time he kept
+me waiting three-quarters of an hour."
+
+"Have you seen Jim Sanders this morning?" asked Nora.
+
+"I saw him in the stables as I rode out."
+
+"I should like to find him!" said Nora. "He is skulking somewhere. I
+have had to churn myself."
+
+"Where's Roger?"
+
+"Roger couldn't hinder his time indoors to-day. Mr. George, what's up at
+Trevlyn Hold again about Rupert?" resumed Nora, turning from her butter
+to glance at George.
+
+"Why do you ask?"
+
+"Chattaway rode by an hour ago when I was outside looking after Jim
+Sanders. He stopped his horse and asked how we came to give Rupert a bed
+last night, when we knew that it would displease him. Like his
+insolence!"
+
+"What answer did you make?" said George, after a pause.
+
+"I gave him one," replied Nora, significantly. "Chattaway needn't fear
+not getting an answer when he comes to me. He knows that."
+
+"But what did you say about Rupert?"
+
+"I said that he had not slept here. If Chattaway----"
+
+Nora was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Chattaway's daughter,
+Octave. She had come to the farm, and, attracted by the sound of voices
+in the dairy, made her way to it. Miss Chattaway had taken it into her
+head lately to be friendly, to honour the farm with frequent visits.
+Mrs. Ryle neither encouraged nor repulsed her. She was civilly
+indifferent: but the young lady chose to take that as a welcome. Nora
+did not show her much greater favour than she was in the habit of
+showing her father. She bent her head over her butter-board, as if
+unaware that any one had entered.
+
+George removed his hat which he had been wearing, as she stepped on to
+the cold floor of the dairy, and took the hand held out to him.
+
+"Who would have thought of seeing you at home at this hour?" she
+exclaimed, in the winning manner which she could put on at times, and
+always did put on for George Ryle.
+
+"And in Nora's dairy, watching her make up the butter!" he answered,
+laughing. "The fact is, I have an appointment with a gentleman this
+morning, and he is keeping me waiting, and making me angry. I can't
+spare the time."
+
+"You look angry!" exclaimed Octave, laughing at him.
+
+"Looks go for nothing," returned George.
+
+"Is your harvest nearly in?"
+
+"If this fine weather only lasts four or five days longer, it will be
+all in. We have had a glorious harvest this year. I hope every one's as
+thankful as I am."
+
+"You have some especial cause for thankfulness?" she observed.
+
+"I have."
+
+She had spoken lightly, and was struck by the strangely earnest answer.
+George could have said that but for that harvest they might not quite so
+soon have discharged her father's debt.
+
+"When shall you hold your harvest home?"
+
+"Next Thursday; this day week," replied George. "Will you come to it?"
+
+"Thank you," said Octave. "Yes, I will."
+
+Had it been to save his life, George Ryle could not have helped the
+surprise in his eyes, as he turned them on Octave Chattaway. He had
+asked the question in the careless gaiety of the moment; really not
+intending it as an invitation. Had he proffered it in all earnestness,
+he never would have supposed it one to be accepted by Octave. Mr.
+Chattaway's family were not in the habit of visiting at Trevlyn Farm.
+
+"In for a penny, in for a pound," thought George. "I don't know what
+Mrs. Ryle will say to this; but if _she_ comes, some of the rest shall
+come also."
+
+It almost seemed as if Octave had divined part of his thoughts. "I must
+ask my aunt Ryle whether she will have me. By way of bribe, I shall tell
+her that I delight in harvest-homes."
+
+"We must have you all," said George. "Your sisters and Maude. Treve will
+be home I expect, and the Apperleys will be here."
+
+"Who else?" asked Octave. "But I don't know about my sisters and Maude."
+
+"Mr. and Mrs. Freeman. They and the Apperleys always come."
+
+"Our starched old parson!" uttered Octave. "He is not a favourite with
+us at the Hold."
+
+"I think he is with your mother."
+
+"Oh, mamma's nobody. Of course we are civil to the Freemans, and
+exchange dull visits with them occasionally. You must be passably civil
+to the parson you sit under."
+
+There was a pause. Octave advanced to Nora, who had gone on diligently
+with her work, never turning her head, or noticing Miss Chattaway by so
+much as a look. Octave drew close and watched her.
+
+"How industrious you are, Nora!--just as if you enjoyed the occupation.
+I should not like to soil my hands, making up butter."
+
+"There are some might make it up in white kid gloves," retorted Nora.
+"The butter wouldn't be any the better for it, Miss Chattaway."
+
+At this juncture Mrs. Ryle's voice was heard, and Octave left the dairy
+in search of her. George was about to follow when Nora stopped him.
+
+"What is the meaning of this new friendship--these morning calls and
+evening visits?" she asked; her eyes thrown keenly on George's face.
+
+"How should I know?" he carelessly replied.
+
+"If you don't, I do," she said. "Can you take care of yourself, George?"
+
+"I believe I can."
+
+"Then do," said Nora, with an emphatic nod. "And don't despise my
+caution: you may want it."
+
+He laughed in his light-heartedness: but he did not tell Nora how
+unnecessary her warning was.
+
+Later in the day, George Ryle had business which took him to Blackstone.
+It was not an inviting ride. The place, as he drew near, had that dreary
+aspect peculiar to the neighbourhood of mines. Rows of black, smoky huts
+were to be seen, the dwellings of the men who worked in the pits; and
+little children ran about with naked legs and tattered clothing, their
+thin faces white and squalid.
+
+"Is it the perpetual dirt they live in makes these children look so
+unhealthy?" thought George--a question he had asked himself a hundred
+times. "I believe the mothers never wash them. Perhaps think it would be
+superfluous, where even the very atmosphere is black."
+
+Black, indeed! Within George's view at that moment might be seen high
+chimneys congregating in all directions, throwing out volumes of smoke
+and flame. Numerous works were around, connected with iron and other
+rich mines abounding in the neighbourhood. Valuable areas for the
+furtherance of civilisation, the increase of wealth; but not pleasant to
+the eye, as compared with green meadows and blossoming trees.
+
+The office belonging to Mr. Chattaway's colliery stood in a particularly
+dreary offshoot from the main road. It was a low but not very small
+building, facing the road on one side, looking to those tall chimneys
+and the dreary country on two of the others. On the fourth was a sort of
+waste ground, which appeared to contain nothing but various heaps of
+coal, a peculiar description of barrow, and some round shallow baskets.
+The building looked like a great shed; it was roofed over, and divided
+into partitions.
+
+As George rode by, he saw Rupert standing at the narrow entrance door,
+leaning against it, as if in fatigue or idleness. Ford, the clerk, a
+young man accustomed to taking life easily, and to give himself little
+concern as to how it went, was standing near, his hands in his pockets.
+To see them doing nothing was sufficient to tell George that Chattaway
+was not about, and he rode up to the office.
+
+"You look tired, Rupert."
+
+"I am tired," answered Rupert. "If things are to go on like this, I
+shall grow tired of life altogether."
+
+"Not yet," said George, cheeringly. "You may talk of that some fifty
+years hence."
+
+Rupert made no answer. The sunlight fell on his fair features and golden
+hair. There was a haggardness in those features, a melancholy in the
+dark blue eyes, George did not like to see. Ford, the clerk, who was
+humming the verse of a song, cut short the melody, and addressed George.
+
+"He has been in this gay state all the afternoon, sir. A charming
+companion for a fellow! It's a good thing I'm pretty jolly myself, or we
+might get consigned to the county asylum as two cases of melancholy. I
+hope he won't make a night of it again, that's all. Nothing wears out a
+chap like a night without bed, and no breakfast at the end of it."
+
+"It isn't that," said Rupert. "I'm sick of it altogether. There has been
+nothing but a row here all day, George--ask Ford. Chattaway has been on
+at all of us. First, he attacked me. He demanded where I slept, and I
+wouldn't tell him. Next, he attacked Cris--a most unusual thing--and
+Cris hasn't got over it yet. He has gone galloping off, to gallop his
+ill-temper away."
+
+"Chattaway has?"
+
+"Not Chattaway; Cris. Cris never came here until one o'clock, and
+Chattaway wanted him, and a row ensued. Next, Ford came in for it: he
+had made a mistake in his entries. Something had uncommonly put out
+Chattaway--that is certain. And to improve his temper, the inspector of
+collieries came to-day and found fault, ordering things to be done that
+Chattaway says he won't do."
+
+"Where's Chattaway now?"
+
+"Gone home. I wish I was there, without the trouble of walking," added
+Rupert. "Chattaway has been ordering a load of coals to the Hold. If
+they were going this evening instead of to-morrow morning, I protest I'd
+take my seat upon them, and get home that way."
+
+"Are you so very tired?" asked George.
+
+"Dead beat."
+
+"It's the sitting up," put in Ford again. "I don't think much of that
+kind of thing will do for Mr. Rupert Trevlyn."
+
+"Perhaps it wouldn't do for you," grumbled Rupert.
+
+George prepared to ride away. "Have you had any dinner, Rupert?" he
+asked.
+
+"I made an attempt, but my appetite had gone by. Chattaway was here till
+past two o'clock, and after that I wasn't hungry."
+
+"He tried some bread-and-cheese," said Ford. "I told him if he'd get a
+chop I'd cook it for him; but he didn't."
+
+"I must be gone," said George. "You will not have left in half-an-hour's
+time, shall you, Rupert?"
+
+"No; nor in an hour either."
+
+George rode off over the stony ground, and they looked after him. Then
+Ford bethought himself of a message he was charged to deliver at one of
+the pits, and Rupert went indoors and sat down to the desk on his high
+stool.
+
+Within the half-hour George Ryle was back again. He rode up to the door,
+and dismounted. Rupert came forward, a pen in hand.
+
+"Are you ready to go home now, Rupert?"
+
+Rupert shook his head. "Ford went to the pit and is not back yet; and I
+have a lot of writing to do. Why?"
+
+"I thought we would have gone home together. You shall ride my horse,
+and I'll walk; it will tire you less than going on foot."
+
+"You are very kind," said Rupert. "Yes, I should like to ride. I was
+thinking just now, that if Cris were worth anything, he'd let me ride
+his horse home. But he's not worth anything, and would no more let me
+ride his horse and walk himself, than he'd let me ride him."
+
+"Has Cris not gone home?"
+
+"I fancy not. Unless he has gone by without calling in. Will you wait,
+George?"
+
+"No. I must walk on. But I'll leave you the horse. You can leave it at
+the Farm, Rupert, and walk the rest of the way."
+
+"I can ride on to the Hold, and send it back."
+
+George hesitated a moment. "I would rather you left it at the Farm,
+Rupert. It will not be far to walk after that."
+
+Rupert acquiesced. Did he wonder why he might not ride the horse to the
+Hold? George would not say, "Because even that slight attention must, if
+possible, be kept from Chattaway."
+
+He fastened the bridle to a hook in the wall, where Mr. Chattaway often
+tied his horse, where Cris sometimes tied his. There was a stable near;
+but unless they were going to remain in the office or about the pits,
+Mr. Chattaway and his son seldom put up their horses.
+
+George Ryle walked away with a quick step, and Rupert returned to his
+desk. A quarter-of-an-hour passed on, and the clerk did not return.
+Rupert grew impatient for his arrival, and went to the door to look out
+for him. He did not see Ford; but he did see Cris Chattaway. Cris was
+approaching on foot, at a snail's pace, leading his horse, which was
+dead lame.
+
+"Here's a nice bother!" called out Cris. "How I am to get back home, I
+don't know."
+
+"What has happened?" returned Rupert.
+
+"Can't you see what has happened? How it happened, I am unable to tell
+you. All I know is, the horse fell suddenly lame, and whined like a
+child. Something must have run into his foot, I conclude. Whose horse is
+that? Why, it's George Ryle's," Cris exclaimed as he drew sufficiently
+near to recognise it. "What brings his horse here?"
+
+"He has lent it to me, to save my walking home," said Rupert.
+
+"Where is he? Here?"
+
+"He has gone home on foot. I can't think where Ford's lingering," added
+Rupert, walking into the yard, and mounting one of the smaller heaps of
+coal for a better view of the road by which Ford might be expected to
+arrive. "He has been gone this hour."
+
+Cris was walking off in the direction of the stable, carefully leading
+his horse. "What are you going to do with him?" asked Rupert. "To leave
+him in the stable?"
+
+"Until I can get home and send the groom for him. _I'm_ not going to
+cool my heels, dragging him home," retorted Cris.
+
+Rupert retired indoors, and sat down on the high stool. He still had
+some accounts to make up. They had to be done that evening; and as Ford
+did not come in to do them, he must. Had Ford been there, Rupert would
+have left him to do it, and gone home at once.
+
+"I wonder how many years of my life I am to wear out in this lively
+place?" thought Rupert, after five minutes of uninterrupted attention
+given to his work, which slightly progressed in consequence. "It's a
+shame that I should be put to it. A paid fellow at ten shillings a week
+would do it better than I. If Chattaway had a spark of good feeling in
+him, he'd put me into a farm. It would be better for me altogether, and
+more fitting for a Trevlyn. Catch him at it! He wouldn't let me be my
+own master for----"
+
+A sound as of a horse trotting off interrupted Rupert's cogitations. He
+came down from his stool. A thought crossed him that George Ryle's horse
+might have got loose, and be speeding home riderless, at his own will
+and pleasure.
+
+It was George Ryle's horse, but not riderless. To Rupert's intense
+astonishment, he saw Mr. Cris mounted on him, and leisurely riding away.
+
+"Halloa!" called Rupert, speeding after the horse and his rider. "What
+are you going to do with that horse, Cris?"
+
+Cris turned his head, but did not stop. "I'm going to ride him home. His
+having been left here just happens right for me."
+
+"You get off," shouted Rupert. "The horse was lent to me, not to you. Do
+you hear, Cris?"
+
+Cris heard, but did not stop: he was urging the horse on. "_You_ don't
+want him," he roughly said. "You can walk, as you always do."
+
+Further remonstrance, further following, was useless. Rupert's words
+were drowned in the echoes of the horse's hoofs, galloping away in the
+distance. Rupert stood, white with anger, impotent to stop him, his
+hands stretched out on the empty air, as if their action could arrest
+the horse and bring him back again. Certainly the mortification was
+bitter; the circumstance precisely one of those likely to affect an
+excitable nature; and Rupert was on the point of going into that
+dangerous fit known as the Trevlyn passion, when its course was turned
+aside by a hand laid upon his shoulder.
+
+He turned, it may almost be said, savagely. Ford was standing there out
+of breath, his good-humoured face red with the exertion of running.
+
+"I say, Mr. Rupert, you'll do a fellow a service, won't you? I have had
+a message that my mother's taken suddenly ill; a fit, they say, of some
+sort. Will you finish what there is to do here, and lock up for once, so
+that I can go home directly?"
+
+Rupert nodded. In his passionate disappointment, at having to walk home
+when he expected to ride, at being treated as of no moment by Cris
+Chattaway, it seemed of little consequence to him how long he remained,
+or what work he had to do: and the clerk, waiting for no further
+permission, sped away with a fleet foot. Rupert's face was losing its
+deathly whiteness--there is no whiteness like that born of passion or of
+sudden terror; and when he sat down again to the desk, the hectic flush
+of reaction was shining in his cheeks and lips.
+
+Well, oh, well for him, could these dangerous fits of passion have been
+always arrested on the threshold, as this had been arrested now! The
+word is used advisedly: they brought nothing less than danger in their
+train.
+
+But, alas! this was not to be.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+DEAD BEAT
+
+
+Nora was at some business or other in the fold-yard, when the servant at
+Trevlyn Hold more especially devoted to the service of Cris Chattaway
+entered the gate with George Ryle's horse. As he passed Nora on his way
+to the stables, she turned, and the man spoke.
+
+"Mr. Ryle's horse, ma'am. Shall I take it on?"
+
+"You know the way," was Nora's short answer. She did not regard the man
+with any favour, reflecting upon him, in her usual partial fashion, the
+dislike she entertained for his master and Trevlyn Hold in general. "Mr.
+Trevlyn has sent it, I suppose."
+
+"Mr. Trevlyn!" repeated the groom, betraying some surprise.
+
+Now, it was a fact that at Trevlyn Hold Rupert was never called "Mr.
+Trevlyn." That it was his proper title was indisputable; but Mr.
+Chattaway had as great a dislike to hear Rupert called by it as he had a
+wish to hear himself styled "the Squire." At the Hold, Rupert was "Mr.
+Rupert" only, and the neighbourhood generally had fallen into the same
+familiar mode when speaking of him. Nora supposed the man's repetition
+of the name had insolent reference to this; as much as to say, "Who's
+Mr. Trevlyn?"
+
+"Yes, Mr. Trevlyn," she resumed in sharp tones of reprimand. "He is Mr.
+Trevlyn, Sam Atkins, and you know he is, however some people may wish it
+forgotten. He is not Mr. Rupert, and he is not Mr. Rupert Trevlyn, but
+he is Mr. Trevlyn; and if he had his rights, he'd be Squire Trevlyn.
+There! you may go and tell your master that I said so."
+
+Sam Atkins, a civil, quiet young fellow, was overpowered with
+astonishment at Nora's burst of eloquence. "I'm not saying naught
+against it, ma'am," cried he, when he had sufficiently recovered. "But
+Mr. Rupert didn't send me with the horse at all. It was young Mr.
+Chattaway."
+
+"What had he to do with it?" resentfully asked Nora.
+
+"He rode it home from Blackstone."
+
+"_He_ rode it? Cris Chattaway!"
+
+"Yes," said the groom. "He has just got home now, and told me to bring
+the horse back at once."
+
+Nora desired the man to take the horse to the stable, and went indoors.
+She could not understand it. When George returned home on foot, and she
+inquired what he had done with his horse, he told her that he had left
+it at Blackstone for Rupert Trevlyn. To hear now that Cris had reaped
+the benefit of it, and not Rupert, excited Nora's indignation. But the
+indignation would have increased fourfold had she known that Mr. Cris
+had ridden the horse hard and made a _detour_ of some five miles out of
+his way, to transact a private matter of business of his own. She went
+straight to George, who was seated at tea with Mrs. Ryle.
+
+"Mr. George, I thought you told me you had left your horse at Blackstone
+for Rupert Trevlyn, to save his walking home?"
+
+"So I did," replied George.
+
+"Then it's Cris Chattaway who has come home on it. I'd see _him_ far
+enough before he should have the use of my horse!"
+
+"It can't be," returned George. "You must be mistaken, Nora; Cris had
+his own horse there."
+
+"You can go and ask for yourself," rejoined Nora, crustily, not at all
+liking to be told she was mistaken. "Sam Atkins is putting the horse in
+the stable, and says Cris Chattaway rode it from Blackstone."
+
+George did go and ask for himself. He could not understand it at all;
+and he had no more fancy for allowing Cris Chattaway the use of his
+horse than Nora had. He supposed they had exchanged steeds; though why
+they should do so, he could not imagine.
+
+Sam Atkins was in the stable, talking to Roger, one of the men about the
+farm. George saw at a glance that his horse had been ridden hard.
+
+"Who rode this horse home?" he inquired, as the groom touched his hat to
+him.
+
+"Young Mr. Chattaway, sir."
+
+"And Mr. Rupert: what did he ride?"
+
+"Mr. Rupert, sir? I don't think he is come home."
+
+"Where's Mr. Cris Chattaway's own horse?"
+
+"He left it at Blackstone, sir. It fell dead lame, he says. I be going
+for it now."
+
+George paused. "I lent my horse to Mr. Rupert," he said. "Do you know
+why he did not use it himself?"
+
+"I don't know nothing about it, sir. Mr. Cris came home just now on your
+horse, told me to bring it down here, go on to Blackstone for his, and
+mind I led it gently home. He never mentioned Mr. Rupert."
+
+Considerably later--in fact, it was past nine o'clock--Rupert Trevlyn
+appeared. George Ryle was leaning over the gate at the foot of his
+garden in a musing attitude, the bright stars above him, the slight
+frost of the autumn night rendering the air clear, though not cold, when
+he saw a figure slowly winding up the road. It was Rupert Trevlyn. The
+same misfortune seemed to have befallen him that had befallen the horse,
+for he limped as he walked.
+
+"Are you lame, Rupert?" asked George.
+
+"Lame with fatigue; nothing else," answered Rupert in that low,
+half-inaudible voice which a very depressed physical state will induce.
+"Let me come in and sit down half-an-hour, George, or I shall never get
+to the Hold."
+
+"How came you to let Cris Chattaway ride my horse home? I left it for
+you."
+
+"_Let_ him! He mounted and galloped off without my knowing--the sneak! I
+should be ashamed to be guilty of such a trick. I declare I had half a
+mind to ride his horse home, lame as it was. But that the poor animal is
+evidently in pain, I would have done so."
+
+"You are very late."
+
+"I have been such a time coming. The truth is, I sat down when I was
+half-way here, so dead tired I couldn't stir a step further; and I
+dropped asleep."
+
+"A wise proceeding!" cried George, in pleasant though mocking tones. He
+did not care to say more plainly how _un_wise it might be for Rupert
+Trevlyn. "Did you sleep long?"
+
+"Pretty well. The stars were out when I awoke; and I felt ten times more
+tired when I got up than I had felt when I sat down."
+
+George placed him in a comfortable armchair, and got him a glass of
+wine, Nora brought some refreshment, but Rupert could not eat.
+
+"Try it," urged George.
+
+"I can't," said Rupert; "I am completely done up."
+
+He leaned back in the chair, his fair hair falling on the cushions, his
+bright face--bright with a touch of inward fever--turned upwards to the
+light. Gradually his eyelids closed, and he dropped into a calm sleep.
+
+George sat watching him. Mrs. Ryle, who was still poorly, had retired to
+her chamber for the night, and they were alone. Very unkindly, as may be
+thought, George woke him soon, and told him it was time to go.
+
+"Do not deem me inhospitable, Rupert; but it will not do for you to be
+locked out again to-night."
+
+"What's the time?" asked Rupert.
+
+"Considerably past ten."
+
+"I was in quite a nice dream. I thought I was being carried along in a
+large sail belonging to a ship. The motion was pleasant and soothing.
+Past ten! What a bother! I shall be half dead again before I get to the
+Hold."
+
+"I'll lend you my arm, Ru, to help you along."
+
+"That's a good fellow!" exclaimed Rupert.
+
+He got up and stretched himself, and then fell back in his chair, like a
+leaden weight. "I'd give five shillings to be there without the trouble
+of walking," quoth he.
+
+"Rupert, you will be late."
+
+"I can't help it," returned Rupert, folding his arms and leaning back
+again in the chair. "If Chattaway locks me out again, he must. I'll sit
+down in the portico until morning, for I sha'n't be able to stir another
+step from it."
+
+Rupert was in that physical depression which reacts upon the mind.
+Whether he got in or not, whether he passed the night in a comfortable
+bed, or under the trees in the avenue, seemed of very little moment in
+his present state of feeling. Altogether he was some time getting off;
+and they heard the far-off church clock at Barbrook chime the half-past
+ten before they were half-way to the Hold. The sound came distinctly to
+their ears on the calm night air.
+
+"I was somewhere about this spot when the half-hour struck last night,
+for your clocks were fast," remarked Rupert. "I ran all the way home
+after that--with what success, you know. I can't run to-night."
+
+"I'll do my best to get you in," said George. "I hope I sha'n't be
+tempted, though, to speak my mind too plainly to Chattaway."
+
+The Hold was closed for the night. Lights appeared in several of the
+windows. Rupert halted when he saw the light in one of them. "Aunt Diana
+must have returned," he said; "that's her room."
+
+George Ryle rang a loud, quick peal at the bell. It was not answered. He
+rang again, a sharp, urgent peal, and shouted with his stentorian voice;
+a prolonged shout that could not have come from the lungs of Rupert; and
+it brought Mr. Chattaway to the window of his wife's dressing-room in
+surprise. One or two more windows in different parts of the house were
+thrown up.
+
+"It is I, Mr. Chattaway. I have been assisting Rupert home. Will you be
+good enough to have the door opened?"
+
+Mr. Chattaway was nearly struck dumb with the insolence of the demand,
+coming from the quarter it did. He could scarcely speak at first, even
+to refuse.
+
+"He does not deserve your displeasure to-night," said George, in his
+clear, ringing tones, which might be heard distinctly ever so far off.
+"He could scarcely get here from fatigue and illness. But for taking a
+rest at my mother's house, and having the help of my arm up here, I
+question if he would have got as far. Be so good as to let him in, Mr.
+Chattaway."
+
+"How dare you make such a request to me?" roared Mr. Chattaway,
+recovering himself a little. "How dare you come disturbing the peace of
+my house at night, like any house-breaker--except that you make more
+noise about it!"
+
+"I came to bring Rupert," was George's answer. "He is waiting to be let
+in; tired and ill."
+
+"I will not let him in," raved Mr. Chattaway. "How dare you, I ask?"
+
+"What _is_ all this?" broke from the amazed voice of Miss Diana Trevlyn.
+"What does it mean? I don't comprehend it in the least."
+
+George looked up at her window. "Rupert could not get home by the hour
+specified by Mr. Chattaway--half-past ten. I am asking that he may be
+admitted now, Miss Trevlyn."
+
+"Of course he can be admitted," said Miss Diana.
+
+"Of course he sha'n't," retorted Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"Who says he couldn't get home in time if he had wanted to come?" called
+out Cris from a window on the upper story. "Does it take him five or six
+hours to walk from Blackstone?"
+
+"Is that you, Christopher?" asked George, falling back a little that he
+might see him better. "I want to speak to you. By what right did you
+take possession of my horse at Blackstone this afternoon, and ride him
+home?"
+
+"I chose to do it," said Cris.
+
+"I lent that horse to Rupert, who was unfit to walk. It would have been
+more generous--though you may not understand the word--had you left it
+for him. He was not in bed last night; has gone without food to-day--you
+were more capable of walking home than he."
+
+Miss Diana craned forth her neck. "Chattaway, I must inquire into this.
+Let that front-door be opened."
+
+"I will not," he answered. And he banged down his window with a resolute
+air, as if to avoid further colloquy.
+
+But in that same moment the lock of the front-door was turned, and it
+was thrown open by Octave Chattaway.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+AN OLD IMPRESSION
+
+
+It was surely a scene to excite some interest, if only the interest of
+curiosity, that was presented at Trevlyn Hold that night. Octave
+Chattaway in evening dress--for she had not begun to prepare for bed,
+although some time in her chamber--standing at the hall-door which she
+had opened; Miss Diana pressing forward from the back of the hall in a
+hastily assumed dressing gown; Mr. Chattaway in a waistcoat; Cris in
+greater deshabille; and Mrs. Chattaway dressed as was Octave.
+
+Rupert came in, coughing with the night air, and leaning on the arm of
+George Ryle. There was no light, except such as was afforded by a candle
+carried by Miss Trevlyn; but she stepped forward and lighted the lamp.
+
+"Now then," said she. "What is all this?"
+
+"It is this," returned the master of Trevlyn Hold: "that I make rules
+for the proper regulation of my household, and a beardless boy chooses
+to break them. I should think"--turning shortly upon Miss Diana--"that
+you are not the one to countenance that."
+
+"No," said she; "when rules are made they must be kept. What is your
+defence, Rupert?"
+
+Rupert had thrown himself upon a bench against the wall in utter
+weariness of mind and body. "I don't care to make any defence," said he,
+in his apathy, as he leaned his cheek upon his hand, and fixed his blue
+eyes on Miss Trevlyn; "I don't know that there's much defence to make.
+Mr. Chattaway orders me to be in by half-past ten. I was at George
+Ryle's last night, and I a little exceeded the time, getting here five
+minutes or so after it, so I was locked out. Cris let himself in with
+his latch-key, but he would not let me in."
+
+Miss Diana glanced at Cris, but said nothing. Mr. Chattaway interrupted.
+George, erect, fearless, was standing opposite the group, and it was to
+him that Chattaway turned.
+
+"What I want to know is this--by what right _you_ interfere, George
+Ryle?"
+
+"I am not aware that I have interfered--except by giving Rupert my arm
+up the hill, and asking you to admit him. No very unjustifiable
+interference, surely, Mr. Chattaway."
+
+"But it is, sir. And I ask why you presume to do it?"
+
+"Presume? I saw Rupert to-night, accidentally, as he was coming from
+Blackstone. It was about nine o'clock. He appeared terribly tired, and
+wished to come into the house and rest. There he fell asleep. I awoke
+him in time, but he seemed too weary to get here himself, and I came
+with him to help him along. He walked slowly--painfully I should say;
+and it made him later than he ought to have arrived. Will you be so
+good, Mr. Chattaway, as to explain what part of this was unjustifiable
+interference? I do not see that I could have done less."
+
+"You will see that you do less in future," growled Mr. Chattaway. "I
+will have no interference of yours between the Hold and Rupert Trevlyn."
+
+"You may make yourself perfectly easy," returned George, some sarcasm in
+his tone. "Nothing could be farther from my intention than to interfere
+in any way with you, or with the Hold, or with Rupert in connection with
+you and the Hold. But, as I told you this morning, until you show me
+good and sufficient reason for the contrary, I shall observe common
+courtesy to Rupert when he comes in my way."
+
+"Nonsense!" interposed Miss Diana. "Who says you are not to show
+courtesy to Rupert? Do you?" wheeling sharply round on Chattaway.
+
+"There's one thing requires explanation," said Mr. Chattaway, turning to
+Rupert, and drowning Miss Diana's voice. "How came you to stop at
+Blackstone till this time of night? Where had you been loitering?"
+
+Rupert answered the questions mechanically, never lifting his head. "I
+didn't leave until late. Ford wanted to go home, and I had to stop.
+After that I sat down on the way and dropped asleep."
+
+"Sat down on your way and dropped asleep!" echoed Miss Diana. "What made
+you do that?"
+
+"I don't know. I had been tired all day. I had no bed, you hear, last
+night. I suppose I can go to mine now?" he added, rising. "I want it
+badly enough."
+
+"You can go--for this time," assented the master of Trevlyn Hold. "But
+you will understand that it is the last night I shall suffer my rules to
+be set at naught. You shall be in to time, or you do not come in at
+all."
+
+Rupert shook hands with George Ryle, spoke a general "Good night" to the
+rest collectively, and went towards the stairs. At the back of the hall,
+lingering there in her timidity, stood Mrs. Chattaway. "Good night, dear
+Aunt Edith," he whispered.
+
+She gave no answer: only laid her hand upon his as he passed: and so
+momentary was the action that it escaped unobserved, except by one pair
+of eyes--those of Octave Chattaway.
+
+George was the next to go. Octave put out her hand to him. "Does
+Caroline come to the harvest-home?" she inquired.
+
+"Yes, I think so. Good night."
+
+"Good night," replied Octave, amiably. "I am glad you took care of
+Rupert."
+
+"She's as false as her father," thought George, as he went down the
+avenue.
+
+They were all dispersing. There was nothing now to remain up for.
+Chattaway was turning to the staircase, when Miss Diana stepped inside
+one of the sitting-rooms, carrying her candle, and beckoned to him.
+
+"What do you want, Diana?" he asked, not in pleasant tones, as he
+followed her in.
+
+"Why did you shut out Rupert last night?"
+
+"Because I chose to do it!"
+
+"But suppose I chose that he should not be shut out?"
+
+"Then we shall split," angrily rejoined the master of Trevlyn Hold. "I
+say that half-past ten is quite late enough for Rupert. He is younger
+than Cris; you and Edith say he is not strong; _is_ it too early?"
+
+Mr. Chattaway was so far right. It was a sufficiently late hour; and
+Miss Diana, after a pause, pronounced it to be so. "I shall talk to
+Rupert," she said. "There's no harm in his going to spend an hour or two
+with George Ryle, or with any other friend, but he must be home in good
+time."
+
+"Just so; he must be home in good time," acquiesced Chattaway. "He shall
+be home by half-past ten. And the only way to insure that, is to lock
+him out at first when he transgresses. Therefore, Diana, I shall follow
+my own way in this, and I beg you not to interfere."
+
+Miss Diana went up to Rupert's room. He had taken off his coat, and
+thrown himself on the bed, as if the fatigue of undressing were too much
+for him.
+
+"What's that for?" asked Miss Diana, as she entered. "Is that the way
+you get into bed?"
+
+Rupert rose and sat down on a chair. "Only coming upstairs seems to tire
+me," he said in tones of apology. "I should not have lain a minute."
+
+Miss Diana threw back her head a little, and looked at Rupert: the
+determined will of the Trevlyns shining out in every line of her face.
+
+"I have come to ask where you slept last night. I mean to know, Rupert."
+
+"I don't mind your knowing," replied Rupert; "I have told Aunt Edith. I
+decline to tell Chattaway, and I hope that no one else will tell him."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because he might lay blame where no blame is due. Chattaway turned me
+from the door, Aunt Diana, and Cris, who came up just after, turned me
+from it also. I went down to the lodge, and Ann Canham let me in; and I
+lay part of the night on their hard settle, and part of the night I sat
+upon it. That's where I was. But if Chattaway knew it, he'd turn old
+Canham and Ann from the lodge, as he turned me from the door."
+
+"Oh no, he wouldn't," said Miss Diana, "if it were my pleasure to keep
+them in it. Do you feel ill, Rupert?"
+
+"I feel middling. It is that I am tired, I suppose. I shall be all right
+in the morning."
+
+Miss Diana descended to her own room. Waiting there for her was Mrs.
+Chattaway. In spite of a shawl thrown over her shoulders, she seemed to
+be shivering. She slipped the bolt of the door--what was she afraid
+of?--and turned to Miss Trevlyn, her hands clasped.
+
+"Diana, this is killing me!" she wailed. "Why should Rupert be treated
+as he is? I know I am but a poor creature, that I have been one all my
+life--a very coward; but sometimes I think that I must speak out and
+protest against the injustice, though I should die in the effort."
+
+"Why, what's the matter?" uttered Miss Diana, whose intense composure
+formed a strange contrast to her sister's agitated words and bearing.
+
+"Oh, you know!--you know! I have not dared to speak out much, even to
+you, Diana; but it's killing me--it's killing me! Is it not enough that
+we despoiled Rupert of his inheritance, but we must also----"
+
+"Be silent!" sharply interrupted Miss Diana, glancing around and
+lowering her voice to a whisper. "Will you never have done with that
+folly, Edith?"
+
+"I shall never have done with its remembrance. I don't often speak of
+it; once, it may be, in seven years, not more. Better for me that I
+could speak of it; it would prey less upon my heart!"
+
+"You have benefited by it as much as any one has."
+
+"I cannot help myself. Heaven knows that if I could retire to some poor
+hut, and live upon a crust of bread, and benefit by it no more, I should
+do so--oh, how willingly! But there's no escape. I am hemmed in by its
+consequences; we are all hemmed in by them--and there's no escape."
+
+Miss Diana looked at her. Steadfastly, keenly; not angrily, but
+searchingly and critically, as a doctor looks at a patient supposed to
+be afflicted with mania.
+
+"If you do not take care, Edith, you will become insane upon this point,
+as I believe I have warned you before," she said, with calmness. "I am
+not sure but you are slightly touched now!"
+
+"I do not think I am," replied poor Mrs. Chattaway, passing her hand
+over her brow. "I feel confused enough sometimes, but there's no fear
+that madness will really come. If thinking could have turned me mad, I
+should have gone mad years ago."
+
+"The very act of your coming here in this excited state, when you should
+be going to bed, and saying what you do say, must be nothing less than a
+degree of madness."
+
+"I would go to bed, if I could sleep," said Mrs. Chattaway. "I lie awake
+night after night, thinking of the past; of the present; thinking of
+Rupert and of what we did for him; the treatment we deal out to him now.
+I think of his father, poor Joe; I think of his mother, Emily Dean, whom
+we once so loved; and I--I cannot sleep, Diana!"
+
+There really did seem something strange in Mrs. Chattaway to-night. For
+once in her life, Diana Trevlyn's heart beat a shade faster.
+
+"Try and calm yourself, Edith," she said soothingly.
+
+"I wish I could! I should be more calm if you and my husband would allow
+it. If you would only allow Rupert to be treated with common
+kindness----"
+
+"He is not treated with unkindness," interrupted Miss Diana.
+
+"It appears to me that he is treated with nothing but great unkindness.
+He----"
+
+"Is he beaten?--is he starved?"
+
+"The system pursued towards him is altogether unkind," persisted Mrs.
+Chattaway. "Indulgences dealt out to our own children are denied to him.
+When I think that he might be the true master of Trevlyn Hold----"
+
+"I will not listen to this," interrupted Miss Diana. "What has come to
+you to-night?"
+
+A shiver passed over the frame of Mrs. Chattaway. She was sitting on a
+low toilette chair covered with white drapery, her head bent on her
+hand. By her reply, which she did not look up to give, it appeared that
+she took the question literally.
+
+"I feel the pain more than usual; nothing else. I do feel it so
+sometimes."
+
+"What pain?" asked Miss Diana.
+
+"The pain of remorse: the pain of the wrong dealt out to Rupert. It
+seems greater than I can bear. Do you know," raising her feverish eyes
+to Miss Diana, "that I scarcely closed my eyelids last night? All the
+long night through I was thinking of Rupert: fancying him lying outside
+on the damp grass; fancying----"
+
+"Stop a minute, Edith. Are you seeking to blame your husband to me?"
+
+"No, no; I don't wish to blame any one. But I wish it could be altered."
+
+"If Rupert knows the hour for coming in--and it is not an unreasonable
+hour--it is he who is to blame if he exceeds it."
+
+Mrs. Chattaway could not gainsay this. In point of fact, though she
+found things grievously uncomfortable, wrong altogether, she had not the
+strength of mind to say _where_ the fault lay, or how it should be
+altered. On this fresh agitation, the coming in at half-past ten, she
+could only judge as a vacillating woman. The hour, as Miss Diana said,
+was not unreasonable, and Mrs. Chattaway would have fallen in with it,
+and approved her husband's judgment, if Rupert had only obeyed the
+mandate. If Rupert did not obey it--if he somewhat exceeded its
+bounds--she would have liked the door to be still open to him, and no
+scolding given. It was the discomfort that worried her; mixing itself up
+with the old feeling of the wrong done to Rupert, rendering things, as
+she aptly expressed it, more miserable than she could bear.
+
+"I'll talk to Rupert to-morrow morning," said Miss Diana. "I shall add
+my authority to Chattaway's, and tell him that he _must_ be in."
+
+It may be that a shadow of the future was casting itself over the mind
+of Mrs. Chattaway, dimly and vaguely pointing to the terrible events
+hereafter to arise--events which would throw their consequences on the
+remainder of Rupert's life, and which had their origin in this new and
+ill-omened order, touching his coming home at night.
+
+"Edith," said Miss Diana, "I would recommend you to become less
+sensitive on the subject of Rupert. It is growing into a morbid
+feeling."
+
+"I wish I could! It does grow upon me. Do you know," sinking her voice
+and looking feverishly at her sister, "that old impression has come
+again! I thought it had worn itself out. I thought it had left me for
+ever."
+
+Miss Diana almost lost patience. Her own mind was a very contrast to her
+sister's; the two were as opposite in their organisation as the poles.
+Fanciful, dreamy, vacillating, weak, the one; the other strong,
+practical, matter-of-fact.
+
+"I don't know what you mean by the 'old impression,'" she rejoined, with
+a contempt she did not seek to disguise. "Is it not some new folly?"
+
+"I told you of it in the old days, Diana. I used to feel
+certain--certain--that the wrong we inflicted on Rupert would avenge
+itself--that in some way he would come into his inheritance, and we
+should be despoiled of it. I felt so certain of it, that every morning
+of my life when I got up I seemed to expect its fulfilment before the
+day closed. But the time went on and on, and it never came. It went on
+so long that the impression wore itself out, I say, and now it has come
+again. It is stronger than ever. For some weeks past it has been growing
+more present with me day by day, and I cannot shake it off."
+
+"The best thing you can do now is to go to bed, and try and sleep off
+your folly," cried Miss Trevlyn, with the stinging contempt she allowed
+herself at rare times to show to her sister. "I feel more provoked with
+you than I can express. A child might be pardoned for indulging in such
+absurdities; a woman, never!"
+
+Mrs. Chattaway rose. "I'll go to bed," she meekly answered, "and get
+what sleep I can. I remember that you ridiculed this feeling of mine in
+the old days----"
+
+"Pray did anything come of it then?" interrupted Miss Diana,
+sarcastically.
+
+"I have said it did not. And the impression left me. But it has come
+again. Good night, Diana."
+
+"Good night, and a more sensible frame of mind to you!" was the retort
+of Miss Diana.
+
+Mrs. Chattaway crept softly along the corridor to her own dressing-room,
+hoping that her husband by that time was in bed and asleep. What was her
+surprise, then, to see him sitting at the table when she entered, not
+undressed, and as wide awake as she was.
+
+"You have business late with Diana," he remarked.
+
+Mrs. Chattaway felt wholly and entirely subdued; she had felt so since
+the previous night, when Rupert was denied admittance. The painful
+shyness, clinging to her always, seemed partially to have left her for a
+time. It was as though she had not strength left to be timid; almost as
+Rupert felt in his weariness of body, she was past caring for anything
+in her utter weariness of mind. Otherwise, she might not have spoken to
+Miss Diana as she had just done: most certainly she could never have
+spoken as she was about to speak to Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"What may your business with her have been?" he resumed.
+
+"It was not much, James," she answered. "I was saying how ill I felt."
+
+"Ill! With what?"
+
+"Ill in mind, I think," said Mrs. Chattaway, putting her hand to her
+brow. "I was telling her that the old fear had come upon me; the
+impression that used to cling to me always that some change was at hand
+regarding Rupert. I lost it for a great many years, but it has come
+again."
+
+"Try and speak lucidly, if you can," was Mr. Chattaway's answer. "What
+has come again?"
+
+"It seems to have come upon me in the light of a warning," she resumed,
+so lucidly that Mr. Chattaway, had he been a few steps lower in social
+grade, might have felt inclined to strike her. "I have ever felt that
+Rupert would in some manner regain his rights--I mean what he was
+deprived of," she hastily added, condoning the word which had slipped
+from her. "That he will regain Trevlyn Hold, and we shall lose it."
+
+Mr. Chattaway listened in consternation, his mouth gradually opening in
+bewilderment. "What makes you think that?" he asked, when he found his
+voice.
+
+"I don't exactly _think_ it, James. Think is not the right word. The
+feeling has come upon me again within the last few weeks, and I cannot
+shake it off. I believe it to be a presentiment; a warning."
+
+Paler and paler grew Mr. Chattaway. He did not understand. Like Miss
+Diana Trevlyn, he was very matter-of-fact, comprehending nothing but
+what could be seen and felt; and his wife might as well have spoken in
+an unknown tongue as of "presentiments." He drew a rapid conclusion that
+some unpleasant fact, bearing upon the dread _he_ had long felt, must
+have come to his wife's knowledge.
+
+"What have you heard?" he gasped.
+
+"I have heard nothing; nothing whatever. I----"
+
+"Then what on earth are you talking about?"
+
+"Did you understand me, James? I say the impression was once firmly
+seated in my mind that Rupert would somehow be restored to what--to
+what"--she scarcely knew how to frame her words with the delicacy she
+deemed due to her husband's feelings--"to what would have been his but
+for his father's death. And that impression has now returned to me."
+
+"But you have not heard anything? Any plot?--any conspiracy that's being
+hatched against us?"
+
+"No, no."
+
+Mr. Chattaway stared searchingly at his wife. Did he fancy, as Miss
+Diana had done, that her intellect was becoming disordered?
+
+"Then, what do you mean?" he asked, after a pause. "Why should such an
+idea arise?"
+
+Mrs. Chattaway was silent. She could not tell him the truth; could not
+say she believed it was the constant dwelling upon the wrong and
+injustice, which had first suggested the notion that the wrong would
+inevitably recoil on its workers. They had broken alike the laws of God
+and man; and those who do so cannot be sure of immunity from punishment
+in this world. That they had so long enjoyed unmolested the inheritance
+gained by fraud, gave no certainty that they would enjoy it to the end.
+She felt it, if her husband and Diana Trevlyn did not. Too often there
+were certain verses of Holy Writ spelling out their syllables upon her
+brain. "Remove not the old landmark; and enter not into the fields of
+the fatherless; for their Redeemer is mighty; he shall plead their cause
+with thee."
+
+All this she could not say to Mr. Chattaway. She could give him no good
+reason for what she had said; he did not understand imaginative fancies,
+and he went to rest after bestowing upon her a sharp lecture for
+indulging them.
+
+Nevertheless, in spite of her denial, the master of Trevlyn Hold could
+not divest himself of the impression that she must have picked up some
+scrap of news, or heard a word dropped in some quarter, which had led
+her to say what she did. And it gave him terrible discomfort.
+
+Was the haunting shadow, the latent dread in his heart, about to be
+changed into substance? He lay on his bed, turning uneasily from side to
+side until the morning, wondering from what quarter the first glimmer of
+mischief would come.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+A FIT OF AMIABILITY
+
+
+Rupert came down to breakfast the next morning. He was cold, sick,
+shivery; little better than he had felt the previous night; his chest
+sore, his breathing painful. A good fire burnt in the grate of the
+breakfast-room--Miss Diana was a friend to fires, and caused them to be
+lighted as soon as the heat of summer had passed--and Rupert bent over
+it. He cared for it more than for food; and yet it was no doubt having
+gone without food the previous day which was causing the sensation of
+sickness within him now.
+
+Miss Diana glided in, erect and majestic. "How are you this morning?"
+she asked of Rupert.
+
+"Pretty well," he answered, as he warmed his thin white hands over the
+blaze. "I have the old pain here a bit"--touching his chest. "It will go
+off by-and-by, I dare say."
+
+Miss Diana had her eyes riveted on him. The extreme delicacy of his
+countenance--its lines of fading health--struck upon her greatly. Was he
+looking worse? or was it that her absence from home for three weeks had
+caused her to notice it more than she had done when seeing him daily?
+She asked herself the question, and could not decide.
+
+"You don't look very well, Rupert."
+
+"Don't I? I have not felt well for this week or two. I think the walking
+to Blackstone and back is too much for me."
+
+"You must have a pony," she continued after a pause.
+
+"Ah! that would be a help to me," he said, his countenance brightening.
+"I might get on better with what I have to do there. Mr. Chattaway
+grumbles, and grumbles, but I declare, Aunt Diana, that I do my best.
+The walk there seems to take away all my energy, and, by the time I sit
+down, I am unfit for work."
+
+Miss Diana went nearer to him, and spoke in lower tones. "What was the
+reason that you disobeyed Mr. Chattaway with regard to coming in?"
+
+"I did not do it intentionally," he replied. "The time slipped on, and
+it got late without my noticing it. I think I told you so last night,
+Aunt Diana."
+
+"Very well. It must not occur again," she said, peremptorily and
+significantly. "If you are locked out in future, I shall not interfere."
+
+Mr. Chattaway came in, with a discontented gesture and a blue face. He
+was none the better for his sleepless night, and the torment which had
+caused it. Rupert drew away from the fire, leaving the field clear for
+him: as a schoolboy does at the entrance of his master.
+
+"Don't let us have this trouble repeated," he roughly said to Rupert.
+"As soon as you have breakfasted, make the best of your way to
+Blackstone: and don't lag on the road."
+
+"Rupert's not going to Blackstone to-day," said Miss Diana.
+
+Mr. Chattaway turned upon her: no very pleasant expression on his
+countenance. "What's that for?"
+
+"I shall keep him at home for a week, and have him nursed. After that, I
+dare say he'll be stronger, and can attend better to his duty in all
+ways."
+
+Mr. Chattaway could willingly have braved Miss Diana, if he had only
+dared. But he did not dare. He strode to the breakfast-table and took
+his seat, leaving those who liked to follow him.
+
+It has been remarked that there was a latent antagonism ever at work in
+the hearts of George Ryle and Octave Chattaway; and there was certainly
+ever constant and visible antagonism between the actions of Mr.
+Chattaway and Miss Diana Trevlyn, as far as they related to the ruling
+economy of Trevlyn Hold. She had the open-heartedness of the
+Trevlyns--he, the miserly selfishness of the Chattaways. She was liberal
+on the estate and in the household--he would have been niggardly to the
+last degree. Miss Diana, however, was the one to reign paramount, and he
+was angered every hour of his life by seeing some extravagance--as he
+deemed it--which might have been avoided. He could indemnify himself at
+the mines; and there he did as he pleased.
+
+Breakfast over, Mr. Chattaway went out. Cris went out. Rupert, as the
+day grew warm and bright, strolled into the garden, and basked on a
+bench in the sun. He very much enjoyed these days of idleness. To sit as
+he was doing now, feeling that no exertion whatever was required of him;
+that he might stay where he was for the whole day, and gaze up at
+the blue sky as he fell into thought; or watch the light fleecy
+clouds that rose above the horizon, and form them into fantastic
+pictures--constituted one of the pleasures of Rupert Trevlyn's life. Not
+for the bright blue of the sky, the ever-changing clouds, the warm
+sunshine and balmy air--not for all these did he care so much as for the
+_rest_. The delightful consciousness that he might be as quiet as he
+pleased; that no Blackstone or any other far-off place would demand him;
+that for a whole day he might be at _rest_--there lay the charm. Nothing
+could possibly have been more suggestive of his want of strength--as
+anyone might have guessed possessed of sufficient penetration.
+
+No. Mr. Chattaway need not have feared that Rupert was hatching plots
+against him, whenever he was out of his sight. Had poor Rupert possessed
+the desire, he lacked the energy.
+
+The dinner hour at Trevlyn Hold, nominally early, was frequently
+regulated by the will or movements of the master. When he said he could
+only be home at a given hour--three, four, five, six, as the case might
+be--the cook had her orders accordingly. To-day it was fixed for four
+o'clock. At two (the more ordinary dinner hour) Cris came in.
+
+Strictly speaking, it was ten minutes past two, and Cris burst into the
+dining-room with a heated face, afraid lest he should come in for the
+end of the meal. Whatever might be the hour fixed, dinner had to be on
+the table to the minute; and it generally was so. Miss Diana was an
+exacting mistress. Cris burst in, hair untidy, hands unwashed,
+desperately afraid of losing his share.
+
+He drew a long face. Not a soul was in the room, and the dining-table
+showed its bright mahogany. Cris rang the bell.
+
+"What time do we dine to-day?" he asked sharply of the servant who
+answered it.
+
+"At four, sir."
+
+"What a nuisance! And I am as hungry as a hunter. Get me something to
+eat. Here--stop--where are they all?"
+
+"Madam's at home, sir; and I think Miss Octave's at home. The rest are
+out."
+
+Cris muttered something which was not heard, which perhaps he did not
+intend should be heard; and when his luncheon was brought in, he sat
+down to it with great satisfaction. After he had finished, he went to
+the stables, and by-and-by came in to find his sister.
+
+"Octave, I want to take you for a drive. Will you go?"
+
+The unwonted attention on her brother's part quite astonished Octave.
+Before now she had asked him to drive her out, and been met with a rough
+refusal. Cris was of that class of young men who see no good in
+overpowering their sisters with attention.
+
+"Get your things on at once," said Cris.
+
+Octave felt dubious. She was writing letters to some particular friends
+with whom she kept up a correspondence, and did not care to be
+interrupted.
+
+"Where is it to go, Cris?"
+
+"Anywhere. We can drive through Barmester, and so home by the
+cross-roads. Or we'll go down the lower road to Barbrook, and go on to
+Barmester that way."
+
+The suggestion did not offer sufficient attraction to Octave. "No," said
+she, "I am busy, and shall not go out this afternoon. I don't care to
+drive out when there's nothing to go for."
+
+"You may as well come. It isn't often I ask you."
+
+"No, that it is not," returned Octave, with emphasis. "You have some
+particular motive in asking me now, I know. What is it, Cris?"
+
+"I want to try my new horse. They say he goes beautifully in harness."
+
+"What! that handsome horse you took a fancy to the other day?--that papa
+said you should not buy?"
+
+Cris nodded. "They let me have him for forty-five pounds."
+
+"Where did you get the money?" wondered Octave.
+
+"Never you mind. I have paid ten pounds down, and they'll wait for the
+rest. Will you come?"
+
+"No," said Octave. "I sha'n't go out to-day."
+
+The refusal perhaps was somewhat softened by the dashing up to the door
+of the dog-cart with the new purchase in it; and Cris ran out. A
+handsome animal certainly, but apparently restive. Mrs. Chattaway came
+through the hall, dressed for walking. Cris seized upon her.
+
+"Mother, dear, you'll go for a drive with me," cried he, caressingly.
+"Octave won't--ill-natured thing!"
+
+It was so unusual a circumstance to find herself made much of by her
+son, spoken to affectionately, that Mrs. Chattaway, in surprise and
+gratitude, forthwith ascended the dog-cart. "I am glad to accompany you,
+dear," she softly said. "I was only going to walk in the garden."
+
+But before Cris had gathered the reins in his hand and taken his place
+beside her, George Ryle came up, and somewhat hindered the departure.
+
+"I have been to Barmester to see Caroline this morning, Mrs. Chattaway,
+and have brought you a message from Amelia," he said, keeping his hold
+on the dog-cart as he spoke--as much as he could do so, for the restive
+animal.
+
+"That she wants to come home, I suppose?" said Mrs. Chattaway, smiling.
+
+"The message I was charged with was, that she _would_ come home," he
+said, smiling in answer. "The fact is, Caroline is coming home for a few
+days: and Amelia thinks she will be cruelly used unless she is allowed
+holiday also."
+
+"Caroline is coming to the harvest-home?"
+
+"Yes. I told Amelia----"
+
+Holding on any longer became impossible; and George drew back, and took
+a critical survey of the new horse. "Why, it is the horse Allen has had
+for sale!" he exclaimed.
+
+"What brings him here, Cris?"
+
+"I have bought him," shortly answered Cris.
+
+"Have you? Mrs. Chattaway, I would advise you not to venture out behind
+that horse. He has not been broken in for driving."
+
+"He has," returned Cris. "You mind your own business. Do you think I
+should drive him if he were not safe? He's only skittish. I understand
+horses, I hope, as well as you do."
+
+George turned to Mrs. Chattaway. "Do not go with him," he urged. "Let
+Cris try him first alone."
+
+"I am not afraid, George," she said, in loving accents. "It is not often
+Cris finds time to drive me. Thank you all the same."
+
+Cris gave the horse its head, and the animal dashed off. George stood
+watching until a turn in the avenue hid them from view, and then gave
+utterance to an involuntary exclamation:
+
+"Cris has no right to risk the life of his mother."
+
+Not very long afterwards, the skittish horse was flying along the road,
+with nothing of the dog-cart left behind him, but its shafts.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+AN INVASION AT THE PARSONAGE
+
+
+On the lower road, leading from Trevlyn Farm to Barbrook, stood Barbrook
+Rectory. A pretty house, covered with ivy, standing in the midst of a
+flourishing garden, and surrounded by green fields. An exceedingly
+pretty place for its size, that parsonage--it was never styled anything
+else--but very small. Fortunately the parsons inhabiting it had none of
+them owned large families, or they would have been at fault for room.
+
+The present occupant was the Reverend John Freeman. Occupant of the
+parsonage house, but not incumbent of the living. The living, in the
+gift of a neighbouring cathedral, was held by one of the chapter; and he
+delegated his charge (beyond an occasional sermon) to a curate. It had
+been so in the old time when Squire Trevlyn flourished, and it was so
+still. Whispers were abroad that when the death of this canon should
+take place--a very old man, both as to years and occupancy of his
+prebendal stall--changes would be made, and the next incumbent would
+have to reside on the living. But this has nothing to do with us, and I
+don't know why I have alluded to it.
+
+Mr. Freeman had been curate of the place for more than twenty years. He
+succeeded the Reverend Shafto Dean, of whom you have heard. Mr. Dean had
+remained at Barbrook only a very short time after his sister's marriage
+to Joe Trevlyn. That event had not tended to allay the irritation
+existing between Trevlyn Hold and the parsonage, and on some promotion
+being offered to Mr. Dean he accepted it. The promotion given him was in
+the West Indies: he would not have chosen a residence there under
+happier auspices; but he felt sick of the ceaseless contention of Squire
+Trevlyn. Mr. Dean went out to the West Indies, and died of fever within
+six months of his arrival. Mr. Freeman had succeeded him at Barbrook,
+and Mr. Freeman was there still: a married man, without children.
+
+The parsonage household was very modest. One servant only was kept; and
+if you have the pleasure of making both ends meet at the end of the year
+upon the moderate sum of one hundred pounds sterling, you will wonder
+how even that servant could be retained. But a clergyman has advantages
+in some points over the rest of the world: at least this one had; his
+house was rent-free, and his garden supplied more vegetables and fruit
+than his household could consume. Some of the choicer fruit he sold. His
+superfluous vegetables he gave away; and many and many a cabbage leaf
+full of gooseberries and currants did the little parish children look
+out for, and receive. He was a quiet, pleasant little man of fifty, with
+a fair face and a fat double chin. Never an ill word had he had with any
+one in the parish since he came into it. His wife was pleasant, too, and
+talkative; and would as soon be caught by visitors making puddings in
+the kitchen, or shelling peas for dinner, as sitting in state in the
+drawing-room.
+
+At the back of the house, detached from it, was a room called the
+brewhouse, where sundry abnormal duties, quite out of the regular
+routine of things, were performed. A boiler was in one corner, a large
+board or table which would put up or let down at will was under the
+casement, and the floor was paved. On the morning of the day when Mr.
+Cris Chattaway contrived to separate his dog-cart from its shafts, or to
+let his new horse do it for him, of which you will hear more presently,
+this brewhouse was so filled with steam that you could not see across
+it. A tall, strong, rosy-faced woman, looking about thirty years of age,
+was standing over a washing-tub; and in the boiler, bubbling and
+seething, white linen heaved up and down like the waves of a small sea.
+
+You have seen the woman before, though the chances are you have
+forgotten all about her. It is Molly, who once lived at Trevlyn Farm.
+Some five years ago she came to an issue with the ruling potentates,
+Mrs. Ryle and Nora, and the result was a parting. Since then Molly had
+been living at the parsonage, and had grown to be valued by her master
+and mistress. She looks taller than ever, but wears pattens to keep her
+feet from the wet flags.
+
+Molly was rubbing vigorously at her master's surplice--which shared the
+benefits of the wash with more ignoble things, when the church-clock
+striking caused her to pause and glance up through the open window. She
+was counting the strokes.
+
+"Twelve o'clock, as I'm alive! I knew it must have gone eleven, but
+never thought it was twelve yet! And nothing out but a handful o'
+coloured things and the flannels! If missis was at home, she'd say I'd
+been wasting all my morning gossiping."
+
+An accusation Mrs. Freeman might have made with great truth. There was
+not a more inveterate gossip than Molly in the parish; and her
+propensity had lost her her last place.
+
+She turned to the boiler, seized the rolling-pin, and poked down the
+rising clothes with a fierceness which seemed to wish to make up for the
+lost hours. Then she dashed open the little iron door underneath, threw
+on a shovel of coals, and shut it again.
+
+"This surplice is wearing as thin as anything in front," soliloquised
+she, recommencing at the tub. "I'd better not rub it too much. But it's
+just in the very place where master gets 'em most dirty. If I were
+missis, I should line 'em in front. His other one's going worse. They
+must cost a smart penny, these surplices. Now, who's that?"
+
+Molly's interjection was caused by a flourishing knock at the
+front-door. It did not please her. She was too busy to answer useless
+visitors; unless because her master and mistress were out.
+
+"I won't go to the door," decided she, in her vexation. "Let 'em knock
+again, or go away."
+
+The applicant preferred the former course, for a second knock, louder
+than the first, echoed through the house. Molly brought her wet arms out
+of the water, dried them, and went on her way grumbling.
+
+"It's that bothering Mother Hurnall, I know! And ten to one but she'll
+walk in, under pretence of resting, and poke her nose into my brewhouse,
+and see how my work's getting on. An interfering, mischief-making old
+toad, and if she _does_ come in, I'll----"
+
+Molly had opened the door, and her words came to an abrupt conclusion.
+Instead of the interfering mischief-maker, there stood a gentleman; a
+stranger: a tall, oldish man, with a white beard and white whiskers,
+jet-black eyes, a kindly but firm expression on his sallow face, a
+carpet-bag in one hand, a large red umbrella in the other.
+
+Molly dropped a dubious curtsey. Beards were not much in fashion in that
+simple country place, neither were red umbrellas, and her opinion
+vacillated. Was the gentleman before her some venerable,
+much-to-be-respected patriarch; or one of those conjurers who frequented
+fairs in a caravan? Molly had had the gratification of seeing the one
+perform who came to the last fair, and he wore a white beard.
+
+"I have been directed to this house as the residence of the Reverend Mr.
+Freeman," began the stranger. "Is he at home?"
+
+"No, sir, he's not," replied Molly, dropping another and more assured
+curtsey. There was something about the stranger's voice and
+straightforward glance which quieted her fears. "My master and mistress
+are both gone out for the day, and won't be home till night."
+
+This seemed a poser for the stranger. He looked at Molly, and Molly
+looked at him. "It is very unfortunate," he said at length. "I have come
+a great many hundred miles, and reckoned very much upon seeing my old
+friend Freeman. I shall be leaving England again in a few days."
+
+Molly opened her eyes. "Come a great many hundred miles, all to see
+master!" she exclaimed.
+
+"Not to see him," answered the stranger, with a smile at Molly's
+simplicity--not that he looked like a smiling man in general, but a very
+sad one. "I had to come to England on business, and I travelled a long
+way to get here, and shall have to travel the same long way to get back
+again. I have come from London on purpose to see Mr. Freeman. It is many
+years since we met, and I thought, if quite agreeable, I would sleep a
+couple of nights here. Did you ever happen to hear him mention an old
+friend of his, named Daw?"
+
+The name struck on Molly's memory: it was a somewhat peculiar one.
+"Well, yes, I have, sir," she answered. "I have heard him speak of a Mr.
+Daw to my mistress. I think--I think--he lived somewhere over in France,
+that Mr. Daw. And he was a clergyman. My master lighted upon a lady's
+death a short time ago in the paper, while I was in the parlour helping
+my missis with some bed-furniture, and he exclaimed and said it must be
+Mr. Daw's wife."
+
+"Right--right in all," said the gentleman. "I am Mr. Daw."
+
+He took a small card-case from his pocket, and held out one of its cards
+to Molly; deeming it well, no doubt, that the woman should be convinced
+he was really the person he professed to be. "I can see but one thing to
+do," he said, "you must give me house-room until Mr. Freeman comes home
+this evening."
+
+"You are welcome, sir. But my goodness! there's nothing in the house for
+dinner, and I'm in the midst of a big wash."
+
+He shook his head as he walked into the parlour--a sunny apartment,
+redolent of mignonette, boxes of which stood outside the windows. "I
+don't in the least care about dinner," he carelessly observed. "A crust
+of bread, a little fresh butter, and a cup of milk, will do as well for
+me as anything more substantial."
+
+Molly left him, to see what she could do in the way of entertainment,
+and take counsel with herself. "If it doesn't happen on purpose!" she
+ejaculated. "Anything that upsets the order of the house is sure to come
+on washing day! Well, it's no good worrying. The wash must go. If I
+can't finish to-day, I must finish to-morrow. I think he's what he says
+he is; and I've heard them red umbrellas is used in France."
+
+She carried in a tray of refreshment--bread, butter, cheese, milk, and
+honey, and had adjusted the sleeves of her gown, straightened her hair,
+put on a clean apron, and taken off her pattens. Mr. Daw detained her
+whilst he helped himself, asking divers questions; and Molly, nothing
+loth, ever ready for a gossip, remembered not her exacting brewhouse.
+
+"There is a place called Trevlyn Hold in this neighbourhood, is there
+not?"
+
+"Right over there, sir," replied Molly, extending her hand. "You might
+see its chimneys but for them trees."
+
+"I suppose the young master of Trevlyn has grown into a fine man?"
+
+Molly turned up her nose, never supposing but the question alluded to
+Cris, and Cris was no favourite of hers: a prejudice possibly imbibed
+during her service at Trevlyn Farm.
+
+"I don't call him so," said she, shortly. "A weazened-face fellow, with
+an odd look in his eyes as good as a squint! He's not much liked about
+here, sir."
+
+"Indeed! That's a pity. Is he married? I suppose not though, yet. He is
+young."
+
+"There's many a one gets married younger than he is. But I don't know
+who'd have him," added Molly, in her prejudice. "I wouldn't, if I was a
+young lady."
+
+"Who has acted as his guardian?" resumed Mr. Daw.
+
+Molly scarcely understood the question. "A guardian, sir? That's
+somebody that takes care of a child's money, who has no parents, isn't
+it? _He_ has no guardian that I ever heard of, except it's his father."
+
+Mr. Daw laid down his knife. "The young master of Trevlyn has no
+father," he exclaimed.
+
+"Indeed he has, sir," returned Molly. "What should hinder him?"
+
+"My good woman, you cannot know what I am talking about. His father died
+years and years ago. I was at his funeral."
+
+Molly opened her mouth in very astonishment. "His father is alive now,
+sir, at any rate," cried she, after a pause. "I saw him ride by this
+house only yesterday."
+
+They stared at each other, as people at cross-purposes often do. "Of
+whom are you speaking?" asked Mr. Daw, at length.
+
+"Of Cris Chattaway, sir. You asked me about the young master of Trevlyn
+Hold. Cris will be its master after his father. Old Chattaway's its
+master now."
+
+"Chattaway? Chattaway?" repeated the stranger, as if recalling the name.
+"I remember. It was he who----Is Rupert Trevlyn dead?" he hastily asked.
+
+"Oh, no, sir."
+
+"Then why is he not master of Trevlyn Hold?"
+
+"Well, I don't know," replied Molly, after some consideration. "I
+suppose because Chattaway is."
+
+"But surely Rupert Trevlyn inherited it on the death of his grandfather,
+Squire Trevlyn?"
+
+"No, he didn't inherit it, sir. It was Chattaway."
+
+So interested in the argument had the visitor become, that he neglected
+his plate, and was looking at Molly with astonished eyes. "Why did he
+not inherit it? He was the heir."
+
+"It's what folks can't rightly make out," answered the woman. "Chattaway
+came in for it, that's certain. But folks have never called him the
+Squire, though he's as sick as a dog for it."
+
+"Who is Mr. Chattaway? What is his connection with the Trevlyns? I
+forget."
+
+"His wife was Miss Edith Trevlyn, the Squire's daughter. There was but
+three of 'em,--Mrs. Ryle, and her, and Miss Diana. Miss Diana was never
+married, and I suppose won't be now."
+
+"Miss Diana?--Miss Diana? Yes, yes, I recollect," repeated the stranger.
+"It was Miss Diana whom Mrs. Trevlyn----Does Rupert Trevlyn live with
+Miss Diana?" he broke off again.
+
+"Yes, sir; they all live at the Hold. The Chattaways, and Miss Diana,
+and young Mr. Rupert. Miss Diana has been out on a visit these two or
+three weeks past, but I heard this morning that she had come home."
+
+"There was a pretty little girl--Maude--a year older than her brother,"
+proceeded the questioner. "Where is she?"
+
+"She's at the Hold, too, sir. They were brought to the Hold quite little
+babies, those two, and they have lived at it ever since, except when
+they've been at school. Miss Maude's governess to Chattaway's children."
+
+Mr. Daw looked at Molly doubtingly. "Governess to Chattaway's children?"
+he mechanically repeated.
+
+Molly nodded. She was growing quite at home with her guest. "Miss Maude
+has had the best of educations, they say: plays and sings wonderful; and
+so they made her the governess."
+
+"But has she no fortune--no income?" reiterated the stranger, lost in
+wonder.
+
+"Not a penny-piece," returned Molly, decisively. "Her and Mr. Rupert
+haven't a halfpenny between 'em of their own. He's clerk, or something
+of that sort, at Chattaway's coal mine, down yonder."
+
+"But they were the heirs to the estate," the stranger persisted. "Their
+father was son and heir to Squire Trevlyn, and they are his children!
+How is it? How can it be?"
+
+The words were spoken in the light of a remark. Mr. Daw was evidently
+debating the question with himself. Molly thought the question was put
+to her.
+
+"I don't know the rights of it, sir," was all she could answer. "All I
+can tell you is, the Chattaways have come in for it, and the inheritance
+is theirs. But there's many a one round about here calls Mr. Rupert the
+heir to this day, and will call him so, in spite of Chattaway."
+
+"He is the heir--he is the heir!" reiterated Mr. Daw. "I can prove----"
+
+Again came that break in his discourse which had occurred before. Molly
+resumed.
+
+"Master will be able to tell you better than me, sir, why the property
+should have went from Master Rupert to Chattaway. It was him that buried
+the old Squire, sir, and he was at the Hold after, and heard the
+Squire's will read. Nora told me once that he, the parson, cried shame
+upon it when he came away. But she was in a passion with Chattaway when
+she said it, so perhaps it wasn't true. I asked my missis about it one
+day that we was folding clothes together, but she said she knew nothing
+about it. She wasn't married then."
+
+"Who is Nora?" inquired Mr. Daw.
+
+"She's housekeeper and manager at Trevlyn Farm; a sort of relation. It
+was where I lived before I come here, sir; four year turned I was at
+that one place. I have always been one to keep my places a good while,"
+added Molly, with pride.
+
+Apparently the boast was lost upon him; he did not seem to hear it. "Not
+heir to Trevlyn!" he muttered; "not heir to Trevlyn! It puzzles me."
+
+"I'm sorry master's out," repeated Molly, with sympathy. "But you can
+hear all about it to-night. They'll be home by seven o'clock. Twice a
+year, or thereabouts, they both go over to stop a day with missis's
+sister. Large millers they be, fourteen mile off, and live in a great
+big handsome house, and keep three or four indoor servants. The name's
+Whittaker, sir."
+
+Mr. Daw did not show himself very much interested in the name, or in the
+worthy millers themselves. He was lost in a reverie. Molly made a
+movement about the plates and cheese and butter; insinuated the glass of
+milk under his very nose. All in vain.
+
+"Not the heir!" he reiterated again; "not the heir! And I have been
+picturing him in my mind as the heir all through these long years!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+THE STRANGER
+
+
+When Mrs. Chattaway and Cris drove off in the dog-cart, George Ryle did
+not follow them down the avenue, but turned to pursue his way round the
+house, which would take him to the fields: a shorter cut to his own land
+than the road. For a long time after his father's death, George could
+not bear to go through the field which had been so fatal to him; but he
+had lived down the feeling with the aid of that great reconciler--Time.
+
+Happening to cast his eyes on the grounds as he skirted them, which lay
+on this side the Hold, he saw Rupert Trevlyn. Leaping a dwarf hedge of
+azaroles, he hastened to him.
+
+"Well, old fellow! Taking a nap?"
+
+Rupert opened his half-closed eyes, and looked round. "I thought it was
+Cris again!" he exclaimed. "He was here just now."
+
+"Cris has gone out with his mother in the dog-cart. I don't like the
+horse he is driving, though."
+
+"Is it that new horse he has been getting?"
+
+"Yes; the one Allen had to sell."
+
+"What's the matter with it?" asked Rupert. "I saw it carrying Allen one
+day, and thought it a beautiful animal!"
+
+"It has a vicious temper, as I have been given to understand. And I
+believe it has never been properly broken in for driving. How do you
+feel to-day, Rupert?"
+
+"No great shakes. I wish I was as strong as you, George."
+
+George laughed pleasantly; and his voice, when he spoke, had a soothing
+sound in it. "So you may be, by the time you are as old as I am. Why,
+you have hardly done growing yet, Rupert. There's plenty of time for you
+to get strong."
+
+"What brings you up here, George? Anything particular?"
+
+"I saw Amelia to-day, and brought a message from her to her mother.
+Caroline is coming to us for the harvest-home, and Amelia wants to come
+too."
+
+"Oh, they'll let her," cried Rupert. "The girls can do just as they
+like."
+
+He, Rupert, leaned his chin on his hand, and began thinking of Amelia
+Chattaway. She was the oldest of the three younger children, and was at
+first under the tuition of Maude. But Maude could do nothing with her,
+the girl liking and taking; in fact she was too old both for Maude's
+control and instruction, and it was thought well to place her at a good
+school at Barmester, the school at which Caroline Ryle was being
+educated. Somehow Rupert's comforts were never added to by the presence
+of Amelia in the house, and he might have given way to a hope that she
+would not come home, had he been of a disposition to encourage such
+feelings.
+
+Octave, who had discerned George Ryle from the windows of the Hold, came
+out to them, her pink parasol shading her face from the sun. A short
+time and Miss Trevlyn came home and joined them; next came Maude and her
+charges. It was quite a merry gathering. Miss Trevlyn unbent from her
+coldness, as she could do sometimes; Octave was all smiles and suavity,
+and every one, except Rupert, seemed at ease. Altogether, George Ryle
+was beguiled into doing what could not be often charged upon
+him--spending a good part of an afternoon in idleness.
+
+But he went away at last. And as he was turning into the first
+field--never called anything but "the Bull field," by the country
+people, from the hour of Mr. Ryle's accident--he encountered Jim
+Sanders, eager and breathless.
+
+"What's the matter?" asked George. "What do you want here?"
+
+"I was speeding up to the Hold to tell 'em, sir. There's been an
+accident with Mr. Cris's dog-cart. I thought I'd warn the men up at his
+place."
+
+"What accident?" hastily asked George, mentally beholding one sole
+object, and that was Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+"I don't know yet, sir, what it is. I was in the road by the gate, when
+a horse came tearing along with broken shafts after it. It was that
+horse of Allen's which I saw Mr. Cris driving out an hour ago in his
+dog-cart, and Madam along of him. So I cut across the fields at once."
+
+"You can go on," said George; "some of the men will be about. Should you
+see Miss Diana, or any of the young ladies, take care you say nothing to
+them. Do you hear?"
+
+"I'll mind, sir."
+
+Jim Sanders hastened out of the field on his way to the back premises of
+the Hold, and George flew onwards. When he gained the road, he looked up
+and down, but could see no traces of the accident. Nothing was in sight.
+Which way should he turn? Where had it occurred? He began reproaching
+himself for not asking Jim Sanders which way the horse had been coming
+from. As he halted in indecision some one suddenly came round the
+turning of the road lower down. It was Cris Chattaway, with a rueful
+expression and a gig-whip in his hand.
+
+George made but few strides towards him. "What is the worst, Cris? Let
+me know it."
+
+"I'll have him taken in charge and prosecuted, as sure as a gun," raved
+Cris. "I will. It's infamous that these things should be allowed in the
+public road."
+
+"What--the horse?" exclaimed George.
+
+"Horse be hanged!" politely returned Cris, whose irritation was
+excessive. "It wasn't the horse's fault. Nothing could go steadier and
+better than he went all the way and back again, as far as this----"
+
+"Where's Mrs. Chattaway?" interrupted George.
+
+"On the bank, down there. She's all right; only shaken a bit. The
+fellow's name was on the thing, and I have copied it down, and I've sent
+a man off for a constable. I'll teach him that he can't go about the
+country, plying his trade and frightening gentlemen's horses with
+impunity."
+
+In spite of Cris's incoherence and passion, George contrived to gather
+an inkling of the facts. They had taken a short, easy drive down the
+lower road and through Barbrook, the horse going (according to Cris)
+beautifully. But on the road home, in that lonely part between the Hold
+and Trevlyn Farm, there stood a razor-grinder with his machine, grinding
+a knife. Whether the whirr of the wheel did not please the horse;
+whether it was the aspect of the machine; or whether it might be the
+razor-grinder himself, a somewhat tattered object in a fur cap, the
+animal no sooner came near, than he began to dance and backed towards
+the ditch. Cris did his best. He was a good whip and a fearless one; but
+he could not conquer. The horse turned Mrs. Chattaway into the ditch,
+relieved his mind by a few kicks, and started off with part of the
+shafts behind him.
+
+"Are you much hurt, dear Mrs. Chattaway?" asked George, tenderly, as he
+bent over her.
+
+She looked up with a smile, but her face was of a death-like whiteness.
+Fortunately, the ditch, a wide one, was dry; and she sat on the sloping
+bank, her feet resting in it. The dog-cart lay near, and several gazers,
+chiefly labouring men, stood around, helplessly staring. The
+razor-grinder was protesting _his_ immunity from blame, and the hapless
+machine remained in its place untouched, drawn close to the pathway on
+the opposite side of the road.
+
+"You need not look at me so anxiously, George," Mrs. Chattaway replied,
+the smile still on her face. "I don't believe I am hurt. One of my
+elbows is smarting, but I really feel no pain anywhere. I am shaken, of
+course; but that's not much. I wish I had taken your advice, not to sit
+behind that horse."
+
+"Cris says he went beautifully, until he was frightened."
+
+"Did Cris say so? It appeared to me that he had trouble with him all the
+way; but Cris knows, of course. He has gone to the Hold to bring the
+carriage for me, but I don't care to sit here to be stared at longer
+than I can help," she added, with a half-smile.
+
+George leaped into the ditch, and partly helped and partly lifted her up
+the bank, and took her on his arm. She walked slowly, however, and
+leaned heavily upon him. When they reached the lodge, old Canham was
+gazing up and down the road, and Ann came out, full of consternation.
+They had seen the horse with the broken shafts gallop past.
+
+"Then there's no bones broke, thank Heaven!" said Ann, with tears in her
+meek eyes.
+
+She drew forward her father's armchair before the open door, and Mrs.
+Chattaway sat down in it, feeling she must have air, she said. "If I had
+but a drop o' brandy for Madam!" cried old Canham, as he stood near
+leaning all his weight on his stick.
+
+George caught up the words. "I will go to the Hold and get some." And
+before Mrs. Chattaway could stop him, or say that she would prefer not
+to take the brandy he was away.
+
+Almost at the same moment they heard the fast approach of a horse, and
+the master of Trevlyn Hold rode in at the gates. To describe his
+surprise when he saw his wife sitting, an apparent invalid, in old
+Canham's chair, and old Canham and Ann standing in evident
+consternation, almost as pale as she was, would be a difficult task. He
+reined in so quickly that his horse was flung back on its haunches.
+
+"Is anything the matter? Has Madam been taken ill?"
+
+"There has been an accident, sir," answered Ann Canham, with a meek
+curtsey. "Mr. Christopher was driving out Madam in the dog-cart, and
+they were thrown out."
+
+Mr. Chattaway got off his horse. "How did it happen?" he asked his wife,
+an angry expression crossing his face. "Was it Cris's fault? I hate that
+random driving of his!"
+
+"I am not hurt, James; only a little shaken," she replied, with
+gentleness. "Cris was not to blame. There was a razor-grinder in the
+road, grinding knives, and it frightened the horse."
+
+"Which horse was he driving?" demanded Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"A new one. One he bought from Allen."
+
+The reply did not please Mr. Chattaway. "I told Cris he should not buy
+that horse," he angrily said. "Is the dog-cart injured?"
+
+It was apparent from the question that Mr. Chattaway had not passed the
+_debris_ on the road. He must have come the other way, or perhaps across
+the common. Mrs. Chattaway did not dare to say she believed the dog-cart
+was very much injured. "The shafts are broken," she said, "and something
+more."
+
+"Where did it occur?" growled Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"A little lower down the road. George Ryle came up soon after it
+happened, and I walked here with him. Cris went on to the Hold to send
+the carriage, but I shall get home without it."
+
+"It might have been worse, Squire," interposed old Canham, who, as a
+dependant of Trevlyn Hold, felt compelled sometimes to give the "Squire"
+his title to his face, though he never would, or did, behind his back.
+"Nothing hardly happens to us, sir, in this world, but what's more eased
+to us than it might be."
+
+Mr. Chattaway had stood with his horse's bridle over his arm. "Would you
+like to walk home with me now?" he asked his wife. "I can lead the
+horse."
+
+"Thank you, James. I think I must rest here a little longer. I had only
+just got here when you came up."
+
+"I'll send for you," said Mr. Chattaway. "Or come back myself when I
+have left the horse at home. Mr. Cris will hear more than he likes from
+me about this business."
+
+"Such an untoward thing has never happened to Mr. Cris afore, sir,"
+observed Mark Canham. "There's never a better driver than him for miles
+round. The young heir, now, he's different: a bit timid, I fancy,
+and----"
+
+"Who?" burst forth Mr. Chattaway, taking his foot from the stirrup, for
+he was about to mount, and hurling daggers at Mark Canham. "The young
+heir! To whom do you dare apply that title!"
+
+Had the old man purposely launched a sly shaft at the master of Trevlyn
+Hold, or had he spoken inadvertently? He hastened to repair the damage
+as he best could.
+
+"Squire, I be growing old now--more by sickness, though, than by
+age--and things and people gets moithered together in my mind. In the
+bygone days, it was a Rupert Trevlyn that was the heir, and I can't at
+all times call to mind that this Rupert Trevlyn is not so: the name is
+the same, you see. What has set me to make such a stupid mistake this
+afternoon, I can't tell, unless it was the gentleman's words that was
+here but an hour ago. He kept calling Master Rupert the heir; and he
+wouldn't call him nothing else."
+
+Mr. Chattaway's face grew darker. "What gentleman was that, pray?"
+
+"I never see him before in my life, sir," returned old Canham. "He was a
+stranger to the place, and asked all manner of questions about it. He
+called Master Rupert the heir, and I stopped him, saying he made a
+mistake, for Master Rupert was not the heir. And he answered I was right
+so far, that Master Rupert, instead of being the heir of Trevlyn Hold,
+was its master and owner. I couldn't help staring at him when he said
+it."
+
+Chattaway felt as if his blood were curdling. Was this the first act in
+the great drama he had so long dreaded? "Where did he come from? What
+sort of a man was he?" he mechanically asked, all symptoms of anger
+dying away in his sudden fear.
+
+Old Canham shook his head. "I don't know nothing about where he's from,
+sir. He came strolling inside the gates, as folks strange to a place
+will do, looking about 'em just for curiosity's sake. He saw me sitting
+at the open window, and he asked what place this was, and I told him it
+was Trevlyn Hold. He said he thought so, that he had been walking about
+looking for Trevlyn Hold, and he leaned his arm upon the sill, and put
+nigh upon a hundred questions to me."
+
+"What were the questions?" eagerly rejoined Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"I should be puzzled to tell you half of 'em, sir, but they all bore
+upon Trevlyn Hold. About the Squire's death, and the will, and the
+succession; about everything in short. At last I told him that I didn't
+know the rightful particulars myself, and he'd better go to you or Miss
+Diana."
+
+Mrs. Chattaway stole a glance at her husband. Her face was paler than
+the accident had made it; with a more alarmed pallor. The impression
+clinging to her mind, and of which she had spoken to her husband the
+previous night--that Rupert Trevlyn was on the eve of being restored to
+his rights--seemed terribly strong upon her now.
+
+"He was a tall, thin, strange-looking man, with a foreign look about
+him, and a red umberella," continued old Canham. "A long white beard he
+had, sir, like a goat, and an odd hat made of cloth or crape, or some
+mourning stuff. His tongue wasn't quite like an English tongue, either.
+I shouldn't wonder but he was a lawyer, Squire: no one else wouldn't
+surely think of putting such a string of questions----"
+
+"Did he--did he put the questions as an official person might put them?"
