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diff --git a/40936-0.txt b/40936-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8ed0136 --- /dev/null +++ b/40936-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,20813 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40936 *** + +Note: Images of the original pages are available through + Internet Archive. See + http://archive.org/details/johnnyludlowthir00wood + + +Transcriber's note: + + Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). + + Text enclosed by plus signs is in Old English font + (+Old English+). + + Small capitals were changed to all capitals. + + A list of corrections is at the end of the book. + + + + + +JOHNNY LUDLOW. + +THIRD SERIES + +[Illustration] + + +JOHNNY LUDLOW + +by + +MRS. HENRY WOOD + +Author of +"East Lynne," "The Channings," etc. + +THIRD SERIES. + + + + + + + ++Twenty-Third Thousand+ + ++London:+ +Macmillan and Co., Limited. +New York: the Macmillan Company. +1899. + +London: +Printed by William Clowes and Sons, Limited, +Stamford Street and Charing Cross. + + + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE + + THE MYSTERY OF JESSY PAGE 1 + + CRABB RAVINE 43 + + OUR VISIT 87 + + JANET CAREY 112 + + DR. KNOX 135 + + HELEN WHITNEY'S WEDDING 158 + + HELEN'S CURATE 180 + + JELLICO'S PACK 203 + + CAROMEL'S FARM 223 + + CHARLOTTE AND CHARLOTTE 244 + + THE LAST OF THE CAROMELS 267 + + A DAY IN BRIAR WOOD 290 + + THE STORY OF DOROTHY GRAPE: DISAPPEARANCE 313 + + THE STORY OF DOROTHY GRAPE: IN AFTER YEARS 335 + + LADY JENKINS: MINA 359 + + LADY JENKINS: DOUBT 382 + + LADY JENKINS: MADAME 406 + + LADY JENKINS: LIGHT 429 + + THE ANGELS' MUSIC 452 + + + + + "God sent his Singers upon earth + With songs of sadness and of mirth, + That they might touch the hearts of men, + And bring them back to heaven again." + LONGFELLOW. + + + + +JOHNNY LUDLOW + + + + +THE MYSTERY OF JESSY PAGE. + + +I. + +Our old grey church at Church Dykely stood in a solitary spot. Servant +maids (two of ours once, Hannah and Molly), and silly village girls went +there sometimes to watch for the "shadows" on St. Mark's Eve, and owls +had a habit of darting out of the belfry at night. Within view of the +church, though at some distance from it, stood the lonely, red-brick, +angular dwelling-house belonging to Copse Farm. It was inhabited by Mr. +Page, a plain worthy widower, getting in years; his three daughters +and little son. Abigail and Susan Page, two experienced, sensible, +industrious young women, with sallow faces and bunches of short dark +curls, were at this period, about midway between twenty and thirty: +Jessy, very much younger, was gone out to get two years' "finishing" at +a plain boarding-school; Charles, the lad, had bad health and went to +school by day at Church Dykely. + +Mr. Page fell ill. He would never again be able to get about much. His +two daughters, so far as indoor work and management went, were hosts in +themselves, Miss Abigail especially; but they could not mount a horse to +superintend out-of-doors. Other arrangements were made. The second son +of Mr. Drench, a neighbouring farmer and friend, came to the Copse +Farm by day as overlooker. He was paid for his services, and he gained +experience. + +No sooner had John Drench, a silent, bashful young farmer, good-looking +and fairly-well educated, been installed in his new post, than he began +to show a decided admiration for Miss Susan Page--who was a few months +younger than himself. The slight advances he made were favourably +received; and it was tacitly looked upon that they were "as good as +engaged." Things went on pleasantly through the spring, and might have +continued to go on so, but for the coming home at Midsummer of the +youngest daughter, Jessy. That led to no end of complications and +contrariety. + +She was the sweetest flower you ever saw; a fair, delicate lily, with a +mild countenance, blue eyes, and golden hair. Jessy had never been very +strong; she had always been very pretty; and the consequence was that +whilst her sisters had grown up to be useful, not to be idle a minute +throughout the long day, Jessy had been petted and indulged, and +was little except being ornamental. The two years' schooling had not +improved her taste for domestic occupation. To tell the truth, Jessy was +given to being uncommonly idle. + +To John Drench, who had not seen her since her early girlhood, she +appeared as a vision of beauty. "It was like an angel coming in at the +door," he said of the day she first came home, when telling the tale to +a stranger in after years. "My eyes were fairly dazzled." + +Like an angel! And unfortunately for John Drench, his heart was dazzled +as well as his eyes. He fell desperately in love with her. It taught +him that what he had felt for Miss Susan was not love at all; only +esteem, and the liking that so often arises from companionship. He was +well-meaning, but inexperienced. As he had never spoken to Susan, the +utmost sign he had given being a look or a warmer handshake than usual, +he thought there would be no difficulty in transferring his homage to +the younger sister. Susan Page, who really loved him, and perhaps looked +on with the keen eyes of jealousy, grew at last to see how matters were. +She would have liked to put him in a corn-sack and give him a good +shaking by way of cure. Thus the summer months went over in some silent +discomfort, and September came in warm and fine. + +Jessy Page stood at the open parlour window in her airy summer muslin, +twirling a rose in her hand, blue ribbons falling from her hair: for +Jessy liked to set herself off in little adornments. She was laughing at +John Drench outside, who had appeared covered with mud from the pond, +into which he had contrived partially to slip when they were dragging +for eels. + +"I think your picture ought to be taken, just as you look now, Mr. +John." + +He thought _hers_ ought to be: the bright fair face, the laughing blue +eyes, the parted lips and the pretty white teeth presented a picture +that, to him, had never had its equal. + +"Do you, Miss Jessy? That's a fine rose," he shyly added. He was always +shy with her. + +She held it out. She had not the least objection to be admired, even by +John Drench in an unpresentable state. In their hearts, women have all +desired men's flattery, from Eve downwards. + +"These large roses are the sweetest of any," she went on. "I plucked it +from the tree beyond the grass-plat." + +"You are fond of flowers, I've noticed, Miss Jessy." + +"Yes, I am. Both for themselves and for the language they symbolise." + +"What language is it?" + +"Don't you know? I learnt it at school. Each flower possesses its own +meaning, Mr. John Drench. This, the rose, is true love." + +"True love, is it, Miss Jessy!" + +She was lightly flirting it before his face. It was too much for him, +and he took it gently from her. "Will you give it me?" he asked below +his breath. + +"Oh, with great pleasure." And then she lightly added, as if to damp the +eager look on his face: "There are plenty more on the same tree." + +"An emblem of true love," he softly repeated. "It's a pretty thought. I +wonder who invented----" + +"Now then, John Drench, do you know that tea's waiting. Are you going to +sit down in those muddy boots and leggings?" + +The sharp words came from Susan Page. Jessy turned and saw her sister's +pale, angry face. John Drench disappeared, and Miss Susan went out +again, and banged the door. + +"It is high time Jessy was put to some regular employment," cried +Susan, bursting into the room where Miss Page sat making the tea. "She +idles away her time in the most frivolous and wasteful manner, never +doing an earthly thing. It is quite sinful." + +"So it is," acquiesced Miss Page. "Have you a headache, Susan? You look +pale." + +"Never mind my looks," wrathfully retorted Susan. "We will portion out +some share of work for her from to-day. She might make up the butter, +and undertake the pies and puddings, and do the plain sewing." + +William Page, a grey-haired man, sitting with a stick by his side, +looked up. "Pretty creature!" he said, for he passionately loved his +youngest daughter. "I'll not have her hard-worked, Susan." + +"But you'd not have her sit with her hands before her from Monday +morning till Saturday night, I suppose, father!" sharply returned Miss +Susan. "She'll soon be nineteen." + +"No, no; idleness brings nothing but evil in its train. I didn't mean +that, Susan. Let the child do what is suitable for her. Where's John +Drench?" + +"In a fine mess--up to his middle in mud," was Miss Susan's tart answer. +"One would think he had been trying to see how great an object he could +make of himself." + +John Drench came in, somewhat improved, his coat changed and the rose in +his button-hole. He took his seat at the tea-table, and was more shy and +silent than ever. Jessy sat by her father, chattering gaily, her blue +ribbons flickering before his loving eyes. + +But the butter-making and the other light work was fated not to be +inaugurated yet for Jessy. Charles Page, a tiresome, indulged lad of +twelve, became ill again: he was subject to attacks of low fever and +ague. Mr. Duffham, peering at the boy over his gold-headed cane, said +there was nothing for it but a dose of good seaside air. Mr. Page, +anxious for his boy, began to consult with his daughters as to how it +might be obtained. They had some very distant connections named Allen, +living at Aberystwith. To them Miss Page wrote, asking if they could +take in Charles and one of his sisters to live with them for a month or +so. Mrs. Allen replied that she would be glad to have them; since her +husband's death she had eked out a scanty income by letting lodgings. + +It was Jessy who went with him. The house and farm could not have spared +Abigail; Susan said neither should it spare her. Jessy, the idle and +useless one had to go. Miss Susan thought she and John Drench were well +rid of the young lady. + +September was in its second week when they went; November was at its +close when they returned. The improvement in Charles had been so marked +and wonderful--as Mrs. Allen and Jessy both wrote to say--that Mr. +Duffham had strongly urged his staying as long as the weather remained +fine. It was a remarkably fine late autumn that year, and they stayed +until the end of November. + +Charles came home well and strong. Jessy was more beautiful than ever. +But there was some change in her. The light-hearted, talking, laughing +girl had grown rather silent: she was often heard singing snatches of +love songs to herself in a low voice, and there was a light in her eyes +as of some intense, secret happiness that might not be told. John +Drench, who had begun to show signs of returning to his old allegiance +(at least, Miss Susan so flattered herself), fell a willing captive +again forthwith, and had certainly neither eyes nor ears for any one but +Jessy. Susan Page came to the conclusion that a shaking in a sack would +be far too good for him. + + * * * * * + +The way of dressing the churches for Christmas in those past days was +quite different from the new style of "decoration" obtaining now. Sprays +of holly with their red berries, of ivy with its brown clusters, were +stuck, each alternately into the holes on the top of the pews. It was a +better way than the present one, far more effective--though I, Johnny +Ludlow, shall be no doubt laughed at for saying so. Your woven wreaths +tied round the pulpit and reading-desk; your lettered scrolls; your +artificial flowers, may be talked of as "artistic," but for effect they +all stand absolutely as nothing, in comparison with the more simple and +natural way, and they are, perhaps, the least bit tawdry. If you don't +believe me, pay a visit to some rural church next Christmas morning--for +the old fashion is observed in many a country district still--and judge +for yourselves. With many another custom that has been changed by the +folly and fashion of these later days of pretension, and not changed for +the better, lies this one. That is my opinion, and I hold to it. + +The dressing in our church was always done by the clerk, old Bumford. +The sexton (called familiarly with us the grave-digger) helped him when +his health permitted, but he was nearly always ill, and then Bumford +himself had to be grave-digger. It was not much trouble, this manner of +decoration, and it took very little time. They had only to cut off the +sprays almost of the same size, trim the ends, and lodge them in the +holes. In the last century when a new country church was rebuilt (though +that did not happen often), the drilling of these holes in the woodwork +of the pews, for the reception of the "Christmas," was as much a matter +of course as were the pews themselves. Our Christmas was supplied by Mr. +Page with a liberal hand; the Copse Farm abounded with trees of holly +and ivy; one of his men, Leek, would help Bumford to cut it, and to cart +it in a hand-truck to the church. It took a good deal to do all the +pews. + +On this Christmas that I am telling you of, it fell out that Clerk +Bumford and the sexton were both disabled. Bumford had rheumatic gout so +badly that getting him into church for the morning service the past +three Sundays had been a marvel of dexterity--while the sexton was in +bed with what he called catarrh. At first it seemed that we should +not get the church dressed at all: but the Miss Pages, ever ready and +active in a good work, came to the rescue, and said they would do it +themselves, with John Drench's help. The Squire was not going to be +behind-hand, and said we boys, for Tod and I were just home for the +holidays, should help too. + +And when Christmas Eve came, and Leek had wheeled up the holly, and we +were all in the cold church (not I think that any of us cared whether it +was cold or warm), we enjoyed the work amazingly, and decided that old +Bumford should never be let do it again, gout or no gout. + +Jessy Page was a picture to look at. The two elder ladies had on tight +dark cloth dresses, like a riding-habit cut short, at the ankles: Jessy +was in a bright blue mantle edged with swans-down, and a blue bonnet on +her pretty head. She came in a little late, and Miss Susan blew her up +sharply, for putting on that "best Sunday cape" to dress a church in: +but Jessy only laughed good-naturedly, and answered that she would take +care not to harm it. Susan Page, trimming the branches, had seen John +Drench's eyes fixed on the girl: and her knife worked away like mad in +her vexation. + +"Look here," said Jessy: "we have never had any Christmas over the +pulpit; I think old Bumford was afraid to get up to do it; let us put +some. It would hide that ugly nail in the wall." + +"There are no holes up in the wall," snapped Miss Susan. + +"I meant a large bunch; a bunch of holly and ivy mixed, Susan. John +Drench could tie it to the nail: it would look well." + +"I'll do it, too," said John. "I've some string in my pocket. The parson +won't know himself. It will be as good as a canopy over him." + +Miss Page turned round: she and Charley had their arms full of the +branches we had been cutting. + +"Put a bunch there, if you like, but let us finish the pews first," she +said. "If we go from one thing to another we shall not finish while it's +daylight." + +It was good sense: she rarely spoke anything else. Once let darkness +overtake us, and the dressing would be done for. The church knew nothing +about evening service, and had never felt the want of means to light +itself up. + +"I shall pick out the best sprays in readiness," whispered Jessy to me, +as we sat together on the bench by the big christening bowl, she +choosing branches, I trimming them. "Look at this one! you could not +count the berries on it." + +"Did you enjoy your visit to Aberystwith, Jessy?" + +I wondered what there was in my simple question to move her. The branch +of holly went anywhere; her hands met in a silent clasp; the expression +of her face changed to one of curious happiness. In answering, her voice +fell to a whisper. + +"Yes, I enjoyed it." + +"What a long time you stayed away! An age, Mrs. Todhetley says." + +"It was nearly eleven weeks." + +"Eleven weeks! How tedious!" + +Her face was glowing, her eyes had a soft light in them. She caught up +some holly, and began scattering its berries. + +"What did you do with yourself, Jessy?" + +"I used to sit by the sea--and to walk about. It was very fine. They +don't often have it like that in November, Mrs. Allen said." + +"Did Mrs. Allen sit and walk with you?" + +"No. She had enough to do with the house and her lodgers. We only saw +her at meal times." + +"The Miss Allens, perhaps?" + +"There are no Miss Allens. Only one little boy." + +"Why, then, you had no one but Charley!" + +"Charley? Oh, he used to be always about with little Tom Allen--in a +boat, or something of that sort. Mrs. Allen thought the sea breezes must +be so good for him." + +"Well, you must have been very dull!" + +Jessy looked rather foolish. She was a simple-minded girl at the best. +The two elder sisters had all the strong sense of the family, she the +simplicity. Some people called Jessy Page "soft": perhaps, contrasted +with her sisters, she was so: and she was very inexperienced. + +The dusk was gathering, and Charley had gone out tired, when John Drench +got into the pulpit to tie the bunch of holly to the wall above it. Tod +was with him. Drench had his hands stretched out, and we stood watching +them in a group in the aisle below, when the porch-door was burst open, +and in leaped Charles. + +"Jessy! I say! Where's Jessy?" + +"I am here," said Jessy, looking round. "What do you want?" + +"Here's Mr. Marcus Allen." + +Who Mr. Marcus Allen might be, Charles did not say. Jessy knew: there +was no doubt of that. Her face, just then close to mine, had flushed as +red as a June rose. + +A tall, dark, imposing man came looming out of the dusk. His handsome, +furred great-coat was open, his waistcoat was of crimson velvet; he wore +two chains, three rings, and an eye-glass. And I'll leave you to judge +of the effect this vision of grandeur made, dropping down on us plain +church-dressers in our every-day clothes. John Drench leaned over the +pulpit cushion, string in hand; the two Miss Pages stood staring; Jessy +turned white and red with the unexpected amazement. It was to her he +approached, and spoke. + +"How do you do, Miss Jessy?" + +She put her hand out in answer to his; but seemed to have been struck as +dumb as the old stone image on the monument against the wall. + +"These are your sisters, I presume, Miss Jessy? Will you do me the +honour of introducing me to them?" + +"Mr. Marcus Allen," murmured Jessy. "My sister Abigail; my sister +Susan." + +Mr. Marcus Allen, bowing over his hat, said something about the pleasure +it gave him to make their acquaintance personally, after hearing so much +of them from Miss Jessy at Aberystwith, and begged to be allowed to +shake their hands. Miss Page, when the hand-shaking was over, said in +her straightforward way that she did not know who he was, her young +sister never having mentioned him. Jessy, standing like a little +simpleton, her eyes bent down on the aisle bricks, murmured in confusion +that she "forgot it." John Drench had his face over the cushion all that +time, and Tod's arms began to ache, holding up the bunch of green. + +Mr. Marcus Allen, it turned out, was related in some way to the Allens +of Aberystwith: he happened to go to the town soon after Jessy Page and +her brother went there, and he stayed until they left it. Not at the +Allens' house: he had lodgings elsewhere. Mrs. Allen spoke of him to +Jessy as a "grand gentleman, quite above them." An idea came over me, as +we all now stood together, that he had been Jessy's companion in the +walking and the sitting by the sea. + +"I told Miss Jessy that I should be running down some day to renew my +acquaintanceship with her and make that of her family," said Mr. Marcus +Allen to Miss Page. "Having no particular engagement on my hands this +Christmas time, I came." + +He spoke in the most easy manner conceivable: his accent and manner were +certainly those of a gentleman. As to the fashionable attire and the +rings and chains, rather startling though they looked to us in the +dark church on that dark and busy evening, they were all the rage for +dandies in the great world then. + +Noticing the intimation that he had come purposely to see them, Miss +Page supposed that she ought, in hospitably good manners, to invite him +to stay a day or two at the farm, but doubted whether so imposing a +gentleman would condescend to do so. She said nothing about it then, and +we all went out of the church together; except John Drench, who stayed +behind with Leek to help clear up the litter for the man to carry away. +It was light outside, and I took a good look at the stranger: a handsome +man of seven-or-eight-and-twenty, with hard eyes, and black whiskers +curled to perfection. + +"In what way is he related to the Allens of Aberystwith, Jessy?" +questioned Miss Page, drawing her sister away, as we went through the +coppice. + +"I don't quite know, Abigail. He is some distant cousin." + +"How came you never to speak of him?" + +"I--I did not remember to do so." + +"Very careless of you, child. Especially if he gave you cause to suppose +he might come here. I don't like to be taken by surprise by strangers; +it is not always convenient." + +Jessy walked along in silence, meek as a lamb. + +"What is he?