+rapidly interrupted Mr. Chattaway.
+
+Old Canham hesitated; at a loss what precise reply to give. "He put 'em
+as though he wanted answers to 'em," returned he at length. "He said a
+word or two, sir, that made me think he'd been intimate once with the
+young Squire, Mr. Joe, and he asked whether his boy or his girl had
+growed up most like him. He wondered, he said, whether he should know
+either of 'em by the likeness, when he came to meet 'em, as he should do
+to-day or to-morrow."
+
+"And what more?" gasped Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"There was nothing more, Squire, in particular. He took his elbow off
+the window-sill, and went through the gates again down the road. It
+seemed to me as if he had come into the neighbourhood for some special
+purpose connected with the questions."
+
+It seemed so to some one else also. When the master of Trevlyn Hold
+mounted his horse and rode him slowly through the avenue towards home, a
+lively fear, near and terrible, had replaced that vague dread which had
+so long lain latent in his heart.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+COMMOTION
+
+
+The beauty of the calm autumn afternoon was marred by the hubbub in the
+road. The rays of the sun came filtering through the foliage of the
+trees, the deep blue sky was without a cloud, the air was still and
+balmy: imparting an idea of peace. But in that dusty highway, so lonely
+at other times, a crowd of people had gathered, and they talked and
+swayed, and made much clatter and disturbance.
+
+The affair had got wind. How these affairs do get wind who can tell? It
+had been exaggerated in the usual fashion. "Madam was killed; the
+dog-cart smashed to pieces; the horse lamed; and Mr. Cris wounded." Half
+the gaping people who came up believed it all: and the chief hubbub was
+caused, not so much by discussing the accident, as by endeavouring to
+explain that its effects were not very disastrous.
+
+The news had travelled with its embellishments to Trevlyn Farm, amidst
+other places; and it brought out Nora. Without waiting to put anything
+on, she took her way to the spot. Mrs. Ryle was expecting company that
+afternoon, and Nora was at leisure and _en grande toilette_: a black
+silk gown, its flounces edged with velvet, and a cap of blonde lace
+trimmed with white flowers. The persons who were gathered on the spot
+made way for her. The wrecked dog-cart lay partly in the ditch, partly
+out of it. Opposite was the grinding-machine, its owner now silent and
+crestfallen, as he inwardly speculated upon what the law could do to
+him.
+
+"Then it's not true that Madam's killed?" cried Nora, after listening to
+the various explanations.
+
+A dozen voices answered. "Madam wasn't hurt to speak of, only a bit
+shook: she had told them so herself. She had walked off on Mr. George
+Ryle's arm, without waiting for the carriage that Mr. Cris had gone to
+fetch."
+
+"I'll be about that Jim Sanders," retorted Nora, wrathfully. "How dare
+he come in with such tales? He said Madam was lying dead in the road."
+
+She had barely spoken, when the throng standing over the dog-cart was
+invaded by a new-arrival, one who had been walking in a neighbouring
+field, and wondered what the collection could mean. The rustics fell
+back and stared at him: first, because he was a stranger; secondly,
+because his appearance was somewhat out of the common way; thirdly,
+because he carried a red umbrella. A tall man with a long white beard, a
+hat, the like of which had never been seen by country eyes, and a
+foreign look.
+
+You will at once recognise him for the traveller who had introduced
+himself at the parsonage as the Reverend Mr. Daw, a friend of its owner.
+The crowd, having had no such introduction, could only stare, marvelling
+whether he had dropped from the clouds. He had been out all the
+afternoon, taking notes of the neighbourhood, and since his conversation
+with old Canham--which you heard related afterwards to Mr. Chattaway, to
+that gentleman's intense dread--he had plunged into the fields on the
+opposite side of the way. There he had remained, musing and wandering,
+until aroused by the commotion which he speedily joined.
+
+"What has happened?" he exclaimed. "An accident?"
+
+The assemblage fell back. Rustics are prone to be suspicious of
+strangers, if their appearance is peculiar, and not one of them found a
+ready answer. Nora, however, whose tongue had, perhaps, never been at
+fault in its whole career, stood her ground.
+
+"There's not much damage done, as far as I can learn," she said, in her
+usual free manner. "The dog-cart's the worst of it. There it lies. It
+was Cris Chattaway's own; and I should think it will be a lesson to him
+not to be so fond of driving strange horses."
+
+"Is it to the Chattaways the accident has occurred?" asked the stranger.
+
+Nora nodded. She was stooping down to survey more critically the damages
+done to the dog-cart. "Cris Chattaway was driving his mother out," she
+said, rising. "He was trying a strange horse, and this was the result,"
+touching the wheel with her foot. "Madam was thrown into the ditch
+here."
+
+"And hurt?" laconically asked Mr. Daw.
+
+"Only shaken--as they say. But a shaking may be dangerous for one so
+delicate as Madam Chattaway. A pity but it had been _him_."
+
+Nora spoke the last word with emphasis so demonstrative that her hearer
+raised his eyes in wonderment. "Of whom do you speak?" he said.
+
+"Of Chattaway: Madam's husband. A shaking might do him good."
+
+"You don't like him, apparently," observed the stranger.
+
+"I don't know who does," freely spoke Nora.
+
+"Ah," said Mr. Daw, quietly. "Then I am not singular. _I_ don't."
+
+"Do you know him?" she rejoined.
+
+But to this the stranger gave no reply; he had evidently no intention of
+giving any; and the silence whetted Nora's curiosity more than any
+answer could have done, however obscure or mysterious. Perhaps no living
+woman within a circuit of five miles possessed curiosity equal to that
+of Nora Dickson.
+
+"Where have you known Chattaway?" she exclaimed.
+
+"It does not matter," said the stranger. "He is in the enjoyment of
+Trevlyn Hold, I hear."
+
+To say "I hear," as applied to the subject, imparted the idea that the
+stranger had only just gained the information. Nora threw her quick
+black eyes searchingly upon him.
+
+"Have you lived in a wood not to know that James Chattaway was possessor
+of Trevlyn Hold?" she said, with her characteristic plainness of speech.
+"He has enjoyed it these twenty years to the exclusion of Rupert
+Trevlyn."
+
+"Rupert Trevlyn is its rightful owner," said the stranger, almost as
+demonstratively as Nora herself could have spoken.
+
+"Ah," said Nora, with a sort of indignant groan, "the whole parish knows
+that. But Chattaway has possession of it, you see."
+
+"Why doesn't some one help Rupert Trevlyn to his rights?"
+
+"Who's to do it?" crossly responded Nora. "Can you?"
+
+"Possibly," returned the stranger.
+
+Had the gentleman asserted that he might possibly cause the moon to
+shine by day instead of by night, Nora could not have shown more intense
+surprise. "Help--him--to--his--rights?" she slowly repeated. "Do you
+mean to say you could displace Chattaway?"
+
+"Possibly," was the repeated answer.
+
+"Why--who are you?" uttered the amazed Nora.
+
+A smile flitted for a moment over Mr. Daw's countenance, the first
+symptom of a break to its composed sadness. But he gave no reply.
+
+"Do you know Rupert Trevlyn?" she reiterated.
+
+But even to that there was no direct answer. "I came to this place
+partly to see Rupert Trevlyn," were the words that issued from his lips.
+"I knew his father; he was my dear friend."
+
+"Who can he be?" was the question reiterating itself in Nora's active
+brain. "Are you a lawyer?" she asked, the idea suddenly occurring to
+her: as it had, you may remember, to old Canham.
+
+Mr. Daw coughed. "Lawyers are keen men," was his answering remark, and
+Nora could have beaten him for its vagueness. But before she could say
+more, an interruption occurred.
+
+This conversation had been carried on aloud; neither the stranger nor
+Nora having deemed it necessary to speak in undertones. The consequence
+of which was, that those in the midst of whom they stood had listened
+with open ears, drawing their own deductions--and very remarkable
+deductions some of them were. The knife-grinder--though a stranger to
+the local politics, and totally uninterested in them--had listened with
+the rest. One conclusion _he_ hastily came to, was, that the
+remarkable-looking gentleman with the white beard _was_ a lawyer; and he
+pushed himself to the front.
+
+"You be a lawyer, master," he broke in, with some excitement. "Would you
+mind telling of me whether they _can_ harm me. If I ain't at liberty to
+ply my trade under a roadside hedge but I must be took up and punished
+for it, why, it's a fresh wrinkle I've got to learn. I've done it all my
+life; others in the same trade does it; can the law touch us?"
+
+Mr. Daw had turned in wonderment. He had heard nothing of the
+grinding-machine in connection with the accident, and the man's address
+was unintelligible. A score of voices hastened to enlighten him, but
+before it was well done, the eager knife-grinder's voice rose above the
+rest.
+
+"Can the laws touch me for it, master?"
+
+"I cannot tell you," was the answer.
+
+The man's low brow scowled fitfully: he was somewhat ill-looking to the
+eye of a physiognomist. "What'll it cost?" he roughly said, taking from
+his pocket a bag in which was a handful of copper money mixed with a
+sprinkling of small silver. "I might know. A lawyer wouldn't give
+nothing for nothing, but I'll pay. If the laws can be down upon me for
+grinding a knife in the highway open to the world, all I can say is,
+that the laws is infamous."
+
+He stood looking at the stranger, with an air of demand, not of
+supplication--and rather insulting demand, too. Mr. Daw showed no signs
+of resenting the incipient insolence; on the contrary, his voice took a
+kind and sympathising tone.
+
+"My good man, you may put up your money. I can give you no information
+about the law, simply because I am ignorant of its bearing on these
+cases. In the old days, when I was an inhabitant of England, I have seen
+many a machine such as yours plying its trade in the public roads, and
+the law, as I supposed, could not touch them, neither did it attempt to.
+But that may be altered now: there has been time enough for it; years
+and years have passed since I last set foot on English soil."
+
+The razor-grinder thrust his bag into his pocket again, and began to
+push back to the spot whence he had come. The mob had listened with open
+ears, but had gained little further information. Whether he was a lawyer
+or whether he was not; where he had come from, and what his business was
+amongst them, unless it was the placing of young Rupert Trevlyn in
+possession of his "rights," they could not tell.
+
+Nora could not tell--and the fact did not please her. If there was one
+thing provoked Nora Dickson more than all else, it was to have her
+curiosity unsatisfied. She felt that she had been thwarted now. Turning
+away in a temper, speaking not a syllable to the stranger by way of
+polite adieu, she began to retrace her steps to Trevlyn Farm, holding up
+the flounces of her black silk gown, that they might not come into
+contact with the dusty road.
+
+But--somewhat to her surprise--she found the mysterious stranger had
+also extricated himself from the mob, and was following her. Nora was
+rather on the high ropes just then, and would not notice him. He,
+however, accosted her.
+
+"By what I gathered from a word or two you let fall, I should assume
+that you are a friend of Rupert Trevlyn's, ma'am?"
+
+"I hope I am," said Nora, mollified at the prospect of enlightenment.
+"Few folks about here but are friends to him, unless it's Chattaway and
+his lot at the Hold."
+
+"Then perhaps you will have no objection to inform me--if you can inform
+me--how it was that Mr. Chattaway came into possession of the Hold, in
+place of young Rupert Trevlyn. I cannot understand how it could possibly
+have been. Until I came here to-day, I never supposed but the lad,
+Rupert, was Squire of Trevlyn Hold."
+
+"Perhaps you'll first of all tell me what you want the information for?"
+returned Nora. "I don't know who you are, sir, remember."
+
+"You heard me say I was a friend of his father's; I should like to be a
+friend to the boy. It appears to me to be a monstrous injustice that he
+should not have succeeded to the estate of his ancestors. Has he been
+_legally_ deprived of it?"
+
+"As legally as a properly-made will could deprive him," was the reply of
+Nora. "Legality and justice don't always go together in our parts: I
+don't know what they may do in yours."
+
+"Joe Trevlyn--my friend--was the direct heir to Trevlyn Hold. Upon his
+death his son became the heir. Why did he not succeed?"
+
+"There are folks that say he was cheated out of it," replied Nora, in
+very significant tones.
+
+"Cheated out of it?"
+
+"It is said the news of Rupert's birth was never suffered to reach the
+ears of Squire Trevlyn. That the Squire went to his grave, never knowing
+he had a grandson in the direct male line--went to it after willing the
+estate to Chattaway."
+
+"Kept from it by whom?" eagerly cried Mr. Daw.
+
+"By those who had an interest in keeping it from him--Chattaway and Miss
+Diana Trevlyn. It is so said, I say: _I_ don't assert it. There may be
+danger in speaking too openly to a stranger," candidly added Nora.
+
+"There is no danger in speaking to me," he frankly said. "I have told
+you the truth--that I am a friend of young Rupert Trevlyn's. Chattaway
+is not a friend of mine, and I never saw him in my life."
+
+Nora, won over to forget caution and ill-temper, opened her heart to the
+stranger. She told him all she knew of the fraud; told him of Rupert's
+friendlessness, his undesirable position at the Hold. Nora's tongue, set
+going upon any grievance she felt strongly, could not be stopped. They
+walked on until the fold-yard gate of Trevlyn Farm was reached. There
+Nora came to a halt. And there she was in the midst of a concluding
+oration, delivered with forcible eloquence, and there the stranger was
+listening eagerly, when they were interrupted by George Ryle.
+
+Nora ceased suddenly. The stranger looked round, and seeing a
+gentleman-like man who evidently belonged in some way to Nora, lifted
+his hat. George returned it.
+
+"It's somebody strange to the place," unceremoniously pronounced Nora,
+by way of introducing him to George. "He was asking about Rupert
+Trevlyn."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+COMING VERY CLOSE
+
+
+If they had possessed extraordinarily good eyes, any one of the three,
+they might have detected a head peering at them over a hedge about two
+fields off, in the direction of Trevlyn Hold. The head was Mr.
+Chattaway's. That gentleman rode home from the lodge, after hearing old
+Canham's account of the mysterious visit, in a state not to be
+described. Encountering Miss Diana, he despatched her with Octave to the
+lodge to see after his wife; he met George Ryle, and told him _his_
+services were no further needed--Madam wanted neither him nor the
+brandy; he sent his horse to the stable, and went indoors: all in a
+confused state of agitation, as if he scarcely knew what he was about.
+
+Dinner was ready; the servants were perplexed at no one's coming in for
+it, and they asked if the Squire would sit down without Madam. _He_ sit
+down to dinner--in that awful uncertainty? No; rather would he steal out
+and poke and pry about until he had learned something.
+
+He left the house and plunged into the fields. He did not go back down
+the avenue, openly past the lodge into the road: cowards, with their
+fear upon them, prowl about stealthily--as Chattaway was doing now. Very
+grievously was the fear upon him.
+
+He walked hither and thither: he stood for some minutes in the field
+which had once been so fatal to poor Mr. Ryle; his arms were folded, his
+head was bent, his newly-awakened imagination was in full play. He crept
+to the outer field, and walked under cover of its hedge until he came
+opposite all that hubbub and confusion. There he halted, found himself a
+peep-hole, and took in by degrees all that was to be seen: the
+razor-grinder and his machine, the dog-cart and its dilapidations, and
+the mob. Eagerly, anxiously did his restless eyes scan that mob; but he,
+upon whom they hoped to rest, was not amongst them. For you may be sure
+Mr. Chattaway was searching after none but the dreaded stranger. Miserly
+as he was, he would have given a ten-pound note out of his pocket to
+obtain only a moment's look at him. He had been telling over all the
+enemies he had ever made, as far as he could remember them. Was it one
+of those?--some one who owed him a grudge, and was taking this way of
+paying it? Or was it a danger coming from a totally unknown quarter? Ten
+pounds! Chattaway would have given fifty then for a good view of the
+stranger; and his eyes were unmindful of the unfriendly thorns, in their
+feverish anxiety to penetrate to the very last of that lazy throng,
+idling away the summer's afternoon.
+
+The stranger was certainly not amongst them. Chattaway knew every
+chattering soul there. Some of his unconscious labourers made a part,
+and he only wished he dared appear and send them flying. But he did not
+care to do so. If ever there was a cautious man where he and his
+interests were concerned, it was Chattaway; and he would not run the
+risk of meeting this man face to face. No, no; rather let him get a
+bird's-eye view of him first, that he might be upon his guard.
+
+The state of the dog-cart did not by any means tend to soothe his
+feelings; neither did the sight of George Ryle, who passed through the
+crowd in the direction of his own home. He could see what a pretty penny
+it would take to repair the one; he knew not how many pounds it might
+take to set right any mischief being hatched by the other. Mr. Chattaway
+turned away. He bore along noiselessly by the side of the hedge, and
+then over a stile into a lower field, and then into another. That
+brought Trevlyn Farm under his vision, and--and--what did his restless
+eyes catch sight of?
+
+Leaning on the fold-yard gate, dressed in a style not often seen, stood
+Nora Dickson; on the other side was George Ryle, and with him one who
+might be recognised at the first glance--the strange-looking man, with
+his white hair, his red umbrella, and his queer hat, as described by old
+Canham. There could be no mistake about it; he it was: and the
+perspiration poured off the master of Trevlyn Hold in his mortal fear.
+
+What were they hatching, those three? That it looked suspicious must be
+confessed, to one whose fears were awakened as were Chattaway's; for
+their heads were in close contact, and their attention was absorbed. Was
+he stopping at Trevlyn Farm, this man of treason? Undoubtedly: or why
+should Nora Dickson be decked out in company attire? Chattaway had
+always believed George Ryle to be a rogue, but now he knew him to be
+one.
+
+It was a pity Chattaway could not be listening as well as peeping. He
+would only have heard the gentleman explain to George Ryle who he was;
+his name, his calling, and where he was visiting in Barbrook. So far,
+Chattaway's doubts would have been at rest; but he would have heard no
+worse. George was less impulsive than Nora, and would not be likely to
+enter on the discussion of the claims of Rupert Trevlyn _versus_
+Chattaway, with a new acquaintance.
+
+A very few minutes, and they separated. The conversation had been
+general since George came up; not a word having been said that could
+have alarmed intruding ears. Nora hastened indoors; George turned off to
+his rick-yard; and the stranger stood in the road and gazed leisurely
+about him, as though considering the points for a sketch. Presently he
+disappeared from Chattaway's view.
+
+That gentleman, taking a short time to recover himself, came to the
+conclusion that he might as well disappear also, in the direction of his
+home; where no doubt dinner was arrested, and its hungry candidates
+speculating upon what could have become of the master. It was of no use
+remaining where he was. He had ascertained one point--the dreaded enemy
+was an utter stranger to him. More than that he did not see that he
+could ascertain, in this early stage.
+
+He wiped his damp face and set forth on his walk home, stepping out
+pretty briskly. It was as inadvisable to make known his fears abroad as
+to proclaim them at home. Were only an inkling to become known, it
+seemed to Chattaway that it would be half the business towards wresting
+Trevlyn Hold from him.
+
+As he walked on, his courage partially came back to him, and the
+reaction once set in, his hopes went up, until he almost began to
+despise his recent terror. It was absurd to suppose this stranger could
+have anything to do with himself and Rupert Trevlyn. He was merely an
+inquisitive traveller looking about the place for his amusement, and in
+so doing had picked up bits of gossip, and was seeking further
+information about them--all to while away an idle hour. What a fool he
+had been to put himself into a fever for nothing.
+
+These consoling thoughts drowning the mind's latent dread--or rather
+making pretence to do so, for that the dread was there still, Chattaway
+was miserably conscious--he went on increasing his speed. At last, in
+turning into another field, he nearly knocked down a man running in the
+same direction, who had come up at right angles with him: a labourer
+named Hatch, who worked on his farm.
+
+It was a good opportunity to let off a little of his ill-humour, and he
+demanded where the man had been skulking, and why he was away from his
+work. Hatch answered that, hearing of the accident to Madam and the
+young Squire, he and his fellow-labourers had been induced to run to the
+spot in the hope of affording help.
+
+"Help!" said Mr. Chattaway. "You went off to see what there was to be
+seen, and for nothing else, leaving the rick half made. I have a great
+mind to dock you of a half-day's pay. Is there so much to look at in a
+broken dog-cart, that you and the rest of you must neglect my work?"
+
+The man took off his hat and rubbed his head gently: his common resort
+in a quandary. They _had_ hindered a great deal more time than was
+necessary; and had certainly not bargained for its coming to the
+knowledge of the Squire. Hatch, too simple or too honest to invent
+excuses, could only make the best of the facts as they stood.
+
+"'Twasn't the dog-cart kept us, Squire. 'Twas listening to a
+strange-looking gentleman; a man with a white beard and a red
+umberellar. He were talking about Trevlyn Hold, saying it belonged to
+Master Rupert, and he were going to help him to it."
+
+Chattaway turned away his face. Instinct taught him that even this
+stolid serf should not see the cold moisture that suddenly oozed from
+every pore. "_What_ did he say?" he cried, in accents of scorn.
+
+Hatch considered. And you must not too greatly blame the exaggerated
+reply. Hatch did not purposely deceive his master; but he did what a
+great many of us are apt to do--he answered according to the impression
+made on his imagination. He and the rest of the listeners had drawn
+their own conclusions, and in accordance with those conclusions he now
+spoke.
+
+"He said for one thing, Squire, as he didn't like you----"
+
+"How does he know me?" Mr. Chattaway interrupted.
+
+"Nora Dickson asked him, but he wouldn't answer. He's a lawyer, and----"
+
+"How do you know he's a lawyer?" again interrupted Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"Because he said it," was the prompt reply. And the man had no idea that
+it was an incorrect one. He as much believed the white-bearded stranger
+to be a lawyer as that he himself was a day-labourer. "He said he had
+come to help Master Rupert to his rights, and displace you from 'em. Our
+hairs stood on end to hear him, Squire."
+
+"Who is he?--where does he come from?" And to save his very life
+Chattaway could not have helped the words issuing forth in gasps.
+
+"He never said where he come from--save he hadn't been in England for
+many a year. We was a wondering among ourselves where he come from,
+after he walked off with Nora Dickson."
+
+"Does she know?"
+
+"No, she don't, Squire. He come up while she were standing there, and
+she wondered who he were, as we did. 'Twere through her asking him
+questions that he said so much."
+
+"But--what has he to do with my affairs?--what has he to do with Rupert
+Trevlyn?" passionately rejoined Mr. Chattaway.
+
+It was a query Hatch was unable to answer. "He said he were a friend of
+the dead heir, Mr. Joe--I mind well he said that--and he had come to
+this here place partly to see Master Rupert. He didn't seem to know
+afore as Master Rupert had not got the Hold, and Nora Dickson asked if
+he'd lived in a wood not to know that. So then he said he should help
+him to his rights, and Nora said, 'What! displace Chattaway?' and he
+said, 'Yes.' We was took aback, Squire, and stopped a bit longer maybe
+than we ought. It was that kep' us from the rick."
+
+Every pulse beating, every drop of blood coursing in fiery heat, the
+master of Trevlyn Hold reached his home. He went in, and left his hat in
+the hall, and entered the dining-room, as a man in some awful dream. A
+friend of Joe Trevlyn's!--come to help Rupert to his rights!--to
+displace _him_! The words rang their changes on his brain.
+
+They had not waited dinner. It had been Miss Diana's pleasure that it
+should be commenced, and Mr. Chattaway took a seat mechanically.
+Mechanically he heard that his wife had declined partaking of it--had
+been ill when she reached home; that Rupert, after a hasty meal, had
+gone upstairs to lie down, at the recommendation of Miss Diana; that
+Cris had now gone off to the damaged dog-cart. He was as a man stunned,
+and felt utterly unnerved. He sat down, but found he could not swallow a
+mouthful.
+
+The cloth was removed and dessert placed upon the table. After taking a
+little fruit, the younger ones dispersed; Maude went upstairs to see how
+Mrs. Chattaway was; the rest to the drawing-room. The master of Trevlyn
+Hold paced the carpet, lost in thought. The silence was broken by Miss
+Diana.
+
+"Squire, I am not satisfied with the appearance of Rupert Trevlyn. I
+fear he may be falling into worse health than usual. It must be looked
+to, and more care taken of him. I intend to buy him a pony to ride to
+and fro between here and Blackstone."
+
+Had Miss Diana expressed her intention of purchasing ten ponies for
+Rupert, it would have made no impression then on Chattaway. In his
+terrible suspense and fear, a pony more or less was an insignificant
+thing, and he received the announcement in silence, to the intense
+surprise of Miss Diana, who had expected to see him turn round in a
+blaze of anger.
+
+"Are you not well?" she asked.
+
+"Well? Quite well. I--I over-heated myself riding, and--and feel quite
+chilly now. What should hinder my being well?" he continued,
+resentfully.
+
+"I say I shall buy a pony for Rupert. Those walks to Blackstone are too
+much for him. I think it must be that which is making him feel so ill."
+
+"I wish you'd not bother me!" peevishly rejoined Chattaway. "Buy it, if
+you like. What do I care?"
+
+"I'll thank you to be civil to _me_, Mr. Chattaway," said Miss Diana,
+with emphasis. "It is of no use your being put out about this business
+of Cris and the accident; and that's what you are, I suppose. Fretting
+over it won't mend it."
+
+Mr. Chattaway caught at the mistake. "It was such an idiotic trick, to
+put an untried horse into harness, and let it smash the dog-cart!" he
+cried. "Cris did it in direct disobedience, too. I had told him he
+should not buy that horse."
+
+"Cris does many things in disobedience," calmly rejoined Miss Diana. "I
+hope it has not injured Edith."
+
+"She must have been foolish----"
+
+A ring at the hall-bell--a loud, long, imperative ring--and Mr.
+Chattaway's voice abruptly stopped. _He_ stopped: stopped and stood
+stock still in the middle of the room, eyes and ears open, his whole
+senses on the alert. A prevision rushed over him that the messenger of
+evil had come.
+
+"Are you expecting any one?" inquired Miss Diana.
+
+"Be still, can't you?" almost shrieked Chattaway. Her voice hindered his
+listening.
+
+They were opening the hall-door, and Chattaway's face was turning livid.
+James came into the room.
+
+"A gentleman, sir, is asking to see Mr. Rupert."
+
+"What gentleman?" interposed Miss Diana, before Chattaway could move or
+look.
+
+"I don't know him, ma'am. He seems strange to the place; has a white
+beard, and looks foreign."
+
+"He wants Mr. Rupert, did you say?"
+
+"When I opened the door, first, ma'am, he asked if he could see young
+Squire Trevlyn; so I wanted to know who he meant, and said my master,
+Mr. Chattaway, was the Squire, and he replied that he meant Master
+Rupert, the son of Squire Trevlyn's heir, Mr. Joe, who had died abroad.
+He is waiting, ma'am."
+
+Chattaway turned his white face upon the man. His trembling hands, his
+stealthy movements, showed his abject terror; even his very voice, which
+had dropped to a whisper.
+
+"Mr. Rupert's in bed, and can't be seen, James. Go and say so."
+
+Miss Diana had stood in amazement--first, at James's message; secondly,
+at Mr. Chattaway's strange demeanour. "Why, who is it?" she cried to the
+servant.
+
+"He didn't give his name, ma'am."
+
+"Will you go, James?" hoarsely cried Mr. Chattaway. "Go and get rid of
+the man."
+
+"But he shall not get rid of him," interrupted Miss Diana. "I shall see
+the man. It is the strangest message I ever heard in my life. What are
+you thinking of, Squire?"
+
+"Stop where you are!" returned Mr. Chattaway, arresting Miss Diana's
+progress. "Do you hear, James? Go and get rid of this man. Turn him out,
+at any cost."
+
+Did Mr. Chattaway fear the visitor had come to take possession of the
+house in Rupert's name? Miss Diana could only look at him in
+astonishment. His face wore the hue of death; he was evidently almost
+beside himself with terror. For once in her life she did not assert her
+will, but suffered James to leave the room and "get rid" of the visitor
+in obedience to Mr. Chattaway.
+
+He appeared to have no trouble in accomplishing it. A moment, and the
+hall-door was heard to close. Chattaway opened that of the dining-room.
+
+"What did he say?"
+
+"He said nothing, sir, except that he'd call again."
+
+"James, does he--does he look like a madman?" cried Mr. Chattaway, his
+tone changing to what might almost be called entreaty. "Is he insane, do
+you think? I could not let a madman enter the house, you know."
+
+"I don't know, sir, I'm sure. His words were odd, but he didn't seem
+mad."
+
+Mr. Chattaway closed the door and turned to his sister-in-law, who was
+more puzzled than she had ever been in her life.
+
+"I think it is you who are mad, Chattaway."
+
+"Hush, Diana! I have heard of this man before. Sit down, and I will tell
+you about him."
+
+He had come to a rapid conclusion that it would be better to confide to
+her the terrible news come to light. Not his own fears, or the dread
+which had lain deep in his heart: only this that he had heard.
+
+We have seen how the words of the stranger had been exaggerated by Hatch
+to Mr. Chattaway, and perhaps he now unconsciously exaggerated Hatch's
+report. Miss Diana listened in consternation. A lawyer!--come down to
+depose them from Trevlyn Hold, and institute Rupert in it! "I never
+heard of such a thing!" she exclaimed. "He can't do it, you know,
+Chattaway."
+
+Chattaway coughed ruefully. "Of course he can't. At least I don't see
+how he can, or how any one else can. My opinion is that the man must be
+mad."
+
+Miss Diana was falling into thought. "A friend of Joe's?" she mused
+aloud. "Chattaway, could Joe have left a will?"
+
+"Nonsense!" said Chattaway. "If Joe Trevlyn did leave a will, it would
+be null and void. He died in his father's lifetime, and the property was
+not his to leave."
+
+"True. There can be no possibility of danger," she added, after a pause.
+"We may dismiss all fear as the idle wind."
+
+"I wonder whether Rupert knows anything about this?"
+
+"Rupert! What should he know about it?"
+
+"I can't say," returned Mr. Chattaway, significantly. "I think I'll go
+up and ask him," he added, in a sort of feverish impulse.
+
+Without a moment's pause he hastened upstairs to Rupert's room. But the
+room was empty!
+
+Mr. Chattaway stood transfixed. He had fully believed Rupert to be in
+bed, and the silent bed, impressed, seemed to mock him. A wild fear came
+over him that Rupert's pretence of going to bed had been a _ruse_--he
+had gone out to meet that dangerous stranger.
+
+He flew down the stairs as one possessed; shouting "Rupert! Rupert!" The
+household stole forth to look at him, and the walls echoed the name. But
+from Rupert himself there came no answer. He was not in the Hold.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+A MEETING AT MARK CANHAM'S
+
+
+Rupert's leaving the Hold, however, had been a very innocent matter. The
+evening sun was setting gloriously, and he thought he would stroll out
+for a few minutes before going to his room. When he reached the lodge he
+went in and flung himself down on the settle, opposite old Canham and
+his pipe.
+
+"How's Madam?" asked the old man. "What an accident it might have been!"
+
+"So it might," assented Rupert, "Madam will be better after a night's
+rest. Cris might have killed her. I wonder how he'd have felt then?"
+
+When Rupert came to an anchor, no matter where, he was somewhat
+unwilling to move from it. The settle was not a comfortable seat; rather
+the contrary; but Rupert kept to it, talking and laughing with old
+Canham. Ann was at the window, catching what remained of the fading
+light for her sewing.
+
+"Here's that strange gentleman again, father!" she suddenly exclaimed in
+a whisper.
+
+Old Canham turned his head, and Rupert turned his. The gentleman with
+the beard was going by in the direction of Trevlyn Hold as if about to
+make a call there.
+
+"Ay, that's him," cried old Canham.
+
+"What a queer-looking chap!" exclaimed Rupert. "Who is he?"
+
+"I can't make out," was old Canham's reply. "Me and Ann have been
+talking about him. He came strolling inside the gates this afternoon
+with a red umberellar, looking here and looking there, and at last he
+see us, and come up and asked what place this was; and when I told him
+it was Trevlyn Hold, he said Trevlyn Hold was what he had been seeking
+for, and he stood there talking a matter o' twenty minutes, leaning his
+arms on the window-sill. He thought you was the Squire, Master Rupert.
+He had a red umberellar," repeated old Canham, as if the fact were
+remarkable.
+
+Rupert glanced up in surprise. "Thought I was the Squire?"
+
+"He came into this neighbourhood, he said, believing nothing less but
+that you were the rightful Squire, and couldn't make out why you were
+not: he had been away from England a many years, and had believed it all
+the while. He said you were the true Squire, and you should be helped to
+your right."
+
+"Why! who can he be?" exclaimed Rupert, in excitement.
+
+"Ah, that's it--who can he be?" returned old Canham. "Me and Ann have
+been marvelling. He said that he used to be a friend of the dead heir,
+Mr. Joe. Master Rupert, who knows but he may be somebody come to place
+you in the Hold?"
+
+Rupert was leaning forward on the settle, his elbow on his knee, his eye
+fixed on old Canham.
+
+"How could he do that?" he asked after a pause. "How could any one do
+it?"
+
+"It's not for us to say how, Master Rupert. If anybody in these parts
+could have said, maybe you'd have been in it long before this. That
+there stranger is a cute 'un, I know. White beards always is a sign of
+wisdom."
+
+Rupert laughed. "Look here, Mark. It is no good going over that ground
+again. I have heard about my 'rights' until I am tired. The subject
+vexes me; it makes me cross from its very hopelessness. I wish I had
+been born without rights."
+
+"This stranger, when he called you the heir of Trevlyn Hold, and I told
+him you were not the heir, said I was right; you were not the heir, but
+the owner," persisted old Canham.
+
+"Then he knew nothing about it," returned Rupert. "It's _impossible_ that
+Chattaway can be put out of Trevlyn Hold."
+
+"Master Rupert, there has always been a feeling upon me that he will be
+put out of it," resumed old Canham. "He came to it by wrong, and wrong
+never lasts to the end without being righted. Who knows that the same
+feeling ain't on Chattaway? He turned the colour o' my Sunday smock when
+I told him of this stranger's having been here and what he'd said."
+
+"Did you tell him?" quickly cried Rupert.
+
+"I did, sir. I didn't mean to, but it come out incautious-like. I called
+you the young heir to his face, and excused myself by saying the
+stranger had been calling you so, and I spoke out the same without
+thought. Then he wanted to know what stranger, and all about him. It was
+when Madam was resting here after the accident. Chattaway rode by and
+saw her, and got off his horse: it was the first he knew of the
+accident. If what I said didn't frighten him, I never had a day's
+rheumatiz in my life. His face went as white as Madam's."
+
+"Chattaway go white!" scoffed Rupert. "What next? I tell you what it is,
+Mark; you fancy things. Aunt Edith may have been white; she often is;
+but not he. Chattaway knows that Trevlyn Hold is his, safe and sure.
+Nothing can take it from him--unless Squire Trevlyn came to life again,
+and made a fresh will. He's not likely to do that, Mark."
+
+"No; he's not likely to do that," assented the old man. "Once we're out
+of this world, Master Rupert, we don't come back again. The injustice we
+have left behind us can't be repaired that way."
+
+Rupert rose. He went to the window, opened it, and leaned out whistling.
+He was tired of the subject as touching himself; had long looked upon it
+as an unprofitable theme. As he stood there enjoying the calmness of the
+evening the tall man with the white beard came back again down the
+avenue.
+
+Mr. Daw, for he it was, had the red umbrella in his hand. He turned his
+head to the window as he passed it, looked steadily at Rupert, paused,
+went close up, and put his hand on Rupert's arm.
+
+"You are Rupert Trevlyn?"
+
+"Yes," replied Rupert.
+
+"I should have known you anywhere from your resemblance to your father;
+I should have known you had I met you in the crowded streets of London.
+You are wonderfully like him."
+
+"Where did you know my father?" inquired Rupert.
+
+Instead of answering, the stranger opened the house-door and stepped
+into the room. Ann curtseyed; old Canham rose and stood with his hat in
+his hand--that white beard seemed to demand respect. He--the
+stranger--took Rupert's hand in his.
+
+"I have been up to the house to inquire for you: but they told me you
+were not well, and had gone to rest."
+
+"Did they?" said Rupert. "I had intended to lie down, but the evening
+was so pleasant that I came out instead. You spoke of my father: did you
+know him?"
+
+"I knew him very well," said the stranger, taking the seat Ann had been
+dusting before offering; a ceremony she apparently considered a mark of
+respect. "Though my acquaintance with him was short, it was close. Do
+you know who baptized you?"
+
+"No," replied Rupert, rather astonished at the question.
+
+"I did. I christened your sister Maude; I baptized you. You were to be
+christened in England, your mother said, but she wished you baptized ere
+the journey commenced, and I did it when you were only a day old. Ah,
+poor thing! she hoped to make the journey with you when she should be
+strong enough; but another journey claimed her--that of death! Before
+you were two days old she died. It was I who wrote to announce your
+birth to Squire Trevlyn; it was I who, by the next post, announced your
+mother's death. It was I--my young friend, it was I--who buried your
+father and your mother."
+
+"You are a clergyman, then?" said Rupert, somewhat dubious about the
+beard, and the very unclerical cut of the stranger altogether.
+
+It may be that Mr. Daw noticed the doubtful glances, and entered upon an
+explanation. How, when a working curate, he had married a young lady of
+fortune, but of delicate health, and had gone abroad with her, throwing
+up for the time his clerical preferment. The doctors had said that a
+warm climate was essential to her; as they had said, if you remember, in
+the case of Joe Trevlyn. It happened that both parties sought the same
+place--the curate and his wife, Joe and Mrs. Trevlyn--and a close
+friendship sprang up between them. A short time and Joe Trevlyn died; a
+shorter time still, and his wife died. There was no English clergyman
+near the spot, and Mr. Daw gave his services. He baptized the children;
+he buried the parents. His own fate was a happier one, for his wife
+lived. She lived, but did not grow strong. It may be said--you have
+heard of such cases--that she only existed from day to day. She had so
+existed all through those long years; from that time until within a few
+months of this. "If you attempt to take her back to England, she will
+not live a month," the local medical men had said; and perhaps they were
+right. He had gone to the place for a few months' sojourn, and never
+left it for over twenty years. It reads like a romance. His wife's
+fortune had enabled him to live comfortably, and in a pecuniary point of
+view there was no need to seek preferment or exercise his calling. He
+would never seek it now. Habit and use are second nature, and the
+Reverend William Daw had learnt to be an idle man; to love the country
+of his adoption, his home in the Pyrenees; to believe that its genial
+climate had become necessary to himself. His business in England
+concluded (it was connected with his late wife's will), he was hastening
+back to it. Had preferment been offered him, he would have doubted his
+ability to fulfil its duties after so many years of leisure. The money
+that was his wife's would be his for the remainder of his days; so on
+that score he was at rest. In short, the Reverend William Daw had
+degenerated into a useless man; one to whom all exertion had become a
+trouble. He honestly confessed to it now, as he sat before Rupert
+Trevlyn; told him he had been content to live wholly for the country of
+his adoption, almost completely ignoring his own; had kept up no
+correspondence with it. Of friends he could, as a young curate, boast
+but few, and he had been at no pains to keep them. At first he had
+believed that six or twelve months would be the limit of his absence
+from England, and he was content to let friendships await his return.
+But he did not return; and the lapsed correspondence was too pleasant to
+his indolent tastes to be reopened. He told all this quietly now to
+Rupert Trevlyn, and said that to it he owed his ignorance of the
+deposition of Rupert from Trevlyn Hold. Mr. Freeman was one of his few
+old college friends, and he might have heard all about it years ago had
+he only written to him.
+
+"I cannot understand how Mr. Chattaway should have succeeded," he cried,
+bending his dark eyes upon Rupert. "I can scarcely believe the fact now;
+it has amazed me, as one may say. Had there been no direct male heir;
+had your father left only Maude, for instance, I could have understood
+its being left away from her, although it would have been unjust."
+
+"The property is not entailed," said Rupert.
+
+"I am aware of that. During the last few months of your father's life,
+we were like brothers, and I knew all particulars as well as he did. He
+had married in disobedience to his father's will, but he never for a
+moment glanced at the possibility of disinheritance. I cannot understand
+why Squire Trevlyn should have willed the estate from his son's
+children."
+
+"He only knew of Maude--as they say."
+
+"Still less can I understand how Mr. Chattaway can keep it. Were an
+estate willed to me, away from those who had a greater right to it, I
+should never retain it. I could not reconcile it to my conscience to do
+so. How can Mr. Chattaway?"
+
+Rupert laughed--he believed that conscience and Mr. Chattaway had not a
+great deal to do with each other. "It is not much Mr. Chattaway would
+give up voluntarily," he observed. "Were my grandfather alive, Chattaway
+would not resign Trevlyn Hold to him, unless forced to it."
+
+Old Canham could contain himself no longer. The conversation did not
+appear to be coming to the point. "Be you going to help young Master
+Rupert to regain his rights, sir?" he eagerly asked.
+
+"I would--if I knew how to do it," said Mr. Daw. "I shall certainly
+represent to Mr. Chattaway the injustice--the wicked injustice--of the
+present state of things. When I wrote to the Squire on the occasion of
+your birth and Mrs. Trevlyn's death," looking at Rupert, "the answers to
+me were signed 'J. Chattaway,'--the writer being no doubt this same Mr.
+Chattaway. He wrote again, after Squire Trevlyn's death, requesting me
+to despatch the nurse and children to England."
+
+"Oh, yes," said Rupert carelessly, "it was safe enough for us to come
+then. Squire Trevlyn dead, and the estate willed to Chattaway, there was
+no longer danger from me. If my grandfather had got to know that I was
+in existence, there would have been good-bye to Chattaway's ambition. At
+least people say so; _I_ don't know."
+
+The indifferent tone forcibly struck Mr. Daw. "Don't _you_ feel the
+injustice?" he asked. "Don't you care that Trevlyn Hold should be
+yours?"
+
+"I have grown up seeing the estate Chattaway's, and I suppose I don't
+feel it as I ought to. Of course, I should like it to be mine, but as it
+never can be mine, it is as well not to think about it. Have you heard
+of the Trevlyn temper?" he continued, a merry smile dancing in his eyes
+as he threw them on the stranger.
+
+"I have."
+
+"They tell me I have inherited it, as I suppose a true Trevlyn ought to
+do. Were I to think too much of the injustice, it might rouse the
+temper; and it would answer no end, you know."
+
+"Yes, I have heard of the Trevlyn temper," repeated the stranger. "I
+have heard what it did for the first heir, Rupert Trevlyn."
+
+"But it did not do it for him," passionately returned Rupert. "I never
+heard until the other day--not so many hours ago--of the slur that was
+cast upon his name. It was not he who shot the man; he had no hand in
+it: it was proved so later. Ask old Canham."
+
+"Well, well," said the stranger, "it's all past and done with. Poor Joe
+reposed every confidence in me; treating me as a brother. It was a
+singular coincidence that the Squire's sons should both die abroad. I
+hope," he added, looking kindly at Rupert, "that yours will be a long
+life. Are you--are you strong?"
+
+The question was put hesitatingly. He had heard from Nora that Rupert
+was not strong; and now that he saw him he was painfully struck with his
+delicate appearance. Rupert answered bravely.
+
+"I should be very well if it were not for that confounded Blackstone
+walk night and morning. It's that knocks me up."
+
+"Chattaway had no call to put him to it, sir," interrupted Mark Canham
+again. "It's not work for a Trevlyn."
+
+"Not for the heir of Trevlyn Hold," acquiesced the stranger. "But I must
+be going. I have not seen my friend Freeman yet, and should like to be
+at the railway station when he arrives. What time shall I see you in the
+morning?" he added, to Rupert. "And what time can I see Mr. Chattaway?"
+
+"You can see me at any time," replied Rupert. "But I can't answer for
+him. He breakfasts early, and generally goes out afterwards."
+
+Had the Reverend William Daw been able to glance through a few trunks of
+trees, he might have seen Mr. Chattaway then. For there, hidden amidst
+the trees of the avenue, only a few paces from the lodge, was he.
+
+Mr. Chattaway was pretty nearly beside himself that night. When he found
+that Rupert Trevlyn was not in the house, vague fears, to which he did
+not wait to give a more tangible name, rushed over his imagination. Had
+Rupert stolen from the house to meet this dangerous stranger
+clandestinely? He--Chattaway--scarcely knowing what he did, seized his
+hat and followed the stranger down the avenue, when he left the Hold
+after his fruitless visit.
+
+Not to follow him openly and say, "What is your business with Rupert
+Trevlyn?" Cords would not have dragged Mr. Chattaway into that dreaded
+presence until he was sure of his ground.
+
+He stole down with a fleet foot on the soft grass beside the avenue, and
+close upon the lodge he overtook the stranger. Mr. Chattaway glided into
+the trees.
+
+Peeping from his hiding-place, he saw the stranger pause before the
+lodge window: heard him accost Rupert Trevlyn; watched him enter. And
+there he had been since,--altogether in an agony both of mind and body.
+
+Do as he would, he could not hear their conversation. The sound of
+voices came upon him through the open window, but not the words spoken:
+and nearer he dared not go.
+
+Hark! they were coming out. Chattaway's eyes glared and his teeth were
+set, as he cautiously looked round. The man's ugly red umbrella was in
+one hand; the other was laid on Rupert's shoulder. "Will you walk with
+me a little way?" he heard the stranger say.
+
+"No, not this evening," was Rupert's reply. "I must go back to the
+Hold."
+
+But he, Rupert, turned to walk with him to the gate, and Mr. Chattaway
+took the opportunity to hasten back toward the Hold. When Rupert, after
+shaking hands with the stranger and calling out a good evening to the
+inmates of the lodge as he passed, went up the avenue, he met the master
+of Trevlyn Hold pacing leisurely down it, as if he had come out for a
+stroll.
+
+"Halloa!" he cried, with something of theatrical amazement. "I thought
+you were in bed!"
+
+"I came out instead," replied Rupert. "The evening was so fine."
+
+"Who was that queer-looking man just gone out at the gates?" asked Mr.
+Chattaway, with well-assumed indifference.
+
+Rupert answered readily. His disposition was naturally open to a fault,
+and he saw no reason for concealing what he knew of the stranger. He was
+not aware that Chattaway had ever seen him until this moment.
+
+"It is some one who has come on a visit to the parsonage: a clergyman.
+It's a curious name, though--Daw."
+
+"Daw? Daw?" repeated Mr. Chattaway, biting his lips to get some colour
+into them. "Where have I heard that name--in connection with a
+clergyman?"
+
+"He said he had some correspondence with you years ago: at the time my
+mother died, and I was born. He knew my father and mother well: has been
+telling me this at old Canham's."
+
+All that past time, its events, its correspondence, flashed over Mr.
+Chattaway's memory--flashed over it with a strange dread. "What has he
+come here for?" he asked quickly.
+
+"I don't know," replied Rupert. "He said----Whatever's this?"
+
+A tremendous shouting from people who appeared, dragging something
+behind them. Both turned simultaneously--the master of Trevlyn Hold in
+awful fear. Could it be the stranger coming back with constables at his
+heels, to wrest the Hold from him? And if, my reader, you deem these
+fears exaggerated, you know very little of this kind of terror.
+
+It was nothing but a procession of those idlers you saw in the road,
+dragging home the unlucky dog-cart: Mr. Cris at their head.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+NEWS FOR MISS DIANA
+
+
+In that pleasant room at the parsonage, with its sweet-scented
+mignonette boxes, and vases of freshly-cut flowers, sat the Reverend Mr.
+Freeman at breakfast, with his wife and visitor. It was a simple meal.
+All meals were simple at Barbrook Parsonage: as they generally are where
+means are limited. And you have not yet to learn, I dare say, that
+comfort and simplicity frequently go together: whilst comfort and
+grandeur are often separated. There was no lack of comfort and homely
+fare at Mr. Freeman's. Coffee and rich milk: home-made bread and the
+freshest of butter, new-laid eggs and autumn watercress. It was by no
+means starvation.
+
+Mr. Daw, however, paid less attention to the meal than he might have
+done had his mind been less preoccupied. The previous evening, when he
+and Mr. Freeman had first met, after an absence of more than twenty
+years, their conversation had naturally run on their own personal
+interests: past events had to be related. But this morning they could go
+to other subjects, and Mr. Daw was not slow to do so. They were
+talking--you may have guessed it--of the Trevlyns.
+
+Mr. Daw grew warm upon the subject. As on the previous day, when Molly
+placed the meal before him, he almost forgot to eat. And yet Mr. Daw, in
+spite of his assurance that he was contented with a crust of bread and a
+cup of milk knew how to appreciate good things. In plainer words, he
+liked them. Men who have no occupation for their days and years
+sometimes grow into epicureans.
+
+"You are sparing the eggs," said Mrs. Freeman, a good-natured woman with
+a large nose, thin cheeks, and prominent teeth. Mr. Daw replied by
+taking another egg from the stand and chopping off its top. But there it
+remained. He was enlarging on the injustice dealt out to Rupert Trevlyn.
+
+"It ought to be remedied, you know, Freeman. It must be remedied. It is
+a wrong in the sight of God and man."
+
+The curate--Mr. Freeman was nothing more, for all his many years'
+services--smiled good-humouredly. He never used hard words: preferring
+to let wrongs, which were no business of his, right themselves, or
+remain wrongs, and taking life as it came, easily and pleasantly.
+
+"We can't alter it," he said. "We have no power to interfere with
+Chattaway. He has enjoyed Trevlyn Hold these twenty years, and must
+enjoy it still."
+
+"I don't know about that," returned Mr. Daw. "I don't know that he must
+enjoy it still. At any rate, he ought not to do so. Had I lived in this
+neighbourhood as you have, Freeman, I should have tried to get him out
+of it before this."
+
+The parson opened his eyes in surprise.
+
+"There's such a thing as shaming people out of injustice," continued Mr.
+Daw. "Has any one represented to Chattaway the fearful wrong he is
+guilty of in his conduct towards Rupert Trevlyn?"
+
+"I can't say," equably answered the parson. "I have not."
+
+"Will you go with me and do it to-day?"
+
+"Well--no; I think I'd rather not, Daw. If any good could come of it,
+perhaps I might do so; but nothing could come of it. And I find it
+answers best not to meddle with the affairs of other folk."
+
+"The wrongs dealt out to him are so great," persisted Mr. Daw. "Not
+content with having wrested Trevlyn Hold from the boy, Chattaway
+converts him into a common labourer in some coal office of his, making
+him walk to and fro night and morning. You know him?"
+
+"Know him?" repeated Mr. Freeman. "I have known him since he first came
+here, a child in arms." In truth, it was a superfluous question.
+
+"Did you know his father?"
+
+"No; I came to Barbrook after his father went abroad."
+
+"I was going to ask, if you had known him, whether you did not remark
+the extraordinary resemblance the young man bears to his father. The
+likeness is great; and he has the same suspiciously delicate complexion.
+I should fear that the boy will go off as his father did, and----"
+
+"I have long said he ought to take cod-liver oil," interposed Mrs.
+Freeman, who was doctor in ordinary to her husband's parish, and very
+decided in her opinions.
+
+"Well, ma'am, that boy must die--if he is to die--Squire of Trevlyn
+Hold. I shall use all my means while I am here to induce this Chattaway
+to resign his possessions to the rightful owner. The boy seems to have
+had no friend in the world to take up his cause. What this Miss Diana
+can have been about, to stand tamely by and not interfere, I cannot
+conceive. She is the sister of his father."
+
+"Better let it alone, Daw," said the parson. "Rely upon it, you will
+make no impression on Chattaway. You must excuse me for saying it, but
+it's quite foolish to think that you will; quixotic and absurd.
+Chattaway possesses Trevlyn Hold--is not likely to resign it."
+
+"I could not let it alone now," impulsively answered Mr. Daw. "The boy
+seems to have no friend, I say; and I have a right to constitute myself
+his friend. I should not be worthy the name of man were I not to do it.
+I intended to stay with you only two nights; you'll give me house-room a
+little longer, won't you?"
+
+"We'll give it you for two months, and gladly, if you can put up with
+our primitive mode of living," was the hospitable answer.
+
+Mr. Daw shook his head. "Two months I could not remain; two weeks I
+might. I cannot go away leaving things in this unsatisfactory state. The
+first thing I shall do this morning will be to call at the Hold, and
+seek an interview with Chattaway."
+
+But Mr. Daw did not succeed in obtaining the interview with Chattaway.
+When he arrived at Trevlyn Hold, he was told the Squire was out. It was
+correct; Chattaway had ridden out immediately after breakfast. The
+stranger next asked for Miss Diana, and was admitted.
+
+Chattaway had said to Miss Diana in private, before starting, "Don't
+receive him should he come here; don't let his foot pass over the
+door-sill." Very unwise advice, as Miss Diana judged; and she did not
+take it. Miss Diana had the sense to remember that an unknown evil is
+more to be feared than an open one. No one can fight in the dark. The
+stranger was ushered into the drawing-room by order of Miss Diana, and
+she came to him.
+
+It was not a satisfactory interview, since nothing came of it; but it
+was a decently civil one. Miss Diana was cold, reserved, somewhat
+haughty, but courteous; Mr. Daw was pressing, urgent, but respectful and
+gentlemanly. Rupert Trevlyn was by right the owner of Trevlyn Hold, was
+the substance of the points urged by the one; Squire Trevlyn was his own
+master, made his own will, and it was not for his children and
+dependants to raise useless questions, still less for a stranger, was
+the answer of the other.
+
+"Madam," said Mr. Daw, "did the enormity of the injustice never strike
+you?"
+
+"Will you be so good as to tell me by what right you interfere?"
+returned Miss Diana. "I cannot conceive what business it can be of
+yours."
+
+"I think the redressing of the injustice should be made the business of
+everyone."
+
+"What a great deal everyone would have to do!" exclaimed Miss Diana.
+
+"With regard to my right of interference, Miss Trevlyn, the law might
+not give me any; but I assume it by the bond of friendship. I was with
+his father when he died; I was with his mother. Poor thing! it was only
+within the last six or seven hours of her life that danger was
+apprehended. They both died in the belief that their children would
+inherit Trevlyn Hold. Madam," quite a blaze of light flushing from his
+dark eyes, "I have lived all the years since, believing they were in the
+enjoyment of it."
+
+"You believed rightly," equably rejoined Miss Diana. "They have been in
+the enjoyment of it. It has been their home."
+
+"As it may be the home of any of your servants," returned Mr. Daw; and
+Miss Diana did not like the comparison.
+
+"May I ask," she continued, "if you came into this neighbourhood for the
+express purpose of putting this 'injustice' to rights?"
+
+"No, madam, I did not. But it is unnecessary for you to be sarcastic
+with me. I wish to urge the matter upon you in a friendly rather than an
+adverse spirit. Business connected with my own affairs brought me to
+London some ten days ago, from the place where I had lived so long. As I
+was so near, I thought I would come down and see my former friend
+Freeman, before starting homewards; for I dare say I shall never again
+return to England. I knew Barbrook Parsonage and Trevlyn Hold were not
+very far apart, and I anticipated the pleasure of meeting Joe Trevlyn's
+children, whom I had known as infants. I never supposed but that Rupert
+was in possession of Trevlyn Hold. You may judge of my surprise when I
+arrived yesterday and heard the true state of the case."
+
+"You have a covert motive in this," suddenly exclaimed Miss Diana, in a
+voice that had turned to sharpness.
+
+"Covert motive?" he repeated, looking at her.
+
+"Yes. Had you been, as you state, so interested in the welfare of Rupert
+Trevlyn and his sister, does it stand to reason that you would never
+have inquired after them through all these long years?"
+
+"I beg your pardon, Miss Trevlyn: the facts are precisely as I have
+stated them. Strange as it may seem, I never once wrote to inquire after
+them, and the neglect strikes me forcibly now. But I am naturally inert,
+and all correspondence with my own country had gradually ceased. I did
+often think of the little Trevlyns, but it was always to suppose them as
+being at Trevlyn Hold, sheltered by their appointed guardian."
+
+"What appointed guardian?" cried Miss Diana.
+
+"Yourself."
+
+"I! I was not the appointed guardian of the Trevlyns."
+
+"Indeed you were. You were appointed by their mother. The letter--the
+deed, I may say, for I believe it to have been legally worded--was
+written when she was dying."
+
+Miss Trevlyn had never heard of any deed. "Who wrote it?" she asked,
+after a pause.
+
+"I did. When dangerous symptoms set in, and she was told she might not
+live, Mrs. Trevlyn sent for me. She had her little baby baptized Rupert,
+for it had been her husband's wish that the child, if a boy, should be
+so named, and then I sat down by her bedside at her request, and wrote
+the document. She entreated Miss Diana Trevlyn--you, madam--to reside at
+Trevlyn Hold as its mistress, when it should lapse to Rupert, and be the
+guardian and protector of her children, until Rupert came of age. She
+besought you to love them, and be kind to them for their father's sake;
+for her sake; for the sake, also, of the friendship which had once
+existed between you and her. This will prove to you," he added in a
+different tone, "that poor Mrs. Trevlyn, at least, never supposed there
+was a likelihood of any other successor to the estate."
+
+"I never heard of it," exclaimed Miss Diana, waking up as from a
+reverie. "Was the document sent to me?"
+
+"It was enclosed in the despatch which acquainted Squire Trevlyn with
+Mrs. Trevlyn's death. I wrote them both, and I enclosed them together,
+and sent them."
+
+"Directed to whom?"
+
+"To Squire Trevlyn."
+
+Miss Diana sent her thoughts into the past. It was Chattaway who had
+received that despatch. Could he have dared to suppress any
+communication intended for her? Her haughty brow grew crimson at the
+thought; but she suppressed all signs of annoyance.
+
+"Will you allow me to renew my acquaintance with little Maude?" resumed
+Mr. Daw. "Little Maude then, and a lovely child; a beautiful girl, as I
+hear, now."
+
+Miss Diana hesitated--a very uncommon thing for her to do. It is strange
+what trifles turn the current of feelings: and this last item of
+intelligence had wonderfully softened her towards this stranger. But she
+remembered the interests at stake, and thought it best to be prudent.
+
+"You must pardon the refusal," she said. "I quite appreciate your wish
+to serve Rupert Trevlyn, but it can only fail, and further intercourse
+will not be agreeable to either party. You will allow me to wish you
+good morning, and to thank you."
+
+She rang the bell, and bowed him out, with all the grand courtesy
+belonging to the Trevlyns. As he passed through the hall, he caught a
+glimpse of a lovely girl with a delicate bloom on her cheeks and large
+blue eyes. Instinct told him it was Maude; and he likewise thought he
+traced some resemblance to her mother. He took a step forward
+involuntarily, to accost her, but recollecting himself, drew back again.
+
+It was scarcely the thing to do: in defiance of Miss Diana Trevlyn's
+recent refusal.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+AN IMPROMPTU JOURNEY
+
+
+The dew was lying upon the grass in the autumn morning as the Squire of
+Trevlyn Hold rode from his door. He had hurried over his breakfast, his
+horse waiting for him, and he spurred him impatiently along the avenue.
+Ann Canham had not yet opened the gate. Upon hearing a horse's hoofs,
+she ran out to do so; and stood holding it back, dropping her humble
+curtsey as Mr. Chattaway rode past. He vouchsafed not the slightest
+notice: neither by glance nor nod did he appear conscious of her
+presence. It was his usual way.
+
+"He's off to Blackstone early," thought Ann, as she fastened back the
+gate.
+
+But Mr. Chattaway did not turn towards Blackstone. He turned in the
+opposite direction and urged his horse to a gallop. Ann Canham looked
+after him.
+
+"He has business at Barmester, maybe," was the conclusion to which she
+came.
+
+Nothing more sure. He rode briskly to the town, and pulled up his horse
+almost at the same spot where you once saw him pull it up before--the
+house of Messrs. Wall and Barnes.
+
+Not that he was about to visit that flourishing establishment this
+morning. Next to it was a private house, on the door-plate of which
+might be read, "Mr. Flood, Solicitor": and he was the gentleman Mr.
+Chattaway had come to see.
+
+Attracted probably by the clatter of the horse--for Chattaway had pulled
+up suddenly, and with more noise than he need have done, there came one
+to the shop-door and looked out. It was Mr. Wall, and he stepped forth
+to shake hands with Chattaway.
+
+"Good morning, Chattaway. You are in Barmester betimes. What lovely
+weather we are having for the conclusion of the harvest!"
+
+"Very; it has been a fine harvest altogether," replied Chattaway; and
+from his composure no one could have dreamt of the terrible care and
+perplexity running riot in his heart. "I want to say a word to Flood
+about a lease that is falling in, so I thought I'd start early and make
+a round of it on my way to Blackstone."
+
+"An accident occurred yesterday to your son and Madam Chattaway, did it
+not?" asked Mr. Wall. "News of it was flying about last night. I hope
+they are not much hurt."
+
+"Not at all. Cris was so stupid as to attempt to drive a horse unbroken
+for driving--a vicious temper, too. The dog-cart is half smashed. Here,
+you! come here."
+
+The last words were addressed to a boy in a tattered jacket, who was
+racing after a passing carriage. Mr. Chattaway wanted him to hold his
+horse; and the boy quickly changed his course, believing the office
+would be good for sixpence at least.
+
+The lawyer's outer door was open. There was a second door in the
+passage, furnished with a knocker: the office opened on the left. Mr.
+Chattaway tried the office-door; more as a matter of form than anything
+else. It was locked, as he expected, and would be until nine o'clock. So
+he gave an imposing knock at the other.
+
+"I shall just catch him after breakfast," soliloquised he, "and can have
+a quiet quarter-of-an-hour with him, undisturbed by----Is Mr. Flood at
+home?"
+
+He had tried the door as a matter of form, and in like manner put the
+question, passing in without ceremony: the servant arrested him.
+
+"Mr. Flood's out, sir. He is gone to London."
+
+"Gone to London!" ejaculated Chattaway.
+
+"Yes, sir, not an hour ago. Went by the eight o'clock train."
+
+It was so complete a check to all his imaginings, that for a minute the
+master of Trevlyn Hold found speech desert him. Many a bad man on the
+first threat of evil flies to a lawyer, in the belief that he can, by
+the exercise of his craft, bring him out of it. Chattaway, after a night
+of intolerable restlessness, had come straight off to his lawyer, Flood,
+with the intention of confiding the whole affair to him, and asking what
+was to be done in it; never so much as glancing at the possibility of
+that legal gentleman's absence.
+
+"Went up by the eight o'clock train?" he repeated when he found his
+voice.
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"And when's he coming home?"
+
+"He expects to be away about a week, sir."
+
+A worse check still. Chattaway's terrible fear might have waited a day;
+but a week!--he thought suspense would drive him mad. He was a great
+deal too miserly to spend money upon an unnecessary journey, yet there
+appeared nothing for it but to follow Mr. Flood to London. That
+gentleman had heard perplexing secrets of Chattaway's before, had always
+given him the best advice, and remained faithful to the trust; and
+Chattaway believed he might safely confide this new danger to him. Not
+to any other would he have breathed a word. In short, Flood was the only
+confidential adviser he possessed in the world.
+
+"Where will Mr. Flood put up in London?"
+
+"I can't say, sir. I don't know anything about where he stays. He goes
+up pretty often."
+
+"At the old place, I daresay," muttered Chattaway to himself. "If not, I
+shall learn where, through his agents in Essex Street."
+
+He stood a moment on the pavement before mounting. A slow and cheap
+train would leave Barmester in half-an-hour for London. Should he go by
+that train?--go from Barmester, instead of returning home and taking the
+train at the little station near his own home? Was there need of so much
+haste? In Chattaway's present frame of mind the utmost haste he could
+make was almost a necessary relief: but, on the other hand, would his
+sudden departure excite suspicion at home, or draw unwelcome attention
+to his movements abroad? Deep in thought was he, when a hand was laid
+upon his shoulder. Turning sharply, he saw the honest face of the
+linen-draper close to his.
+
+"The queerest thing was said to me last night, Chattaway. I stepped into
+Robbins, the barber's, to have my hair and whiskers trimmed, and he told
+me a great barrister was down here, a leading man from the Chancery
+court, come upon some business connected with you and the late Squire
+Trevlyn. With the property, I mean."
+
+Chattaway's heart leaped into his mouth.
+
+"I thought it a queer tale," continued Mr. Wall. "His mission here being
+to restore Rupert Trevlyn to the estates of his grandfather, Robbins
+said. Is there anything in it?"
+
+Had the public already got hold of it, then? Was the awful thing no
+longer a fear but a reality? Chattaway turned his face away, and tried
+to be equal to the emergency.
+
+"You are talking great absurdity, Wall. Who's Robbins? Were I you, I
+should be ashamed to repeat the lies propagated by that chattering old
+woman."
+
+Mr. Wall laughed. "He certainly deals in news, does Robbins; it's part
+of his trade. Of course one only takes his marvels for what they are
+worth. He got _this_ from Barcome, the tax-collector. The man had
+arrived at the scene of the dog-cart accident shortly after its
+occurrence, and heard this barrister--who, as it seems, was also
+there--speaking publicly of the object of his mission."
+
+Chattaway snatched the reins from the ragged boy's hands and mounted;
+his air expressing all the scorn he could command. "When they impound
+Squire Trevlyn's will, then they may talk about altering the succession.
+Good morning, Wall."
+
+A torrent of howls, accompanied by words a magistrate on the bench must
+have treated severely, saluted his ears as he rode off. They came from
+the aggrieved steed-holder. Instead of the sixpence he fondly reckoned
+on, Chattaway had flung him a halfpenny.
+
+He rode to an inn near the railway station, went in and called for pen
+and ink. The few words he wrote were to Miss Diana. He found himself
+obliged to go up unexpectedly to London on the business _which she knew
+of_, and requested her to make any plausible excuse for his absence that
+would divert suspicion from the real facts. He should be home on the
+morrow. Such was the substance of the note.
+
+He addressed it to Miss Trevlyn of Trevlyn Hold, sealed it with his own
+seal, and marked it "private." A most unnecessary additional security,
+the last. No inmate of Trevlyn Hold would dare to open the most simple
+missive, bearing the address of Miss Trevlyn. Then he called one of the
+stable-men.
+
+"I want this letter taken to my house," he said. "It is in a hurry. Can
+you go at once?"
+
+The man replied that he could.
+
+"Stay--you may ride my horse," added Mr. Chattaway, as if the thought
+that moment struck him. "You will get there in half the time that you
+would if you walked."
+
+"Very well, sir. Shall I bring him back for you?"
+
+"Um--m--m, no, I'll walk," decided Mr. Chattaway, stroking his chin as
+if to help his decision. "Leave the horse at the Hold."
+
+The man mounted the horse and rode away, never supposing Mr. Chattaway
+had been playing off a little _ruse_ upon him, and had no intention of
+going to Trevlyn Hold that day, but was bound for a place rather farther
+off. In this innocent state he reached the Hold, while Mr. Chattaway
+made a _detour_ and gained the station by a cross route, where he took
+train for London.
+
+Cris Chattaway's groom, Sam Atkins, was standing with his young master's
+horse before the house, in waiting for that gentleman, when the
+messenger arrived. Not the new horse of the previous day's notoriety,
+nor the one lamed at Blackstone, but a despised and steady old animal
+sometimes used in the plough.
+
+"There haven't been another accident surely!" exclaimed Sam Atkins, in
+his astonishment at seeing Mr. Chattaway's steed brought home. "Where's
+the Squire?"
+
+"He's all right; and has sent me up here with this," was the man's
+reply, producing the note. And at that moment Miss Diana Trevlyn
+appeared at the hall-door. Miss Diana was looking out for Mr. Chattaway.
+After the communication made to her that morning by Mr. Daw, she could
+only come to the conclusion that the paper had been suppressed by
+Chattaway, and was waiting in much wrath to demand his explanation of
+it.
+
+"What brings the Squire's horse back?" she imperiously demanded.
+
+Sam Atkins handed her the note, which she opened and read. Read it twice
+attentively, and then turned indoors. "Chattaway's a fool!" she angrily
+decided, "and is allowing this mare's nest to prey on his fears. He
+ought to know that while my father's will is in existence no earthly
+power can deprive him of Trevlyn Hold."
+
+She went upstairs to Mrs. Chattaway's sitting-room. That lady,
+considerably recovered from the shock of the fall, was writing an
+affectionate letter to her daughter Amelia, telling her she might come
+home with Caroline Ryle. Miss Diana went straight up to the table, took
+a seat, and without the least apology closed Mrs. Chattaway's desk.
+
+"I want your attention for a moment, Edith. You can write afterwards.
+Carry your memory back to the morning, so many years ago, when we
+received the news of Rupert's birth?"
+
+"No effort is need to do that, Diana. I think of it all too often."
+
+"Very good. Then perhaps, without effort, you can recall the day
+following, when the letter came announcing Mrs. Trevlyn's death?"
+
+"Yes, I remember it also."
+
+"The minute details? Could you, for instance, relate any of the
+circumstances attending the arrival of that letter, if required to do so
+in a court of law? What time of the day it came, who opened it, where it
+was opened, and so forth?"
+
+"Why do you ask me?" returned Mrs. Chattaway, surprised at the
+questions.
+
+"I ask you to be answered. I have a reason for wishing to recall these
+past things. Think it over."
+
+"Both letters, so far as I can recollect, were given to Mr. Chattaway,
+and he opened them. He was in the habit then of opening papa's business
+letters. I have no doubt they were opened in the steward's room; James
+used to be there a great deal with the accounts and other matters
+connected with the estate."
+
+"I have always known that James Chattaway did open those letters," said
+Miss Diana; "but I thought you might have been present when he did so.
+Were you?"
+
+"No. I remember his coming into my chamber later, and telling me Mrs.
+Trevlyn was dead. I never shall forget the shock I felt."
+
+"Attend to me, Edith. I have reason to believe that the last of those
+letters contained an inclosure for me. It never reached me. Do you know
+what became of it?"
+
+The blank surprise on Mrs. Chattaway's countenance, her open questioning
+gaze, was a sufficient denial.
+
+"I see you do not. And now I am going to ask you something else. Did you
+ever hear that Emily Trevlyn, when she was dying, left a request that I
+should be guardian to her children?"
+
+"Never. Have you been dreaming these things, Diana? Why should you ask
+about them now?"
+
+"I leave dreams to you," was Miss Diana's reply. "My health is too sound
+to admit of sleeping dreams; my mind too practical to indulge in waking
+ones. Never mind why I asked: it was only as a personal matter of my
+own. By the way, I have had a line from your husband, written from
+Barmester. A little business has taken him out, and he may not be home
+until to-morrow. We are not to sit up for him."
+
+"Has he gone to Nettleby hop-fair?" hastily rejoined Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+"Perhaps so," said Miss Diana, carelessly. "At any rate, say nothing
+about his absence to any one. The children are unruly if they know he is
+away. I suppose he will be home to-morrow."
+
+But Mr. Chattaway was not home on the morrow. Miss Diana was burning
+with impatience for his return; that explanation was being waited for,
+and she was one who brooked not delay: but she was obliged to submit to
+it now. Day after day passed on, and Mr. Chattaway was still absent from
+Trevlyn Hold.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+A WALK BY STARLIGHT
+
+
+A harvest-home used to be a great _fete_ in farmhouses; chiefly so, as
+you are aware, for its servants and labourers. It is so in some houses
+still. A rustic, homely gathering; with plenty of good fare in a plain
+way, and where the masters and mistresses and their guests enjoy
+themselves as freely as their dependants.
+
+Trevlyn Farm was lighted up to-night. The best kitchen, where you have
+seen Nora sitting sometimes, and never used for kitchen purposes, was
+set out with a long table. Cold beef and ham, substantial and savoury
+meat pies, fruit pies, cakes, cheese, ale and cider, were being placed
+on it. Benches lined the walls, and the rustic labourers were coming
+sheepishly in. Some of them had the privilege of bringing their wives,
+who came in a great deal less sheepishly than the men.
+
+Nanny was in full attire, a new green stuff gown and white apron; Molly
+from the parsonage was flaunting in a round cap, patronised by the
+fashionable servants in Barmester, with red streamers; Ann Canham had a
+new Scotch plaid kerchief, white and purple, crossed on her shoulders;
+and Jim Sanders's mother, being rather poorly off for smart caps, wore a
+bonnet. These four were to do the waiting; and Nora was casting over
+them all the superintending eye of a mistress. George Ryle liked to make
+his harvest-homes liberal and comfortable, and Mrs. Ryle seconded it
+with the open-handed nature of the Trevlyns.
+
+What Mrs. Ryle would have done but for Nora Dickson it was impossible to
+say. She really took little more management in the house than a visitor
+would take. Her will, it is true, was law: she gave orders, but left
+their execution to others. Though she had married Thomas Ryle, of
+Trevlyn Farm, she never forgot that she was the daughter of Trevlyn
+Hold.
+
+She sat in the small room opening from the supper-room--small in
+comparison with the drawing-room, but still comfortable. On harvest-home
+night, Mrs. Ryle's visitors were received in that ordinary room and sat
+there, forming as it were part of the supper-room company, for the door
+was kept wide, and the great people went in and out, mixing with the
+small. George Ryle and Mr. Freeman would be more in the supper-room than
+in the other; they were two who liked to see the hard-working people
+happy now and then.
+
+Mrs. Ryle had taken up her place in the sitting-room; her rich black
+silk gown and real lace cap contrasting with the more showy attire of
+Mrs. Apperley, who sat next her. Mrs. Apperley was in a stiff brocade,
+yellow satin stripes flanking wavy lines of flowers. It had been her
+gala robe for years and years, and looked new yet. Mrs. Apperley's two
+daughters, in cherry-coloured ribbons and cherry-coloured nets, were as
+gay as she was; they were whispering to Caroline Ryle, a graceful girl
+in dark-blue silk, with the blue eyes and the fair hair of her deceased
+father. Farmer Apperley, in top-boots, was holding an argument on the
+state of the country with a young man of middle height and dark hair,
+who sat carelessly on the arm of the old-fashioned sofa. It was Trevlyn
+Ryle. George had set his back against the wall, and was laughingly
+quizzing the Miss Apperleys, of which they were blushingly conscious.
+Were you to believe Nora, there was scarcely a young lady within the
+circuit of a couple of leagues but was privately setting her cap at
+handsome George.
+
+A bustle in the outer room, and Nanny appeared with an announcement:
+"Parson and Mrs. Freeman." I am not responsible for the style of the
+introduction: you may hear it for yourselves if you choose to visit some
+of our rural districts.
+
+Parson and Mrs. Freeman came in without ceremony; the parson with his
+hat and walking stick, Mrs. Freeman in a green calico hood and an old
+cloak. George, with laughing gallantry, helped her to take them off, and
+handed them to Nanny, and Mrs. Freeman went up to the pier-glass and
+settled the white bows in her cap to greater effect.
+
+"But I thought you were to have brought your friend," said Mrs. Ryle.
+
+"He will come in presently," replied the parson. "A letter arrived by
+this evening's post, and he wished to answer it."
+
+Farmer Apperley turned from his debate with Trevlyn. "D'ye mean that
+droll-looking man who walks about with a red umbrella and a beard,
+parson?"
+
+"The same," said Mr. Freeman, settling his double chin more comfortably
+in his white cravat. "He has been staying with us for a week past."
+
+"Ay. Some foreign folk, isn't he, named Daw? There's all sorts of tales
+abroad in the neighbourhood as to what he is doing down here. I don't
+know whether they be correct."
+
+"I don't know much about it myself either," said Mr. Freeman. "I am glad
+to entertain him as an old friend, but as for any private affairs or
+views of his, I don't meddle with them."
+
+"Best plan," nodded the farmer. And the subject, thus indistinctly
+hinted at, was allowed to drop, owing probably to the presence of Mrs.
+Ryle.
+
+"The Chattaways are coming here to-night," suddenly exclaimed Caroline
+Ryle. She spoke only to Mary Apperley, but there was a pause in the
+general conversation just then, and Mr. Apperley took it up.
+
+"Who's coming? The Chattaways! Which of the Chattaways?" he said in some
+surprise, knowing they had never been in the habit of paying evening
+visits to Trevlyn Farm.
+
+"All the girls, and Maude. I don't know whether Rupert will come; and I
+don't think Cris was asked."
+
+"Eh, but that's a new move," cried Farmer Apperley, his long intimacy
+with the Farm justifying the freedom. "Did you invite them?"
+
+"In point of fact, they invited themselves," interposed Mrs. Ryle,
+before George, to whom the question had been addressed, could speak. "At
+least, Octave did so: and then George, I believe, asked the rest of the
+girls."
+
+"They won't come," said Farmer Apperley.
+
+"Not come!" interrupted Nora, sharply, who kept going in and out between
+the two rooms. "That's all you know about it, Mr. Apperley. Octave
+Chattaway is sure to be here to-night----"
+
+"Nora!"
+
+The interruption came from George. Was he afraid of what she might say
+impulsively? Or did he see, coming in at the outer door, Octave herself,
+as though to refute the opinion of Mr. Apperley?
+
+But only Amelia was with her. A tall girl with a large mouth and very
+light hair, always on the giggle. "Where are the rest?" impulsively
+asked George, his accent too unguarded to conceal its disappointment.
+
+Octave detected it. She had thrown off her cloak and stood in attire
+scarcely suited to the occasion--a pale blue evening dress of damask, a
+silver necklace, silver bracelets, and a wreath of silver flowers in her
+hair. "What 'rest'?" asked Octave.
+
+"Your sisters and Maude. They promised to come."
+
+Octave tossed her head good-humouredly. "_Do_ you think we could inflict
+the whole string on Mrs. Ryle? Two of us are sufficient to represent the
+family."
+
+"Inflict! On a harvest-home night!" called out Trevlyn. "You know,
+Octave, the more the merrier on these occasions."
+
+"Why, I really believe that's Treve!" exclaimed Octave. "When did you
+arrive?"
+
+"This morning. You have grown thinner, Octave."
+
+"It is nothing to you if I have," retorted Octave, offended at the
+remark. The point was a sore one; Octave being unpleasantly conscious
+that she was thin to plainness. "_You_ have grown plump enough, at any
+rate."
+
+"To be sure," said Treve. "I'm always jolly. It was too bad of you,
+Octave, not to bring the rest."
+
+"So it was," said Amelia. "They had dressed for it, and at the last
+moment Octave made them stay at home."
+
+But George was not going to take this quietly. Saying nothing, he left
+the room and made the best of his way to Trevlyn Hold. The rooms seemed
+deserted. At length he found Maude in the schoolroom, correcting
+exercises, and shedding a few quiet tears. After they had dressed for
+the visit, Octavia had placed her veto upon it, and Emily and Edith had
+retired to bed in vexation. Miss Diana was spending the evening out with
+Mrs. Chattaway, and Octave had had it all her own way.
+
+"I have come for you, Maude," said George.
+
+Maude's heart beat with anticipation. "I don't know whether I may dare
+to go," she said, glancing shyly at him.
+
+"Has anyone except Octave forbidden you?"
+
+"Only Octave."
+
+Lying on a chair, George saw a bonnet and a cloak which he recognised as
+Maude's. In point of fact, she had thrown them off when forbidden the
+visit by Miss Chattaway. His only answer was to fold the cloak around
+her. And she put on the bonnet, and went out with him, shocked at her
+own temerity, but unable to resist the temptation.
+
+"You are trembling," he cried, drawing her closer to him as he bent his
+head.
+
+"I am afraid of Octave. I know she will be so angry. What if she should
+meet me with angry words?"
+
+"Then--Maude--you will give me leave to answer her?"
+
+"Yes. Oh yes."
+
+"It will involve more than you think," said George, laughing at her
+eager tones. "I must tell her, if necessary, that I have a right to
+defend you."
+
+Maude stopped in her surprise, and half drew her arm from his as she
+looked up at him in the starlight. His pointed tone stirred all the
+pulses of her heart.
+
+"You cannot have mistaken me, Maude, this long time past," he quietly
+said. "If I have not spoken to you more openly; if I do not yet speak
+out to the world, it is that I see at present little prospect before us.
+I would prefer not to speak to others until that is more assured."
+
+Maude, in spite of the intense happiness which was rising within her,
+felt half sick with fear. What of the powers at Trevlyn Hold?
+
+"Yes, there might be opposition," said George, divining her thoughts,
+"and the result--great unpleasantness altogether. I am independent
+enough to defy them, but you are not, Maude. For that reason I will not
+speak if I can help it. I hope Octave will not provoke me to excess."
+
+Maude started as a thought flashed over her, and she looked up at
+George, a terrified expression in her face. "You _must not_ speak,
+George; you must not, for my sake. Were Octave only to suspect this,
+she----"
+
+"Might treat you to a bowl of poison--after the stage fashion of the
+good old days," he laughed. "Maude, do you think I have been blind? I
+understand."
+
+"You will be silent, then?"
+
+"Yes," he answered, after a pause. "For the present."
+
+They had taken the way through the fields--it was the nearest way--and
+George spoke of his affairs as he walked; more confidentially than he
+had ever in his life entered upon them to any one. That he had been in a
+manner sacrificed to the interests of Treve, there was no denying, and
+though he did not allude to it in so many words, it was impossible to
+ignore the fact entirely to Maude. One more term at Oxford, and Treve
+was to enter officially upon his occupation of Trevlyn Farm. The lease
+would be transferred to his name; he would be its sole master; and
+George must look out for another home: but until then he was bound to
+the farm--and bound most unprofitably. To the young, however, all things
+wear a hopeful _couleur-de-rose_. What would some of us give for it in
+after-life!
+
+"By the spring I may be settled in a farm of my own, Maude. I have been
+giving a longing eye to the Upland. Its lease will be out at Lady-day,
+and Carteret leaves it. An unwise man in my opinion to leave a certain
+competency here for uncertain riches in the New World. But that is his
+business; not mine. I should like the Upland Farm."
+
+Maude's breath was nearly taken away. It was the largest farm on the
+Trevlyn estate. "You surely would not risk that, George! What an
+undertaking!"
+
+"Especially with Chattaway for a landlord, you would say. I shall take
+it if I can get it. The worst is, I should have to borrow money, and
+borrowed money weighs one down like an incubus. Witness what it did for
+my father. But I daresay we should manage to get along."
+
+Maude opened her lips, wishing to say something she did not quite well
+know how to say. "I--I fear----" and there she stopped timidly.
+
+"What do you fear, Maude?"
+
+"I don't know how I should ever manage in a farm," she said, feeling
+she ought to speak out her doubts, but blushing vividly under cover
+of the dark night at having to do it. "I have been brought up
+so--so--uselessly--as regards domestic duties."
+
+"Maude, if I thought I should marry a wife only to make her work, I
+should not marry at all. We will manage better than that. You have been
+brought up a lady; and, in truth, I should not care for my wife to be
+anything else. Mrs. Ryle has never done anything of the sort, you know,
+thanks to good Nora. And there are more Noras in the world. Shall I tell
+you a favourite scheme of mine, one that has been in my mind for some
+time now?"
+
+She turned--waiting to hear it.
+
+"To give a home to Rupert. You and I. We could contrive to make him
+happier than he is now."
+
+Maude's heart leaped at the vision. "Oh, George! if it could only be!
+How good you are! Rupert----"
+
+"Hush, Maude!" For he had become conscious of the proximity of others
+walking and talking like themselves. Two voices were contending with
+each other; or, if not contending, speaking as if their opinions did not
+precisely coincide. To George's intense astonishment he recognised one
+of the voices as Mr. Chattaway's, and uttered a suppressed exclamation.