--in any profession, or trade?" + +"Trade? Oh, I don't think he does anything of that kind, Abigail. That +branch of the family would be above it, Mrs. Allen said. He has a large +income, she says; plenty of money." + +"I take it, then, that he is above _us_," reasoned Miss Page. + +"Oh dear, yes: in station. Ever so much." + +"Then I'm sure I don't care to entertain him." + +Miss Page went straight into the best kitchen on arriving at home. Her +father sat in the large hearth corner, smoking his pipe. She told him +about the stranger, and said she supposed they must ask him to stay over +the morrow--Christmas-Day. + +"Why shouldn't we?" asked Mr. Page. + +"Well, father, he seems very grand and great." + +"Does he? Give him the best bedroom." + +"And our ways are plain and simple, you know," she added. + +"He must take us as he finds us, Abigail. Any friend of Mrs. Allen's is +welcome: she was downright kind to the children." + +We had a jolly tea. Tod and I had been asked to it beforehand. +Pork-pies, Miss Susan's making, hot buttered batch-cakes, and lemon +cake and jams. Mr. Marcus Allen was charmed with everything: he was a +pleasant man to talk to. When we left, he and Mr. Page had gone to the +best kitchen again, to smoke together in the wide chimney corner. + + * * * * * + +You Londoners, who go in for your artistic scrolls and crosses, should +have seen the church on Christmas morning. It greeted our sight, as we +entered from the porch, like a capacious grove of green, on which the +sun streamed through the south windows. Old Bumford's dressing had never +been as full and handsome as this of ours, for we had rejected all +niggardly sprays. The Squire even allowed that much. Shaking hands with +Miss Page in the porch after service, he told her that it cut Clerk +Bumford out and out. Mr. Marcus Allen, in fashionable coat, with the +furred over-coat flung back, light gloves, and big white wristbands, was +in the Pages' pew, sitting between old Page and Jessy. He found all the +places for her in her Prayer-book (a shabby red one, some of the leaves +loose); bowing slightly every time he handed her the book, as if she had +been a princess of the blood royal. Such gallantry was new in our parts: +and the congregation were rather taken off their devotions watching it. +As to Jessy, she kept flushing like a rose. + +Mr. Marcus Allen remained more than a week, staying over New-Year's Day. +He made himself popular with them all, and enjoyed what Miss Abigail +called their plain ways, just as though he had been reared to them. He +smoked his pipe in the kitchen with the farmer; he drove Miss Susan to +Alcester in the tax-cart; he presented Miss Abigail with a handsome +work-box; and gave Charley a bright half-sovereign for bullseyes. As to +Jessy, he paid her no more attention than he did her sisters; hardly as +much: so that if Miss Susan had been entertaining any faint hope that +his object in coming to the Copse was Jessy, and that in consequence +John Drench might escape from bewitching wiles, she found the hope +fallacious. Mr. Marcus Allen had apparently no more thought of Jessy +than he had of Sally, the red-armed serving-girl. "But what in the world +brought the man here at all?" questioned Miss Susan of her sister. "He +wanted a bit of country holiday," answered Miss Page with her common +sense. + +One day during the week the Squire met them abroad, and gave an +impromptu invitation to the Manor for the evening. Only the three Miss +Pages came. Mr. Marcus Allen sent his compliments, and begged to be +excused on the score of headache. + +One evening at dusk we met him and Jessy. She had been out on some +errand, and he overtook her in the little coppice path between the +church and the farm. Tod, dashing through it to get home for dinner, I +after him, nearly dashed right upon them. Mr. Marcus Allen had his face +inside her bonnet, as if he were speaking in the ear of a deaf old lady +of seventy. Tod burst out laughing when we got on. + +"That fellow was stealing a sly kiss in the dark, Johnny." + +"Like his impudence." + +"Rubbish," retorted Tod. "It's Christmas-tide, and all fair. Didn't you +see the bit of mistletoe he was holding up?" And Tod ran on, whistling a +line of a song that the Squire used to sing in his young days: + + "We all love a pretty girl, under the rose." + +Mr. Marcus Allen left the Copse Farm with hearty thanks for its +hospitality. He promised to come again in the summer, when the fields +should be sweet with hay and the golden corn was ripening. + +No sooner had he gone than John Drench asked Jessy to promise to be his +wife. Whether he had felt any secret jealousy of Mr. Marcus Allen and +his attractions, and deemed it well to secure Jessy as soon as the coast +was clear, he spoke out. Jessy did not receive the honour kindly. She +tossed her pretty head in a violent rage: the idea, she said, of her +marrying _him_. Jessy had never flirted with John Drench since the +Aberystwith journey, or encouraged him in any way--that was certain. +Unpleasantness ensued at the farm. Mr. Page decidedly approved of the +suitor: he alone had perceived nothing of Susan's hopes: and, perhaps +for the first time in his life, he spoke sharply to Jessy. John Drench +was not to be despised, he told her; his father was a wealthy man, and +John would have a substantial portion; more than double enough to put +him into the largest and best farm in the county: Mr. Drench was only +waiting for a good one to fall in, to take it for him. No: Jessy would +not listen. And as the days went on and John Drench, _as she said_, +strove to further his suit on every opportunity, she conceived, or +professed, a downright aversion to him. Sadly miserable indeed she +seemed, crying often; and saying she would rather go out as lady's-maid +to some well-born lady than stay at home to be persecuted. Miss Susan +was in as high a state of rapture as the iniquity of false John Drench +permitted; and said it served the man right for making an oaf of +himself. + +"Let be," cried old Page of Jessy. "She'll come to her senses in time." +But Miss Abigail, regarding Jessy in silence with her critical eyes, +took up the notion that the girl had some secret source of discomfort, +with which John Drench had nothing to do. + +It was close upon this, scarcely beyond the middle of January, when one +Monday evening Duffham trudged over from Church Dykely for a game at +chess with the Squire. Hard weather had set in; ice and snow lay on +the ground. Mrs. Todhetley nursed her face by the fire, for she had +toothache as usual; Tod watched the chess; I was reading. In the midst +of a silence, the door opened, and old Thomas ushered in John Drench, a +huge red comforter round his neck, his hat in his hand. + +"Good-evening, Squire; good-evening, ma'am," said he in his shy way, +nodding separately to the rest of us, as he unwound the comforter. "I've +come for Miss Jessy, please." + +"Come for Miss Jessy!" was the Squire's surprised echo. "Miss Jessy's +not here. Take a seat, Mr. John." + +"Not here?" cried Drench, opening his eyes in something like fear, and +disregarding the invitation to sit down. "Not here! Why where can she +have got to? Surely she has not fallen down in the snow and ice, and +disabled herself?" + +"Why did you think she was here?" + +"I don't know," he replied, after a pause, during which he seemed to be +lost. "Miss Jessy was not at home at tea: later, when I was leaving for +the night, Miss Abigail asked me if I would come over here first and +fetch Jessy. I asked no questions, but came off at once." + +"She has not been here," said Mrs. Todhetley. "I have not seen Jessy +Page since yesterday afternoon, when I spoke to her coming out of +church." + +John Drench looked mystified. That there must have been some +misapprehension on Miss Page's part; or else on his, and he had come to +the wrong house; or that poor Jessy had come to grief in the snow on her +way to us, seemed certain. He drank a glass of ale, and went away. + +They were over again at breakfast time in the morning, John Drench and +Miss Abigail herself, bringing strange news. The latter's face turned +white as she told it. Jessy Page had not been found. John Drench and two +of the men had been out all night in the fields and lanes, searching for +her. Miss Abigail gave us her reasons for thinking Jessy had come to +Dyke Manor. + +On the Sunday afternoon, when the Miss Pages went home from church, +Jessy, instead of turning indoors with them, continued her way onwards +to the cottage of a poor old woman named Matt, saying Mrs. Todhetley had +told her the old granny was very ill. At six o'clock, when they had +tea--tea was always late on Sunday evenings, as Sally had leave to stay +out gossiping for a good hour after service--it was discovered that +Jessy had not come in. Charley was sent out after her, and met her at +the gate. She had a scolding from her sister for staying out after dark +had fallen; but all she said in excuse was, that the old granny was +so very ill. That passed. On the Monday, soon after dinner, she came +downstairs with her things on, saying she was going over to Dyke Manor, +having promised Mrs. Todhetley to let her know the real state of Granny +Matt. "Don't thee get slipping in the snow, Jessy," said Mr. Page to +her, half jokingly. "No danger, father," she replied: and went up and +kissed him. As she did not return by tea-time, Miss Page took it for +granted she was spending the evening with us. Since that, she had not +been seen. + +It seemed very odd. Mrs. Todhetley said that in talking with Jessy in +the porch, she had incidentally mentioned the sickness of Granny Matt. +Jessy immediately said she would go there and see her; and if she found +her very ill would send word to Dyke Manor. Talk as they would, there +was no more to be made of it than that: Jessy had left home to come to +us, and was lost by the way. + +Lost to her friends, at any rate, if not to herself. John Drench and +Miss Page departed; and all day long the search after Jessy and the +speculation as to what had become of her continued. At first, no one had +glanced at anything except some untoward accident as the sole cause, but +gradually opinions veered round to a different fear. They began to think +she might have run away! + +Run away to escape Mr. John Drench's persevering attentions; and to seek +the post of lady's-maid--which she had been expressing a wish for. John +stated, however, that he had _not_ persecuted her; that he had resolved +to let a little time go by in silence, and then try his luck again. +Granny Matt was questioned, and declared most positively that the young +lady had not stayed ten minutes with her; that it was only "duskish" +when she went away. "Duskish" at that season, in the broad open country, +with the white snow on the ground, would mean about five o'clock. What +had Jessy done with herself during the other hour--for it was past six +when she reached home,--and why should she have excused her tardiness by +implying that Granny Matt's illness had kept her? + +No one could fathom it. No one ever knew. Before that first day of +trouble was over, John Drench suggested worse. Deeply mortified at its +being said that she might have run away from him, he breathed a hasty +retort--that it was more likely she had been run away with by Mr. Marcus +Allen. Had William Page been strong enough he had certainly knocked him +down for the aspersion. Susan heard it with a scared face: practical +Miss Abigail sternly demanded upon what grounds he spoke. Upon no +grounds in particular, Drench honestly answered: it was a thought that +came into his mind and he spoke it on the spur of the moment. Any way, +it was most unjust to say he had sent her. + +The post-mistress at the general shop, Mrs. Smail, came forward with +some testimony. Miss Jessy had been no less than twice to the shop +during the past fortnight, nay, three times, she thought, to inquire +after letters addressed J. P. The last time she received one. Had she +been negotiating privately for the lady's-maid's situation, wondered +Abigail: had she been corresponding with Mr. Marcus Allen, retorted +Susan, in her ill-nature; for she did not just now hold Jessy in any +favour. Mrs. Smail was asked whether she had observed, amongst the +letters dropped into the box, any directed to Mr. Marcus Allen. But +this had to be left an open question: there might have been plenty +directed to him, or there might not have been a single one, was the +unsatisfactory answer: she had "no 'call' to examine the directions, +and as often did up the bag without her spectacles as with 'em." + +All this, put together, certainly did not tend to show that Mr. Marcus +Allen had anything to do with the disappearance. Jessy had now and +then received letters from her former schoolfellows addressed to the +post-office--for her sisters, who considered her but a child, had an +inconvenient habit of looking over her shoulder while she read them. The +whole family, John Drench included, were up to their ears in agony: they +did not know in what direction to look for her; were just in that state +of mind when straws are caught at. Tod, knowing it could do no harm, +told Miss Abigail about the kiss in the coppice. Miss Abigail quite +laughed at it: kisses under the mistletoe were as common as blackberries +with us, and just as innocent. She wrote to Aberystwith, asking +questions about Marcus Allen, especially as to where he might be found. +In answer, Mrs. Allen said she had not heard from him since he left +Aberystwith, early in December, but had no doubt he was in London at his +own home: she did not know exactly where that was, except that it was +"somewhere at the West End." + +This letter was not more satisfactory than anything else. Everything +seemed vague and doubtful. Miss Page read it to her father when he was +in bed: Susan had just brought up his breakfast, and he sat up with the +tray before him, his face nearly as white as the pillow behind him. They +could not help seeing how ill and how shrunken he looked: Jessy's loss +had told upon him. + +"I think, father, I had better go to London, and see if anything's to be +learnt there," said Miss Page. "We cannot live on, in this suspense." + +"Ay; best go," answered he, "_I_ can't live in it, either. I've had +another sleepless night: and I wish that I was strong to travel. I +should have been away long ago searching for the child----." + +"You see, father, we don't know where to seek her; we've no clue," +interrupted Abigail. + +"I'd have gone from place to place till I found her. But now, I'll tell +ye, Abigail, where you must go first--the thought has been in my mind +all night. And that is to Madame Caron's." + +"To Madame Caron's!" echoed both the sisters at once. "Madame Caron's!" + +"Don't either of you remember how your mother used to talk of her? She +was Ann Dicker. She knows a sight of great folks now--and it may be that +Jessy's gone to her. Bond Street, or somewhere near to it, is where she +lives." + +In truth they had almost forgotten the person mentioned. Madame Caron +had once been plain Ann Dicker, of Church Dykely, intimate with William +Page and his wife. She went to London when a young woman to learn the +millinery and dress-making; married a Frenchman, and rose by degrees to +be a fashionable court-milliner. It struck Mr. Page, during the past +night-watch, that Jessy might have applied to Madame Caron to help her +in getting a place as lady's-maid. + +"It's the likeliest thing she'd do," he urged, "if her mind was bent +that way. How was she to find such a place of herself?--and I wish we +had all been smothered before we'd made her home here unhappy, and put +her on to think of such a thing." + +"Father, I don't think her home was made unhappy," said Miss Page. + +To resolve and to do were one with prompt Abigail Page. Not a moment +lost she, now that some sort of clue was given to act upon. That same +morning she was on her way to London, attended by John Drench. + + * * * * * + +A large handsome double show-room. Brass hooks on the walls and slender +bonnet-stands on the tables, garnished with gowns and mantles and +head-gear and fal-lals; wide pier-glasses; sofas and chairs covered +with chintz. Except for these articles, the room was empty. In a small +apartment opening from it, called "the trying-on room," sat Madame Caron +herself, taking a comfortable cup of tea and a toasted muffin, after the +labours of the day were over. Not that the labours were great at that +season: people who require court millinery being for the most part out +of town. + +"You are wanted, if you please, madame, in the show-room," said a page +in buttons, coming in to disturb the tea. + +"Wanted!--at this hour!" cried Madame Caron, as she glanced at the +clock, and saw it was on the stroke of six. "Who is it?" + +"It's a lady and gentleman, madame. They look like travellers." + +"Go in and light the gas," said madame. + +"Passing through London and requiring things in a hurry," thought she, +mentally running through a list of some of her most fashionable +customers. + +She went in with a swimming curtsy--quite that of a Frenchwoman--and the +parties, visitors and visited, gazed at each other in the gaslight. +_They_ saw a very stylish lady in rich black satin that stood on end, +and lappets of point lace: _she_ saw two homely country people, the one +in a red comforter, muffled about his ears, the other in an antiquated +fur tippet that must originally have come out of Noah's ark. + +"Is it--Madame Caron?" questioned Miss Abigail, in hesitation. For, +you see, she doubted whether it might not be one of Madame Caron's +duchesses. + +"I have the honour to be Madame Caron," replied the lady with her +grandest air. + +Thus put at ease in regard to identity, Miss Page introduced +herself--and John Drench, son of Mr. Drench of the Upland Farm. Madame +Caron--who had a good heart, and retained amidst her grandeur a vivid +remembrance of home and early friends--came down from her stilts on the +instant, took off with her own hands the objectionable tippet, on the +plea of heat, conducted them into the little room, and rang for a fresh +supply of tea and muffins. + +"I remember you so well when you were a little thing, Abigail," she +said, her heart warming to the old days. "We always said you would grow +up like your mother, and so you have. Ah, dear! that's something like a +quarter-of-a-century ago. As to you, Mr. John, your father and I were +boy and girl sweethearts." + +Over the refreshing tea and the muffins, Abigail Page told her tale. The +whole of it. Her father had warned her not to hint a word against Jessy; +but there was something in the face before her that spoke of truth +and trust; and, besides, she did not see her way clear _not_ to speak +of Marcus Allen. To leave him out altogether would have been like +bargaining for a spring calf in the dark, as she said later to John +Drench. + +"I have never had a line from Jessy in all my life: I have neither seen +her nor heard of her," said madame. "As to Mr. Marcus Allen, I don't +know him personally myself, but Miss Connaway, my head dressmaker, does: +for I have heard her speak of him. I can soon find out for you where he +lives." + +Miss Page thought she should like to see the head dressmaker, and a +message was sent up for her. A neat little middle-aged woman came down, +and was invited to the tea-table. Madame turned the conversation on Mr. +Marcus Allen; telling Miss Connaway that these country friends of hers +knew him slightly, and would be glad to get his address to call upon +him; but she did not say a syllable about Jessy. + +Mr. Marcus Allen had about two hundred a year of his own, and was an +artist in water-colours. The certain income made him idle; and he played +just as much as he worked. The few pictures he completed were good, and +sold well. He shared a large painting-room somewhere with a brother +artist, but lived in chambers. All this Miss Connaway told readily; she +had known him since he was a child. + +Late though it was, Miss Abigail and her cavalier proceeded to Marcus +Allen's lodgings; or "chambers," as they were ostentatiously called, and +found him seated at dinner. He rose in the utmost astonishment at seeing +them; an astonishment that looked thoroughly genuine. + +Jessy missing! Jessy left her home! He could but reiterate the words in +wondering disbelief. Abigail Page felt reassured from that moment; even +jealous John Drench in his heart acquitted him. He had not written to +Jessy, he said; he had nothing to write to her about, therefore it could +not have been his letter she went to receive at the post-office; and +most certainly she had not written to him. Miss Abigail--willing perhaps +to offer some excuse for coming to him--said they had thought it +possible Jessy might have consulted him about getting a lady's-maid's +place. She never had consulted him, he answered, but had once told him +that she intended to go out as one. He should imagine, he added, it was +what she had done. + +Mr. Marcus Allen pressed them to sit down and partake of his dinner, +such as it was; he poured out glasses of wine; he was altogether +hospitable. But they declined all. He then asked how he could assist +them; he was most anxious they should find her, and would help in any +way that lay in his power. + +"He knows no more about her than we know," said John Drench as they +turned out into the lighted streets, on their way back to the inn they +had put up at, which had been recommended to them by Mr. Page. "I'm +sorry I misjudged him." + +"I am sorry too, John Drench," was Miss Abigail's sorrowful answer. "But +for listening to the words you said, we should never have had such a +wicked thought about her, poor child, and been spared many a bitter +moment. Where in the wide world are we to look for her now?" + +The wide world did not give any answer. London, with its teeming +millions, was an enormous arena--and there was no especial cause for +supposing Jessy Page had come to it. + +"I am afraid it will be of no use to stay here any longer," said Miss +Abigail to John Drench, after another unsatisfactory day had gone by, +during which Marcus Allen called upon them at the inn and said he had +spoken to the police. It was John Drench's own opinion. + +"Why, you see, Miss Abigail, that to look for her here, not knowing +where or how, is like looking for a needle in a bottle of hay," said +John. + +They reached home none too soon. Two unexpected events were there to +greet them. The one was Mr. Page who was lying low in an attack of +paralysis; the other was a letter from Jessy. + +It gave no clue to where she was. All she said in it was that she had +found a situation, and hoped to suit and be happy in it; and she sent +her love to all. + +And the weeks and the months went on. + + +II. + +Snow was falling. At one of the windows of the parlour at Copse Farm, +stood Susan Page, her bunch of short dark curls fastened back with a +comb on both sides of her thin face, her trim figure neat in a fine +crimson merino gown. Her own portion of household-work was already done, +though it was not yet mid-day, and she was about to sit down, dressed +for the day, to some sewing that lay on the work-table. + +"I was hoping the snow was over: the morning looked so clear and +bright," she said to herself, watching the large flakes. "Leek will have +a job to get the truck to the church." + +It was a long, narrow room. At the other end, by the fire, sat Mr. Page +in his arm-chair. He had dropped asleep, his cheek leaning on his hand. +As Miss Susan sat down and took up her work, a large pair of scissors +fell to the ground with a crash. She glanced round at her father, but he +did not wake. That stroke of a year ago had dulled his faculties. + +"I should uncommonly like to know who did this--whether Sally or the +woman," she exclaimed, examining the work she had to do. One of Mr. +Page's new shirts had been torn in the washing, and she was about to +mend the rent. "That woman has a heavy hand: and Sally a careless one. +It ought not to have been