+
+"It cannot be," Maude whispered. "He is miles and miles away. Even
+allowing that he had returned, what should bring him here?--he would
+have gone direct to the Hold."
+
+But George was positive that it was Chattaway. The voices were advancing
+down the path on the other side the hedge, and would probably come
+through the gate, right in front of George and Maude. To meet Chattaway
+was not particularly coveted by either of them, even at the most
+convenient times, and just now it was not convenient at all. George drew
+Maude under one of the great elm trees, which overshadowed the hedge on
+this side.
+
+"Just for a moment, Maude, until they have passed. I am certain it is
+Chattaway!"
+
+The gate swung open and someone came through it. Only one. Sure enough
+it was Chattaway. He strode onwards, muttering to himself, a brown paper
+parcel in his hand. But ere he had gone many steps, he halted, turned,
+came creeping back and stood peering over the gate at the man who was
+walking away. A little movement to the right, and Mr. Chattaway might
+have seen George and Maude standing there.
+
+But he did not. He was grinding his teeth and working his disengaged
+hand, altogether too much occupied with the receding man, to pay
+attention to what might be around himself. Finally, his display of anger
+somewhat cooling down, he turned again and continued his way towards
+Trevlyn Hold.
+
+"Who can it be that he is so angry with?" whispered Maude.
+
+"Hush!" cautioned George. "His ears are sharp."
+
+Very still they remained until he was at a safe distance, and then they
+went through the gate. Almost beyond their view a tall man was pacing
+slowly along in the direction of Trevlyn Farm, whirling an umbrella
+round and round in his hand.
+
+"Just as I thought," was George's comment to himself.
+
+"Who is it, George?"
+
+"That stranger who is visiting at the parsonage."
+
+"He seemed to be quarrelling with Mr. Chattaway."
+
+"I don't know. Their voices were loud. I wonder if Rupert has found his
+way to the Farm?"
+
+"Octave forbade him to go."
+
+"Were I Ru I should break through _her_ trammels at any rate, and show
+myself a man," remarked George. "He may have done so to-night."
+
+They turned in at the garden-gate, and reached the porch. All signs of
+the stranger had disappeared, and sounds of merriment came from within.
+
+George turned Maude's face to his. "You will not forget, Maude?"
+
+"Forget what?" she shyly answered.
+
+"That from this night we begin a new life. Henceforth we belong to each
+other. Maude! you will not forget!" he feverishly continued.
+
+"I shall not forget," she softly whispered.
+
+And, possibly by way of reminder, Mr. George, under cover of the silent
+porch, took his first lover's kiss from her lips.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII
+
+AT DOCTORS' COMMONS
+
+
+But where had Mr. Chattaway been all that time? And how came he to be
+seen by George Ryle and Maude hovering about his own ground at night,
+when he was supposed to be miles away? The explanation can be given.
+
+Mr. Chattaway found, as many of us do, that lets and hindrances intrude
+themselves into the most simple plans. When he took the sudden
+resolution that morning to run up to London from Barmester after Flood
+the lawyer, he never supposed that his journey would be prolonged.
+Nothing more easy, as it appeared, than to catch Flood at his hotel, get
+a quarter-of-an-hour's conversation with him, take his advice, and
+return home again. But a check intervened.
+
+Upon arriving at the London terminus, Mr. Chattaway got into a cab, and
+drove to the hotel ordinarily used by Mr. Flood. After a dispute with
+the cab-driver he entered the hotel, and asked to see Mr. Flood.
+
+"Mr. Flood?" repeated the waiter. "There's no gentleman of that name
+staying here, sir."
+
+"I mean Mr. Flood of Barmester," irritably rejoined the master of
+Trevlyn Hold. "Perhaps you don't know him personally. He came up an hour
+or two ago."
+
+The waiter, a fresh one, was not acquainted with Mr. Flood. He went to
+another waiter, and the latter came forward. But the man's information
+was correct; Mr. Flood of Barmester had not arrived.
+
+"He travelled by the eight-o'clock train," persisted Mr. Chattaway, as
+if he found the denial difficult to reconcile with that fact. "He must
+be in London."
+
+"All I can say, sir, is that he has not come here," returned the
+head-waiter.
+
+Mr. Chattaway was considerably put out. In his impatience, the delay
+seemed most irritating. He left the hotel, and bent his steps towards
+Essex Street, where Mr. Flood's agents had their offices. Chattaway went
+in hoping that the first object his eyes rested upon would be his
+confidential adviser.
+
+His eyes did not receive that satisfaction. Some clerks were in the
+room, also one or two persons who seemed to be clients; but there was no
+Mr. Flood, and the clerks could give no information concerning him. One
+of the firm, a Mr. Newby, appeared and shook hands with Mr. Chattaway,
+whom he had once or twice seen.
+
+"Flood? Yes. We had a note from Flood yesterday morning, telling us to
+get some accounts prepared, as he should be in town in the course of a
+day or two. He has not come yet; up to-morrow perhaps."
+
+"But he has come," reiterated Chattaway. "I have followed him up to
+town, and want to see him upon a matter of importance."
+
+"Oh, has he?" carelessly replied Mr. Newby, the indifferent manner
+appearing almost like an insult to Chattaway's impatient frame of mind.
+"He'll be in later, then."
+
+"He is sure to come here?" inquired Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"Quite sure. We shall have a good bit of business to transact with him
+this time."
+
+"Then, if you'll allow me, I'll wait here. I must see him, and I want to
+get back to Barbrook as soon as possible."
+
+Mr. Chattaway was told that he was welcome to wait, if it pleased him to
+do so. A chair was handed him in the entrance room, where the clerks
+were writing, and he took his seat in it: sat there until he was nearly
+driven wild. The room was in a continual bustle; persons constantly
+coming in and going out. For the first hour or so, to watch the swaying
+door afforded Chattaway a sort of relief, for in every fresh visitor he
+expected to see Mr. Flood. But this grew tedious at last, and the
+ever-recurring disappointment told upon his temper.
+
+Evening came, the hour for closing the office, and the country lawyer
+had not made his appearance. "It is most extraordinary," remarked
+Chattaway to Mr. Newby.
+
+"He has been about some other business, and couldn't get to us to-day, I
+suppose," rejoined Mr. Newby, in the most provokingly matter-of-fact
+tone. "If he has come up for a week, as you say, he must have some
+important affair on hand; in which case it may be a day or two before he
+finds his way here."
+
+A most unsatisfactory conclusion for Mr. Chattaway; but that gentleman
+was obliged to put up with it, in the absence of any more tangible hope.
+He went back to the hotel, and there found that Mr. Flood was still
+amongst the non-arrivals.
+
+It was bad enough, that day and night's disappointment and suspense; but
+when it came to be extended over more days and nights, you may judge how
+it was increased. Mr. Flood did not make his appearance. Chattaway, in a
+state of fume, divided his time between the hotel, Essex Street, and
+Euston Square station, in the wild hope of coming upon the lawyer. All
+to no purpose. He telegraphed to Barmester, and received for reply that
+Mr. Flood was in London, and so he redoubled his hauntings, and worked
+himself into a fever.
+
+It appeared absolutely necessary that he should consult Flood before
+venturing back to home quarters, where he should inevitably meet that
+dangerous enemy. But how see Flood?--where look for him? Barmester
+telegraphed up that Mr. Flood was in London; the agents persisted in
+asserting that they expected him hourly, at their office, and yet
+Chattaway could not come upon him. He visited all the courts open in the
+long vacation; prowled about the Temple, Lincoln's Inn, and other places
+where lawyers congregated, in the delusive hope that he might by good
+luck meet with him. All in vain; and Chattaway had been very nearly a
+week from home, when his hopes were at length realised. There were other
+lawyers whom he might have consulted--Mr. Newby himself, for
+instance--but he shrank from laying bare his dread to a stranger.
+
+He was walking slowly up Ludgate Hill, his hands in his pockets, his
+brow knit, altogether in a disconsolate manner, some vague intention in
+his mind of taking a peep inside Doctors' Commons, when, by the merest
+accident, he happened to turn his eyes on the string of vehicles passing
+up and down. In that same moment a cab, extricating itself from the long
+line, whirled past him in the direction of Fleet Street; and its
+occupant was Flood the lawyer.
+
+All his listlessness was gone. Chattaway threw himself into the midst of
+the traffic, and tore after the cab. Sober pedestrians thought he had
+gone mad: but bent on their own business, had only time for a wondering
+glance. Chattaway bore on his way, and succeeded in keeping the cab in
+view. It soon stopped at an hotel, and by the time the lawyer had
+alighted, a portmanteau in hand, and was paying the driver, Chattaway
+was up with him, breathless, excited, grasping his arm as one demented.
+
+"What on earth's the matter?" exclaimed Mr. Flood, in astonishment. "You
+here, Chattaway? Do you want me?"
+
+"I followed you to town by the next train a week ago; I have been
+looking for you ever since," gasped Chattaway, unable to regain his
+breath between racing and excitement. "Where have you been hiding
+yourself? Your agents have been expecting you all this time."
+
+"I dare say they have. I wrote to say I should be with them in a day or
+two. I thought I should be, then."
+
+"But where have you been?"
+
+"Over in France. A client wrote to me from Paris----"
+
+"France!" interrupted Mr. Chattaway in his anger, feeling the
+announcement as a special and personal grievance. What right had his
+legal adviser to be cooling his heels in France, when he was searching
+for him in London?
+
+"I meant to return without delay," continued Mr. Flood; "but when I
+reached my client, I found the affair on which he wanted me was
+complicated, and I had to wait the dilatoriness of French lawyers."
+
+"You have been lingering over the seductions of Paris; nothing else,"
+growled Chattaway.
+
+The lawyer laughed pleasantly. "No, on my honour. I did go about to some
+of the sights whilst waiting for my business; but they did not detain me
+by one unnecessary hour. What is it that you want with me?"
+
+They entered the hotel, and Chattaway took him into a private room,
+unwashed and unrefreshed as the traveller was, and laid the case before
+him: the sudden appearance of the mysterious stranger at Barbrook, his
+open avowal that he had come to depose Chattaway from the Hold in favour
+of Rupert Trevlyn.
+
+"But who is he?" inquired Mr. Flood.
+
+"A lawyer," was the reply--for you must remember that Chattaway could
+only speak in accordance with the supposed facts; facts that had been
+exaggerated to him. "I know nothing more about the man, except that he
+avows he has come to Barbrook to deprive me of my property, and take up
+the cause of Rupert Trevlyn. But he can't do it, you know, Flood. The
+Hold is mine, and must remain mine."
+
+"Of course he can't," acquiesced the lawyer. "Why need you put yourself
+out about it?"
+
+Mr. Chattaway was wiping the moisture from his face. He sat looking at
+the lawyer.
+
+"I can't deny that it has troubled me," he said: "that it is troubling
+me still. What would my family do--my children--if we lost the Hold?"
+
+It was the lawyer's turn to look. He could not make out Chattaway. No
+power on earth, so far as his belief and knowledge went, could wrest
+Trevlyn Hold from its present master. Why, then, these fears? Were they
+born of nervousness? But Chattaway was not a nervous man.
+
+"Trevlyn Hold is as much yours as this hat"--touching the one at his
+elbow--"is mine," he resumed. "It came to you by legal bequest; you have
+enjoyed it these twenty years, and to deprive you of it is beyond human
+power. Unless," he added, after a pause, "unless indeed----"
+
+"Unless what?" eagerly interrupted Chattaway, his heart thumping against
+his side.
+
+"Unless--it was only an idea that crossed me--there should prove to be a
+flaw in Squire Trevlyn's will. But that's not probable."
+
+"It's impossible," gasped Chattaway, his fears taking a new and
+startling turn. "It's impossible that there could have been anything
+defective in the will, Flood."
+
+"It's next to impossible," acquiesced the lawyer; "though such mistakes
+have been known. Who drew it up?"
+
+"The Squire's solicitors, Peterby and Jones."
+
+"Then it's all right, you may be sure. Peterby and Jones are not men
+likely to insert errors in their deeds. I should not trouble myself
+about the matter."
+
+Mr. Chattaway sat in silence, revolving many things. How he wished he
+_could_ take the advice and not "trouble himself" about the matter!
+"What made you think there might be a flaw in the will?" he presently
+asked.
+
+"Nay, I did not think there was: only that it was just possible there
+might be. When a case is offered to me for consideration, it is my habit
+to glance at it in all its bearings. You tell me a stranger has made his
+appearance at Barbrook, avowing an intention of displacing you from
+Trevlyn Hold."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Well, then, whilst you were speaking, I began to grasp that case, turn
+it about in my mind; and I see that there is no possible way by which
+you can be displaced, so far as I know and believe. You enjoy it in
+accordance with Squire Trevlyn's will, and so long as that will remains
+in force, you are safe--provided the will has no flaw in it."
+
+Mr. Chattaway sat biting his lips. Never for a moment in the wildest
+flight of fear had he glanced at the possibility of a flaw in the will.
+The idea now suggested by Mr. Flood was perhaps the most alarming that
+could have been presented to him.
+
+"If there were any flaw in the will," he began--and the very mention of
+the cruel words almost rent his heart in two--"could you detect it, by
+reading the will over?"
+
+"Yes," replied Flood.
+
+"Then let us go at once, and set this awful uncertainty at rest."
+
+He had risen from his seat so eagerly and hastily that Mr. Flood
+scarcely understood.
+
+"Go where?" he asked.
+
+"To Doctors' Commons. We can see it there by paying a shilling."
+
+"Oh--ay, I'll go if you like. But I must have a wash first, and some
+refreshment. I have had neither since leaving Paris, and the
+crossing--ugh! I don't want to think of it."
+
+Mr. Chattaway controlled his impatience in the best manner he was able.
+At length they were fairly on their way--to the very spot for which
+Chattaway had been making once before that morning.
+
+Difficulties surmounted, Flood was soon deep in the perusal of Squire
+Trevlyn's will. He read it over slowly and thoughtfully, eyes and head
+bent, all his attention absorbed in the task. At its conclusion, he
+turned and looked full at Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"You are perfectly safe," he said. "The will is right and legal in every
+point."
+
+The relief brought a glow into Chattaway's dusky face. "I thought it
+strange if it could be wrong," he cried, drawing a deep breath.
+
+"It is only the codicil, you see, which affects you," continued Mr.
+Flood, pointing to the deed before them. "The will appears to have been
+made years before the codicil, and leaves the estate to the eldest son
+Rupert, and failing him, to Joseph. Rupert died; Joe died; and then the
+codicil was drawn up, willing it to you. You come in, you see, _after_
+the two sons; contingent on their death; no mention whatever is made of
+the child Rupert."
+
+Chattaway coughed. He did not deem it necessary to repeat that Squire
+Trevlyn had never known the child Rupert was in existence: but Flood
+was, no doubt, aware of that fact.
+
+"It's a good thing for you Joe Trevlyn died before his father,"
+carelessly remarked Mr. Flood, as he glanced again at the will.
+
+"Why?" cried Chattaway.
+
+"Because, had he not, this codicil would be valueless. It is----"
+
+"But he was dead, and it gives the estate to me," fiercely interrupted
+Chattaway, going into a white heat again.
+
+"Yes, yes. But it was a good thing, I say, for you. Had Joe been alive,
+he would have come in, in spite of this codicil; and he could have
+bequeathed the property to his boy after him."
+
+"Do you suppose I don't know all that?" retorted Chattaway. "It was only
+in consequence of Joe Trevlyn's death that the estate was willed to me.
+Had he lived, I never should have had it, or expected it."
+
+The peevish tone betrayed how sore was the subject altogether, and Mr.
+Flood smiled. "You need not be snappy over it, Chattaway," he said;
+"there's no cause for that. And now you may go back to the Hold in
+peace, without having your sleep disturbed by dreams of ejection. And if
+that unknown friend of yours should happen to mention in your hearing
+his kind intention of deposing you for Rupert Trevlyn, tell him, with my
+compliments, to come up here and read Squire Trevlyn's will."
+
+Partially reassured, Mr. Chattaway lost little time in taking his
+departure from London. He quitted it that same afternoon, and arrived at
+Barbrook just after dark, whence he started for the Hold.
+
+But he did not proceed to it as most other travellers in his rank of
+life would have done. He did not call a fly and drive to it; he
+preferred to go on foot. He did not even walk openly along the broad
+highway, but turned into by-paths, where he might be pretty sure of not
+meeting a soul, and stole cautiously along, peering on all sides, as if
+looking out for something he either longed or dreaded to see.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX
+
+A WELCOME HOME
+
+
+Was there a fatality upon the master of Trevlyn Hold?--was he never to
+be at rest?--could not even one little respite be allowed him in this,
+the first hour of his return home? It seemed not. He was turning into
+the first of those fields you have so often heard of, next to the one
+which had been the scene of poor Mr. Ryle's unhappy ending, when a tall
+man suddenly pounced upon him, came to a standstill, and spoke.
+
+"I believe I am not mistaken in supposing that I address Mr. Chattaway?"
+
+In his panic Mr. Chattaway nearly dropped a small parcel he held. An
+utter fear had taken possession of him: for in the speaker he recognised
+his dreaded enemy; the man who had proclaimed that he was about to work
+evil against him. It seemed like a terrible omen, meeting him the first
+moment of his arrival.
+
+"I have been wishing to see you for some days past," continued the
+stranger, "and have been to the Hold three or four times to ask if you
+had come home. I was a friend of the late Joe Trevlyn's. I am a friend
+now of his son."
+
+"Yes," stammered Chattaway--for in his fear he did not follow his first
+impulse, to meet the words with a torrent of anger. "May I ask what you
+want with me?"
+
+"I wish to converse upon the subject of Rupert Trevlyn. I would
+endeavour to impress upon you the grievous wrong inflicted upon him in
+keeping him out of the property of his forefathers. I do not think you
+can ever have reflected upon the matter, Mr. Chattaway, or have seen it
+in its true light--otherwise you would surely never deprive him of what
+is so indisputably his."
+
+Mr. Chattaway, his fears taking deeper and deeper possession of him, had
+turned into the field, in the hope of getting rid of the stranger. In
+any direction, no matter what, so that he could shake him off--for what
+to answer he did not know. It must be conciliation or defiance; but in
+that hurried moment he could not decide which would be the better
+policy. The stranger also turned and kept up with him.
+
+"My name is Daw, Mr. Chattaway. You may possibly remember it, for I had
+the honour of a little correspondence with you about the time of Mrs.
+Trevlyn's death. It was I who transmitted to you the account of the
+birth of the boy Rupert. I am now informed that that fact was not
+suffered to reach the ears of Squire Trevlyn."
+
+"I wish to hear nothing about it, sir; I desire to hold no communication
+with you at all," cried Mr. Chattaway, bearing on his way.
+
+"But it may be better for you that you should do so, and I ask it in
+courtesy," persisted Mr. Daw, striding beside him. "Appoint your own
+time and place, and I will wait upon you. These things are always better
+settled amicably than the reverse: litigation generally brings a host of
+evil in its train; and Rupert Trevlyn has no money to risk. Not but that
+his costs could come out of the estate," equably concluded Mr. Daw.
+
+The master of Trevlyn Hold turned passionately, arresting his course for
+an instant. "Litigation! what do you mean? How dare you speak to me in
+this manner? Who but a footpad would accost a gentleman by night, as you
+are accosting me?"
+
+The discourteous thrust did not seem to put out Mr. Daw. "I only wish
+you to appoint a time to see me--at your own home, or anywhere else you
+may please," he reiterated, not losing his manners. "But I am not to be
+balked in this, Mr. Chattaway. I have taken up the cause of Rupert
+Trevlyn, and shall try to carry it through."
+
+A blaze of anger burst from Mr. Chattaway, words and tones alike fierce,
+and Mr. Daw turned away. "I will see you when you are in a reasonable
+mood," he said. "To-morrow I will call at the Hold, and I hope you will
+meet me more amicably than you have done to-night."
+
+"I will never meet you; I will never see or listen to you," retorted
+Chattaway, his anger mastering him and causing him to forget prudence.
+"If you want to know by what right I retain the Hold over the boy,
+Rupert Trevlyn, go and consult Squire Trevlyn's will. That is the only
+answer you will get from me."
+
+Panting with the anger he could not restrain, Mr. Chattaway stood and
+watched the calm, retreating steps of the stranger, and then turned his
+own in the direction of home; unconscious that he in his turn was also
+watched, and by two who were very close to him--George Ryle and Maude
+Trevlyn.
+
+They--as you remember--proceeded immediately to Trevlyn Farm; and words
+were spoken between them which no time could efface. Impulsive words,
+telling of the love that had long lain in the heart of each, almost as
+suppressed, quite as deep, as the great dread which had made the
+skeleton in Mr. Chattaway's.
+
+The hilarity of the evening had progressed, as they found on entering.
+The company were seated round the table eating the good things, and
+evidently enjoying themselves heartily. The parlour-door was crowded
+with merry faces. Mrs. Ryle and others were at one end of the large
+room; George steered Maude direct to the parlour; the group made way for
+her, and welcomed her noisily.
+
+But there came no smile to the face of Octave Chattaway. With a severe
+eye and stern tones, she confronted Maude, her lips drawn with anger.
+
+"Maude, what do you do here? How dare you come?"
+
+"Is there any harm in it, Octave?"
+
+"Yes, there is," said Miss Chattaway, with flashing eyes. "There is harm
+because I desired you not to come. A pretty thing for Mrs. Ryle to be
+invaded by half-a-dozen of us! Have you no sense of propriety?"
+
+"Not a bit of it," gaily interrupted George. "No one understands that in
+connection with a harvest-home. I have been to the Hold for Maude,
+Octave; and should have brought Edith and Emily, but they were in bed."
+
+"In bed!" exclaimed Caroline Ryle, in surprise.
+
+"Having retired in mortification and tears at being excluded from the
+delights of a harvest-home," continued George, with mock gravity. "Miss
+Chattaway had preached propriety to them, and they could only bow to it.
+We must manage things better another time."
+
+Octave's cheeks burnt. Was George Ryle speaking in ridicule? To stand
+well with him, she would have risked much.
+
+"They are better at home," she quietly said: "and I have no doubt Mrs.
+Ryle thinks so. Two of us are sufficient to come. Quite sufficient, in
+my opinion," she pointedly added, turning a reproving look on Maude. "I
+am surprised you should have intruded----"
+
+"Blame me, if you please, Miss Chattaway--if you deem blame due
+anywhere," interrupted George. "I have a will of my own, you know, and I
+took possession of Maude and brought her, whether she would or no."
+
+Octave pushed her hair back with an impatient movement. Her eyes fell
+before his; her voice, as she addressed him, turned to softness. George
+was not a vain man; but it was next to impossible to mistake these
+signs; though neither by word nor look would he give the faintest
+colouring of hope to them. If Octave could only have read the
+indifference at his heart! nay, more--his positive dislike!
+
+"Did you see anything of Rupert?" she asked, recalling his attention to
+herself.
+
+"I saw nothing of any one but Maude. I might have laid hands on all I
+found; but there was no one to meet, Maude excepted. What makes you so
+cross about it, Octave?"
+
+She laughed pleasantly. "I am not cross, George," lowering her tones,
+"sometimes I think you do not understand me. You seem to----"
+
+Octave's words died away. Coming in at the door was the tall,
+conspicuous form of the parsonage guest, Mr. Daw. Maude was just then
+standing apart, and he went deliberately up to her and kissed her
+forehead.
+
+Startled and resentful, a half-cry escaped her lips; but Mr. Daw laid
+his hand gently on her arm.
+
+"My dear young lady, I may almost claim that as a right. I believe I was
+the first person, except your mother, who ever pressed a kiss upon your
+little face. Do you know me?"
+
+Maude faltered in her answer. His appearance and salutation had
+altogether been so sudden, that she was taken by surprise; but she did
+not fail to recognise him now. Yet she hesitated to acknowledge that she
+knew him, on account of Octave Chattaway. Rupert had told her all about
+the stranger; but it might be inconvenient to say so much to an inmate
+of Trevlyn Hold.
+
+"It was I who christened you," he resumed. "It was I who promised your
+father to--to sometimes watch over you. But I could not keep my promise;
+circumstances worked against it. And now that I am brought for a short
+time into the same neighbourhood, I may not call to see you."
+
+"Why not?" exclaimed Maude, wondering much.
+
+"Because those who are your guardians forbid me. I went to the Hold and
+asked for you, and then became aware that in doing so I had committed
+something like a crime, or what was looked upon as one. Should Rupert,
+your brother, regain possession of his father's inheritance and his
+father's home, then, perhaps, I may be a more welcome visitor."
+
+The room stood in consternation. To some of them, at any rate, these
+words were new; to the ears of Octave Chattaway they were tainted with
+darkest treason. Octave had never heard anything of this bold stranger's
+business at Barbrook, and she gazed at him with defiant eyes and parted
+lips.
+
+"Were you alluding to the Hold, sir?" she asked in a cold, hard voice,
+which might have been taken for Chattaway's own.
+
+"I was. The Hold was the inheritance of Rupert Trevlyn's father: it
+ought to be that of Rupert."
+
+"The Hold is the inheritance of my father," haughtily spoke Octave. "Is
+he mad?" she added in a half-whisper, turning to George.
+
+"Hush, Octave. No."
+
+It was not a pleasant or even an appropriate theme to be spoken of in
+the presence of Mr. Chattaway's daughters. George Ryle, at any rate,
+thought so, and was glad that a burst of rustic merriment came
+overpoweringly at that moment from the feasting in the other room.
+
+Under cover of the noise, Octave approached Nora. Nora immediately drew
+an apple-pie before her, and began to cut unlimited helpings, pretending
+to be absorbed in her work. She had not the least inclination for a
+private interview with Miss Chattaway. Miss Chattaway was one, however,
+not easily repulsed.
+
+"Nora, tell me--who is that man, and what brings him here?"
+
+"What man, Miss Chattaway?" asked Nora, indifferently, unable to quite
+help herself. "Ann Canham, how many are there to be served with pie
+still?"
+
+"_That_ man. That bold, bad man who has been speaking so strangely."
+
+"Does he speak strangely?" retorted Nora.
+
+"His voice is gruff certainly. And what a lot of plum-pudding he is
+eating! He is our young master's new waggoner, Miss Chattaway."
+
+"Not _he_!" shrieked Octave, in her anger. "Do you suppose I concern
+myself with those stuffing clodhoppers? I speak of that tall, strange
+man amongst the guests."
+
+"Oh, he!" said Nora, carelessly glancing over her shoulder. "Nanny,
+here's unlimited pie, if it's wanted. What about him, Miss Chattaway?"
+
+"I asked you who he was, and what brought him here."
+
+"Then you had better ask himself, Miss Chattaway. He goes about with a
+red umbrella; and that's about all I know of him."
+
+"Why does Mrs. Ryle invite suspicious characters to her house?"
+
+"Suspicious characters! Is he one? Madge Sanders, if you let Jim cram
+himself with pie in that style, you'll have something to do to get him
+home. He is staying at the parsonage, Miss Chattaway; an acquaintance of
+Mr. Freeman's. I suppose they brought him here to-night out of
+politeness; it wouldn't have been good manners to leave him at home. He
+is an old friend of the Trevlyns, I hear; has always believed, until
+now, that Master Rupert enjoyed the Hold--can't be brought to believe he
+doesn't. It is a state of things that does sound odd to a stranger, you
+know."
+
+Octave might rest assured she would not get the best of it with Nora.
+She turned away with a displeased gesture, and regained the
+sitting-room, where refreshments for Mrs. Ryle's friends were being
+laid. But somehow the sunshine of the evening had gone out for her. What
+had run away with it? The stranger's ominous words? No; for those she
+had nothing but contempt. It was George Ryle's unsatisfactory manner, so
+intensely calm and equable. And those calm, matter-of-fact manners, in
+one beloved, tell sorely upon the heart.
+
+The evening passed, and it grew time to leave. Cris Chattaway and Rupert
+had come in, and they all set off in a body to Trevlyn Hold--those who
+had to go there. George went out with them.
+
+"Are you coming?" asked Octave.
+
+"Yes, part of the way."
+
+So Octave stood, ready to take his arm, never supposing that he would
+not offer it; and her pulses began to beat. But he turned round as if
+waiting for something, and Octave could only walk on a few steps. Soon
+she heard him coming up and turned to him. And then her heart seemed to
+stand still and bound on again with fiery speed, and a flush of anger
+dyed her brow. He was escorting Maude on his arm!
+
+"Oh, George, do not let Maude trouble you," she exclaimed. "Cris will
+take care of her. Cris, come and relieve George of Maude Trevlyn."
+
+"Thank you, Octave; it's no trouble," replied George, his tone one of
+indifference. "As I brought Maude out, it is only fair that I should
+take her home--the task naturally falls to me, you see."
+
+Octave did not see it at all, and resentfully pursued her way; something
+very like hatred for Maude taking possession of her breast. It is not
+pleasant to write of these things; but I know of few histories in which
+they can be quite avoided, if the whole truth is adhered to, for many
+and evil are the passions assailing the undisciplined human heart.
+
+"Good-bye!" George whispered to Maude as he left her. "This night begins
+a new era in our lives."
+
+The Hold was busy when they entered. Mrs. Chattaway and her sister had
+just returned from Barmester, and were greeted by Mr. Chattaway. They
+had expected him for so many days past, and been disappointed, that his
+appearance now brought surprise with it. He answered the questions
+evasively put to him by Mrs. Chattaway and Diana, as to where he had
+been. Business had kept him, was all they could obtain from him.
+
+"I cannot think what you have done for clothes, James," said Mrs.
+Chattaway.
+
+"I have done very well," he retorted. "Bought what I wanted."
+
+But it was not upon the score of his wardrobe, or what had kept him so
+long, that Miss Diana Trevlyn required Chattaway. She had been waiting
+since the first morning of his absence, for information on a certain
+point, and now demanded it in a peremptory manner.
+
+"Chattaway," she began, when the rest had dispersed, and she waited with
+him, "I have had a strange communication made to me. In that past
+time--carry your thoughts back to it, if you please--when there came to
+this house the news of Rupert Trevlyn's birth and his mother's death--do
+you remember it?"
+
+"Yes, I do," said Mr. Chattaway. "What should hinder me?"
+
+"The tidings were conveyed by letter. Two letters came, the second a day
+after the first."
+
+"Well?" returned Chattaway, believing the theme, in some shape or other,
+was to haunt him for ever. "What of the letters?"
+
+"In that last letter, which must have been a heavy one, there was a
+communication enclosed for me."
+
+"I don't remember it," said Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"It was no doubt there. A document written at the request of Mrs.
+Trevlyn; appointing me guardian to the two children. What did you do
+with it?"
+
+"I?" returned Chattaway, speaking with apparent surprise, and looking
+full at Miss Diana with an unmoved face. "I did nothing with it. I don't
+know anything about it."
+
+"You must have taken it out and suppressed it," observed Miss Diana.
+
+"I never saw it or heard of it," obstinately persisted Chattaway. "Why
+should I? You might have been their appointed guardian, and welcome, for
+me: you have chiefly acted as guardian. I tell you, Diana, I neither saw
+nor heard of it: you need not look so suspiciously at me."
+
+"Is he telling the truth?" thought Miss Diana, and her keen eyes were
+not lifted from Mr. Chattaway's face. But that gentleman was remarkably
+inscrutable, and never appeared more so than at this moment.
+
+"If he did _not_ do anything with it," continued Miss Diana in her train
+of thought, "what could have become of the thing? Where can it be?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX
+
+MR. CHATTAWAY COMES TO GRIEF
+
+
+A few days passed on, and strange rumours began to be rife in the
+neighbourhood. Various rumours, vague at the best; but all tending to
+one point--the true heir was coming to his own again. They penetrated
+even to the ears of Mr. Chattaway, throwing that gentleman into a state
+not to be described. Some said a later will of the Squire's had been
+found; some said a will of Joe Trevlyn's; some that it was now
+discovered the estate could only descend in the direct male line, and
+consequently it had been Rupert's all along. Chattaway was in a raging
+fever; it preyed upon him, and turned his days to darkness. He seemed to
+look upon Rupert with the most intense suspicion, as if it were from him
+alone--his plotting and working--that the evil would come. He feared to
+trust him out of his sight; to leave him alone for a single instant.
+When he went to Blackstone he took Rupert with him; he hovered about all
+day, keeping Rupert in view, and brought him back in the evening.
+
+Miss Diana had not yet bought the pony she spoke of, and Chattaway
+either mounted him on an old horse that was good for little now, and
+rode by his side, or drove him over. Rupert was intensely puzzled at
+this new consideration, and could not make it out.
+
+One morning Mr. Chattaway so far sacrificed his own ease as to
+contemplate walking over: the horses were wanted that day. "Very well,"
+Rupert answered, in his half-careless, half-obedient fashion, "it was
+all the same to him." And so they started. But as they were going down
+the avenue a gentleman was discerned coming up it. Mr. Chattaway knit
+his brows and peered at him; his sight for distance was not quite as
+good as it had been.
+
+"Who's this?" asked he of Rupert.
+
+"It is Mr. Peterby," replied Rupert.
+
+"Peterby!" ejaculated Chattaway. "What Peterby?"
+
+"Peterby of Barmester, the lawyer," explained Rupert, wondering that
+there was any need to ask.
+
+For only one gentleman of the name of Peterby was known to Trevlyn Hold,
+and Mr. Chattaway was, so to say, familiar with him. He had been
+solicitor to Squire Trevlyn, and though Mr. Chattaway had not continued
+him in that post when he succeeded to the estate, preferring to employ
+Mr. Flood, he yet knew him well. The ejaculation had not escaped him so
+much in doubt as to the man, as to what he could want with him. But Mr.
+Peterby was solicitor for some of his tenants, and he supposed it was
+business touching the renewal of leases.
+
+They met. Mr. Peterby was an active little man of more than sixty years,
+with a healthy colour and the remains of auburn hair. He had walked all
+the way from Barmester, and enjoyed the walk as much as a schoolboy.
+"Good morning, Mr. Chattaway," he said, holding out his hand, "I am
+fortunate in meeting you. I came early, to catch you before you went to
+Blackstone. Can you give me half-an-hour's interview?"
+
+Mr. Chattaway thought he should not like to give the interview. He was
+in a bad temper, in no mood for business, and he really wanted to be at
+Blackstone. Besides all that he had no love for Mr. Peterby. "I am
+pressed for time this morning," he replied, "am much later than I ought
+to have been. Is it anything particular you want me for?"
+
+"Yes, very particular," was the answer, delivered in uncompromising
+tones. "I must request you to accord me the interview, Mr. Chattaway."
+
+Mr. Chattaway turned back to the house with his visitor, and marshalled
+him into the drawing-room. Rupert remained at the hall-door.
+
+"I have come upon a curious errand, Mr. Chattaway, and no doubt an
+unwelcome one; though, from what I hear, it may not be altogether
+unexpected," began the lawyer, as they took seats opposite each other.
+"A question has been arising of late, whether Rupert Trevlyn may not
+possess some right to the Hold. I am here to demand if you will give it
+up to him."
+
+Was the world coming to an end? Chattaway thought it must be. He sat and
+stared at the speaker as if he were in a dream. Was _every one_ turning
+against him? He rubbed his handkerchief over his hot face, and
+imperiously demanded of Mr. Peterby what on earth he meant, and where he
+could have picked up his insolence.
+
+"I am not about to wrest the estate from you, Mr. Chattaway, or to
+threaten to do so," was the answer. "You need not fear that. But--you
+must be aware that you have for the last twenty years enjoyed a position
+that ought in strict justice to belong to the grandson of Squire
+Trevlyn."
+
+"I am not aware of anything of the sort," groaned Chattaway. "What do
+you mean by 'wresting the estate'?"
+
+"Softly, my good sir; there's no need to put yourself out with me. I am
+come on a straightforward, peaceable errand; not one of war. A friendly
+errand, if you will allow me so to express myself."
+
+The master of the Hold could only marvel at the words. A friendly
+errand! requiring him to give up his possessions!
+
+Mr. Peterby proceeded to explain; and as there is no time to give the
+interview in detail, it shall be condensed. It appeared that the
+Reverend Mr. Daw had in his zeal sought out the solicitors of the late
+Squire Trevlyn. He had succeeded in impressing upon them a sense of the
+great injustice dealt out to Rupert; had avowed his intention of
+endeavouring, by any means in his power, to remedy this injustice; but
+at this point he had been somewhat obscure, and had, in fact, caused the
+lawyers to imagine that this power was real and tangible. Could there
+be, they asked themselves afterwards, any late will of Squire Trevlyn's
+which would supersede the old one? It was the only hinge on which the
+matter could turn; and Mr. Daw's mysterious hints certainly encouraged
+the thought. But Mr. Daw had said, "Perhaps Chattaway will give up
+amicably, if you urge it upon him," and Mr. Peterby had now come for
+that purpose.
+
+"What you say is utterly absurd," urged Chattaway; the long explanation,
+which Mr. Peterby had given openly and candidly, having afforded him
+time to recover somewhat of his fears and his temper. "I can take upon
+myself most positively to assert that no will or codicil was made, or
+attempted to be made, by Squire Trevlyn, subsequently to the one on
+which I inherit. Your firm drew that up."
+
+"I know we did," replied the lawyer. "But that does not prove that none
+was drawn up after it."
+
+"But I tell you there was not any. I am certain upon the point."
+
+"Well, it was the only conclusion we could come to," rejoined Mr.
+Peterby. "This Mr. Daw must have some grounds for urging the thing on;
+he wouldn't be so stupid as to do so if he had none."
+
+"He has none," said Chattaway.
+
+"Ah, but I am sure he has. But for being convinced of this, do you
+suppose I should have come to you now, asking you to give up an estate
+which you have so long enjoyed? I assure you I came as much in your
+interests as in his. If there is anything in existence by which you can
+be disturbed, it is only fair you should know of it."
+
+Fair! In Mr. Chattaway's frame of mind, he could scarcely tell what was
+fair and what was not fair. The interview was prolonged, but it brought
+forth no satisfactory conclusion. Perhaps none could be expected. Mr.
+Peterby took his departure, impressed with the conviction that the
+present owner of Trevlyn Hold would retain possession to the end,
+contesting it inch by inch; and as he walked down the avenue he asked
+himself whether he had not been induced to enter upon a foolish errand,
+in coming to suggest that it should be voluntarily resigned.
+
+The master of Trevlyn Hold watched him away, and then opened the
+breakfast-room door. "Where's Rupert?" he inquired, not seeing Rupert
+there.
+
+"Rupert?" answered Mrs. Chattaway, looking up. "I think he has gone to
+Blackstone. He wished me good morning; and I saw him walk down the
+avenue."
+
+All things seemed to be against Mr. Chattaway. Here was Rupert out of
+sight now; it was hard to say where he might have gone, or what mischief
+he might be up to. As he turned from the door, Cris Chattaway's
+horse--the unlucky new one which had damaged the dog-cart--was brought
+up, and Cris appeared, prepared to mount him.
+
+"Where are you going, Cris?"
+
+"Nowhere in particular this morning," answered Cris. "I have a nasty
+headache, and a canter may take it away."
+
+"Then I'll ride your horse to Blackstone," returned Mr. Chattaway.
+"Alter the stirrups, Sam."
+
+"Why, where's your own horse?" cried Cris, with a blank look.
+
+"In the stable," shortly returned Chattaway.
+
+He mounted the horse and rode away, his many cares perplexing him. A
+hideous wall separating him from all good fortune seemed to be rising up
+round about him; and the catastrophe he so dreaded--a contest between
+himself and Rupert Trevlyn for possession of the Hold--appeared to be
+drawing within the range of probability. In the gloomy prospect before
+him, only one loophole of escape presented itself to his
+imagination--the death of Rupert.
+
+But you must not think worse of Mr. Chattaway than he deserves. He did
+not deliberately contemplate such a calamity; or set himself to hope for
+it. The imagination is rebelliously evil, often uncontrollable; and the
+thought rose up unbidden and unwished for. Mr. Chattaway could not help
+it; could not at first drive it away again; the somewhat dangerous
+argument, "Were Rupert dead I should be safe, and it is the only means
+by which I can feel assured of safety," did linger with him longer than
+was expedient; but he never for one moment contemplated the possibility
+as likely to take place; most certainly it never occurred to him that he
+could be accessory to it. Though not a good man, especially in the way
+of temper and covetousness, Chattaway would have started with horror had
+he supposed he could ever be so bad as that.
+
+He rode swiftly along in the autumn morning, urging his horse to a hard
+gallop. Was his haste merely caused by his anxiety to be at Blackstone,
+or that he would escape from his own thoughts? He rode directly to the
+coal mine, up to the mouth of the pit. Two or three men, looking like
+blackamoors, were standing about.
+
+"Why are you not down at work?" angrily demanded Mr. Chattaway. "What do
+you do idling here!"
+
+They had been waiting for Pennet, the men replied. But word had just
+been brought that Pennet was not coming.
+
+"Where is he?" asked Mr. Chattaway. "Skulking again?"
+
+"I dunna think he be skulking, sir," was the reply of one. "He's bad
+a-bed."
+
+An angry frown darkened Mr. Chattaway's countenance. Truth to say, this
+man, Pennet, though a valuable workman from his great strength, his
+perseverance when in the pit, did occasionally absent himself from it,
+to the wrath of his overseers; and Mr. Chattaway knew that illness might
+be only an excuse for taking a holiday in the drinking shop.
+
+"I'll soon see that," he cried. "Bring that horse back. If Pennet is
+skulking, I'll discharge him this very day."
+
+He had despatched his horse round to the stable; but now mounted him
+again, and was riding away, after ordering the men down to their work,
+when he stopped to ask a question respecting one of his overseers.
+
+"Is Bean down the shaft?"
+
+No; the men thought not. They believed he was round at the office.
+
+Mr. Chattaway turned his horse's head towards the office, and galloped
+off, reining in at the door. The clerk Ford and Rupert Trevlyn both came
+out.
+
+"Oh, so you have got here!" ungraciously grunted Mr. Chattaway to
+Rupert. "I want Bean."
+
+"Bean's in the pit, sir," replied Ford.
+
+"The man told me he was not in the pit," returned Mr. Chattaway. "They
+said he was here."
+
+"Then they knew nothing about it," observed Ford. "Bean has been down
+the pit all the morning."
+
+Mr. Chattaway turned to Rupert. "Go down the shaft and tell Bean to come
+up. I want him."
+
+He rode off as he spoke, and Rupert departed for the pit. The man Pennet
+lived in a hovel, one of many, about a mile and a half away. Chattaway,
+between haste and temper, was in a heat when he arrived. A
+masculine-looking woman with tangled hair came out to salute him.
+
+"Where's Pennet?"
+
+"He's right bad, master."
+
+Mr. Chattaway's lip curled. "Bad from drink?"
+
+"No," replied the woman, defiantly; for the owner of the mine was held
+in no favour, and this woman was of too independent a nature to conceal
+her sentiments when provoked. "Bad from rheumatiz."
+
+He got off his horse, rudely pushed her aside, and went in. Pennet was
+dressed, but was lying on a wooden settle, as the benches were called in
+that district.
+
+"I be too bad for the pit to-day, sir; I be, indeed. This, rheumatiz
+have been a-flying about me for weeks; and now it's settled in my loins,
+and I can't stir."
+
+"Let's see you walk," responded Chattaway.
+
+Pennet got off the bench with difficulty, and walked across the brick
+floor slowly, his arms behind him.
+
+"I thought so," said Chattaway. "I knew you were skulking. You are as
+well able to walk as I am. Be off to the pit."
+
+The man lifted his face. "If you was in the pain I be, master, you
+wouldn't say so. I mote drag myself down to 'im, but I couldn't work."
+
+"We will see about that," said Mr. Chattaway, in his determined manner.
+"You work to-day, my man, or you never work again for me: so take your
+choice."
+
+There was a pause. Pennet looked irresolute, the woman bitter. Perhaps
+what these people hated most of all in Chattaway was his personal
+interference and petty tyranny. What he was doing now--looking up the
+hands--was the work of an overseer; not of the owner.
+
+"Come," he authoritatively repeated. "I shall see you start before me.
+We are too busy for half of you to be basking in idleness. Are you
+going? Work to-day, or leave the pit, just which you please."
+
+The man glanced at his children--a ragged little group, cowering in
+silence in a corner, awed by the presence of the master; took his cap
+without a word, and limped slowly away, though apparently scarcely able
+to drag one foot before the other.
+
+"Where be your bowels of compassion?" cried the woman, in her audacity,
+placing herself before Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"I know where my whip will be if you don't get out of my way and change
+your tone," was his answer. "What do you mean, woman, by speaking so to
+me?"
+
+"Them as have no compassion for their men, but treads 'em down like
+beasts o' burden, may come, perhaps, to be treaded down themselves," was
+the woman's retort, as she withdrew out of Mr. Chattaway's vicinity.
+
+He made no answer, except that he lifted his whip significantly. As he
+rode off, he saw Pennet pursuing his way to the mine by the nearest
+path--one inaccessible to horses. When he was near the man, he lifted
+his whip as significantly at him as he had done at the wife, and then
+urged his horse to a gallop. It was a busy day, both in the office and
+in the mine; and Chattaway, taking as you perceive a somewhat practical
+part in his affairs, had wished to be present some two hours before.
+Consequently, these delays had not improved his temper.
+
+About midway between the Pennets' hut and the mine were the decaying
+walls of what had once been a shed. Part of the wall was still standing,
+about four feet high. It lay right in Mr. Chattaway's way: one single
+minute given to turning either to the right or left, and he would have
+avoided it. But he saw no reason for avoiding it: he had leaped it
+often: it was not likely that he would in his hurry turn from it now.
+
+He urged his horse to it, and the animal was in the very act of taking
+the leap, when a sudden obstacle interposed. A beggar, who had been
+quietly ensconced on the other side, basking in the sun and eating his
+dinner, heard the movement, and not wishing to be run over started up to
+escape the danger. The movement frightened the horse, causing him to
+strike the wall instead of clearing it: he fell, and his master with
+him.
+
+The horse was not hurt, and soon found its legs. If the animal had
+misbehaved himself a few days previously, under the hands of Mr. Cris,
+he appeared determined to redeem his character now. He stood patient and
+silent, turning his head to Mr. Chattaway, as if waiting for him to get
+up.
+
+Which that gentleman strove to do. But he found he could not. Something
+was the matter with one of his ankles, and he was in a towering passion.
+The offending beggar scampered off, frightened at his unbounded rage and
+threats of vengeance.
+
+The intemperate words did him no good; you may be very sure of that;
+they never do any one good. For more than an hour Mr. Chattaway lay
+there, his horse patiently standing by him, and no one coming to his
+aid. It would have seemed that he lay three times as long, but that he
+had his watch, and could consult it as often as he pleased. It was an
+unfrequented by-road, leading nowhere in particular, except to the
+hovels; and Chattaway had therefore full benefit of the solitude.
+
+The first person to come up was no other than Mrs. Pennet--Meg Pennet,
+as she was familiarly called. Her tall, gaunt form came striding along,
+and her large eyes grew larger as she saw who was lying there.
+
+"Ah, master! what's it your turn a'ready! Have you been there ever sin'?
+Can't you get up?"
+
+"Find assistance," he cried in curt tones of authority. "Mount my horse
+and you'll go the quicker."
+
+"Na, na; I mount na horse. The brute might be flinging me, as it seems
+he ha' flinged you. Women and horses be best apart. Shall I help you
+up?"
+
+His haughty, ill-conditioned spirit would have prompted him to say "No";
+his helplessness and impatience obliged him to say "Yes." The powerful
+woman took him by the shoulders and raised him. So far, so good. But his
+ankle gave him intense pain; was, in short, almost useless; and a cry
+escaped him. In his agony, he flung her rudely from him with his elbow.
+"Go and get assistance, woman."
+
+"Be that'n the thanks I get? Ah! it be coming home to ye, be it! Ye sent
+my man off to work in pain; he couldn't hardly crawl: how d'you like
+pain yerself? If the leg's broke, Squire, you'll ha' time to lie and
+think on't."
+
+She strode on, Chattaway sending an ugly word after her, and soon came
+in sight of the mine--which appeared to be in an unusual bustle. A crowd
+had collected round the mouth of the pit, and people were running to it
+from all quarters. Loud talking, gesticulating, confusion prevailed:
+what could be causing it?
+
+"Happen they be looking for him as is lying yonder!" quoth she. But
+scarcely were the words out of her mouth when a group of women running,
+filling the air with cries and lamentations, came in sight. Her coarse
+face grew white and her heart turned sick as the fatal truth burst upon
+her conviction. There had been an accident in the mine!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI
+
+DOWN THE SHAFT
+
+
+It was only too true. Whether from fire-damp, the rushing in of water,
+or some other mischief to which coal-pits are liable, was as yet
+scarcely known: nothing was certain except the terrible calamity itself.
+Of the men who had gone down the mine that morning, some were dead,
+others dying. Meg Pennet echoed the shrieks of the women as she flew
+forward and pushed through the crowd collected round the mouth of the
+pit. The same confusion prevailed there that prevails in similar scenes
+of distress and disaster elsewhere.
+
+"And Mr. Chattaway himself was down the shaft, you say? He went down
+this morning? My friends, it is altogether an awful calamity."
+
+The woman pushed in yet further and confronted the speaker, her white
+face drawn with anguish. He was the minister of a dissenting chapel, a
+Mr. Lloyd, and well known to the miners, some of whom went regularly to
+hear him preach.
+
+"No, sir; Chattaway was na down the shaft; he is na one of the dead,
+more luck to him," she said, her words brought out brokenly, her bosom
+heaving. "Chattaway have this morning made me a widda and my young
+children fatherless. My man was stiff with rheumatiz, he was--no more
+fit to go to work nor I be to go down that shaft and carry up his poor
+murdered body. I knowed his errand as soon as I heerd his horse's feet.
+He made him get off the settle, and druv him out to work as he'd drive a
+dog; and when I told him of his hardness, he lifted up his whip agin me.
+Yes! Pennet's down with the rest of 'em; sent by him: and I be a lone
+widda."
+
+"Her says right," interposed a voice. "It wasn't the master as went down
+the shaft; it were young Rupert Trevlyn."
+
+"Rupert Trevlyn," uttered the minister in startled tones. "I hope he is
+not down."
+
+"Yes, he's down, sir."
+
+"But where can Mr. Chattaway be?" exclaimed Ford, the clerk, who made
+one of the throng. "Do you know, Meg Pennet?"
+
+"He's where ill-luck have overtook him for his cruelty to us," answered
+Meg Pennet, flinging her hair from her sorrowful face. "I telled him the
+ill he forced on others might happen come home to him--that he might
+soon be lying in his pain, for aught he knew. And he went right off to
+the ill then and there--and he's a-lying in it."
+
+The sympathies of the hearers were certainly not given to Mr. Chattaway.
+He was no favourite with his dependants at Blackstone, any more than
+with his neighbours around the Hold. But the woman's words were strange,
+and they pressed for an explanation.
+
+"He be lying under the wall o' the old ruin," was her reply. "I come
+upon him there, and I guess his brave horse had flung him. When I'd ha'
+lifted him, he cried out with pain--as my poor man was a-crying in the
+night with his back--and I saw him lay hisself down again after I'd left
+him. And Chattaway he swore at me for my help--and you can go to him and
+be swore at too. Happen his leg be broke."
+
+The minister turned away to seek Mr. Chattaway. Unless completely
+disabled, it was necessary that he should be at the scene; no one of any
+particular authority was there to give orders; and the inevitable
+confusion attendant on such a calamity was thereby increased. Ford, the
+clerk, sped after Mr. Lloyd, and one or two stragglers followed him; but
+the rest were chained to the more exciting scene of the disaster.
+
+Mr. Chattaway had raised himself when they reached him, and was holding
+on by the wall. He broke into a storm of grumbling, especially at Ford,
+and asked why he could not have found him out sooner. As if Ford could
+divine what had befallen him! Mr. Lloyd stooped and touched the ankle,
+which was a good deal swollen. It was sprained, Chattaway said; but he
+thought he could manage to get on his horse with their assistance. He
+abused the beggar unmercifully, and expressed his intention of calling a
+meeting of his brother-magistrates, that measures might be taken to rid
+the country of tramps and razor-grinders; and he finished up in the heat
+of argument by calling the accident which had befallen him a cursed
+misfortune.
+
+"Hush!" quietly interrupted Mr. Lloyd. "I should call it a blessing."
+
+Chattaway stared at him and deemed that he was carrying religion rather
+too far. As he looked, it struck him that both his rescuers wore very
+sad countenances; Ford in particular was excessively crestfallen. A
+sarcastic smile crossed his face.
+
+"A blessing! to have my ankle sprained, and waste my morning in this
+fashion? Thank you, Mr. Lloyd! You gentlemen who have nothing better to
+do with your time than preach it away may think little of such an
+interruption, but to men of business it is not agreeable. A blessing!"
+
+"Yes, I believe it to have come to you as such--sent direct from God.
+Were you not going into the pit this morning?"
+
+"Yes, I was," impatiently answered Mr. Chattaway. "I should be there
+now, but for this--blessing! I wish you would not----"
+
+"Just so," interrupted Mr. Lloyd, calmly. "And this fall has no doubt
+saved your life. There has been an accident in the pit, and the poor
+fellows who went down a few hours ago full of health and life, are about
+to be carried up dead."
+
+The words brought Mr. Chattaway to his senses. "An accident!" he
+repeated. "What accident?--of what nature?" turning hastily to Ford.
+
+"Fire-damp, I believe, sir."
+
+"Who was down?" was the next eager question.
+
+"The usual men, sir. And--and--Mr. Rupert Trevlyn."
+
+Chattaway with some difficulty repressed a shout. Idea after idea
+crowded upon his brain, one chasing another. Foremost amongst them rose
+distinctly the one thought of the morning from which he had striven to
+escape and could not: "Nothing can bring me security save the death of
+Rupert." Had the half-encouraged wish brought its realisation.
+
+"Rupert Trevlyn down the shaft!" he repeated, the moisture breaking over
+his face. "I know he went down; I sent him; but--but--did he not come up
+again?"
+
+"No," gloomily replied Ford, who really liked Rupert; "he is down now.
+There's no hope that he'll come up alive."
+
+Whether consternation deadened his physical suffering, or his ankle,
+from the rest it had had, was really less painful, Mr. Chattaway
+contrived to get pretty comfortably to the scene of action. The crowd
+had increased; people were coming up from far and near. Medical men had
+arrived, ready to give their services in case any sufferers were brought
+up alive. One of them examined Mr. Chattaway's ankle, and bound it up;
+the hurt, he said, was only a temporary one.
+
+He, the owner of that pit, sat down on the side of a hand-barrow, for he
+could not stand, and issued his orders in sharp, concise tones; and the
+bodies began to be brought to the surface. One of the first to appear
+was that of the unfortunate man, Bean, to whom he had sent the message
+by Rupert. Chattaway looked on, half-dazed. Would Rupert's body be the
+next? He could not realise the fact that he, from whom he had dreaded he
+knew not what, should soon be laid at his feet, cold and lifeless. Was
+he glad or sorry? Did grief for Rupert predominate? Or did the intense
+relief the death must bring overpower any warmer feeling? Perhaps Mr.
+Chattaway could not yet tell.
+
+They were being brought up pretty quickly now, and were laid on the
+ground beside him, to be recognised by the unhappy relatives. The men to
+whom Chattaway had spoken that morning were amongst them: he had ordered
+them down as he rode off, and one and all had obeyed the mandate. Did he
+regret their fate? Did he compassionate the weeping wives and children?
+In a degree, perhaps, yes; but not as most men would have done.
+
+A tall form interposed between him and the mouth of the pit--that of Meg
+Pennet. She had been watching for a body which had not yet been brought
+up. Suddenly she turned to Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"You have killed him, master; you have made my children orphans. But for
+your coming in your hardness to drive him out when he warn't fit to go,
+we should ha' had somebody still to work for us. Happen you may have
+heered of a curse? I'd like to give ye one now."
+
+"Somebody take this woman away," cried Chattaway. "She'll be better at
+home."
+
+"Ay, take her away," retorted Meg; "don't let her plaints be heered,
+lest folk might say they be just. Send her home to her fatherless
+children, and send her dead man after her to lie among 'em till his
+burial. Happen, when you come to your death, Mr. Chattaway, you'll have
+us all afore your mind, to comfort you!"
+
+She stopped. Another ill-fated man was being drawn up, and she turned to
+wait for it, her hands clenched, her face white and haggard in its
+intensity. The burden came, and was laid near the rest; but it was not
+the one for which she waited. Another woman darted forward; _she_ knew
+it too well; and she clasped her hands round it, and sobbed in agony.
+Meg Pennet turned resolutely to the mouth of the pit again, watching
+still.
+
+"Be they all dead? How many was down?"
+
+The voice came from behind Meg Pennet, and she screamed and started.
+There stood her husband. How had he escaped from the pit?
+
+"I haven't been a-nigh it," he answered. "I couldn't get down to the
+pit, try as I would, without a rest, and I halted at Green's. Who's dead
+among 'em, and who's alive?"
+
+"God be thanked!" exclaimed Meg Pennet, with a sob of emotion.
+
+All Mr. Chattaway's faculties were strained on the mouth of that yawning
+pit, and what it might yield up. As body after body was brought to the
+surface--seven of them were up now--he cast his anxious looks upon it,
+expecting to recognise the fair face of Rupert Trevlyn. Expecting and
+yet dreading--don't think him worse than he was; with the frightened,
+half-shrinking dread ordinarily experienced by women, or by men of
+nervous and timid temperament. So utterly did this suspense absorb him
+as to make him almost oblivious to the painful features of the scene,
+the wails of woe and bursts of lamentation.
+
+Happening for a minute to turn his eyes from the pit, he saw in the
+distance a pony-carriage approaching, which looked uncommonly like that
+of Miss Diana Trevlyn. Instinct told him that the two figures seated in
+it were his wife and Miss Diana, although as yet he could not see
+whether they were women or men. It was slowly winding down a distant
+hill, and would have to ascend another and come over the flat stretch of
+country ere it could reach them. He beckoned his clerk Ford to him in a
+sort of terror.
+
+"Run, Ford! Make all speed. I think I see Miss Trevlyn's pony-carriage
+yonder with the ladies in it. Don't let them approach. Tell them to turn
+aside, to the office, and I'll come to them. Anywhere; anywhere but
+here."
+
+Ford ran with all his might. He met the carriage just at the top of the
+nearest hill, and unceremoniously laid his hand upon the pony, giving
+Mr. Chattaway's message as well as his breathless state would
+allow--begging they would turn aside and not approach the pit.
+
+It was evident that they were strangers as yet to the news, but the
+crowd and excitement round the pit had been causing them apprehension
+and a foreshadowing of the truth. Miss Diana, paying, as it appeared,
+little heed to the message, extended her whip in the direction of the
+scene.
+
+"I see what it is, Ford. Don't beat about the bush. How many were down
+the shaft?"
+
+"A great many, ma'am," was Ford's reply. "The pit was in full work
+to-day."
+
+"Was it fire-damp?"
+
+"I believe so."
+
+"Mr. Chattaway's safe, you say? He was not down? I suppose he was not
+likely to be down?"
+
+"No," answered Ford. But the thought of Mr. Chattaway's accident from
+another source, which he did not know whether to disclose or not, and
+the consciousness of a worse calamity, caused him to speak hesitatingly.
+Miss Diana was quick of apprehension, and awoke it.
+
+"Was any one down the shaft besides the men? Was--where's Rupert
+Trevlyn?"
+
+Ford looked as if he dared not answer.
+
+Mrs. Chattaway caught the alarm. She half rose in the low carriage, and
+stretched out her hands in a pleading attitude; as though Ford held the
+issues of life and death.
+
+"Oh, speak, speak! He was not down the shaft! Surely Rupert was not down
+the shaft!"
+
+"He had gone down but a short time before," said the young man in a
+whisper--for where was the use of denying the fact, now that they had
+guessed it? "We shall all mourn him, ma'am. I had almost as soon it had
+been me."
+
+"Gone down the shaft but a short time before!" mechanically repeated
+Miss Diana in her horror. But she was interrupted by a cry from Ford.
+Mrs. Chattaway had fallen back on her seat in a fainting-fit.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII
+
+A SHOCK FOR MR. CHATTAWAY
+
+
+The brightness of the day was turning to gloom, as if the heavens
+sympathised with the melancholy scene upon earth. Quietly pushing his
+way through the confusion, moans and lamentations, the mass of human
+beings surrounding the mouth of the pit, was a tall individual whose
+acquaintance you have made before. It was Mr. Daw with his red umbrella:
+the latter an unvarying appendage, whether the sun was shining or the
+clouds dropped rain. He went straight up to certain pale faces lying
+there in a row, and glanced at them one by one.
+
+"They are saying that Rupert Trevlyn is amongst the sufferers," he
+observed to those nearest to him.
+
+"So he is, master."
+
+"I do not see him here."
+
+"No; he ain't up yet."
+
+"Is there no hope that he may be brought to the surface alive?"
+
+They shook their heads. "Not now. He have been down too long. There's
+not a chance for him."
+
+Something like emotion passed over Mr. Daw's features.
+
+"How came _he_ to be down the pit?" he asked. "Was it his business to go
+down?"
+
+"Not in ord'nary. No: 'tworn't once in six months as there was aught to
+take him there."
+
+"Then what took him there to-day?" was Mr. Daw's next question.
+
+"The master sent him," replied the man, pointing towards Chattaway.
+
+Apparently Mr. Daw had not observed Chattaway before, and he turned and
+walked towards him. Vexation at the loss of Rupert--it may surely be
+called vexation rather than grief, since he had not known Rupert
+sufficiently long to _love_ him--a loss so sudden and terrible, was
+rendering Mr. Daw unjust. Chattaway's worst enemy could not fairly blame
+him with reference to the fate of Rupert: but Mr. Daw was in a hasty
+mood.
+
+"Is it true that you sent Rupert Trevlyn down the shaft only a few
+minutes before this calamity occurred?"
+
+The address and the speaker equally took Mr. Chattaway by surprise. His
+attention was riveted on something then being raised from the shaft, and
+he had not noticed the stranger. Hastily turning his head, he saw, first
+the conspicuous red umbrella, next its obnoxious and dangerous owner.
+
+Ah, but no longer dangerous now. That terrible fear was over for ever.
+With the first glimpse, Mr. Chattaway's face had turned to a white heat,
+from the force of habit; but the next moment's reflection reassured him,
+and he retained his equanimity.
+
+"What did you say, sir?"
+
+"Was there no one else, Mr. Chattaway, to serve your turn, but you must
+send down your wronged and unhappy nephew?" reiterated Mr. Daw, in tones
+that penetrated to every ear. "I have heard it said, since I came into
+this neighbourhood, that Mr. Chattaway would be glad, if by some lucky
+chance Squire Trevlyn's grandson and legal heir could be put out of his
+path. It seems he has succeeded in accomplishing it."
+
+Mr. Chattaway's face grew dark and frowning. "Take care what you say,
+sir, or you shall answer for your words. I ask you what you mean."
+
+"And I ask you--Was there no one you could despatch this morning into
+that dangerous mine, then on the very eve of exploding, but that
+helpless boy, Rupert, who might not resist your authority, and so went
+to his death? Was there no one, I ask?"
+
+Mr. Daw's zeal was decidedly outrunning his discretion. It is the
+province of exaggeration to destroy its cause, and the unfounded
+charge--which, temperately put, might have inflicted its sting--fell
+comparatively harmless on the ear of Mr. Chattaway. He could only stare
+and wonder--as if a proposition had been put to him in some foreign
+language.
+
+"Why--bless my heart!--are you mad?" he presently exclaimed. His tone
+was sufficiently equable. "Could _I_ tell the mine was going to explode?
+Had but the faintest warning reached me, do you suppose I should not
+have emptied the pit of all human souls? I am as sorry for Rupert as you
+can be: but the blame is not mine. It is not any one's--unless it be his
+own. There was plenty of time to leave the pit after he had delivered
+the message I sent him down with, had he chosen to do so. But I suppose
+he stopped gossiping with the men. This land belongs to me, sir. Unless
+you have any business here, I must request you to leave it."
+
+There was so much truth in what Mr. Chattaway urged that the stranger
+began to be a little ashamed of his heat. "Nevertheless, it is a thorn
+removed from your path," he cried aloud. "And you would have removed him
+from it yourself long ago, could you have done it without sin."
+
+A half murmur of assent arose from the crowd. The stranger had hit the
+exact facts. Could the master of Trevlyn Hold have removed Rupert
+Trevlyn from his path without "sin," without danger or trouble, it had
+been done long ago. In short, were it as easy to put some obnoxious
+individual out of life, as it is to stow away an offending piece of
+furniture, Mr. Chattaway had most assuredly not waited until now to rid
+himself of Rupert: and those listeners knew it.
+
+Mr. Chattaway turned his frowning face on the murmurers; but before more
+could be said by any one, the circle was penetrated by some new-comers,
+one of them in distress of mind that could not be hidden or controlled.
+Mrs. Chattaway having recovered from her apparent fainting-fit--though
+in reality she had not lost consciousness, and her closed eyes and
+intense pallor had led to the mistake--the pony-carriage had been urged
+with all speed to the scene of action. In vain the clerk Ford reiterated
+Mr. Chattaway's protest against their approach. Miss Diana Trevlyn was
+not one to attend against her will to the protests of Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"I would have saved his life with my own; I would have gone down in his
+place had it been possible," wailed poor Mrs. Chattaway, wringing her
+hands, and wholly forgetting the reticence usually imparted by the
+presence of her husband.
+
+_Her_ grief was genuine; and the crowd sympathised with her almost as it
+did with those despairing women, weeping in their new widowhood. But the
+neighbours had not now to learn that Madame Chattaway loved her dead
+brother's children, if her husband did not.
+
+"For Heaven's sake don't make a scene here!" growled Mr. Chattaway, in
+impotent anger. "Have you no sense of the fitness of things?"
+
+But his wife, however meekly submissive at other times, was not in a
+state for submission then. Unable to define the sensations that
+oppressed her, she only felt that all was over; the unhappy boy had gone
+from them for ever; the cruel wrongs inflicted on him throughout life
+were now irreparable.
+
+"He has gone with all our unkindness on his head," she wailed, partially
+unconscious, no doubt, of what she said; "gone to meet his father, my
+poor lost brother, bearing to him the tale of his wrongs! Oh, if----"
+
+"Be silent, will you?" shrieked Chattaway. "Are you going mad?"
+
+Mrs. Chattaway covered her face with her hands, and leaned against the
+barrow on which her husband was sitting. Miss Diana Trevlyn, who had
+been gathering various particulars from the crowd, who had said a word
+of comfort--though it was little comfort they could listen to yet--to
+the miserable women, came up at this moment to Chattaway.
+
+"It was a very unhappy thing that you should have sent Rupert into the
+pit this morning," she said, her face wearing its most haughty
+expression.
+
+"Yes," he answered. "But I could not foresee what was about to happen.
+It--it might have been Cris. Had Cris been in the way at the time, and
+not Rupert, I should have despatched him."
+
+"Chattaway, I would give all my fortune to have him back again. I----"
+
+A strange commotion on the outskirts of the crowd attracted their
+attention, and Miss Diana brought her sentence to an abrupt conclusion,
+and turned sharply towards it, for the shouts bore the sound of triumph;
+and a few voices were half breaking into hurrahs. Strange sounds, in
+that awful death-scene!
+
+Who was this advancing towards them? The crowd had parted to give him
+place, and he came leaping to the centre, all haste and excitement--a
+fair, gentlemanly young man, his silken hair uncovered, his cheeks
+hectic with excitement. Mrs. Chattaway cried aloud with a joyful cry,
+and her husband's eyes and mouth slowly opened as though he saw a
+spectre.
+
+It was Rupert Trevlyn. Rupert, it appeared, had not been down the pit at
+all. Sufficiently obedient to Mr. Chattaway, but not obedient to the
+letter, Rupert, when he reached the pit's mouth, had seen the last of
+those men descending whom Chattaway had imperiously ordered down, and
+sent the message to Bean by him. His chief inducement was that he had
+just met an acquaintance who had come to tell him of a pony for
+sale--for Rupert, commissioned by Miss Trevlyn, had been making
+inquiries for one. It required little pressing to induce Rupert to
+abandon the office and Blackstone for some hours, and start off to see
+this pony. And that was where he had been. Mrs. Chattaway clasped her
+arms around his neck, in utter defiance of her husband's prejudices,
+unremembered then, and sobbed forth her emotion.
+
+"Why, Aunt Edith, you never thought I was one of them, did you? Bless
+you! I am never down the pit. I should not be likely to fall into such a
+calamity as that. Poor fellows! I must go and ascertain who was there."
+
+The crowd, finding Rupert safe, broke into a cheer, and a voice
+shouted--could it have been Mr. Daw's?--"Long live the heir! long live
+young Squire Trevlyn!" and the words were taken up and echoed in the
+air.
+
+And Mr. Chattaway? If you want me to describe his emotions to you, I
+cannot do it. They were of a mixed nature. We must not go so far as to
+say he _regretted_ to see Rupert back in life; felt no satisfaction at
+his escape; but with his reappearance all the old fears returned. They
+returned tenfold from the very fact of his short immunity from them, and
+the audacious words of the crowd turned his face livid. In conjunction
+with the yet more audacious words previously spoken by the stranger and
+the demonstrative behaviour of his wife, they were as a sudden blow to
+Mr. Chattaway.
+
+Those shouters saw his falling countenance, his changed look, and drew
+their own conclusions. "Ah! he'd put away the young heir if he could,"
+they whispered one to another. "But he haven't got shut of him this
+time."
+
+No; Mr. Chattaway certainly had not.
+
+"God has been merciful to your nephew," interposed the peaceful voice of
+Mr. Lloyd, drawing near. "He has been pleased to save him, though He has
+seen fit to take others. We know not why it should be--some struck down,
+others spared. His ways are not as our ways."
+
+They lay there, a long line of them, and the minister pointed with his
+finger as he spoke. Most of the faces looked calm and peaceful. Oh! were
+they ready? Had they lived to make God their friend? Trusting in Christ
+their Saviour? My friends, this sudden call comes to others as well as
+to miners: it behoves us all to be ready for it.
+
+As the day drew on, the excitement did not lessen; and Mr. Chattaway
+almost forgot the hurt, which he would have made a great deal of at
+another time. But the ankle was considerably swollen and inflamed,
+giving him pain still, and it caused him to quit the scene for home
+earlier than he might otherwise have done.
+
+He left Cris to superintend. Cris was not incompetent for the task; but
+he might have displayed a little more sympathy with the sufferers
+without compromising his dignity. Cris had arrived in much bustle and
+excitement at the scene of action: putting eager questions about Rupert,
+as to how he came to be down the shaft, and whether he was really dead.
+The report that he was dead had reached Cris Chattaway's ears at some
+miles' distance, as it had reached those of many others.
+
+It reached Maude Trevlyn's. The servants at the Hold heard it, and
+foolishly went to her. "There had been an explosion in the pit, and
+Master Rupert was amongst the killed." Maude was as one stricken with
+horror. She did not faint or cry; putting on a shawl and bonnet
+mechanically, as she would for any ordinary walk, she left the house on
+her way to Blackstone. "Don't go, Maude; it will only be more painful to
+you," Octave had said in kindly tones, as she saw her departing; but
+Maude, as though she heard not, bore swiftly on with a dry eye and
+burning brow. Turning from the fields into the road, she met George
+Ryle.
+
+"Where are you going, Maude?"
+
+"Oh, George, don't stop me! I had no one but him."
+
+But George did stop her. He saw her countenance of despair, and
+suspected what was wrong. Putting his arm gently round her, he held her
+to him. Maude supposed he had heard the tidings, and was unwilling that
+she should approach the terrible scene.
+
+"My darling, be comforted. You have been hearing that Rupert shared the
+calamity, but the report was a false one. Rupert is alive and well. It
+is the happy truth, Maude."
+
+Overcome by emotion, Maude leaned upon him and sobbed out more blissful
+tears than perhaps she had ever shed. Mr. George would have had no
+objection to apply himself to the task of soothing her until the shades
+of night fell; but scarcely a minute had they so stood when an
+interruption, in the shape of some advancing vehicle, was heard. These
+envious interruptions will occur at the most unwelcome moments, as
+perhaps your own experience may bear witness to.
+
+It proved to be the pony-carriage of Miss Diana Trevlyn. Mr. Chattaway
+with his lame foot sat beside her, and Mrs. Chattaway occupied the
+groom's place behind. Miss Diana, who chose to drive her own pony,
+although she had a gentleman at hand, drew up in surprise at the sight
+of Maude.
+
+"I had heard that Rupert was killed," she explained, advancing to the
+carriage, her face still wet with tears. "But George Ryle has told me
+the truth."
+
+"And so you were starting for Blackstone!" returned Miss Diana. "Would
+it have done any good, child? But that is just like you, Maude. You will
+act upon impulse to the end of life."
+
+Mrs. Chattaway bent forward with her sweet smile. "Rupert is on his way
+home, Maude, alive and well. I am sorry you should have heard what you
+did."
+
+"It seems to me the whole parish has heard it," ejaculated Mr.
+Chattaway.
+
+Room was made for Maude beside Mrs. Chattaway, and the pony-carriage
+went on. It had gone only a few paces when the Reverend Mr. Daw came in
+sight. Was the man gifted with ubiquity! But an hour or two, as it
+seemed, and he had been bearding Mr. Chattaway at the mine. He lifted
+his hat as he passed, and Miss Diana and Maude bowed in return. He did
+not approach the carriage, or attempt to stop it; but went on with long
+strides, as one in a hurry.
+
+Mr. Chattaway, who had never looked towards the man, never moved a
+muscle of his face, turned his head to steal a glance when he deemed him
+at a safe distance. There stood Mr. Daw, talking to George Ryle, one
+hand stretched out in the heat of argument, the other grasping the red
+umbrella, which was turned over his shoulder.
+
+"Treason, treason!" mentally ejaculated the master of Trevlyn Hold, as
+he raised his handkerchief to his heated face. "How I might have laughed
+at them now, if--if--if that had turned out to be true about Rupert!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII
+
+THE OLD TROUBLE AGAIN
+
+
+From ten days to a fortnight went by, and affairs were resuming their
+ordinary routine. All outward indications of the accident were over; the
+bodies of the poor sufferers were buried; the widows, mothers, orphans,
+had begun to realise their destitution. It was not all quite done with,
+however. The inquest, adjourned from time to time, was not yet
+concluded; and popular feeling ran high against Mr. Chattaway. Certain
+precautions, having reference to the miners' safety, which ought to have
+been observed in the pit, had not been observed; hence the calamity.
+Other mine owners in the vicinity had taken these precautions long ago;
+but Mr. Chattaway, whether from inertness, or regard to expense, had not
+done so. People spoke out freely now, not only in asserting that these
+safeguards must no longer be delayed--and of that Mr. Chattaway was
+himself sensible, in a sullen sort of way--but also that it was
+incumbent on him to do something for the widows and orphans. A most
+distasteful hint to a man of so near a disposition. Miss Diana Trevlyn
+had gone down to the desolate homes and rendered them glad with her
+bounty; but to make anything like a permanent provision for them was Mr.
+Chattaway's business, and not hers. The sufferers believed Mr. Chattaway
+was not likely to make even the smallest for them; and they were not far
+wrong. His own hurt, the sprained ankle, had speedily recovered, and he
+was now well again.
+
+And the officious stranger, and his interference for the welfare of
+Rupert? That also was falling to the ground, and he, Mr. Daw, was now on
+the eve of departure. However well meant these efforts had been, they
+could only be impotent in the face of Squire Trevlyn's will. Mr. Daw
+himself was at length convinced of the fact, and began to doubt whether
+his zeal had not outrun his discretion. Messrs. Peterby and Jones
+angrily told him that it had, when he acknowledged, in answer to their
+imperative question, that he had had no grounds whatever to go upon,
+save goodwill to Rupert. Somewhat of this changed feeling may have
+prompted him to call at Trevlyn Hold to pay a farewell visit of
+civility; which he did, and got into hot water.
+
+He asked for Miss Diana Trevlyn. But Miss Diana happened to be out, and
+Octave, who was seated at the piano when he was shown in, whirled round
+upon the stool in anger. She had taken the most intense dislike to this
+officious man: possibly a shadow of the same dread which filled her
+father's heart had penetrated to hers.
+
+"Miss Trevlyn! If Miss Trevlyn were at home, she would not receive you,"
+was her haughty salutation, as she rose from her stool. "It is
+impossible that you can be received at the Hold. Unless I am mistaken,
+sir, you had an intimation of this from Squire Chattaway."
+
+"My visit, young lady, was not to Mr. Chattaway, but to Miss Trevlyn. So
+long as the Hold is Miss Trevlyn's residence, her friends must call
+there--although it may happen to be also that of Mr. Chattaway. I am
+sorry she is out: I wish to say a word to her before my departure. I
+leave to-night for good."
+
+"And a good thing too," said angry Octave, forgetting her manners. But
+this answer had not conciliated her, especially the very pointed tone
+with which he had called her father _Mr._ Chattaway.
+
+She rang the bell loudly to recall the servant. She did not ask him to
+sit down, but stood pointing to the door; and Mr. Daw had no resource
+but to obey the movement and go out--somewhat ignominously it must be
+confessed.
+
+In the avenue he met Miss Trevlyn, and she was more civil than Octave
+had been. "I leave to-night," he said to her. "I go back to my residence
+abroad, never in all probability to quit it again. I should have been
+glad to serve poor Rupert by helping him to his rights--Miss Trevlyn, I
+cannot avoid calling them so--but I find the law and Mr. Chattaway
+stronger than my wishes. It was, perhaps, foolish ever to take up the
+notion, and I feel half inclined to apologise to Mr. Chattaway."
+
+"Of all visionary notions, that was about the wildest I ever heard of,"
+said Miss Diana.
+
+"Yes, utterly vain and useless. I see it now. I do not the less feel
+Rupert Trevlyn's position, you must understand; the injustice dealt out
+to him lies on my mind with as keen a sense as ever: but I do see how
+hopeless, and on my part how foolish, was any attempt at remedy. I
+should be willing to say this to Mr. Chattaway if I saw him, and to tell
+him I had done with it. Mr. Freeman hints that I was not justified in
+thus attempting to disturb the peace of a family, and he may be right.
+But, Miss Trevlyn, may I ask you to be kind to Rupert?"
+
+Miss Trevlyn threw back her head. "I have yet to learn that I am not
+kind to him, sir."
+
+"I mean with a tender kindness. I fancy I see in him indications of the
+disease that was so fatal to his father. It has been on my mind to
+invite him to go back home with me, and try what the warmer climate may
+do for him; but the feeling (amounting almost to a prevision) that the
+result in his case would be the same as his father's, withholds me. I
+should not like to take him out to die: neither would I charge myself
+with the task of nursing one in a fatal malady."
+
+"You are very good," said Miss Diana, somewhat stiffly. "Rupert will do
+well where he is, I have no doubt: and for myself, I do not anticipate
+any such illness for him. I wish you a pleasant journey, Mr. Daw."
+
+"Thank you, madam. I leave him to your kindness. It seems to me only a
+duty I owe to his dead father to mention to you that he _may_ need extra
+care and kindness; and none so fitting to bestow it upon him as you--the
+guardian appointed by his mother."
+
+"By the way, I cannot learn anything about that document," resumed Miss
+Diana. "Mr. Chattaway says that it never came to hand."
+
+"Madam, it must have come to hand. If the letter in which it was
+enclosed reached Trevlyn Hold, it is a pretty good proof that the
+document also reached it. Mr. Chattaway must be mistaken."
+
+Miss Diana did not see how, unless he was wilfully, falsely denying the
+fact. "A thought struck me the other day, which I wish to mention to
+you," she said aloud, quitting the subject for a different one. "The
+graves of my brother and his wife--are they kept in order?"
+
+"Quite so," he answered. "I see to that."
+
+"Then you must allow me to repay to you any expense you may have been
+put to. I----"
+
+"Not so," he interrupted. "There is no expense--or none to speak of. The
+ground was purchased for ever, _a perpetuite_, as we call it over there,
+and the shrubs planted on the site require little or no care in the
+keeping. Now and then I do a half-day's work there myself, for the love
+of my lost friends. Should you ever travel so far--and I should be happy
+to welcome you--you will find their last resting-place well attended to,
+Miss Trevlyn."
+
+"I thank you much," she said in heartier tones, as she held out her
+hand. "And I regret now that circumstances have prevented my extending
+hospitality to you."
+
+And so they parted amicably. And the great ogre Mr. Chattaway had feared
+would eat him up, had subsided into a very harmless man indeed. Miss
+Diana went on to the Hold, deciding that her respected brother-in-law
+was a booby for having been so easily frightened into terror.
+
+As Mr. Daw passed the lodge, old Canham was airing himself at the door,
+Ann being out at work. The gentleman stopped.
+
+"You were not here when I passed just now," he said. "I looked in at the
+window, and opened the door, but could see no one."
+
+"I was in the back part, maybe, sir. When Ann's absent, I has to get my
+own meals, and wash up my cups and things."
+
+"I must say farewell to you. I leave to-night."
+
+"Leave the place! What, for good, sir?"
+
+"Yes," replied Mr. Daw. "In a week's time from this, I hope to be
+comfortably settled in my own home, some hundreds of miles away."
+
+"And Master Rupert? and the Hold?" returned old Canham, the corners of
+his mouth considerably drawn down. "Is he to be rei'stated in it?"
+
+Mr. Daw shook his head. "I did all I could, and it did not succeed: I
+can do no more. My will is good enough--as I think I have proved; but I
+have no power."
+
+"Then it's all over again, sir--dropped through, as may be said?"
+
+"It has."
+
+Old Canham leaned heavily on his crutch, lost in thought. "It won't drop
+for ever, sir," he presently raised his head to say. "There have been
+something within me a long, long while, whispering that Master Rupert's
+as safe to come to his own before he dies, as that I be to go into my
+grave. When this stir took place, following on your arrival here, I
+thought the time had come then. It seems it hadn't; but come it _will_,
+as sure as I be saying it--as sure as he's the true heir of Squire
+Trevlyn."
+
+"I hope it will," was the warm answer. "You will none of you rejoice
+more truly than I. My friend Freeman has promised to write occasionally
+to me, and----"
+
+Mr. Daw was interrupted. Riding his shaggy pony in at the lodge gate--a
+strong, brisk little Welsh animal bought a week ago by Miss Diana, was
+Rupert himself. Upon how slender a thread do the great events of life
+turn! The reflection is so trite that it seems the most unnecessary
+reiteration to record it; but there are times when it is brought to the
+mind with an intensity that is positively startling.
+
+Mr. Chattaway, by the merest accident--as it appeared to him--had
+forgotten a letter that morning when he went to Blackstone. He had
+written it before leaving home, intending to post it on his road, but
+left it on his desk. It was drawing towards the close of the afternoon
+before he remembered it. He then ordered Rupert to ride home as fast as
+possible and post it, so that it might be in time for the evening mail.