ironed." + +The door opened, and John Drench came in. When he saw that Mr. Page +was asleep, he walked up the room towards Miss Susan. In the past +twelvemonth--for that amount of time had rolled on since the trouble +about Jessy and her mysterious disappearance--John Drench had had time +to return to his first allegiance (or, as Miss Susan mentally put it, +get over his folly); and he had decidedly done it. + +"Did you want anything?" asked Susan in a cold tone. For she made a +point of being short with him--for his own benefit. + +"I wanted to ask the master whether he'd have that ditch made, that he +was talking about," was the answer. "There's no hurry about it: not much +to be done anywhere while this weather lasts." + +She made no reply. John Drench stood, waiting for Mr. Page to wake, +looking alternately at the snow and at Miss Susan's steel thimble and +nimble fingers. Very deftly was she doing the work, holding the linen +gingerly, that the well-ironed bosom and wristbands might not get +creased and unfit the shirt for wear. He was thinking what a good wife +she would make: for there was nothing, in the shape of usefulness, that +Susan Page could not put her hand to, and put it well. + +"Miss Susan, I was going to ask you a question," he began, standing +uncomfortably on one leg. "I've been wanting to do it for a good bit +now, but----" + +"Pick up my cotton," said Miss Susan tartly, dropping a reel purposely. + +"But I believe I have wanted courage," resumed he after doing as he was +bid. "It _is_ a puzzling task to know how to do it for the best, and +what to say. If you----" + +Open flew the door, and in came Miss Page, in her white kitchen apron. +Her sleeves were rolled above her elbows, her floured hands were lightly +wiped. John Drench, interrupted, thought he should never have pluck to +speak again. + +"Susan, do you know where that old red receipt-book is?" she asked, in a +low tone, glancing at her sleeping father. "I am not certain about the +proportions for the lemon cake." + +"The red receipt-book?" repeated Susan. "I have not seen it for ever so +long." + +"Nor I. I don't think I have had occasion to use it since last +Christmas-Eve. I know I had to look at it then for the lemon-cake. Sally +says she's sure it is somewhere in this room." + +"Then you had better send Sally to find it, Abigail." + +Instead of that, Miss Page began searching herself. On the book-shelves; +on the side-board; in all the nooks and corners. It was found in the +drawer of an unused table that stood against the wall. + +"Well, I declare!" she exclaimed, as she drew it out. "I wonder who put +it in here?" + +In turning over the leaves to look for what she wanted, a piece of +paper, loosely folded, fell to the ground. John Drench picked it up. + +"Why!" he said, "it is a note from Jessy." + +It was the letter written to them by Jessy, saying she had found a +situation and hoped to suit and be happy in it. The _one_ letter: for no +other had ever come. Abigail, missing the letter months ago, supposed it +had got burnt. + +"Yes," she said with a sigh, as she glanced over the few lines now, +standing by Susan's work-table, "it is Jessy's letter. She might have +written again. Every morning of my life for weeks and weeks, I kept +looking for the letter-man to bring another. But the hope died out at +last, for it never came." + +"She is a heartless baggage!" cried Miss Susan. "In her grand +lady's-maid's place, amongst her high people, she is content to forget +and abandon us. I'd never have believed it of her." + +A pause ensued. The subject was a painful one. Mortifying too: for no +one likes to be set at nought and forgotten by one that they have loved +and cherished and brought up from a little child. Abigail Page had tears +in her eyes. + +"It's just a year ago to-day that she came into the church to help us to +dress it," said John Drench, his tender tone of regret grating on Miss +Susan's ear. "In her blue mantle she looked sweeter and brighter than a +fairy." + +"Did you ever see a fairy, pray?" asked Miss Susan, sharply taking him +up. "She acted like a fairy, didn't she?" + +"Best to forget her," interposed Abigail, suppressing a sigh. "As +Susan says, she is heartless. Almost wicked: for what is worse than +ingratitude? Never to write: never to let us know where her situation is +and with what people: never to ask or care whether her poor father, who +had nothing but love for her, is living or dead? It's best to forget +her." + +She went out of the room with the note and receipt-book as she spoke, +softly closing the door behind her, as one does who is feeling trouble. +Miss Susan worked on with rapid and angry stitches; John Drench looked +out on the low-lying snow. The storm had passed: the sky was blue again. + +Yes. Christmas-Eve had come round, making it just a year since Jessy in +her pretty blue mantle had chosen the sprays of holly in the church. +They had never had from her but that one first unsatisfactory letter: +they knew no more how she went, or why she went, or where she was, than +they had known then. Within a week or two of the unsatisfactory journey +to London of Miss Abigail and John Drench, a letter came to the farm +from Mr. Marcus Allen, inquiring after Jessy, expressing hopes that she +had been found and was at home again. It was not answered: Miss Page, +busy with her father's illness, neglected it at first, and then thought +it did not matter. + +Mr. Page had recovered from his stroke: but he would never be good for +anything again. He was very much changed; would sit for hours and never +speak: at times his daughters thought him a little silly, as if his +intellect were failing. Miss Page, with John Drench's help, managed the +farm: though she always made it a point of duty to consult her father +and ask for his orders. In the month of June they heard again from Mr. +Marcus Allen. He wrote to say that he was sorry not to fulfil his +promise (made in the winter's visit) of coming to stay with them during +the time of hay-making, but he was busy finishing a painting and could +not leave it: he hoped to come at some other time. And this was now +December. + +Susan Page worked on: John Drench looked out of the window. The young +lady was determined not to break the silence. + +"The Dunn Farm is to let," said he suddenly. + +"Is it?" slightingly returned Miss Susan. + +"My father has some thoughts of taking it for me. It's good land." + +"No better than other land about here." + +"It's very good, Susan. And just the place I should like. There's an +excellent house too, on it." + +Susan Page began rummaging in the deep drawer of the work-table for her +box of buttons. She had a great mind to hum a tune. + +"But I couldn't take it, or let father take it for me, unless you'd +promise to go to it with me, Susan." + +"Promise to go to it with you, John Drench!" + +"I'd make you as good a husband as I know how. Perhaps you'll think of +it." + +No answer. She was doubling her thread to sew on the button. + +"_Will_ you think of it, Miss Susan?" + +"Well--yes, I will," she said in a softer tone, "And if I decide to +bring my mind to have you, John Drench, I'll hope to make you a good and +faithful wife." + +He held out his hand to shake hers upon the bargain. Their eyes met in +kindliness: and John Drench knew that the Dunn Farm would have its +mistress. + + * * * * * + +We were going to dress the church this year as we did the last. Clerk +Bumford's cough was bad, and the old sexton was laid by as usual. Tod +and I got to the church early in the afternoon, and saw the Miss Pages +wading their way through the coppice, over their ankles in snow: the one +lady having finished her cake-making and the other her shirt-mending. + +"Is Leek not here yet?" cried they in surprise. "We need not have made +so much haste." + +Leek with his large truck of holly was somewhere on the road. He had +started, as Miss Page said, while they were at dinner. And he was not to +be seen! + +"It is all through his obstinacy," cried Susan. "I told him he had +better take the highway, though it was a little further round; but he +said he knew he could well get through the little valley. That's where +he has stuck, truck and all." + +John Drench came up as she was speaking. He had been on some errand to +Church Dykely; and gave a bad account of the snow on the roads. This was +the third day of it. The skies just now were blue as in spring; the sun, +drawing towards the west, was without a cloud. After waiting a few +minutes, John Drench started to meet Leek and help him on; and we cooled +our heels in the church-porch, unable to get inside. As it was supposed +Leek would be there sooner than any one else, the key of the church had +been given to him that he might get the holly in. There we waited in the +cold. At last, out of patience, Tod went off in John Drench's wake, and +I after him. + +It was as Miss Susan surmised. Leek and his truck had stuck fast in the +valley: a low, narrow neck of land connecting a byeway to the farm with +the lane. The snow was above the wheels: Leek could neither get on nor +turn back. He and John Drench were hard at work, pulling and pushing; +and the obstinate truck refusing to move an inch. With the help of our +strength--if mine was not worth much, Tod's _was_--we got it on. But +all this caused ever so much delay: and the dressing was begun when it +ought to have been nearly finished. I could not help thinking of the +other Christmas-Eve; and of pretty Jessy who had helped--and of Miss +Susan scolding her for coming in her best blue mantle--and of the sudden +looming upon us of the stranger, Marcus Allen. Perhaps the rest were +thinking about it as I was. One thing was certain--that there was no +liveliness in this year's dressing; we were all as silent as mutes and +as dull as ditch-water. Charley Page, who had made enough noise last +year, was away this. He went to school at Worcester now, and had gone to +spend the Christmas with some people in Gloucestershire, instead of +coming home. + +The work was in progress, when who should look in upon us but Duffham. +He was passing by to visit some one ill in the cottages. "Rather late, +shan't you be?" cried he, seeing that there was hardly any green up yet. +And we told him about the truck sticking in the snow. + +"What possessed Leek to take it through the valley?" returned Duffham. + +"Because he is fonder of having his own way than a mule," called out +Miss Susan from the aisle. + +Duffham laughed. "Don't forget the gala bunch over the parson's head; it +looked well last year," said he, turning to go out. And we told him +there was no danger of forgetting it: it was one of our improvements on +old Bumford's dressing. + +Darkness overtook us before half the work was done. There was nothing +for it but to get candles from the Copse Farm to finish by. No one +volunteered to fetch them: a walk through the snow did not look lively +in prospective to any one of us, and Leek had gone off somewhere. "I +suppose it must be me," said John Drench, coming out from the holly to +start: when Miss Page suddenly bethought herself of what the rest of +us were forgetting--that there might be candles in the church. On a +winter's afternoon, when it grew dark early and the parson could not see +through his spectacles to finish his sermon, Clerk Bumford would go +stumping into the place under the belfry, and re-appear with a lighted +candle and