+And this Rupert had now come to do. All very simple, you will say: but I
+can tell you that but for the return of Rupert Trevlyn at that hour, the
+most tragical part of this history would in all probability never have
+taken place.
+
+"The very man I was wishing to see!" exclaimed Mr. Daw, arresting Rupert
+and his pony in their career. "I feared I should have to leave without
+wishing you good-bye."
+
+"Are you going to-day?" asked Rupert.
+
+"To-night. You seem in a hurry."
+
+"I am in a hurry," replied Rupert, as he explained about the letter. "If
+I don't make haste, I shall lose the post."
+
+"But I want to talk to you a bit. Do you go back to Blackstone?"
+
+"Oh no; not to-day."
+
+"Suppose you come in to the parsonage for an hour or two this evening?"
+suggested Mr. Daw. "Come to tea. I am sure they'll be glad to see you."
+
+"All right; I'll come," cried Rupert, cantering off.
+
+But a few minutes, and he cantered down again, letter in hand. Old
+Canham was alone then. Rupert looked towards him, and nodded as he went
+past. There was a receiving-house for letters at a solitary general
+shop, not far beyond Trevlyn Farm, and to this Rupert went, posted the
+letter, and returned to Trevlyn Hold. Sending his pony to the stable, he
+began to get ready for his visit to Mr. Freeman's--a most ill-fated
+visit, as it was to turn out.
+
+They took tea at the parsonage at six, and he had to hasten to be in
+time. He had made his scanty dinner, as usual, at Blackstone. In
+descending the stairs from his room he encountered Mrs. Chattaway in the
+lower corridor.
+
+"Are you going out, Rupert?"
+
+"I am going to the parsonage, Aunt Edith. Mr. Daw leaves this evening,
+and he asked me to go in for an hour or two."
+
+"Very well. Remember me kindly to Mrs. Freeman. And, Rupert--my
+dear----"
+
+"What?" he asked, arresting his hasty footsteps and turning to speak.
+
+"You will not be late?"
+
+"No, no," he answered, his careless tone a contrast to her almost solemn
+one. "It's all right, Aunt Edith."
+
+But for that encounter with Mrs. Chattaway, the Hold would have been in
+ignorance of Rupert's movements that evening. He spent a very pleasant
+one. It happened that George Ryle called in also at the parsonage on Mr.
+Freeman, and was induced to remain. Mrs. Freeman was hospitable, and
+they sat down to a good supper, to which Rupert at least did justice.
+
+The up-train was due at Barbrook at ten o'clock, and George Ryle and
+Rupert accompanied Mr. Daw to it. The parson remained at home not caring
+to go out at night, unless called forth by duty. They reached the
+station five minutes before the hour, and Mr. Daw took his ticket and
+waited for the train.
+
+Waited a long time. Ten o'clock struck, and the minutes went on and on.
+George, who was pacing the narrow platform with him, drew Rupert aside
+and spoke.
+
+"Should you not get back to the Hold? Chattaway may lock you out again."
+
+"Let him," carelessly answered Rupert. "I shall get in somehow, I dare
+say."
+
+It was not George's place to control Rupert Trevlyn, and they paced the
+platform as before, talking with Mr. Daw. Half-past ten, and no train!
+The porters stood about, looking and wondering; the station-master was
+fidgety, wanting to get home to bed.
+
+"Will it come at all?" asked Mr. Daw, whose patience appeared exemplary.
+
+"Oh, it'll come, safe enough," replied one of the two porters. "It never
+keeps its time, this train don't: but it's not often as late as this."
+
+"Why does it not keep its time?"
+
+"It has got to wait at Layton's Heath for a cross-train; and if that
+don't keep its time--and it never do--this one can't."
+
+With which satisfactory explanation, the porter made a dash into a shed,
+and appeared to be busy with what looked like a collection of dark
+lanthorns.
+
+"I shall begin to wish I had taken my departure this afternoon, as I
+intended, if this delay is to be much prolonged," remarked Mr. Daw.
+
+Even as he spoke, there were indications of the arrival of the train. At
+twenty minutes to eleven it came up, and the station-master gave some
+sharp words to the guard. The guard returned them in kind; its want of
+punctuality was not his fault. Mr. Daw took his seat, and George and
+Rupert hastened away to their respective homes. But it was nearly eleven
+o'clock and Rupert, in spite of his boasted bravery, did fear the wrath
+of Mr. Chattaway.
+
+The household had retired to their rooms, but that gentleman was sitting
+up, looking over some accounts. The fact of Rupert's absence was known
+to him, and he experienced a grim satisfaction in reflecting that he was
+locked out for the night. It is impossible for me to explain to you why
+this should have gratified the mind of Mr. Chattaway; there are things
+in this world not easily accounted for, and you must be contented with
+the simple fact that it was so.
+
+But Mrs. Chattaway? She had gone to her chamber sick and trembling,
+feeling that the old trouble was about to be renewed to-night. If the
+lad was not allowed to come in, where could he go? where find a shelter?
+Could _she_ let him in, was the thought that hovered in her mind. She
+would, if she could accomplish it without the knowledge of her husband.
+And that might be practicable to-night, for he was shut up and absorbed
+by those accounts of his.
+
+Gently opening her dressing-room window, she watched for Rupert: watched
+until her heart failed her. You know how long the time seems in this
+sort of waiting. It appeared to her that he was never coming--as it had
+recently appeared to Mr. Daw, with regard to the train. The distant
+clocks were beginning to chime eleven when he arrived. He saw his aunt;
+saw the signs she made to him, and contrived to hear and understand her
+whispered words.
+
+"Creep round to the back-door, and I will let you in."
+
+So Rupert crept softly round; walking on the grass: and Mrs. Chattaway
+crept softly down the stairs without a light, undid the bolt silently,
+and admitted Rupert.
+
+"Thank you, dear Aunt Edith. I could not well help being late. The
+train----"
+
+"Not a word, not a breath!" she interrupted, in a terrified whisper.
+"Take off your boots, and go up to bed without noise."
+
+Rupert obeyed in silence. They stole upstairs, one after the other. Mrs.
+Chattaway turned into her room, and Rupert went on to his.
+
+And the master of Trevlyn Hold, bending over his account-books, knew
+nothing of the disobedience enacted towards him, but sat expecting and
+expecting to hear Rupert's ring echoing through the house. Better, far
+better that he had heard it!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV
+
+THE NEXT MORNING
+
+
+The full light of day had not come, and the autumn night's gentle frost
+lingered yet upon the grass, when the master of Trevlyn Hold rose from
+his uneasy couch. Things were troubling him; and when the mind is
+uneasy, the night's rest is apt to be disturbed.
+
+That business of the mine explosion was not over, neither were its
+consequences to Mr. Chattaway's pocket. The old far regarding the
+succession, which for some days had been comparatively quiet, had broken
+out again in his mind, he could not tell why or wherefore; and the
+disobedience of Rupert, not only in remaining out too late the previous
+night, but in not coming in at all, angered him beyond measure.
+Altogether, his bed had not been an easy one, and he arose with the dawn
+unrefreshed.
+
+It was not the fact of having slept little which got him up at that
+unusually early hour; but necessity has no law, and he was obliged to
+rise. A famous autumn fair, held at some fifteen miles' distance, and
+which he never failed to attend, was the moving power. His horse was to
+be ready for him, and he would ride there to breakfast; according to his
+annual custom. Down he went; sleepy, cross, gaping; and the first thing
+he did was to stumble over a pair of boots at the back-door.
+
+The slightest thing would put Mr. Chattaway out when in his present
+temper. For the matter of that, a slight thing would put him out at any
+time. What business had the servants to leave boots about in _his_ way?
+They knew he would be going out by the back-door the first thing in the
+morning, on his way to the stables. Mr. Chattaway gave the things a
+kick, unbolted the door, and drew it open. Whose were they?
+
+Now that the light was admitted, he saw at a glance that they were a
+gentleman's boots, not a servant's. Had Cris stolen in by the back-door
+last night and left his there? No; Cris came in openly at the front,
+came in early, before Mr. Chattaway went to bed. And--now that he looked
+more closely--those boots were too small for Cris.
+
+They were Rupert's! Yes, undoubtedly they were Rupert's boots. What
+brought them there? Rupert could not pass through thick walls and barred
+up doors. Mr. Chattaway, completely taken back, stooped and stared at
+the boots as if they had been two curious animals.
+
+A faint sound interrupted him. It was the approach of the first servant
+coming down to her day's work; a brisk young girl called Bridget, who
+acted as kitchenmaid.
+
+"What brings these boots here?" demanded Mr. Chattaway, in the repelling
+tone he generally used to his servants.
+
+Bridget advanced and looked at them. "They are Mr. Rupert's, sir,"
+answered she.
+
+"I did not ask you whose they were: I asked what brought them here.
+These boots must have been worn yesterday."
+
+"I suppose he left them here last night; perhaps came in at this door,"
+returned the girl, wondering what business of her master's the boots
+could be.
+
+"Perhaps he did not," retorted Mr. Chattaway. "He did not come in at all
+last night."
+
+"Oh yes, he did, sir. He's in his room now."
+
+"Who's in his room?" rejoined Mr. Chattaway, believing the girl was
+either mistaken or telling a wilful untruth.
+
+"Mr. Rupert, sir. Wasn't it him you were asking about?"
+
+"Mr. Rupert is not in his room. How dare you say so to my face?"
+
+"But he is," said the girl. "Leastways, unless he has gone out of it
+this morning."
+
+"Have you been in his room to see?" demanded Mr. Chattaway, in his
+ill-humour.
+
+"No, sir, I have not; it's not likely I should presume to do such a
+thing. But I saw Mr. Rupert go into his room last night; so it's only
+natural to suppose he is there this morning."
+
+The words confounded Mr. Chattaway. "You must have been dreaming, girl."
+
+"No, sir, I wasn't; I'm sure I saw him. I stepped on my gown and tore it
+as I was going up to bed last night, and I went to the housemaid's room
+to borrow a needle and cotton to mend it. I was going back across the
+passage when I saw Mr. Rupert at the end of the corridor turn into his
+chamber." So far, true. Bridget did not think it necessary to add that
+she had remained a good half-hour gossiping with the housemaid. Mr.
+Chattaway, however, might have guessed that, for he demanded the time,
+and Bridget confessed it was past eleven.
+
+Past eleven! The whole house, himself excepted, had gone upstairs at
+half-past ten, and Rupert was then not in. Who had admitted him?
+
+"Which of you servants opened the door to him?" thundered Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"I shouldn't think any of us did, sir. I can answer for me and cook and
+Mary. We never heard Mr. Rupert ring at all last night: and if we had,
+we shouldn't have dared let him in after your forbidding it."
+
+The girl was evidently speaking the truth, and Mr. Chattaway was thrown
+into perplexity. Who _had_ admitted him? Could it have been Miss Diana
+Trevlyn? Scarcely. Miss Diana, had she taken it into her head, would
+have admitted him without the least reference to Mr. Chattaway; but she
+would not have done it in secret. Had it pleased Miss Diana to come down
+and admit Rupert, she would have done it openly; and what puzzled Mr.
+Chattaway more than anything, was the silence with which the admission
+had been accomplished. He had sat with his ears open, and not the
+faintest sound had reached them. Was it Maude? No: he felt sure Maude
+would be even more chary of disobeying him than the servants. Then who
+was it? A half-suspicion of his wife suggested itself to him, only to be
+flung away the next moment. His submissive, timorous wife! She would be
+the last to array herself against him.
+
+But the minutes were passing, and Mr. Chattaway had no time to waste.
+The fair commenced early, its business being generally over before
+mid-day. He went round to the stables, found his horse ready, and rode
+away, the disobedience he had just discovered filling his mind to the
+exclusion of every other annoyance.
+
+He soon came up with company. Riding out of the fold-yard of Trevlyn
+Farm as he passed it, came George Ryle and his brother Treve. They were
+bound for the same place, and the three horses fell in together.
+
+"Are you going?" exclaimed Mr. Chattaway to Trevlyn, surprise in his
+tone.
+
+"Of course I am," answered Treve. "There's always some fun at Whitterbey
+fair. George is going to initiate me to-day into the mysteries of buying
+and selling cattle."
+
+"Against you set up for yourself?" remarked Mr. Chattaway, cynically.
+
+"Just so," said Treve. "I hope you'll find me as good a tenant as you
+have found George."
+
+George was smiling. "He is about to settle down into a steady-going
+farmer, Mr. Chattaway."
+
+"When?" asked Chattaway.
+
+George hesitated, and glanced at Trevlyn, as if waiting for the answer
+to come from him.
+
+"At once," said Treve, readily. "There's no reason why it should not be
+known. I am home for good, Mr. Chattaway, and don't intend to leave it
+again."
+
+"And Oxford?" returned Chattaway, surprised at the news. "You had
+another term to keep."
+
+"Ay, but I shall not keep it. I have had enough of Oxford. One can't
+keep straight there, you know: there's no end of expense to be gone
+into; and my mother is tired of it."
+
+"Tired of the bills?"
+
+"Yes. Not but that paying them has been George's concern more than hers.
+No one can deny that; but George is a good fellow, and _he_ has not
+complained."
+
+"Are there to be two masters on Trevlyn Farm?"
+
+"No," cried Treve. "I know my place better, I hope, than to put my
+incompetent self above George--whatever my mother may wish. So long as
+George is on Trevlyn Farm, he is sole master. But he is going to leave
+us, he says."
+
+Mr. Chattaway turned to George, as if for confirmation. "Yes," answered
+George, quietly; "I shall try to take a farm on my own account. You have
+one soon to be vacant that I should like, Mr. Chattaway."
+
+"I have?" exclaimed Mr. Chattaway. "There's no farm of mine likely to be
+vacant that would suit your pocket. You _can't_ mean you are turning
+your ambitious eyes to the Upland?" he added, after a moment's pause.
+
+"Yes, I am," replied George. "And I must have a talk with you about it.
+I should like the Upland Farm."
+
+"Why, it would take----"
+
+George did not wait to hear the conclusion of the sentence.
+
+They were at that moment passing the parsonage, and Mr. Freeman, in a
+velvet skull-cap and slippers, was leaning over the gate. George checked
+his horse.
+
+"Well, did he get safe off last night?" asked Mr. Freeman.
+
+"Yes, at last. The train was forty minutes behind time."
+
+"Ah! it's a shame they don't arrange matters so as to make that
+ten-o'clock train more punctual. Passengers are often kept waiting
+half-an-hour. Did you and Rupert remain to see him off?"
+
+"Yes," replied George.
+
+"Then Rupert would be late home," observed the clergyman, turning to
+Chattaway, who had also reined in. "I hope you excused him, Mr.
+Chattaway, under the circumstances."
+
+Chattaway answered something very indistinctly, and the clergyman took
+it to imply that he _had_ excused Rupert. George said good morning, and
+turned his horse onwards; they must make good speed, unless they would
+be "a day too late for the fair."
+
+Not a syllable of the above conversation had Mr. Chattaway understood;
+it had been as Hebrew to him. He did not like Mr. Freeman's allusion to
+his "excusing the lateness of Rupert's return," for it proved that his
+harsh rule had become public property.
+
+"I did not quite take Mr. Freeman," he said, turning equably to George,
+and speaking in careless accents. "Were you out last night with Rupert?"
+
+"Yes. We spent the evening at the parsonage with Mr. Daw, and then went
+to see him off by the ten-o'clock train. It is a shame, as Mr. Freeman
+says, that the train is not made to keep better time. It was Mr. Daw's
+last night here."
+
+"And therefore you and Rupert must spend it with him! It is a sudden
+friendship."
+
+"I don't know that there's much friendship in the matter," replied
+George. "Rupert, I believe, was at the parsonage by appointment, but I
+called in accidentally. I did not know that Mr. Daw was leaving."
+
+"Is he returning to France?"
+
+"Yes. He crosses the Channel to-night. We shall never see him again, I
+expect; he said he should never more quit his home, so far as he
+believed."
+
+"Is he a madman?"
+
+"A madman! Certainly not."
+
+"He talked enough folly and treason for one."
+
+"Run away with by his zeal, I suppose," remarked George. "No one paid
+any attention to him. Mr. Chattaway, do you think we Barbrook people
+could not raise a commotion about the irregularity of that ten-o'clock
+train, and so get it rectified?"
+
+"Its irregularity does not concern me," returned Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"It would if you had to travel by it; or to see friends off by it as
+Rupert and I had last night. Nearly forty-five minutes were we cooling
+our heels on the platform. It must have been eleven o'clock when Rupert
+reached the Hold. I suppose he was let in."
+
+"It appears he did get in," replied Mr. Chattaway, in by no means a
+genial tone. "I don't know by whom yet; but I will know before
+to-night."
+
+"If any one locked me out of my home, I should break the first window
+handy," cried bold Treve, who had been brought up by his mother in
+defiance of Mr. Chattaway, and would a great deal rather treat him with
+contempt than civility. "Rupert's a muff not to do it."
+
+George urged on his horse. Words between Treve and Mr. Chattaway would
+not be agreeable, and the latter gentleman's face was turning fiery. "I
+am sure we shall be late," he cried. "Let us see what mettle our steeds
+are made of."
+
+It diverted the anticipated dispute. Treve, who was impulsive at times,
+dashed on with a spring, and Mr. Chattaway and George followed. Before
+they reached Whitterbey, they fell in with other horsemen, farmers and
+gentlemen, bound on the same errand, and got separated.
+
+Beyond a casual view of them now and then in the crowded fair, Mr.
+Chattaway did not again see George and Treve until they all met at what
+was called the ordinary--the one-o'clock dinner. Of these ordinaries
+there were several held in the town on the great fair day, but Mr.
+Chattaway and George Ryle had been in the habit of attending the same.
+Immediately after the meal was over, Mr. Chattaway ordered his horse,
+and set off home.
+
+It was earlier than he usually left, for the men liked to sit an hour or
+two after dinner at these annual meetings, and discuss the state of
+affairs in general, especially those relating to farming; but Mr.
+Chattaway intended to take Blackstone on his road home, and that would
+carry him some miles out of his way.
+
+He did not arrive at Blackstone until five o'clock. Rupert had gone
+home; Cris, who had been playing at master all day in the absence of Mr.
+Chattaway, had also gone home, and only Ford was there. That Cris should
+have left, Mr. Chattaway thought nothing of; but his spirit angrily
+resented the departure of Rupert.
+
+"It's coming to a pretty pass," he exclaimed, "if he thinks he can go
+and come at any hour he pleases. What has he been about to-day?"
+
+"We have none of us done much to-day, sir," replied Ford. "There have
+been so many interruptions. They had Mr. Rupert before them at the
+inquest, and examined him----"
+
+"Examined _him_!" interrupted Chattaway. "What about?"
+
+"About the precautions taken for safety, and all that," rejoined Ford,
+who liked to launch a shaft or two at his master when he might do it
+with discretion. "Mr. Rupert could not tell them much, though, as he was
+not in the habit of being down in the pit; and then they called some of
+the miners again."
+
+"To what time is it adjourned?" growled Mr. Chattaway, after a pause.
+
+"It's not adjourned, sir; it's over."
+
+"Oh," said Mr. Chattaway, feeling a sort of relief. "What was the
+verdict?"
+
+"The verdict, sir? Mr. Cris wrote it down, and took it up to the Hold
+for you."
+
+"What was it? You can tell me its substance, I suppose."
+
+"Well, it was 'Accidental death.' But there was something also about the
+absence of necessary precautions in the mine; and a strong
+recommendation was added that you should do something for the widows."
+
+The very verdict Chattaway had so dreaded! As with many cowards, he
+_could not_ feel independent of his neighbours' opinion, and knew the
+verdict would not add to his popularity. And the suggestion that he
+should do something for the widows positively appalled him. Finding no
+reply, Ford continued.
+
+"We had some gentlemen in here afterwards, sir. I don't know who they
+were; strangers: they said they must see you, and are coming to-morrow.
+We wondered whether they were Government inspectors, or anything of that
+sort. They asked when the second shaft to the pit was going to be
+begun."
+
+"The second shaft to the pit!" repeated Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"It's what they said," answered Ford. "But it will be a fine expense, if
+that has to be made."
+
+An expense the very suggestion of which turned that miserly heart cold.
+Mr. Chattaway thought the world was terribly against him. Certainly,
+what with one source of annoyance and another, the day had not been one
+of pleasure. In point of fact, Mr. Chattaway was of too suspicious a
+nature ever to enjoy much ease. It may be thought that with the
+departure of the dreaded stranger, he would have experienced complete
+immunity from the fears which had latterly so shaken him. Not so; the
+departure had only served to augment them. He had been informed by Miss
+Diana on the previous night of Mr. Daw's proposed return to his distant
+home, of his having relinquished Rupert's cause, of his half apology for
+having ever taken it up; he had heard again from George Ryle this
+morning that the gentleman had actually gone. Most men would have
+accepted this as a termination to the unpleasantness, and been thankful
+for it; but Mr. Chattaway, in his suspicious nature, doubted whether it
+did not mean treachery; whether it was not, in short, a _ruse_ of the
+enemy. Terribly awakened were his fears that day. He suspected an ambush
+in every turn, a thief behind every tree; and he felt that he hated
+Rupert with a bitter hatred.
+
+Poor Rupert at that moment did not look like one to be either hated or
+dreaded, could Mr. Chattaway have seen him through some telescope. When
+Chattaway was sitting in his office, Ford meekly standing to be
+questioned, Rupert was toiling on foot towards Trevlyn Hold. In his good
+nature he had left his pony at home for the benefit of Edith and Emily
+Chattaway. Since its purchase, they had never ceased teasing him to let
+them try it, and he had this day complied, and walked to Blackstone. He
+looked pale, worn, weary; his few days' riding to and fro had unfitted
+him for the walk, at least in inclination, and Rupert seemed to feel the
+fatigue this evening more than ever.
+
+That day had not brought happiness to Rupert, any more than to Mr.
+Chattaway. It was impossible but his hopes should have been excited by
+the movement made by Mr. Daw. And now all was over. That gentleman had
+taken his departure for good, and the hopes had faded, and there was an
+end to it altogether. Rupert had felt it keenly that morning as he
+walked to Blackstone; felt that he and hope had bid adieu to each other
+for ever. Was his life to be passed at that dreary mine? It seemed so.
+The day, too, was spent even more unpleasantly than usual, for Cris was
+in one of his overbearing moods, and goaded Rupert's spirit almost to
+explosion. Had Rupert been the servant of Cris Chattaway, the latter
+could not have treated him with more complete contempt and unkindness
+than he did this day. Cris asked him who let him in to the Hold the
+previous night, and Rupert answered that it was no business of his. Cris
+then insisted upon knowing, but Rupert only laughed at him; and so Cris,
+in his petty spite, paid him out for it, and made the day one long
+humiliation to Rupert. Rupert reached home at last, and took tea with
+the family. He kissed Mrs. Chattaway ten times, and whispered to her
+that he had kept counsel, and would never, never, for her sake, be late
+again.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV
+
+AN ILL-STARRED CHASTISEMENT
+
+
+It was growing dark on this same night, and Rupert Trevlyn stood in the
+rick-yard, talking to Jim Sanders. Rupert had been paying a visit to his
+pony in the stable, to see that it was alive after the exercise the
+girls had given it,--not a little, by all accounts. The nearest way from
+the stables to the front of the house was through the rick-yard, and
+Rupert was returning from his visit of inspection when he came upon Jim
+Sanders, leaning against a hay-rick. Mr. Jim had stolen up to the Hold
+on a little private matter of his own. In his arms was a little black
+puppy, very, very young, as might be known by the faint squeaks it made.
+
+"Jim! Is that you?" exclaimed Rupert, having some trouble to discern who
+it was in the fading light. "What have you got squeaking there?"
+
+Jim displayed the little animal. "He's only a few days old, sir," said
+he, "but he's a fine fellow. Just look at his ears!"
+
+"How am I to see?" rejoined Rupert. "It's almost pitch dark."
+
+"Stop a bit," said Jim, producing a sort of torch from under his
+smock-frock, and by some contrivance setting it alight. The wood blazed
+away, sending up its flame in the yard, but they advanced into the open
+space, away from the ricks and danger. These torches, cut from a
+peculiar wood, were common enough in the neighbourhood, and were found
+very useful on a dark night by those who had to go about any outdoor
+work. They gave the light of a dozen candles, and were not extinguished
+with every breath of wind. Dangerous things for a rick-yard, you will
+say: and so they were, in incautious hands.
+
+They moved to a safe spot at some distance from the ricks. The puppy lay
+in Rupert's arms now, and he took the torch in his hand, whilst he
+examined it. But not a minute had they thus stood, when some one came
+upon them with hasty steps. It was Mr. Chattaway. He had, no doubt, just
+returned from Blackstone, and was going in after leaving his horse in
+the stable. Jim Sanders disappeared, but Rupert stood his ground, the
+lighted torch still in his one hand, the puppy lying in the other.
+
+"What are you doing here?" angrily demanded Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"Not much," said Rupert. "I was only looking at this little puppy,"
+showing it to Mr. Chattaway.
+
+The puppy did not concern Mr. Chattaway. It could not work him treason,
+and Rupert was at liberty to look at it if he chose; but Mr. Chattaway
+would not let the opportunity slip of questioning him on another matter.
+It was the first time they had met, remember, since that little episode
+which had so disturbed Mr. Chattaway in the morning--the finding of
+Rupert's boots.
+
+"Pray where did you spend last evening?" he began.
+
+"At the parsonage," freely answered Rupert; and Mr. Chattaway detected,
+or fancied he detected, defiance in the voice, which, to his ears, could
+only mean treason. "It was Mr. Daw's last evening there, and he asked me
+to spend it with him."
+
+Mr. Chattaway saw no way of entering opposition to this; he could not
+abuse him for taking tea at the parsonage; could not well forbid it in
+the future. "What time did you come home?" he continued.
+
+"It was eleven o'clock," avowed Rupert. "I went with Mr. Daw to the
+station to see him off, and the train was behind time. I thought it was
+coming up every minute, or I would not have stayed."
+
+Mr. Chattaway had known as much before. "How did you get in?" he asked.
+
+Rupert hesitated for a moment before speaking. "I was let in."
+
+"I conclude you were. By whom?"
+
+"I would rather not tell."
+
+"But I choose that you shall tell."
+
+"No," said Rupert. "I can't tell, Mr. Chattaway."
+
+"But I insist on your telling," thundered Chattaway. "I order you to
+tell."
+
+He lifted his riding-whip menacingly as he spoke. Rupert stood his
+ground fearlessly, the expression of his face showing out calm and firm,
+as the torchlight fell upon it.
+
+"Do you defy me, Rupert Trevlyn?"
+
+"I don't wish to defy you, sir, but it is quite impossible that I can
+tell you who let me in last night. It would not be fair, or honourable."
+
+His refusal may have looked like defiance to Mr. Chattaway, but in point
+of fact it was dictated by a far different feeling--regard for his aunt
+Edith. Had any one else in the Hold admitted him, he might have
+confessed it, under Mr. Chattaway's stern command; but he would have
+died rather than bring _her_, whom he so loved, into trouble with her
+husband.
+
+"Once more, sir, I ask you--will you tell me?"
+
+"No, I will not," answered Rupert, with that quiet determination which
+creates its own firmness more surely than any bravado. Better for him
+that he had told! better even for Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+Mr. Chattaway caught Rupert by the shoulder, lifted his whip, and struck
+him--struck him not once, but several times. The last stroke caught his
+face, raising a thick weal across it; and then Mr. Chattaway, his work
+done, walked quickly away towards his house, never speaking, the whip
+resting quietly in his hand.
+
+Alas, for the Trevlyn temper! Maddened by the outrage, smarting under
+the pain, the unhappy Rupert lost all self-command. Passion had never
+overcome him as it overcame him now. He knew not what he did; he was as
+one insane; in fact, he was insane for the time being--irresponsible
+(may it not be said?) for his actions. With a yell of rage he picked up
+the torch, then blazing on the ground, dashed into the rick-yard as one
+possessed, and thrust the torch into the nearest rick. Then leaping the
+opposite palings, he tore away across the fields.
+
+Jim Sanders had been a witness to this: and to describe Jim's
+consternation would be beyond the power of any pen. Standing in the
+darkness, out of reach of Mr. Chattaway's eyes, he had heard and seen
+all. Snatching the torch out of the rick--for the force with which
+Rupert had driven it in kept it there--Jim pulled out with his hands the
+few bits of hay already ignited, stamped on them, and believed the
+danger to be over. Next, he began to look for his puppy.
+
+"Mr. Rupert can't have taken it off with him," soliloquised he, pacing
+the rick-yard dubiously with his torch, eyes and ears on the alert. "He
+couldn't jump over them palings with that there puppy in his arms. It's
+a wonder that a delicate one like him could jump 'em at all, and come
+clean over 'em."
+
+Mr. Jim Sanders was right: it was a wonder, for the palings were high.
+But it is known how strong madmen are, and I have told you that Rupert
+was mad at that moment.
+
+Jim's search was interrupted by fresh footsteps, and Bridget, the maid
+you saw in the morning talking to Mr. Chattaway, accosted him. She was a
+cousin of Jim's, three or four years older than he; but Jim was very
+fond of her, in a rustic fashion, deeming the difference of age nothing,
+and was always finding his way to the Hold with some mark of good will.
+
+"Now, then! What do you want to-night?" cried she, for it was the
+pleasure of her life to snub him. "Hatch comes in just now, and says,
+'Jim Sanders is in the rick-yard, Bridget, a-waiting for you.' I'll make
+you know better, young Jim, than send me in messages before a
+kitchen-ful."
+
+"I've brought you a little present, Bridget," answered Jim,
+deprecatingly; and it was this offering which had taken Jim to the Hold.
+"The beautifullest puppy you ever see--if you'll accept him; black and
+shiny as a lump of coal. Leastways, I had brought him," he added,
+ruefully. "But he's gone, and I can't find him."
+
+Bridget had a weakness for puppies--as Jim knew; consequently, the
+concluding part of his information was not agreeable to her.
+
+"You have brought me the beautifullest puppy--and have lost him and
+can't find him! What d'ye mean by that, Jim? Can't you speak sense, so
+as a body may understand?"
+
+Jim supposed he had worded his communication imperfectly. "There's been
+a row here," he explained, "and it frighted me so that I dun know what I
+be saying. The master took his riding-whip to Mr. Rupert and
+horsewhipped him."
+
+"The master!" uttered the girl. "What! Mr. Chattaway?"
+
+"He come through the yard when I was with Mr. Rupert a-showing him the
+puppy, and they had words, and the master horsewhipped him. I stood
+round the corner frighted to death for fear Chattaway should see me. And
+Mr. Rupert must have dropped the puppy somewhere, but I can't find him."
+
+"Where is Mr. Rupert? How did it end?"
+
+"He dashed into the yard across to them palings, and leaped 'em clean,"
+responded Jim. "And he'd not have cleared 'em with the puppy in his
+arms, so I know it must be somewhere about. And he a'most set that there
+rick a-fire first," the boy added, in a whisper, pointing in the
+direction of the particular rick, from which they had strayed in Jim's
+search. "I pretty nigh dropped when I saw it catch alight."
+
+Bridget felt awed, yet uncertain. "How could he set a rick a-fire,
+stupid?" she cried.
+
+"With the torch. I had lighted it to show him the puppy, and he had it
+in his hand; had it in his hand when Chattaway began to horsewhip him,
+but he dropped it then; and when Chattaway went away, Mr. Rupert picked
+it up and pushed it into the rick."
+
+"I don't like to hear this," said the girl, shivering. "Suppose the
+rick-yard had been set a-fire! Which rick was it? It mayn't----"
+
+"Just hush a minute, Bridget!" suddenly interrupted Jim. "There he is!"
+
+"There's who?" asked she, peering around in the darkness. "Not master!"
+
+"Law, Bridget! I meant the puppy. Can't you hear him? Them squeaks is
+his."
+
+Guided towards the sound, Jim at length found the poor little animal. It
+was lying close to the spot where Rupert had leaped the palings. The boy
+took it up, fondling it almost as a mother would fondle a child.
+
+"See his glossy skin, Bridget! feel how sleek it is! He'll lap milk out
+of a saucer now! I tried him----"
+
+A scream from Bridget. Jim seemed to come in for nothing but shocks to
+his nerves this evening, and almost dropped the puppy again. For it was
+a loud, shrill, prolonged scream, carrying a strange amount of terror as
+it went forth in the still night air.
+
+Meanwhile Mr. Chattaway had entered his house. Some of the children who
+were in the drawing-room heard him and went into the hall to welcome him
+after his long day's absence. But they were startled by the pallor of
+his countenance; it looked perfectly livid as the light of the hall-lamp
+fell upon it. Mr. Chattaway could not inflict such chastisement on
+Rupert without its emotional effects telling upon himself. He took off
+his hat, and laid his whip upon the table.
+
+"We thought you would be home before this, papa."
+
+"Where's your mother?" he rejoined, paying no attention to their remark.
+
+"She is upstairs in her sitting-room."
+
+Mr. Chattaway turned to the staircase and ascended. Mrs. Chattaway was
+not in her room; but the sound of voices in Miss Diana's guided him to
+where he should find her. This sitting-room, devoted exclusively to Miss
+Diana Trevlyn, was on the side of the house next the rick-yard and
+farm-buildings, which it overlooked.
+
+The apartment was almost in darkness; the fire had dimmed, and neither
+lamp nor candles had been lighted. Mrs. Chattaway and Miss Diana sat
+there conversing together.
+
+"Who is this?" cried the former, looking round. "Oh, is it you, James? I
+did not know you were home again. What a fine day you have had for
+Whitterbey!"
+
+Mr. Chattaway growled something about the day not having been
+particularly fine.
+
+"Did you buy the stock you thought of buying?" asked Miss Diana.
+
+"I bought some," he said, rather sulkily. "Prices ran high to-day."
+
+"You are home late," she resumed.
+
+"I came round by Blackstone."
+
+It was evident by his tone and manner that he was in one of his least
+genial humours. Both ladies knew from experience that the wisest plan at
+those times was to leave him to himself, and they resumed their own
+converse. Mr. Chattaway stood with his back to them, his hands in his
+pockets, his eyes peering into the dark night. Not in reality looking at
+anything, or attempting to look; he was far too deeply engaged with his
+thoughts to attend to outward things.
+
+He was beginning very slightly to repent of the horsewhipping, to doubt
+whether it might not have been more prudent had he abstained from
+inflicting it. As many more of us do, when we awake to reflection after
+some act committed in anger. If Rupert _was_ to be dreaded; if he, in
+connection with others, was hatching treason, this outrage would only
+make him a more bitter enemy. Better, perhaps, not to have gone to the
+extremity.
+
+But it was done; it could not be undone; and to regret it were worse
+than useless. Mr. Chattaway began thinking of the point which had led to
+it--the refusal of Rupert to say who had admitted him. This at least Mr.
+Chattaway determined to ascertain.
+
+"Did either of you let in Rupert last night?" he suddenly inquired,
+looking round.
+
+"No, we did not," promptly replied Miss Diana, answering for Mrs.
+Chattaway as well as for herself, which she believed she was perfectly
+safe in doing. "He was not in until eleven, I hear; we went up to bed
+long before that."
+
+"Then who did let him in?" exclaimed Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"One of the servants, of course," rejoined Miss Diana.
+
+"But they say they did not," he answered.
+
+"Have you asked them all?"
+
+No. Mr. Chattaway remembered that he had not asked them all, and he came
+to the conclusion that one of them must have been the culprit. He turned
+to the window again, standing sulkily as before, and vowing in his own
+mind that the offender, whether man or woman, should be summarily turned
+out of the Hold.
+
+"If you have been to Blackstone, you have heard that the inquest is
+over, James," observed Mrs. Chattaway, anxious to turn the conversation
+from the subject of last night. "Did you hear the verdict?"
+
+"I heard it," he growled.
+
+"It is not an agreeable verdict," remarked Miss Diana. "Better you had
+made these improvements in the mine--as I urged upon you long ago--than
+wait to be forced to do them."
+
+"I am not forced yet," retorted Chattaway. "They must----Halloa! What's
+that?"
+
+His sudden exclamation called them both to the window. A bright light, a
+blaze, was shooting up into the sky. At the same moment a shrill scream
+of terror--the scream from Bridget--arose with it.
+
+"The rick-yard!" exclaimed Miss Diana. "It is on fire!"
+
+Mr. Chattaway stood for an instant as one paralysed. The next he was
+leaping down the stairs, something like a yell bursting from him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI
+
+THE FIRE
+
+
+There is a terror which shakes man's equanimity to its foundation--and
+that terror fell upon Trevlyn Hold. At the evening hour its inmates were
+sitting in idleness; the servants gossiping quietly in the kitchen, the
+girls lingering over the fire in the drawing-room; when those terrible
+sounds disturbed them. With a simultaneous movement, all flew to the
+hall, only to see Mr. Chattaway leaping down the stairs, followed by his
+wife and Miss Diana Trevlyn.
+
+"What is it? What is the matter?"
+
+"The rick-yard is on fire!"
+
+None knew who answered. It was not Mr. Chattaway's voice; it was not
+their mother's; it did not sound like Miss Diana's. A startled pause,
+and they ran out to the rick-yard, a terrified group. Little Edith
+Chattaway, a most excitable girl, fell into hysterics, and added to the
+confusion of the scene.
+
+The blaze was shooting upwards, and men were coming from the
+out-buildings, giving vent to their dismay in various exclamations. One
+voice was heard distinctly above all the rest--that of Miss Diana
+Trevlyn.
+
+"Who has done this? It must have been purposely set on fire."
+
+She turned sharply on the group of servants as she spoke, as if
+suspecting one of them. The blaze fell on their alarmed faces, and they
+visibly recoiled; not from any consciousness of guilt, but from the
+general sense of fear which lay upon all. One of the grooms spoke
+impulsively.
+
+"I heard voices not a minute ago in the rick-yard," he cried. "I was
+going across the top there to fetch a bucket of water from the pump, and
+heard 'em talking. One was a woman's. I saw a light, too."
+
+The women-servants were grouped together, staring helplessly at the
+blaze. Miss Diana directed her attention particularly to them: she
+possessed a ready perception, and detected such unmistakable signs of
+terror in the face of one of them, that she drew a rapid conclusion. It
+was not the expression of general alarm, seen on the countenance of the
+rest; but a lively, conscious terror. The girl endeavoured to draw
+behind, out of sight of Miss Diana.
+
+Miss Diana laid her hand upon her. It was Bridget, the kitchenmaid. "You
+know something of this!"
+
+Bridget burst into tears. A more complete picture of helpless fear than
+she presented at that moment could not well be drawn. In her apron was
+something hidden.
+
+"What have you got there?" sharply continued Miss Diana, whose thoughts
+may have flown to incendiary adjuncts.
+
+Bridget, unable to speak, turned down the apron and disclosed a little
+black puppy, which began to whine. There was nothing very guilty about
+that.
+
+"Were you in the rick-yard?" questioned Miss Diana; "was it your voice
+Sam heard?" And Bridget was too frightened to deny it.
+
+"Then, what were you doing? What brought you in the rick-yard at all?"
+
+Mrs. Chattaway, timid Mrs. Chattaway, trembling almost as much as
+Bridget, but who had compassion for every one in distress, came to the
+rescue. "Don't, Diana," she said. "I am sure Bridget is too honest a
+girl to have taken part in anything so dreadful as this. The rick may
+have got heated and taken fire spontaneously."
+
+"No, Madam, I'd die before I'd do such a thing," sobbed Bridget,
+responding to the kindness. "If I was in the rick-yard, I wasn't doing
+no harm--and I'm sure I'd rather have went a hundred miles the other way
+if I'd thought what was going to happen. I turned sick with fright when
+I saw the flame burst out."
+
+"Was it you who screamed?" inquired Miss Diana.
+
+"I did scream, ma'am. I couldn't help it."
+
+"Diana," whispered Mrs. Chattaway, "you may see she's innocent."
+
+"Yes, most likely; but there's something behind for all that," replied
+Miss Diana, decisively. "Bridget, I mean to come to the bottom of this
+business, and the sooner you explain it, the less trouble you'll get
+into. I ask what took you to the rick-yard?"
+
+"It wasn't no harm, ma'am, as Madam says," sobbed Bridget, evidently
+very unwilling to enter on the explanation. "I never did no harm in
+going there, nor thought none."
+
+"Then it is the more easily told," responded Miss Diana. "Do you hear
+me? What business took you to the rick-yard, and who were you talking
+to?"
+
+There appeared to be no help for it; Bridget had felt this from the
+first; she should have to confess to her rustic admirer's stolen visit.
+And Bridget, whilst liking him in her heart, was intensely ashamed of
+him, from his being so much younger than herself.
+
+"Ma'am, I only came into it for a minute to speak to a young boy; my
+cousin, Jim Sanders. Hatch came into the kitchen and said Jim wanted to
+see me, and I came out. That's all--if it was the last word I had to
+speak," she added, with a burst of grief.
+
+"And what did Jim Sanders want with you?" pursued Miss Diana, sternly.
+
+"It was to show me this puppy," returned Bridget, not choosing to
+confess that the small animal was brought as a present. "Jim seemed
+proud of it, ma'am, and brought it up for me to see."
+
+A very innocent confession; plausible also; and Miss Diana saw no reason
+for disbelieving it. But she was one who liked to be on the sure side,
+and when corroborative testimony was to be had, did not allow it to
+escape her. "One of you find Hatch," she said, addressing the maids.
+
+Hatch was found with the men-servants and labourers, who were tumbling
+over each other in their endeavours to carry water to the rick under the
+frantic directions of their master. He came up to Miss Diana.
+
+"Did you go into the kitchen, and tell Bridget Jim Sanders wanted her in
+the rick-yard?" she questioned.
+
+I think it has been mentioned once before that this man, Hatch, was too
+simple to answer anything but the straightforward truth. He replied that
+he did so; had been called to by Jim Sanders as he was passing along the
+rick-yard near the stables, who asked him to go to the house and send
+out Bridget.
+
+"Did he say what he wanted with her?" continued Miss Diana.
+
+"Not to me," replied Hatch. "It ain't nothing new for that there boy to
+come up and ask for Bridget, ma'am. He's always coming up for her, Jim
+is. They be cousins."
+
+A well-meant speech, no doubt, on Hatch's part; but Bridget would have
+liked to box his ears for it there and then. Miss Diana, sufficiently
+large-hearted, saw no reason to object to Mr. Jim's visits, provided
+they were paid at proper times and seasons, when the girl was not at her
+work. "Was any one with Jim Sanders?" she asked.
+
+"Not as I saw, ma'am. As I was coming back after telling Bridget, I see
+Jim a-waiting there, alone. He----"
+
+"How could you see him? Was it not too dark?" interrupted Miss Diana.
+
+"Not then. Bridget kep' him waiting ever so long afore she came out. Jim
+must a' been a good half-hour altogether in the yard; 'twas that, I
+know, from the time he called me till the blaze burst out. But Jim might
+have went away afore that," added Hatch, reflectively.
+
+"That's all, Hatch; make haste back again," said Miss Diana. "Now,
+Bridget, was Jim Sanders in the yard when the flames broke out, or was
+he not?"
+
+"Yes, ma'am, he was there."
+
+"Then if any suspicious characters got into the rick-yard, he would no
+doubt have seen them," thought Miss Diana, to herself. "Do you know who
+did set it on fire?" she impatiently asked.
+
+Bridget's face, which had regained some of its colour, grew white again.
+Should she dare to tell what she had heard about Rupert? "I did not see
+it done," she gasped.
+
+"Come, Bridget, this will not do," cried Miss Diana, noting the signs.
+"There's more behind, I see. Where's Jim Sanders?"
+
+She looked around as she spoke but Jim was certainly not in sight. "Do
+you know where he is?" she sharply resumed.
+
+Instead of answering, Bridget was taken with a fresh fit of shivering.
+It amazed Miss Diana considerably.
+
+"Did Jim do it?" she sharply asked.
+
+"No, no," answered Bridget. "When I got to Jim he had somehow lost the
+puppy"--glancing down at her apron--"and we had to look about for it. It
+was just in the minute he found it that the flames broke forth. Jim was
+showing of it to me, ma'am, and started like anything when I shrieked
+out."
+
+"And what has become of Jim?"
+
+"I don't know," sobbed Bridget. "Jim seemed like one dazed when he
+turned and saw the blaze. He stood a minute looking at it, and I could
+see his face turn all of a fright; and then he flung the puppy into my
+arms and scrambled off over the palings, never speaking a word."
+
+Miss Diana paused. There was something suspicious in Jim's making off in
+the manner described; it struck her so at once. On the other hand she
+had known Jim from his infancy--known him to be harmless and
+inoffensive.
+
+"An honest lad would have remained to see what assistance he could
+render towards putting it out, not have run off in that cowardly way,"
+spoke Miss Diana. "I don't like the look of this."
+
+Bridget made no reply. She was beginning to wish the ground would open
+and swallow her up for a convenient half-hour; wished Jim Sanders had
+been buried also before he had brought this trouble upon her. Miss
+Diana, Madam, and the young ladies were surrounding her; the
+maid-servants began to edge away suspiciously; even Edith had dismissed
+her hysterics to stare at Bridget.
+
+Cris Chattaway came leaping past them. Cris, who had been leisurely
+making his way to the Hold when the flames broke out, had just come up,
+and after a short conference with his father, was now running to the
+stables. "You are a fleet horseman, Cris," Mr. Chattaway had said to
+him: "get the engines here from Barmester." And Cris was hastening to
+mount a horse, and ride away on the errand.
+
+Mrs. Chattaway caught his arm as he passed. "Oh, Cris, this is dreadful!
+What can have caused it?"
+
+"What?" returned Cris, in savage tones--not, however, meant for his
+mother, but induced by the subject. "Don't you know what has caused it?
+He ought to swing for it, the felon!"
+
+Mrs. Chattaway in her surprise connected his words with what she had
+just been listening to. "Cris!--do you mean----It never could have been
+Jim Sanders!"
+
+"Jim Sanders!" slightingly spoke Cris. "What should have put Jim Sanders
+into your head, mother? No; it was your favoured nephew, Rupert
+Trevlyn!"
+
+Mrs. Chattaway broke into a cry as the words came from his lips. Maude
+started a step forward, her face full of indignant protestation; and
+Miss Diana imperiously demanded what he meant.
+
+"Don't stop me," said Cris. "Rupert Trevlyn was in the yard with a torch
+just before it broke out, and he must have set it on fire."
+
+"It can't be, Cris!" exclaimed Mrs. Chattaway, in accents of intense
+pain, arresting her son as he was speeding away. "Who says this?"
+
+Cris twisted himself from her. "I can't stop, mother, I say. I am going
+for the engines. You had better ask my father; it was he told me. It's
+true enough. Who _would_ do it, except Rupert?"
+
+The shaft lanced at Rupert struck to the heart of Mrs. Chattaway;
+unpleasantly on the ear of Miss Diana Trevlyn: was anything but
+agreeable to the women-servants. Rupert was liked in the household, Cris
+hated. One of the latter spoke up in her zeal.
+
+"It's well to try to throw it off the shoulders of Jim Sanders on to Mr.
+Rupert! Jim Sanders----"
+
+"And what have you to say agin' Jim Sanders?" interrupted Bridget,
+fearing, it may be, that the crime should be fastened on him. "Perhaps
+if I had spoken my mind, I could have told it was Mr. Rupert as well as
+others could; perhaps Jim Sanders could have told it, too. At any rate,
+it wasn't----"
+
+"What is that, Bridget?"
+
+The quiet but imperative interruption came from Miss Diana. Excitement
+was overpowering Bridget. "It was Mr. Rupert, ma'am; Jim saw him fire
+it."
+
+"Diana! Diana! I feel ill," gasped Mrs. Chattaway, in faint tones. "Let
+me go to him; I cannot breathe under this suspense."
+
+She meant her husband. Pressing across the crowded rick-yard--for
+people, aroused by the sight of the flames, were coming up now in
+numbers--she succeeded in reaching Mr. Chattaway. Maude, scared to
+death, followed her closely. She caught him just as he had taken a
+bucket of water to hand on to some one standing next him in the line,
+causing him to spill it. Mr. Chattaway turned with a passionate word.
+
+"What do you want here?" he roughly asked, although he saw it was his
+wife.
+
+"James, tell me," she whispered. "I felt sick with suspense, and could
+not wait. What did Cris mean by saying it was Rupert?"
+
+"There's not a shadow of doubt that it was Rupert," answered Mr.
+Chattaway. "He has done it out of revenge."
+
+"Revenge for what?"
+
+"For the horsewhipping I gave him. When I joined you upstairs just now,
+I came straight from it. I horsewhipped him on this very spot,"
+continued Mr. Chattaway, as if it afforded him satisfaction to repeat
+the avowal. "He had a torch with him, and I--like a fool--left it with
+him, never thinking of consequences, or that he might use it in the
+service of felony. He must have fired the rick in revenge."
+
+Mrs. Chattaway had been gradually drawing away from the heat of the
+blaze; from the line formed to pass buckets for water on to the flames,
+which crackled and roared on high; from the crowd and confusion
+prevailing around the spot. Mr. Chattaway had drawn with her, leaving
+his place in the line to be filled by another. She fell against a
+distant rick, sick unto death.
+
+"Oh, James! Why did you horsewhip him? What had he done?"
+
+"I horsewhipped him for insolence; for bearding me to my face. I bade
+him tell me who let him in last night when he returned home, and he set
+me at defiance by refusing to tell. One of my servants must be a
+traitor, and Rupert is screening him."
+
+A great cry escaped her. "Oh, what have you done? It was I who let him
+in."
+
+"_You!_" foamed Mr. Chattaway. "It is not true," he added, the next
+moment. "You are striving also to deceive me--to defend him."
+
+"It is true," she answered. "I saw him come to the house from my
+dressing-room window, and I went down the back-stairs and opened the
+door for him. If he refused to betray me, it was done in good feeling,
+out of love for me, lest you should reproach me. And you have
+horsewhipped him for it!--you have goaded him on to this crime! Oh,
+Rupert! my darling Rupert!"
+
+Mr. Chattaway turned impatiently away; he had no time to waste on
+sentiment when his ricks were burning. His wife detained him.
+
+"It has been a wretched mistake altogether, James," she whispered. "Say
+you will forgive him--forgive him for my sake!"
+
+"Forgive him!" repeated Mr. Chattaway, his voice assuming quite a
+hissing angry sound. "Forgive this? Never. I'll prosecute him to the
+extremity of the law; I'll try hard to get him condemned to penal
+servitude. Forgive _this_! You are out of your mind, Madam Chattaway."
+
+Her breath was coming shortly, her voice rose amidst sobs, and she
+entwined her arms about him caressingly, imploringly, in her agony of
+distress and terror.
+
+"For my sake, my husband! It would kill me to see it brought home to
+him. He must have been overcome by a fit of the Trevlyn temper. Oh,
+James! forgive him for my sake."
+
+"I never will," deliberately replied Mr. Chattaway. "I tell you that I
+will prosecute him to the utmost limit of the law; I swear it. In an
+hour's time from this he shall be in custody."
+
+He broke from her; she staggered against the rick, and but for Maude
+might have fallen. Poor Maude, who had stood and listened, her face
+turning to stone, her heart to despair.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII
+
+A NIGHT SCENE
+
+
+Alas for the Trevlyn temper! How many times has the regret to be
+repeated! Were the world filled with lamentations for the unhappy state
+of mind to which some of its mortals give way, they could not atone for
+the ill inflicted. It is not a pleasant topic to enlarge upon, and I
+have lingered in my dislike to approach it.
+
+When Rupert leaped the palings and flew away over the field, he was
+totally incapable of self-government for the time being. I do not say
+this in extenuation. I say that such a state of things is lamentable,
+and ought not to be. I only state that it was so. The most passionate
+temper ever born with man _may_ be kept under, where the right means are
+used--prayer, ever-watchful self-control, stern determination; but how
+few there are who find the means! Rupert Trevlyn did not. He had no
+clear perception of what he had done; he probably knew he had thrust the
+blazing torch into the rick; but he gave no thought whatever to
+consequences, whether the hay was undamaged or whether it burst forth
+into a flame.
+
+He flew over the field as one possessed; he flew over a succession of
+fields; the high-road intervened, and he was passing over it in his
+reckless career, when he was met by Farmer Apperley. Not, for a moment,
+did the farmer recognise Rupert.
+
+"Hey, lad! What in the name of fortune has taken you?" cried he, laying
+his hand upon him.
+
+His face distorted with passion, his eyes starting with fury, Rupert
+tore on. He shook the farmer's hand off him, and pressed on, leaping the
+low dwarf hedge opposite, and never speaking.
+
+Mr. Apperley began to doubt whether he had not been deceived by some
+strange apparition--such, for instance, as the Flying Dutchman. He ran
+to a stile, and stood there gazing after the mad figure, which seemed to
+be rustling about without purpose; now in one part of the field, now in
+another: and Mr. Apperley rubbed his eyes and tried to penetrate more
+clearly the obscurity of the night.
+
+"It _was_ Rupert Trevlyn--if I ever saw him," decided he, at length.
+"What can have put him into this state? Perhaps he's gone mad!"
+
+The farmer, in his consternation, stood he knew not how long: ten
+minutes possibly. It was not a busy night with him, and he would as soon
+linger as go on at once to Bluck the farrier--whither he was bound. Any
+time would do for his orders to Bluck.
+
+"I can't make it out a bit," soliloquised he, when at length he turned
+away. "I'm sure it was Rupert; but what could have put him into that
+state? Halloa! what's that?"
+
+A bright light in the direction of Trevlyn Hold had caught his eye. He
+stood and gazed at it in a second state of consternation equal to that
+in which he had just gazed after Rupert Trevlyn. "If I don't believe
+it's a fire!" ejaculated he.
+
+Was every one running about madly? The words were escaping Mr.
+Apperley's lips when a second figure, white, breathless as the other,
+came flying over the road in the selfsame track. This one wore a
+smock-frock, and the farmer recognised Jim Sanders.
+
+"Why, Jim, is it you? What's up?"
+
+"Don't stop me, sir," panted Jim. "Don't you see the blaze? It's
+Chattaway's rick-yard."
+
+"Mercy on me! Chattaway's rick-yard! What has done it? Have we got the
+incendiaries in the county again?"
+
+"It was Mr. Rupert," answered Jim, dropping his voice to a whisper. "I
+see him fire it. Let me go on, please, sir."
+
+In very astonishment, Mr. Apperley loosed his hold of the boy, who went
+speeding off in the direction of Barbrook. The farmer propped his back
+against the stile, that he might gather his scared senses together.
+
+Rupert Trevlyn had set fire to the rick-yard! Had he really gone
+mad?--or was Jim Sanders mad when he said it? The farmer, slow to arrive
+at conclusions, was sorely puzzled. "The one looked as mad as the other,
+for what I saw," deliberated he. "Any way, there's the fire, and I'd
+better make my way to it: they'll want hands if they are to put that
+out. Thank God, it's a calm night!"
+
+He took the nearest way to the Hold; another helper amidst the many now
+crowding the busy scene. What a babel it was!--what a scene for a
+painting!--what a life's remembrance! The excited workers as they passed
+the buckets; the deep interjections of Mr. Chattaway; the faces of the
+lookers-on turned up to the lurid flames. Farmer Apperley, a man more
+given to deeds than words, rendered what help he could, speaking to
+none.
+
+He had been at work some time, when a shout broke simultaneously from
+the spectators. The next rick had caught fire. Mr. Chattaway uttered a
+despairing word, and the workers ceased their efforts for a few
+moments--as if paralysed with the new evil.
+
+"If the fire-engines would only come!" impatiently exclaimed Mr.
+Chattaway.
+
+Even as he spoke a faint rumbling was heard in the distance. It came
+nearer and nearer; its reckless pace proclaiming it a fire-engine. And
+Mr. Chattaway, in spite of his remark, gazed at its approach with
+astonishment; for he knew there had not been time for the Barmester
+engines to arrive.
+
+It proved to be the little engine from Barbrook, one kept in the
+village. A very despised engine indeed; from its small size, one rarely
+called for; and which Mr. Chattaway had not so much as thought of, when
+sending to Barmester. On it came, bravely, as if it meant to do good
+service, and the crowd in the rick-yard welcomed it with a shout, and
+parted to make way for it.
+
+Churlish as was Mr. Chattaway's general manner, he could not avoid
+showing pleasure at its arrival. "I am glad you have come!" he
+exclaimed. "It never occurred to me to send for you. I suppose you saw
+the flames, and came of your own accord?"
+
+"No, sir, we saw nothing," was the reply of the man addressed. "Mr.
+Ryle's lad, Jim Sanders, came for us. I never see a chap in such
+commotion; he a'most got the engine ready himself."
+
+The mention of Jim Sanders caused a buzz around. Bridget's assertion
+that the offender was Rupert Trevlyn had been whispered and commented
+upon; and if some were found to believe the whisper, others scornfully
+rejected it. There was Mr. Chattaway's assertion also; but Mr.
+Chattaway's ill-will to Rupert was remembered that night, and the
+assertion was doubtfully received. A meddlesome voice interrupted the
+fireman.
+
+"Jim Sanders! why 'twas he fired it. There ain't no doubt he did. Little
+wonder he seemed frighted."
+
+"Did he fire it?" interrupted Farmer Apperley, eagerly. "What, Jim? Why,
+what possessed him to do such a thing? I met him just now, looking
+frightened out of his life, and he laid the guilt on Rupert Trevlyn."
+
+"Hush, Mr. Apperley!" whispered a voice at his elbow, and the farmer
+turned to see George Ryle. The latter, with an almost imperceptible
+movement, directed his attention to the right: the livid face of Mrs.
+Chattaway. As one paralysed stood she, her hands clasped as she
+listened.
+
+"Yes, it was Mr. Rupert," protested Bridget, with a sob. "Jim Sanders
+told me he watched Mr. Rupert thrust the lighted torch into the rick. He
+seemed not to know what he was about, Jim said; seemed to do it in
+madness."
+
+"Hold your tongue, Bridget," interposed a sharp commanding voice. "Have
+I not desired you already to do so? It is not upon the hearsay evidence
+of Jim Sanders that you can accuse Mr. Rupert."
+
+The speaker was Miss Diana Trevlyn. In good truth, Miss Diana did not
+believe Rupert could have been guilty of the act. It had been disclosed
+that the torch in the rick-yard belonged to Jim Sanders, had been
+brought there by him, and she deemed that fact suspicious against Jim.
+Miss Diana had arrived unwillingly at the conclusion that Jim Sanders
+had set the rick on fire by accident; and in his fright had accused
+Rupert, to screen himself. She imparted her view of the affair to Mr.
+Apperley.
+
+"Like enough," was the response of Mr. Apperley. "Some of these boys
+have no more caution in 'em than if they were children of two years old.
+But what could have put Rupert into such a state? If anybody ever looked
+insane, he did to-night."
+
+"When?" asked Miss Diana, eagerly, and Mrs. Chattaway pressed nearer
+with her troubled countenance.
+
+"It was just before I came up here. I was on my way to Bluck's and
+someone with a white face, breathless and panting, broke through the
+hedge right across my path. I did not know him at first; he didn't look
+a bit like Rupert; but when I saw who it was, I tried to stop him, and
+asked what was the matter. He shook me off, went over the opposite hedge
+like a wild animal, and there tore about the field. If he had been an
+escaped lunatic from the county asylum, he couldn't have run at greater
+speed."
+
+"Did he say nothing?" a voice interrupted.
+
+"Not a word," replied the farmer. "He seemed unable to speak. Well,
+before I had digested that shock, there came another, flying up in the
+same mad state, and that was Jim Sanders. I stopped _him_. Nearly at the
+same time, or just before it, I had seen a light shoot up into the sky.
+Jim said as well as he could speak for fright, that the rick-yard was on
+fire, and Mr. Rupert had set it alight."
+
+"At all events, the mischief seems to lie between them," remarked some
+voices around.
+
+There would have been no time for this desultory conversation--at least,
+for the gentlemen's share in it--but that the fire-engine had put a stop
+to their efforts. It had planted itself on the very spot where the line
+had been formed, scattering those who had taken part in it, and was
+rapidly getting itself into working order. The flames were shooting up
+terribly now, and Mr. Chattaway was rushing here, there, and everywhere,
+in his frantic but impotent efforts to subdue them. He was not insured.
+
+George Ryle approached Mrs. Chattaway, and bent over her, a strange tone
+of kindness in his every word: it seemed to suggest how conscious he was
+of the great sorrow that was coming upon her. "I wish you would let me
+take you indoors," he whispered. "Indeed it is not well for you to be
+here."
+
+"Where is he?" she gasped, in answer. "Could you find him, and remove
+him from danger?"
+
+A sure conviction had been upon her from the very moment that her
+husband had avowed his chastisement of Rupert--the certainty that it was
+he, Rupert, and no other who had done the mischief. Her own
+brothers--but chiefly her brother Rupert--had been guilty of one or two
+acts almost as mad in their passion. He could not help his temper, she
+reasoned--some, perhaps, may say wrongly; and if Mr. Chattaway had
+provoked him by that sharp, insulting punishment, he, more than Rupert,
+was in fault.
+
+"I would die to save him, George," she whispered. "I would give all I am
+worth to save him from the consequences. Mr. Chattaway says he will
+prosecute him to the last."
+
+"I am quite sure you will be ill if you stay here," remonstrated George,
+for she was shivering from head to foot; not, however, with cold, but
+with emotion. "I will go with you to the house, and talk to you there."
+
+"To the house!" she repeated. "Do you suppose I could remain in the
+house to-night? Look at them; they are all out here."
+
+She pointed to her children; to the women-servants. It was even so: all
+were out there. Mr. Chattaway, in passing, had once or twice sharply
+demanded what they, a pack of women, did in such a scene, and the women
+had drawn away at the rebuke, but only to come forward again. Perhaps it
+was not in human nature to keep wholly away from that region of
+excitement.
+
+A half-exclamation of fear escaped Mrs. Chattaway's lips, and she
+pressed a few steps onwards.
+
+Holding a close and apparently private conference with Mr. Apperley, was
+Bowen, the superintendent of the very slight staff of police stationed
+in the place. As a general rule, these rustic districts are too
+peaceable to require much supervision from the men in blue.
+
+"Mr. Apperley, you will not turn against him!" she implored, from
+between her fevered and trembling lips; and in good truth, Mrs.
+Chattaway gave indications of being almost as much beside herself that
+night as the unhappy Rupert. "Is Bowen asking you where you saw Rupert,
+that he may go and search for him? Do not _you_ turn against him!"
+
+"My dear, good lady, I haven't a thing to tell," returned Mr. Apperley,
+looking at her in surprise, for her manner was strange. "Bowen heard me
+say, as others heard, that Mr. Rupert was in the Brook field when I came
+from it. But I have nothing else to tell of him; and he may not be there
+now. It's hardly likely he would be."
+
+Mrs. Chattaway lifted her white face to Bowen. "You will not take him?"
+she imploringly whispered.
+
+The man shook his head--he was an intelligent officer, much respected in
+the neighbourhood--and answered her in the same low tone. "I can't help
+myself, ma'am. When charges are given to us, we are obliged to take
+cognisance of them, and to arrest, if need be, those implicated."
+
+"Has this charge been given you?"
+
+"Yes, this half-hour ago. I was up here almost with the breaking out of
+the flames, for I happened to be close by, and Mr. Chattaway made his
+formal complaint to me, and put it in my care."
+
+Her heart sank within her. "And you are looking for him?"
+
+"Chigwell is," replied the superintendent, alluding to a constable. "And
+Dumps has gone after Jim Sanders."
+
+"Thank Heaven!" exclaimed a voice at her elbow. It was that of George
+Ryle; and Mrs. Chattaway turned in amazement. But George's words had not
+borne reference to her, or to anything she was saying.
+
+"It is beginning to rain," he exclaimed. "A fine, steady rain would do
+us more good than the engines. What does that noise mean?"
+
+A murmur of excitement had arisen on the opposite side of the rick-yard,
+and was spreading as fast as did the flame. George looked in vain for
+its cause: he was very tall, and raised himself on tiptoe to see the
+better: as yet without result.
+
+But not for long. The cause soon showed itself. Pushing his way through
+the rick-yard, pale, subdued, quiet now, came Rupert Trevlyn. Not in
+custody; not fettered; not passionate; only very worn and weary, as if
+he had undergone some painful amount of fatigue. It was only that the
+fit of passion had left him; he was worn-out, powerless. In the days
+gone by it had so left his uncle Rupert.
+
+Mr. Bowen walked up, and laid his hand upon his shoulder. "I am sorry to
+do it, sir," he said, "but you are my prisoner."
+
+"I can't help it," wearily responded Rupert.
+
+But what brought Rupert Trevlyn back into the very camp of the
+Philistines? In his terrible passion, he had partly fallen to the
+ground, partly flung himself down in the field where Mr. Apperley saw
+him, and there lay until the passion abated. After a time he sat up,
+bent his head upon his knees, and revolved what had passed. How long he
+might have stayed there, it is impossible to say, but that shouts and
+cries in the road aroused him, and he looked up to see that red light,
+and men running in its direction. He went and questioned them. "The
+rick-yard at the Hold was on fire!"
+
+An awful consciousness came across him that it was _his_ work. It is a
+fact, that he did not positively remember what he had done: that is, had
+no clear recollection of it. Giving no thought to the personal
+consequences--any more than an hour before he had measured the effects
+of his work--he began to hasten to the Hold as fast as his depressed
+physical state would permit. If he had created that flame, it was only
+fair he should do what he could towards putting it out.
+
+The clouds cleared, and the rain did not fulfil its promise as George
+Ryle had fondly hoped. But the little engine from Barbrook did good
+service, and the flames were not spreading over the whole rick-yard.
+Later, the two great Barmester engines thundered up, and gave their aid
+towards extinguishing the fire.
+
+And Rupert Trevlyn was in custody for having caused it!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII
+
+NORA'S DIPLOMACY
+
+
+Amidst all the human beings collected in and about the burning rick-yard
+of Trevlyn Hold, perhaps no one was so utterly miserable, not even
+excepting the unhappy Rupert, as its mistress, Mrs. Chattaway. _He_
+stood there in custody for a dark crime; a crime for which the
+punishment only a few short years before would have been the extreme
+penalty of the law; he whom she had so loved. In her chequered life she
+had experienced moments of unhappiness than which she had thought no
+future could exceed in intensity; but had all those moments been
+concentrated into one dark and dreadful hour, it could not have equalled
+the trouble of this. Her vivid imagination leaped over the present, and
+held up to view but one appalling picture of the future--Rupert working
+in chains. Poor, unhappy, wronged Rupert! whom they had kept out of his
+rights; whom her husband had now by his ill-treatment goaded to the
+ungovernable passion which was the curse of her family: and this was the
+result.
+
+Every pulse of her heart beating with its sense of terrible wrong; every
+chord of love for Rupert strung to its utmost tension; every fear that
+an excitable imagination can depict within her, Mrs. Chattaway leaned
+against the palings in utter faintness of spirit. Her ears took in with
+unnatural quickness the comments around. She heard some hotly avowing
+their belief that Rupert was not guilty, except in the malicious fancy
+of Mr. Chattaway; heard them say that Chattaway was scared and startled
+that past day when he found Rupert was alive, instead of dead, down in
+the mine: even the more moderate observed that after all it was only Jim
+Sanders's word for it; and if Jim did not appear to confirm it, Mr.
+Rupert must be held innocent.
+
+The wonder seemed to be, where was Jim? He had not reappeared on the
+scene, and his absence certainly looked suspicious. In moments of
+intense fear, the mind receives the barest hint vividly and
+comprehensively, and Mrs. Chattaway's heart bounded within her at that
+whispered suggestion. _If Jim Sanders did not appear Rupert must be held
+innocent._ Was there no possibility of keeping Jim back? By
+persuasion--by stratagem--by force, even, if necessary? The blood
+mounted to her pale cheek at the thought, red as the lurid flame which
+lighted up the air. At that moment she saw George Ryle hastening across
+the yard near to her and glided towards him. He turned at her call.
+
+"You see! They have taken Rupert!"
+
+"Do not distress yourself, dear Mrs. Chattaway," he answered. "I wish
+you could have been persuaded not to remain in this scene: it is
+altogether unfit for you."
+
+"George," she gasped, "do _you_ believe he did it?"
+
+George Ryle did believe it. He had heard about the horsewhipping; and
+aware of that mad passion called the Trevlyn temper, he could not do
+otherwise than believe it.
+
+"Ah, don't speak!" she interrupted, perceiving his hesitation. "I see
+you condemn him, as some around us are condemning him. But," she added,
+with feverish eagerness, "there is only the word of Jim Sanders against
+him. They are saying so."
+
+"Very true," replied George, heartily desiring to give her all the
+comfort he could. "Mr. Jim must make good his words before we can
+condemn Rupert."
+
+"Jim Sanders has always been looked upon as truthful," interposed Octave
+Chattaway, who had drawn near. Surely it was ill-natured to say so at
+that moment, however indisputable the fact might be!
+
+"It has yet to be proved that Jim made the accusation," said George,
+replying to Octave. "Although Bridget asserts it, it is not obliged to
+be fact. And even if Jim did say it, he may have been mistaken. He must
+show that he was not mistaken before the magistrates to-morrow, or the
+charge will fall to the ground."
+
+"And Rupert be released?" added Mrs. Chattaway eagerly.
+
+"Certainly. At least, I suppose so."
+
+He passed on his way; Octave went back to where she had been standing,
+and Mrs. Chattaway remained alone, buried in thought.
+
+A few minutes, and she glided out of the yard. With stealthy steps, and
+eyes that glanced fearfully around her, she escaped by degrees beyond
+the crowd, and reached the open field. Then, turning an angle at a fleet
+pace, she ran against some one who was coming as swiftly up. A low cry
+escaped her. It seemed to her that the mere fact of being encountered
+like this, was sufficient to betray the wild project she had conceived.
+Conscience is very suggestive.
+
+But it was only Nora Dickson: and Nora in a state of wrath. When the
+alarm of fire reached Trevlyn Farm, its inmates had hastened to the
+scene with one accord, leaving none in the house but Nora and Mrs. Ryle.
+Mrs. Ryle, suffering from some temporary indisposition, was in bed, and
+Nora, consequently, had to stay and take care of the house, doing
+violence to her curiosity. She stood leaning over the gate, watching the
+people hasten by to the excitement from which she was excluded; and when
+the Barbrook engine thundered past, Nora's anger was unbounded. She felt
+half inclined to lock up the house, and start in the wake of the engine;
+the fierce if innocent anathemas she hurled at the head of the truant
+Nanny were something formidable; and when that damsel at length
+returned, Nora would have experienced the greatest satisfaction in
+shaking her. But the bent of her indignation changed; for Nanny, before
+Nora had had time to say so much as a word, burst forth with the news
+she had gathered at the Hold. Rupert Trevlyn fired the hay-rick because
+Mr. Chattaway had horsewhipped him.
+
+Nora's breath was taken away: wrath for her own grievance merged in the
+greater wrath she felt for Rupert's sake. Horsewhipped him? That brute
+of a Chattaway had horsewhipped Rupert Trevlyn? A burning glow rushed
+over her as she listened; a resentful denial broke from her lips: but
+Nanny persisted in her statement. Chattaway had locked out Rupert the
+previous night, and Madam, unknown to her husband, admitted him:
+Chattaway had demanded of Rupert who let him in, but Rupert, fearing to
+compromise Madam, refused to tell, and then Chattaway used the
+horsewhip.
+
+Nora waited to hear no more. She started off to the Hold in her
+indignation; not so much now to take part in the bustling scene, or to
+indulge her curiosity, as to ascertain the truth of this shameful story.
+Rupert could scarcely have felt more indignant pain at the chastisement,
+than Nora at hearing it. Close to the outer gate of the fold-yard, she
+encountered Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+A short explanation ensued. Nora, forgetting possibly that it was Mrs.
+Chattaway to whom she spoke, broke into a burst of indignation at Mr.
+Chattaway, a flood of sympathy for Rupert. It told Mrs. Chattaway that
+she might trust her, and her delicate fingers entwined themselves
+nervously around Nora's stronger ones in her hysterical emotion.
+
+"It must have been done in a fit of the Trevlyn temper, Nora," she
+whispered imploringly, as if beseeching Nora's clemency. "The temper was
+born with him, you know, and he could not help that--and to be
+horsewhipped is a terrible thing."
+
+If Nora felt inclined to doubt the report before, these words dispelled
+the doubt, and brought a momentary shock. Nora was not one to excuse or
+extenuate a crime so great as that of wilfully setting fire to a
+rick-yard: to all who have to do with farms, it is especially abhorrent,
+and Nora was no exception to the rule; but in this case by some
+ingenious sophistry of her own, she did shift the blame from Rupert's
+shoulders, and lay it on Mr. Chattaway's; and she again expressed her
+opinion of that gentleman's conduct in very plain terms.
+
+"He is in custody, Nora!" said Mrs. Chattaway with a shiver. "He is to
+be examined to-morrow before the magistrates, and they will either
+commit him for trial, or release him, according to the evidence. Should
+he be tried and condemned for it, the punishment might be penal
+servitude for life!"
+
+"Heaven help him!" ejaculated Nora in her dismay at this new feature
+presented to her view. "That would be a climax to his unhappy life!"
+
+"But if they can prove nothing against him to-morrow, the magistrates
+will not commit him," resumed Mrs. Chattaway. "There's nothing to prove
+it but Jim Sanders's word: and--Nora,"--she feverishly added--"perhaps
+we can keep Jim back?"
+
+"Jim Sanders's word!" repeated Nora, who as yet had not heard of Jim in
+connection with the affair. "What has Jim to do with it?"
+
+Mrs. Chattaway explained. She mentioned all that was said to have
+passed, Bridget's declaration, and her own miserable conviction that it
+was but too true. She just spoke of the suspicion cast on Jim by several
+doubters, but in a manner which proved the suspicion had no weight with
+her: and she told of his disappearance from the scene. "I was on my way
+to search for him," she continued; "but I don't know where to search.
+Oh, Nora, won't you help me? I would kneel to Jim, and implore him not
+to come forward against Rupert; I will be ever kind to Jim, and look
+after his welfare, if he will only hear me! I will try to bring him on
+in life."
+
+Nora, impulsive as Mrs. Chattaway, but with greater calmness of mind and
+strength of judgment, turned without a word. From that moment she
+entered heart and soul into the plot. If Jim Sanders could be kept back
+by mortal means, Nora would keep him. She revolved matters rapidly in
+her mind as she went along, but had not proceeded many steps when she
+halted, and laid her hand on the arm of her companion.
+
+"I had better go alone about this business, Madam Chattaway. If you'll
+trust to me, it shall be done--if it can be done. You'll catch your
+death, coming out with nothing on, this cold night: and I'm not sure
+that it would be well for you to be seen in it."
+
+"I must go on, Nora," was the earnest answer. "I cannot rest until I
+have found Jim. As to catching cold, I have been standing in the open
+air since the fire broke out, and have not known whether it was cold or
+hot. I am too feverish to-night for any cold to affect me."
+
+Nevertheless, she untied her black silk apron, and folded it over her
+head, concealing all her fair falling curls. Nora made no further
+remonstrance.
+
+The most obvious place to look for Jim was his own home; at least so it
+occurred to Nora. Jim had the honour of residing with his mother in a
+lonely three-cornered cottage, which boasted two rooms and a loft. It
+was a good step to it, and they walked swiftly, exchanging a sentence
+now and then in hushed tones. As they came within view of it, Nora's
+quick sight detected the head (generally a very untidy one) of Mrs.
+Sanders, airing itself at the open door.
+
+"You halt here, Madam Chattaway," she whispered, pointing to a friendly
+hedge, "and let me go on and feel my way with her. She'll be a great
+deal more difficult to deal with than Jim; and the more I reflect, the
+more I am convinced it will not do for you to be seen in it."
+
+So far, Mrs. Chattaway acquiesced. She remained under cover of the
+hedge, and Nora went on alone. But when she had really gained the door,
+it was shut; no one was there. She lifted the old-fashioned wooden
+latch, and entered. The door had no other fastening; strange as that
+fact may sound to dwellers in towns. The woman had backed against the
+further wall, and was staring at the intruder with a face of dread. Keen
+Nora noted the signs, drew a very natural deduction, and shaped her
+tactics accordingly.
+
+"Where's Jim?" began she, in decisive but not unkindly tones.
+
+"It's not true what they are saying, Miss Dickson," gasped the woman. "I
+could be upon my Bible oath that he never did it. Jim ain't of that
+wicked sort, he'd not harm a fly."
+
+"But there are such things as accidents, you know, Mrs. Sanders,"
+promptly answered Nora, who had no doubt as to her course now. "It's
+certain that he was in the rick-yard with a lighted torch; and boys, as
+everyone knows, are the most careless animals on earth. I suppose you
+have Jim in hiding?"
+
+"I haven't set eyes on Jim since night fell," the woman answered.
+
+"Look here, Mrs. Sanders, you had better avow the truth to me. I have
+come as a friend to see what can be done for Jim; and I can tell you
+that I would rather keep him in hiding--or put him into hiding, for the
+matter of that--than betray him to the police, and say, 'You'll find Jim
+Sanders so-and-so.' Tell me the whole truth, and I'll stand Jim's
+friend. He has been about our place from a little chap in petticoats,
+when he was put to hurrish the crows, and it's not likely we should want
+to harm him."
+
+Her words reassured the woman, but she persisted in her denial. "I
+declare to goodness, ma'am, that I know nothing of him," she said,
+pushing back her untidy hair. "He come in here after he left work, and
+tidied hisself a bit, and went off with one of them puppies of his; and
+he has never been back since."
+
+"Yes," said Nora. "He took the puppy to the Hold, and was showing it to
+Bridget when the fire broke out--that's the tale that's told to me. But
+Jim had a torch, they say; and torches are dangerous things in
+rick-yards----"
+
+"Jim's a fool!" was the complimentary interruption of Jim's mother. "His
+head's running wild over that flighty Bridget, as ain't worth her salt.
+I asked him what he was bringing on that puppy for, and he said for
+Bridget--and I told him he was a simpleton for his pains. And now this
+has come of it!"
+
+"How did you hear of Jim's being connected with the fire?"
+
+"I have had a dozen past here, opening their mouths," resentfully spoke
+the woman. "Some of 'em said Mr. Rupert was mixed up in it, and the
+police were after him as well as after Jim."
+
+"It is true that Mr. Rupert is said to be mixed up in it," said Nora,
+speaking with a purpose. "And he is taken into custody."
+
+"Into custody?" echoed Mrs. Sanders, in a scared whisper.
+
+"Yes; and Jim must be hidden away for the next four and twenty hours, or
+they'll take him. Where's he to be found?"
+
+"I couldn't tell you if you killed me for't," protested Mrs. Sanders;
+and her tones were earnestly truthful. "Maybe he is in hiding--has gone
+and put himself into 't in his fear of Chattaway and the police. Though
+I'll take my oath he never did it wilful. If he _had_ a torch, why, a
+spark of it might have caught a loose bit of hay and fired it: but he
+never did it wilful. It ain't a windy night, either," she added
+reflectively. "Eh! the fool that there Jim has been ever since he was
+born!"
+
+Nora paused. In the uncertainty as to where to look for Jim, she did not
+see her way very clearly to accomplishing the object in view, and took a
+few moments' rapid counsel with herself.
+
+"Listen, Mrs. Sanders, and pay attention to what I say," she cried
+impressively. "I can't do for Jim what I wanted to do, because he is not
+to be found. But now mind: should he come in after I am gone, send him
+off instantly to the farm. Tell him to dodge under the trees and hedges
+on his way, and take care that no one catches sight of him. When he gets
+to the farm, he must come to the front-door, and knock gently with his
+knuckles: I shall be in the room."
+
+"And then?" questioned Mrs. Sanders, looking puzzled.
+
+"I'll take care what then; I'll take care of _him_. Now, do you
+understand?"
+
+"Yes, yes," said the woman. "I'll be sure to do it, Miss Dickson."
+
+"Mind you do," said Nora. "And now, good-night to you."
+
+Mrs. Sanders was officiously coming to the door with the candle, to
+light her visitor; but Nora peremptorily sent her back, giving her at
+the same time a piece of advice in rather sharp tones--to keep her
+cottage dark and silent that night, lest the attention of passers-by
+might be drawn to it.
+
+It was not cheering news to carry back to poor Mrs. Chattaway. That
+timid, trembling, unhappy lady had left the shelter of the hedge--where
+she probably found her crouching position not a very easy one--and was
+standing behind the trunk of a tree at a little distance, her whole
+weight leaning upon it. To stand long, unaided, was almost a physical
+impossibility to her, for her spine was weak. She saw Nora, and came
+forward.
+
+"Where is he?"
+
+"He is not at home. His mother does not know where he is. She had
+heard----Hush! Who's this?"
+
+Nora's voice dropped, and they retreated behind the tree. To be seen in
+the vicinity of Jim Sanders's cottage would not have furthered the
+object they had in view--that of burying the gentleman for a time. The
+steps advanced, and Nora, stealing a peep, recognised Farmer Apperley.
+
+He was coming from the direction of the Hold; and they rightly judged,
+seeing him walking leisurely, that the danger must be over. At the same
+moment they became conscious of footsteps approaching from another
+direction. They were crossing the road, bearing rather towards the Hold,
+and in another moment would meet Mr. Apperley. Footsore, weary, yet
+excited, and making what haste he could, their owner came into view,
+disclosing the person of Mr. Jim Sanders. Mrs. Chattaway uttered an
+exclamation, and would have started forward; but Nora, with more
+caution, held her back.
+
+The farmer heard the cry, and looked round, but seeing nothing, probably
+thought his ears had deceived him. As he turned his head again, there,
+right in front of him, was Jim Sanders. Quick as lightning his grasp was
+laid upon the boy's shoulder.
+
+"Now then! Where have you been skulking?"
+
+"Lawk a mercy! I han't been skulking, sir," returned Jim, apparently
+surprised at the salutation. "I be a'most ready to drop with the speed
+I've made."
+
+Poor, ill-judged Jim! In point of fact he had done more, indirectly,
+towards putting out the fire, than Farmer Apperley and ten of the best
+men at his back. Jim's horror and consternation when he saw the flames
+burst forth had taken from him all thought--all power, as may be
+said--except instinct. Instinct led him to Barbrook, to warn the
+fire-engine there: he saw it off, and then hastened all the way to
+Barmester, and actually gave notice to the engines and urged their
+departure before the arrival of Cris Chattaway on horseback. From
+Barmester Jim started to Layton's Heath--a place standing at an acute
+angle between Barmester and Barbrook--and posted off the engines from
+there also. And now Jim was toiling back again, footsore and weary, but
+bending his course to Trevlyn Hold to render his poor assistance in
+putting out the flames. Rupert Trevlyn had always been a favourite of
+Jim's. Rupert in his good-natured way had petted Jim, and the boy in his
+unconscious gratitude was striving to amend the damage which Rupert had
+caused. In after-days, this night's expedition of Jim's was talked of as
+a marvel verging on the impossible. Men are apt to forget the marvels
+that may be done under the influence of great emotion.
+
+Something of this--of where he had been and for what purpose--Jim
+explained to the farmer, and Mr. Apperley released his hold upon him.
+
+"They are saying up there, lad"--indicating the Hold--"that you had a
+torch in the rick-yard."
+
+"So I had," replied Jim. "But I didn't do no damage with it."
+
+"You told me it was Rupert Trevlyn who had fired the rick."
+
+"And so it was," replied Jim. "He was holding that there torch of mine,
+when Mr. Chattaway came up; looking at the puppy, we was. And Chattaway
+had a word or two with him, and then horsewhipped him; and Mr. Rupert
+caught up the torch, which he had let fall, and pushed it into the rick.
+I see him," added Jim, conclusively.
+
+Mr. Apperley stroked his chin. He also liked Rupert, and very much
+condemned the extreme chastisement inflicted by Mr. Chattaway. He did
+not go so far as Nora and deem it an excuse for the mad act; but it is
+certain he did not condemn it as he would have condemned it in another,
+or if committed under different circumstances. He felt grieved and
+uncomfortable; he was conscious of a sore feeling in his mind; and he
+heartily wished the whole night's work could be blotted out from the
+record of deeds done, and that Rupert was free again and guiltless.
+
+"Well, lad, it's a bad job altogether," he observed; "but you don't seem
+to have been to blame except for taking a lighted torch into a
+rick-yard. Never you do such a thing again. You see what has come of
+it."
+
+"We warn't nigh the ricks when I lighted the torch," pleaded Jim. "We
+was yards off 'em."
+
+"That don't matter. There's always danger. I'd turn away the best man I
+have on my farm, if I saw him venture into the rick-yard with a torch.
+Don't you be such a fool again. Where are you off to now?" for Jim was
+passing on.
+
+"Up to the Hold, sir, to help put out the fire."
+
+"The fire's out--or nigh upon it; and you'd best stop where you are. If
+you show your face there, you'll get taken up by the police--they are
+looking out for you. And I don't see that you've done anything to merit
+a night's lodging in the lock-up," added the farmer, in his sense of
+justice. "Better pass it in your bed. You'll be wanted before the Bench
+to-morrow; but it's as good to go before them a free lad as a prisoner.
+The prisoner they have already taken, Rupert Trevlyn, is enough. Never
+you take a torch near ricks again."
+
+With this reiterated piece of advice, Mr. Apperley departed. Jim stood
+in indecision, revolving in a hazy kind of way the various pieces of
+information gratuitously bestowed upon him. He himself suspected; in
+danger of being taken up by the police!--and Mr. Rupert a prisoner! and
+the fire out, or almost out! It might be better, perhaps, that he went
+in to his cottage, and got to sleep as Mr. Apperley advised, if he was
+not too tired to sleep.
+
+But before Jim saw his way clearly out of the maze, or had come to any
+decision, he found himself seized from behind with a grasp fast and firm
+as Mr. Apperley's. A vision of a file of policemen brought a rush of
+fear to Jim's mind, hot blood to his face. But the arms proved to be
+only Nora Dickson's, and a soft, gentle voice of entreaty was whispering
+a prayer into his ear, almost as the prayer of an angel. Jim started in
+amazement, and looked round.
+
+"Lawk a mercy!" ejaculated he. "Why, it's Madam Chattaway!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIX
+
+ANOTHER VISITOR FOR MRS. SANDERS
+
+
+A few minutes after his encounter with Jim Sanders, to which interview
+Mrs. Chattaway and Nora had been unseen witnesses, Farmer Apperley met
+Policeman Dumps, to whom, you may remember, the superintendent had
+referred as having been sent after Jim. He came up from the direction of
+Barbrook.
+
+"I can't find him nowhere," was his salutation to Mr. Apperley. "I have
+been a'most all over Mr. Ryle's land, and in every hole and corner of
+Barbrook, and he ain't nowhere. I'm going on now to his own home, just
+for form's sake; but that's about the last place he'd hide in."
+
+"Are you speaking of Rupert Trevlyn?" asked Mr. Apperley, who knew
+nothing of the man's search for Jim.
+
+"No, sir; Jim Sanders."
+
+"Oh, you need not look after him," replied the farmer. "I have just met
+him. Jim's all right. It was not he who did the mischief. He has been
+after all the fire-engines on foot, and is just come back, dead-beat. He
+was going on to the Hold to help put out the fire, but I told him it was
+out, and he could go home. There's not the least necessity to look after
+Jim."
+
+Mr. Dumps--whose clearness of vision was certainly not sufficient to set
+the Thames on fire--received the news without any doubt. "I thought it
+an odd thing for Jim Sanders to do. He haven't daring enough," he
+remarked. "That kitchenmaid was right, I'll be bound, as to its being
+Mr. Rupert in his passion. Gone in home, did you say, sir?"
+
+"In bed by this time, I should say," replied the farmer. "They have got
+Mr. Rupert, Dumps."
+
+"Have they?" returned Dumps. "It's a nasty charge, sir. I shouldn't be
+sorry that he got off it."
+
+The farmer continued his road towards Barbrook; the policeman went the
+other way. As he came to the cottage inhabited by the Sanders family, it
+occurred to him that he might as well ascertain the fact of Jim's
+safety, and he went to the door and knocked. Mrs. Sanders opened it
+instantly, believing it to be the wanderer. When she saw policeman Dumps
+standing there, she thought she should have died with fright.
+
+"Your son has just come in all right, I hear, Madge Sanders. Farmer
+Apperley have told me."
+
+"Yes, sir," replied she, dropping a curtsey. The untruthful reply was
+spoken in her terror, almost unconsciously; but there may have been some
+latent thought in her heart to mislead the policeman.
+
+"Is he gone to bed? I don't want to disturb him if he is."
+
+"Yes, sir," replied she again.
+
+"Well, they have got Mr. Rupert Trevlyn, so the examination will take
+place to-morrow morning. Your son had better go right over to Barmester
+the first thing after breakfast; tell him to make for the
+police-station, and stop there till he sees me. He'll have to give
+evidence, you know."
+
+"Very well, sir," repeated the woman, in an agony of fear lest Jim
+should make his appearance. "Jim ain't guilty, sir: he wouldn't harm a
+fly."
+
+"No, he ain't guilty; but somebody else is, I suppose; and Jim must tell
+what he knows. Mind he sets off in time. Or--stop. Perhaps he had better
+come to the little station at Barbrook, and go over with us. Yes,
+that'll be best."
+
+"To-night, sir?" asked she timidly.
+
+"To-night?--no. What should we do with him to-night? He must be there at
+eight o'clock in the morning; or a little before it. Good night."
+
+"Good night, sir."
+
+She watched him off, quite unable to understand the case, for she had
+seen nothing of Jim, and Nora Dickson had not long gone. Mr. Dumps made
+his way to the headquarters at Barbrook; and when, later on, Bowen came
+in with Rupert Trevlyn, Dumps informed him that Jim Sanders was all
+right, and would be there by eight o'clock.
+
+"Have you got him--all safe?"
+
+"I haven't got him," replied Dumps. "There wasn't no need for that. He
+was a-bed and asleep," he added, improving upon his information. "It was
+him that went for all the injines, and he was dead tired."
+
+"Your orders were to take him," curtly returned Bowen, who believed in
+Jim's innocence as much as Dumps did, but would not tolerate
+disobedience to orders. "He was seen with a lighted torch in the
+rick-yard, and that's enough."
+
+Rupert Trevlyn looked round quickly. This conversation had occurred as
+Bowen was going through the room with his prisoner to consign the latter
+to a more secure one. "Jim Saunders did no harm with the torch, Bowen.
+He lighted it to show me a little puppy of his; nothing more. There is
+no need to accuse Jim----"
+
+"I beg your pardon, Mr. Trevlyn, but I'd rather not hear anything from
+you one way or the other," interrupted Bowen. "Don't as much as open
+your mouth about it, sir, unless you're obliged; and I speak in your
+interest when I give you this advice. Many a prisoner has brought the
+guilt home to himself through his own tongue."
+
+Rupert took the hint, and subsided into silence. He was consigned to his
+quarters for the night, and no doubt passed it as agreeably as was
+consistent with the circumstances.
+
+The fire had not spread beyond a rick or two. It was quite out before
+midnight; and the engines, which had done effectual service, were on
+their way home again. At eight o'clock the following morning a fly was
+at the door to convey Rupert Trevlyn to Barmester. Bowen, a cautious
+man, deemed it well that the chief witness--it may be said, the only
+witness to any purpose--should be transported there by the same
+conveyance. But that witness, Mr. Jim Sanders, delayed his appearance
+unwarrantably, and Dumps, in much wrath, started in search of him. Back
+he came--it was not more than a quarter-of-a-mile to the mother's
+cottage.
+
+"He has gone on, the stupid blunderer," cried he to Bowen; "Mrs. Sanders
+says he's at Barmester by this time. He'll be at the station there, no
+doubt."
+
+So the party started in state: Bowen, Dumps, and Rupert Trevlyn inside;
+and Chigwell, who had been sent to capture him, on the box. There was
+just as much necessity for the presence of the two men as for yours or
+mine; but they would not have missed the day's excitement for the world:
+and Bowen did not interpose his veto.
+
+The noise and bustle at the fire had been great, but it was scarcely
+greater than that which prevailed that morning at Barmester. As a matter
+of course, various contradictory versions were afloat; it is invariably
+the case. All that was certainly known were the bare facts; Mr.
+Chattaway had horsewhipped Rupert Trevlyn; a fire had almost immediately
+broken out in the rick-yard; and Rupert was in custody on the charge of
+causing it.
+
+Belief in Rupert's guilt was accorded a very limited degree. People
+could not forget the ill-feeling supposed to exist towards him in the
+breast of Mr. Chattaway; and the flying reports that it was Jim Sanders
+who had been the culprit, accidentally, if not wilfully, obtained far
+more credence than the other. The curious populace would have subscribed
+a good round sum to be allowed to question Jim to their hearts' content.
+
+But a growing rumour, freezing the very marrow in the bones of their
+curiosity, had come abroad. It was said that Jim had disappeared: was
+not to be found under the local skies; and it was this caused the chief
+portion of the public excitement. For in point of fact, when Bowen and
+the rest arrived at Barmester, Jim Sanders could not be seen or heard
+of. Dumps was despatched back to Barbrook in search of him.
+
+The hearing was fixed for ten o'clock; and before that hour struck, the
+magistrates--a full bench of them--had taken their places. Many familiar
+faces were to be seen in the crowded court--familiar to you, my readers;
+for the local world was astir with interest and curiosity. In one part
+of the crowd might be seen the face of George Ryle, grave and subdued;
+in another, the dark flashing eyes of Nora Dickson; yonder the red
+cheeks of Mr. Apperley; nearer, the pale concerned countenance of Mr.
+Freeman. Just before the commencement of the proceedings, the carriage
+from Trevlyn Hold drove up, and there descended from it Mr. and Madam
+Chattaway, and Miss Diana Trevlyn. A strange proceeding, you will say,
+that the ladies should appear; but it was not deemed strange in the
+locality. Miss Diana had asserted her determination to be present in
+tones quite beyond the power of Mr. Chattaway to contradict, even had he
+wished to do so; and thus he had no plea for refusing his wife. How ill
+she looked! Scarcely a heart but ached for her. The two ladies sat in a
+retired spot, and Mr. Chattaway--who was in the commission of the peace,
+but did not exercise the privilege once in a dozen years--took his place
+on the bench.
+
+Then the prisoner was brought in, civilly conducted by Superintendent
+Bowen. He looked pale, subdued, gentlemanly--not in the least like one
+who would set fire to a hay-rick.
+
+"Have you all your witnesses, Bowen?" inquired the presiding magistrate.
+
+"All but one, sir, and I expect him here directly; I have sent after
+him," was the reply. "In fact, I'm not sure but he is here," added the
+man, standing on tiptoe, and stretching his neck upwards; "the crowd's
+so great one can't see who's here and who isn't. If he can be heard
+first, his evidence may be conclusive, and save the trouble of examining
+the others."
+
+"You can call him," observed the magistrate. "If he is here, he will
+answer. What's the name?"
+
+"James Sanders, your worship."
+
+"Call James Sanders," returned his worship, exalting his voice.
+
+The call was made in obedience, and "James Sanders!" went ringing
+through the court; and walls and roof echoed the cry.
+
+But there was no other answer.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XL
+
+THE EXAMINATION
+
+
+The morning sun shone upon the crowded court, as the Bench waited for
+the appearance of Mr. Jim Sanders. The windows, large, high, and
+guiltless of blinds, faced the south-east, and the warm autumn rays
+poured in, to the discomfort of those on whom they directly fell. They
+fell especially on the prisoner; his fair hair, his winning countenance.
+They fell on the haughty features of Miss Diana Trevlyn, leaning forward
+to speak to Mr. Peterby, who had been summoned in haste by herself, that
+he might watch the interests of Rupert. They fell on the sad face of
+Mrs. Chattaway, bent downwards until partly hidden under its falling
+curls; and they fell on the red face of Farmer Apperley, who was in a
+brown study, gently flicking his top-boot with his riding-whip.
+
+One, who had come pressing through the crowd, extended her hand, and
+touched the farmer on the shoulder. He turned to behold Nora Dickson.
+
+"Mr. Apperley, did your wife make those inquiries for me about that
+work-woman at the upholsterer's, whether she goes out by the day or
+not?" asked Nora, as though speaking for the benefit of the court in
+general.
+
+Mr. Apperley paused to collect his thoughts upon the subject. "I _did_
+hear the missis say something about that woman," he remarked at length.
+"I can't call to mind what, though. Brown, isn't her name?"
+
+"We must have her, or somebody else," continued Nora, in the same tones.
+"Our drawing-room winter-curtains must be turned top for bottom; and as
+to the moreen bed-furniture----"
+
+"Silence there!" interrupted an authoritative voice. And then there came
+again the same call which had already been echoed through the court
+twice before--
+
+"James Sanders!"
+
+"Just step here to the back, and I'll send your wife a message for the
+woman," resumed Nora, in defiance of the mandate just issued.
+
+The farmer did not see why the message could not have been given to him
+where he was; but we are all apt to yield to a ruling power, and he
+followed Nora.
+
+She struggled through the crowded doorway of the court into a
+comparatively empty stone hall. The farmer contrived to follow her; but
+he was short and stout, and emerged purple with the exertion. Nora cast
+her cautious eyes around, and then bent towards him with the softest
+whisper.
+
+"Look here, Mr. Apperley. If they examine _you_, you have no need to
+tell everything, you know."
+
+Mr. Apperley, none of the keenest at taking a hint, stared at Nora. He
+could not understand. "Are you talking about the upholstering woman?"
+asked he, in his perplexity.
+
+"Rubbish!" retorted Nora. "Do you suppose I brought you here to talk
+about her? You have not a bit of gumption--as everybody knows. Jim
+Sanders is not to be found; at least, it seems so," continued Nora, with
+a short cough; "for that's the third time they have called him. Now, if
+they examine you--as I suppose they will, by Bowen saying you might be
+wanted, there's no need to go and repeat what Jim said about Rupert
+Trevlyn's guilt when you met him last night down by his cottage."
+
+"Why! how did you know I met Jim last night?" cried the farmer, staring
+at Nora.
+
+"There's no time to explain now: I didn't dream it. You liked Joe
+Trevlyn: I have heard you say it."
+
+"Ay, I did," replied the farmer, casting his thoughts back.
+
+"Well, then, just bring to your mind how that poor lad, his son, has
+been wronged and put upon through life; think of the critical position
+he stands in now; before a hundred eyes--brought to it through that
+usurper, Chattaway. Don't _you_ help on the hue and cry against him, I
+say. You didn't see him fire the rick; you only heard Jim Sanders say
+that he fired it; and you are not called upon to repeat that hearsay
+evidence. _Don't do it_, Mr. Apperley."
+
+"I suppose I am not," assented he, after digesting the words.
+
+"Indeed you are not. If Jim can't be found, and you don't speak, I think
+it's not much of a case they'll make out against him. After all, Jim
+_may_ have done it himself, you know."
+
+She turned away, leaving the farmer to follow her, and he, slow at
+coming to conclusions, stopped where he was, pondering all sides of the
+question in his mind.
+
+But there's a word to say about Policeman Dumps. Nothing could exceed
+the consternation experienced by that functionary at the non-appearance
+of Jim Sanders. On their arrival at Barmester, they had searched for him
+in vain. Dumps would not believe that he had been purposely deceived,
+although the stern eyes of his superior were bent on him with a very
+significant look. "Get the fleetest conveyance you can, and be off to
+Barbrook and see about it," were the whispered commands of the latter.
+"A pretty go, this is! I shall have the Bench blowing me up in public!"
+
+The Bench, vexed at the fruitless calls for Jim Sanders, looked much
+inclined to blow some one up. They were better off in regard to the sun
+than their audience, since they had their backs to it. The chairman, who
+sat in the middle, was a Mr. Pollard, a kindly, but hasty and
+opinionated man. He ordered the case to proceed, while the principal
+witness, Jim Sanders, was being looked for.
+
+Mr. Flood, the lawyer from Barmester, acting for Mr. Chattaway, stated
+the case shortly and concisely. And the first witness called upon was
+Mr. Chattaway, who descended from the bench to give his evidence.
+
+He was obliged to confess to his shame. He stood there before the
+condemning faces around, and acknowledged that the chastisement spoken
+to was a fact--that he _had_ laid his horsewhip on the shoulders of
+Rupert Trevlyn. He was pressed for the why and wherefore--Chattaway was
+no favourite with his brother-magistrates, and they did not show him any
+remarkable favour--and he had further to confess that the provocation
+was totally inadequate to the punishment.
+
+"State your grounds for charging your nephew, Rupert Trevlyn, with the
+crime," said the Bench.
+
+"There is not the slightest doubt that he did it in a fit of passion,"
+said Mr. Chattaway. "There was no one but him in the rick-yard, so far
+as I saw, and he had a lighted torch in his hand. This torch he dropped
+for a moment, but I suppose picked it up again."
+
+"It is said that James Sanders was also in the rick-yard; and the torch
+was his."
+
+"I did not see James Sanders. I saw only Rupert Trevlyn, and he had the
+torch in his hand when I went up. Not many minutes after I quitted the
+rick-yard the flames broke out."
+
+Apparently this was all Mr. Chattaway knew of the actual facts. The man
+Hatch was called, and testified to the fact that Jim Sanders was in the
+rick-yard. Bridget, the kitchenmaid, in a state of much tremor,
+confirmed this, and confessed she was there subsequently with Jim, that
+he had a torch, and they saw the flames break out. She related her story
+pretty circumstantially, winding up with the statement that Jim told her
+Mr. Rupert had set it on fire.
+
+"Stop a bit, lass," interrupted Mr. Peterby. "You have just stated to
+their worships that Jim Sanders flew off the moment he saw the flames
+burst forth, never stopping to speak a word. _Now_ you say he told you
+it was Mr. Rupert who fired it. How do you reconcile the contradiction?"
+
+"He had told me first, sir," answered the girl. "He said he saw the
+master horsewhip Mr. Rupert, and Mr. Rupert in his passion caught up the
+torch which had fell, thrust it into the rick, and then leaped over the
+palings and got away. Jim pulled the torch out of the rick, and all the
+hay that had caught, as he thought; he told me all this when he was
+showing me the puppy. I suppose a spark must have been left in to
+smoulder, unknown to him."
+
+"Now don't you think that you and he and the torch and the puppy,
+between you, managed to get the spark there, instead of its having
+'smouldered,' eh, girl?" sarcastically asked Mr. Peterby.
+
+Bridget burst into tears. "No, I am sure we did not," she answered.
+
+"Don't you likewise think that this pretty little bit of news regarding
+Mr. Rupert may have been a fable of Mr. Jim's invention, to excuse his
+own carelessness?" went on the lawyer.
+
+"I am certain it was not, sir," she sobbed. "When Jim told me about Mr.
+Rupert, he never thought the rick was on fire."
+
+They could not get on at all without Jim Sanders. Mr. Peterby's
+insinuations were pointed; nay, more; for he boldly asserted that the
+rick was far more likely to have been fired by Jim than Rupert--that is,
+by a spark from that gentleman's torch, whilst engaged with two objects
+so exacting as a puppy and Bridget. Jim himself could alone clear up the
+knotty question, and the Court gave vent to its impatience, and wished
+they were at the heels of Policeman Dumps who had gone in search of him.
+
+But the heels of Policeman Dumps could not by any means have flown more
+quickly over the ground, had the whole court been after him in full cry.
+In point of fact, they were not his own heels that were at work, but
+those of a fleet little horse, drawing the light gig in which the
+policeman sat. So effectually did he whip up this horse, that in
+considerably less time than half-an-hour, Mr. Dumps was nearing Jim's
+dwelling. As he passed the police-station at Barbrook, the only solitary
+policeman left to take care of the interests of the district was
+fulfilling his duty by taking a lounge against the door-post.
+
+"Have you seen anything of Jim Sanders?" called out Mr. Dumps, partially
+checking his horse. "He has never made his appearance yonder, and I'm
+come after him."
+
+"I hear he's off," answered the man.
+
+"Off! Off where?"
+
+"Cut away," was the explanatory reply. "He hasn't been seen since last
+night."
+
+Allowing himself a whole minute to take in the news, Mr. Dumps whipped
+on his horse, and gave utterance to a very unparliamentary word. When he
+burst into Mrs. Sanders's cottage, which was full of steam, and she
+before a washing-tub, he seized that lady's arm in so emphatic a manner
+that perceiving what was coming, she gave a scream, and very nearly
+plunged her head into the soap-suds.
+
+Mr. Dumps ungallantly shook her. "Now, you just answer me," cried he;
+"and if you speak a word of a lie this time you'll get transported, or
+something as bad. What made you tell me last night Jim had come home and
+was in bed? Where is he?"
+
+She supposed he knew all--all the wickedness of her conduct in screening
+him; and it had the effect of hardening her. She was, as it were, at
+bay; and deceit was no longer possible.
+
+"If you did transport me I couldn't tell where he is. I don't know. I
+never set eyes on him all the blessed night, and that's the naked truth.
+Let me go, Mr. Dumps: it's no good choking me."
+
+Mr. Dumps looked ready to choke himself. He had been deceived, and
+turned aside from the execution of his duty, his brother constables
+would have the laugh against him, Bowen would blow up, the Bench at
+Barmester was waiting, Jim was off--and that wretched woman had done it
+all! Mr. Dumps ground his teeth in impotent rage.
+
+"I'll have you punished as sure as my name's what it is, Madge Sanders,
+if you don't tell me the truth," he foamed. "Is Jim in this here house?"
+
+"You be welcome to search the house," she replied, throwing open the
+staircase door, which led to the loft. "I'm telling nothing but truth
+now, though I was frighted into doing summit else last night; frighted
+to death a'most, and so I was this morning when I said he'd gone on to
+Barmester."
+
+Mr. Dumps felt inclined to shake her again: we are sure to be more angry
+with others when we have ourselves to blame; how could he have been fool
+enough to place such blind confidence in Farmer Apperley? One thing
+forced itself on his conviction; the woman was stating nothing but fact
+now.
+
+"You persist in it to my face that you don't know where Jim is?" he
+cried.
+
+"I swear I don't. There! I swear I have never set eyes on him since last
+night when he came home after work, and went out to take his black puppy
+to Trevlyn Hold. He never came in after that."
+
+"You just dry those soap-suddy arms of yours, put your bonnet on, and
+come straight off, and tell that to the magistrates," commanded Mr.
+Dumps, in sullen tones.
+
+She did not dare resist. Putting on her bonnet, flinging her old shawl
+across her shoulders, she was marshalled by Mr. Dumps to the gig. To
+look after Jim was a secondary consideration. To make his own excuse
+good was the first; and if Jim had had a matter of twelve-hours' start,
+he might be at twelve-hours' distance.
+
+Not to be found! Jim Sanders had made his escape, and was not to be
+found! reiterated the indignant Bench, when Mrs. Sanders and her escort
+appeared. What did Bowen mean, by asserting that Jim was ready to be
+called upon?
+
+Bowen shifted the blame from his own shoulders to those of Dumps; and
+Dumps, with a red face, shifted it on to Mrs. Sanders. She was sternly
+questioned, and made the same excuse she had made to Dumps--it was his
+saying to her that Jim had returned, and was in bed, that caused her in
+her fright to agree with it, and reply that he was. But she had not seen
+Jim, and he had never been a-nigh home since he went out with the puppy
+in the earlier part of the evening. She knew no more where Jim was than
+Dumps himself knew.
+
+That she told the truth appeared to be pretty clear to the magistrates,
+and to punish her for having so far used deceit to screen her son, might
+have been neither just nor legal. They turned back on Dumps.
+
+"What induced you to put such a leading question to the woman, assuming
+the boy was at home and in bed?" they severely asked.
+
+Dumps began rather to excuse himself than to explain. Such a thing
+hadn't never happened to him before; and it was Mr. Apperley's fault,
+for he met that gentleman nigh Meg Sanders's door, who told him Jim was
+all right, and gone home to bed.
+
+This was the first time Mr. Apperley's name had been mentioned in
+connection with the affair, and the magistrates ordered him before them.
+Nora insinuated her way to the front, and Mrs. Chattaway's face bent
+lower, to conceal its anxious expression, the wild beating of her heart.
+
+"Did you meet James Sanders last night, Mr. Apperley?" inquired the
+chairman.
+
+"Yes; I did, sir. I was going home, when the danger was over, and the
+fire had got low, and I came upon Jim Sanders near his cottage, coming
+from the direction of Layton's Heath. Knowing he had been wanted, I laid
+hold of him: but the boy told me, simply enough, where he had been,--to
+Barbrook, Barmester, and Layton's Heath after the engines. He was then
+hastening to the Hold to help at the fire. I told him the fire was out,
+and he might get to bed."
+
+"And you told Dumps that he had gone to bed?"
+
+"I did. I never supposed but Jim went home then and there; and when I
+met Dumps a few minutes afterwards, I told him so. I can't understand it
+at all. The boy seemed almost too tired to move, and no wonder--and
+where he could have gone instead, is uncommon odd to me. It's to know
+whether his mother speaks truth in saying he did not go in," added the
+farmer, gratuitously imparting a little of his mind to the Bench.
+
+"What did he say to you?"
+
+"He said where he had been, and that he was going up to the Hold,"
+replied the witness, in tones of palpable hesitation, as if weighing his
+words.
+
+"You are sure it was Jim Sanders?" asked a very silent magistrate who
+sat at the end of the bench.
+
+Mr. Apperley opened his eyes at this. "Sure it was Jim Sanders? Why, of
+course I'm sure of it?"
+
+"Well, it appears that only you, so far as can be learnt, saw Jim
+Sanders at all near the spot after the alarm went out."
+
+"Like enough," answered the farmer. "If the boy went to all these
+places, one after the other, he couldn't be at the Hold. But there's no
+mistake about my having seen him, and talked to him."
+
+The danger appeared to be over. The Bench seemed to have no intention of
+asking further questions of Mr. Apperley, and Nora breathed freely
+again. But it often happens that when we deem ourselves most secure,
+hidden danger is all the nearer. As the witness was turning round to
+retire, Flood, the lawyer, stepped forward.
+
+"A moment yet, if you please, Mr. Apperley. I must ask you a question or
+two, with the permission of the Bench. I believe you had met Jim Sanders
+before that, last night--soon after the breaking out of the fire?"
+
+"Yes," replied the farmer; "it was at the bend of the road between the
+Hold and Barbrook. I had that minute caught sight of the flame, not
+knowing rightly where it was or what it was, and Jim came running up and
+said, as well as he could speak for his hurry and agitation, that it was
+in Mr. Chattaway's rick-yard."
+
+"Agitated, was he?" asked the Bench; and a keen observer might have
+noticed Mr. Flood's brow contract with a momentary annoyance.
+
+"So agitated as hardly to know what he was saying, as it appeared to
+me," returned the witness. "He went away at great speed in the direction
+of Barbrook; on his way--as I learnt afterwards--to fetch the
+fire-engines."
+
+"And very laudable of him to do so," spoke up the lawyer. "But I have a
+serious question to put to you now, Mr. Apperley; be so good as to
+attend to me, and speak up. Did not Jim Sanders distinctly tell you that
+it was Rupert Trevlyn who had fired the rick?"
+
+Mr. Apperley paused in indecision. On the one hand, he was a plain,
+straightforward, honest man, possessing little tact, no cunning; on the
+other, he shrank from harming Rupert. Nora's words had left a strong
+impression upon him, and the mysterious absence of Jim Sanders was also
+producing its effect, as it was on three-parts of the people in court.
+He and they were beginning to ask why Jim should run away unless he had
+been guilty.
+
+"Have you lost your voice, Mr. Apperley?" resumed the lawyer. "Did or
+did not Jim Sanders say it was Rupert Trevlyn who fired the rick?"
+
+"I cannot say but he did," replied Mr. Apperley, as an unpleasant
+remembrance came across him that he had proclaimed this fact the
+previous night to as many as chose to listen, to which incaution Mr.
+Flood no doubt owed his knowledge. "But Jim appeared so flustered and
+wild," he continued, "that my belief is--and I have said this
+before--that he didn't rightly know what he was saying."
+
+"Unless I am misinformed, you had just before met Rupert Trevlyn,"
+continued Mr. Flood. "_He_ was wild and flustered, was he not?"
+
+"He was."
+
+"Were both coming from the same direction?"
+
+"Yes. As if they had run straight from the Hold."
+
+"From the rick-yard, eh?"
+
+"It might be that they had; 'twas pretty straight, if they leaped a
+hedge or two."
+
+"Just so. You were walking soberly along the high-road, on your way to
+Bluck the farrier's, when you were startled by the apparition of Rupert
+Trevlyn flying from the direction of the rick-yard like a wild animal--I
+only quote your own account of the fact, Mr. Apperley. Rupert was pale
+and breathless; in short, as you described him, he must have been under
+the influence of some great terror, or _guilt_. Was this so? Tell their
+worships."
+
+"It was so," replied Mr. Apperley.
+
+"You tried to stop him, and you could not; and as you stood looking
+after him, wondering whether he was mad, and, if not mad, what could
+have put him into such a state, Jim Sanders came up and told you a piece
+of news that was sufficient to account for any amount of
+agitation--namely, that Rupert Trevlyn had just set fire to one of the
+ricks in the yard at the Hold."
+
+It was utterly impossible that Mr. Apperley in his truth could deny
+this, and a faint cry broke from the lips of Mrs. Chattaway. But when
+Mr. Flood had done with the farmer, it was Mr. Peterby's turn to
+question him. He had not much to ask him, but elicited the positive
+avowal--and the farmer seemed willing to make as much of it as did Mr.
+Peterby--that Jim Sanders was in as great a state of agitation as Rupert
+Trevlyn, or nearly so. He, Mr. Apperley, summed up the fact by certain
+effective words.
+
+"Yes, they were both agitated--both wild; and if those signs were any
+proof of the crime, the one looked as likely to have committed it as the
+other."
+
+The words told with the Bench. Mr. Flood exerted his eloquence to prove
+that Rupert Trevlyn, and he alone, must have been guilty. Not that he
+had any personal ill-feeling towards Rupert; he only spoke in his
+lawyerly instinct, which must do all it could for his client's cause.
+Mr. Peterby, on the other hand, argued that the circumstances were more
+conclusive of the guilt of James Sanders. Mr. Apperley had testified
+that both were nearly equally agitated; and if Rupert was the most so,
+it was only natural, for a gentleman's feelings were more easily stirred
+than an ignorant day-labourer's. In point of fact, this agitation might
+have proceeded from terror alone in each of them. Looking at the case
+dispassionately, what real point was there against Rupert Trevlyn? None.
+Who dared to assert that he was guilty? No one but the runaway, James
+Sanders, who most probably proffered the charge to screen himself. Where
+was James Sanders, Mr. Peterby continued, looking round the court.
+Nowhere: he had decamped; and this, of itself, ought to be taken by all
+sensible people as conclusive of guilt. He asked the Bench, in their
+justice, not to remand Rupert Trevlyn, as was urged by Mr. Flood, but to
+discharge him, and issue a warrant for the apprehension of James
+Sanders.
+
+Ah, what anxious hearts were some of those in court as the magistrates
+consulted with each other. Mr. Chattaway had had the grace not to return
+to his seat, and waited, as did the rest of the audience. Presently the
+chairman spoke--and it is very possible that the general disfavour in
+which Mr. Chattaway was held had insensibly influenced their decision.
+
+It appeared to the Bench, he said, that there were not sufficient facts
+proved against Rupert Trevlyn to justify their keeping him in custody,
+or in remanding the case. That he may have smarted in passion under the
+personal chastisement inflicted by Mr. Chattaway was not unlikely, and
+that gentleman had proved that, when he left the rick-yard, the lighted
+torch was, so to say, in possession of the prisoner. Mr. Apperley had
+likewise testified to meeting Rupert Trevlyn soon afterwards in a state
+of wild agitation. In the opinion of the Bench, these facts were not
+worth much: the lighted torch was proved to be in the possession of
+James Sanders in the rick-yard after this, as it had been before it; and
+the prisoner's agitation might have been solely the effect of the
+beating inflicted on him by Mr. Chattaway. Except the assertion of the
+boy, James Sanders, as spoken to by Mr. Apperley and the servant-maid,
+Bridget Sanders, there was nothing to connect the prisoner with the
+actual crime. It had been argued by Mr. Peterby that James Sanders
+himself had probably committed it, wilfully or accidentally, and that
+his absence might be regarded as pretty conclusive proof of this. Be
+that as it might, the Bench had come to the decision that there were not
+sufficient grounds for detaining the prisoner, and therefore he was
+discharged.
+
+He was discharged! And the shout of approbation that arose in court made
+the very walls ring.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLI
+
+A NIGHT ENCOUNTER
+
+
+The first to press up to Rupert Trevlyn after his restored liberty was
+George Ryle. George held a very decided opinion upon the unhappy case;
+but strove to bury it five-fathom deep in his heart, and he hated Mr.
+Chattaway for the inflicted horsewhipping. Holding his arm out to
+Rupert, he led him towards the exit; but the sea of faces, of friendly
+voices, of shaking hands, was great, and somehow he and Rupert were
+separated.
+
+"It is a new lease of life for me, George," whispered a soft, sweet
+voice in his ear, and he turned to behold the glowing cheeks of Mrs.
+Chattaway, glowing with thanksgiving and unqualified happiness.
+
+Unqualified? Ah, if she could only have looked into the future, as
+George did in his forethought! Jim Sanders would probably not remain
+absent for ever. But he suffered his face to become radiant as Mrs.
+Chattaway's, as he stayed to talk with her.
+
+"Yes, dear Mrs. Chattaway, was it not a shout! I will drive Rupert home.
+I have my gig here. Treve shall walk. I wonder--I have been wondering
+whether it would not be better for all parties if Rupert came and stayed
+a week with Treve at the Farm? It might give time for the unpleasantness
+to blow over between him and Mr. Chattaway."
+
+"How good you are, George! If it only might be! I'll speak to Diana."
+
+She turned to Miss Diana Trevlyn and George saw Rupert talking with Mr.
+Peterby. At that moment, some one took possession of George.
+
+It was Mr. Wall, the linen-draper. He had been in court all the time,
+his sympathies entirely with the prisoner, in spite of his early
+friendship with the master of Trevlyn Hold. Ever since that one month
+passed at Mr. Wall's house, which George at the time thought the
+blackest month that could have fallen to the lot of mortal, Mr. Wall and
+George had been great friends.
+
+"This has been a nasty business," he said in an undertone. "Where _is_
+Jim Sanders?"
+
+George disclaimed, and with truth, all knowledge on the point. Mr. Wall
+resumed.
+
+"I guess how it was; an outbreak of the Trevlyn temper. Chattaway was a
+fool to provoke it. Cruel, too. He had no more right to take a whip to
+Rupert Trevlyn than I have to take one to my head-shopman. Were the
+ricks insured?"
+
+"No. There's the smart. Chattaway never would insure his ricks; never
+has insured them. It is said that Miss Diana has often told him he
+deserved to have his ricks burnt down for being penny wise and pound
+foolish."
+
+"How many were burnt?"
+
+"Two: and another damaged by water. It is a sharp loss."
+
+"Ay. One he won't relish. Rupert is not _secure_, you know," continued
+Mr. Wall in a spirit of friendly warning. "He can be taken up again."
+
+"I am aware of that. And this time I think it will be very difficult to
+lay the spirit of anger in Mr. Chattaway. Good evening. I am going to
+drive Rupert home. Where has he got to?"
+
+George had cause to reiterate the words "Where has he got to?" for he
+could not see him anywhere. His eyes roved in vain in search of Rupert.
+Mr. Peterby was alone now.
+
+George went hunting everywhere. He inquired of every one, friend and
+stranger, if they had seen Rupert, but all in vain; he could not meet or
+hear of him. At last he gave up the search, and started for home, Treve
+occupying the place in the gig he had offered to Rupert.
+
+Where was Rupert? In a state of mind not to be described, he had stolen
+away in the dusky night from the mass of faces, the minute he was
+released by Mr. Peterby, and made the best of his way out of Barmester,
+taking the field way towards the Hold. He felt in a sea of guilt and
+shame. To stand there a prisoner, the consciousness of guilt upon
+him--for he knew he had set fire to the rick--was as the keenest agony.
+When his previous night's passion cooled down, it was replaced by an
+awful sense--and the word is not misplaced--of the enormity of his act.
+It was a positive fact that he could not remember the details of that
+evil moment; but an innate conviction was upon him that he did thrust
+the burning brand into the rick and had so revenged himself on Mr.
+Chattaway. He turned aghast as he thought of it: in his sober senses he
+would be one of the last to commit so great a wickedness--would shudder
+at its bare thought. Not only was the weight of the guilt upon his mind,
+but a dread of the consequences. Rupert was no hero, and the horror of
+the punishment that might follow was working havoc in his brain. If he
+had escaped it for this day, he knew sufficient of our laws to be aware
+that he might not escape it another, and that Chattaway would prove
+implacable. The disgrace of a trial, the brand of felon--all might be
+his. Perhaps it was fear as much as shame which took Rupert alone out of
+Barmester.
+
+He knew not where to go. He reached the neighbourhood of the Hold,
+passed it, and wandered about in the moonlight, sick with hunger, weary
+with walking. He began to wish he had gone home with George Ryle; and he
+wished he could see George Ryle then, and ask his advice. To the Hold,
+to face Chattaway, he dared not yet go; nay, with that consciousness of
+guilt upon him, he shrank from facing his kind aunt Edith, his sister
+Maude, his aunt Diana. A sudden thought flashed into his mind--and for
+the moment it seemed like an inspiration--he would go after Mr. Daw and
+beg a shelter with him.
+
+But to get to Mr. Daw, who lived in some unknown region in the Pyrenees,
+and had no doubt crossed the Channel, would take money, time, and
+strength. As the practical views of the idea came up before him, he
+abandoned it in utter despair. Where should he go and what should he do?
+He sat down on the stile forming the entrance to a small grove of trees,
+through which a near road led to Barbrook; in fact, it was at the end of
+that very field in which Mr. Apperley had seen him the previous evening.
+Some subtle instinct, perhaps, took his wandering steps to it. As he
+leaned against the stile, he became conscious of the advance of some one
+along the narrow path leading from Barbrook--a woman, by her petticoats.
+
+It was a lovely night. The previous night had been dull, but on this one
+the moon shone in all her splendour. Rupert did not fear a woman, least
+of all the one approaching, for he saw that it was Ann Canham. She had
+been at work at the parsonage. Mrs. Freeman, taking advantage of the
+departure of their guest, had instituted the autumn cleaning, delayed on
+his account; and Ann had been there to-day, helping Molly, and was to go
+also on the morrow. A few happy tears dropped from her eyes when she saw
+him.
+
+"The parson's already home with the good news, sir. But why ever do you
+sit here, Master Rupert?"
+
+"Because I have nowhere to go to," returned Rupert.
+
+Ann paused, and then spoke timidly. "Isn't there the Hold, as usual,
+sir?"
+
+"I can't go there. Chattaway might horsewhip me again, you know, Ann."
+
+The bitter mockery with which he spoke brought pain to her. "Where shall
+you go, sir?"
+
+"I don't know. Lie down under these trees till morning. I am awfully
+hungry."
+
+Ann Canham opened a basket which she carried, and took out a small loaf,
+or cake. She offered it to Rupert, curtseying humbly.
+
+"Molly has been baking to-day, sir; and the missis, she gave me this
+little loaf for my father. Please take it, sir."
+
+Rupert's impulse was to refuse, but hunger was strong within him. He
+took a knife from his pocket, cut it in two, and gave one half back to
+Ann Canham.
+
+"Tell Mark I had the other, Ann. He won't grudge it to me. And now go
+home. It's of no use your stopping here."
+
+She made as if she would depart, but hesitated. "Master Rupert, I don't
+like to leave you here so friendless. Won't you come to the lodge, sir,
+and shelter there for the night?"
+
+"No, that I won't," he answered. "Thank you, Ann; but I am not going to
+get you and Mark into trouble as I have got myself."
+
+She sighed as she finally went away. Would this unhappy trouble touching
+Rupert ever be over?
+
+Perhaps Rupert was asking the same. He ate the bread, and sat on the
+stile afterwards, ruminating. He was terribly bitter against Chattaway;
+but for his wicked conduct he should not now be the outcast he was. All
+the wrongs of his life rose up before him. The Hold that ought to be
+his, the rank he was deprived of, the wretched humiliations that were
+his daily portion. They assumed quite an exaggerated importance to his
+mind. He worked himself into--not the passion of the previous night, but
+into an angry, defiant temper; and he wished he could meet Chattaway
+face to face, and return the blows, the pain of which was still upon
+him.
+
+With a cry that almost burst from his lips in terror, with a feeling
+verging on the supernatural, he suddenly saw Chattaway before him.
+Rupert recovered himself, and though his heart beat pretty fast, he kept
+his seat on the stile in his defiant humour.
+
+And Mr. Chattaway? Every drop of blood in that gentleman's body had
+bubbled up with the unjust leniency shown by the magistrates, and had
+remained at fever heat. Never, never had his feelings been so excited
+against Rupert as on this night. As he came along he was plotting with
+himself how Rupert could be recaptured on the morrow--on what pretext he
+could apply for a warrant against him. That miserable, detested Rupert!
+He made his life a terror through that latent dread, he was a burden on
+his pocket, he brought him into disfavour with the neighbourhood, he
+treated him with cavalier insolence, and now had set his ricks on fire.
+And--there he was! Before him in the moonlight. Mr. Chattaway bounded
+forward, and seized him by the shoulder.
+
+A struggle ensued. Blows were given on either side. But Mr. Chattaway
+was the stronger: he flung Rupert to the ground; and a dull, heavy human
+sound went forth on the still night air.
+
+Did the sound come from Rupert, or from Chattaway? No; Rupert was lying
+motionless, and Chattaway knew he had made no sound himself. He looked
+up in the trees; but it had not been the sound of a night-bird. A
+rustling caught his ear behind the narrow grove, and Chattaway bounded
+towards it, just in time to see a man's legs flying over the ground in
+the direction of Barbrook.
+
+Who had been a witness to the scene?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLII
+
+NEWS FOR TREVLYN HOLD
+
+
+When Mr. and Mrs. Chattaway and Miss Diana had driven home from
+Barmester, they were met with curious faces, and eager questions, the
+result of the day's proceedings not having reached the Hold. It added to
+the terrible mortification gnawing the heart of Mr. Chattaway to confess
+that Rupert was discharged. He had been too outspoken that morning
+before his children and household of the certain punishment in store for
+Rupert--his committal for trial.
+
+And the mortification was destined to be increased on another score.
+Whilst they were seated at a sort of high tea--Cris came in from
+Blackstone with some news. The Government inspectors had been there that
+day, and chosen to put themselves out on account of the absence of Mr.
+Chattaway, whom they had expected at the office.
+
+"They mean mischief," observed Cris. "How far _can_ they interfere?" he
+asked, turning to his father. "Could they force you to go to the expense
+they hint at?"
+
+Mr. Chattaway really did not know. He sat looking surly and gloomy,
+buried in rumination, and by-and-by rose and left the room. Soon after
+this, George Ryle entered, to take Rupert to the farm. George knew now
+that Rupert had walked home: Bluck, the farrier, had told him so. But
+Rupert, it appeared, was not yet come in.
+
+So George waited: waited and waited. It was a most uncomfortable
+evening. Mrs. Chattaway was palpably nervous and anxious, and Maude, who
+sat apart, as if conscious that Rupert's fault in some degree reflected
+upon her, was as white as a sheet. When George rose to leave it was
+nearly eleven. Rupert, it must be supposed, had taken shelter somewhere
+for the night, and Mr. Chattaway did not appear in a hurry to return.
+None had any idea where Mr. Chattaway was to be found: when he left the
+house, they only supposed him to be going to the out-buildings.
+
+The whole flood of moonlight came flushing on George Ryle, as he stood
+for a moment at the door of the Hold. He lifted his face to it, thinking
+how beautiful it was, when the door was softly opened behind him, and
+Maude came out, pale and shivering.
+
+"Forgive my following you, George," she whispered, in pleading tones. "I
+could not ask you before them, but I am ill with suspense. Tell me, is
+the danger over for Rupert?"
+
+George took her hand in his. He looked down with tender fondness upon
+the unhappy girl; but hesitated in his answer.
+
+She bent her head, and there came a half-breathed whisper of pain. "Do
+you believe he did it?"
+
+"Maude, my darling, I do believe he did it; you ask me for the truth,
+and I will not give you anything else. But I believe that he must have
+been in a state of madness, irresponsible for his actions."
+
+"What can be done?" she gasped.
+
+"Nothing. Nothing, except that we must endeavour to conciliate Mr.
+Chattaway. If he can be appeased, the danger will pass."
+
+"Never will he be appeased!" she answered. "He will think of the value
+of the ricks, the money lost to him. George, if it comes to the
+worst--if they try Rupert, I shall die."
+
+"Hush, my dear, hush! Try and look on the bright side of things, Maude;
+your grieving cannot influence Rupert, and will harm you. Nothing shall
+be left undone on my part to serve him. I wish I had more influence with
+Mr. Chattaway."
+
+"No one has any influence with him,--no one in the world; unless it is
+Aunt Diana."
+
+"She has--and I can talk to her as I could not to Chattaway. I intend to
+see her privately in the morning. Maude, how you shiver!"
+
+George bent to take his farewell, and went on his way. Ere he was quite
+out of sight, he turned to take a last look at her. She was standing in
+the white moonlight, her hands clasped, her face one sad expression of
+distress and despair. A vague feeling came over George that this
+despondency of Maude's bore ill omen for poor Rupert. But he could not
+have told why the feeling should come to him, and he put it from him as
+absurd and foolish.
+
+The night wore on at the Hold, and its master did not return. All sat
+up, ladies, children, and servants; wondering where he could be. It was
+close upon midnight when his ring sounded at the locked door.
+
+Mr. Chattaway came in with his face scratched and a bruise over one eye.
+The servant stared in astonishment, and noticed, as his master
+unbuttoned a light overcoat, that the front of his shirt was torn. Mr.
+Chattaway was not one to be questioned by his servants, and the man went
+off to the kitchen and reported the news.
+
+"Good Heavens, papa! what have you done to your face?"
+
+The exclamation came from Octave, who was the first to catch sight of
+him as he entered the room. Mr. Chattaway responded by an angry demand
+why they were not in bed, what they did sitting up at that hour: and he
+began to light the bed-candles.
+
+"What _have_ you done to your face?" reiterated Miss Diana, coming close
+to take a nearer view.
+
+"Nothing," was his curt response.
+
+"What's the use of saying that?" retorted Miss Diana. "It looks as
+though you had been fighting. And your shirt's torn!"
+
+"I tell you there's nothing the matter with it; or with my shirt
+either," he said testily. "Can't you take an answer?" And, as if to put
+an end to questioning, he took a candle and went up to his room.
+
+The scratches were less apparent in the morning, and the bruise was only
+a slight one. Cris, in his indifferent manner, said the Squire must have
+walked into the branches of a thorny tree.
+
+By tacit consent they avoided all mention of Rupert. It is possible that
+even Miss Diana did not care to mention his name to Mr. Chattaway.
+Whilst they were at breakfast, Hatch came and put his head inside the
+door.
+
+"Jim Sanders is back, sir."
+
+Mr. Chattaway started up, a certain flashing light in his dull eyes that
+boded no good to Jim. "Where is he?" he cried. "How do you know?"
+
+"Ted, the cow-boy, has just seen him at work at Mr. Ryle's as usual,
+sir. I thought you might like to know it, and made bold to come in and
+tell ye. Ted asked him where he had runned away to yesterday, and Jim
+answered he had not runned away at all; only overslep' hisself."
+
+Mr. Chattaway hastened from the room, followed by Cris; and Mrs.
+Chattaway took the opportunity to ask Hatch if he had seen or heard
+anything of Mr. Rupert. But Hatch only stood stolidly in the middle of
+the carpet, and made no reply.
+
+"Did you not hear Madam's question, Hatch?" sharply asked Miss Diana.
+"Why don't you answer it?"
+
+"Because I don't like to," responded stolid Hatch. "Happen Madam mayn't
+like to hear the answer, Miss Diana."
+
+"Nonsense!" quickly cried Miss Trevlyn. "Have you heard of him?"
+
+"Well, yes, I have," answered Hatch. "They be talking of it now in the
+sheep-pen."
+
+"What are they saying?" asked Mrs. Chattaway, in eager tones.
+
+But the man remained silent, staring at his mistress.
+
+"What are they saying?--do you hear?" imperatively repeated Miss Diana.
+
+Hatch could not hold out longer. "They be saying that he's dead, ma'am."
+
+"That he is--_what_?"
+
+"They be saying that Mr. Rupert's dead," equably repeated Hatch; "he was
+killed down in the little grove last night, as you go through the fields
+to Barbrook. I didn't like to tell the Squire, because they be saying
+that if he be killed, happen the Squire have killed him."
+
+Only for a moment did Miss Diana Trevlyn lose her self-possession. She
+raised her hands to still the awestruck terror around her, and glanced
+at Mrs. Chattaway's blanched face. "Hatch, where did you hear this?"
+
+"In the sheep-pen, ma'am. The men be a-talking on't. They say he was
+killed last night--murdered."
+
+Her own face for once in her life was turning white. "Be still, all of
+you, and remain here," she said. "Edith, if ever you had need of
+self-command, it is now."
+
+She went straight off to the sheep-pen, bidding Hatch follow her. From
+the first moment Hatch had spoken, there had risen up before her, as an
+ugly picture--a dream to be shunned--the scratched and bruised face of
+Mr. Chattaway.
+
+The sheep-pen was empty: the men had dispersed. Cris came out of the
+stables, and she signed to him. He advanced to meet her. "Where is your
+father?" she asked.
+
+"Off to Barbrook," returned Cris. "Sam wasn't long getting his horse
+ready, was he? He has gone to order Bowen to look after Mr. Jim
+Sanders."
+
+"Have you heard this report about Rupert?" she resumed, her hushed tones
+imparting to Cris a vague sense of something unpleasant.
+
+"I have not heard any report about him. What is the report? That he's
+dead?"
+
+"Yes; that he is dead."
+
+Cris had spoken in a half-jesting, half-sneering tone; but his face
+changed at the answer, consternation in every feature, "What on earth do
+you mean, Aunt Diana? Rupert----"
+
+"Good morning, Miss Diana."
+
+They turned to behold George Ryle. He had come up thus early to know if
+they had news of Rupert. The scared expression of their faces struck him
+that something was wrong.
+
+"You have bad news, I see. What is it?"
+
+Miss Diana rapidly turned over a question in her mind. Should she
+mention this report to George? Yes; he was thoroughly trustworthy; and
+might be of use.
+
+"Hatch came in a few minutes ago, and frightened us very greatly," she
+said. "I was just telling Cris about it. The man says there's a report
+going about that Rupert is--is"--she scarcely liked to bring out the
+word--"is dead."
+
+"What?" uttered George.
+
+"That he has been killed--murdered," continued Miss Diana. "George, I
+want to get at the truth of it."
+
+He could not rejoin just at first. News, such as that, takes time to
+revolve. He could only look at them alternately; his heart, for Rupert's
+sake, beating fast. Miss Diana repeated what Hatch had said. "George,"
+she concluded, "I cannot go after these men, examining into the truth or
+falsehood of the report, but you might."
+
+George started away impulsively ere she had well spoken. Hatch mentioned
+the names of the men who had been talking, and George hastened to look
+for them over the fields. Cris was following, but Miss Diana caught him
+by the arm.
+
+"Not you, Cris; stop where you are."
+
+"Stop where I am?" returned Cris, indignantly, who had a very great
+objection to being interfered with by Miss Diana. "I shall not, indeed.
+I don't pretend to have had much love for Rupert, but I'm sure I shall
+look into it if there's such a report as that about. He must have killed
+himself, if he is dead."
+
+But Miss Diana kept her hand upon him. "Remain where you are, I say.
+They are connecting your father's name with it in a manner I do not
+understand, and it will be better you should be quiet until we know
+more."
+
+She went on to the house as she spoke. Cris stared after her in blank
+dismay, wondering what the words meant, yet sufficiently discomposed to
+give up his own will for once, and remain quiet, as she had suggested.
+
+Meanwhile, Mr. Chattaway, unconscious of the commotion at the Hold, was
+galloping towards Barbrook. He reined in at the police-station, and
+Bowen came out to him.
+
+"I know what you have come about, Mr. Chattaway," cried the man, before
+that gentleman could speak. "It's to tell us that Jim Sanders has turned
+up. We know all about it, and Dumps has gone after him. Hang the boy!
+giving us all this bother."
+
+"I'll have him punished, Bowen."
+
+"Well, sir, it's to know whether he won't get enough punishment as it
+is. His going off looks uncommonly suspicious--as I said yesterday:
+looks as if he had had a finger in the pie."
+
+"Is Dumps going to bring him on here?"
+
+"Right away, as fast as he can march him. Impudent monkey, going to work
+this morning, just as if nothing had happened! Dumps'll be on to him.
+They won't be long, sir."
+
+"Then I'll wait," decided Mr. Chattaway.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIII
+
+JAMES SANDERS
+
+
+George Ryle speedily found the men spoken of by Hatch as having held the
+conversation in the sheep-pen. But he could gather nothing more certain
+from them than Miss Diana had gathered from Hatch. Upon endeavouring to
+trace the report to its source he succeeded in finding out that one man
+alone had brought it to the Hold. This man declared he heard it from his
+wife, and his wife had heard it from Mrs. Sanders.
+
+Away sped George Ryle to the cottage of Mrs. Sanders: passing through
+the small grove of trees, spoken of in connection with this fresh
+report, the nearest way to Barbrook and the cottage from the upper road,
+but lonely and unfrequented. He found the woman busy at the work Mr.
+Dumps had interrupted the previous day--washing. With some unwillingness
+on her part and much circumlocution, George drew her tale from her. And
+to that evening we may as well return for a few minutes, for we shall
+arrive at the conclusion much more quickly than Mrs. Sanders.
+
+It was dark when the woman walked home from Barmester--Dumps not having
+had the politeness to drive her, as in going,--and she found her kitchen
+as she had left it. Her children--she had three besides Jim--were out in
+the world, Jim alone being at home with her. Mrs. Sanders lighted a
+candle, and surveyed the scene: grate black and cold; washing-tub on the
+bench, wet clothes lying over it; bricks sloppy. "Drat that old Dumps!"
+ejaculated she. "I'd serve him out if I could. And I'd like to serve out
+that Jim, too. This comes of dancing up to the Hold after Bridget with
+that precious puppy!"
+
+She put things tolerably straight for the night, made herself some tea,
+and began to think. What had become of Jim? And did he or did he not
+have anything to do with the fire? Not wilfully; she could answer for
+that; but accidentally? She looked into vacancy, and shook her head in a
+timid, doubtful manner, for she knew that torches in rick-yards might
+prove dangerous adjuncts to suspicion.
+
+"I wonder what they could do to him, happen they proved it were a spark
+from his torch?" she deliberated. "Sure they'd never transport for an
+accident! Dumps said transportation were too good for Jim, but----"
+
+The train of thought was interrupted, the door burst open, and by no
+less a personage than Jim himself. Jim, as it appeared, in a state of
+fear and agitation. His breath came fast, and his eyes had a wild,
+terrified stare in them.
+
+With his presence, Mrs. Sanders's maternal apprehensions for his safety
+merged into anger. She laid hold of Jim and shook him--kindly, as she
+expressed it; but poor Jim found little kindness in it.
+
+"Mother, what's that for?"
+
+"That's what it's for," retorted his mother, giving him a sound box on
+the ear. "You'll dance out with puppies again up to that
+good-for-nothing minx of a Bridget!--and you'll set rick-yards
+a-fire!--and you'll go off and hide yourself, and let the place be
+searched by the police!--and me drawn into trouble, and took off by that
+insolent Dumps in a stick-up gig to Barmester, and lugged afore the
+court! Now, where have you been?"
+
+Jim made no return in kind. All the spirit the boy possessed seemed to
+have gone out of him. He sat down meekly on a broken chair, and began to
+shiver. "Don't, mother," said he. "I've got a fright."
+
+"A fright!" indignantly responded Mrs. Sanders. "And what sort of a
+fright do you suppose you have given others? Happen Madam Chattaway
+might have died of it, they say. _You_ talk of a fright! Who hasn't been
+in a fright since you took the torch into the yard and set the ricks
+alight?"
+
+"It isn't that," said Jim. "I ain't afraid of that; I didn't do it. Nora
+knows I didn't, and Mr. Apperley knows, and Bridget knows. I've no cause
+to be afeard of that."
+
+"Then what are you quaking for?" angrily demanded Mrs. Sanders.
+
+"I've just got a fright," he answered. "Mother, as true as we be here,
+Mr. Rupert's dead. I've just watched him killed."
+
+Mrs. Sanders's first proceeding on receipt of this information was to
+stare; her second to discredit it, believing Jim was out of his mind, or
+dreaming. "Talk sense, will you?" cried she.
+
+"I'm not a-talking nonsense," he answered. "Mother, as sure as us two be
+living here, I see it. It were in the grove, up by the field. I saw him
+struck down."
+
+The woman began to think there must be something in the tale. "It's Mr.
+Rupert you be talking of?"
+
+"Yes, and it was him as set the rick a-fire. And now he's murdered!
+Didn't I run fast! I was in mortal fear."
+
+"Who killed him?"
+
+Jim looked round timorously, as if thinking the walls might have ears.
+"I daren't say," he shivered.
+
+"But you must say."
+
+He shook his head. "No, I'll never tell it--unless I'm forced. He might
+be for killing _me_. When the hue and cry goes about to-morrow, and
+folks is asking who did it, there'll be nobody to answer. I shall keep
+dark, because I must. But if Ann Canham had waited and seen it, I
+wouldn't ha' minded saying; she'd ha' been a witness as I told the
+truth."
+
+"If you don't speak plainer I'll box your ears again," was the retort.
+"What about Ann Canham?"
+
+"Well, I met her at the top o' the field as I was turning into 't. That
+were but a few minutes afore. She'd been to work at the parson's, she
+said. I say, mother, you don't think they'll come after me here?" he
+questioned, his tone full of doubt.
+
+"They _did_ come after ye, to some purpose," wrathfully responded Mrs.
+Sanders. "My belief is you've come home with your head turned. I'd like
+to know where you've been hiding."
+
+"I've been nowhere but up in the tallet at master's," replied Jim. "I
+crep' in there last night, dead tired, and never woke this morning. Hay
+do make one sleep; it's warmer than bed."
+
+We need not follow the interview any further. At the close of the night
+she knew little more than she had known at its commencement beyond the
+assertion that Rupert Trevlyn was killed. Jim went off in the morning to
+his work as usual, and she resumed her labours of the day before. Nora
+had scarcely shown her wisdom in releasing Jim so quickly; but it may be
+that to keep him longer concealed in the "tallet" was next door to
+impossible.
+
+Mrs. Sanders was interrupted in her work by George Ryle. She smoothed
+down the coarse towel pinned before her, and put her untidy hair behind
+her ears as her master entered. He questioned her as to the report which
+had been traced to her, and she disclosed what she had heard from Jim.
+Not much in itself, but it wore an air of mystery George could not
+understand and did not like. He left her to go in search of Jim.
+
+But another, as we have heard, had taken precedence of him in searching
+for that gentleman--Policeman Dumps. Mr. Dumps found him in the
+out-buildings at Trevlyn Farm, working as unconcernedly as though
+nothing had happened. The man's first move, fearing perhaps a second
+escape, was to clap a pair of handcuffs on him.
+
+"There, you young reptile! You'll go off again, will you, after
+committing murder!"
+
+Now, in point of fact, Mr. Dumps had really no particular reason for
+using the word. He only intended to imply that Mr. Jim's general
+delinquency deserved a strong name. Jim took it in a different light.
+
+"It wasn't me murdered him!" he said, terrified almost out of his life
+at the handcuffs. "I only see it done. Why should I murder him, Mr.
+Dumps?"
+
+"Who's talking about murder?" cynically returned Dumps, forgetting
+probably that he had used the word. "The setting of the rick-yard on
+fire was enough for you, warn't it, without anything else added on to
+it?"
+
+"Oh, you mean the fire," said Jim, considerably relieved. "I didn't do
+that, neither, and there'll be plenty to prove it. I thought you meant
+the murder."
+
+Dumps surveyed his charge critically, uncertain what to make of him. He
+proceeded to questioning; setting about it in an artistic manner that
+was perhaps characteristic of his calling.
+
+"Which murder might be you meaning of, pray?"
+
+"Mr. Rupert's."
+
+"Mr.----What be you talking of?" uttered Dumps, staring at Jim in the
+utmost astonishment.
+
+And now Jim Sanders found he had been caught in a trap, one not
+expressly laid for him. He could have bitten his tongue out with
+vexation. That the death of Rupert Trevlyn would become public property,
+he had never doubted, but he had intended to remain silent upon the
+subject.
+
+It was too late to retract now, and he must make the best of it, and put
+up with the consequences.
+
+"Who says Mr. Rupert's murdered?" persisted Dumps.
+
+"So he is," sullenly answered Jim. "But I didn't do it."
+
+Mr. Dumps's rejoinder was to seize Jim by the collar, and march him off
+in the direction of the station as fast as he could walk. The farming
+men, who had been collecting since the policeman's arrival, followed to
+the fold-yard gate, and stood staring, supposing he was taken on
+suspicion of having caused the fire. Nora, shut up in her dairy, had
+seen nothing, or there's no knowing but she might have flown out to the
+rescue.
+
+Not another word was spoken; indeed the pace at which Mr. Dumps chose to
+walk prevented it. When they reached the station, Mr. Chattaway was
+talking to Bowen. Jim went into a shivering fit at the sight of
+Chattaway, and strove to hide behind Policeman Dumps.
+
+"So you have turned up!" exclaimed Bowen. "And now, where did you get to
+yesterday?"
+
+Jim did not answer; he appeared to wish to avoid Mr. Chattaway, and
+trembled visibly. Bowen was on the point of inquiring what made him
+quake in that fashion, when Mr. Chattaway's voice broke in like a peal
+of thunder.
+
+"How dared you be guilty of suppressing evidence? How dared you run
+away?"
+
+Bowen turned the boy round to face him. "Just state where you got to,
+Jim Sanders."
+
+"I didn't run away," replied Jim. "I lay down in the tallet at the farm
+atop o' the hay, and never woke all day yesterday. Miss Dickson can say
+I was there, for she come and found me there at night, and sent me off.
+There warn't no cause for me to run away," he somewhat fractiously
+repeated, as if weary of having to harp upon the same string. "It wasn't
+me that fired the rick."
+
+"But you saw it fired?" cried Mr. Chattaway.
+
+Jim stole round, so as to put Dumps between him and the questioner. Mr.
+Bowen brought him to again. "There's no need to dodge about like that,"
+cried he, repeating Jim's words. "Just speak up the truth; but you are
+not forced to say anything to criminate yourself."
+
+"I can tell 'em," thought Jim to himself; "it won't hurt him, now he's
+dead. It was Mr. Rupert," he said aloud. "After he got the
+horsewhipping, he caught up the torch and pushed it into one o' the
+ricks; and that's as true as I be living."
+
+"You saw him do this?"
+
+"I was watching all the while, round the pales. He seemed like one
+a'most mad, and it frighted me. I pulled the burning hay out o' the
+rick, and thought I pulled it all out, but suppose a spark must ha'
+stopped in. I was frighted worse afterwards when the flames burst out,
+and I ran off for the engines. I telled Mr. Apperley I'd been for 'em
+when I met him at night."
+
+The boy's earnest tones and honest eyes, lifted to Bowen's, convinced
+that experienced officer that it was the truth. But he chose to gaze
+implacably at the culprit, never relaxing his sternness of voice.
+
+"Then what made you go and hide yourself? Out with the truth!"
+
+Jim's eyes fell now. "I was tired to death," he said, "and crep' up into
+the tallet at master's, and went to sleep. And I never woke in the
+morning, when I ought to ha' woke."
+
+This was so far probable that it _might_ be true. But before Bowen could
+go on questioning he was interrupted by Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"He has confessed sufficient, Bowen--it was Rupert Trevlyn. But he
+deserves punishment for the trouble he has put everyone to; and there
+must be a fresh examination. Keep him safely here, and take care he's
+not tampered with. I am obliged to go to Blackstone to-day, but the
+hearing can take place to-morrow, if you'll apprise the magistrates.
+And--Bowen--mind you accomplish that other matter to-day that I have
+charged you with."
+
+The last sentence, spoken emphatically and slowly, Mr. Chattaway turned
+round to deliver as he was going out. Bowen nodded in acquiescence; and
+Chattaway mounted his horse and rode off in the direction of Blackstone.
+
+Jim Sanders, looking the picture of misery in his handcuffs, stood
+awkwardly in a corner of the room; it was a square room with a boarded
+floor; and a railed-off desk. Bowen had gone within these rails as Mr.
+Chattaway departed, and was busy writing a few detached words or
+sentences, that looked like memoranda. Dumps was gazing after the
+retreating figure of Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"Call Chigwell," said Bowen, glancing at the small door which led into
+the inner premises. "There's work for both of you to-day."
+
+But before Dumps could do this, he was half-knocked over by some one
+entering. It was George Ryle. He took in a view of affairs at a glance:
+Bowen writing; Dumps doing nothing; Mr. Jim Sanders handcuffed.
+
+"So you have come to grief?" said George to the latter. "You are just
+the man I wanted, Jim. Bowen," he added, going within the railings and
+lowering his voice, "have you heard this report about Rupert Trevlyn?"
+
+"I have heard he is probably off, sir," was Bowen's answer. "Two of the
+men are going out now to look after him. Mr. Chattaway has signed a
+warrant for his apprehension."
+
+George paused. "There is a report that he is dead," he resumed.
+
+"Dead!" echoed Bowen, aghast. "Rupert Trevlyn dead! Who says it?"
+
+George looked round at Jim. The boy stood white and shivery; but before
+any questions could be asked, Dumps came forward and spoke.
+
+"_He_ was talking of that," he said to Bowen, indicating Jim. "When I
+clapped the handcuffs on him, he turned scared, and began denying it was
+him that did the murder. I asked him what he meant, and who was
+murdered, and he said it was Mr. Rupert Trevlyn."
+
+Bowen looked thunderstruck, little as it is in the way of police
+officers to show emotion of any kind. "What grounds has he for saying
+that?" he exclaimed, gazing keenly at Jim. "Mr. Ryle, where did you hear
+the report?"
+
+"I heard it just now at Trevlyn Hold. It would have alarmed them very
+much had they believed it. Mr. Chattaway was away, and Miss Trevlyn
+requested me to inquire into it, and bring back news--as she assumed I
+should--of its absurdity. I believe we must go to Jim for information,"
+added George, "for I have traced the report to him."
+
+Bowen beckoned Jim within the railings; where there was just sufficient
+space for the three. Dumps stood outside, leaning on the bars. "Have you
+been doing mischief to Mr. Rupert Trevlyn?" asked the superintendent.
+
+"Me!" echoed Jim--and it was evident that his astonishment was genuine.
+"I wouldn't have hurt a hair of his head," he added, bursting into
+tears. "I couldn't sleep for vexing over it. It wasn't me."
+
+Bowen quietly took off the handcuffs, and laid them on the desk.
+"There," said he, in a kindlier tone; "now you can talk at your ease.
+Let us hear about this."
+
+"I'm afeard, sir," responded Jim.
+
+"There's nothing to be afeard of, if you are innocent. Do you know of
+any ill having happened to Mr. Rupert Trevlyn?"
+
+"I know he's dead," answered Jim. "They blowed me up for saying it was
+him set the rick a-fire, and I was sorry I had said it; but now he's
+gone, it don't matter, and I can say still that it was him fired it."
+
+"Who blew you up?"
+
+"Some on 'em," answered Jim, doing his best to evade the question.
+
+"Well, what is this about Mr. Rupert? If you are afraid to tell me, tell
+your master there," suggested Bowen. "I'm sure he is a kind master to
+you; all the parish knows that."
+
+"It _must_ be told, Jim," said George Ryle, impressively, as he laid his
+hand upon the boy's shoulder. "What are you afraid of?"
+
+"Mr. Chattaway might kill me for telling, sir," said unwilling Jim.
+
+"Nonsense! Mr. Chattaway would be as anxious to know the truth as we
+are."
+
+"But if it was him did it?" whispered Jim, glancing fearfully round the
+whitewashed walls of the room, as he had glanced around those of his
+mother's cottage.
+
+A blank pause. Mr. Bowen looked at George, whose face had turned hectic
+with the surprise, the _dread_ the words had brought. "You must speak
+out, Jim," was all he said.
+
+"It was in the little grove last night," rejoined the boy. "I was
+running home after Nora Dickson turned me out o' the tallet, and when I
+got up to 'em they was having words----"
+
+"Who were having words?"
+
+"Mr. Chattaway and Master Rupert. I was scared, and crep' in amid the
+trees, and they never saw me. And then I heard blows, and I looked out
+and saw Mr. Rupert struck down to the earth, and he fell as one who
+hasn't got no life in him, and I knew he was dead."
+
+"And what happened next?" asked Bowen.
+
+"I don't know, sir. I come off then, and got into mother's. I didn't
+dare tell her it was Chattaway killed him. I wouldn't tell now, only you
+force me."
+
+Bowen was revolving things in his mind, this and that. "Not five minutes
+ago Chattaway gave me orders to have Rupert Trevlyn searched for and
+taken up to-day," he muttered, more to himself than to George Ryle. "He
+knew he was skulking somewhere in the neighbourhood, he said; skulking,
+that was the word. I don't know what to think of this."
+
+Neither did his hearers know, Mr. Jim Sanders possibly excepted. "I
+wonder," slowly resumed Bowen, a curious light coming into his eyes,
+"what brought those scratches on the face of Mr. Chattaway?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIV
+
+FERMENT
+
+
+Strange rumours were abroad in the neighbourhood of Trevlyn Hold, and
+the excitement increased hourly. Mr. Chattaway had murdered Rupert
+Trevlyn--so ran the gossip--and Jim Sanders was in custody. Before the
+night of the day on which you saw Jim in the police-station, these
+reports, with many wild and almost impossible additions, were current,
+and spreading largely.
+
+With the exception of the accusation made by Jim Sanders, the only
+corroboration to the tale appeared to rest in the fact that Rupert
+Trevlyn was not to be found. Dumps and his brother-constable scoured the
+locality high and low, and could find no traces of him. Sober lookers-on
+(but it is rare to find them in times of great excitement) regarded this
+as a favourable fact. Had Rupert really been murdered, or even
+accidentally killed by a chance blow from Mr. Chattaway, surely his body
+would be forthcoming to confirm the tale. But there were not wanting
+others who believed, and did not shrink from the avowal, that Mr.
+Chattaway was quite capable of suppressing all signs of the affray,
+including the dead body itself; though by what sleight-of-hand the act
+could have been accomplished seemed likely to remain a mystery.
+
+Before Mr. Chattaway got home from Blackstone in the evening, all the
+rumours, good and bad, were known at Trevlyn Hold.
+
+Mr. Chattaway was not unprepared to find this the case. In returning, he
+had turned his horse to the police-station, and reined in. Bowen, who
+saw him, came out.
+
+"Has he been taken?" demanded Mr. Chattaway.
+
+He put the question in an earnest tone, some impatience dashed with it,
+that was apparently genuine. "No, he has not," replied Bowen, stroking
+his chin, taking note of Mr. Chattaway's face. "Dumps and Chigwell have
+been at it all day; are at it still; but as yet without result."
+
+"Then they are laggards at their work!" retorted Mr. Chattaway, his
+countenance darkening. "He was wandering about the place last night, and
+is sure to be not far off it to-day. By Heaven, he shall be unearthed!
+If there's any screening going on, as I know there was yesterday with
+regard to Jim Sanders, I'll have the actors brought to justice!"
+
+Bowen came out of a reverie. "Would you be so good as to step inside for
+a few minutes, Mr. Chattaway? I have a word to say to you."
+
+Mr. Chattaway got off his horse, hooked the bridle to the rails, as he
+had hooked it in the morning, and followed Bowen. The man saw that the
+doors were closed, and then spoke.
+
+"There's a tale flying about, Mr. Chattaway, that Rupert Trevlyn has
+come to some harm. Do you know anything of it?"
+
+"Not I," slightingly answered Mr. Chattaway. "What harm should come to
+him?"
+
+"It is said that you and he met last night, had some sort of encounter
+by moonlight, and that Rupert was--in short, that some violence was done
+him."
+
+For a full minute they remained looking at each other. The policeman
+appeared intent on biting the feathers of his pen; in reality, he was
+studying the face of Mr. Chattaway with a critical acumen his apparently
+careless demeanour imparted little idea of. He saw the blood mount under
+the dark skin; he saw the eye lighten with emotion: but the emotion was
+more like that called forth by anger than guilt. At least, so the police
+officer judged; and habit had rendered him a pretty correct observer.
+Mr. Chattaway was the first to speak.
+
+"How do you know anything of the sort took place?--any interview?"
+
+"It was watched--that is, accidentally seen. A person was passing at the
+time, and has mentioned it to-day."
+
+"Who was the person?"
+
+Bowen did not reply to the question. The omission may have been
+accidental, since he was hastening to put one on his own account.
+
+"Do you deny this, Mr. Chattaway?"
+
+"No. I wish I had the opportunity of acknowledging it to Mr. Rupert
+Trevlyn in the manner he deserves," continued Mr. Chattaway, in what
+looked like a blaze of anger.
+
+"It is said that after the--the encounter, Rupert Trevlyn was left as
+one dead," cautiously resumed Bowen.
+
+"Psha!" was the scornful retort. "Dead! He got up and ran away."
+
+A very different account from that of Jim Sanders. Bowen was silent for
+a minute, endeavouring, most likely, to reconcile the two. "Have you any
+objection to state what took place, sir?"
+
+"I don't know that I have," was the reply, somewhat sullenly delivered.
+"But I can't see what business it is of yours."
+
+"People are taking up odd notions about it," said Bowen.
+
+"People be hanged! It's no concern of theirs."
+
+"But if they come to me and oblige me to make it my concern?" returned
+the officer, in significant tones. "If it's all fair and above-board,
+you had better tell me, Mr. Chattaway. If it's not, perhaps the less you
+say the better."
+
+It was a hint not calculated to conciliate a chafed spirit, and Mr.
+Chattaway resented it. "How dare you presume to throw out insinuations
+to me?" he cried, snatching his riding-whip off the desk, where he had
+laid it, and stalking towards the door. "I'll tell you nothing; and you
+may make the best and the worst of it. Find Rupert Trevlyn, if you must
+know, and get it out of him. I ask you who has been spreading the rumour
+that I met Rupert Trevlyn last night?"
+
+Bowen saw no reason why he should not disclose it. "Jim Sanders," he
+replied.
+
+"Psha!" contemptuously ejaculated Mr. Chattaway: and he mounted his
+horse and rode away.
+
+So that after this colloquy, Chattaway was in a degree prepared to find
+unpleasant rumours had reached the Hold. When he entered he could not
+avoid seeing the shrinking, timid looks cast on him by his children; the
+haughty, questioning face of Miss Diana; the horror in that of Mrs.
+Chattaway. He took the same sullen, defiant tone with them that he had
+taken with Bowen, denying the thing by implication more than by direct
+assertions. He asked them all whether they had gone out of their minds,
+that they should listen to senseless tales; and threatened the most dire
+revenge against Rupert when he was found.
+
+Thus matters went on for a few days. But the rumours did not die away:
+on the contrary, they gathered strength and plausibility. Things were in
+a most uncomfortable state at the Hold: the family were tortured by
+dread and doubt they dared not give utterance to, and strove to hide;
+the very servants went about with silent footsteps, casting covert
+glances at their master from dark corners, and avoiding a direct meeting
+with him. Mr. Chattaway could not help seeing all this, and it did not
+tend to give him equanimity.
+
+The only thing that could clear up this miserable doubt was to find
+Rupert. But Rupert was not found. Friends and foes, police and public,
+put out their best endeavours to accomplish it; but no more trace could
+be discovered of Rupert than if he had never existed--or than if, as
+many openly said, he were buried in some quiet corner of Mr. Chattaway's
+grounds. To do Mr. Chattaway justice, he appeared the most anxious of
+any for Rupert's discovery: not with a view to clearing himself from
+suspicion; _that_ he trampled under foot, as it were; but that Rupert
+might be brought to justice for burning the ricks.
+
+Perhaps Mr. Chattaway's enemies may be pardoned for their doubts. It
+cannot be denied that there were apparent grounds for them: many a man
+has been officially accused of murder upon less. There was the
+well-known ill-feeling which had long existed on Mr. Chattaway's part
+towards Rupert; there was the dread of being displaced by him, which had
+latterly arisen through the visit of Mr. Daw; there was the sore feeling
+excited on both sides by the business of the rick-yard and the
+subsequent examination; there was the night contest spoken of by Jim
+Sanders, which Mr. Chattaway did not deny; there were the scratches and
+bruises visible on that gentleman's face; and there was the total
+disappearance of Rupert. People could remember the blank look which had
+passed over Mr. Chattaway's countenance when Rupert ran into the circle
+gathered round the pit at Blackstone. "He'd ha' bin glad that he were
+dead," they had murmured then, one to another. "And happen he have put
+him out o' the way," they murmured now.
+
+Perhaps they did not all go so far as to suspect Mr. Chattaway of the
+crime of premeditated murder: he might have killed him wilfully in the
+passion of the moment; or killed him accidentally by an unlucky blow
+that had done its work more effectually than he had intended. The
+fruitless search was no barrier to these doubts; murdered men had been
+hidden away before, and would be again.
+
+I have not yet mentioned the last point of suspicion, but it was one
+much dwelt upon--the late return of Mr. Chattaway to his home on the
+night in question. The servants had not failed to talk of this, and the
+enemies outside took it up and discussed it eagerly. It was most unusual
+for Mr. Chattaway to be away from home at night. Unsociable by nature,
+and a man whose company was not sought by his neighbours--for they
+disliked him--it was a rare thing for Mr. Chattaway to spend his
+evenings out. He attended evening parties now and then in the company of
+his wife and Miss Trevlyn, but not once a year was he invited out alone.
+His absence therefore on this night, coupled with his late entrance,
+close upon midnight, was the more remarkable. Where had he been until
+that hour? Everyone wondered: everyone asked it. Mr. Chattaway
+carelessly answered his wife and Miss Diana that he had been on business
+at Barbrook, but condescended to give no reply whatever to any other
+living mortal amongst the questioners.
+
+As the days went on without news of Rupert, Mr. Chattaway expressed a
+conviction that he had made his way to Mr. Daw, and was being sheltered
+there. A most unsatisfactory conviction, if he really and genuinely
+believed it. With those two hatching plots against him, he could never
+know a moment's peace. He was most explosive against Rupert; at home and
+abroad he never ceased to utter threats of prosecution for the crime of
+which he had been guilty. He rode every other day to the station,
+worrying Bowen, asking whether any traces had turned up: urged--this was
+in the first day or so of the disappearance--that houses and cottages
+should be searched. Bowen quite laughed at the suggestion. If Mr.
+Chattaway had reason to suspect any particular house or cottage, they
+might perhaps go the length of getting a search warrant; but to enter
+dwellings indiscriminately would be an intolerable and unjustifiable
+procedure.
+
+Mr. Chattaway was unable to say that he had especial cause to suspect
+any house or cottage: unless, he added in his temper, it might be
+Trevlyn Farm. Jim Sanders had, it appeared, hidden there in an
+outbuilding: why not Rupert Trevlyn? But Bowen saw and knew that Mr.
+Chattaway had only spoken in exasperation. Trevlyn Farm was not more
+likely to conceal Rupert Trevlyn than any other house of its
+standing--in fact less; for Mrs. Ryle would not have permitted it. Her
+dislike to any sort of underhand dealing was so great, that she would
+not have concealed Rupert, or countenanced his being concealed, had it
+been to save him from hanging. In that she resembled Miss Diana Trevlyn.
+Miss Diana would have spent her last shilling nobly to defend Rupert on
+his trial--had it come to a trial--but ignominiously conceal him from
+the reach of the law, that she would never have done. Chattaway's remark
+travelled to George Ryle: George happened to meet Bowen the same day,
+not an hour after, and spoke of it. He told Bowen that the bare idea of
+Rupert's being concealed on their premises was absurd, and added, on his
+word of honour, not only that he did not know where Rupert was, but
+where he was likely to be: the thing was to him a complete mystery.
+Bowen nodded. In Bowen's opinion the idea of his being concealed in any
+house was all moonshine.
+
+The days went on and on, and it did appear very mysterious where Rupert
+could be, or what his fate. His clothes, his effects, remained unclaimed
+at Trevlyn Hold. When Mrs. Chattaway came unexpectedly upon anything
+that had belonged to him, she turned sick with the fears that darted
+across her heart. A faint hope arose within her at times that Rupert had
+gone, as Mr. Chattaway loudly, and perhaps others more secretly,
+surmised, to Mr. Daw in his far-off home, but it was rejected the next
+moment. She knew, none better, that Rupert had no means to take him
+there. Oh, how often did she wish, in her heart of hearts, that they had
+never usurped Trevlyn Hold! It seemed they were beginning to reap all
+the bitter fruits, which had been so long ripening.
+
+But this supposition was soon to be set aside. Two letters arrived from
+Mr. Daw: one to Mr. Freeman, the other to Rupert himself; and they
+completely did away with the idea that Rupert Trevlyn had found his way
+to the Pyrenees.
+
+It appeared that Rupert had written an account to Mr. Daw of these
+unhappy circumstances; his setting the rick on fire in his passion, and
+his arrest. He had written it on the evening of the day he was
+discharged from custody. And by the contents of his letter, it was
+evident that he then contemplated returning to the Hold.
+
+"These letters from Mr. Daw settle the question: Rupert has not gone
+there," observed Mr. Freeman. "But they only make the mystery greater."