hand it up to the pulpit. He ought to have a stock of candles +in store. + +John Drench struck some matches, and we went to explore Bumford's +den--a place dimly lighted by the open slits in the belfry above. The +first thing seen was his black gown hanging up, next a horn lantern on +the floor and the grave-digging tools, then an iron candlestick with a +candle end in it, then a stick half-a-mile long that he menaced the boys +with if they laughed in church; and next a round tin candlebox on a nail +in the wall. It was a prize. + +There were ten candles in it. Leaving one, in case it should be wanted +on the morrow afternoon, the nine others were lighted. One was put +into the iron candlestick, the rest we stuck upright in melted tallow, +wherever one was wanted: how else could they be set up? It was a grand +illumination: and we laughed over Clerk Bumford's dismay when he should +find his store of candles gone. + +_That_ took time: finding the candles, and dropping the tallow, and +talking and laughing. In the midst of it the clock struck five. Upon +that, Miss Abigail told us to hinder no more time, or the work would not +be done by midnight. So we set to with a will. In a couple of hours all +the dressing was finished, and the branches were ready to be hung over +the pulpit. John Drench felt for the string. He seemed to take his time +over it. + +"Where on earth is it?" cried he, searching his pockets. "I'm sure I +brought some." + +He might have brought it; but it was certain he had not got it then. +Miss Abigail, who had no patience with carelessness, told him rather +sharply that if he had put it in his pockets at all, there it would be +now. + +"Well, I did," he answered, in his quiet way. "I put it in on purpose. +I'm sure I don't know where it can have got to." + +And there we were: at a standstill for a bit of string. Looking at one +another like so many helpless noodles, and the flaring candles coming to +an end! Tod said, tear a strip off the tail of Bumford's gown; he'd +never miss it: for which Miss Abigail gave it him as sharply as if he +had proposed to tear it off the parson's. + +"I might get a bit of string at old Bumford's," I said. "In a few +minutes I'll be back with it." + +It was one of the lightest nights ever seen: the air clear, the moon +bright, the ground white with snow. Rushing round the north and +unfrequented side of the church, where the grass on the graves was long +and no one ever walked, excepting old Bumford when he wanted to cut +across the near way to his cottage, I saw something stirring against the +church wall. Something dark: that seemed to have been looking in at +the window, and now crouched down with a sudden movement behind the +buttress, as if afraid of being seen. + +"Is that you, Leek?" I called out. + +There was no answer: no movement: nothing but a dark heap lying low. I +thought it might be a fox; and crossed over to look. + +Well--I had had surprises in my life, but never one that so struck upon +me as this. Foxes don't wear women's clothes: this thing did. I pulled +aside the dark cloak, and a face stood out white and cold in the +moonlight--the face of Jessy Page. + +You may fancy it is a slice of romance this; made up for effect out of +my imagination: but it is the real truth, as every one about the place +can testify to, and its strangeness is talked of still. Yet there are +stranger coincidences in life than this. On Christmas-Eve, a year +before, Jessy Page had been helping to dress the church, in her fine +blue mantle, in her beauty, in her light-hearted happiness: on this +Christmas-Eve when we were dressing it again, she re-appeared. But how +changed! Wan, white, faint, wasted! I am not sure that I should have +known her but for her voice. Shrinking, as it struck me, with shame and +fear, she put up her trembling hands in supplication. + +"Don't betray me!--don't call!" she implored in weak, feverish, anxious +tones. "Go away and leave me. Let me lie here unsuspected until they +have all gone away." + +What ought I to do? I was just as bewildered as it's possible for a +fellow to be. It's no exaggeration to say that I thought her dying: and +it would never do to leave her there to die. + +The stillness was broken by a commotion. While she lay with her thin +hands raised, and I was gazing down on her poor face, wondering what to +say, and how to act, Miss Susan came flying round the corner after me. + +"Johnny Ludlow! Master Johnny! Don't go. We have found the string under +the unused holly. Why!--what's that?" + +No chance of concealment for Jessy now. Susan Page made for the +buttress, and saw the white face in the moonlight. + +"It's Jessy," I whispered. + +With a shriek that might have scared away all the ghosts in the +churchyard, Susan Page called for Abigail. They heard it through the +window, and came rushing out, thinking Susan must have fallen at least +into the clutches of a winter wolf. Miss Susan's voice trembled as she +spoke in a whisper. + +"Here's Jessy--come back at last!" + +Unbelieving Abigail Page went down on her knees in the snow to trace the +features, and convince herself. Yes, it was Jessy. She had fainted now, +and lay motionless. Leek came up then, and stood staring. + +Where had she come from?--how had she got there? It was just as though +she had dropped from the skies with the snow. And what was to be done +with her? + +"She must--come home," said Abigail. + +But she spoke hesitatingly, as though some impediment might lie in the +way: and she looked round in a dreamy manner on the open country, all so +white and dreary in the moonlight. + +"Yes, there's no other place--of course it must be the farm," she added. +"Perhaps you can bring her between you. But I'll go on and speak to my +father first." + +It was easy for one to carry her, she was so thin and light. John Drench +lifted her and they all went off: leaving me and Leek to finish up in +the church, and put out the candles. + +William Page was sitting in his favourite place, the wide chimney-corner +of the kitchen, quietly smoking his pipe, when his daughter broke in +upon him with the strange news. Just in the same way that, a year +before, she had broken in upon him with that other news--that a +gentleman had arrived, uninvited, on a visit to the farm. This news +was more startling than that. + +"Are they bringing her home?--how long will they be?" cried the old man +with feverish eagerness, as he let fall his long churchwarden pipe, and +broke it. "Abigail, will they be long?" + +"Father, I want to say something: I came on to say it," returned Miss +Page, and she was trembling too. "I don't like her face: it is wan, and +thin, and full of suffering: but there's a look in it that--that seems +to tell of shame." + +"To tell of what?" he asked, not catching the word. + +"May Heaven forgive me if I misjudge her! The fear crossed me, as I saw +her lying there, that her life may not have been innocent since she left +us: why else should she come back in this most strange way? Must we take +her in all the same, father?" + +"Take her in!" he repeated in amazement. "YES. What are you thinking of, +child, to ask it?" + +"It's the home of myself and Susan, father: it has been always an honest +one in the sight of the neighbours. Maybe, they'll be hard upon us for +receiving her into it." + +He stared as one who does not understand, and then made a movement with +his hands, as if warding off her words and the neighbours' hardness +together. + +"Let her come, Abigail! Let her come, poor stray lamb. Christ wouldn't +turn away a little one that had strayed from the fold: should her own +father do it?" + +And when they brought her in, and put her in an easy-chair by the +sitting-room fire, stirring it into a blaze, and gave her hot tea and +brandy in it, William Page sat down by her side, and shed fast tears +over her, as he fondly stroked her hand. + + * * * * * + +Gay and green looked the church on Christmas morning, the sun shining +in upon us as brightly as it shone a year before. The news of Jessy +Page's return and the curious manner of it, had spread; causing the +congregation to turn their eyes instinctively on the Pages' pew. Perhaps +not one but recalled the last Christmas--and the gallant stranger who +had sat in it, and found the places in the Prayer-book for Jessy. Only +Mr. Page was there to-day. He came slowly in with his thick stick--for +he walked badly since his illness, and dragged one leg behind the other. +Before the thanksgiving prayer the parson opened a paper and read out a +notice. Such things were uncommon in our church, and it caused a stir. + +"William Page desires to return thanks to Almighty God for a great mercy +vouchsafed to him." + +We walked to the Copse Farm with him after service. Considering that he +had been returning thanks, he seemed dreadfully subdued. He didn't know +how it was yet; where she had been, or why she had come home in the +manner she did, he told the Squire; but, anyway, she had come. Come to +die, it might be; but _come home_, and that was enough. + +Mrs. Todhetley went upstairs to see her. They had given her the best +bed, the one they had given to Marcus Allen. She lay in it like a lily. +It was what Mrs. Todhetley said when she came down: "like a lily, so +white and delicate." There was no talking. Jessy for the most part kept +her eyes shut and her face turned away. Miss Page whispered that they +had not questioned her yet; she seemed too weak to bear it. "But what do +you _think_?" asked Mrs. Todhetley in return. "I am afraid to think," +was all the answer. In coming away, Mrs. Todhetley stooped over the bed +to kiss her. + +"Oh don't, don't!" said Jessy faintly: "you might not if you knew all. I +am not worth it." + +"Perhaps I should kiss you all the more, my poor child," answered Mrs. +Todhetley. And she came downstairs with red eyes. + +But Miss Susan Page was burning with impatience to know the ins and outs +of the strange affair. Naturally so. It had brought more scandal and +gossip on the Copse Farm than even the running away of the year before. +That was bad enough: this was worse. Altogether Jessy was the home's +heartsore. Mr. Page spoke of her as a lamb, a wanderer returned to the +fold, and Susan heard it with compressed lips: in her private opinion, +she had more justly been called an ungrateful girl. + +"Now, then, Jessy; you must let us know a little about yourself," began +Susan on this same afternoon when she was with her alone, and Jessy lay +apparently stronger, refreshed with the dinner and the long rest. +Abigail had gone to church with Mr. Page. Susan could not remember that +any of them had gone to church before on Christmas-Day after the morning +service: but there was no festive gathering to keep them at home to-day. +Unconsciously, perhaps, Susan resented the fact. Even John Drench was +dining at his father's. "Where have you been all this while in London?" + +Jessy suddenly lifted her arm to shade her eyes; and remained silent. + +"It _is_ in London, I conclude, that you have been? Come: answer me." + +"Yes," said Jessy faintly. + +"And _where_ have you been? In what part of it?--who with?" + +"Don't ask me," was the low reply, given with a suppressed sob. + +"Not ask you! But we must ask you. And you must answer. Where have you +been, and what have you been doing?" + +"I--can't tell," sobbed Jessy. "The story is too long." + +"Story too long!" echoed Susan quickly, "you might say in half-a-dozen +words--and leave explanations until to-morrow. Did you find a place in +town?" + +"Yes, I found a place." + +"A lady's-maid's place?