+
+Yes, they did. And the news went forth to the neighbourhood that Rupert
+Trevlyn had written a letter subsequent to the examination at Barmester,
+wherein he stated that he was going straight home to the Hold. Gossip
+never loses in the carrying, you know.
+
+Jim Sanders, who was discharged and at work again, became quite the lion
+of the day. He had never been made so much of in his life. Tea here,
+supper there, ale everywhere. Everyone was asking Jim the particulars of
+that later night, and Jim, nothing loth, gave them, with the addition of
+his own comments.
+
+And the days went on, and the ferment and the doubts increased.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLV
+
+AN APPLICATION
+
+
+The ferment increased. The arguments in the neighbourhood were worthy of
+being listened to, if only from a logical point of view. If Rupert
+Trevlyn had stated that he was going back to the Hold after the
+proceedings at Barmester; and if Rupert Trevlyn never reached the Hold,
+clearly Mr. Chattaway had killed and buried him. Absurd as the deduction
+may be from a dispassionate point of view, to those excited gentry it
+appeared not only a feasible but a certain conclusion. The thing could
+not rest; interviews were held with Mr. Peterby, who was supposed to be
+the only person able to take up the matter on the part of the missing
+and ill-used Rupert; and that gentleman bestirred himself to make secret
+inquiries.
+
+One dark night, between eight and nine, the inmates of the lodge were
+disturbed by a loud imperative knocking at their door. Ann
+Canham--trying her poor eyes over some dark sewing by the light of the
+solitary candle--started from her chair, and remarked that her heart had
+leaped into her mouth.
+
+Which may have been a reason, possibly, for standing still, face and
+hands uplifted in consternation, instead of answering the knock. It was
+repeated more imperatively.
+
+Old Canham turned his head and looked at her, as he smoked his last
+evening pipe over the fire. "Thee must open it, Ann."
+
+Seeing no help for it, she went meekly to the door, wringing her hands.
+What she feared was best known to herself; but in point of fact, since
+Bowen, the superintendent, had pounced upon her a few days before, as
+she was going past the police-station, handed her inside, and put her
+through sundry questions as we put a boy through his catechism, she had
+lived in a state of tremor. She may have concluded it was Bowen now,
+with the fellow handcuffs to those which had adorned Jim Sanders.
+
+It proved to be Mr. Peterby. Ann looked surprised, but lost three parts
+of her fear. Dropping her humble curtsey, she was about to ask his
+pleasure, when he brushed past her without ceremony, and stepped into
+the kitchen.
+
+"Shut the door," were his first words to her. "How are you, Canham?"
+
+Mark had risen, and stood with doubtful gaze, wondering, no doubt, what
+the visit could mean. "I be but middlin', sir," he answered, putting his
+pipe in the corner of the hearth. "We ain't none of us too well, I
+reckon, with this uncertainty hanging over our minds, as to poor Master
+Rupert."
+
+"It is the business I have come about. Sit down, Ann," Mr. Peterby
+added, settling himself on the bench opposite Mark. "I want to ask you a
+few questions."
+
+"Yes, sir," she meekly answered. But her hands shook, and she nearly
+dropped the work she had taken up.
+
+"There's nothing to be afraid of," cried Mr. Peterby, noticing the
+emotion. "I am not going to accuse you of putting him out of sight, as
+it seems busy tongues are accusing somebody else. On the night the
+encounter took place between Mr. Chattaway and Rupert Trevlyn, you were
+passing near the spot, I believe. You must tell me all you saw. First of
+all, as I am told, you encountered Rupert."
+
+Ann Canham raised her shaking hand to her brow. Mr. Peterby had begun
+his questioning in a hard, matter-of-fact tone, as if he were examining
+a witness in court, and it did not tend to reassure her. Ann was often
+laughed at for her timidity. She gave him the account of her interview
+with Rupert as correctly as she could remember it.
+
+"He said nothing of his intention of going off anywhere?" asked Mr.
+Peterby, when she had finished.
+
+"Not a word, sir. He said he had nowhere to go to; if he went to the
+Hold, Mr. Chattaway might be for horsewhipping him again. He thought he
+should lie under the trees till morning."
+
+"Did you leave him there?"
+
+"I left him sitting on the stile, sir, eating the bread. He had
+complained of hunger, and I got him to take a part of a cake Mrs.
+Freeman had given me for my father."
+
+"You told Bowen, the superintendent of the police-station, that you
+asked him to take refuge in the lodge for the night?"
+
+"Yes, sir," after a slight pause. "Mr. Bowen put a heap of questions to
+me, and what with being confused, and the fright of his calling me into
+the place, I didn't well know what I said to him."
+
+"But you did ask Rupert Trevlyn?"
+
+"I asked him if he'd be pleased to take shelter in the lodge till the
+morning, as he seemed to have nowhere to go to. But he spoke out quite
+sharp, at my asking it, and said, did I think he wanted to get me and
+father into trouble with Mr. Chattaway? So I went away, leaving him
+there."
+
+"Well, now, just tell me whom you met afterwards."
+
+"I hadn't got above three-parts up the field, sir, when I met Mr.
+Chattaway. I stood off the narrow path to let him pass, and wished him
+good night, but he didn't answer me: he went on. Just as I came close to
+the road-stile, I see Jim Sanders coming over it, so I asked him where
+he had been, and how he had got back again, having heard he'd not been
+found all day, and he answered rather impertinently that he'd been up in
+the moon. The moon was uncommon bright that night, sir," she simply
+added.
+
+"Was that all Jim Sanders said?"
+
+"Yes, sir, every word. He went on down the path as if he was in a
+hurry."
+
+"In the direction Mr. Chattaway had taken?"
+
+"The very same. There is but that one path, sir."
+
+"And that was the last you saw of them?"
+
+Ann Canham stopped to snuff the candle before she answered. "That was
+all, sir. I was hastening to get back to father, knowing he'd be wanting
+me, for I was late. Mr. Bowen kep' on telling me it was strange I heard
+nothing of the encounter, but I never did. I must ha' been out of the
+field long before Mr. Chattaway could get up to Master Rupert."
+
+"Pity but you had waited and gone back," observed Mr. Peterby, musingly.
+"It might have prevented what occurred."
+
+"Pity, perhaps, but I had, sir. It never entered my head that anything
+bad would come of their meeting. Since, after I came to know what did
+happen, I wondered I had not thought of it. But if I had, sir, I
+shouldn't have dared go back after Mr. Chattaway. It wouldn't have been
+my place."
+
+Mr. Peterby sat looking at Ann, as she imagined. In point of fact he was
+so buried in thought as to see nothing. He rose from the settle. "And
+this is all you know about it! Well, it amounts to nothing beyond
+establishing the fact that all three--Rupert Trevlyn, Mr. Chattaway, and
+the boy--were on the spot at that time. Good night, Canham. I hope your
+rheumatism will get easier."
+
+Ann Canham opened the door, and wished him good night. When he was
+fairly gone she slipped the bolt, and stood with her back against it, to
+recover her equanimity.
+
+"Father, my heart was in my mouth all the time he was here," she
+repeated. "I be all of a twitter."
+
+"More stupid you!" was the sympathising answer of old Canham.
+
+The public ferment, I say, did not lessen, and the matter was at length
+carried before the magistrates; so far as that the advice of one of them
+was asked by Mr. Peterby. It happened that Mr. Chattaway had gone this
+very day to Barmester. He was standing at the entrance to the inn-yard
+where he generally put up, when his solicitor, Flood, approached,
+evidently in a state of excitement.
+
+"What a mercy I found you!" he exclaimed, quite out of breath. "Jackson
+told me you were in town. Come along!"
+
+"Why, what's the matter?" asked Chattaway.
+
+"Matter? There's matter enough. Peterby's before the magistrates at this
+very moment preferring a charge against you for having murdered Rupert
+Trevlyn. I got word of it in the oddest manner, and----"
+
+"_What_ do you say?" interrupted Chattaway, his face blazing, as he
+stood stock still, and refused to stir another step without an answer.
+
+"Come along, I say. There's some application being made to the
+magistrates about you, and my advice is----Mr. Chattaway," added the
+lawyer, in a deeper, almost an agitated tone, as he abruptly broke off
+his words, "I assume that you are innocent of this. You _are_?"
+
+"Before Heaven, I am innocent!" thundered Chattaway. "What do you mean,
+Flood?"
+
+"Then make haste. My advice to you is, go right into the midst of it,
+and confront Peterby. Don't let the magistrates hear only one side of
+the question. Make your explanation and set these nasty rumours at rest.
+It is what you ought to have done at first."
+
+Apparently eager as himself now, Mr. Chattaway strode along. They found
+on reaching the courts that some trifling cause was being heard by the
+magistrates, nothing at all connected with Mr. Chattaway. But the
+explanation was forthcoming, Mr. Peterby was in a private room with one
+of the Bench only--a Captain Mynn. With scant ceremony the interview was
+broken in upon by the intruders.
+
+There was no formal complaint being made, no accusation lodged, or
+warrant applied for. Mr. Peterby, who was on terms of intimacy with
+Captain Mynn, was laying the case before him unofficially, and asking
+his advice as a friend. A short explanation on either side ensued, and
+Mr. Peterby turned to Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"This has been forced upon me," he said. "For days and days past I have
+been urged to apply for a warrant against you, and have declined. But
+public opinion is becoming so urgent, that if I don't act it will be
+taken out of my hands, and given to those who have less scruple than I.
+Therefore I resolved to adopt a medium course; and came here asking
+Captain Mynn's opinion as a friend--not as a magistrate--whether I
+should have sufficient grounds for acting. For myself, I honestly
+confess I think them very slight; and assure you, Mr. Chattaway, that I
+am no enemy of yours, although it may look like it at this moment."
+
+"By whom have you been urged to this?" coldly asked Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"By more than I should care to name: the public, to give them a
+collective term. But how you obtained cognisance of my being here, I
+can't make out," he added, turning to Mr. Flood. "Not a soul knew I was
+coming."
+
+"As we have met here, we had better have it out," was Mr. Flood's
+indirect answer. "It is my advice to Mr. Chattaway, and he wishes it. If
+Captain Mynn hears your side unofficially he must, in justice, hear
+ours. That's fair, all the world over."
+
+It was, doubtless, a very unusual, perhaps unorthodox, mode of
+proceeding; but things far more unorthodox than that are done in local
+courts every day. Captain Mynn knew all the doubts and rumours just as
+well as Mr. Peterby could state them, but he listened attentively, as in
+duty bound. Mr. Chattaway did not deny the encounter with Rupert: never
+had denied it. He acknowledged they were neither of them very cool;
+Rupert was the first to strike, and Rupert fell or was knocked down.
+Immediately upon that, he, Chattaway, heard a sound, went to see what it
+was, and found they had had an eavesdropper, who was then making off
+across the field, on the other side of the grove. Chattaway, angry at
+the fact, gave pursuit, in the hope of identifying the intruder (whom he
+had since discovered to be Jim Sanders), but was unable to catch him.
+When he got back to the spot, Rupert was gone.
+
+"How long were you absent?" inquired Captain Mynn of Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"About six or seven minutes, I think. I ran to the other end of the
+field, and looked into the lane, but the boy had escaped out of sight,
+and I walked back again. It would take about seven minutes; the field is
+large."
+
+"And after that?"
+
+"Finding, as I tell you, that Rupert had disappeared, I re-traversed the
+ground over the lower field, and went on to Barbrook, where I had
+business. I never saw Rupert Trevlyn after I left him on the ground. The
+inference, therefore--nay, the absolute certainty--is, that he got up
+and escaped."
+
+A pause. "You did not reach home, I believe, until midnight, or
+thereabouts," remarked Captain Mynn. "Some doubts have been raised as to
+where you could have spent your time."
+
+And this question led to the very core of the suspicion. Mr. Chattaway
+appeared to feel that it did, and hesitated. So far he had spoken freely
+and openly enough, not with the ungracious, sullen manner that generally
+characterised him, but he hesitated now.
+
+"Strange to say," he resumed, "I could not account for the whole of my
+time that evening. That is, if I were asked for proof, I am not sure
+that it could be furnished. I was anxious to see Hurnall, the agent for
+the Boorfield mines, and that's where I went. My son had brought home
+news from Blackstone, that they were going to force me to make certain
+improvements in my pit, and I wanted to consult Hurnall about it. He is
+up to every trick and turn, and knows what they can compel an owner to
+do and what they can't. When I reached Hurnall's house, he was out;
+might return immediately, the servant said, or might not be home till
+late. She asked me if I would go in and wait; but I had no fancy for a
+close room, after being boxed up all day in the court _here_, and said I
+would walk about. I walked about for two mortal hours before Hurnall
+came; and then went indoors with him. That's the whole truth, I'll
+swear."
+
+"Then I would have avowed it before, had I been you," cried Mr. Peterby.
+"It's your silence has done half the mischief, and given colouring to
+the rumours."
+
+"Silence!" cried Mr. Chattaway, angrily. "When a man's accused of murder
+by a set of brainless idiots it is punishment he'd like to give them,
+not self-defence."
+
+"Ah!" said the lawyer, "but we can't always do as we like; if we could,
+the world might be better worth living in."
+
+Mr. Chattaway turned to the magistrate. "I have told you the whole
+truth, so far as I know it; and you may judge whether these
+unneighbourly reports have not merited all my contempt. You can question
+Hurnall, who will tell you where he met me, and how long I stayed with
+him. As to Rupert Trevlyn, I have no more idea where he is than Mr.
+Peterby himself has. He will turn up some time, there's not the least
+doubt about it; and I solemnly declare that I'll then bring him to
+justice, should it be ten years hence."
+
+There was nothing more for Mr. Chattaway to wait for, and he went out
+with his solicitor. Mr. Peterby turned to Captain Mynn with a
+questioning glance.
+
+The magistrate shook his head. "My opinion is that you cannot proceed
+with this, Mr. Peterby. Were you to bring the matter officially before
+the Bench, I for one would not entertain it; neither, I am sure, would
+my brother-magistrates. Mr. Chattaway is no favourite of ours, but he
+must receive justice. That there are suspicious points connected with
+the case, I can't deny; but every one may be explained away. If what he
+says be true, they are explained now."
+
+"All but the two hours, when he says he was walking about, waiting for
+Hurnall."
+
+"It may have been so. No; upon these very slight grounds, it is of no
+use to press for a warrant against Mr. Chattaway. The very enormity of
+the crime would almost be its answer. A man of position and property, a
+county magistrate, guilty of the crime of murder in these enlightened
+days! Nonsense, Peterby!"
+
+And Mr. Peterby mentally echoed the words; and went forth prepared to
+echo them to those who had urged him to make the charge.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVI
+
+A FRIGHT FOR ANN CANHAM
+
+
+So the magistrates declined to interfere, and Mr. Chattaway went about a
+free man. But not untainted; for the neighbourhood was still free in its
+comments, and openly accused him of having made away with Rupert. Mr.
+Chattaway had his retaliation; he offered a reward for the recovery of
+the incendiary, Rupert Trevlyn, and the walls for miles round were
+placarded with handbills. Urged by him, the police recommenced their
+search, and Mr. Chattaway actually talked of sending for an experienced
+detective. One thing was indisputable--if Rupert were in life he must
+keep from the neighbourhood of Trevlyn Hold. Nothing could save him from
+the law, if taken the second time. Jim Sanders would not be kidnapped
+again; he had already testified to it officially; and Mr. Chattaway
+thirsted for vengeance.
+
+Take it for all in all, it was breaking the heart of Mrs. Chattaway.
+Looked at in any light, it was bad enough. The fear touching her
+husband, not the less startling from its improbability, was over, for he
+had succeeded in convincing her that so far he was innocent; but her
+fears for Rupert kept her in a constant state of terror. Miss Diana
+publicly condemned Rupert. This hiding from justice (if he was hiding)
+she regarded as only a degree less reprehensible than the crime itself;
+as did Mrs. Ryle; and had Miss Diana met Rupert returning some fine day,
+she would have laid her hand upon him as effectually as Mr. Dumps
+himself, and said, "You shall not escape again." Do not mistake Miss
+Diana; it would not have pleased her to see Rupert standing at the bar
+of justice to be judged by the laws of his country. She would have taken
+Rupert home to the Hold, and said to Chattaway, "Here he is, but you
+must and shall forgive him: you must forgive him, because he is a
+Trevlyn; and a Trevlyn cannot be disgraced." Miss Diana had full
+confidence in her own power to command this. Others wisely doubted
+whether any amount of interference on any part would now avail with Mr.
+Chattaway. His wife felt that it would not. She felt that were poor
+Rupert to venture home, even twelve months hence, trusting that time and
+mercy had effected his pardon, he would be sacrificed; between Miss
+Diana's and Mr. Chattaway's opposing policies, he would inevitably be
+sacrificed. Altogether, Mrs. Chattaway's life was more painful now
+Rupert had gone than it had been when he was at the Hold.
+
+Cris was against Rupert; Octave was bitterly against him; Maude went
+about the house with a white face and beating heart, health and spirits
+giving way under the tension. Suspense is, of all evils, the worst to
+bear: and they who loved Rupert, Maude and her Aunt Edith, were hourly
+victims to it. The bow was always strung. On the one hand was the latent
+doubt that he had come to some violent end that night, in spite of Mr.
+Chattaway's denial; on the other hand, the lively dread that he was
+concealing himself, and might be discovered by the police every new day
+the sun rose. They had speculated so much upon where he could be, that
+the ever-recurring thought now brought only its heart-sickness; and
+Maude had the additional pain of hearing petty shafts launched at her
+because she was his sister. Mrs. Chattaway prayed upon her bended knees
+that, hard to be borne as the suspense was, Rupert might not return
+until time should have softened the heart of Mr. Chattaway, and the
+grievous charge be done away with for want of a prosecutor.
+
+Nora was in the midst of bustle at Trevlyn Farm. And Nora was also in a
+temper. It was the annual custom there, when the busy time of harvest
+was over, to institute a general house-renovating: summer curtains were
+taken down, winter ones were put up, carpets were shaken, floors and
+paint scoured; and the place, in short, to use an ordinary expression,
+was turned inside out.
+
+There was more than usual to be done this year: for mendings and
+alterations had to be made in sundry curtains, and the upholstering
+woman, named Brown, had been at Trevlyn Farm the last day or two,
+getting forward with her work. Nora's _ruse_ in the court at Barmester,
+to wile Farmer Apperley to a private conference, had really some point
+in it, for negotiations were going on with that industrious member of
+the upholstering society through Mrs. Apperley, who had recommended her.
+
+Mrs. Brown sat in the centre of a pile of curtains, steadily plying her
+needle: the finishing stitches were being put to the work; at least,
+they would be before night closed in. Mrs. Brown, a sallow woman with a
+chronic cold in her head, preferred to work in outdoor costume; a black
+poke bonnet and faded woollen shawl crossed over her shoulders. Nora
+stood by her in a very angry mood, her arms folded, just as though she
+had nothing to do: a circumstance to be recorded in these cleaning
+times.
+
+For Nora never let the grass grow under her feet, or under any one
+else's feet, when there was work in hand. By dint of beginning hours
+before daylight, and keeping at it hours after nightfall, she succeeded
+in getting it all over in one day. Herself, Nanny, and Ann Canham put
+their best energies into it, one or two of the men were set to rub up
+the mahogany furniture, and Mrs. Ryle had almost entirely to dispense
+with being waited upon. And Nora's present anger arose from the fact
+that Ann Canham, by some extraordinary mischance, had not made her
+appearance.
+
+It was bringing things almost to a standstill, as Nora complained to
+Mrs. Brown. The two cleaners were Nanny and Ann Canham. Nanny was doing
+her part, but what was to become of the other part? And where was Ann
+Canham? Nora kept her eyes turned to the window, as she talked and
+grumbled, watching for the return of Jim Sanders, whom she had
+despatched to see after Ann.
+
+Presently she saw him approaching, went to the door and threw it open
+long before the lad reached it. "She can't come," he called out at
+length.
+
+"Not come!" echoed Nora, in wrathful consternation, looking as if she
+felt inclined to beat Jim for bringing the message. "What on earth does
+she mean by that?"
+
+"She said her father was ill, and she couldn't leave him," returned Jim.
+
+Nora could scarcely speak from indignation. Old Canham, as was known to
+the neighbourhood, had been ailing for years, and it had never kept Ann
+at home before. "I don't believe it," said she, in her perplexity.
+
+"I don't think I do, neither," returned Jim. "I'm a'most sure old Canham
+was right afore the fire, smoking his pipe as usual. She put the door to
+behind her, all in a hurry, while she talked to me, but not afore I see
+old Canham there. I be next to certain of it."
+
+Nora could not understand the state of affairs. Ann Canham, humble,
+industrious, grateful for any day's work offered to her, had never
+failed to come, when engaged, in all Barbrook's experience. What was to
+be done? The morrow was Saturday, and to have the cleaning extended to
+that day would have upset the farm's regularity and Nora's temper for a
+month.
+
+Nora took a sudden resolution. She put on her bonnet and shawl and set
+off for the lodge, determined to bring Ann Canham back willing or
+unwilling, or know the reason why. This _contretemps_ would be quite a
+life-long memory for Nora.
+
+Without any superfluous knocking, Nora turned the handle of the door
+when she reached the lodge. But the door was locked. "What can that be
+for?" ejaculated Nora--for she had never known the lodge locked in the
+day-time. "She expects I shall come after her, and thinks she'll keep me
+out!"
+
+Without an instant's delay, Nora's face was at the window, to
+reconnoitre the interior. She saw the smock-frock of old Mark
+disappearing through the opposite door as quickly as was consistent with
+his rheumatism. Nora rattled the handle of the door with one hand, and
+knocked sharply on its panel with the other. Ann opened it.
+
+"Now, Ann Canham, what's the meaning of this?" she began, pushing past
+Ann, who stood in the way, almost as if she would have kept her out.
+
+"I beg a humble pardon, ma'am, a hundred times," was the low,
+deprecating answer. "I'd do anything rather than disappoint you--such a
+thing has never happened to me yet--but I'm obliged. Father's too poorly
+for me to leave him."
+
+Nora surveyed her critically. The woman was evidently in a state of
+discomfort, if not terror. She trembled visibly, and her lips were
+white.
+
+"I got a boy to run down to Mrs. Sanders's this morning at daylight, and
+ask her to take my place," resumed Ann Canham. "Until Jim came up here a
+short while ago, I never thought but she had went."
+
+"What's the reason _you_ can't come?" demanded Nora, uncompromisingly
+stern.
+
+"I'd come but for father."
+
+"You needn't peril your soul with deliberate untruths," interrupted
+angry Nora. "There's nothing the matter with your father; nothing that
+need hinder your coming out. If he's well enough to be in the
+house-place, smoking his pipe, he's well enough to be left. He _was_
+smoking. And what's that?"--pointing to the pipe her eyes had detected
+in the corner of the hearth.
+
+Ann Canham stood the picture of helplessness under the reproach. She
+stammered out that she "daredn't leave him: he wasn't himself to-day."
+
+"He was sufficiently himself to make off on seeing me," said angry Nora.
+"What's to become of my cleaning? Who's to do it if you don't? I insist
+upon your coming, Ann Canham."
+
+It appeared almost beyond Ann Canham's courage to bring out a second
+refusal, and she burst into tears. She had never failed before, and
+hoped, if forgiven this time, never to fail again: but to leave her
+father that day was impossible.
+
+And Nora had to make the best of the refusal. She went away searching
+the woman's motive, and came to the conclusion that she must have some
+sewing in hand she was compelled to finish: that Mark's illness was
+detaining her, she did not believe. Still, she could not comprehend it.
+Ann had always been so eager to oblige, so simple and straightforward.
+Had sewing really detained her, she would have brought it out to Nora;
+would have told the truth, not making her father's health the excuse.
+Nora was puzzled, and that was a thing she hated. Ruminating upon all
+this as she walked along, she met Mrs. Chattaway. Nora, who, when
+suffering under a grievance, must dilate upon it to everyone, favoured
+Mrs. Chattaway with an account of Ann Canham's extraordinary conduct and
+ingratitude.
+
+"Rely upon it, her father is ill," answered Mrs. Chattaway. "I will tell
+you why I think so, Nora. Yesterday I was at Barmester with my sister,
+and as we pulled up at the chemist's where I had business, Ann Canham
+came out with a bottle of medicine in her hand. I asked her who was ill,
+and she said it was her father. I remarked to the chemist afterwards
+that I supposed Mark Canham had a fresh attack of rheumatism, but he
+replied that it was fever."
+
+"Fever!" echoed Nora.
+
+"I exclaimed as you do: but the chemist persisted that Mark must be
+suffering from a species of low fever. As we returned, my sister stopped
+the pony carriage at the lodge, and Ann came out to us. She explained it
+differently from the chemist. What she had meant to imply when she went
+for the medicine was, that her father was feverish--but he was better
+then, she said. Altogether, I suppose he is worse than usual, and she is
+afraid to leave him to-day."
+
+"Well," said Nora, "all I can say is that I saw old Canham stealing out
+of the room when I knocked at it, just as though he did not want to be
+seen. He was smoking, too. I can't make it out."
+
+Mrs. Chattaway was neither so speculative nor so curious as Nora;
+perhaps not so keen: she viewed it as nothing extraordinary that Mark
+Canham should be rather worse than usual, or that his daughter should
+decline to leave him.
+
+Much later in the day--in fact, when the afternoon was passing--Ann
+Canham, with a wild look in her face, turned out of the lodge and took
+the road towards Trevlyn Farm. Not openly, as people do who have nothing
+to fear, but in a timorous, uncertain, hesitating manner. Plunging into
+the fields when she was nearing the farm, she stole along under cover of
+the hedge, until she reached the one which skirted the fold-yard.
+Cautiously raising her head to see what might be on the other side, it
+almost came into contact with another head, raised to see anything that
+might be on this--the face of Policeman Dumps.
+
+Ann Canham uttered a shrill scream, and flew away as fast as her legs
+could carry her. Perhaps of all living beings, Mr. Dumps was about the
+last she would wish to encounter just then. That gentleman made his way
+to a side-gate, and called after her.
+
+"What be you afeard of, Ann Canham? Did you think I was a mad bull
+looking over at you?"
+
+It occurred to Ann Canham that to start away in that extraordinary
+fashion could only be regarded as consistent with a guilty conscience,
+and the policeman might set himself to discover her motive--as it lay in
+the nature of a policeman to do. That or some other thought made her
+turn slowly back again, and confront Mr. Dumps.
+
+"What was you afeard of?" he repeated.
+
+"Of nothing in particular, please, sir," she answered. "It was the
+suddenness like of seeing a face that startled me."
+
+Mr. Dumps thought she looked curiously startled still. But that
+complacent official, accustomed to strike terror to the hearts of boys
+and other scapegraces, did not give it a second thought. "Were you
+looking for anyone?" he asked, simply as an idle question.
+
+"No, sir. I just put my head over the hedge without meaning. I didn't
+want nothing."
+
+Mr. Dumps loftily turned on his heel without condescending so much as a
+"good afternoon." Ann Canham pursued her way along the hedge which
+skirted the fold-yard. Any one observing her closely might have detected
+indications of fear about her still. In a cautious and timid manner, she
+at length turned her head, to obtain a glimpse of Mr. Dumps's movements.
+
+Dumps had turned into the road, and was pursuing his way slowly down it.
+Every step carried him farther from her; and when he was fairly out of
+sight, her sigh of relief was long and deep.
+
+But of course there was no certainty that he would not return. Possibly
+that insecurity caused Ann to take stolen looks into the fold-yard, and
+then dive under the hedge, as if she had been at some forbidden play.
+But Dumps did not return; and yet she continued her game.
+
+A full hour had she been at it: and by her countenance, and the
+occasional almost despairing movement of her hands, it might be inferred
+that she was growing sadly anxious and weary: when Jim Sanders emerged
+from one of the out-buildings at the upper end of the fold-yard, and
+began to make for the other end. To do this he had to pass within a few
+yards of the hedge where the by-play was going on; and somewhat to his
+surprise he heard himself called to in hushed tones. Casting his eyes to
+the spot whence the voice proceeded, he saw the care-worn brow and weak
+eyes of Ann Canham above the hedge. She beckoned to him mysteriously,
+and then all signs of her disappeared.
+
+"If ever I see the like o' that!" soliloquised Jim. "What's up with Ann
+Canham?" He approached the hedge, and bawled out to know what she
+wanted.
+
+"Hush--sh--sh--sh!" came the warning from the other side. "Come here,
+Jim."
+
+Considerably astonished, thinking perhaps Ann Canham had a litter of
+puppies to show him--for, if Jim had a weakness for anything on earth,
+it was for those charming specimens of the animal world--he made his way
+through the gate. Ann had no puppies; nothing but a small note in her
+hand wafered and pressed with a thimble.
+
+"Is the master anywhere about, Jim?"
+
+"He's just gone into the barn now. The men be thrashing."
+
+Ann paused a moment. Jim stared at her.
+
+"Could you just do me a service, Jim?"
+
+Jim, good-natured at all times, replied that he supposed he could if he
+tried. But he stared, still puzzled by this extraordinary behaviour on
+the part of quiet Ann Canham.
+
+"I want this bit of a letter given to him," she said, pointing to what
+she held. "I want it given to him when he's by himself, so that it don't
+get seen. Could you manage it, Jim?"
+
+"I dare say I could," replied Jim. "What is the letter? What's inside
+it?"
+
+"It concerns Mr. Ryle," said Ann, after a perceptible hesitation. "Jim,
+if you'll do this faithful, I won't forget it. Watch your opportunity;
+and keep the letter inside your smock-frock, for fear anybody should see
+it."
+
+"I'll do it," said Jim. He took the note from her, put it in his
+trousers pocket, and went back towards the barn whistling. Ann turned
+homewards, flying over the ground as if she were running a race.
+
+Jim had not to wait for an opportunity. He met his master coming out of
+the barn. The doorway was dark; the thrashing men were at the upper end
+of the barn, and no eyes were near. Jim could not help some of the
+mystery which had appeared in Ann Canham's manner extending to his own.
+
+"What's this?" asked George.
+
+"Ann Canham brought it, sir. She was hiding t'other side the hedge and
+called to me, and telled me to be sure give it when nobody was by."
+
+George took the missive to the door and looked at it. A piece of white
+paper, which had apparently served to wrap up tea or something of that
+sort, awkwardly folded and wafered. No direction.
+
+He opened it; and saw a few words in a sprawling hand:
+
+"Don't betray me, George. Come to me in secret as soon as you can. I
+think I am dying."
+
+And in spite of its being without signature; in spite of the scrawled
+characters, and blotted words, George Ryle recognised the handwriting of
+Rupert Trevlyn.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVII
+
+SURPRISE
+
+
+On the hard flock bed in the upper back room at the lodge, he lay. As
+George Ryle stood there bending over him, he could have touched each of
+the surrounding walls. The remark of Jim Sanders that Ann Canham had
+brought the note, guided George naturally to the lodge; otherwise he
+would not have known where to look for him. One single question to old
+Canham as he entered--"Is he here?"--and George bounded up the stairs.
+
+Ann Canham, who was standing over the bed--her head just escaping the
+low ceiling--turned to George: trouble and pain on her countenance as
+she spoke.
+
+"He is in delirium now, sir. I was afeared he would be."
+
+George Ryle was too astonished to make any reply. Never had he cast a
+shadow of suspicion to Rupert's being concealed at the lodge. "Has he
+been here long?" he whispered.
+
+"All along, sir, since the night he was missed," was the reply. "After I
+had got home that night, and was telling father about Master Rupert's
+having took the half-loaf in his hunger, he come knocking at the door to
+be let in. Chattaway and him had met and quarrelled, and he was knocked
+down, his shoulder was hurt, and he felt tired and sick; and he said
+he'd stop with us till morning, and be away afore daylight, so that we
+should not get into trouble for sheltering him. He got me to lend him my
+pen and ink, and wrote a letter to that there foreign gentleman, Mr.
+Daw. After that, with a dreadful deal of pressing, sir, I got him to
+come up to bed here, and I lay on the settle downstairs for the night.
+Before daylight I was up, and had the fired lighted, and the kettle on,
+to make him a cup o' tea before starting, but he did not come down. I
+came up here and found him ill. His shoulder was stiff and painful, he
+was bruised and sore all over, and thought he couldn't get out o' bed.
+Well, sir, he stopped, and have been here ever since, getting worse, and
+me just frightened out of my life, for fear he should be found by Mr.
+Chattaway or the police, and took off to prison. I was sick for the
+whole day after, sir, that time Mr. Bowen called me into his
+station-house and set on to question me."
+
+George was looking at Rupert. There could not be a doubt that he was in
+a state of partial delirium. George feared there could not be a doubt
+that he was in danger. The bed was low and narrow, evidently hard; the
+bolster small and thin. Rupert's head lay on it quietly enough; his
+hair, which had grown long since his confinement, fell around him in
+wavy masses; his cheeks wore the hectic of fever, his blue eyes were
+unnaturally bright. There was no speculation in those eyes. They were
+partially closed, and though at the entrance of George they were turned
+to him, there was no recognition in them. His arms were flung outside
+the bed, the wristbands pushed up as if from heat.
+
+"I have put him on a shirt o' father's, sir, when his have wanted
+washing," explained Ann Canham, to whom it was natural to relate minute
+details.
+
+"How long has he been without consciousness?" inquired George.
+
+"Just for the last hour, sir. He wrote the letter I brought to you, and
+when I come back he was like this. Maybe he'll come to himself again
+presently; he's been as bad as this at times in the last day or two. I'm
+so afeard of its going on to brain-fever or some other fever. If he
+should get raving, we could never keep his being here a secret; he'd be
+heard outside."
+
+"He ought to have had a doctor before this."
+
+"But how is one to be got here?" debated Ann Canham. "Once a doctor knew
+where Mr. Rupert was, he might betray it--there's the reward, you know,
+sir. And how could we get a doctor in without its being known at the
+Hold? What mightn't Chattaway suspect?"
+
+George remained silent, revolving the matter. There were difficulties
+undoubtedly in the way.
+
+"Nobody knows the trouble I've been in, sir, especially since he grew
+worse. At first, he just lay here quiet, more as if glad of the rest,
+and my chief care was to keep folks as far as I could out o' the lodge,
+bathe his shoulder, and bring him up a share of our poor meals. But
+since the fever came upon him, I've been half dazed, wondering what I
+ought to do. There were two people I thought I might speak to--you, sir,
+and Madam. But Mr. Rupert was against it, and father was dead against
+it. They were afraid, you see, that if only one was told, it might come
+to be known he was here. Father's old now, and helpless; he couldn't do
+a stroke towards getting his own living. If I be out before daylight at
+any of my places, it's as much as he can do to open the gate and fasten
+it back: and he knows Mr. Chattaway would turn us right off the estate
+if it come to be known we had sheltered Mr. Rupert. But yesterday Mr.
+Rupert found he was getting worse and worse, and I said to father what
+would become of us if he should die? And they both said that you should
+be told to-day if he was no better. We did think him a trifle better
+this morning, but later the fever came on again, and Mr. Rupert himself
+said he'd write you a word, and I found a bit o' paper and brought him
+the big Bible, and held it while he wrote the letter on it."
+
+She ceased. George, as before, was looking at Rupert. It seemed to Ann
+Canham that he could not gaze sufficiently, but in truth he was lost in
+thought; fairly puzzled with the difficulties encompassing the case.
+
+"Is it anything more than low fever?" he asked.
+
+"I don't think it is, sir, yet. But it may go on to more, you know."
+
+George did know. He knew that assistance was necessary in more ways than
+one, if worse was to be avoided. Medical attendance, a more airy room,
+generous nourishment; and how was even one of them to be accomplished,
+let alone all? The close closet--it could scarcely be called more--had
+no chimney in it; air and light could come in only through a small pane
+ingeniously made to open in the roof. The narrow bed and one chair
+occupied almost all the space, leaving very little for George and Ann
+Canham as they stood. George, coming in from the fresh air, felt
+half-stifled with the closeness of the room: and this must be dangerous
+for the invalid. It is a mercy that these inconveniences are soothed to
+those who have to endure them--as most inconveniences and trials are in
+life. To an outsider they appear unbearable; but to the sufferers they
+are tempered. George Ryle felt as if a day in that atmosphere would half
+kill him; but Rupert, lying there always, was sensible of no discomfort.
+It was not, however, the less injurious; and it appeared that there was
+no remedy; could be no removal.
+
+"What have you given him?" inquired George.
+
+"I have made him some herb tea, sir, but it didn't seem to do him good,
+and then I went over to Barmester and got a bottle o' physic. I had to
+say it was for father, and the druggist told me I ought to call in a
+doctor, when I described the illness. Coming out of the shop there was
+Miss Diana's pony-carriage at the door, and Madam met me and asked who
+the physic was for: I never was so took aback. But the physic didn't
+seem to do him good neither."
+
+"I meant as to food," returned George.
+
+"Ah! sir--what could I give him but our poor fare? milk porridge and
+such like. I went up to the Hold one day and begged a basin o'
+curds-and-whey, and he eat it all and drank up the whey quite greedy;
+but I didn't dare go again, for fear of their suspecting something. It's
+meat and wine he ought to have had from the first, sir, but we can't get
+such things as that. Why, sir, I shouldn't dare be seen cooking a bit o'
+meat: it would set Mr. Chattaway wondering at once. What's to be done?"
+
+What, indeed? There was the question. Idea after idea shot through
+George Ryle's brain; wild fancies, because impossible to be acted upon.
+It might be dangerous to call in a doctor. Allowing that the man of
+medicine proved true and kept the secret, the very fact of his
+attendance would cause a stir at the Hold. Miss Diana would come down,
+questioning old Canham; and would inevitably find that he was _not_ ill
+enough to need a doctor. A doctor might venture there once: but
+regularly? George did not see the way by any means clear.
+
+But Rupert must not be left to die. George took up his delicate
+hand--Rupert's hands had always been delicate--and held it as he spoke
+to him. It was hot; fevered; the dry lips were parched; the hectic
+cheeks, the white brow, all burning with fever. "Don't you know me,
+Rupert?" he bent lower to ask.
+
+The words were so far heard that Rupert moved his head on the bolster;
+perhaps the familiar name struck some chord in his memory; but there was
+no recognition, and he began to twitch at the bed-clothes with one of
+his hands.
+
+George turned away. He went down the ladder of a staircase, feeling that
+little time was to be lost. Old Canham stood in his tottering fashion,
+leaning upon his crutch, watching the descent.
+
+"What do you think of him, Mr. George?"
+
+"I hardly know what to think, Mark. Or rather, I know what to think, but
+I don't know what to do. A doctor must be got here; and without loss of
+time."
+
+Old Canham lifted his hands with a gesture of despair. "Once the secret
+is give over to a doctor, sir, there's no telling where it'll travel, or
+what'll be the consequence to us all."
+
+"I think King would be true," said George. "Nay, I feel sure he would
+be. The worst is, he's simple-minded, and might betray it through sheer
+inadvertency. I would a great deal rather bring Mr. Benage to him; I
+_know_ we might rely on Benage, and he is more skilful than King; but it
+is not practicable. To see the renowned Barmester doctor in attendance
+on you might create greater commotion at the Hold than would be
+desirable. No, it must be King."
+
+"Sir, couldn't you go to one o' the gentlemen yourself and describe
+what's the matter with Master Rupert. You needn't say who's ill."
+
+George shook his head. "It would not do, Mark; the responsibility is too
+great. Were anything to happen to Rupert--and I believe he is in
+danger--you and I should blame ourselves for not having called in advice
+at all risks. I shall get King here somehow."
+
+He went out as he spoke, partly perhaps to avoid further opposition to
+what he felt _must_ be done. Yet he did not see the surrounding
+difficulties the less, and halted in thought outside the lodge door.
+
+At that moment, Maude Trevlyn came into view, walking slowly down the
+avenue. George advanced to meet her, and could not help noticing her
+listless step, her pale, weary face.
+
+"Maude, what is the trouble now?"
+
+That she had been grieving, and recently, her eyes betrayed. Struggling
+for a brief moment with her feelings, she gave way to a burst of tears.
+
+George drew her into the trees. "Maude, Maude, if you go on like this
+you will be ill. What is it?"
+
+"This suspense!--this agony!" she breathed. "Every day, almost every
+hour, something or other occurs to renew the trouble. If it could only
+end! I cannot bear it much longer. I feel as if I must go off to the
+ends of the earth in search of him. If I only knew he was living, it
+would be something."
+
+George took rapid counsel with himself. Surely Maude would be safe;
+surely it would be a charity, nay, a duty, to tell her! He drew her hand
+in his, and bent his face near to hers.
+
+"Maude! what will you give me for news I have heard? I can give you
+tidings of Rupert. He is not dead; not even very far away!"
+
+For an instant her heart stood still. But George glanced round as with
+fear, and his tones were sad.
+
+"He is taken!" she exclaimed, her pulses bounding on.
+
+"No. But care must be observed if we would prevent it. In that sense, he
+is at liberty. But it is not all sunshine, Maude; he is very ill."
+
+"Where is he?" she gasped.
+
+"Will you compose yourself if I take you to him? But we have need of
+great caution; we must make sure no prying eyes are spying at us."
+
+Her very agitation proved how great had been the strain upon her nervous
+system; for a few minutes he thought she would faint, as she stood
+leaning against the tree. "Only take me to him, George," she murmured.
+"I will bless you forever."
+
+Into the lodge and up old Canham's narrow staircase he led her. She
+entered the room timidly, not with the eager bound of hope, but with
+slow and hesitating steps, almost as she had once entered into the
+presence of the dead, that long past night at Trevlyn Farm.
+
+He lay as he had lain when George went out: the eyes fixed, the head
+beginning to turn restlessly, one hand picking at the coarse brown
+sheet. "Come in, Maude; there is nothing to fear; but he will not know
+you."
+
+She went in and stood for a moment gazing at him who lay there, as
+though it required time to take in the scene; then she fell on her knees
+in a strange burst, half joy, half grief, and kissed his hands and
+fevered lips.
+
+"Oh, Rupert, Rupert! My brother Rupert!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVIII
+
+DANGER
+
+
+The residence of Mr. King, the surgeon, was situated on the road to
+Barbrook, not far from the parsonage: a small, square, red-brick house,
+two storeys high, with a great bronze knocker on the particularly narrow
+and modest door. If you wanted to enter, you could either raise this
+knocker, which would most likely bring forth Mr. King himself; or,
+ignoring ceremony, turn the handle and walk in of your own accord, as
+George Ryle did, and admitted himself into the narrow passage. On the
+right was the parlour, quite a fashionable room, with a tiger-skin
+stretched out by way of hearth-rug; on the left a small apartment fitted
+up with bottles and pill-boxes, where Mr. King saw his patients. One sat
+there as George Ryle entered, and the surgeon turned round, as he poured
+some liquid from what looked like a jelly-glass, into a green bottle.
+
+Now, of all the disagreeable _contretemps_ that could have occurred, to
+meet that particular patient was about the worst. Ann Canham had not
+been more confounded at the sight of Policeman Dumps's head over the
+hedge, than George was at Policeman Dumps himself--for it was no other
+than that troublesome officer who sat in the patient's chair, the late
+afternoon's sun streaming on his head. George's active mind hit on a
+ready excuse for his own visit.
+
+"Is my mother's medicine ready, Mr. King?"
+
+"The medicine ready! Why, I sent it three good hours ago!"
+
+"Did you? I understood them to say----But there's no harm done; I was
+coming down this way. A nice warm afternoon!" he exclaimed, throwing
+himself into a chair as if he would take a little rest. "Are you having
+a tooth drawn, Dumps?"
+
+"No, sir, but I've got the face-ache awful," was Dumps's reply, who was
+holding a handkerchief to his right cheek. "It's what they call
+tic-douloureux, I fancy, for it comes on by fits and starts. I'm out of
+sorts altogether, and thought I'd ask Doctor King to make me up a bottle
+of physic."
+
+So the physic was for Dumps. Mr. King seemed a long time over it,
+measuring this liquid, measuring that, shaking it all up together, and
+gossiping the while. George, in his impatience, thought it would never
+come to an end. Dumps seemed to be in no hurry to depart, Mr. King in no
+hurry to dismiss him. They talked over half the news of the parish. They
+spoke of Rupert Trevlyn and his prolonged absence, and Mr. Dumps gave it
+as his opinion that "if he wasn't in hiding somewhere, he was gone for
+good." Whether Mr. Dumps meant gone to some foreign terrestrial country,
+or into a celestial, he did not explain.
+
+Utterly out of patience he rose and left the room, standing outside
+against the door-post, as if he would watch the passers-by. Perhaps the
+movement imparted an impetus to Mr. Dumps, for he also rose and took his
+bottle of medicine from the hands of the surgeon. But he lingered yet:
+and George thought he never would come forth.
+
+That desirable consummation arrived at last. The man departed, and paced
+away on his beat with his official tread. George returned indoors.
+
+"I fancied you were waiting to see me," observed Mr. King. "Is anything
+the matter?"
+
+"Not with me. I want to put you upon your honour, doctor," continued
+George, a momentary smile crossing his lips.
+
+"To put me upon my honour!" echoed the surgeon, staring at George.
+
+"I wish to let you into a secret: but you must give me your word of
+honour that you will be a true man, and not betray it. In short, I want
+to enlist your sympathies, your kindly nature, heartily in the cause."
+
+"I suppose some of the poor have got into trouble?" cried Mr. King, not
+very well knowing what to make of the words.
+
+"No," said George. "Let me put a case to you. One under the ban of the
+law and his fellow-men, whom a word could betray to years of
+punishment--lies in sore need of medical skill; if he cannot obtain it
+he may soon die. Will you be a good Samaritan, and give it; and
+faithfully keep the secret?"
+
+Mr. King regarded George attentively, slowly rubbing his bald head: he
+was a man of six-and-sixty now. "Are you speaking of Rupert Trevlyn?" he
+asked.
+
+George paused, perhaps rather taken back; but the surgeon's face was
+kindly, its expression benevolent. "What if I were? Would you be true to
+_him_?"
+
+"Yes, I would: and I am surprised that you thought it necessary to ask.
+Were the greatest criminal on earth lying in secret, and wanting my aid,
+I would give it and be silent. I go as a healing man; not in the name of
+the law. Were a doctor taken to a patient under such circumstances, to
+betray trust, he would violate his duty. Medical men are not informers."
+
+"I felt we might trust you," said George. "It is Rupert Trevlyn. He took
+refuge that night at old Canham's, it seems, and has been ill ever
+since, growing worse and worse. But they fear danger now, and thought
+fit this afternoon to send for me. Rupert scrawled a few lines himself,
+but before I could get there he was delirious."
+
+"Is it fever?"
+
+"Low fever, Ann Canham says. It may go on to worse, you know, doctor."
+
+Mr. King nodded his head. "Where can they have concealed him at
+Canham's?"
+
+"Upstairs in a bed-closet. The most stifling hole you can imagine! I
+felt ill as I stood there. It is a perplexing affair altogether. The
+place itself is enough to kill any one in a fever, and there's no chance
+of removing him from it; hardly a chance of getting you in to see him:
+it must be accomplished in the most cautious manner. Were Chattaway to
+see you entering, who knows what it might lead to? If he should, by ill
+luck, see you," added George, after a pause, "your visit is to old
+Canham, remember."
+
+Mr. King gave a short, emphatic nod; his frequent substitute for an
+answer. "Rupert Trevlyn at Canham's!" he exclaimed. "Well, you have
+surprised me!"
+
+"I cannot tell you how surprised I was," returned George. "But we had
+better be going; I fear he is in danger."
+
+"Ay. Delirious, you say?"
+
+"I think so. He was quiet, but evidently did not know me. He did not
+know Maude. I met her as I was leaving the lodge, and thought it only
+kind to tell her of the discovery. It has been an anxious time for her."
+
+"There's another it's an anxious time for; and that's Madam Chattaway,"
+remarked the surgeon. "I was called in to her a few days ago. But I can
+do nothing; the malady is on the mind. Now I am ready."
+
+He had been putting one or two papers into his pocket, probably
+containing some cooling powder or other remedy for Rupert. George walked
+with him; he wished to go in with him if it could be managed, anxious to
+hear his opinion. They pursued their way unmolested, meeting no one of
+more consequence than Mr. Dumps, who appeared to be occupied in nursing
+his cheek.
+
+"So far so good," cried George, as they came in sight of the lodge. "But
+now for the tug of war; my walking with you is nothing; but to be seen
+entering the lodge with you might be a great deal. There seems no one
+about."
+
+Ah! unlucky chance! By some untoward fatality the master of Trevlyn Hold
+emerged in sight, coming quickly down the avenue, at the moment Mr. King
+had his feet on the lodge steps to enter. George suppressed a groan of
+irritation.
+
+"There's no help for it; you must have your wits about you," he
+whispered. "I shall go straight on as if I had come to pay a visit to
+the Hold."
+
+Mr. King was not perhaps the best of men to "have his wits about him" on
+a sudden emergency, and almost as the last word left George's lips, Mr.
+Chattaway was upon them.
+
+"Good afternoon, Mr. Chattaway," said George. "Is Cris at home?"
+
+George continued his way as he spoke, brushing past Mr. Chattaway. You
+know what a very coward is self-consciousness. The presence of Chattaway
+at that ill-omened moment set them all inwardly quaking. George, the
+surgeon, old Canham sitting inside, and Ann peeping from the window,
+felt one and all as if Chattaway must divine some part of the great
+secret locked within their breasts.
+
+"Cris? I don't think Cris is at home," called out Chattaway. "He went
+out after dinner."
+
+"I am going to see," replied George, looking back.
+
+The little delay had given the doctor time to collect himself, and he
+strove to look and speak as much at ease as possible. He stood on the
+lodge step, waiting to greet Mr. Chattaway. It would never do to make
+believe he was not going into the lodge, as George did, for Mr.
+Chattaway had seen him step up to it.
+
+"How d'ye do, Mr. Chattaway? Fine weather this!"
+
+"We shall have a change before long; the glass is shifting. Anyone ill
+here?" continued Chattaway.
+
+"Not they, I hope!" returned the surgeon with a laugh. "I give old
+Canham a look in now and then, when I am passing and can spare the time,
+just for a dish of gossip and to ask after his rheumatism. I suppose you
+thought I had quite forgotten you," he added, turning to the old man,
+who had risen and stood leaning on his crutch, looking, if Mr. Chattaway
+could but have understood it, half frightened to death. "It's a long
+time since I was here, Mark."
+
+He sat down on the settle as he spoke, as if to intimate that he
+intended to take a dish of gossip then. Chattaway--ah! can he suspect?
+thought old Mark as he entered the lodge; a thing he did not do once in
+a year. Conscience does make cowards of us all--and it need not be
+altogether a guilty conscience to do this--and it was rendering Ann
+Canham as one paralysed. She would have given the whole world to leave
+the room, go up to Rupert, and guard as far as possible against noise;
+but she feared to excite suspicion. Foolish fears! Had Rupert not been
+there, Ann Canham would have passed in and out of the room twenty times
+without thinking of Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"Madam Chattaway said you were ill, I remember," said he to Mark Canham.
+"Fever, I understood. She said something about seeing your fever mixture
+at the chemist's at Barmester."
+
+Ann Canham turned hot and cold. She did not dare to even glance at her
+father, still less prompt him; but it so happened that, willing to spare
+him unnecessary worry, she had not mentioned the little episode of
+meeting Mrs. Chattaway at Barmester. Old Mark was cautious, however.
+
+"Yes, Squire. I've had a deal o' fever lately, on and off. Perhaps
+Doctor King could give me some'at better for't than them druggists
+gives."
+
+"Perhaps I can," said Mr. King. "I'll have a talk with you presently.
+How is Madam to-day, Mr. Chattaway?"
+
+"As well as usual, except in the matter of grumbling," was the
+ungracious answer. And the master of the Hold, perhaps not finding it
+particularly lively there, went out as he delivered it, giving a short
+adieu to Mr. King.
+
+Meanwhile, George Ryle reached the Hold. Maude saw his approach from the
+drawing-room window, and came to the hall-door. "I want to speak to
+you," she whispered.
+
+He followed her into the room; there was no one in it. Maude closed the
+door, and spoke in a gentle whisper.
+
+"May I tell Aunt Edith?"
+
+George looked dubious. "That is a serious question, Maude."
+
+"It would give her renewed life," returned Maude, her tone intensely
+earnest. "George, if this suspense is to continue, she will sink under
+it. It was very, very bad for me to bear, and I am young and strong. I
+fear, too, that my aunt gets the dreadful doubt upon her now and then
+whether--whether--what was said of Mr. Chattaway is not true; and Rupert
+was killed that night. Oh, let me tell her!"
+
+"Maude, I should be glad for her to know it. My only doubt is, whether
+she would _dare_ keep the secret from her husband, Rupert being actually
+within the precincts of the Hold."
+
+"She can be braver in Rupert's cause than you imagine. I am sure that
+she will be as safe as you or I."
+
+"Then let us tell her."
+
+Maude's eyes grew bright with gladness. Taking all circumstances into
+view, there was not much cause for congratulation; but, compared with
+what had been, it seemed as joy to Maude, and her heart grew light.
+
+"I shall never repay you, George," she cried, with enthusiasm, lifting
+her eyes gratefully to his.
+
+George laughed, and made a prisoner of her. "I can repay myself, Maude."
+
+And Mrs. Chattaway was told.
+
+In the twilight of that same evening, when the skies were grey, and the
+trees in the lonely avenue were gloomy, there glided one beneath them
+with timid and cautious step. It was Mrs. Chattaway. A soft black shawl
+was thrown over her head and shoulders, and her gown was black;
+precautions rendering her less easy to be observed; and curious eyes
+might be about. She kept close to the trees as she stole along, ready to
+conceal herself amidst them if necessary.
+
+And it was necessary. Surely there was a fatality clinging to the spot
+this evening, or Mr. Chattaway was haunting it in suspicion. One moment
+more, and he would have met his wife; but she heard the footsteps in
+time.
+
+Her heart beating, her hands pressed upon her bosom, she waited in her
+hiding-place until he had gone past: waited until she believed him safe
+at home, and then she went on.
+
+The shutters were closed at the lodge, and Mrs. Chattaway knocked softly
+at them. Alas! alas! I tell you there was some untoward fate in the
+ascendant. In the very act of doing so she was surprised by Cris running
+in at the gate.
+
+"Goodness, mother! who was to know you in that guise? Why, what on earth
+are you trembling at?"
+
+"You have startled me, Cris. I did not know you; I thought it some
+strange man running in upon me."
+
+"What are you doing down here?"
+
+Ah! what was she doing? What was she to say? what excuse to make?
+
+"Poor old Canham has been so ailing, Cris. I must just step in to see
+him."
+
+Cris tossed his head in scorn. To make friendly visits to sick old men
+was not in _his_ line. "I'm sure I should not trouble myself about old
+Canham if I were you, mother," cried he.
+
+He ran on as he spoke, but had not gone many steps when he found his
+mother's arm gently laid on his.
+
+"Cris, dear, oblige me by not saying anything of this at home. Your
+father has prejudices, you know; he thinks as you do; and perhaps would
+be angry with me for coming. But I like to visit those who are ill, to
+say a kind word to them; perhaps because I am so often ill myself."
+
+"I sha'n't bother myself to say anything about it," was Cris's
+ungracious response. "I'm sure you are welcome to go, mother, if it
+affords you any pleasure. Fine fun it must be to sit with that rheumatic
+old Canham! But as to his being ill, he is not that--if you mean worse
+than usual: I have seen him about to-day."
+
+Cris finally went off, and Mrs. Chattaway returned to the door, which
+was opened about an inch by Ann Canham. "Let me in, Ann! let me in!"
+
+She pushed her way in; and Ann Canham shut and bolted the door. Ann's
+course was uncertain: she was not aware whether or not it was known to
+Mrs. Chattaway. That lady's first words enlightened her, spoken as they
+were in the lowest whisper.
+
+"Is he better to-night? What does Mr. King say?"
+
+Ann lifted her hands in trouble. "He's no better, Madam, but seems
+worse. Mr. King said it would be necessary that he should visit him once
+or twice a day: and how can he dare venture? It passed off very well his
+saying this afternoon that he just called in to see old father; but he
+couldn't make that excuse to Mr. Chattaway a second time."
+
+"To Mr. Chattaway!" she quickly repeated. "Did Mr. Chattaway see Mr.
+King here?"
+
+"Worse luck, he did, Madam. He came in with him."
+
+A fear arose to the heart of Mrs. Chattaway. "If we could only get him
+away to a safe distance!" she exclaimed. "There would be less danger
+then."
+
+But it could not be; Rupert was too ill to be moved. Mrs. Chattaway was
+turning to the stairs, when a gentle knocking was heard at the outer
+door.
+
+It was only Mr. King. Mrs. Chattaway eagerly accosted him with the one
+anxious question--was Rupert in danger?
+
+"Well I hope not: not in actual danger," was the surgeon's answer.
+"But--you see--circumstances are against him."
+
+"Yes," she said, hesitatingly, not precisely understanding to what
+circumstances he alluded. Mr. King resumed.
+
+"Nothing is more essential in these cases of low fever than plenty of
+fresh air and generous nourishment. The one he cannot get, lying where
+he does; to obtain the other may be almost as difficult. If these low
+fevers cannot be checked, they go on very often to--to----"
+
+"To what?" a terrible dread upon her that he meant to say, "to death."
+
+"To typhus," quietly remarked the surgeon.
+
+"Oh, but that is dangerous!" she cried, clasping her hands. "That
+sometimes goes on to death."
+
+"Yes," said Mr. King; and it struck her that his tone was significant.
+
+"You must try and prevent it, doctor--you must save him," she cried; and
+her imploring accents, her trembling hands, proved to the surgeon how
+great was her emotion.
+
+He shook his head: the issues of life and death were not in his power.
+"My dear lady, I will do what I am enabled to do; more, I cannot. We
+poor human doctors can only work under the hand of God."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIX
+
+A RED-LETTER DAY
+
+
+There are some happy days in the most monotonous, the least favoured
+life; periods on which we can look back always, even to the life's end,
+and say, "That was a red-letter day!"
+
+Such a day had arisen for Trevlyn Farm. Perhaps never, since the unhappy
+accident which had carried away its master, had so joyful a day dawned
+for Mrs. Ryle and George--certainly never one that brought half the
+satisfaction; for George Ryle was going up to the Hold to clear off the
+last instalment of Mr. Chattaway's debt.
+
+It was the lifting of a heavy tax; the removal of a cruel nightmare--a
+nightmare that had borne them down, had all but crushed them with its
+weight. How they had toiled, striven, persevered, saved, George and Nora
+alone knew. They knew it far better than Mrs. Ryle; she had joined in
+the saving, but little in the work. To Mrs. Ryle the debt seemed to have
+been cleared off quickly--far more quickly than had appeared likely at
+the time of Mr. Ryle's death. And so it had been. George Ryle was one of
+those happy people who believe in the special interposition and favour
+of God; and he believed that God had shown favour to him, and helped him
+with prosperity. It could not be denied that Trevlyn Farm had been
+blessed with remarkable prosperity since George's reign there. Season
+after season, when other people complained of short returns, those of
+Trevlyn Farm had flourished. Harvests had been abundant; cattle, sheep,
+poultry--all had richly prospered. It is true George brought keen
+intelligence, ever-watchful care to bear upon it; but returns, even with
+these, are not always satisfactory. They had been so with him. His
+bargains in buying and selling stock had been always good, yielding a
+profit--for he had entered into them somewhat largely--never dreamt of
+by his father. The farmers around, seeing how all he put his hand to
+seemed to flourish, set it down to his superior skill, and talked one to
+another, at their fairs and markets, of "young Ryle's cuteness." Perhaps
+the success might be owing to a very different cause, as George
+believed--and nothing could have shaken that belief--the special
+blessing of Heaven!
+
+Yes, in spite of Mr. Chattaway's oppression, they had flourished. It had
+seemed like magic to that gentleman how they had kept up and increased
+the payments to him, in addition to their other expenses. That the debt
+should be ready to be finally cancelled he scarcely believed, although
+he had received intimation to that effect.
+
+It did not please him. Dear as money was to the master of Trevlyn Hold,
+he had been better pleased to keep George Ryle still under his thumb.
+_He_ had not been favoured with the same success: his corn had, some
+seasons, been thin in the ear; his live stock unhealthy; his bargains
+had turned out losses instead of gains; he had made bad debts; his
+coal-mine had exploded; his ricks had been burnt. Certainly no
+extraordinary luck had followed Mr. Chattaway--rather the contrary; and
+he regarded George Ryle with anger and envy; a great deal more than
+would have pleased George, had he known it. Not that George cared, in
+the abstract, whether he had Mr. Chattaway's anger or good will; but
+George wanted to stand so far well with him as to obtain the lease of
+his best farm. A difficult task!
+
+Mr. Chattaway sat in what was called the steward's room that fine autumn
+morning--but autumn was merging into winter now. When rents were paid to
+him, it was here he sat to receive them. It was where the steward, in
+the old days of Squire Trevlyn, sat to receive them; see the tenants and
+work-people upon other matters; transact business generally--for it was
+not until the advent of Mr. Chattaway that Trevlyn Hold had been without
+its steward or bailiff. In the estimation of Miss Diana, it ought not to
+be without one now.
+
+Mr. Chattaway was not in a good humour that morning--which is not saying
+much: but he was in an unusually bad one. A man who rented a small farm
+of fifty acres under him had come in to pay his annual rent. That is, he
+had paid part of it, pleading unavoidable misfortune for not being able
+to make up the remainder, and begging time and grace. It did not please
+Mr. Chattaway--never a more exacting man than he with his tenants--and
+the unhappy defaulter wound up the displeasure to a climax by inquiring,
+innocently and simply, really not meaning any offence, whether any news
+of the poor young Squire had come to light.
+
+Mr. Chattaway had not done digesting the unpalatable remark when George
+entered. "Good morning, Mr. Chattaway," was his greeting. And perhaps of
+all his tenants George Ryle was the only one who did not on these
+occasions, when they met face to face as landlord and tenant, address
+him by his coveted title of "Squire."
+
+"Good morning," returned Mr. Chattaway, shortly and snappishly. "Take a
+seat."
+
+George drew a chair to the table at which Mr. Chattaway sat. Opening a
+substantial bag, he counted out notes and gold, and a few shillings in
+silver, which he divided into two portions; then, with his hands, he
+pushed each nearer Mr. Chattaway, one after the other.
+
+"This is the year's rent, Mr. Chattaway; and this, I am happy to say, is
+the last instalment of the debt and interest which my father owed--or
+was said to owe--to Squire Trevlyn. Will you be so good as to give me a
+receipt in full?"
+
+Mr. Chattaway swept towards him the heap designated as the rent,
+apparently ignoring the other. "What have you deducted?" he asked, in
+angry tones, as he counted it over, and found that it came somewhat
+short of the sum expected.
+
+"Not much," replied George; "only what I have a right to deduct. The
+fences, and----But I have the accounts with me," he continued, taking
+three or four papers from his pocket. "You can look them over."
+
+Mr. Chattaway scrutinised the papers one by one, but he was unable to
+find anything to object to in the items. George Ryle knew better than to
+deduct money for anything that did not fall legally to the landlord. But
+it was in Mr. Chattaway's nature to dispute.
+
+"If I brought this matter of the fences into court I believe it would be
+given against you."
+
+"I don't think you believe anything of the sort," returned George,
+good-humouredly. "If you have any great wish to try it, you can do so:
+but the loss would be yours."
+
+Probably Mr. Chattaway knew that it would be. He said no more, but
+proceeded to count the other money. It was all there, both principal and
+interest. In vain Mr. Chattaway opened his books of the days gone by,
+and went over old figures; he could not claim another fraction. The
+long-pending two thousand pounds, the disputed loan, which had caused so
+much heart-burning, and had led in a remote degree to Mr. Ryle's violent
+death, was at length paid off.
+
+"As I have paid former sums under the same protest that my father did,
+so I now pay this last and final one," said George, in a civil but
+straightforward and business-like tone. "I believe that Squire Trevlyn
+cancelled the debt on his death-bed; I and my mother have lived in that
+belief; but there was no document to prove it, and we have had to bear
+the consequences. It is all, however, honourably paid now."
+
+Mr. Chattaway could not demur to this, and gave a receipt--in full, as
+George expressed it--for that and the year's rent. As George put the
+former safely in his pocket-book, he felt like a bird released from a
+long and cruel imprisonment. He was a free man and a joyous one.
+
+"That farm of yours has turned out well of late years," observed Mr.
+Chattaway.
+
+"Very well: there's the proof," pointing to the money. "To tell you the
+truth, I gave myself two more years to pay it off in, and Mrs. Ryle
+thought it would take longer. But I have prospered in my bargains with
+stock. Would you be afraid to try me on a farm on my own account?"
+
+Had it been any eligible person except George Ryle, Mr. Chattaway would
+probably have said he should not be afraid; but Chattaway did not like
+George Ryle. He disliked him, as a mean, ill-principled man will dislike
+and shun an honourable one.
+
+"I should think that when you are making Trevlyn Farm answer so well,
+you would be loth to leave it," he remarked ungraciously.
+
+"So I might be, were Trevlyn Farm mine alone. Of all the returns which
+have accrued from my care and labour, not a shilling has found its way
+to me: I have worked entirely for others. But for the heavy costs which
+have been upon us, the chief of which were Treve's expenses and this old
+debt of Squire Trevlyn's, there would have been a fair sum to put by
+yearly, and I imagine my mother would have allowed me to take my
+portion. I believe she intends to do so by Treve, and I hope Treve will
+make as good a thing of the farm as I have made."
+
+"That's not likely," slightingly spoke Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"He may do well if he chooses; there's no doubt about it, and he can
+always come to me for advice. I shall not be far off--at least, if I can
+settle as I hope. My mother wishes the lease transferred into Trevlyn's
+name. I suppose there will be no objection to it."
+
+"I'll consider it," shortly replied Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"And now, Mr. Chattaway," George continued, with a smile, "I want you to
+promise me the lease of the Upland Farm. It will be vacant in spring."
+
+"You are mad to ask it," said Chattaway. "A man without a shilling--and
+you have just informed me you don't possess one--can't undertake the
+Upland Farm. That farm's only suited to a gentleman"--and he laid an
+offensive stress upon the word: "one whose pockets are lined with money.
+I have had an application for the Upland Farm, which I think I shall
+accept. In fact, for the matter of that, I had some thought of retaining
+it in my own hands, and putting in a bailiff to manage it."
+
+"You had better let it to me," returned George, not losing his good
+humour. "Was the application made to you by Mr. Peterby?"
+
+Mr. Chattaway stared in surprise at his knowing so much. "What if it
+was?" he returned resentfully.
+
+"Why, then, I can tell you that it will not be repeated. Mr. Peterby's
+client--I am not sure that I am at liberty to mention his name--has
+given up the idea. Partly because I have told him I want the farm
+myself, and he says he won't oppose me, out of respect to my father's
+memory; partly because Mr. Peterby has heard of another likely to suit
+him as well, if not better. All the neighbours would be glad to see me
+take the Upland Farm."
+
+Mr. Chattaway's breath was almost taken away with the insolence. "Had
+you not better constitute yourself manager of my estate, and let my
+farms to whom you please?" he cried sarcastically. "How dare you
+interfere with my tenants, or with those who would become my tenants?"
+
+"I have not interfered with them. This client of Mr. Peterby's happened
+to mention to me that he had asked the firm to make inquiries about the
+Upland Farm. I immediately rejoined that it was the very farm I was
+hoping to take myself; and he determined of his own goodwill not to
+oppose me."
+
+"Who was it?"
+
+"One who would not have suited you, if you have set your mind upon a
+gentleman," freely answered George. "He is an honest man, and a man
+whose coffers are well lined through his own industry; but he could not
+by any stretch of imagination be called a gentleman. It is Cope, the
+butcher--I may as well tell you. Since he retired from his shop, he
+finds time hangs on his hands, and has resolved to turn farmer. Mr.
+Chattaway, I hope you will let me have it."
+
+"It appears to me nothing less than audacity to ask it," was the
+chilling retort. "Pray, where's your money to come from to stock it?"
+
+"It's all ready," said George.
+
+Mr. Chattaway looked at him, thinking the assertion a joke. "If you have
+nothing better to do with your time than to jest it away, I have with
+mine," was the delicate hint he gave in reply.
+
+"I repeat that the money is ready," continued George. "Mr. Chattaway, I
+do not wish to conceal anything from you: to be otherwise than quite
+open with you. The money to stock the Upland Farm is going to be lent to
+me; you will be surprised when I tell you by whom--Mr. Apperley."
+
+Mr. Chattaway was very much surprised. It was not much in Farmer
+Apperley's line to lend money: he was too cautious a man.
+
+"It's quite true," said George, laughing. "He has so good an opinion of
+my skill as a farmer, or of the Upland Farm's capabilities, that he has
+offered to lend me sufficient money to take it."
+
+"I should have thought you had had enough of farming land upon borrowed
+money," ungenerously retorted Chattaway.
+
+"So I have--from one point of view," was the composed answer. "But I
+have managed to clear off the debt, you see, and don't doubt I shall be
+able to do the same again. Apperley proposes only a fair rate of
+interest; considerably less than I have been paying you."
+
+"It is strange that you, a young and single man, should raise your
+ambitious eyes to the Upland Farm."
+
+"Not at all. If I don't take the Upland, I shall take some other equally
+large. But I should have to go a greater distance, and I don't care to
+do that. As to being a single man--perhaps that might be remedied if you
+will let me have the Upland."
+
+He spoke with a laugh; yet Mr. Chattaway detected a serious meaning in
+the tone, and he gazed hard at George. It may be that his thoughts
+glanced at his daughter Octave.
+
+There was a long pause. "Are you thinking of marrying?"
+
+"As soon as circumstances will allow me to do so."
+
+"And who is the lady?"
+
+George shook his head; a very decisive shake, in spite of the smile on
+his lips. "I cannot tell you now; you will know sometime."
+
+"I suppose I shall, if the match ever comes off," returned Chattaway, in
+a very cross-grained manner. "If it has to wait until you rent the
+Upland Farm, it may wait indefinitely."
+
+"You will promise me the lease of it, Mr. Chattaway. You cannot think
+but I shall do the land justice, or be anything but a good tenant."
+
+"I won't promise anything of the sort," was the dogged reply. "I'll
+promise you, if you like, that you never shall have the lease of it."
+
+And, talk as George would, he could not get him into a more genial frame
+of mind. At length he rose, good-humoured and gay; as he had been
+throughout the interview.
+
+"Never mind for the present, Mr. Chattaway. I shall not let you alone
+until you promise me the farm. There's plenty of time between now and
+spring."
+
+As he was crossing the hall on his way to the door, he saw Miss Diana
+Trevlyn, and stopped to shake hands with her. "You have been paying your
+rent, I suppose," she said.
+
+"My rent and something else," replied George, in high spirits--the
+removal of that incubus which had so long lain on him had sent them up
+to fever heat. "I have handed over the last instalment of the debt and
+interest, Miss Diana, and have the receipt here"--touching his
+breast-pocket. "I have paid it under protest, as I have always told Mr.
+Chattaway; for I fully believe Squire Trevlyn cancelled it."
+
+"If I thought my father cancelled it, Mr. Chattaway should never have
+had my approbation in pressing it," severely spoke Miss Diana. "Is it
+true that you think of leaving Trevlyn Farm? Rumour says so."
+
+"Quite true. It is time I began life on my own account. I have been
+asking Mr. Chattaway to let me have the Upland."
+
+"The Upland! You!" There was nothing offensive in Miss Diana's
+exclamation: it was spoken in simple surprise.
+
+"Why not? I may be thinking of getting a wife; and the Upland is the
+only farm in the neighbourhood I would take her to."
+
+Miss Diana smiled in answer to his joke, as she thought it. "The house
+on the Upland Farm is quite a mansion," she returned, keeping up the
+jest. "Will no lesser one suffice her?"
+
+"No. She is a gentlewoman born and bred, and must live as one."
+
+"George, you speak as if you were in earnest. Are you really thinking of
+being married?"
+
+"If I can get the Upland Farm. But----"
+
+George was startled from the conclusion of his sentence. Over Miss
+Diana's shoulder, gazing at him with a strangely wild expression, was
+the face of Octave Chattaway, her lips parted, her face crimson.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER L
+
+DILEMMAS
+
+
+About ten days elapsed, and Rupert Trevlyn, lying in concealment at the
+lodge, was both better and worse. The prompt remedies applied by Mr.
+King had effected their object in abating the fever; it had not
+developed into brain-fever or typhus, and the tendency to delirium was
+arrested; so far he was better. But these symptoms had been replaced by
+others that might prove not less dangerous in the end: great
+prostration, alarming weakness, and what appeared to be a settled cough.
+The old tendency to consumption was showing itself more plainly than it
+had ever shown itself before.
+
+He had had a cough often enough, which had come and gone again, as
+coughs come to a great many of us; but the experienced ear of Mr. King
+detected a difference in this one. "It has a nasty sound in it," the
+doctor privately remarked to George Ryle. Poor Ann Canham, faint at
+heart lest this cough should betray his presence, pasted up all the
+chinks, and kept the door hermetically closed when any one was
+downstairs. Things usually go by contrary, you know; and it seemed that
+the lodge had never been so inundated with callers.
+
+Two great cares were upon those in the secret: to keep Rupert's presence
+in the lodge from the knowledge of the outside world, and to supply him
+with proper food. Upon none did the first press so painfully as upon
+Rupert himself. His dread lest his place of concealment should be
+discovered by Mr. Chattaway was never ceasing. When he lay awake, his
+ears were on the strain for what might be happening downstairs, who
+might be coming in; if he dozed--as he did several times in the course
+of the day--his dreams were haunted by pursuers, and he would start up
+wildly in bed, fancying he saw Mr. Chattaway entering with the police at
+his heels. For twenty minutes afterwards he would lie bathed in
+perspiration, unable to get the fright or the vision out of his mind.
+
+There was no doubt that this contributed to increase his weakness and
+keep him back. Let Rupert Trevlyn's future be what it might; let the
+result be the very worst; one thing was certain--any actual punishment
+in store for him could not be worse than this anticipation. Imagination
+is more vivid than reality. He would lie and go through the whole ordeal
+of his future trial: would see himself in the dock, not before the
+magistrates of Barmester, but before a scarlet-robed judge; would listen
+to the evidence of Mr. Chattaway and Jim Sanders, bringing home the
+crime to him; would hear the irrevocable sentence from those grave
+lips--that of penal servitude. Nothing could be worse for him than these
+visions. And there was no help for them. Had Rupert been in strong
+health, he might have shaken off some of these haunting fears; lying as
+he did in his weakness, they took the form of morbid disease, adding
+greatly to his bodily sickness.
+
+His ear strained, he would start up whenever a footstep was heard to
+enter the downstairs room, breathing softly to Ann Canham, or whoever
+might be sitting with him, the question: "Is it Chattaway?" And Ann
+would cautiously peep down the staircase, or bend her ear to listen, and
+tell him who it really was. But sometimes several minutes would elapse
+before she could find out; sometimes she would be obliged to go down
+upon some plausible errand, and then come back and tell him. The state
+that Rupert would fall into during these moments of suspense no pen
+could describe. It was little wonder that Rupert grew weaker.
+
+And the fears of discovery were not misplaced. Every hour brought its
+own danger. It was absolutely necessary that Mr. King should visit him
+at least once a day, and each time he ran the risk of being seen by
+Chattaway, or by some one equally dangerous. Old Canham could not feign
+to be on the sick list for ever; especially, sufficiently sick to
+require daily medical attendance. George Ryle ran the risk of being seen
+entering the lodge; as well as Mrs. Chattaway and Maude, who _could not_
+abandon their stolen interviews with the poor sufferer. "It is my only
+happy hour in the four-and-twenty; you must not fail me!" he would say
+to them, imploringly holding out his fevered hands. Some evenings Mrs.
+Chattaway would steal there, sometimes Maude, now and then both
+together.
+
+Underlying it all in Rupert's mind was the sense of guilt for having
+committed so desperate a crime. Apart from those moments of madness,
+which the neighbourhood had been content for years to designate as the
+Trevlyn temper, few living men were so little likely to commit the act
+as Rupert. Rupert was of a mild, kindly temperament, a very sweet
+disposition; one of those inoffensive people of whom we are apt to say
+they would not hurt a fly. Of Rupert it was literally true. Only in
+these rare fits was he transformed; and never had the fit been upon him
+as on that unhappy night. It was not so much repentance for the actual
+crime that overwhelmed him, as surprise that he had perpetrated it. "I
+was not conscious of the act," he would groan aloud; "I was mad when I
+did it." Perhaps so; but the consequences remained. Poor Rupert! Remorse
+was his portion, and he was in truth repenting in sackcloth and ashes.
+
+The other care upon him--supplying Rupert with appropriate
+nourishment--brought almost as much danger and difficulty in its train
+as concealing him. A worse cook than Ann Canham could not be found. It
+was her misfortune, rather than her fault. Living in extreme poverty all
+her life, no opportunity for learning or improving herself in cooking
+had ever been afforded her. The greatest luxury that ever entered old
+Canham's lodge was a bit of toasted or boiled bacon.
+
+It was not invalid dishes that Rupert wanted now. As soon as the fever
+began to leave him, his appetite returned. Certain cases of incipient
+consumption are accompanied by a craving for food difficult to satisfy,
+and this unfortunately became the case with Rupert. Had he been at the
+Hold, or in a plentiful home, he would have played his full part at the
+daily meals, and assisted their digestion with interludes besides.
+
+How was he to get sufficient food at the lodge? Mr. King said he must
+have full nourishment, with wine, strong broths, and other things in
+addition. It was the only chance, in his opinion, to counteract the
+weakness that was growing upon him, and which bid fair soon to attain an
+alarming height. Mrs. Chattaway, George Ryle, even the doctor himself
+would have been quite willing to supply the cost; but even so, where was
+the food to be dressed?--who was to do it?--how was it to be smuggled
+in? This may appear a trifling difficulty in theory, but in practice it
+was found almost insurmountable.
+
+"Can't you dress a sweetbread?" Mr. King testily asked Ann Canham, when
+she was timidly confessing her incapability in the culinary art. "I'd
+easily manage to get it up here."
+
+This was the first day Rupert's appetite had come back to him, just
+after the turn of the fever. Ann Canham hesitated. "I'm not sure, sir,"
+she said meekly. "Could it be put in a pot and boiled?"
+
+"Put in a pot and boiled!" repeated Mr. King, nettled at the question.
+"Much goodness there'd be in it when it came out! It's just blanched and
+dipped in egg crumbs, and toasted in the Dutch oven. That's the best way
+of doing them."
+
+Egg crumbs were as much of a mystery to Ann Canham as sweetbreads
+themselves. She shook her head. "And if, by ill-luck, Mr. Chattaway came
+in and saw a sweetbread in our Dutch oven before our fire, sir; or smelt
+the savour of it as he passed--what then?" she asked. "What excuse could
+we make to him?"
+
+This phase of the difficulty had not before presented itself to the
+surgeon's mind. It was one that could not well be got over; the more he
+dwelt upon it the more he became convinced of this. George Ryle, Mrs.
+Chattaway, Maude, all, when appealed to, were of the same opinion. There
+was too much at stake to permit the risk of exciting any suspicions on
+the part of Mr. Chattaway.
+
+But it was not only Chattaway. Others who possessed noses were in the
+habit of passing the lodge: Cris, his sisters, Miss Diana, and many
+more: and some of them were in the habit of coming into it. Ann Canham
+was giving mortal offence, causing much wonder, in declining her usual
+places of work; and many a disappointed housewife, following Nora
+Dickson's example, had come up, in consequence, to invade the lodge and
+express her sentiments upon the point. Ann Canham was driven to the very
+verge of desperation in trying to frame plausible excuses, and had
+serious thoughts of making believe to take to her bed herself--had she
+possessed just then a bed to take to.
+
+In the dilemma Mrs. Chattaway came to the rescue. "I will contrive it,"
+she said: "the food shall be supplied from the Hold. My sister does not
+personally interfere, giving her orders in the morning, and I know I can
+manage it."
+
+But Mrs. Chattaway found she had undertaken what it would scarcely be
+possible to perform. What had flashed across her mind when she spoke
+was, "The cook is a faithful, kind-hearted woman, and I know I can trust
+her." Mrs. Chattaway did not mean trust her with the secret of Rupert,
+but trust her to cook a few extra dishes quietly and say nothing about
+them. Yes, she might, she was sure; the woman would be true. But it now
+struck Mrs. Chattaway with a sort of horror, to ask herself how she was
+to get them away when cooked. She could not go into the kitchen herself,
+have meat, fowl, or jelly put into a basin, and carry it off to the
+lodge. However, that was an after-care. She spoke to the cook, who was
+called Rebecca, told her she wanted some nice things dressed for a poor
+pensioner of _her own_, and nothing said about it. The woman was pleased
+and willing; all the servants were fond of their mistress; and she
+readily undertook the task and promised to be silent.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LI
+
+A LETTER FOR MR. CHATTAWAY
+
+
+Although an insignificant place, Barbrook and its environs received
+their letters early. The bags were dropped by the London mail train at
+Barmester in the middle of the night; and as the post-office
+arrangements were well conducted--which cannot be said for all towns--by
+eight o'clock Barbrook had its letters.
+
+Rather before that hour than after it, they were delivered at Trevlyn
+Hold. Being the chief residence in the neighbourhood, the postman was in
+the habit of beginning his round there; it had been so in imperious old
+Squire Trevlyn's time, and was so still. Thus it generally happened that
+breakfast would be commencing at the Hold when the post came in.
+
+It was a morning of which we must take some notice--a morning which, as
+Mr. Chattaway was destined afterwards to find, he would have cause to
+remember to his dying day. If Miss Diana Trevlyn happened to see the
+postman approaching the house, she would most likely walk to the
+hall-door and receive the letters into her own hands. And it was so on
+this morning.
+
+"Only two, ma'am," the postman said, as he delivered them to her.
+
+She looked at the addresses. The one was a foreign letter, bearing her
+own name, and she recognised the handwriting of Mr. Daw; the other bore
+the London postmark, and was addressed "James Chattaway, Esquire,
+Trevlyn Hold, Barmester."
+
+With an eager movement, somewhat foreign to the cold and stately motions
+of Miss Diana Trevlyn, she broke the seal of the former; there, at the
+hall-door as she stood. A thought flashed into her mind that Rupert
+might have found his way at length to Mr. Daw, and that gentleman was
+intimating the same--as Miss Diana by letter had requested him to do. It
+was just the contrary, however. Mr. Daw wrote to beg a line from Miss
+Diana, as to whether tidings had been heard of Rupert. He had visited
+his father and mother's grave the previous day, he observed, and did not
+know whether that had caused him to think more than usual of Rupert;
+but, all the past night and again to-day, he had been unable to get him
+out of his head; a feeling was upon him (no doubt a foolish one, he
+added in a parenthesis) that the boy was taken, or that some other
+misfortune had befallen him, or was about to befall him, and he presumed
+to request a line from Miss Diana Trevlyn to end his suspense.
+
+She folded the letter when read; put it into the pocket of her black
+silk apron, and returned to the breakfast-room, with the one for Mr.