--as you said." + +Jessy turned her face to the wall, and never spoke. + +"Now, this won't do," cried Miss Susan, not choosing to be thwarted: and +no doubt Jessy, hearing the determined tone, felt something like a reed +in her hands. "Just you tell me a little." + +"I am very ill, Susan; I can't talk much," was the pleading excuse. "If +you'd only let me be quiet." + +"It will no more hurt you to say in a few words where you have been than +to make excuses," persisted Miss Susan, giving a flick to the skirt +of her new puce silk gown. "Your conduct altogether has been most +extraordinary, quite baffling to us at home, and I must hear some +explanation of it." + +"The place I went to was too hard for me," said Jessy after a pause, +speaking out of the pillow. + +"Too hard!" + +"Yes; too hard. My heart was breaking with its hardness, and I couldn't +stop in it. Oh, be merciful to me, Susan! don't ask any more." + +Susan Page thought that when mysterious answers like these were creeping +out, there was all the greater need that she should ask for more. + +"Who found you the place at first, Jessy?" + +Not a word. Susan asked again. + +"I--got it through an advertisement," said Jessy at length. + +Advertisements in those days, down in our rural district, were looked +upon as wonderful things, and Miss Susan opened her eyes in surprise. A +faint idea was upon her that Jessy could not be telling the truth. + +"In that letter that you wrote to us; the only one you did write; you +asserted that you liked the place." + +"Yes. That was at first. But afterwards--oh, afterwards it got cruelly +hard." + +"Why did you not change it for another?" + +Jessy made no answer. Susan heard the sobs in her throat. + +"Now, Jessy, don't be silly. I ask why you did not get another place, if +you were unable to stay in that one?" + +"I couldn't have got another, Susan. I would never have got another." + +"Why not?" persisted Susan. + +"I--I--don't you see how weak I am?" she asked with some energy, lifting +her face for a moment to Susan. + +And its wan pain, its depth of anguish, disarmed Susan. Jessy looked +like a once fair blossom on which a blight had passed. + +"Well, Jessy, we will leave these matters until later. But there's one +thing you must answer. What induced you to take this disreputable mode +of coming back?" + +A dead silence. + +"Could you not have written to say you were coming, as any sensible girl +would, that you might have been properly met and received? Instead of +appearing like a vagabond, to be picked up by anybody." + +"I never meant to come home--to the house." + +"But _why_?" asked Susan. + +"Oh, because--because of my ingratitude in running away--and never +writing--and--and all that." + +"That is, you were ashamed to come and face us." + +"Yes, I was ashamed," said Jessy, shivering. + +"And no wonder. Why did you go?" + +Jessy gave a despairing sigh. Leaving that question in abeyance, Susan +returned to the former one. + +"If you did not mean to come home, what brought you down here at all?" + +"It didn't matter where I went. And my heart was yearning for a look at +the old place--and so I came." + +"And if we had not found you under the church wall--and we never should +but for Johnny Ludlow's running out to get some string--where should you +have gone, pray?" + +"Crawled under some haystack, and let the cold and hunger kill me." + +"Don't be a simpleton," reproved Susan. + +"I wish it had been so," returned Jessy. "I'd rather be dying there in +quiet. Oh, Susan, I am ill; I am indeed! Let me be at peace!" + +The appeal shut up Susan Page. She did not want to be too hard upon her. + +Mr. Duffham came in after church. Abigail had told him that she did not +like Jessy's looks; nor yet her cough. He went up alone, and was at the +bedside before Jessy was aware. She put up her hand to hide her face, +but not in time: Duffham had seen it. Doctors don't get shocks in a +general way: they are too familiar with appearances that frighten other +people: but he started a little. If ever he saw coming death in a face, +he thought he saw it in that of Jessy Page. + +He drew away the shading hand, and looked at her. Duffham was pompous on +the whole and thought a good deal of his gold-headed cane, but he was a +tender man with the sad and sick. After that, he sat down and began +asking her a few things--where she had been, and what she had done. Not +out of curiosity, or quite with the same motive that Miss Susan had just +asked; but because he wished to find out whether her illness was more on +the body or the mind. She would not answer. Only cried softly. + +"My dear," said Duffham, "I must have you tell me a little of the past. +Don't be afraid: it shall go no further. If you only knew the strange +confidences that are sometimes placed in me, Jessy, you would not +hesitate." + +No, she would not speak of her own accord, so he began to pump her. +Doing it very kindly and soothingly: had Jessy spent her year in London +robbing all the banks, one might have thought she could only have +yielded to his wish to come to the bottom of it. Duffham listened to her +answers, and sat with a puzzled face. She told him what she had told +Susan: that her post of lady's-maid had been too hard for her and worn +her to what she was; that she had shrunk from returning home on account +of her ingratitude, and should not have returned ever of her own will. +But she had yearned for a sight of the old place, and so came down by +rail, and walked over after dark. In passing the church she saw it +lighted up; and lingered, peeping in. She never meant to be seen; she +should have gone away somewhere before morning. Nothing more. + +Nothing more! Duffham sat listening to her. He pushed back the pretty +golden hair (no more blue ribbons in it now), lost in thought. + +"_Nothing_ more, Jessy? There must have been something more, I think, to +have brought you into this state. What was it?" + +"No," she faintly said: "only the hard work I had to do; and the thought +of how I left my home; and--and my unhappiness. I was unhappy always, +nearly from my first entering. The work was hard." + +"What was the work?" + +"It was----" + +A long pause. Mr. Duffham, always looking at her, waited. + +"It was sewing; dress-making. And--there was sitting up at nights." + +"Who was the lady you served? What was her name?" + +"I can't tell it," answered Jessy, her cheeks flushing to a wild hectic. + +The surgeon suddenly turned the left hand towards him, and looked at the +forefinger. It was smooth as ivory. + +"Not much sign of sewing there, Jessy." + +She drew it under the clothes. "It is some little time since I did any; +I was too ill," she answered. "Mr. Duffham, I have told you all there is +to tell. The place was too hard for me, and it made me ill." + +It was all she told. Duffham wondered whether it was, in substance, all +she had to tell. He went down and entered the parlour with a grave face: +Mr. Page, his daughters, and John Drench were there. The doctor said +Jessy must have perfect rest, tranquillity, and the best of nourishment; +and he would send some medicine. Abigail put a shawl over her head, and +walked with him across the garden. + +"You will tell _me_ what your opinion is, Mr. Duffham." + +"Ay. It is no good one, Miss Abigail." + +"Is she very ill?" + +"Very. I do not think she will materially rally. Her chest and lungs are +both weak." + +"Her mother's were before her. As I told you, Jessy looks to me just as +my mother used to look in her last illness." + +Mr. Duffham went through the gate without saying more. The snow was +sparkling like diamonds in the moonlight. + +"I think I gather what you mean," resumed Abigail. "That she is, in +point of fact, dying." + +"That's it. As I truly believe." + +They looked at each other in the clear light air. "But not--surely, Mr. +Duffham, not immediately?" + +"Not immediately. It may be weeks off yet. Mind--I don't assert that she +is absolutely past hope; I only think it. It is possible that she may +rally, and recover." + +"It might not be the happier for her," said Abigail, under her breath. +"She is in a curiously miserable state of mind--as you no doubt saw. Mr. +Duffham, did she tell you anything?" + +"She says she took a place as lady's-maid; that the work proved too hard +for her; and that, with the remorse for her ingratitude towards her +home, made her ill." + +"She said the same to Susan this afternoon. Well, we must wait for more. +Good-night, Mr. Duffham: I am sure you will do all you can." + +Of course Duffham meant to do all he could; and from that time he began +to attend her regularly. + +Jessy Page's coming home, with, as Miss Susan had put it, the vagabond +manner of it, was a nine days' wonder. The neighbours went making calls +at the Copse Farm, to talk about it and to see her. In the latter hope +they failed. Jessy showed a great fear of seeing any one of them; would +put her head under the bed-clothes and lie there shaking till the house +was clear; and Duffham said she was not to be crossed. + +Her sisters got to know no more of the past. Not a syllable. They +questioned and cross-questioned her; but she only stuck to her text. It +was the work that had been too much for her; the people she served were +cruelly hard. + +"I really think it must be so; that she has nothing else to tell," +remarked Abigail to Susan one morning, as they sat alone at breakfast, +"But she must have been a downright simpleton to stay." + +"I can't make her out," returned Susan, hard of belief. "Why should +she not say where it was, and who the people are? Here comes the +letter-man." + +The letter-man--as he was called--was bringing a letter for Miss Page. +Letters at the Copse Farm were rare, and she opened it with curiosity. +It proved to be from Mrs. Allen of Aberystwith; and out of it dropped +two cards, tied together with silver cord. + +Mrs. Allen wrote to say that her distant relative, Marcus, was married. +He had been married on Christmas-Eve to a Miss Mary Goldbeater, a great +heiress, and they had sent her cards. Thinking the Miss Pages might like +to see the cards (as they knew something of him) she had forwarded them. + +Abigail took the cards up. "Mr. Marcus Allen. Mrs. Marcus Allen." And on +hers was the address: "Gipsy Villas, Montgomery Road, Brompton." "I +think he might have been polite enough to send us cards also," observed +Abigail. + +Susan put the cards on the waiter when she went upstairs with her +sister's tea. Jessy, looking rather more feverish than usual in a +morning, turned the cards about in her slender hands. + +"I have heard of her, this Mary Goldbeater," said Jessy, biting her +parched lips. "They say she's pretty, and--and very rich." + +"Where did you hear of her?" asked Susan. + +"Oh, in--let me think. In the work-room." + +"Now what do you mean by that?" cried Miss Susan. "A work-room implies a +dressmaker's establishment, and you tell us you were a lady's-maid." + +Jessy seemed unable to answer. + +"I don't believe you were at either the one place or the other. You are +deceiving us, Jessy." + +"No," gasped Jessy. + +"Did you ever see Mr. Marcus Allen when you were in town?" + +"Mr. Marcus Allen?" repeated Jessy after a pause, just as if she were +unable to recall who Mr. Marcus Allen was. + +"The Mr. Marcus Allen you knew at Aberystwith; he who came here +afterwards," went on Susan impatiently. "Are you losing your memory, +Jessy?" + +"No, I never saw the Marcus Allen I knew here--and there," was Jessy's +answer, her face white and still as death. + +"Why!