+Chattaway. As she did so, her eyes happened to fall upon the reverse
+side of the letter, and she saw it was stamped with the name of a
+firm--Connell, Connell, and Ray.
+
+She knew the firm by name; they were solicitors of great respectability
+in London. Indeed, she remembered to have entertained Mr. Charles
+Connell at the Hold for a few days in her father's lifetime, that
+gentleman being at the time engaged in some legal business for Squire
+Trevlyn. They must be old men now, she knew, those brothers Connell; and
+Mr. Ray, she believed to have heard, was son-in-law to one of them.
+
+"What can they have to write to Chattaway about?" marvelled Miss Diana;
+but the next moment she remembered they were the agents of Peterby and
+Jones, of Barmester, and concluded it was some matter connected with the
+estate.
+
+Miss Diana swept to her place at the head of the breakfast-table. It was
+filled, with the exception of two seats: the armchair opposite to her
+own, Mr. Chattaway's; and Cris's seat at the side. Cris was not down,
+but Mr. Chattaway had gone out to the men. Mrs. Chattaway was in her
+place next Miss Diana. She used rarely to be down in time to begin
+breakfast with the rest, but that was altered now. Since these fears had
+arisen concerning Rupert, it seemed that she could not rest in her bed,
+and would quit it almost with the dawn.
+
+Mr. Chattaway came in as Miss Diana was pouring out the tea, and she
+passed the letter down to him. Glancing casually at it as it lay beside
+his plate, he began helping himself to some cold partridge. Cris was a
+capital shot, and the Hold was generally well supplied with game.
+
+"It is from Connell and Connell," remarked Miss Diana.
+
+"From Connell and Connell!" repeated Mr. Chattaway, in a tone of
+bewilderment, as if he did not recognise the name. "What should they be
+writing to me about?" But he was too busy with the partridge just then
+to ascertain.
+
+"Some local business, I conclude," observed Miss Diana. "They are
+Peterby's agents, you know."
+
+"And what if they are?" retorted Mr. Chattaway. "Peterby's have nothing
+to do with me."
+
+That was so like Chattaway! To cavil as to what might be the contents of
+the letter, rather than put the question at rest by opening it. However,
+when he looked up from his plate to stir his tea, he tore open the
+envelope.
+
+He tore it open and cast his eyes over the letter. Miss Diana happened
+to be looking at him. She saw him gaze at it with an air of
+bewilderment; she saw him go over it again--there were apparently but
+some half-dozen lines--and then she saw him turn green. You may cavil at
+the expression, but it is a correct one. The leaden complexion with
+which nature had favoured Mr. Chattaway did assume a green tinge in
+moments of especial annoyance.
+
+"What's the matter?" questioned Miss Diana.
+
+Mr. Chattaway replied by a half-muttered word, and dashed the letter
+down. "I thought we had had enough of that folly," he presently said.
+
+"What folly?"
+
+He did not answer, although the query was put by Miss Diana Trevlyn. She
+pressed it, and Mr. Chattaway flung the letter across the table to her.
+"You can read it, if you choose." With some curiosity Miss Diana took it
+up, and read as follows:--
+
+     "SIR,
+
+     "We beg to inform you that the true heir of Trevlyn Hold,
+     Rupert Trevlyn, is about to put in his claim to the estate, and
+     will shortly require to take possession of it. We have been
+     requested to write this intimation to you, and we do so in a
+     friendly spirit, that you may be prepared to quit the house,
+     and not be taken unawares, when Mr. Trevlyn--henceforth Squire
+     Trevlyn--shall arrive at it.
+
+     "We are, sir, your obedient servants,
+
+     "CONNELL, CONNELL, AND RAY.
+
+     "James Chattaway, Esquire."
+
+"Then Rupert's not dead!" were the first words that broke from Miss
+Diana's lips. And the exclamation, and its marked tone of satisfaction,
+proved of what nature her fears for Rupert had been.
+
+Mrs. Chattaway started up with white lips. "What of Rupert?" she gasped;
+believing nothing else than that discovery had come.
+
+Miss Diana, without in the least thinking it necessary to consult Mr.
+Chattaway's pleasure first, handed her the letter. She read it rapidly,
+and her fears calmed down.
+
+"What an absurdity!" she exclaimed. Knowing as she did the helpless
+position of Rupert, the contents sounded not only absurd, but
+impossible. "Some one must have written it to frighten you, James."
+
+"Yes," said Mr. Chattaway, compressing his thin lips; "it comes from the
+Peterby quarter. A felon threatening to take possession of Trevlyn
+Hold!"
+
+But in spite of the scorn he strove to throw into his manner; in spite
+of his indomitable resolution to bring Rupert to punishment when he
+appeared; in spite of even his wife, Rupert's best friend, acknowledging
+the absurdity of this letter, it disturbed him in no measured degree. He
+stretched out his hand for it, and read it again, pondering over every
+word; he pushed his plate from him, as he gazed on it. He had had
+sufficient breakfast for one day; and gulping down his tea, declined to
+take more. Yes, it was shaking his equanimity to its centre; and the
+Miss Chattaways and Maude, only imperfectly understanding what was
+amiss, looked at each other, and at him.
+
+Mrs. Chattaway began to feel indignant that poor Rupert's name should be
+thus made use of; only, so far as she could see, for the purpose of
+exciting Mr. Chattaway further against him. "But Connells' is a most
+respectable firm," she said aloud, following out her thoughts; "I cannot
+comprehend it."
+
+"I say it comes from Peterby," roared Mr. Chattaway. "He and Rupert are
+in league. I dare say Peterby knows where he's concealed."
+
+"Oh no, no; you are mistaken," broke incautiously from the lips of Mrs.
+Chattaway.
+
+"No! Do you know where he is, pray, that you speak so confidently?"
+
+The taunt recalled her to a sense of the danger. "James, what I meant
+was this: it is scarcely likely Rupert would be in league with any one
+against you," she said in low tones. "I think he would rather try to
+conciliate you."
+
+"If you think this letter emanates from Peterbys' why don't you go down
+and demand what they mean by writing it?" interposed Miss Diana Trevlyn,
+in her straightforward, matter-of-fact tone.
+
+He nodded his head significantly. "I shall not let the grass grow under
+my feet before I am there."
+
+"I cannot think it's Peterby and Jones," resumed Miss Diana. "They are
+quite as respectable as the Connells, and I don't believe they would
+ally themselves with Rupert, after what he has done. I don't believe
+they would work mischief secretly against any one. Anything they may
+have to do, they'd do openly."
+
+Had Mr. Chattaway prevailed with himself so far as to put his temper and
+prejudices aside, this might not have been far from his own opinion. He
+had always, in a resentful sort of way, considered Mr. Peterby an
+honourable man. But if Peterby was not at the bottom of this, who was?
+Connell, Connell, and Ray were his town agents.
+
+The very uncertainty only made him the more eager to get to them and set
+the matter at rest. He knew it was of no use attempting to see Mr.
+Peterby before ten o'clock, but he would see him then. He ordered his
+horse to be ready, and rode into Barmester attended by his groom. As ten
+o'clock struck, he was at their office-door.
+
+A quarter-of-an-hour's detention, and then he was admitted to Mr.
+Peterby's room. That gentleman was sweeping a pile of open letters into
+a corner of the table at which he sat, and the master of Trevlyn Hold
+shrewdly suspected that his waiting had been caused by Mr. Peterby's
+opening and reading them. He proceeded at once to the business that
+brought him there, and taking his own letter out of his pocket, handed
+it to Mr. Peterby.
+
+"Connell, Connell, and Ray are your agents in London, I believe? They
+used to be."
+
+"And are still," said Mr. Peterby. "What is this?"
+
+"Be so good as to read it," replied Mr. Chattaway.
+
+The lawyer ran his eyes over it carelessly, as it seemed to those eyes
+watching him. Then he looked up. "Well?"
+
+"In writing this letter to me--I received it, you perceive, by post this
+morning, if you'll look at the date--were Connell and Connell instructed
+by you?"
+
+"By me!" echoed Mr. Peterby. "Not they. I know nothing at all about it.
+I can't make it out."
+
+"You are a friend of Rupert Trevlyn's, and they are your agents,"
+remarked Mr. Chattaway, after a pause.
+
+"My good sir, I tell you I know nothing whatever of this. Connells are
+our agents; but I never sent any communication to them with regard to
+Rupert Trevlyn in my life; never had cause to send one. If you ask me my
+opinion, I should say that if the lad--should he be still
+living--entertains hopes of coming into Trevlyn Hold after this last
+escapade of his, he must be a great simpleton. I expect you'd prosecute
+him, instead of giving him up the Hold."
+
+"I should," quietly answered Mr. Chattaway. "But what do Connell and
+Connell mean by sending me such a letter as this?"
+
+"It is more than I can tell you, Mr. Chattaway. We have received a
+communication from them ourselves this morning upon the subject. I was
+opening it when you were announced to me as being here."
+
+He bent over the letters previously spoken of, selected one, and held it
+out to Mr. Chattaway. Instead of being written by the firm, it was a
+private letter from Mr. Ray to Mr. Peterby. It merely stated that the
+true heir of Squire Trevlyn, Rupert, was about shortly to take
+possession of his property, the Hold, and they (Connell, Connell, and
+Ray) should require Mr. Peterby to act as local solicitor in the
+proceedings, should a solicitor be necessary.
+
+Mr. Chattaway began to feel cruelly uneasy. Rupert had committed that
+great fault, and was in danger of punishment--_would_ be punished by his
+country's laws; but in this new uneasiness that important fact seemed to
+lose half its significance. "And you have not instructed them?" he
+repeated.
+
+"Nonsense, Mr. Chattaway! it is not likely. I cannot make out what they
+mean, any more than you can. The nearest conclusion I can come to is,
+that they must be acting from instructions received from that
+semi-parson who was over here, Mr. Daw."
+
+"No," said Mr. Chattaway, "I think not. Miss Trevlyn heard from that man
+this morning, and he appears to know nothing about Rupert. He asks for
+news of him."
+
+"Well, it is a curious thing altogether. I shall write by to-night's
+post to Ray, and inquire what he means."
+
+Mr. Chattaway, suspicious Mr. Chattaway, pressed one more question.
+"Have you any idea at all where Rupert is likely to be? That he is in
+hiding, and accessible to some people, is evident from these letters.
+
+"I have already informed you that I know nothing whatever of Rupert
+Trevlyn," was the lawyer's answer. "Whether he is alive or whether he is
+dead, I know not. You cannot know less of him yourself than I do."
+
+Mr. Chattaway was obliged to be contented with the answer. He went out
+and proceeded direct to Mr. Flood's, and laid the letter--his
+letter--before him. "What sort of thing do you call that?" he
+intemperately uttered, when it was read. "Connell and Connell must be
+infamous men to write it."
+
+"Stop a bit," said Mr. Flood, who had his eyes strained on the letter.
+"There's more in this than meets the eye."
+
+"You don't think it's a joke--done to annoy me?"
+
+"A joke! Connell and Connell would not lend themselves to a joke. No, I
+don't think it's that."
+
+"Then what do you think?"
+
+Mr. Flood was several minutes before he replied, and his silence drove
+Mr. Chattaway to the verge of exasperation. "It is difficult to know
+what to think," said the lawyer presently. "I should be inclined to say
+they have been brought into personal communication with Rupert Trevlyn,
+or with somebody acting for him: perhaps the latter is the more
+probable. And I should also say they must have been convinced, by
+documentary or other evidence, that a good foundation exists for
+Rupert's claims to the Hold. Mr. Chattaway--if I may speak the truth to
+you--I should dread this letter."
+
+Mr. Chattaway felt as if a bucket of cold water had been suddenly flung
+over him, and was running down his back. "Why is it that you turn
+against me?"
+
+"_Turn_ against you! I don't know what you mean. I don't turn against
+you; quite the opposite. I am willing to act for you; to do anything I
+legally can to meet the fear."
+
+"Why _do_ you fear?"
+
+"Because Connell, Connell, and Ray are keen and cautious practitioners
+as well as honourable men, and I do not think they would write so
+decided a letter as this, unless they knew they were fully justified in
+doing so, and were prepared to follow it out."
+
+"You are a pretty Job's comforter," gasped Mr. Chattaway.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LII
+
+A DAY OF MISHAPS
+
+
+Rebecca the servant was true and crafty in her faithfulness to her
+mistress, and contrived to get various dainties prepared and conveyed
+unsuspiciously under her apron, watching her opportunity, to the
+sitting-room of Madam, where they were hidden away in a closet, and the
+key turned upon them. So far, so good. But that was not all: the
+greatest difficulty lay in transporting them to Rupert.
+
+The little tricks and _ruses_ that the lodge and those in its secret
+learnt to be expert in at this time were worthy of a private inquiry
+office. Ann Canham, at a given hour, would be standing at the open door
+of the lodge; and Mrs. Chattaway, with timid steps, and eyes that
+wandered everywhere lest witnesses were about, would come down the
+avenue: opposite the lodge door, by some sleight of hand, a parcel, or
+basket, or bottle would be transferred from under her shawl to Ann
+Canham's hands. The latter would close the door and slip the bolt,
+whilst the lady would walk swiftly on through the gate, for the purpose
+of taking exercise in the road. Or perhaps it would be Maude that went
+through this little rehearsal, instead of Madam. But at the best it was
+all difficult to accomplish for many reasons, and might at any time be
+stopped. If only the extra cooking came to the knowledge of Miss Diana
+Trevlyn, it would be quite impossible to venture to continue it, and
+next to impossible any longer to conceal Rupert's hiding place.
+
+One day a disastrous _contretemps_ occurred. It happened that Miss Diana
+Trevlyn had arranged to take the Miss Chattaways to a morning concert at
+Barmester. Maude might have gone, but excused herself: whilst Rupert's
+fate hung in the balance, it was scarcely seemly, she thought, that she
+should be seen at public festivals. Cris had gone out shooting that day;
+Mr. Chattaway, as was supposed, was at Barmester; and when dinner was
+served, only Mrs. Chattaway and Maude sat down to it. It was a plain
+sirloin; and during a momentary absence of James, who was waiting at
+table, Maude exclaimed in a low tone:
+
+"Aunt Edith, if we could only get some of this to Rupert!"
+
+"I was thinking so," said Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+The servant returned to the room, and the conversation ceased. But his
+mistress, under some plea, dismissed him, saying she would ring. And
+then the thought was carried out. A sauce-tureen which happened to be on
+the table was made the receptacle for some of the hot meat, and Maude
+put on her bonnet and stole away with it.
+
+An unlucky venture. In her haste to reach the lodge unmolested, she
+spilt some of the gravy on her dress, and was stopping to wipe it with
+her handkerchief, when she was interrupted by Mr. Chattaway. It was
+close to the lodge. Maude's heart, as the saying runs, came into her
+mouth.
+
+"What's that? Where are you taking it to?" he demanded, for his eyes had
+caught the tureen before she could slip it under her mantle.
+
+He peremptorily took it from her unresisting hand, raised the cover, and
+saw some tempting slices of hot roast beef, and part of a cauliflower.
+Had Maude witnessed the actual discovery of Rupert, she could not have
+felt more utterly terrified.
+
+"I ask you, to whom were you taking this?"
+
+His resolute tones, coupled with her own terror, were more than poor
+Maude could brave. "To Mark Canham," she faltered. There was no one she
+could mention with the least plausibility: and she could not pretend to
+be merely taking a walk with a tureen of meat in her hand.
+
+"Was it Madam's doings to send this?"
+
+Again she could only answer in the affirmative. Chattaway stalked off to
+the Hold, carrying the tureen.
+
+His wife sat at the dinner-table, and James was removing some pastry as
+he entered. Regardless of the man's presence, he gave vent to his anger,
+reproaching her in no measured terms for what she had done. Meat and
+vegetables from his own table to be supplied to that profitless,
+good-for-nothing man, Canham, who already enjoyed a house and
+half-a-crown a week for doing nothing! How dared she be guilty of
+extravagance so great, of wilful waste?
+
+The scene was prolonged but came to an end at last; all such scenes do,
+it is to be hoped; and the afternoon went on. Mr. Chattaway went out
+again, Cris had not come in, Miss Diana and the girls did not return,
+and Mrs. Chattaway and Maude were still alone. "I shall go down to see
+him, Maude," the former said in low tones, breaking an unhappy silence.
+"And I shall take him something to eat; I will risk it. He has had
+nothing from us to-day."
+
+Maude scarcely knew what to answer: her own fright was not yet over.
+Mrs. Chattaway dressed herself, took the little provision-basket and
+went out. It was all but dark; the evening was gloomy. Meeting no one,
+she gained the lodge, opened its door with a quick hand, and----stole
+away again silently and swiftly, with perhaps greater terror than she
+had ever felt rushing over her heart.
+
+For the first figure she saw there was that of her husband, and the
+first voice she heard was his. She made her way amidst the trunks of the
+almost leafless trees, and concealed herself as she best could.
+
+In returning that evening, it had struck Mr. Chattaway as he passed the
+lodge that he could not do better than favour old Canham with a piece of
+his mind, and forbid him, under pain of instant dismissal, to rob the
+Hold (as he phrased it) of so much as a scrap of bread. Old Canham,
+knowing what was at stake, took it patiently, never denying that the
+food (which Mr. Chattaway enlarged upon) might have been meant for him.
+Ann Canham stood against Rupert's door, shivering and shaking; and poor
+Rupert himself, who had not failed to recognise that loud voice, lay as
+one in agony.
+
+Mr. Chattaway was in the midst of his last sentence, when the front-door
+was suddenly opened, and as suddenly shut again. He had his back to it,
+but turned just in time to catch a glimpse of somebody's petticoats
+before the door closed.
+
+It was a somewhat singular proceeding, and Mr. Chattaway, always curious
+and suspicious, opened the door after a minute's pause, and looked out.
+He could see no one. He looked up the avenue, he looked down; he stepped
+out to the gate, and gazed up and down the road. Whoever it was had
+disappeared.
+
+"Did you see who it was opened the door in that manner?" he demanded of
+old Canham.
+
+Old Canham had stood deferentially during the lecture, leaning on his
+stick. He had not seen who it was, and therefore could answer readily,
+but he strongly suspected it to be Mrs. Chattaway. "Maybe 'twas some
+woman bringing sewing up for Ann, Squire. They mostly comes at dusk, not
+to hinder their own work."
+
+"Then why couldn't they come in?" retorted Mr. Chattaway. "Why need they
+run away as if caught at some mischief?"
+
+Old Canham wisely declined an answer: and Mr. Chattaway, after a parting
+admonition, finally quitted the lodge, and took his way towards the
+Hold. But for her dark attire, and the darker shades of evening, he
+might have detected his wife there, watching for him to pass.
+
+It seemed an unlucky day. Mrs. Chattaway, her heart beating, came out of
+her hiding-place as the last echoes of his steps died away and almost
+met the carriage as it turned into the avenue, bringing her daughters
+and Miss Diana from Barmester. When she did reach the lodge, Ann Canham
+had the door open an inch or two. "Take it," she cried, giving the
+basket to Ann as she advanced to the stairs. "I have not a minute to
+stop. How is he to-night?"
+
+"Madam," whispered Ann Canham, in her meek voice, but meek though it
+was, there was that in its tones to-night which arrested Mrs. Chattaway,
+"if he continues to get worse and weaker, if he cannot be got away from
+here and from these frights, I fear me he'll die. He has never been as
+bad as he is to-night."
+
+She untied her bonnet, and stole upstairs to Rupert's room. By the
+rushlight she could see the ravages of illness on his wasting features;
+features that seemed to have changed for the worse even since she had
+seen him that time last night. He turned his blue eyes, bright and wild
+with disease, on her as she entered.
+
+"Oh, Aunt Edith! Is he gone? I thought I should have died with fright,
+here as I lay."
+
+"He is gone, darling," she answered, bending over him, and speaking with
+reassuring tenderness. "You look worse to-night, Rupert."
+
+"It is this stifling room, aunt; it is killing me. At least, it gives me
+no chance to get better. If I only had a large, airy room at the
+Hold--where I could lie without fear, and be waited on--I might get
+better. Aunt Edith, I wish the past few weeks could be blotted out. I
+wish I had not been overtaken by that fit of madness?"
+
+Ah! he could not wish it as she did. Her tears silently fell, and she
+began in the desperate need to debate in her own heart whether the
+impossible might not be accomplished--disarming the anger of Mr.
+Chattaway, and getting him to pardon Rupert. In that case only could he
+be removed. Perhaps Diana might effect it? If she could not, no one else
+could. As she thought of its utter hopelessness, there came to her
+recollection that recent letter from Connell and Connell, which had so
+upset the equanimity of Mr. Chattaway. She had not yet mentioned it to
+Rupert, but must do so now. Her private opinion was, that Rupert had
+written to the London lawyers for the purpose of vexing Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"It is not right, Rupert, dear," she whispered. "It can only do harm. If
+it does no other harm, it will by increasing Mr. Chattaway's anger.
+Indeed, dear, it was wrong."
+
+He looked up in surprise from his pillow.
+
+"I don't know what you mean, Aunt Edith. Connell and Connell? What
+should I do, writing to Connell and Connell?"
+
+She explained about the letter, reciting its contents as accurately as
+she remembered them. Rupert only stared.
+
+"Acting for me!--I to take possession of the Hold! Well, I don't know
+anything about it," he wearily answered. "Why does not Mr. Chattaway go
+up and ask them what they mean? Connell and Connell don't know me, and I
+don't know them. Am I in a fit state to write letters, Aunt Edith?"
+
+"It seemed to me the most unlikely thing in the world, Rupert, but what
+else was I to think?"
+
+"They'd better have written to say I was going to take possession of the
+grave," he resumed; "there'd be more sense in that. Perhaps I am, Aunt
+Edith."
+
+More sense in it? Ay, there would be. Every pulse in Mrs. Chattaway's
+heart echoed the words. She did not answer, and a pause ensued only
+broken by his somewhat painful breathing.
+
+"Do you think I shall die, Aunt Edith?"
+
+"Oh, my boy, I hope not; I hope not! But it is all in God's will.
+Rupert, darling, it seems a sad thing, especially to the young, to leave
+this world; but do you know what I often think as I lie and sigh through
+my sleepless nights: that it would be a blessed change both for you and
+for me if God were to take us from it, and give us a place in heaven."
+
+Another pause. "You can tell Mr. Chattaway you feel sure I had nothing
+to do with the letter, Aunt Edith."
+
+She shook her head. "No, Rupert; the less I say the better. It would not
+do; I should fear some chance word on my part might betray you: and all
+I could say would not make any impression on Mr. Chattaway."
+
+"You are not going!" he exclaimed, as she rose from her seat on the bed.
+
+"I must. I wish I could stay, but I dare not; indeed it was not safe
+to-night to come in at all."
+
+"Aunt Edith, if you could only stay! It is so lonely. Four-and-twenty
+hours before I shall see you or Maude again! It is like being left alone
+to die."
+
+"Not to die, I trust," she said, her tears falling fast. "We shall be
+together some time for ever, but I pray we may have a little happiness
+on earth first!"
+
+Very full was her heart that night, and but for the fear that her red
+eyes would betray her, she could have wept all the way home. Stealing in
+at a side door, she gained her room, and found that Mr. Chattaway,
+fortunately, had not discovered her absence.
+
+A few minutes after she entered, the house was in a commotion. Sounds
+were heard proceeding from the kitchen, and Mrs. Chattaway and others
+hastened towards it. One of the servants was badly scalded. Most
+unfortunately, it happened to be the cook, Rebecca. In taking some
+calve's-foot jelly from the fire, she had inadvertently overturned the
+boiling liquid.
+
+Miss Diana, who was worth a thousand of Mrs. Chattaway in an emergency,
+had the woman placed in a recumbent position, and sent one of the grooms
+on horseback for Mr. King. But Miss Diana, while sparing nothing that
+could relieve the sufferer, did not conceal her displeasure at the
+awkwardness.
+
+"Was it _jelly_ you were making, Rebecca?" she sternly demanded.
+
+Rebecca was lying back in a large chair, her feet raised. Everyone was
+crowding round: even Mr. Chattaway had come to ascertain the cause of
+the commotion. She made no answer.
+
+Bridget did; rejoicing, no doubt, in her superior knowledge. "Yes,
+ma'am, it was jelly: she had just boiled it up."
+
+Miss Diana wheeled round to Rebecca. "Why were you making jelly? It was
+not ordered."
+
+Rebecca, not knowing what to say, glanced at Mrs. Chattaway. "Yes, it
+was ordered," murmured the latter. "I ordered it."
+
+"You!" returned Miss Diana. "What for?" But Miss Diana spoke in surprise
+only; not objecting: it was so very unusual for Mrs. Chattaway to
+interfere in the domestic arrangements. It surprised them all, and her
+daughters looked at her. Poor Mrs. Chattaway could not put forth the
+plea that it was being made for herself, for calve's-foot jelly was a
+thing she never touched. The confusion on his wife's face attracted the
+notice of Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"Possibly you intended to regale old Canham?" he scornfully said,
+alluding to what had passed that day. Not that he believed anything so
+improbable.
+
+"Madam knows the young ladies like it, and she told me to make some,"
+good-naturedly spoke up Rebecca in the midst of her pain.
+
+The excuse served, and the matter passed. Miss Diana privately thought
+what a poor housekeeper her sister would make, ordering things when they
+were not required, and Mr. Chattaway quitted the scene. When the doctor
+arrived and had attended to the patient, Mrs. Chattaway, who was then in
+her room, sent to request him to come to her before he left, adding to
+the message that she did not feel well.
+
+He came up immediately. She put a question or two about the injury to
+the girl, which was trifling, he answered, and would not keep her a
+prisoner long; and then Mrs. Chattaway lowered her voice, and spoke in
+the softest whisper.
+
+"Mr. King, you must tell me. Is Rupert worse?"
+
+"He is very ill," was the answer. "He certainly grows worse instead of
+better."
+
+"Will he die?"
+
+"I do believe he will die unless he can be got out of that unwholesome
+place. The question is, how is it to be done?"
+
+"It cannot be done; it cannot be done unless Mr. Chattaway can be
+propitiated. That is the only chance."
+
+"Mr. Chattaway never will be," thought Mr. King. "Everything is against
+him where he is," he said aloud: "the air of the room, the constant fear
+upon him, the want of proper food. The provisions conveyed to him at
+chance times are a poor substitute for the meals he requires."
+
+"And they will be stopped now," said Mrs. Chattaway. "Rebecca has
+prepared them privately, but she cannot do so now. Mr. King, _what_ can
+be done!"
+
+"I don't know, indeed. It will not be safe to attempt to move him. In
+fact, I question if he would consent to it, his dread of being
+discovered is so great."
+
+"Will you do all you can?" she urged.
+
+"To be sure," he replied. "I _am_ doing all I can. I got him another
+bottle of port in to-day. If you only saw me trying to dodge into the
+lodge unperceived, and taking observations before I whisk out again, you
+would say that I am as anxious as you can be, my dear lady. Still--I
+don't hesitate to avow it--I believe it will be life or death, according
+as we can manage to get him away from that hole and set his mind at
+rest."
+
+He wished her good night, and went out.
+
+"Life or death!" Mrs. Chattaway stood at the window, and gazed into the
+dusky night, recalling over and over again the ominous words. "Life or
+death!" There was no earthly chance, except the remote one of appeasing
+Mr. Chattaway.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LIII
+
+A SURPRISE FOR MR. CHATTAWAY
+
+
+George Ryle by no means liked the uncertainty in which he was kept as to
+the Upland Farm. Had Mr. Chattaway been any other than Mr. Chattaway,
+had he been a straightforward man, George would have said, "Give me an
+answer, Yes or No." In point of fact, he did say so; but was unable to
+get a reply from him, one way or the other. Mr. Chattaway was pretty
+liberal in his sneers as to one with no means of his own taking so
+extensive a farm as the Upland; but he did not positively say, "I will
+not lease it to you." George bore the sneers with equanimity. He
+possessed that very desirable gift, a sweet temper; and he was, and
+could not help feeling that he was, so really superior to Mr. Chattaway,
+that he could afford that gentleman's evil tongue some latitude.
+
+But the time was going on; it was necessary that a decision should be
+arrived at; and one morning George went up again to the Hold, determined
+to receive a final answer. As he was entering the steward's room, he met
+Ford, the Blackstone clerk, coming out of it.
+
+"Is Mr. Chattaway in there?" asked George.
+
+"Yes," replied Ford. "But if you want any business out of him this
+morning, you won't get it. I have tramped all the way up here about a
+hurried matter and have had my walk for my pains. Chattaway won't do
+anything or say anything; doesn't seem capable; says he shall be at
+Blackstone by-and-by. And that's all I've got to go back with."
+
+"Why won't he?"
+
+"Goodness knows. He seems to have had a shock or fright: was staring at
+a letter when I went in, and I left him staring at it when I came out,
+his wits evidently wool-gathering. Good morning, Mr. Ryle."
+
+The young man went his way, and George entered the room. Mr. Chattaway
+was seated at his desk; an open letter before him, as Ford had said. It
+was one that had been delivered by that morning's post, and it had
+brought the sweat of dismay upon his brow. He looked at George angrily.
+
+"Who's this again? Am I never to be at peace? What do you want?"
+
+"Mr. Chattaway, I want an answer. If you will not let me the Upland
+Farm----"
+
+"I will give you no answer this morning. I am otherwise occupied, and
+cannot be bothered with business."
+
+"Will you give me an answer--at all?"
+
+"Yes, to-morrow. Come then."
+
+George saw that something had indeed put Mr. Chattaway out; he appeared
+incapable of business, as Ford had intimated, and it would be policy,
+perhaps, to let the matter rest until to-morrow. But a resolution came
+into George's mind to do at once what he had sometimes thought of
+doing--make a friend, if possible, of Miss Diana Trevlyn. He went about
+the house until he found her, for he was almost as much at home there as
+poor Rupert had been. Miss Diana happened to be alone in the
+breakfast-room, looking over what appeared to be bills, but she
+laid them aside at his entrance, and--it was a most unusual
+thing--condescended to ask after the health of her sister, Mrs. Ryle.
+
+"Miss Diana, I want you to be my friend," he said, in the winning manner
+that made George Ryle liked by everyone, as he drew a chair near to her.
+"Will you whisper a word for me into Mr. Chattaway's ear?"
+
+"About the Upland Farm?"
+
+"Yes. I cannot get an answer from him. He has promised me one to-morrow
+morning, but I do not rely upon it. I must be at some certainty. I have
+my eye on another farm if I cannot get Mr. Chattaway's; but it is at
+some distance, and I shall not like it half as well. Whilst he keeps me
+shilly-shallying over this one, I may lose both. There's an old proverb,
+you know, about two stools."
+
+"Was that a joke the other day, the hint you gave about marrying?"
+inquired Miss Diana.
+
+"It was sober earnest. If I can get the Upland Farm, I shall, I hope,
+take my wife home to it almost as soon as I am installed there myself."
+
+"Is she a good manager, a practical woman?"
+
+George smiled. "No. She is a lady."
+
+"I thought so," was the remark of Miss Diana, delivered in very knowing
+tones. "I can tell you and your wife, George, that it will be uphill
+work for both of you."
+
+"For a time; I know that. But, Miss Diana, ease, when it comes, will be
+all the more enjoyable for having been worked for. I often think the
+prosperity of those who have honestly earned it must be far sweeter than
+the monotonous abundance of those who are born rich."
+
+"True. The worst is, that sometimes the best years of life are over
+before prosperity comes."
+
+"But those years have had their pleasure, in working on for it. I
+question whether actual prosperity ever brings the pleasure we enjoy in
+anticipation. If we had no end to work for, we should not be happy. Will
+you say a word for me, Miss Diana?"
+
+"First of all, tell me the name of the lady. I suppose you have no
+objection--you may trust me."
+
+George's lips parted with a smile, and a faint flush stole over his
+features. "I shall have to tell you before I win her, if only to obtain
+your consent to taking her from the Hold."
+
+"_My_ consent! I have nothing to do with it. You must get that from Mr.
+and Madam Chattaway."
+
+"If I have yours, I am not sure that I should care to ask--his."
+
+"Of whom do you speak?" she rejoined, looking puzzled.
+
+"Of Maude Trevlyn."
+
+Miss Diana rose from her chair, and stared at him in astonishment.
+"Maude Trevlyn!" she repeated. "Since when have you thought of Maude
+Trevlyn?"
+
+"Since I thought of any one--thought at all, I was going to say. I loved
+Maude--yes, _loved_ her, Miss Diana--when she was only a child."
+
+"And you have not thought of anyone else?"
+
+"Never. I have loved Maude, and I have been content to wait for her. But
+that I was so trammelled with the farm at home, keeping it for Mrs. Ryle
+and Treve, I might have spoken before."
+
+Maude Trevlyn was evidently not the lady upon whom Miss Diana's
+suspicions had fallen, and she seemed unable to recover from her
+surprise or realise the fact. "Have you never given cause to another
+to--to--suspect any admiration on your part?" she resumed, breaking the
+silence.
+
+"Believe me, I never have. On the contrary," glancing at Miss Diana with
+peculiar significance for a moment, his tone most impressive, "I have
+cautiously abstained from doing so."
+
+"Ah, I see." And Miss Trevlyn's tone was not less significant than his.
+
+"Will you give her to me?" he pleaded, in his softest and most
+persuasive voice.
+
+"I don't know, George, there may be trouble over this."
+
+"Do you mean with Mr. Chattaway?"
+
+"I mean----No matter what I mean. I think there will be trouble over
+it."
+
+"There need be none if you will sanction it. But that you might
+misconstrue me, I would urge you to give her to me for Maude's own sake.
+This escapade of poor Rupert's has rendered Mr. Chattaway's roof an
+undesirable one for her."
+
+"Maude is a Trevlyn, and must marry a gentleman," spoke Miss Diana.
+
+"I am one," said George quietly. "Forgive me if I remind you that my
+ancestors are equal to those of the Trevlyns. In the days gone by----"
+
+"You need not enter upon it," was the interruption. "I do not forget it.
+But gentle descent is not all that is necessary. Maude will have money,
+and it is only right that she should marry one who possesses it in an
+equal degree."
+
+"Maude will not have a shilling," cried George, impulsively.
+
+"Indeed! Who told you so?"
+
+George laughed. "It is what I have always supposed. Where is her money
+to come from?"
+
+"She will have a great deal of money," persisted Miss Diana. "The half
+of my fortune, at least, will be Maude's. The other half I intended for
+Rupert. Did you suppose the last of the Trevlyns, Maude and Rupert,
+would be turned penniless into the world?"
+
+So! It had been Miss Diana's purpose to bequeath them money! Yes; loving
+power though she did; acquiescing in the act of usurping Trevlyn Hold as
+she had, she intended to make it up in some degree to the children.
+Human nature is full of contradictions. "Has Maude learnt to care for
+you?" she suddenly asked. "You hesitate!"
+
+"If I hesitate it is not because I have no answer to give, but whether
+it would be quite fair to Maude to give it. The truth may be best,
+however; she _has_ learnt to care for me. Perhaps you will answer me a
+question--have you any objection to me personally?"
+
+"George Ryle, had I objected to you personally, I should have ordered
+you out of the room the instant you mentioned Maude's name. Were your
+position a better one, I would give you Maude to-morrow--so far as my
+giving could avail. But to enter the Upland Farm upon borrowed
+money?--no; I do not think that will do for Maude Trevlyn."
+
+"It would be a better position for her than the one she now holds, as
+Mr. Chattaway's governess," replied George, boldly. "A better, and a far
+happier."
+
+"Nonsense. Maude Trevlyn's position at Trevlyn Hold is not to be looked
+upon as that of governess, but as a daughter of the house. It was well
+that both she and Rupert should have some occupation."
+
+"And on the other score?" resumed George. "May I dare to say the truth
+to you, that in quitting the Hold for the home I shall make for her, she
+will be leaving misery for happiness?"
+
+Miss Diana rose. "That is enough for the present," said she. "It has
+come upon me with surprise, and I must give it some hours' consideration
+before I can even realise it. With regard to the Upland Farm, I will ask
+Mr. Chattaway to accord you preference if he can do so; the two matters
+are quite distinct and apart one from the other. I think you might
+prosper at the Upland Farm, and be a good tenant; but I decline--and
+this you must distinctly understand--to give you any hope now with
+regard to Maude."
+
+George held out his hand with his sunny smile. "I will wait until you
+have considered it, Miss Diana."
+
+She took her way at once to Mrs. Chattaway's room. Happening, as she
+passed the corridor window, to glance to the front of the house, she saw
+George Ryle cross the lawn. At the same moment, Octave Chattaway ran
+after him, evidently calling to him.
+
+He stopped and turned. He could do no less. And Octave stood with him,
+laughing and talking rather more freely than she might have done, had
+she been aware of what had just taken place. Miss Diana drew in her
+severe lips, changed her course, and sailed back to the hall-door.
+Octave was coming in then.
+
+"Manners have changed since I was a girl," remarked Miss Diana. "It
+would scarcely have been deemed seemly then for a young lady to run
+after a gentleman. I do not like it, Octave."
+
+"Manners do change," returned Miss Chattaway, in tones she made as
+slighting as she dared. "It was only George Ryle, Aunt Diana."
+
+"Do you know where Maude is?"
+
+"No; I know nothing about her. I think if you gave Maude a word of
+reprimand instead of giving one to me, it might not be amiss, Aunt
+Diana. Since Rupert turned runagate--or renegade might be a better
+word--Maude has shamefully neglected her duties with Emily and Edith.
+She passes her time in the clouds and lets them run wild."
+
+"Had Rupert been your brother you might have done the same," curtly
+rejoined Miss Diana. "A shock like that cannot be lived down in a day.
+Allow me to give you a hint, Octave; should you lose Maude for the
+children, you will not so efficiently replace her."
+
+"We are not likely to lose her," said Octave, opening her eyes.
+
+"I don't know that. It is possible that we shall. George Ryle wants
+her."
+
+"Wants her for what?" asked Octave, staring very much.
+
+"He can want her but for one thing--to be his wife. It seems he has
+loved her for years."
+
+She quitted Octave as she said this, on her way up again to Mrs.
+Chattaway's room; never halting, never looking back at the still, white
+face, that seemed to be turning into stone as it was strained after her.
+
+In Mrs. Chattaway's sitting-room she found that lady and Maude. She
+entered suddenly and hastily, and had Miss Diana been of a suspicious
+nature it might have arisen then. In their close contact, their start of
+surprise, the expression of their haggard countenances, there was surely
+evidence of some unhappy secret. Miss Diana was closely followed by Mr.
+Chattaway.
+
+"Did you not hear me call?" he inquired of his sister-in-law.
+
+"No," she replied. "I only heard you on the stairs behind me. What is
+it?"
+
+"Read that," said Mr. Chattaway.
+
+He tossed an open letter to her. It was the one which had so put him
+out, rendering him incapable of attending to business. After digesting
+it alone in the best manner he could, he had now come to submit it to
+the keen and calm inspection of Miss Trevlyn.
+
+"Oh," said she carelessly, as she looked at the writing, "another letter
+from Connell and Connell."
+
+"Read it," repeated Mr. Chattaway, in low tones. He was too completely
+shaken to be anything but subdued.
+
+Miss Diana proceeded to do so. It was a letter shorter, if anything,
+than the previous one, but even more decided. It simply said that Mr.
+Rupert Trevlyn had written to inform them of his intention of taking
+immediate possession of Trevlyn Hold, and had requested them to acquaint
+Mr. Chattaway with the same. Miss Diana read it to herself, and then
+aloud for the general benefit.
+
+"It is the most infamous thing that has ever come under my notice," said
+Mr. Chattaway. "What _right_ have those Connells to address me in this
+strain? If Rupert Trevlyn passes his time inventing such folly, is it
+the work of a respectable firm to perpetuate the jokes on me?"
+
+Mrs. Chattaway and Maude gazed at each other, perfectly confounded. It
+was next to impossible that Rupert could have thus written to Connell
+and Connell. If they had only dared defend him! "Why suffer it to put
+you out, James?" Mrs. Chattaway ventured to say. "Rupert _cannot_ be
+writing such letters; he _cannot_ be thinking of attempting to take
+possession here; the bare idea is absurd: treat it as such."
+
+"But these communications from Connell and Connell are not the less
+disgraceful," was the reply. "I'd as soon be annoyed with anonymous
+letters."
+
+Miss Diana Trevlyn had not spoken. The affair, to her keen mind, began
+to wear a strange appearance. She looked up from the letter at Mr.
+Chattaway. "Were Connell and Connell not so respectable, I should say
+they have lent themselves to a sorry joke for the purpose of the worst
+sort of annoyance: being what they are, that view falls to the ground.
+There is only one possible solution to it: but----"
+
+"And what's that?" eagerly interrupted Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"That Rupert is amusing himself, and has contrived to impose upon
+Connell and Connell----"
+
+"He never has," broke in Mrs. Chattaway. "I mean," she more calmly
+added, "that Connell and Connell could not be imposed upon by any
+foolish claim put forth by a boy like Rupert."
+
+"I wish you would hear me out," was the composed rejoinder of Miss
+Diana. "It is what I was about to say. Had Connell and Connell been
+different men, they might be so imposed upon; but I do not think they,
+or any firm of similar standing, would presume to write such letters to
+the master of Trevlyn Hold, unless they had substantial grounds for
+doing so."
+
+"Then what can they mean?" cried Mr. Chattaway, wiping his hot face.
+
+Ay, what could they mean? It was indeed a puzzle, and the matter began
+to assume a serious form. What had been the vain boastings of Mr. Daw,
+compared with this? Cris Chattaway, when he reached home, and this
+second letter was shown to him, was loudly indignant, but all the
+indignation Mr. Chattaway had been prone to indulge in seemed to have
+gone out of _him_. Mr. Flood wrote to Connell and Connell to request an
+explanation, and received a courteous and immediate reply. But it
+contained no further information than the letters themselves--or than
+even Mr. Peterby had elicited when he wrote up, on his own part,
+privately to Mr. Ray: nothing but that Mr. Rupert Trevlyn was about to
+take possession of his own again, and occupy Trevlyn Hold.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LIV
+
+A GHOST FOR OLD CANHAM
+
+
+Trevlyn Hold was a fine place, the cynosure and envy of the
+neighbourhood around; and yet it would perhaps be impossible in all that
+neighbourhood to find any family so completely miserable as that which
+inhabited the house. The familiar saying is a very true one: "All is not
+gold that glitters."
+
+Enough has been said of the trials and discomforts of Mrs. Chattaway;
+they had been many and varied, but never had trouble accumulated upon
+her head as now. The terrible secret that Rupert was within hail,
+wasting unto death, was torturing her brain night and day. It seemed
+that the whole weight of it lay upon her; that she was responsible for
+his weal and woe: if he died would reproach not lie at her door, remorse
+be her portion for ever? It might be that she should have disclosed the
+secret, and not have left him there to die.
+
+But how disclose it? Since the second letter received from Connell,
+Connell, and Ray, Mr. Chattaway had been doubly bitter against
+Rupert--if that were possible; and to disclose Rupert's hiding-place
+would only be to consign him to prison. Mr. Chattaway was another who
+was miserable in his home. Suspense is far worse than reality; and the
+present master would never realise in his own heart the evils attendant
+on being turned from the Hold as he was realising them now. His days
+were one prolonged scene of torture. Miss Diana Trevlyn partook of the
+general discomfort: for the first time in her life a sense of ill
+oppressed her. She knew nothing of the secret regarding Rupert; somewhat
+scornfully threw away the vague ideas imparted by the letters from
+Connell and Connell; and yet Miss Diana was conscious of being oppressed
+with a sense of ill, which weighed her down, and made life a burden.
+
+The evil had come at last. Retribution, which they too surely invoked
+when they diverted God's laws of right and justice from their direct
+course years ago, was working itself just now. Retribution is a thing
+that _must_ come; though tardy, as it had been in this case, it is sure.
+Look around you, you who have had much of life's experience, who may be
+drawing into its "sear and yellow leaf." It is impossible but that you
+have gathered up in the garner of your mind instances you have noted in
+your career. In little things and in great, the working of evil
+inevitably brings forth its reward. Years, and years, and years may
+elapse; so many, that the hour of vengeance seems to have rolled away
+under the glass of time; but we need never hope that, for it cannot be.
+In your day, ill-doer, or in your children's, it will surely come.
+
+The agony of mind, endured now by the inmates of Trevlyn Hold, seemed
+sufficient punishment for a whole lifetime and its misdoings. Should
+they indeed be turned from it, as these mysterious letters appeared to
+indicate, that open, tangible punishment would be as nothing to what
+they were mentally enduring now. And they could not speak of their
+griefs one to another, and so lessen them in ever so slight a degree.
+Mr.
+
+Chattaway would not speak of the dread tugging at his heart-strings--for
+it seemed to him that only to speak of the _possibility_ of being driven
+forth, might bring it the nearer; and his unhappy wife dared not so much
+as breathe the name of Rupert, and the fatal secret she held.
+
+She, Mrs. Chattaway, was puzzled more than all by these letters from
+Connell and Connell. Mr. Chattaway could trace their source (at least he
+strove to do so) to the malicious mind and pen of Rupert; but Mrs.
+Chattaway knew that Rupert it could not well be. Nevertheless, she had
+been staggered on the arrival of the second to find it explicitly stated
+that Rupert Trevlyn had written to announce his speedy intention of
+taking possession of the Hold. "Rupert had written to them!" What was
+she to think? If it was not Rupert, someone else must have written in
+his name; but who would be likely to trouble themselves now for the lost
+Rupert?--regarded as dead by three parts of the world. Had Rupert
+written? Mrs. Chattaway determined again to ask him, and to set the
+question so far at rest.
+
+But she did not do this for two days after the arrival of the letter.
+She waited the answer which Mr. Flood wrote up to Connell and Connell,
+spoken of in the last chapter. As soon as that came, and she found that
+it explained nothing, then she resolved to question Rupert at her next
+stolen visit. That same afternoon, as she returned on foot from
+Barmester, she contrived to slip unseen into the lodge.
+
+Rupert was sitting up. Mr. King had given it as his opinion that to lie
+constantly in bed, as he was doing, was worse than anything else; and in
+truth Rupert need not have been entirely confined to it had there been
+any other place for him. Old Canham's chamber opposite was still more
+stifling, inasmuch as the builder had forgotten to make the small window
+to open. Look at Rupert now, as Mrs. Chattaway enters! He has managed to
+struggle into his clothes, which hang upon him like sacks, and he sits
+uncomfortably on a small rush-bottomed chair. Rupert's back looks as if
+it were broken; he is bent nearly double with weakness; his lips are
+white, his cheeks hollow, and his poor, weak hands tremble with joy as
+they are feebly raised to greet Mrs. Chattaway. Think what it was for
+him! lying for long hours, for days, in that stifling room, a prey to
+his fears, sometimes seeing no one for two whole days--for it was not
+every evening that an opportunity could be found of entering the lodge.
+What with the Chattaways' passing and repassing the lodge, and Ann
+Canham's grumbling visitors, an entrance for those who might not be seen
+to enter it was not always possible. Look at poor Rupert; the lighting
+up of his eye, the kindling hectic of his cheek!
+
+Mrs. Chattaway contrived to squeeze herself between Rupert and the door,
+and sat down on the edge of the bed as she took his hand in hers. "I am
+so glad to see you have made an effort to get up, Rupert!" she
+whispered.
+
+"I don't think I shall make it again, Aunt Edith. You have no conception
+how it has tired me. I was a good half-hour getting into my coat and
+waistcoat."
+
+"But you will be all the better for it."
+
+"I don't know," said Rupert, in a spiritless tone. "I feel as if there
+would never be any 'better' for me again."
+
+She began telling him of what she had been purchasing for him at
+Barmester--a dressed tongue, a box of sardines, potted meats, and
+similar things found in the provision shops. They were not precisely the
+dishes suited to Rupert's weakly state; but since the accident to
+Rebecca he had been fain to put up with what could be thus procured. And
+then Mrs. Chattaway opened gently upon the subject of the letters.
+
+"It seems so strange, Rupert, quite inexplicable, but Mr. Chattaway has
+had another of those curious letters from Connell and Connell."
+
+"Has he?" answered Rupert, with apathy.
+
+Mrs. Chattaway looked at him with all the fancied penetration she
+possessed--in point of fact she was one of those persons who possess
+none--but she could not detect the faintest sign of consciousness. "Was
+there anything about me in it?" he asked wearily.
+
+"It was all about you. It said you had written to Connell and Connell
+stating your intention of taking immediate possession of the Hold."
+
+This a little aroused him. "Connell and Connell have written that to Mr.
+Chattaway! Why, what queer people they must be!"
+
+"Rupert! You have _not_ written to them, have you?"
+
+He looked at Mrs. Chattaway in surprise; for she had evidently asked the
+question seriously. "You know I have not. I am not strong enough to play
+jokes, Aunt Edith. And if I were, I should not be so senseless as to
+play _that_ joke. What end would it answer?"
+
+"I thought not," she murmured; "I was sure not. Setting everything else
+aside, Rupert, you are not well enough to write."
+
+"No, I don't think I am. I could hardly scrawl those lines to George
+Ryle some time ago--when the fever was upon me. No, Aunt Edith: the only
+letter I have written since I became a prisoner was the one I wrote to
+Mr. Daw, the night I first took shelter here, just after the encounter
+with Mr. Chattaway, and Ann Canham posted it at Barmester the next day.
+What on earth can possess Connell and Connell?"
+
+"Diana argues that Connell and Connell must be receiving these letters,
+or they would not write to Mr. Chattaway in the manner they are doing.
+For my part, I can't make it out."
+
+"What does Mr. Chattaway say?" asked Rupert, when a fit of coughing was
+over. "Is he angry?"
+
+"He is worse than angry," she seriously answered; "he is troubled. He
+thinks you are writing them."
+
+"No! Why, he might know that I shouldn't dare do it: he might know that
+I am not well enough to write them."
+
+"Nay, Rupert, you forget that Mr. Chattaway does not know you are ill."
+
+"To be sure; I forgot that. But I can't believe Mr. Chattaway is
+_troubled_. How could a poor, weak, friendless chap, such as I, contend
+for the possession of Trevlyn Hold? Aunt Edith, I'll tell you what it
+must be. If Connells are not playing this joke themselves, to annoy Mr.
+Chattaway, somebody must be playing it on them."
+
+Mrs. Chattaway acquiesced: it was the only conclusion she could come to.
+
+"Oh, Aunt Edith, if he would only forgive me!" sighed Rupert. "When I
+get well--and I should get well, if I could go back to the Hold and get
+this fear out of me--I would work night and day to repay him the cost of
+the ricks. If he would only forgive me!"
+
+Ah! none knew better than Mrs. Chattaway how vain was the wish; how
+worse than vain any hope of forgiveness. She could have told him, had
+she chosen, of an unhappy scene of the past night, when she, Edith
+Chattaway, urged by the miserable state of existing things and her
+tribulation for Rupert, had so far forgotten prudence as to all but
+kneel to her husband and beg him to forgive that poor culprit; and Mr.
+Chattaway, excited to the very depths of anger, had demanded of his wife
+whether she were mad or sane, that she should dare ask it.
+
+"Yes, Rupert," she meekly said, "I wish it also, for your sake. But, my
+dear, it is just an impossibility."
+
+"If I could be got safely out of the country, I might go to Mr. Daw for
+a time, and get up my strength there."
+
+"Yes, _if_ you could. But in your weak state discovery would be the
+result before you were clear from these walls. You cannot take flight in
+the night. Everyone knows you: and the police, we have heard, are
+keeping their eyes open."
+
+"I'd bribe Dumps, if I had money----"
+
+Rupert's voice dropped. A commotion had suddenly arisen downstairs, and,
+his fears ever on the alert touching the police and Mr. Chattaway, he
+put up his hand to enjoin caution, and bent his head to listen. But no
+strange voice could be distinguished: only those of old Canham and his
+daughter. A short time, and Ann came up the stairs, looking strange.
+
+"What's the matter?" panted Rupert, who was the first to catch sight of
+her face.
+
+"I can't think what's come to father, sir," she returned. "I was in the
+back place, washing up, and heard a sort o' cry, as one may say, so I
+ran in. There he was standing with his hair all on end, and afore I
+could speak he began saying he'd seen a ghost go past. He's staring out
+o' window still. I hope his senses are not leaving him!"
+
+To hear this assertion from sober-minded, matter-of-fact old Canham,
+certainly did impart a suspicion that his senses were departing. Mrs.
+Chattaway rose to descend, for she had already lingered longer than was
+prudent. She found old Canham as Ann had described him, with that
+peculiarly scared look on the face some people deem equivalent to "the
+hair standing on end." He was gazing with a fixed expression towards the
+Hold.
+
+"Has anything happened to alarm you, Mark?"
+
+Mrs. Chattaway's gentle question recalled him to himself. He turned
+towards her, leaning heavily on his stick, his eyes full of vague
+terror.
+
+"It happened, Madam, as I had got out o' my seat, and was standing to
+look out o' window, thinking how fine the a'ternoon was, when he come in
+at the gate with a fine silver-headed stick in his hand, turning his
+head about from side to side as if he was taking note of the old place
+to see what changes there might be in it. I was struck all of a heap
+when I saw his figure; 'twas just the figure it used to be, only maybe a
+bit younger; but when he moved his head and looked full at me, I felt
+turned to stone. It was his face, ma'am, if I ever saw it."
+
+"But whose?" asked Mrs. Chattaway, smiling at his incoherence.
+
+Old Canham glanced round before he spoke; glanced at Mrs. Chattaway,
+with a half-compassionate, half-inquiring look, as if not liking to
+speak. "Madam, it was the old Squire, my late master."
+
+"It was--who?" demanded Mrs. Chattaway, less gentle than usual in her
+great surprise.
+
+"It was Squire Trevlyn; Madam's father."
+
+Mrs. Chattaway could do nothing but stare. She thought old Canham's
+senses were decidedly gone.
+
+"There never was a face like his. Miss Maude--that is, Mrs. Ryle
+now--have his features exact; but she's not as tall and portly, being a
+woman. Ah, Madam, you may smile at me, but it was Squire Trevlyn."
+
+"But, Mark, you know it is impossible."
+
+"Madam, 'twas him. He must ha' come out of his grave for some purpose,
+and is visiting his own again. I never was a believer in them things
+afore, or thought as the dead come back to life."
+
+Ghosts have gone out of fashion; therefore the enlightened reader will
+not be likely to endorse old Canham's belief. But when Mrs. Chattaway,
+turning quickly up the avenue on her way to the Hold, saw, at no great
+distance from her, a gentleman standing to talk to some one whom he had
+encountered, she stopped, as one in sudden terror, and seemed about to
+fall or faint. Mrs. Chattaway did not believe in "the dead coming back"
+any more than old Canham had believed in it; but in that moment's
+startled surprise she did think she saw her father.
+
+She gazed at the figure, her lips apart, her bright complexion fading to
+ashy paleness. Never had she seen so extraordinary a likeness. The tall,
+fine form, somewhat less full perhaps than of yore, the
+distinctly-marked features with their firm and haughty expression, the
+fresh clear skin, the very manner of handling that silver-headed stick,
+spoke in unmistakable terms of Squire Trevlyn.
+
+Not until they parted, the two who were talking, did Mrs. Chattaway
+observe that the other was Nora Dickson. Nora came down the avenue
+towards her; the stranger went on with his firm step and his
+firmly-grasped stick. Mrs. Chattaway was advancing then.
+
+"Nora, who is that?" she gasped.
+
+"I am trying to collect my wits, if they are not scared away for good,"
+was Nora's response. "Madam Chattaway, you might just have knocked me
+down with a feather. I was walking along, thinking of nothing, except my
+vexation that you were not at home--for Mr. George charged me to bring
+this note to you, and to deliver it instantly into your own hands, and
+nobody else's--when I met him. I didn't know whether to face him, or
+scream, or turn and run; one doesn't like to meet the dead; and I
+declare to you, Madam Chattaway, I believed, in my confused brain, that
+it was the dead. I believed it was Squire Trevlyn."
+
+"Nora, I never saw two persons so strangely alike," she breathed,
+mechanically taking the note from Nora's hand. "Who is he?"
+
+"My brain's at work to discover," returned Nora, dreamily. "I am trying
+to put two and two together, and can't do it; unless the dead have come
+to life--or those we believed dead."
+
+"Nora! you cannot mean my father!" exclaimed Mrs. Chattaway, gazing at
+her with a strangely perplexed face. "You know he lies buried in
+Barbrook churchyard. What did he say to you?"
+
+"Not much. He saw me staring at him, I suppose, and stopped and asked me
+if I belonged to the Hold. I answered, no; I did not belong to it; I was
+Miss Dickson, of Trevlyn Farm. And then it was his turn to stare at me.
+'I think I should have known you,' he said. 'At least, I do now that I
+have the clue. You are not much altered. Should you have known me?' 'I
+don't know you now,' I answered: 'unless you are old Squire Trevlyn come
+out of his grave. I never saw such a likeness.'"
+
+"And what did he say?" eagerly asked Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+"Nothing more. He laughed a little at my speech, and went on. Madam
+Chattaway, will you open the note, please, and see if there's any
+answer. Mr. George said it was important."
+
+She opened the note, which had lain unheeded in her hand, and read as
+follows:
+
+     "Do not attempt further visits. Suspicions are abroad.
+
+     "G. B. R."
+
+She had just attempted one, and paid it. Had it been watched? A rush of
+fear bounded within her for Rupert's sake.
+
+"There's no answer, Nora," said Mrs. Chattaway: and she turned
+homewards, as one in a dream. Who _was_ that man before her? What was
+his name? where did he come from? Why should he bear this strange
+likeness to her dead father? Ah, why, indeed! The truth never for one
+moment entered the mind of Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+He went on: he, the stranger. When he came to the lawn before the house,
+he stepped on to it and halted. He looked to this side, he looked to
+that; he gazed up at the house; just as one loves to look on returning
+to a beloved home after an absence of years. He stood with his head
+thrown back; his right hand stretched out, the stick it grasped planted
+firm and upright on the ground. How many times had old Squire Trevlyn
+stood in the selfsame attitude on that same lawn!
+
+There appeared to be no one about; no one saw him, save Mrs. Chattaway,
+who hid herself amidst the trees, and furtively watched him. She would
+not have passed him for the world, and she waited until he should be
+gone. She was unable to divest her mind of a sensation akin to the
+supernatural, as she shrank from this man who bore so wonderful a
+resemblance to her father. He, the stranger, did not detect her behind
+him, and presently he walked across the lawn, ascended the steps, and
+tried the door.
+
+But the door was fastened. The servants would sometimes slip the bolt as
+a protection against tramps, and they had probably done so to-day.
+Seizing the bell-handle, the visitor rang such a peal that Sam Atkins,
+Cris Chattaway's groom, who happened to be in the house and near the
+door, flew with all speed to open it. Sam had never known Squire
+Trevlyn; but in this stranger now before him, he could not fail to
+remark a great general resemblance to the Trevlyn family.
+
+"Is James Chattaway at home?"
+
+To hear the master of the Hold inquired for in that unceremonious
+manner, rather took Sam back; but he answered that he was at home. He
+had no need to invite the visitor to walk in, for the visitor had walked
+in of his own accord. "What name, sir?" demanded Sam, preparing to usher
+the stranger across the hall.
+
+"Squire Trevlyn."
+
+This concluded Sam Atkins's astonishment. "_What_ name, sir, did you
+say?"
+
+"Squire Trevlyn. Are you deaf, man? Squire Trevlyn, of Trevlyn Hold."
+
+And the haughty motion of the head, the firm pressure of the lips, might
+have put a spectator all too unpleasantly in mind of the veritable old
+Squire Trevlyn, had one who had known him been there to see.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LV
+
+THE DREAD COME HOME
+
+
+Nothing could well exceed Mr. Chattaway's astonishment at hearing that
+George Ryle wished to make Maude Trevlyn his wife. And nothing could
+exceed his displeasure. Not that Mr. Chattaway had higher views for
+Maude, or deemed it an undesirable match in a pecuniary point of view,
+as Miss Diana Trevlyn had intimated. Had Maude chosen to marry without
+any prospect at all, that would not have troubled Mr. Chattaway. But
+what did trouble Mr. Chattaway was this--that a sister of Rupert Trevlyn
+should become connected with George Ryle. In Mr. Chattaway's foolish and
+utterly groundless prejudices, he had suspected, as you may remember,
+that George Ryle and Rupert had been ever ready to hatch mischief
+against him; and he dreaded for his own sake any bond of union that
+might bring them closer together.
+
+There was something else. By some intuitive perception Mr. Chattaway had
+detected that misplaced liking of his daughter's for George Ryle: and
+_this_ union would not have been unpalatable to Mr. Chattaway. Whatever
+may have been his ambition for his daughter's settlement in life,
+whatever his dislike to George Ryle, he was willing to forego it all for
+his own sake. Every consideration was lost sight of in that one which
+had always reigned paramount with Mr. Chattaway--self-interest. You have
+not waited until now to learn that James Chattaway was one of the most
+selfish men on the face of the earth. Some men like, as far as they can,
+to do their duty to God and to their fellow-creatures; the master of
+Trevlyn Hold had made self the motive-spring through life. And what sort
+of a garner for the Great Day do you suppose he had been laying up for
+himself? He was soon to experience a little check here, but that was
+little, in comparison. The ills our evil conduct entails upon ourselves
+here, are as nothing to the dread reckoning we must render up hereafter.
+
+Mr. Chattaway would have leased the Upland Farm to George Ryle with all
+the pleasure in life, provided he could have leased his daughter with
+it. Were George Ryle his veritable son-in-law, he would fear no longer
+plotting against himself. Somehow, he did fear George Ryle, feared him
+as a good man, brave, upright, honourable, who might be tempted to make
+common cause with the oppressed against the oppressor. It may be, also,
+that Miss Chattaway did not render herself as universally agreeable at
+home as she might have done, for her naturally bad temper did not
+improve with years; and for this reason Mr. Chattaway was not sorry that
+the Hold should be rid of her. Altogether, he contemplated with
+satisfaction, rather than the contrary, the connection of George Ryle
+with his family. And he could not be quite blind to certain
+predilections shown by Octave, though no hint or allusion had ever been
+spoken on either side.
+
+And on that first day when George Ryle, after speaking to Mr. Chattaway
+about the lease of the Upland Farm, said a joking word or two to Miss
+Diana of his marriage, Octave had overheard. You saw her with her
+scarlet face looking over her aunt's shoulder: a face which seemed to
+startle George, and caused him to take his leave somewhat abruptly.
+
+Poor Octave Chattaway! When George had remarked that his coveted wife
+was a gentlewoman, and must live accordingly, the words had imparted to
+her a meaning George himself never gave them. _She_ was the gentlewoman
+to whom he alluded.
+
+Ere the scarlet had faded, her father entered the room. Octave bent over
+the table drawing a pattern. Mr. Chattaway stood at the window, his
+hands in his pockets, a habit of his when in thought, and watched George
+Ryle walking away in the distance.
+
+"He wants the Upland Farm, Octave."
+
+Mr. Chattaway presently remarked, without turning round. "He thinks he
+can get on in it."
+
+Miss Chattaway carried her pencil to the end of the line, and bent her
+face lower. "I should let him have it, papa."
+
+"The Upland Farm will take money to stock and carry on; no slight sum,"
+remarked Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"Yes. Did he say how he should manage to get it?"
+
+"From Apperley. He will have his work cut out if he is to begin farming
+on borrowed money; as his father had before him. It is only this very
+day that he has paid off that debt, contracted so many years ago."
+
+"And no wonder, on that small Trevlyn Farm. The Upland is different. A
+man would grow rich on the one, and starve on the other."
+
+"To take the best farm in the world on borrowed money, would entail
+uphill work. George Ryle will have to work hard; and so must his wife,
+should he marry."
+
+Octave paused for a moment, apparently mastering some intricacies in her
+pattern. "Not his wife; I do not see that. Aunt Maude is a case in
+point; she has never worked at Trevlyn Farm."
+
+"She has had her cares, though," returned Mr. Chattaway. "And she would
+have had to work--but for Nora Dickson."
+
+"The Upland Farm could afford a housekeeper if necessary," was Octave's
+answer.
+
+Not another word was spoken. Mr. Chattaway's suspicions were confirmed,
+and he determined when George Ryle again asked for the farm lease and
+for Octave, to accord both with rather more graciousness than he was
+accustomed to accord anything.
+
+Things did not turn out, however, quite in accordance with his
+expectations. The best of us are disappointed sometimes, you know.
+George Ryle pressed for the farm, but did not press for Octave. In point
+of fact, he never mentioned her name, or so much as hinted at any
+interest he might feel in her; and Mr. Chattaway, rather puzzled and
+very cross, abstained from promising the farm. He put off the question,
+very much to George's inconvenience, who set it down to caprice.
+
+But the time came for Mr. Chattaway's eyes to be opened, and he awoke to
+the cross-purposes which had been at work. On the afternoon of the day
+mentioned in the last chapter, during Mrs. Chattaway's stolen visit to
+Rupert, Mr. Chattaway was undeceived. He had been at home all day, busy
+over accounts and other matters in the steward's room; and Miss Diana,
+mindful of her promise to George Ryle, to speak a word in his favour
+relative to the Upland Farm, entered that room for the purpose, deeming
+it a good opportunity. Mr. Chattaway had been so upset since the receipt
+of the second letter from Connell and Connell, that she had hitherto
+abstained from mentioning the subject. He was seated at his desk, and
+looked up with a start as she abruptly entered; the start of a man who
+lives in fear.
+
+"Have you decided whether George Ryle is to have the Upland Farm?" she
+asked, plunging into the subject without circumlocution, as it was the
+habit of Miss Diana Trevlyn to do.
+
+"No, not precisely. I shall see in a day or two."
+
+"But you promised him an answer long before this."
+
+"Ah," slightingly spoke Mr. Chattaway. "It's not always convenient to
+keep one's promises."
+
+"Why are you holding off?"
+
+"Well, for one thing, I thought of retaining that farm in my own hands,
+and keeping a bailiff to look after it."
+
+"Then you'll burn your fingers, James Chattaway. Those who manage the
+Upland Farm should live at the Upland Farm. You can't properly manage
+both places, that and Trevlyn Hold; and you live at Trevlyn Hold. I
+don't see why you should not let it to George Ryle."
+
+Mr. Chattaway sat biting the end of his pen. Miss Diana waited; but he
+did not speak, and she resumed.
+
+"I believe he will do well on it. One who has done so much with that
+small place, Trevlyn Farm, and its indifferent land, will not fail to do
+well on the Upland. Let him have it, Chattaway."
+
+"You speak as if you were interested in the matter," remarked Mr.
+Chattaway, resentfully.
+
+"I am not sure but I am," equably answered Miss Diana. "I see no reason
+why you should not let him the farm; for there's no doubt he will prove
+a good tenant. He has spoken to me about its involving something more,
+should he obtain it," she continued, after a pause.
+
+"Ah," said Mr. Chattaway, without surprise. "Well?"
+
+"He wants us to give him Maude."
+
+Mr. Chattaway let fall his pen and it made a dreadful blot on his
+account-book, as he turned his head sharply on Miss Diana.
+
+"Maude! You mean Octave."
+
+"Pooh!" cried Miss Diana. "Octave has been spending her years looking
+after a mare's nest: people who do such foolish things must of necessity
+meet disappointment. George Ryle has never cared for her, never cast a
+thought to her."
+
+Mr. Chattaway's face was turning its disagreeable colour; and his lips
+were drawn as he glared at Miss Trevlyn. "He has been always coming
+here."
+
+"Yes. For Maude--as it turns out. I confess I never thought of it."
+
+"How do you know this?"
+
+"He has asked for Maude, I tell you. His hopes for years have been fixed
+upon her."
+
+"He shall never have her," said Mr. Chattaway, emphatically. "He shall
+never have the Upland Farm."
+
+"It was the decision--with regard to Maude--that crossed me in the first
+moment. I like him; quite well enough to give him Maude, or to give him
+Octave, had she been the one sought; but I do not consider his position
+suitable----"
+
+"Suitable! Why, he's a beggar," interrupted Mr. Chattaway, completely
+losing sight of his own intentions with regard to his daughter. "George
+Ryle shall smart for this. Give him Maude, indeed!"
+
+"But if Maude's happiness is involved in it, what then?" quietly asked
+Miss Diana.
+
+"Don't be an idiot," was the retort of Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"I never was one yet," said Miss Diana, equably. "But I have nearly made
+up my mind to give him Maude."
+
+"You cannot do it without my consent. She is under my roof and
+guardianship, and I tell you that she shall never leave it for that of
+George Ryle."
+
+"You should bring a little reason to your aid before you speak,"
+returned Miss Diana, with that calm assumption of intellectual
+superiority which so vexed Mr. Chattaway whenever it peeped out. "What
+are the true facts? Why, that no living being, neither you nor any one
+else, can legally prevent Maude from marrying whom she will. You have no
+power to prevent it. She and Rupert have never had a legally-appointed
+guardian, remember. But for the loss of that letter, written at the
+instance of their mother when she was dying, and which appears to have
+vanished so mysteriously, _I_ should have been their guardian,"
+pointedly concluded Miss Diana. "And might have married Maude as I
+pleased."
+
+Mr. Chattaway made no reply, except that he nervously bit his lips. If
+Diana Trevlyn turned against him, all seemed lost. That letter was upon
+his conscience as he sat there; for he it was who had suppressed it.
+
+"And therefore, as in point of fact we have no power whatever vested in
+us, as Maude might marry whom she chose without consulting us, and as I
+like George Ryle on his own account, and _she_ likes him better than the
+whole world, I consider that we had better give a willing consent. It
+will be making a merit of necessity, you see, Chattaway."
+
+Mr. Chattaway saw nothing of the sort; but he dared not too openly defy
+Miss Trevlyn. "You would marry her to a beggar!" he cried. "To a man who
+does not possess a shilling! You must have a great regard for her!"
+
+"Maude has no money, you know."
+
+"I do know it. And that is all the more reason why her husband should
+possess some."
+
+"They will get on, Chattaway, at the Upland Farm."
+
+"I dare say they will--when they have it. I shall not lease the Upland
+Farm to a man who has to borrow money to go into it."
+
+"I might be brought to obviate that difficulty," rejoined Miss Diana, in
+her coldest and hardest manner, as she gazed full at Mr. Chattaway.
+"Since I learnt that their mother left the children to me, I have felt a
+sort of proprietary right in them, and shall perhaps hand over to Maude,
+when she leaves us, sufficient money to stock the Upland Farm. The half
+at least of what I possess will some time be hers."
+
+Was _this_ the result of his having suppressed that dying mother's
+letter? Be very sure, Mr. Chattaway, that such dealings can never
+prosper! So long as there is a just and good God above us, they can but
+bring their proper recompense.
+
+Mr. Chattaway did not trust himself to reply. He drew a sheet of paper
+towards him, and dashed off a few lines upon it. It was a peremptory
+refusal to lease the Upland Farm to George Ryle. Folding it, he placed
+it in an envelope, directed it, and rang the bell.
+
+"What's that?" asked Miss Diana.
+
+"My reply to Ryle. He shall never rent the Upland Farm."
+
+In Mr. Chattaway's impatience, he did not give time for the bell to be
+answered, but opened the door and shouted. It was no one's business in
+particular to answer that bell; and Sam Atkins, who was in the kitchen,
+waiting for orders from Cris, ran forward at Mr. Chattaway's call.
+
+"Take this letter down to Trevlyn Farm instantly," was the command.
+"Instantly, do you hear?"
+
+But in the very act of the groom's taking it from Mr. Chattaway's hand,
+there came that violent ringing at the hall-door of which you have
+heard. Sam Atkins, thinking possibly the Hold might be on fire, as the
+ricks had been not so long ago, flew to open it, though it was not his
+place to do so.
+
+And Mr. Chattaway, disturbed by the loud and imperative summons, stood
+where he was, and looked and listened. He saw the entrance of the
+stranger, and heard the announcement: "Squire Trevlyn, of Trevlyn Hold."
+
+Miss Diana Trevlyn heard it, and came forth, and they stood like two
+living petrifactions, gazing at the apparition. Miss Diana,
+strong-minded woman that she was, did think for the moment that she saw
+her father. But her senses came to her, and she walked slowly forward to
+meet him.
+
+"You must be my brother, Rupert Trevlyn!--risen from the dead."
+
+"I am; but not risen from the dead," he answered, taking the hands she
+held out. "Which of them are you? Maude?"
+
+"No; Diana. Oh, Rupert! I thought it was my father."
+
+It was indeed him they had for so many years believed to be dead; Rupert
+Trevlyn, the runaway. He had come home to claim his own; come home in
+his true character; Squire Trevlyn, of Trevlyn Hold.
+
+But Mr. Chattaway, in his worse and wildest dreams, had never bargained
+for this!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LVI
+
+DOUBTS CLEARED AT LAST
+
+
+Many a painting has been handed down to posterity whose features bore
+not a tithe of the interest presented at that moment in the old hall of
+the Trevlyns. The fine figure of the stranger, standing with the air of
+a chieftain, conscious of his own right; the keen gaze of Miss Diana,
+regarding him with puzzled equanimity; and the slow horror of conviction
+that was rising to the face of Mr. Chattaway. Behind all, stealing in by
+a side-door, came the timid steps, the pale questioning looks of Mrs.
+Chattaway, not yet certain whether the intruder was an earthly or a
+ghostly visitor.
+
+Mr. Chattaway was the first to recover himself. He looked at the
+stranger with a face that strove to be haughty, and would have given the
+whole world to possess the calm equanimity of the Trevlyns, the
+unchanged countenance of Miss Diana; but his leaden face wore its worst
+and greenest tinge, his lips quivered as he spoke--and he was conscious
+of it.
+
+"_Who_ do you say you are? Squire Trevlyn? He has been in his grave long
+ago. We do not tolerate impostors here."
+
+"I hope you do not," was the reply of the stranger, turning his face
+full on the speaker. "_I_ will not in future, I can tell you that. True,
+James Chattaway: one Squire Trevlyn is in his grave; but he lives again
+in me. I am Rupert Trevlyn, and Squire of Trevlyn Hold."
+
+Yes, it was Rupert Trevlyn. The young Rupert Trevlyn of the old days;
+the runaway heir. He, whom they had so long mourned as dead (though
+perhaps none had mourned very greatly), had never died, and now had come
+home, after all these years, to claim his own.
+
+Mr. Chattaway backed against the wall, and stood staring with his livid
+face. To contend was impossible. To affect to believe that it was not
+Rupert Trevlyn and the true heir, next in legal succession to his
+father, the old Squire, would have been child's play. The
+well-remembered features of Rupert grew upon his memory one by one.
+Putting aside that speaking likeness to the Squire, to the Trevlyns
+generally, Mr. Chattaway, now that the first moments of surprise were
+over, would himself have recognised him. He needed not the
+acknowledgment of Miss Diana, the sudden recognition of his wife, who
+darted forward, uttering her brother's name, and fell sobbing into his
+arms, to convince him that it was indeed Rupert Trevlyn, the
+indisputable master from henceforth of Trevlyn Hold.
+
+He leaned against the wall, and took in all the despair of his position.
+The latent fear so long seated in his heart, that he would some time
+lose Trevlyn Hold, had never pointed to _this_. In some far-away mental
+corner Chattaway had vaguely looked forward to lawsuits and contentions
+between him and its claimant, poor Rupert, son of Joe. He had fancied
+that the lawsuits might last for years, he meanwhile keeping possession,
+perhaps up to the end. Never had he dreamed that it would suddenly be
+wrested from him by indisputable right; he had never believed that he
+himself was the usurper; that a nearer and direct heir, the Squire's
+son, was in existence. The Squire's will, leaving Trevlyn Hold to his
+eldest son, had never been cancelled.
+
+And this was the explanation of the letters from Connell, Connell and
+Ray, which had so annoyed Mr. Chattaway and puzzled his wife. "Rupert
+Trevlyn was about to take up his own again--as Squire of Trevlyn Hold."
+True; but it was this Rupert Trevlyn, not that one.
+
+The explanation he might have entered into is of little moment to us;
+the bare fact is sufficient. It was an explanation he gave only
+partially to those around, descending to no details. He had been
+shipwrecked at the time of his supposed death, and knew that an account
+of his death had been sent home. That was true. Why he had suffered it
+to remain uncontradicted he did not explain; and they could only surmise
+that the crime of which he had been suspected kept him silent. However
+innocent he knew himself to be, whilst others at home believed him
+guilty he was not safe, and he had never known until recently that his
+reputation had been cleared. So much he did say. He had been half over
+the world, he told them, but had lived chiefly in South America, where
+he had made a handsome fortune.
+
+"And whose children are these?" he asked, as he passed into the
+drawing-room, where the sea of wondering faces was turned upon him.
+"_You_ should be James Chattaway's daughter," he cried, singling out
+Octave, "for you have the face of your father over again."
+
+"I am Miss Chattaway," she answered, drawing from him with a scornful
+gesture. "Papa," she whispered, going up to the cowed, shrinking figure,
+who had followed in the wake of the rest, "who is that man?"
+
+"Hush, Octave! He has come to turn us out of our home."
+
+Octave gazed as one suddenly blinded. She saw the strange likeness to
+the Trevlyns, and it flashed into her mind that it must be the Uncle
+Rupert, risen from the supposed dead, of whom she had heard so much. She
+saw him notice her two sisters; saw him turn to Maude, and gaze
+earnestly into her face.
+
+"You should be a Trevlyn. A softer, fairer face than Joe's, but the same
+outlines. What is your name, my dear?"
+
+"Maude Trevlyn, sir."
+
+"Ay. Joe's child. Have you any brothers or sisters?"
+
+"One brother."
+
+Squire Trevlyn--we must give him his title henceforth--looked round the
+room, as if in search of the brother. "Where is he?"
+
+Maude shivered; but he waited for an answer, and she gave it. "He is not
+here, sir."
+
+"And now tell me a little of the past," he cried, wheeling round on his
+sister Diana. "Who is the reigning master of Trevlyn Hold?"
+
+She indicated Chattaway with her finger. "He is."
+
+"He! Who succeeded my father--in my place?"
+
+"He did. James Chattaway."
+
+"Then where was Joe?"
+
+"Joe was dead. He had died a few months previously."
+
+"Leaving--how many children did you say--two?"
+
+"Two--Maude and Rupert."
+
+"The latter still an infant, I presume, at the time of my father's
+death?"
+
+"Quite an infant."
+
+"Nevertheless, he was Squire of Trevlyn Hold, failing me. Why did he not
+succeed?"
+
+There came no answer. He looked at them all in succession; but even Miss
+Diana Trevlyn's undisturbable equanimity was shaken for the moment. It
+was Mr. Chattaway who plucked up courage to reply, and he put on as bold
+a front as he could.
+
+"Squire Trevlyn judged it well to will the estate to me. What would a
+child in petticoats do, reigning at Trevlyn Hold?"
+
+"He might have reigned by deputy. Where is Rupert? I must see him!"
+
+But had they been keen observers they might have detected that Squire
+Trevlyn put the questions not altogether with the tone of a man who
+seeks information. In point of fact he was as wise as they were as to
+the principal events which had followed on the Squire's death. He had
+remained in London two or three weeks since landing; had gathered all
+the information that could be afforded him by Connell and Connell, and
+had himself dictated the letters which had so upset Mr. Chattaway; more
+than that, he had, this very morning, halted at Barmester, on his way to
+Trevlyn Hold, had seen Mr. Peterby, and gleaned many details. One thing
+Mr. Peterby had not been able to tell him, whether the unfortunate
+Rupert was living or dead.
+
+"Where is Maude?" he suddenly asked.
+
+Maude stepped forward, somewhat surprised.
+
+"Not you, child. One who must be thirty good years older than you. My
+sister, Maude Trevlyn."
+
+"She married Thomas Ryle, of the Farm," answered Miss Diana, who had
+rapidly determined to be the best of friends with her brother. "It was
+not a fitting match for her, and she entered upon it without our
+consent; nay, in defiance of us all. She lives there still;
+and--and--here she is!"
+
+For once in her life Miss Diana was startled into betraying surprise.
+There, coming in at the door, was her sister Maude, Mrs. Ryle; and she
+had not been at the Hold for years and years.
+
+Nora, keen-witted Nora, had fathomed the mystery as she walked home. One
+so strangely resembling old Squire Trevlyn must be very closely
+connected with him, she doubted not, and worked out the problem. It must
+be Rupert Trevlyn, come (may it not be said?) to life again. Before she
+entered, his features had been traced on her memory, and she hastened to
+acquaint Mrs. Ryle.
+
+That lady lost no time in speeding to the Hold. George accompanied her.
+There was no agitation on her face; it was a true Trevlyn's in its calm
+and quiet, but she greeted her brother with words of welcome.
+
+"I have not entered this house, Rupert, my brother, since its master
+died; I would not enter it whilst a usurper reigned. Thank Heaven, you
+have come. It will end all heart-burnings."
+
+"Heart-burnings? of what nature? But who are you?" he broke off, looking
+at George. Then he raised his hand, and laying it on his shoulder, gazed
+into his face. "Unless I am mistaken, you are your father's son."
+
+George laughed. "My father's son, I believe, sir, and people tell me I
+am like him; yet more like my mother. I am George Berkeley Ryle."
+
+"Is he here? I and Tom Ryle were good friends once."
+
+"Here!" uttered George, with emotion he could not wholly suppress. "He
+has been dead many years. He was killed."
+
+Squire Trevlyn lifted his hands. "It will all come out, bit by bit, I
+suppose: one record of the past after another. Maude"--turning to his
+sister--"I was inquiring of the days gone by. If the Trevlyns have held
+a name for nothing else in the county, they have held one for justice;
+and I want to know how it was that my father--my father and
+yours--willed away his estate from poor Joe's boy. Good Heavens," he
+broke off abruptly, as he caught sight of her face in the red light of
+the declining sun, "how wonderfully you have grown like my father! More
+so even than I have!"
+
+It was so. As Mrs. Ryle stood there, haughty and self-possessed, they
+might have deemed it the old Squire over again. "You want to know why my
+father willed away his estate from Joe's son?" she said. "Ask Chattaway;
+ask Diana Trevlyn," with a sweep of the hand to both. "Ask them to tell
+you who kept it from him that a son was born to Joe. _They_ did. The
+Squire made his will, went to his grave, never knowing that young Rupert
+was born. Ask them to tell you how it was that, when in accordance with
+this fact the will was made, my father constituted his second daughter's
+husband his heir, instead of my husband; mine, his eldest daughter's.
+Ask them, Rupert."
+
+"Heart-burnings? Yes, I can understand," murmured Squire Trevlyn.
+
+"Ask _him_--Chattaway--about the two thousand pounds debt to Mr. Ryle,"
+she continued, never flinching from her stern gaze, never raising her
+voice above its calm tones of low, concentrated indignation. "You have
+just said that you and Tom Ryle were friends, Rupert. Yes, you were
+friends; and had you reigned after my father, he, my husband, would not
+have been hunted to his death."
+
+"Maude! What are you saying?"
+
+"The truth. Wherever that man Chattaway could lay his oppressive hand,
+he has laid it. He pursued my husband incessantly during life; it was
+through that pursuit--indirectly, I admit--that he met his death. The
+debt of two thousand pounds, money which had been lent to Mr. Ryle, he,
+my father, cancelled on his death-bed; he made my husband a present of
+it; he would have handed him the bond then and there, but it was in
+Chattaway's possession, and he said he would send it to him. It never
+was sent, Rupert; and the first use Chattaway made of his new power when
+he came into the Hold, was to threaten to sue my husband upon the bond.
+The Squire had given my husband his word to renew the lease on the same
+terms, and _you_ know that his word was never broken. The second thing
+Chattaway did was to raise the rent. It has been nothing but uphill work
+with us."
+
+"I'll right it now, Maude," he cried, with all the generous impulse of
+the Trevlyns. "I'll right that, and all else."
+
+"We have righted it ourselves," she answered proudly. "By dint of
+perseverance and hard work, not on my part, but on _his_"--pointing to
+George--"we have paid it off. Not many days ago, the last instalment of
+the debt and interest was handed to Chattaway. May it do him good! _I_
+should not like to grow rich upon unjust gains."
+
+"But where is Rupert?" repeated Squire Trevlyn. "I must see Rupert."
+
+Ah, there was no help for it, and the whole tale was poured into his
+ear. Between Mrs. Ryle's revelations on the one side, and Chattaway's
+denials on the other, it was all poured into the indignant but perhaps
+not surprised ear of the new master of Trevlyn. The unkindness and
+oppression dealt out to Rupert throughout his unhappy life, the burning
+of the rick, the strange disappearance of Rupert. He gave no token that
+he had heard it all before. Mrs. Ryle spared nothing. She told him of
+the suspicion so freely dealt out by the neighbourhood that Chattaway
+had made away with Rupert. Even then the Squire returned no sign that he
+knew of the suspicion as well as they did.
+
+"Maude," he said, "where is Rupert? Diana, _you_ answer me--where is
+Rupert?"
+
+They were unable to answer. They could only say that he was absent, they
+knew not how or where.
+
+It may be that Squire Trevlyn feared the suspicion might be too true a
+one; for he turned suddenly on James Chattaway, his eye flashing with a
+severe light.
+
+"Tell me where the boy is."
+
+"I don't know," said Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"He may be dead!"
+
+"He may--for all I can say to the contrary."
+
+Squire Trevlyn paused. "Rupert Trevlyn is my heir," he slowly said, "and
+I will have him found. James Chattaway, I insist on your producing
+Rupert."
+
+"Nobody can insist upon the impossible."
+
+"Then listen. You don't know much of me, but you knew my father; and you
+may remember that when he _willed_ a thing, he did it: that same spirit
+is mine. Now I register a vow that if you do not produce Rupert Trevlyn,
+or tell me where I may find him, dead or alive, I will publicly charge
+you with the murder."
+
+"I have as much reason to charge you with it, as you have to charge me,"
+returned Mr. Chattaway, his anger rising. "You have heard them tell you
+of my encounter with Rupert on the evening following the examination
+before the magistrates. I declare on my sacred word of honour----"
+
+"_Your_ word of honour!" scornfully apostrophised Mrs. Ryle.
+
+"That I have never seen Rupert Trevlyn since the moment I left him on
+the ground," he continued, turning his dark looks on Mrs. Ryle, but
+never pausing. "I have sought in vain for him since; the police have
+sought; and he is not to be found."
+
+"Very well," said the Squire. "I have given you the alternative."
+
+Mr. Chattaway opened his lips to reply; but to the surprise of all who
+knew him, suddenly closed them again, and left the room. To describe the
+trouble the man was in would be impossible. Apart from the general
+perplexity brought by this awful arrival of a master for Trevlyn Hold,
+there was the lesser doubt as to what should be his own conduct. Should
+it be abject submission, or war to the knife? Mr. Chattaway's temper
+would have inclined him to the latter; but he feared it might be bad
+policy for his own interest; and self-interest had always been paramount
+with James Chattaway. He stood outside the house, where he had wandered,
+and cast his eyes on the fine old place, the fair domain stretching
+around. Facing him was the rick-yard, which had given rise to so much
+discomfort, trouble, and ill-feeling. Oh, if he could only dispute
+successfully, and retain possession! But a conviction lay on his heart
+that even to attempt such would be the height of folly. That he, thus
+returned, was really the true Rupert Trevlyn, who had decamped in his
+youth, now a middle-aged man, was apparent as the sun at noon-day. It
+was apparent to him; it would be apparent to the world. The returned
+wanderer had remarked that his identity would be established by proof
+not to be disputed; but Mr. Chattaway felt no proof was necessary. Of
+what use then to hold out? And yet! to quit this fine possession, to
+sink into poverty and obscurity in the face and eyes of the local
+world--that world which had been ready enough, as it was, to cast
+contempt on the master of Trevlyn Hold--would be as the bitterest fate
+that ever fell upon man. In that cruel moment, when all was pressing
+upon his imagination with fearfully vivid colours, it seemed that death
+would be as a boon in comparison.
+
+Whilst he was thus standing, torn with contending emotions, Cris ran up
+in excitement from the direction of the stables. He had left his horse
+there on his return from Blackstone, and some vague and confused version
+of the affair had been told him. "What's this, father?" he asked, in
+loud anger. "They are saying that Rupert Trevlyn has come boldly back,
+and claims the Hold. Have you given him into custody?"
+
+Mr. Chattaway raised his dull eyes. The question only added to his
+misery. "Yes, Rupert Trevlyn has come back," he said; "but----"
+
+"Is he in custody?" impatiently interrupted Cris. "Are the police here?"
+
+"It is another Rupert Trevlyn, Cris; not that one."
+
+Something in his father's manner struck unpleasantly on the senses of
+Cris Chattaway, subduing him considerably. "Another Rupert Trevlyn!" he
+repeated, in hesitating tones. "What are you saying?"
+
+"The Rupert Trevlyn of old; the Squire's runaway son; the heir," said
+Mr. Chattaway, as if it comforted him to tell out all the bitter truth.
+"He has come back to claim his own, Cris--Trevlyn Hold."
+
+And Mr. Cris fell against the wall, side by side with his father, and
+stared in dismayed consternation.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LVII
+
+A VISIT TO RUPERT
+
+
+And what were the emotions of Mrs. Chattaway? They were of a mixed
+nature. In spite of the very small comfort which possession of the Hold
+had brought her individually; in spite of the feeling of usurpation, of
+_wrong_, which had ever rested unpleasantly upon her; she would have
+been superior to frail human nature, had not a sense of dismay struck
+upon her at its being thus suddenly wrested from them. She knew not what
+her husband's means might be: whether he had anything or nothing, by
+saving or otherwise, that he could call his own, apart from the revenues
+of the Hold: but she did know sufficient to be sure that it could not be
+a tithe of what was needed to keep them; and where were they to go with
+their helpless daughters? That these unpleasant considerations floated
+through her mind in a vague, confused vision was true; but far above
+them came a rush of thought, of care, closer to the present hour. Her
+brother had said--and there was determination not to be mistaken in his
+tones--that unless Mr. Chattaway produced Rupert Trevlyn, he would
+publicly charge him with the murder. Nothing but the strongest
+self-control had restrained Mrs. Chattaway from avowing all when she
+heard this. Mr. Chattaway was a man not held in the world's favour, but
+he was her husband; and in her eyes his faults and failings had ever
+appeared in a venial light. She would have given much to stand out and
+say, "You are accusing my husband wrongfully; Rupert is alive, and I am
+concealing him."
+
+But she did not dare do this. That very husband would have replied,
+"Then I order Rupert into custody--how dared you conceal him?" She took
+an opportunity of asking George Ryle the meaning of the warning
+despatched by Nora. George could not explain it. He had met Bowen
+accidentally, and the officer had told him in confidence that they had
+received a mysterious hint that Rupert Trevlyn was not far off--hence
+George's intimation. It was to turn out that the _other_ Rupert Trevlyn
+had been spoken of: but neither Bowen nor George knew this.
+
+George Ryle rapidly drew his own conclusion from this return of Squire
+Trevlyn: it would be the preservation of Rupert; was the very best thing
+that could have happened for him. It may be said, the only thing. The
+tether had been lengthened out to its extreme limits, and to keep him
+much longer where he was, would be impossible; or, if they so kept him,
+it would mean death. George Ryle saw that a protector for Rupert had
+arisen in Squire Trevlyn.
+
+"He must be told the truth," he whispered to Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+"Yes, perhaps it may be better," she answered; "but I dare not tell him.
+Will you undertake it?"
+
+He nodded, and began to wonder what excuse he could invent for seeking a
+private conference with the newly-returned Squire. But while he plotted
+and planned, Maude rendered it unnecessary.
+
+By a sense of the fitness of things, the state-rooms at the Hold,
+generally kept for visitors, were assigned by Miss Diana to her brother.
+He was shown to them, and was in the act of gazing from the window at
+the well-remembered features of the old domain when there stole in upon
+him one, white and tearless, but with a terrified imploring despair in
+her countenance.
+
+"Maude, my child, what is it? I like your face, my dear, and must have
+you henceforth for my very own child!"
+
+"Not me, Uncle Rupert, never mind me," she said, the kindly tones
+telling upon her breaking heart and bringing forth a gush of tears. "If
+you will only love Rupert!--only get Mr. Chattaway to forgive him!"
+
+"But he may be dead, child."
+
+"Uncle Rupert, if he were not dead--if you found him now, to-day," she
+reiterated--"would _you_ deliver him up to justice? Oh, don't blame him;
+don't visit it upon him! It was the Trevlyn temper, and Mr. Chattaway
+should not have provoked it by horsewhipping him."
+
+"_I_ blame him! _I_ deliver a Trevlyn up to justice!" echoed Squire
+Trevlyn, with a threatening touch of the Trevlyn temper at that very
+moment. "What are you saying, child? If Rupert is in life he shall have
+his wrongs righted from henceforth. The cost of a burnt rick? The ricks
+were mine, not Chattaway's. Rupert Trevlyn is my heir, and he shall so
+be recognised and received."
+
+She sank down before him crying softly with the relief his words brought
+her. Squire Trevlyn placed his hand on her pretty hair, caressingly.
+"Don't grieve so, child; he may not be dead. I'll find him if he is to
+be found. The police shall know they have a Squire Trevlyn amongst them
+again."
+
+"Uncle Rupert, he is very near; lying in concealment--ill--almost dying.
+We have not dared to betray it, and the secret is nearly killing us."
+
+He listened in amazement, and questioned her until he gathered the
+outlines of the case. "Who has known of this, do you say?"
+
+"My aunt Edith, and I, and the doctor; and--and--George Ryle."
+
+The consciousness with which the last name was brought out, the sudden
+blush, whispered a tale to keen Squire Trevlyn.
+
+"Halloa, Miss Maude! I read a secret. _That_ will not do, you know. I
+cannot spare you from the Hold for all the George Ryles in the world.
+You must be its mistress."
+
+"My aunt Diana will be that," murmured Maude.
+
+"That she never shall be whilst I am master," was the emphatic
+rejoinder. "If Diana could look quietly on and see her father deceived,
+help to deceive him; see Chattaway usurp the Hold to the exclusion of
+Joe's son, and join in the wickedness, she has forfeited all claim to
+it: she shall neither reign nor reside in it. No, my little Maude, you
+must live with me, as mistress of Trevlyn Hold."
+
+Maude's tears were flowing in silence. She kept her head down.
+
+"What is George Ryle to you?" somewhat sternly asked Squire Trevlyn. "Do
+you love him?"
+
+"I had no one else to love: they were not kind to me--except my aunt
+Edith," she murmured.
+
+He sat lost in thought. "Is he a good man, Maude? Upright, honourable,
+just?"
+
+"That, and more," she whispered.
+
+"And I suppose you love him? Would it quite break your heart were I to
+issue my edict that you should never have him; to say you must turn him
+over to Octave Chattaway?"
+
+It was only a jest. Maude took it differently, and lifted her glowing
+face. "But he does not like Octave! It is Octave who likes----"
+
+She had spoken impulsively, and now that recollection came to her she
+hesitated. Squire Trevlyn, undignified as it was, broke into a subdued
+whistle.
+
+"I see, young lady. And so, Mr. George has had the good taste to like
+some one better than Octave. Well, perhaps I should do so, in his
+place."
+
+"But about Rupert?" she pleaded.
+
+"Ah, about Rupert. I must go to him at once. Mark Canham stared as I
+came through the gate just now, as one scared out of his wits. He must
+have been puzzled by the likeness."
+
+Squire Trevlyn went down to the hall, and was putting on his hat when
+they came flocking around, asking whether he was going out, offering to
+accompany him, Diana requesting him to wait whilst she put on her
+bonnet. But he waved them off: he preferred to stroll out alone, he
+said; he might look in and have a talk with some of his father's old
+dependants--if any were left.
+
+George Ryle was standing outside, deliberating as to how he should
+convey the communication, little thinking it had already been done.
+Squire Trevlyn came up, and passed an arm within his.
+
+"I am going to the lodge," he remarked. "You may know whom I want to see
+there."
+
+"You have heard, then!" exclaimed George.
+
+"Yes. From Maude. By-the-by, Mr. George, what secret understanding is
+there between you and that young lady?"
+
+George looked surprised; but he was not one to lose his equanimity. "It
+is no longer a secret, sir. I have confided it to Miss Diana. If Mr.
+Chattaway will grant me the lease of a certain farm, I shall speak to
+him."
+
+"Mr. Chattaway! The farms don't belong to him now, but to me."
+
+George laughed. "Yes, I forgot. I must come to you for it, sir. I want
+the Upland."
+
+"And you would like to take Maude with it?"
+
+"Oh, yes! I must take her with it."
+
+"Softly, sir. Maude belongs to me, just as the farms do: and I can tell
+you for your consolation, and you must make the best of it, that I
+cannot spare her from the Hold. There; that's enough. I have not come
+home to have my will disputed: I am a true Trevlyn."
+
+A somewhat uncomfortable silence ensued, and lasted until they reached
+the lodge. Squire Trevlyn entered without ceremony. Old Mark, who was
+sitting before the hearth apparently in deep thought, turned his head,
+saw who was coming in, rose as quickly as his rheumatism allowed him,
+and stared as if he saw an apparition.
+
+"Do you know me, Mark?"
+
+"To my dazed eyes it looks like the Squire," was Mark's answer, slowly
+shaking his head, as one in perplexity. "But I know it cannot be. I
+stood at these gates as he was carried out to his last home in Barbrook
+churchyard. The Squire was older, too."
+
+"The Squire left a son, Mark."
+
+"Sir--sir!" burst forth the old man, after a pause, as the light flashed
+upon him. "Sir--sir! You surely are never the young heir, Mr. Rupert, we
+have all mourned as dead?"
+
+"Do you remember the young heir's features, Mark?"
+
+"Ay, I have never forgot them, sir."
+
+"Then look at mine."
+
+There was doubt no longer; and Mark Canham, in his enthusiastic joy
+forgetting his rheumatism, would almost have gone down on his knees in
+thankfulness. He brought himself up with a groan. "I be fit for nothing
+now but to nurse my rheumatiz, sir. And you be the true Rupert
+Trevlyn--Squire from henceforth? Oh, sir, say it!"
+
+"I am the Squire, Mark. But I came here to see another Rupert
+Trevlyn--he who will be Squire after me."
+
+Old Mark shook his head. He glanced towards the staircase as he spoke,
+and dropped his voice to a whisper, as if fearing that it might
+penetrate to one who was lying above.
+
+"If he don't get better soon, sir, he'll never live to be the Squire.
+He's very ill. Circumstances have been against him, it can't be denied;
+but I fear me it was in his constitution from the first to go off, as
+his father, poor Mr. Joe, went off afore him."
+
+"Nonsense," said the Squire. "We'll get him well again!"
+
+"And what of Chattaway?" asked old Canham. "He'll never forego his
+vengeance, sir. I have been in mortal fear ever since Master Rupert's
+been lying here. The fear had selfishness in it, maybe," he added,
+ingenuously; "for Chattaway'd turn me right off, without a minute's
+warning, happen he come to know of it. He's never liked my being at the
+lodge at all, sir; and would have sent me away times and again but for
+Miss Diana."
+
+"Ah," said the Squire. "Well, it does not rest with him now. What has he
+allowed you, Mark?"
+
+"Half-a-crown a week, sir."
+
+"Half-a-crown a week?" repeated Squire Trevlyn, his mouth curling with
+displeasure. "How have you lived?"
+
+"It have been a poor living at best, sir," was the simple answer. "Ann
+works hard, at home or out, but she don't earn much. Her eyes be bad,
+sir; happen you may call to mind they was always weak and ailing. The
+Squire fixed my pay here at five shillings a week, and Chattaway changed
+it when he come into power. Miss Diana's good to us; but for her and the
+bit o' money Ann can earn, I don't see as we could ha' got along at
+all."
+
+"Would you like the half-a-crown changed back again to five shillings,
+Mark?"
+
+"I should think it was riches come to me right off, Squire."
+
+"Then you may reckon upon it from this day."
+
+He moved to the staircase as he spoke, leaving the old man in an ecstasy
+of delight. Ann Canham, who had shrunk into hiding, came forward. Her
+father turned triumphantly.
+
+"Didn't I tell ye it was the Squire? And you to go on at me, saying I
+was clean off my wits to think it! I know'd it was no other."
+
+"But you said it was the dead Squire, father," was poor Ann's meek
+response.
+
+"It's all the same," cried old Canham. "There'll be a Trevlyn at the
+Hold again; and our five shillings a week is to come back to us. Bless
+the Trevlyns! they was always open-handed."
+
+"Father, what a dreadful come-down for Chattaway! What will he do? He'll
+have to turn out."
+
+"Serve him right!" shouted Mark. "How many homes have he made empty in
+his time! Ann, girl, I have kep' my eyes a bit open through life, in
+spite of limbs cramped with rheumatiz, and I never failed to notice one
+thing--them who are fond o' making others' homes desolate, generally
+find their own desolate afore they die. Chattaway'll get a taste now of
+what he have been so fond o' dealing out to others. I hope the bells'll
+ring the day he turns out o' the Hold!"
+
+"But Madam will have to turn out with him!" meekly suggested Ann Canham.
+
+It took Mark back. He liked Madam as much as he disliked her husband.
+"Happen something'll be thought of for Madam," said he. "Maybe the new
+Squire'll keep her at the Hold."
+
+George Ryle had gone upstairs, and prepared the wondering Rupert for the
+appearance of his uncle. As the latter entered, his tall head bowing, he
+halted in dismay. In the fair face bent towards him from the bed, the
+large blue eyes, the bright, falling hair, he believed for the moment he
+saw the beloved brother Joe of his youth. But in the hollow, hectic
+cheeks, the drawn face, the parched lips, the wasted hands, the
+attenuated frame, he read too surely the marks of the disease which had
+taken off that brother; and a conviction seated itself in the Squire's
+mind that he must look elsewhere for his heir.
+
+"My poor boy! Joe's boy! This place is killing you!"
+
+"No, Uncle Rupert, it is not that at all. It is the fear."
+
+Squire Trevlyn could not breathe. He looked up at the one pane, and
+pushed it open with his stick. The cold air came in, and he seemed
+relieved, drawing a long breath. But the same current, grateful to him,
+found its way to the lungs of Rupert, and he began to cough violently.
+"It's the draught," panted the poor invalid.
+
+George Ryle closed the window again, and the Squire bent over the bed.
+"You must come to the Hold at once, Rupert."
+
+The hectic faded on Rupert's face. "It is not possible," he answered.
+"Mr. Chattaway would denounce me."
+
+"Denounce you!" hotly repeated Squire Trevlyn. "Denounce my nephew and
+my brother Joe's son! He had better let me see him attempt it."
+
+In the impulse, characteristic of the Trevlyns, the Squire turned to
+descend the stairs. He was going to have Rupert brought home at once.
+George Ryle followed him, and arrested him in the avenue.
+
+"Pardon me, Squire Trevlyn. You must first of all make sure of
+Chattaway. I am not clear also but you must make sure of the police."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"The police have the matter in hand. Are they able to relinquish it,
+even for you?"
+
+They stood gazing at each other in doubt and discomfort. It was an
+unpleasant phase of the affair; and one which had certainly not until
+that moment presented itself to Squire Trevlyn's view.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LVIII
+
+A CONVERSATION WITH MR. CHATTAWAY
+
+
+They stood together, deep in dispute--Squire Trevlyn of the Hold, and he
+who had so long reigned at the Hold, its usurper. In that very rick-yard
+which had recently played so prominent a part in the career of the
+unhappy Rupert, stood they: the Squire--bold, towering, haughty;
+Chattaway--cowardly, shrinking, indecisive.
+
+It was of that very Rupert they were talking. Squire Trevlyn hastened
+home from the lodge, and found Chattaway in the rick-yard: he urged upon
+him the claims of Rupert for forgiveness, for immunity from the
+consequences of his crime; urged upon him its _necessity_; for a
+Trevlyn, he said, must not be disgraced. And Mr. Chattaway appeared to
+be turning obstinate; to say that he never would forgive him or release
+him from its consequences. He pointed to the blackened spots, scarcely
+yet cleared of their _debris_. "Is a crime like that to be pardoned?" he
+asked.
+
+"What caused the crime? Who drove him to it?" And Mr. Chattaway had no
+plausible answer at hand.
+
+"When you married into the Trevlyn family, you married into its faults,"
+resumed the Squire. "At any rate, you became fully acquainted with them.
+You knew as much of the Trevlyn temper as we ourselves know. I ask you,
+then, how could you be so unwise--to put the question moderately--as to
+provoke it in Rupert?"
+
+"Evil tempers can be subdued," returned Mr. Chattaway. "And ought to
+be."
+
+"Just so. They can be, and they ought to be. But unfortunately we don't
+all of us do as we can and ought to do. Do you? I have heard it said in
+the old days that James Chattaway's spirit was a sullen one: have you
+subdued its sullenness?"
+
+"I wish you wouldn't wander from the point, Mr. Trevlyn."
+
+"I am keeping pretty near to the point. But I can go nearer to it, if
+you please. How could you, James Chattaway, dare to horsewhip a Trevlyn?
+Your wife's nephew, and her brother's son! Whatever might be the
+provocation--but, so far as I can learn, there was no just
+provocation--how came you so far to forget yourself and your temper as
+to strike him? One, possessing the tamest spirit ever put into man,
+might be expected to turn at the cruel insult you inflicted on Rupert.
+Did you do it with the intention of calling up the Trevlyn temper?"
+
+"Nonsense," said Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"It will not do to say nonsense to me, sir. Setting fire to the rick was
+your fault, not his; the crime was occasioned by you; and I, the actual
+owner of those ricks, shall hold you responsible for it. Yes, James
+Chattaway, those ricks were mine; you need not dispute what I say; the
+ricks were mine then, as they are now. They have been mine, in point of
+fact, ever since my father's death. You may rely upon one thing--that
+had I known the injustice that was being enacted, I should have returned
+long ago."
+
+"Injustice!" cried Mr. Chattaway. "What injustice?"
+
+"What injustice! Has there been anything _but_ injustice? When my
+father's breath left his body, his legitimate successor (in my absence
+and supposed death) was his grandson Rupert; this very Rupert you have
+been goading on to ill, perhaps to death. Had my brother Joe lived,
+would you have allowed _him_ to succeed, pray?"
+
+"But your brother Joe did not live; he was dead."
+
+"You evade the question."
+
+"It is a question that will answer no end," cried Mr. Chattaway, biting
+his thin lips, and feeling very like a man being driven to bay. "Of
+course he would have succeeded. But he was dead, and Squire Trevlyn
+chose to make his will in my favour, and appoint me his successor."
+
+"Beguiled by treachery. He was suffered to go to his grave never knowing
+that a grandson was born to him. Were I guilty of the like treachery, I
+could not rest in my bed. I should dread that the anger of God would be
+ever coming down upon me."
+
+"The Squire did well," growled Mr. Chattaway. "What would an infant have
+done with Trevlyn Hold?"
+
+"Granted for a single moment that it had been inexpedient to leave
+Trevlyn Hold to an infant, it was not to you it should have been left.
+If Squire Trevlyn must have bequeathed it to a son-in-law, it should
+have been to him who was the husband of his eldest daughter, Thomas
+Ryle."
+
+"Thomas Ryle!" contemptuously ejaculated Mr. Chattaway. "A poor,
+hard-working farmer----"
+
+"Don't attempt to disparage Thomas Ryle to me, sir," thundered the
+Squire; and the voice, the look, the rising anger were so like the old
+Squire of the days gone by, that Mr. Chattaway positively recoiled.
+"Thomas Ryle was a good and honourable man, respected by all; he was a
+gentleman by birth and breeding; he was a gentleman in mind and
+manners--and that could never be said of you, James Chattaway. Work! To
+be sure he worked; and so did his father. They had to work to live.
+Their farm was a poor one; and extra labour was needed to make up for
+the money which ought to have been spent upon it, but which they
+possessed not, for their patrimony had dwindled away. They might have
+taken a more productive farm; but they preferred to remain upon that one
+because it was their own, descended from their forefathers. It had to be
+sold at last, but they still remained on it, and they worked, always
+hoping to prosper. You used the word 'work' as a term of reproach! Let
+me tell you, that if the fact of working is to take the gentle blood out
+of a man, there will be little gentle blood left for the next
+generation. This is a working age, sir; the world has grown wise, and we
+most of us work with hands or head. Thomas Ryle's son is a gentleman, if
+I ever saw one--and I am mistaken if his looks belie his mind--and he
+works. Do not disparage Thomas Ryle again to me. I think a sense of the
+injury you did him, must induce you to do it."
+
+"What injury did I do Thomas Ryle?"
+
+"To usurp Trevlyn Hold over him was an injury. It was Rupert's: neither
+yours nor his; but had it come to one of you, it should have been to
+him; _you_ had no manner of right to it. And what about the two thousand
+pounds bond?"
+
+Squire Trevlyn asked the last question in an altered and very
+significant tone. Mr. Chattaway's green face grew greener.
+
+"I held the bond, and I enforced its payment in justice to my wife and
+children. I could do no less."
+
+"In justice to your wife and children!" retorted Squire Trevlyn. "James
+Chattaway, did a thought ever cross you of God's justice? I believe from
+my very heart that my father cancelled that bond upon his dying bed,
+died believing Thomas Ryle released from it; and you, in your grasping,
+covetous nature, kept the bond with an eye to your own profit. Did you
+forget that the eye of the Great Ruler of all things was upon you, when
+you pretended to destroy that bond? Did you suppose that Eye was turned
+away when you usurped Trevlyn Hold to the prejudice of Rupert? Did you
+think you would be allowed to enjoy it in security to the end? It may
+look to you, James Chattaway, as it would to any superficial observer,
+that there has been wondrous favour shown you in this long delay of
+justice. I regard it differently. It seems to me that retribution has
+overtaken you at the worst time: not the worse for you, possibly, but
+for your children. By that inscrutable law which we learn in childhood,
+a man's ill-doings are visited on his children: I fear the result of
+your ill-doing will be felt by yours. Had you been deposed from Trevlyn
+Hold at the time you usurped it, or had you not usurped it, your
+children must have been brought up to play their parts in the busy walks
+of life; to earn their own living. As it is, they have been reared to
+idleness and luxury, and will feel their fall in proportion. Your son
+has lorded it as the heir of Trevlyn Hold, as the future owner of the
+works at Blackstone, and lorded it, as I hear, in a very offensive
+manner. He will not like to sink down to a state of dependency; but he
+will have to do it."
+
+"Where have you been gathering your account of things?" interposed Mr.
+Chattaway.
+
+"Never mind where. I have gathered it, and that is sufficient. And
+now--to go back to Rupert Trevlyn. Will you give me a guarantee that he
+shall be held harmless?"
+
+"No," growled Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"Then it will be war to the knife between you and me. Mind you--I do not
+think there's any necessity to ask you this; as the ricks were not
+yours, but mine, at the time of the occurrence, you could not, as I
+believe, become the prosecutor. But I prefer to be on the safe side. On
+the return of Rupert, if you attempt to prosecute him, the first thing
+that I shall do will be to insist that he prosecutes you for the
+assault, and I shall prosecute you for the usurpation of Trevlyn Hold.
+So it will be prosecution and counter-prosecution, you see. Mark you,
+James Chattaway, I promise you to do this, and you know I am a man of my
+word. I think we had better let bygones be bygones. What are you going
+to do about the revenues of the Hold?"
+
+"The revenues of the Hold!" stammered Mr. Chattaway, wiping his hot
+face, for he did not like the question.
+
+"The past rents. The mesne profits you have received and appropriated
+since Squire Trevlyn's death. Those profits are mine."
+
+"In law, possibly," was the answer. "Not in justice."
+
+"Well, we'll go by law," complacently returned the Squire, a spice of
+mischief in his eye. "Which have you gone by all these years? Law, or
+justice? The law would make you refund all to me."
+
+"The law would be cunning to do it," was the answer. "If I have received
+the revenues, I have spent them in keeping up Trevlyn Hold."
+
+"You have not spent them all, I suspect; and it would be productive of
+great trouble and annoyance to you were I to come upon you for them. But
+now, look you, James Chattaway: I will be more merciful than you have
+been to others, and say nothing about them, for my sister Edith's sake.
+In the full sense of the word, I will let bygones be bygones."
+
+The ex-master of Trevlyn Hold gazed out from the depths of his dull gray
+eyes: gazed upon vacancy, buried in thought. It might be well to make a
+friend of the Squire. On the one hand was the long-cherished revenge
+against Rupert; on the other was his own interest. Should he gratify
+revenge, or study himself? Ah, you need not ask; revenge may be sweet,
+but with Mr. Chattaway his own interest was sweeter. The scales were not
+equally balanced.
+
+He saw that Squire Trevlyn's heart was determined on the pardon of
+Rupert; he knew that the less he beat about the bush the better; and he
+spoke at once. "I'll forgive him," he said. "Rupert Trevlyn behaved
+infamously, but----"
+
+"Stop, James Chattaway. Pardon him, or don't pardon him, as you please;
+but we will have no names over it. Rupert Trevlyn shall have none cast
+at him in my presence."
+
+"It is of no consequence. He did the wrong in the eyes of the
+neighbourhood, and they don't need to be reminded of what he is."
+
+"And how have the neighbourhood judged?" sternly asked Squire Trevlyn.
+"Which side have they espoused--yours, or his? Don't talk to me, sir; I
+have heard more than you suppose. I know what shame the neighbours have
+cast on you for years on the score of Rupert; the double shame cast on
+you since these ricks were burnt. Will you pardon him?"
+
+"I have said so," was the sullen reply.
+
+"Then come and ratify it in writing," rejoined the Squire, turning
+towards the Hold.
+
+"You are ready to doubt my word," resentfully spoke Mr. Chattaway,
+feeling considerably aggrieved.
+
+Squire Trevlyn threw back his head. It spoke as plainly as ever motion
+spoke that he did doubt it. As he strode on to the house, Chattaway in
+his wake, they came across Cris. Unhappy Cris! His day of authority and
+assumption had set. No longer was he the son of the master of Trevlyn
+Hold; henceforth Mr. Cris must set his wits to work, and take his share
+in the active labour of life. He stood leaning over the palings, biting
+a bit of straw as he gazed at Squire Trevlyn; but he did not say a word
+to the Squire or the Squire to him.
+
+With the aid of pen and ink Mr. Chattaway gave an ungracious promise to
+pardon Rupert. Of course it had nothing formal in it, but the Squire was
+satisfied, and put it in his pocket.
+
+"Which is Rupert's chamber here?" he asked. "It had better be got ready.
+Is it an airy one?"
+
+"For what purpose is it to be got ready?" returned Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"In case we find him, you know."
+
+"You would bring him home? Here? to my house?"
+
+"No; I bring him home to mine."
+
+Mr. Chattaway's face went quite dark with pain. In good truth it was
+Squire Trevlyn's house; no longer his; and he may be pardoned for
+momentarily forgetting the fact. There are brief intervals even in the
+deepest misery when we lose sight of the present.
+
+Cris came in. "Dumps, the policeman, is outside," he said. "Some tale
+has been carried to the police-station that Rupert Trevlyn has returned,
+and Dumps has come to see about it. The felon Rupert!" pointedly
+exclaimed Cris.
+
+"Don't call names, sir," said Squire Trevlyn to him as he went out.
+"Look here, Mr. Christopher Chattaway," he stopped to add. "You may
+possibly find it to your advantage to be in my good books; but that is
+not the way to get into them; abuse of my nephew and heir, Rupert
+Trevlyn, will not recommend you to my favour."
+
+The police-station had certainly heard a confused story of the return of
+Rupert Trevlyn, but before Dumps reached the Hold he learnt the wondrous
+fact that it was another Rupert; the one so long supposed to be dead;
+the real Squire Trevlyn. He had learnt that Mr. Chattaway was no longer
+master of the Hold, but had sunk down to a very humble individual
+indeed. Mr. Dumps was not particularly gifted with the perceptive
+faculties, but the thought struck him that it might be to the interest
+of the neighbourhood generally, including himself and the station, to be
+on friendly terms with Squire Trevlyn.
+
+"Did you want me?" asked the Squire.
+
+"I beg pardon, sir. It was the other Mr. Rupert Trevlyn that I come up
+about. He has been so unfortunate as to get into a bit of trouble, sir."
+
+"Oh, that's nothing," said the Squire. "Mr. Chattaway withdraws from the
+prosecution. In point of fact, if any one prosecuted it must be myself,
+since the ricks were mine. But I decline to do so. It is not my
+intention to prosecute my nephew and heir. Mr. Rupert will be the Squire
+of Trevlyn Hold when I am gone."
+
+"Will he though, sir?" said Mr. Dumps, humbly.
+
+"He will. You may tell your people at the station that I put up with the
+loss of the ricks. What do you say--the magistrates? The present
+magistrates and I were boys together, Mr. Constable: companions; and
+they'll be glad to see me home again; you need not trouble your head
+about the magistrates. You are all new at the police-station, I expect,
+since I left the country--in fact, I forget whether there was such a
+thing as a police-station then or not--but you may tell your superiors
+that it is not the custom of the Squires of Trevlyn to proclaim what
+they cannot carry out. The prosecution of Rupert Trevlyn is at an end,
+and it never ought to have been instituted."
+
+"Please, sir, I had nothing to do with it."
+
+"Of course not. The police have not been to blame. I shall walk down
+to-night, or to-morrow morning, to the station, and put things on a
+right footing. Your name is Dumps, I think?"
+
+"Yes, sir--at your service."
+
+"Well, Dumps, that's for yourself. Hush! not a word. It's not given to
+you as a constable, but as an honest man to whom I wish to offer an
+earnest of my future favour. And now come into the Hold, and take
+something to eat and drink."
+
+The gratified Dumps, hardly knowing whether he stood on his head or his
+heels, and inwardly vowing eternal allegiance to the new Squire, stepped
+into the Hold, and was consigned to the hospitality of the lower
+regions. Mr. Chattaway groaned in agony when he heard the kindly orders
+echoing through the hall--to put before Mr. Dumps everything that was
+good to eat and drink. That is, he would have groaned, but for the
+questionable comfort of recollecting that the Hold and its contents no
+longer belonged to him.
+
+As the Squire was turning round, he encountered Diana.
+
+"I have been inquiring after my nephew's chamber. Is it an airy one?"
+
+"Your nephew's?" repeated Miss Diana, not understanding. "Do you mean
+Christopher's?"
+
+"I mean Rupert's. Let me see it."
+
+He stepped up the stairs as he spoke, with the air of a man not born to
+contradiction. Miss Diana followed, wonderingly. The room she showed him
+was high up, and very small. The Squire threw his head back.
+
+"_This_ his room? I see! it has been all of a piece. This room was a
+servant's in my time. I am surprised at _you_, Diana."
+
+"It is a sufficiently comfortable room," she answered: "and I used
+occasionally to indulge him with a fire. Rupert never complained."
+
+"No, poor fellow! complaint would be of little use from him, as he knew.
+Is there a large chamber in the house unoccupied? one that would do for
+an invalid."
+
+"The only large spare rooms in the house are the two given to you,"
+replied Miss Diana. "They are the best, as you know, and have been kept
+vacant for visitors. The dressing-room may be used as a sitting-room."
+
+"I don't want it as a sitting-room, or a dressing-room either," replied
+the Squire. "I prefer to dress in my bedroom, and there are sufficient
+sitting-rooms downstairs for me. Let this bed of Rupert's be carried
+down to that room at once."
+
+"Who for?"
+
+"For one who ought to have occupied the best rooms from the
+first--Rupert. Had he been properly treated, Diana, he would not have
+brought this disgrace upon himself."
+
+Miss Diana wondered whether her ears deceived her. "For Rupert!" she
+repeated. "Where is Rupert? Is he found?"
+
+"He has never been lost," was the curt rejoinder. "He has been all the
+time within a stone's throw--sheltered by Mark Canham, whom I shall not
+forget."
+
+She could not speak from perplexity; scarcely knowing whether to believe
+the words or not.
+
+"Your sister Edith--and James Chattaway may thank fortune that she is
+his wife, or I should visit the past in a very different manner upon
+him--and little Maude, and that handsome son of Tom Ryle's, have been in
+the secret; have visited him in private; stealthily doing for him what
+they could: but the fear and responsibility have well-nigh driven Edith
+and Maude to despair. That's where Rupert has been, Diana: where he is.
+I have not long come from him."
+
+Anger blazed forth from the eyes of Miss Diana Trevlyn. "And why could
+not Edith have communicated the fact to me?" she cried. "I could have
+done for him better than they."
+
+"Perhaps not," significantly replied the Squire: "considering that
+Chattaway was ruler of Trevlyn Hold, and you have throughout upheld his
+policy. But Trevlyn has another ruler now, and Rupert a protector."
+
+Miss Diana made no reply. She was too vexed to make one. Turning away,
+she flung a shawl over her shoulders, and marched onwards to the lodge,
+to pay a visit to the unhappy Rupert.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LIX
+
+NEWS FOR MAUDE
+
+
+You should have seen the procession going up the avenue. Not that first
+night; but in the broad glare of the following noon-day. How Squire
+Trevlyn contrived to make things straight with the superintendent,
+Bowen, he best knew. Poor misguided Rupert was a free man again, and
+Policeman Dumps was busiest of all in helping to move him.
+
+The easiest carriage the Hold afforded was driven to the lodge. A
+shrunken, emaciated object Rupert looked as he tottered down the
+staircase, Squire Trevlyn standing below to catch him if he made a false
+step, George Ryle, ready with his protecting arm, and Mr. King,
+talkative as ever, following close behind. Old Canham stood leaning on
+his stick, and Ann curtsied behind the door.
+
+"It is the proudest day of my life, Master Rupert, to see you come to
+your rights," cried old Mark, stepping forward.
+
+"Thank you for all, Mark!" cried Rupert, impulsively, as he held out his
+hand. "If I live, you shall see that I can be grateful."
+
+"You'll live fast enough now," interposed the Squire in his tone of
+authority. "If King does not bring you round in no time, he and I shall
+quarrel."
+
+"Good-bye, Ann," said Rupert. "I owe you more than I can ever repay. She
+has waited on me night and day, Uncle Rupert; has lain on that hard
+settle at night, and had no other bed since I have been here. She has
+offended all her employers, to stop at home and attend on me."
+
+Poor Ann Canham's tears were falling. "I shall get my places back, sir,
+I dare say. All I hope is, that you'll soon be about again, Master
+Rupert--and that you'll please excuse the poor accommodation father and
+me have been obliged to give you."
+
+Squire Trevlyn stood and looked at her. "Don't let it break your heart
+if the places don't come back to you. What did you earn? ten shillings a
+week?"
+
+"Oh, no, sir! Poor folks like us couldn't earn such a sum as that."
+
+"Mr. Rupert will settle that upon you from to-day. Don't be overcome,
+woman. It is only fair, you know, that if he has put your living in
+peril, he should make it good to you."
+
+She was too overcome to answer; and the Squire stepped out with Rupert
+and found himself in the midst of a crowd. The incredible news of his
+return had spread far and wide, and people of all grades were flocking
+to the Hold to welcome him home. Old men, friends of the late Squire;
+middle-aged men, who had been hot-headed youths when he, Rupert, went
+away to exile and supposed death; younger ones, who had been children
+then and could not remember him, all were there. The chairman of the
+magistrates' bench himself helped Rupert into the carriage. He shook
+hands twenty times with the Squire, and linked his arm with that
+gentleman's to accompany him to the Hold. The carriage went at a
+foot-pace, Mr. King inside it with Rupert. "Go slowly; he must not be
+shaken," were the surgeon's orders to the coachman.
+
+The spectators looked on at the young heir as he leaned his head back in
+the carriage, which had been thrown open to the fine day. The air seemed
+to revive Rupert greatly. They watched him as he talked with George
+Ryle, who walked with his arm on the carriage door; they pressed round
+to get a word with him. Rupert, emancipated from the close confinement,
+the terrible _dread_, felt as a bird released from its cage, and his
+spirits went up to fever-heat.
+
+He held out his hands to one and another; and laughingly told them that
+in a week's time he should be in a condition to run a race with the best
+of them. "But you needn't expect him," put in Mr. King, by way of
+warning. "Before he is well enough to run races, I shall order him off
+to a warmer climate."
+
+As Rupert stepped out of the carriage, he saw, amongst the sea of faces
+pressing round, one face that struck upon his notice above all others,
+in its yearning, earnest sympathy, and he held out his hand impulsively.
+It was that of Jim Sanders, and as the boy sprang forward he burst into
+tears.
+
+"You and I must be better friends than ever, Jim. Cheer up. What's the
+matter?"
+
+"It's to see you looking like this, sir. You'll get well, sir, won't
+you?"
+
+"Oh yes; I feel all right now, Jim. A little tired, that's all. Come up
+and see me to-morrow, and I'll tell my uncle who you are and all about
+you."
+
+Standing at the door of the drawing-room, in an uncertain sort of
+attitude, was Mr. Chattaway. He was evidently undecided whether to
+receive the offending Rupert with a welcome, burst forth into a
+reproach, or run away and hide himself. Rupert decided it by walking up
+to him, and holding out his hand.
+
+"Let us be friends, Mr. Chattaway. I have long repented of my mad
+passion, and I thank you for absolving me from its consequences. Perhaps
+you are sorry on your side for the treatment that drove me to it. We
+will be friends, if you like."
+
+But Mr. Chattaway did not respond to the generous feeling or touch the
+offered hand. He muttered something about its having been Rupert's
+fault, not his, and disappeared. Somehow he could not stand the keen eye
+of Squire Trevlyn that was fixed upon him.
+
+In truth it was a terrible time for Chattaway, and the man was living
+out his punishment. All his worst dread had come upon him without
+warning, and he could not rebel against it. There might be no attempt to
+dispute the claims of Squire Trevlyn; Mr. Chattaway was as completely
+deposed as though he had never held it.
+
+Rupert was installed in his luxurious room, everything within it that
+could contribute to his ease and comfort. Squire Trevlyn had been
+tenderly attached to his brother Joe when they were boys together. He
+robust, manly; Joe delicate. It may be that the want of strength in the
+younger only rendered him dearer to the elder brother. Perhaps it was
+only the old affection for Joe transferred now to the son; certain it
+was, that the Squire's love had already grown for Rupert, and all care
+was lavished on him.
+
+But as the days went on it became evident to all that Rupert had only
+come home to die. The removal over, the excitement of those wonderful
+changes toned down, the sad fact that he was certainly fading grew on
+Squire Trevlyn. Some one suggested that a warmer climate should be
+tried; but Mr. King, on being appealed to, answered that he must get
+stronger first; and his tone was significant.
+
+Squire Trevlyn noticed it. Later, when he had the surgeon to himself, he
+spoke to him. "King, you are concealing the danger? Can't we move him?"
+
+"I would have told you before, Squire, had you asked me. As to moving
+him to a warmer climate--certainly he could be moved, but he would only
+go there to die; and the very fatigue of the journey would shorten his
+life."
+
+"I don't believe it," retorted the Squire, awaking out of his dismay.
+"You are a croaker, King. I'll call in a doctor from Barmeston."
+
+"Call in all the doctors you like, Squire, if it will afford you
+satisfaction. When they understand his case, they will tell you as I
+do."
+
+"Do you mean to say that he must die?"
+
+"I fear he must; and speedily. The day before you came home I tried his
+lungs, and from that moment I have known there was no hope. The disease
+must have been upon him for some time; I suppose he inherits it from his
+father."
+
+The same night Squire Trevlyn sent for a physician: an eminent man: but
+he only confirmed the opinion of Mr. King. All that remained now was to
+break the tidings to Rupert; and to lighten, as far as might be, his
+passage to the grave.
+
+But a word must be spoken of the departure of Mr. Chattaway and his
+family from the Hold. That they must inevitably leave it had been
+unpleasantly clear to Mr. Chattaway from the very hour of Squire
+Trevlyn's arrival. He gave a day or two to digesting the dreadful
+necessity, and then began to turn his thoughts practically to the
+future.
+
+Squire Trevlyn had promised not to take from him anything he might have
+put by of his ill-gotten gains. These gains, though a fair sum, were not
+sufficient to enable him to live and keep his family, and Mr. Chattaway
+knew that he must do something in the shape of work. His thoughts
+turned, not unnaturally, to the Upland Farm, and he asked Squire Trevlyn
+to let him have the lease of it.
+
+"I'll let you have it upon one condition," said the Squire. "I should
+not choose my sister Edith to sink into obscurity, but she may live upon
+the Upland Farm without losing caste; it is a fine place both as to land
+and residence. Therefore, I'll let it you, I say, upon one condition."
+
+Maude Trevlyn happened to be present at the conversation, and spoke in
+the moment's impulse.
+
+"Oh, Uncle Rupert! you promised----"
+
+"Well, Miss Maude?" he cried, and fixing his eyes on her glowing face.
+Maude timidly continued.
+
+"I thought you promised someone else the Upland Farm."
+
+"That favourite of yours and of Rupert's, George Ryle? But I am not
+going to let him have it. Well, Mr. Chattaway?"
+
+"What is the condition?" inquired Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"That you use the land well. I shall have a clause inserted in the lease
+by which you may cease to be my tenant at any time by my giving you a
+twelvemonth's notice; and if I find you carrying your parsimonious
+nature into the management of the Upland Farm, as you have on this land,
+I shall surely take it from you."
+
+"What's the matter with this land?" asked Mr. Chattaway.
+
+"The matter is, that I find the land impoverished. You have spared money
+upon it in your mistaken policy, and the inevitable result has followed.
+You have been penny wise and pound foolish, Chattaway; as you were when
+you suffered the rick-yard to remain uninsured."
+
+Mr. Chattaway's face darkened, but he made no reply to the allusion.
+"I'll undertake to do the farm justice, Squire Trevlyn, if you will
+lease it to me."
+
+"Very well. Let me, however, candidly assure you that, but for Edith's
+sake, I'd see you starve before you should have had a homestead on this
+land. It is my habit to be plain-spoken: I must be especially so with
+you. I suffer from you in all ways, James Chattaway. I suffer always in
+my nephew Rupert. When I think of the treatment dealt out to him from
+you, I can scarcely refrain from treating you to a taste of the
+punishment you inflicted upon him. It is possible, too, that had the boy
+been more tenderly cared for, he might have had strength to resist this
+disease which has crept upon him. About that I cannot speak; it must lie
+between you and God; his father, with every comfort, could not escape
+it, it seems; and possibly Rupert might not have done so."
+
+Mr. Chattaway made no reply. The Squire, after a pause, during which he
+had been plunged in thought, continued. "I suffer also in the matter of
+the two-thousand-pound debt of Thomas Ryle's, and I have a great
+mind--do you hear me, sir?--I have a great mind that the refunding it
+should come out of your pocket instead of mine; even though I had to get
+it from you by suing you for so much of the mesne profits."
+
+"Refunding the debt?" repeated Mr. Chattaway, looking absolutely
+confounded. "Refunding it to whom?"
+
+"To the Ryles, of course. That money was as surely given by my father to
+them on his death-bed, as that I am here, talking to you. I feel, I know
+that it was. I know that Thomas Ryle, ever a man of honour, spoke the
+truth when he asserted it. Do you think I can do less than refund it? I
+don't, if you do."
+
+"George Ryle does not want it; he is capable of working for his living,"
+was the only answer Mr. Chattaway in his anger could give.
+
+"I do not suppose he will want it," was the quiet remark of Squire
+Trevlyn; "I dare say he'll manage to do without it. It is to Mrs. Ryle
+that I shall refund it, sir. Between you all, I find that she was cut
+off with a shilling at my father's death."
+
+Mr. Chattaway liked the conversation less and less. He deemed it might
+be as agreeable to leave details to another opportunity, and withdrew.
+Squire Trevlyn looking round for Maude, discerned her at the end of the
+room, her head bent in sorrow.
+
+"What's this, young lady? Because I don't let Mr. George Ryle the Upland
+Farm? You great goose! I have reserved a better one for him."
+
+The tone was peculiar, and she raised her timid eyelids. "A better one!"
+she stammered.
+
+"Yes. Trevlyn Hold."
+
+Maude looked aghast. "What do you mean, Uncle Rupert?"
+
+"My dear, but for this unhappy fiat which appears to have gone forth for
+your brother Rupert, perhaps I might have let the Upland Farm to George.
+As it is, I cannot part with both of you. If poor Rupert is to be taken
+from me, you must remain."
+
+She looked up, utterly unable to understand him.
+
+"And as you appear not to be inclined to part with Mr. George, all that
+can be done in the matter, so far as I see, is that we must have him at
+the Hold."
+
+"Oh, Uncle Rupert!" And Maude's head and her joyous tears were hidden in
+the loving arms that were held out to shelter her.
+
+"Child! Did you think I had come home to make my dead brother's children
+unhappy? You will know me better by and by, Maude."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LX
+
+A BETTER HEIRSHIP
+
+
+A short time, and people had settled down in their places. Squire
+Trevlyn was alone at the Hold with Maude and Rupert, the Chattaways were
+at the Upland Farm, and Miss Diana Trevlyn had taken up her abode in a
+pretty house belonging to herself. Circumstances had favoured the
+removal of Mr. Chattaway from the Hold almost immediately after the
+arrival of Squire Trevlyn. The occupant of the Upland Farm, who only
+remained in it because his time was not up until spring, was glad to
+find it would be an accommodation if he quitted it earlier; he did so,
+and by Christmas the Chattaways were installed in it.
+
+Mr. Chattaway had set to work in earnest.
+
+Things were changed with him. At the Hold, whether he was up and doing,
+or lay in bed in idleness, his revenues came in to him. At the Upland
+Farm he must be up early and in bed late, for the eye of a master was
+necessary if the land was to yield its increase; and by that increase he
+and his family had now to live. There was a serious battle with Cris. It
+was deemed advisable for the interest of both parties--that is, for Mr.
+Cris and his father--that the younger man should enter upon some
+occupation of his own; but Cris resolutely refused. He could find plenty
+to do on the Upland Farm, he urged, and wouldn't be turned out of his
+home. In fact, Mr. Cris had lived so long without work, that it was
+difficult, now he was leaving his youth behind him, to begin it. Better,
+as Squire Trevlyn said, the change had been made years ago. It was
+certainly hard for Cris; let us acknowledge it. He had been reared to
+the expectation of Trevlyn Hold and its revenues; had lorded it as the
+future master. When he rose in the morning, early or late, as
+inclination prompted him, he had nothing more formidable before him than
+to ride about attended by his groom. He had indulged in outdoor sports,
+hunting, shooting, fishing, at will; no care upon him, except how he
+could most agreeably get through the day. He had been addicted to riding
+or driving into Barmester, lounging about the streets for the benefit of
+admiring spectators, or taking a turn in the billiard-rooms. All that
+was over now; Mr. Cris's leisure and greatness had come to an end; his
+groom would take service elsewhere, his fine horse must be used for
+other purposes than pleasure. In short, poor Cris Chattaway had fallen
+from his high estate, as many another has fallen before him, and must
+henceforth earn his bread before he ate it. "There's room for both on
+the Upland Farm, and a good living for both," Cris urged upon his
+father; and though Mr. Chattaway demurred, he gave way, and allowed Cris
+to remain. With all his severity to others, he had lost his authority
+over his children, especially over Cris and Octave, and perhaps he
+scarcely dared to maintain his own will against that of Cris, or tell
+him he should go if he chose to stay. Cris had no more love for work
+than anyone else has brought up to idleness; and Cris knew quite well
+that the easiest life he could now enter upon would be that of
+pretending to be busy upon the farm. When the dispute was at its height
+between himself and his father, as to what the future arrangements
+should be, Cris so far bestirred himself as to ask Squire Trevlyn to
+give him the post of manager at Blackstone. But the Squire had heard
+quite enough of the past doings there, and told Cris, with the plainness
+that was natural to him, that he would not have either him or his father
+in power at Blackstone, if they paid him in gold. And so Cris was at
+home.
+
+There were other changes also in Mr. Chattaway's family. Maude's
+tuition, that Octave had been ever ready to find fault with, was over
+for ever, and Octave had taken her place. Amelia was at home, for
+expenses had to be curtailed. An outlay quite suitable for the master of
+Trevlyn Hold would be imprudent in the tenant of the Upland Farm. They
+found Maude's worth now that they had lost her; could appreciate the
+sweetness of her temper, her gentle patience. Octave, who also liked an
+idle life, had undertaken the tuition of her sisters with a very bad
+grace: hating the trouble and labour. She might have refused but for
+Miss Diana Trevlyn. Miss Diana had not lost her good sense or love of
+ruling on leaving Trevlyn Hold, and openly told Octave that she must
+bend to circumstances as well as her parents, and that if she would not
+teach her sisters, she had better go out as governess and earn her
+living. Octave could have annihilated Miss Diana for the unwelcome
+suggestion--but she offered no further opposition to the arrangement.
+
+Life was very hard just then for Octave Chattaway. She had inherited the
+envious, selfish disposition of her father, and the very fact that Maude
+and herself had changed positions was sufficient to vex her almost
+beyond endurance. She had become the drudge whose days must be passed
+beating grammar into the obtuse minds of her rebellious sisters; Maude,
+the mistress of Trevlyn Hold. How things would go on it was difficult to
+say; for the scenes that frequently took place between Octave and her
+pupils disturbed to a grave degree the peace of the Upland Farm. Octave
+was impatient, fretful, and exacting; they were tantalising and
+disobedient. Quarrels were incessant; and now and then it came to blows.
+Octave's temper urged her to personal correction, and the girls retorted
+in kind.
+
+It is in human nature to exaggerate, and Octave not only exaggerated her
+troubles but wilfully made the worst of them. Instead of patiently
+sitting down to her new duties, and striving to perform them so that in
+time they might become a pleasure, she steeled herself against them. A
+terrible jealousy of Maude had taken possession of her; jealousy in more
+senses than one. There was a gate in their grounds overlooking the
+highway to Trevlyn Hold, and it was Octave's delight to stand there and
+watch, at the hour when Maude might be expected to pass. Sometimes in
+the open carriage--sometimes she would drive in a closed one, but always
+accompanied by the symbols of wealth and position, fine horses,
+attendant servants--Miss Maude Trevlyn, of Trevlyn Hold. And Octave
+would watch stealthily until they were out of sight, and gather fresh
+food for her unhappy state of mind. It would seem strange she should
+thus torment herself, but that the human heart is full of such
+contradictions.
+
+One day that she was standing there, Mrs. Ryle passed. And it may as
+well be remarked that, Mr. Chattaway excepted, Mrs. Ryle seemed most to
+resent the changes: not her brother's return, but some of its results.
+In the certainty of Rupert's not living to succeed--and it was a
+certainty now--Mrs. Ryle had again cherished hopes for her son Trevlyn.
+She had been exceedingly vexed when she heard the Upland Farm was leased
+to Mr. Chattaway, and thought George must have played his cards badly.
+She allowed her resentment to smoulder for a time, but one day so far
+forgot herself as to demand of George whether he thought two masters
+would answer upon the Farm; and hinted that it was time he left, and
+made room for Treve.
+
+George, though his cheek burnt--for her, not for himself--calmly
+answered, that he expected shortly to leave it: relieving her of his
+presence, Treve of his personal advice and help.
+
+"But you did not get the Upland?" she reiterated. "And I have been told
+this morning that the other farm you thought of is let over your head."
+
+"Stay, mother," was George's answer. "You are ready to blame Squire
+Trevlyn for letting these farms, and not to me; but my views have
+altered. I do not now wish to lease the Upland, or any other farm.
+Squire Trevlyn has proposed something else to me--I am to manage his own
+land for him."
+
+"Manage his land for him! Do you mean the land attached to Trevlyn?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And where shall you live?"
+
+"With him: at Trevlyn Hold."
+
+Mrs. Ryle could scarcely speak from amazement. "I never heard of such a
+thing!" she exclaimed, staring excessively at the smile hovering on his
+lips, which he vainly endeavoured to suppress. "What can it mean?"
+
+"It is assured, unhappily, that Rupert cannot live. Had he regained
+health and strength, he would have filled this place. But he will not
+regain it. Squire Trevlyn spoke to me, and I am to be with him at the
+Hold."
+
+George did not add that he at first fought with Squire Trevlyn against
+going to the Hold, as _its heir_--for indeed it meant nothing less. He
+would rather make his own fortune than have it made for him, he said.
+Very well, the Squire answered equably, he could give up the Hold if he
+liked, but he must give up Maude with it. And you may guess whether
+George would do that.
+
+But Mrs. Ryle did not recover from her surprise or see things clearly.
+"Of course, I can understand that Rupert Trevlyn would have held sway on
+the estate, just as a son would; but what my brother can mean by wanting
+a 'manager' I cannot understand. You say you are to _live_ at Trevlyn
+Hold?"
+
+The smile grew very conspicuous on George's lips. "It is so arranged,"
+he answered. "And therefore I no longer wish to rent the Upland."
+
+Mrs. Ryle stared as if she did not believe it. She fell into deep
+thought--from which she suddenly started, put on her bonnet, and went
+straight to Trevlyn Hold.
+
+A pretty little mare's nest she indulged in as she went along. If Rupert
+was to be called away from this world, the only fit and proper person to
+succeed him as the Squire's heir was her son Treve. In which case,
+George would not be required as manager, and their anticipated positions
+might be reversed; Treve take up his abode at the Hold, George remain at
+the farm.
+
+Squire Trevlyn was alone. She gave herself no time to reconsider the
+propriety of speaking at all, or what she should say; but without
+circumlocution told him that, failing Rupert, Trevlyn must be the heir.
+
+"Oh, dear, no," said the Squire. "You forget Maude."
+
+"Maude!"
+
+"If poor Rupert is to be taken, Maude remains to me. And she will
+inherit Trevlyn Hold."
+
+Mrs. Ryle compressed her lips. "Is it well to leave Trevlyn Hold to a
+woman? Your father would not do it, Rupert."
+
+"I am not bound to adopt the prejudices of my father. I imagine the
+reason of his disinheriting Maude--whose birth and existence it appears
+he did know of--was the anger he felt towards Joe and her mother, for
+having married in opposition to him. But that does not extend to me.
+Were I capable of leaving the estate away from Joe's children, I should
+deem myself as bad as Chattaway."
+
+"Maude is a girl; it ought not to be held by a girl," was Mrs. Ryle's
+reiterated answer.
+
+"Well, that objection need not trouble you; for in point of fact, it
+will be held by Maude's husband. Indeed, I am not sure but I shall
+bequeath it direct to him. I believe I shall do so."
+
+"She may never marry."
+
+"She will marry immediately. You don't mean to say he has not let you
+into the secret?" as he gazed on her puzzled face. "Has George told you
+nothing?"
+
+"He has just told me that he was coming here as your manager," she
+replied, not in the least comprehending Squire Trevlyn's drift.
+
+"And as Maude's husband. My manager, eh? He put it in that way, did he?
+He will come here as my son-in-law--I may say so for I regard Maude as
+my daughter and recognised successor. George Ryle comes here as the
+future Squire of Trevlyn Hold."
+
+Mrs. Ryle was five minutes recovering herself. Utterly unable to digest
+the news, she could do nothing but stare. George Ryle inheritor of
+Trevlyn Hold! Was she awake or dreaming?
+
+"It ought to be Trevlyn's," she said at length. "He is your direct
+relative; George Ryle is none."
+
+"I know he is not. I leave it to him as Maude's husband, and he will
+take the name of Trevlyn. You should have got Maude to fall in love with
+the other one, if you wished him to succeed."
+
+Perhaps it was the most unhappy moment in all Mrs. Ryle's life. Never
+had she given up the hope of her son's succession until now. That George
+should supplant him!--George, whom she had so despised! She sat beating
+her foot on the carpet, her pale face bent.
+
+"It is not right; it is not right," she said, at length. "George Ryle is
+not worthy to succeed to Trevlyn Hold: it is reversing the order of
+things."
+
+"Not worthy!" echoed Squire Trevlyn. "Your judgment must be strangely
+prejudiced to say so. Of all who have flocked from far and near to
+welcome me home, I have looked in vain for a second George Ryle. He has
+not his equal. If I hesitated at the first moment to give him Maude, I
+don't hesitate now that I know him. I can tell you that had Maude chosen
+unworthily, as your sister Edith did, her husband should never have come
+in for Trevlyn Hold."
+
+"Is your decision irrevocable?"
+
+"Entirely so. I wish them to be married immediately; for I should like
+George to be installed here as soon as possible, and, of course, he
+cannot come until Maude is his wife. Rupert wishes it."
+
+"It appears to me that this arrangement is very premature," resumed Mrs.
+Ryle. "You may marry yet, and have children of your own."
+
+A change came over Squire Trevlyn's face. "I shall never marry," he
+said, with emphasis; and to Mrs. Ryle's ears there was a strange
+solemnity in his tones. "You need not ask me why, for I shall not enter
+into reasons; let the assurance suffice--_I shall never marry_. Trevlyn
+Hold will be as securely theirs as though I bequeathed it to them by
+deed of gift."
+
+"Rupert, this is a blow for my son."
+
+"If you persist in considering it so, I cannot help that. It must have
+been very foolish of you ever to cast a thought to your son's
+succeeding, whilst Joe's children were living."
+
+"Foolish! when one of my sons--my step-son, at any rate--is to succeed,
+as it seems!"
+
+The Squire laughed. "You must talk to Maude about that. They had settled
+their plans together before I came home. If Treve turns out all he
+should be, I may remember him before I die. Trevlyn Farm was originally
+the birthright of the Ryles; I may possibly make it so again in the
+person of Treve. Don't let us go on with the discussion; it will only be
+lost labour. Will you see Rupert?"
+
+She had the sense to see that if it were prolonged until night, it would
+indeed be useless, and she rose to follow him into the next room.
+Rupert, not looking very ill to-day, sat near the fire. Maude was
+reading to him.
+
+"Is it you, Aunt Ryle!" he called out feebly. "You never come to see
+me."
+
+"I am sorry to hear you are so poorly, Rupert."
+
+"I am not half as ill as I feared I should be," he said. "I thought by
+this time it--it would have been all over. But I seem better. Where's
+George?"
+
+"George is at home. I have been talking to your uncle about him. Until
+to-day I did not know what was in contemplation."
+
+"He'll make a better Squire than I should have made," cried Rupert,
+lifting his eyes--bluer and brighter than ever, from disease--to her
+face. Maude made her escape from the room, and Squire Trevlyn had not
+entered it, so they were alone. "But, Aunt Ryle, I want it to be soon;
+before I die. I should like George to be here to see the last of me."
+
+"I think I might have been informed of this before," observed Mrs. Ryle.
+
+"It has not been told to any one. Uncle Rupert and I, George and Maude
+have kept the secret between us. Only think, Aunt Ryle! that after all
+the hopes, contentions, heart-burnings, George Ryle should succeed to
+Trevlyn Hold."
+
+She could not bear this repeated harping on the one string. George's
+conduct to his step-mother had been exemplary, and she was not
+insensible to the fact; but she was one of those second wives who feel
+an instinctive dislike to their step-children. Very bitter, for Treve's
+sake, was her heart-jealousy now.
+
+"I will come in and see you another day, Rupert," she said, rising
+abruptly. "This morning I am too vexed to remain longer."
+
+"What has vexed you, Aunt Ryle?"
+
+"I hoped that Treve--failing you--would have been the heir."
+
+Rupert opened his eyes in wonder. "Treve?--whilst Maude lives! Not he. I
+can tell you what I think, Aunt Ryle; that had there been no Maude,
+Treve would never have come in for the Hold. I don't fancy Uncle Rupert
+would have left it to him."
+
+"To whom would he have left it, do you fancy?"
+
+"Well--I suppose," slowly turning the matter over in his mind--"I
+suppose, in that case, it would have been Aunt Diana. But there is
+Maude, Aunt Ryle, and we need not discuss it. George and Maude will have
+it, and their children after them."
+
+"Poor boy!" she said, with a touch of compassion; "it is a sad fate for
+you! Not to live to inherit!"
+
+A gentle smile rose to his face, and he pointed upwards. "There's a
+better heirship for me, Aunt Ryle."
+
+It was upon returning from this memorable interview with Squire Trevlyn,
+that Mrs. Ryle met Octave Chattaway and stopped to speak.
+
+"Are you getting settled, Octave?"
+
+"Tolerably so. Mamma says she shall not be straight in six months to
+come. Have you been to the Hold?"
+
+"Yes," replied Mrs. Ryle, turning her determined gaze on Octave. "Have
+you heard the news? That the Squire has chosen his heir?"
+
+"No," breathlessly rejoined Octave. "We have heard that Rupert is beyond
+hope; but nothing else. It will be Maude, I conclude."
+
+"It is to be George Ryle."
+
+"George Ryle!" repeated Octave, in amazement.
+
+"Yes. I believe it will be left to him, not to Maude. But it will be all
+the same. He is to marry her, and to take the name of Trevlyn. George
+never told me this. He just said to-day that he was going to live at the
+Hold; but he never said it was as Maude's husband and the Squire's heir.
+How prospects have changed!"
+
+Changed! Ay, Octave felt it to her inmost soul, as she leaned against
+the gate, and gazed in thought after Mrs. Ryle. Gazed without seeing or
+hearing, deep in her heart's tribulation, her hand pressed upon her
+bosom, her pale face quivering as it was turned to the winter sky.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER LXI
+
+A BETTER HEIRSHIP
+
+
+Bending in tenderness over the couch of Rupert Trevlyn was Mrs.
+Chattaway. Madam Chattaway no longer; she had quitted that distinctive
+title on quitting Trevlyn Hold. It was a warm day early in May, and
+Rupert had lingered on; the progress of the disease being so gradual, so
+imperceptible, that even the medical men were deceived; and now that the
+end had come, they were still saying that he might last until the
+autumn.
+
+Rupert had been singularly favoured: some, stricken by this dire malady,
+are so. Scarcely any of its painful features were apparent; and Mr. Daw
+wrote word that they had not been in his father. There was scarcely any
+cough or pain, and though the weakness was certainly great, Rupert had
+not for one single day taken to his bed. Until within two days of this
+very time, when you see Mrs. Chattaway leaning over him, he had gone out
+in the carriage whenever the weather permitted. He could not sit up
+much, but chiefly lay on the sofa as he was lying now, facing the
+window, open to the warm noon-day sun. The room was the one you have
+frequently seen before, once the sitting-room of Mrs. Chattaway. When
+the Chattaways left the Hold, Rupert had changed to their rooms; and
+would sit there and watch the visitors who came up the avenue.
+
+Mrs. Chattaway had been staying at the Hold since the previous Tuesday,
+for Maude was away from it. Maude left it with George Ryle on that day,
+but they were coming home this Saturday evening, for both were anxious
+not to be long away from Rupert. Rupert sadly wanted to attend the
+wedding, and the Squire and Mr. Freeman strove to invent all sorts of
+schemes for warming the church; but it persisted in remaining cold and
+damp, and Rupert was not allowed to venture. He sat with them, however,
+at the breakfast afterwards, and but for his attenuated form and the
+hectic excitement brought to his otherwise white and hollow cheeks,
+might have passed very well for a guest. George, with his marriage, had
+taken the name of Trevlyn, for the Squire insisted upon it, and he would
+come home to the Hold to-day as his permanent abode. Miss Diana received
+mortal offence at the wedding-breakfast, and sat cold and impenetrable,
+for the Squire requested his elder sister to preside in right of birth,
+and Miss Diana had long considered herself far more important than Mrs.
+Ryle, and had expected to be chief on that occasion herself.
+
+"Shall we invite Edith or Diana to stay with you whilst Maude's away?"
+the Squire had inquired of Rupert. And a flush of pleasure came into the
+wan face as he answered, "My aunt Edith. I should like to be again with
+Aunt Edith."
+
+So Mrs. Chattaway had remained with him, and passed the time as she was
+doing now--hovering round his couch, giving him all her care, caressing
+him in her loving, gentle manner, whispering of the happy life on which
+he was about to enter.
+
+She had some eau-de-cologne in her hand, and was pouring it on a
+handkerchief to pass it lightly over his brow and temples. In doing this
+a drop went into his eye.
+
+"Oh, Rupert, I am so sorry! How awkward I am!"
+
+It smarted very much, but Rupert smiled bravely. "Just a few minutes'
+pain, Aunt Edith. That's all. Do you know what I have got to think
+lately?"
+
+She put the cork into the long green bottle, and sat down close to his
+sofa. "What, dear?"
+
+"That we must be blind, foolish mortals to fret so much under
+misfortunes. A little patience, and they pass away."
+
+"It would be better for us all if we had more patience, more trust," she
+answered. "If we could leave things more entirely to God."
+
+Rupert lay with his eyes cast upwards, blue as the sky he looked at. "I
+would have tried to put that great trust in God, had I lived," he said,
+after a pause. "Do you know, Aunt Edith, at times I do wish I could have
+lived."
+
+"I wish so, too," she murmured.
+
+"At least, I should wish it but for this feeling of utter fatigue that
+is always upon me. I sha'n't feel it up there, Aunt Edith."
+
+"No, no," she whispered.
+
+"When you get near to death, knowing that it is upon you, as I know it,
+I think you obtain clearer views of the reality of things. It seems to
+me, looking back on the life I am leaving, as if it were of no
+consequence at what period of life we die; whether young or old; and yet
+how terrible a calamity death is looked upon by people in general."
+
+"It needs sorrow or illness to reconcile us to it, Rupert. Most of us
+must be tired of this life ere we can bring ourselves to anticipate
+another, and wish for it."
+
+"Well, I have not had so happy a life here," he unthinkingly remarked.
+"I ought not to murmur at exchanging it for another."
+
+No, he had not. The words had been spoken without thought, innocent of
+intentional reproach; but she was feeling them to the very depths of her
+long-tried heart. Mrs. Chattaway was not famous for the control of her
+emotions, and she broke into tears as she rose and bent over him.
+
+"The recollection of the past is ever upon me, Rupert, night and day.
+Say you forgive me! Say it now, ere the time for it shall have gone by."
+
+He looked surprised. "Forgive you, dear Aunt Edith? I have never had
+anything to forgive you; and others I have forgiven long ago."
+
+"I lie awake at night and think of it, Rupert," she said, her tones
+betraying her great emotion. "Had you been differently treated, you
+might not have died just as your rights are recognised. You might have
+lived to be the inheritor as well as the heir of Trevlyn."
+
+Rupert lay pondering. "But I must have died at last," he said. "And I
+might not have been any the better for it. Aunt Edith, it seems to me to
+be just this. I am twenty-one years old, and a life of some sort is
+before me, a life _here_, or a life _there_. At my age it is only
+natural that I should look forward to the life here, and I did so until
+I grew sick with weariness and pain. But if that life is the better and
+happier one, does it not seem a favour to be taken to it before my time?
+Aunt Edith, I say that as death comes on, I believe we see things as
+they really are, not as they seem. I was to have inherited Trevlyn Hold:
+but I shall exchange it for a better inheritance. Let this comfort you."
+
+She sat, weeping silently, holding his hand in hers. Rupert said no
+more, but kept his eyes fixed upwards in thought. Gradually the lids
+closed, and his breathing, somewhat more regular than when awake, told
+that he slept. Mrs. Chattaway laid his hand on the coverlet, dried her
+eyes, and busied herself about the room.
+
+About half-an-hour afterwards he awoke. She was sitting down then,
+watching him. It almost seemed as if her gaze had awakened him, for she
+had only just taken her seat.
+
+"Have they come?" were his first words.
+
+"Not yet, Rupert."
+
+"Not yet! Will they be long? I feel sinking."
+
+Mrs. Chattaway hastily called for the refreshment Rupert had until now
+constantly taken. But he turned his head away as it was placed before
+him.
+
+"My dear, you said you were sinking!"
+
+"Not _that_ sort of sinking, Aunt Edith. Nothing that food will remedy."
+
+A tremor came over Mrs. Chattaway. She detected a change in his voice,
+saw the change in his countenance. It has just been said, and not for
+the first time in this history, that she could not boast of much
+self-control: and she hurried from the room, calling for Squire Trevlyn.
+He heard her, and came immediately, wondering much. "It is Rupert," she
+said in irrepressible excitement. "He says he is dying."
+
+Rupert had not said so: though, perhaps, what he did say was almost
+equivalent to it, and she had jumped to the conclusion. When Squire
+Trevlyn reached him, he was lying with his eyes closed and the changed
+look on his white face. A servant stood near the table where the tray of
+refreshment had been placed, gazing at him.
+
+The Squire hastily felt his forehead, then his hand. "What ails you, my
+boy?" he asked, subduing his voice as it never was subdued, save to the
+sick Rupert.
+
+Rupert opened his eyes. "Have they come, uncle? I want Maude."
+
+"They won't be long now," looking at his watch. "Don't you feel so well,
+Rupert?"
+
+"I feel like--going," was the answer: and as Rupert spoke he gasped for
+breath. The servant stepped forward and raised his head. Mrs. Chattaway,
+who had again come in, broke into a cry.
+
+"Edith!" reproved the Squire. "A pretty one you are for a sick room! If
+you cannot be calm and quiet, better keep out of it."
+
+He quitted it himself as he spoke, called for his own groom, and bade
+him hasten for Mr. King. Rupert looked better when he returned; the
+spasm, or whatever it was, had passed, and he was holding the hand of
+Mrs. Chattaway.
+
+"Aunt Edith was frightened," he said, turning his eyes on his uncle.
+
+"She always was one to be frightened at nothing," cried the Squire. "Do
+you feel faint, my boy?"
+
+"It's gone now," answered Rupert.
+
+Mrs. Chattaway poured out some cordial, and he drank it without
+difficulty. Afterwards he seemed to revive, and spoke to them now and
+then, though he lay so still as to give an idea that all motion had
+departed from him. Even when the sound of wheels was heard in the avenue
+he did not stir, though he evidently heard.
+
+"It's only Ralph," remarked the Squire. "I sent him out in the gig."
+
+Rupert slightly shook his head and a half-smile illumined his face. The
+Squire also became aware of the fact that what they heard was not the
+noise of gig-wheels. He went down to the hall-door.
+
+It was the carriage bringing back the bride and bridegroom. Maude sprang
+lightly in, and the Squire took her in his arms.
+
+"Welcome home, my darling!"
+
+Maude laughed and blushed, and the Squire left her and turned to George.
+
+"How is Rupert, sir?"
+
+"He has been famous until half-an-hour ago. Since then there has been a
+change. You had better go up at once; he has been asking for you and
+Maude. I have sent for King."
+
+George drew his wife's hand within his arm, and led her upstairs. No one
+was in the room with Rupert, except Mrs. Chattaway. He never moved or
+stirred, as they advanced and bent over him, Maude throwing off her
+bonnet; he only gazed up at their faces with a happy smile.
+
+Maude's eyes were swimming; George was startled. Surely death was even
+now upon him. It had come closer in this short interval between Squire
+Trevlyn's departure from the room and his return.
+
+Rupert lay passively, his wasted hands in theirs. Maude was the first to
+give way. "My darling brother! I did not expect to find you like this."
+
+"I am going on before, Maude," he breathed, his voice so low they had to
+stoop to catch it. "You will come later."
+
+A cry from Mrs. Chattaway interrupted him. "Oh, Rupert, say you forgive
+the past! You have not said it. You must not die with unforgiveness in
+your heart."
+
+He looked at her wonderingly; a look which seemed to ask if she had
+forgotten his assertion only an hour ago. He laid his hands feebly
+together holding them raised. "God bless and forgive all who may have
+been unkind to me, as I forgive them--as I have forgiven them long ago.
+God bless and forgive us all, and take us when this life is over to our
+heavenly home; for the sake of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ."
+
+"Amen!" said the Squire.
+
+A deep silence fell on them only to be broken by the entrance of Mr.
+King. He came quietly up to the sofa, glanced at Rupert, and kept his
+eyes fixed for the space of a minute. Then he turned to the Squire. The
+face was already the face of the dead. With the sorrows and joys of this
+world, Rupert Trevlyn had done for ever.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+By Charles W. Wood, F.R.G.S.
+
+Glories of Spain.
+
+_EXTRACTS FROM THE PRESS._
+
+     "In 'Glories of Spain' Mr. Charles W. Wood has added another
+     highly-interesting volume to his series of books dealing with
+     Continental travel. We ourselves have seen just enough of Spain
+     to make us long to see more, and the beautifully illustrated
+     book before us, with its glowing descriptions of architecture
+     and scenery, renders this longing well-nigh irresistible. Mr.
+     Wood has all the zeal of an enthusiast for all that is really
+     beautiful in Nature or in art. He has the pen of a ready
+     writer, he is keenly observant of all those small details which
+     go to make up a beautiful picture, and he is able to transfer
+     to paper, in most realistic form, the impressions he has
+     gathered.... This book is something more than a guide, even of
+     the highest character. The author makes friends with all sorts
+     and conditions of men and women, and by his own sympathetic
+     character draws from each his life's story, which is here set
+     down in telling manner. Mr. Wood is gifted, too, with an ample
+     fund of humour."--_Westminster Gazette._
+
+     "Mr. Wood is an ideal guide. A keen observer, nothing escapes
+     his practised eye, whilst his highly cultivated artistic
+     instincts and tastes revel in the atmosphere of romance and
+     poetry in which the country is steeped; and his 'enthusiasm for
+     humanity' makes him feel an interest in every human being with
+     whom he is brought into contact. There are some delightful
+     talks with all sorts and conditions of men and women in the
+     book."--_Literature._
+
+     "Mr. Wood's new volume has all the charm of his earlier books.
+     It is a world of enchantment into which we wander, and Mr. Wood
+     knows how to excite our interest in the quaint houses, the
+     gorgeous cathedrals, and the warm-hearted people in the
+     north-eastern corner of Spain. Mr. Wood is an enthusiast, and
+     his readers will quickly share his enthusiasm. His pictures are
+     works of art, steeped in poetry and sunshine."--_London
+     Quarterly Review._
+
+     "This narrative of travel affords light and pleasant reading.
+     Mr. Wood has an agreeable way, like certain old-fashioned
+     travellers, of breaking the stream of travel or of description
+     with some romantic story. These episodes add not a little to
+     the reader's enjoyment."--_St. James's Gazette._
+
+     "Readers of Mr. Wood's travel books scarcely require any
+     reminder of the bright and facile style in which he records the
+     impressions and incidents of his wayfaring."--_Westminster
+     Gazette._
+
+     "Mr. Wood is an excellent cicerone and, moreover, has what
+     every traveller in a foreign country has not--an evident
+     capacity for making friends with the natives. He is an
+     enthusiastic admirer of the beauties alike of Spanish nature
+     and Spanish art."--_Pall Mall Gazette._
+
+     "By degrees the persevering reader begins to realise that he is
+     'doing' Catalonia in the company of one who not only possesses
+     a fund of quiet humour and a cultivated mind, and an observant
+     eye for the beauties of Nature and of the works of man, but is
+     also endowed with a fine power of sympathy, which attracts to
+     him, in quite an unusual degree, the confidence of those with
+     whom he comes in contact."--_Daily News._
+
+     "Mr. Wood's 'Glories of Spain' is enough to increase
+     perceptibly the flow of travellers in Spain.... The real value
+     of the book will be found in its treatment of the architectural
+     and other glories which still remain to the impoverished
+     Peninsula. Mr. Wood's account of them and their associations
+     ought to divert the attention of tourists with means and energy
+     from more conventional paths."--_Yorkshire Post._
+
+     "Mr. Wood has a singularly fascinating style in presenting his
+     impressions of these old-world lands. To an observant eye and a
+     listening ear he adds a charm of manner which is rare amongst
+     authors who specialise in travel-talk. The book makes excellent
+     reading. It is a book to get, a book to read, and a book to
+     keep."--_Sheffield Daily Telegraph._
+
+     "Mr. Wood has provided us with such a charming description of
+     his travels that deep regret is felt when the sojourn in Spain
+     draws to its close--regret which, we are sure, must have been
+     very keenly felt by the author. This regret will be thus felt
+     by Mr. Wood's readers. Mr. Wood is a consummate artist in his
+     special field of literature, as the reading public long since
+     discovered. In this last book we are not disappointed. 'Glories
+     of Spain' is indeed a charming literary production, and seems
+     to us a book to keep in a prominent place upon the exclusive
+     bookshelf, a book to be read and re-read, a book to
+     love."--_Western Daily Press._
+
+     "We should like to dwell at greater length on a book which is
+     so brimful of the charm of a lovely land and an interesting
+     people; but we trust enough has been said to recommend it to
+     the attention of all lovers of the picturesque, whether in
+     Nature or humanity."--_Glasgow Herald._
+
+     "A subject so entrancing in the hands of so experienced a
+     traveller as Mr. Charles W. Wood could not fail to prove
+     interesting.... Mr. Wood has a keen appreciation of the
+     ludicrous, and can relate a comical incident or a practical
+     joke with appropriate lightness; while he is by no means
+     insensible to the pathos and romance inseparable from Spanish
+     story.... The book is so equal in style that it is difficult to
+     select one portion of it as being better than the rest.... He
+     relates tales of Saragosa as moving and pathetic as any ever
+     imagined by poet or novelist. Valencia, the 'Garden of Spain,'
+     also receives its share of eloquent and vivid language; and,
+     indeed, there is no place within the wide range of this tour
+     which does not supply some prolific theme for the author's
+     glowing pen."--_Dundee Advertiser._
+
+     "Mr. Wood's brilliant word-sketches, with never a line too
+     much, give exactly the true feeling for Spanish architecture
+     and the picturesque scenes of Spanish life.... What one finds
+     above all is the insight into human nature and the
+     comprehension of suffering and self-denial in unexpected
+     places, which are qualities in an author the rarest and
+     choicest. Anyone can describe, after a fashion, the old cities
+     of northern Spain, but very few can make their people live in
+     cold print and draw the reader to them by the warm touch of
+     sympathy. This Mr. Wood does, and does amazingly. This book is
+     a gallery of Spanish portraits, full of character, and pathos,
+     and humour, and simplicity. We would not spare one of them, and
+     we do not know which we like best; all we wish is that the
+     author may go again and paint us some more."--_Saturday
+     Review._
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Trevlyn Hold, by Mrs. Henry Wood
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