--Did you know any other Marcus Allen, then?" questioned Susan, in +surprise. For the words had seemed to imply it. + +"No," replied Jessy. "No." + +"She seems queerer than usual--I hope her mind's not going," thought +Susan. "Did you ever go to see Madame Caron, Jessy, while you were in +London?" + +"Never. Why should I? I didn't know Madame Caron." + +"When Marcus Allen wrote to excuse himself from visiting us in the +summer, he said he would be sure to come later," resumed Susan. "I +wonder if he will keep his promise." + +"No--never," answered Jessy. + +"How do you know?" + +"Oh--I don't think it. He wouldn't care to come. Especially now he's +married." + +"And you never saw him in town, Jessy? Never even met him by chance?" + +"I've told you--No. Do you suppose I should be likely to call upon +Marcus Allen? As to meeting him by chance, it is not often I went out, I +can tell you." + +"Well, sit up and take your breakfast," concluded Susan. + +A thought had crossed Susan Page's mind--whether this marriage of Marcus +Allen's on Christmas-Eve could have had anything to do with Jessy's +return and her miserable unhappiness. It was only a thought; and she +drove it away again. As Abigail said, she had been inclined throughout +to judge hardly of Jessy. + + * * * * * + +The winter snow lay on the ground still, when it became a question not +of how many weeks Jessy would live, but of days. And then she confessed +to a secret that pretty nearly changed the sober Miss Pages' hair from +black to grey. Jessy had turned Roman Catholic. + +It came out through her persistent refusal to see the parson, Mr. +Holland, a little man with shaky legs. He'd go trotting up to the Copse +Farm once or twice a-week; all in vain. Miss Abigail would console him +with a good hot jorum of sweet elder wine, and then he'd trot back +again. One day Jessy, brought to bay, confessed that she was a Roman +Catholic. + +There was grand commotion. John Drench went about, his hands lifted in +the frosty air; Abigail and Susan Page sat in the bedroom with +(metaphorically speaking) ashes on their heads. + +People have their prejudices. It was not so much that these ladies +wished to cast reflection on good Catholics born and bred, as that Jessy +should have abandoned her own religion, just as though it had been an +insufficient faith. It was the slight on it that they could not bear. + +"Miserable girl!" exclaimed Miss Susan, looking upon Jessy as a +turncoat, and therefore next door to lost. And Jessy told, through her +sobs, how it had come to pass. + +Wandering about one evening in London when she was very unhappy, she +entered a Catholic place of worship styled an "Oratory."--The Miss +Pages caught up the word as "oratorio," and never called it anything +else.--There a priest got into conversation with Jessy. He had a +pleasant, kindly manner that won upon her and drew from her the fact +that she was unhappy. Become a Catholic, he said to her; it would bring +her back to happiness: and he asked her to go and see him again. She +went again; again and again. And so, going and listening to him, she at +length _did_ turn, and was received by him into his church. + +"Are you the happier for it?" sharply asked Miss Abigail. + +"No," answered Jessy with distressed eyes. "Only--only----" + +"Only what, pray?" + +"Well, they can absolve me from all sin." + +"Oh, you poor foolish misguided child!" cried Abigail in anguish; "you +must take your sins to the Saviour: He can absolve you, and He alone. +Do you want any third person to stand between you and Him?" + +Jessy gave a sobbing sigh. "It's best as it is, Abigail. Anyway, it is +too late now." + +"Stop a bit," cried sharp Miss Susan. "I should like to have one thing +answered, Jessy. You have told us how hard you were kept to work: if +that was so, pray how did you find leisure to be dancing abroad to +Oratorios? Come?" + +Jessy could not, or would not, answer. + +"Can you explain that!" said Miss Susan, some sarcasm in her tone. + +"I went out sometimes in an evening," faltered Jessy. And more than that +could not be drawn from her. + +They did not tell Mr. Page: it would have distressed him too much. In a +day or two Jessy asked to see a priest. Miss Abigail flatly refused, on +account of the scandal. As if their minister was not good enough! + +One afternoon I was standing by Jessy's bed--for Miss Abigail had let me +go up to see her. Mrs. Todhetley, that first day, had said she looked +like a lily: she was more like one now. A faded lily that has had all +its beauty washed out of it. + +"Good-bye, Johnny Ludlow," she said, opening her eyes, and putting out +her feeble hand. "I shall not see you again." + +"I hope you will, Jessy. I'll come over to-morrow." + +"Never again in this world." And I had to lean over to catch the words, +and my eyes were full. + +"In the next world there'll be no parting, Jessy. We shall see each +other there." + +"I don't know," she said. "You will be there, Johnny; I can't tell +whether I shall be. I turned Roman Catholic, you see; and Abigail won't +let a priest come. And so--I don't know how it will be." + +The words struck upon me. The Miss Pages had kept the secret too closely +for news of it to have come abroad. It seemed worse to me to hear +it than to her to say it. But she had grown too weak to feel things +strongly. + +"Good-bye, Johnny." + +"Good-bye, Jessy dear," I whispered. "Don't fear: God will be sure to +take you to heaven if you ask Him." + +Miss Abigail got it out of me--what she had said about the priest. In +fact, I told. She was very cross. + +"There; let it drop, Johnny Ludlow. John Drench is gone off in the gig +to Coughton to bring one. All I hope and trust is, that they'll not be +back until the shades of night have fallen upon the earth! I shouldn't +like a priest to be seen coming into _this_ door. Such a reproach on +good Mr. Holland! I'm sure I trust it will never get about!" + +We all have our prejudices, I repeat. And not a soul amongst us for +miles round had found it necessary to change religions since the +Reformation. + +Evening was well on when John Drench brought him in. A mild-faced man, +wearing a skull-cap under his broad-brimmed hat. He saw Jessy alone. +Miss Page would not have made a third at the interview though they had +bribed her to it--and of course they wouldn't have had her. It was quite +late when he came down. Miss Page stopped him as he was going out, after +declining refreshment. + +"I presume, sir, she has told you all about this past year--that has +been so mysterious to us?" + +"Yes; I think all," replied the priest. + +"Will you tell me the particulars?" + +"I cannot do that," he said. "They have been given to me under the seal +of confession." + +"Only to me and to her sister Susan," pleaded Abigail. "We will not even +disclose it to our father. Sir, it would be a true kindness to us, and +it can do her no harm. You do not know what our past doubts and distress +have been." + +But the priest shook his head. He was very sorry to refuse, he said, but +the tenets of his Church forbade his speaking. And Miss Page thought he +_was_ sorry, for he had a benevolent face. + +"Best let the past lie," he gently added. "Suffice it to know that she +is happy now, poor child, and will die in peace." + + * * * * * + +They buried her in the churchyard beside her mother. When the secret got +about, some said it was not right--that she ought to have been taken +elsewhere, to a graveyard devoted to the other faith. Which would just +have put the finishing stroke on old Page--broken all that was left of +his heart to break. The Squire said he didn't suppose it mattered in +the sight of God: or would make much difference at the Last Day. + +And that ended the life of Jessy Page: and, in one sense, its episode of +mystery. Nothing more was ever heard or known of where she had been or +what she had done. Years have gone by since then; and William Page is +lying beside her. Miss Page and Charley live on at the Copse Farm; Susan +became Mrs. John Drench ages ago. Her husband, a man of substance now, +was driving her into Alcester last Tuesday (market-day) in his +four-wheeled chaise, two buxom daughters in the back seat. I nodded to +them from Mr. Brandon's window. + +The mystery of Jessy Page (as we grew to call it) remained a mystery. It +remains one to this day. What the secret was--if there was a secret--why +she went in the way she did, and came back in what looked like shame and +fear and trembling, a dying girl--has not been solved. It never will be +in this world. Some old women put it all down to her having changed her +religion and been afraid to tell: while Miss Abigail and Miss Susan have +never got rid of a vague doubt, touching Marcus Allen. But it may be +only their fancy; they admit that, and say to one another when talking +of it privately, that it is not right to judge a man without cause. He +keeps a carriage-and-pair now; and gives dinners, and has handsome +daughters growing up; and is altogether quite up to the present style of +expensive life in London. + +And I never go into church on a Christmas morning--whether it may be +decorated in our simple country fashion, or in accordance with your new +"artistic" achievements--but I think of Jessy Page. Of her sweet face, +her simplicity, and her want of guile: and of the poor wreck that came +back, broken-hearted, to die. + + + + +CRABB RAVINE. + + +I. + +"Yes! Halloa! What is it?" + +To be wakened up short by a knocking, or some other noise, in the night, +is enough to make you start up in bed, and stare round in confusion. The +room was dark, barring the light that always glimmers in at the window +on a summer's night, and I listened and waited for more. Nothing came: +it was all as silent as the grave. + +We were staying at Crabb Cot. I had gone to bed at half-past nine, dead +tired after a day's fishing. The Squire and Tod were away: Mrs. +Todhetley went over to the Coneys' after tea, and did not seem in a +hurry to come back. They fried one of the fish I had caught for my +supper; and after that, there being no one to speak to, I went to bed. + +It was a knocking that had wakened me out of my sleep: I was sure of +that. And it sounded exactly as though it were at the window--which was +very improbable. Calling out again to know who was there, and what +was wanted--though not very loudly, for the children slept within +earshot--and getting no answer, I lay down again, and was all but asleep +when the noise came a second time. + +It was at the dining-room window, right underneath mine. There could be +no mistake about it. The ceilings of the old-fashioned house were low; +the windows were very near each other, and mine was down at the top. I +thought it time to jump out of bed, and take a look out. + +Well, I was surprised! Instead of its being the middle of the night, +it must be quite early still; for the lamp was yet alight in the +dining-room. It was a cosy kind of room, with a bow window jutting on to +the garden, of which the middle compartment opened to the ground, as +French windows do. My window was a bow also, and close above the other. +Throwing it up, I looked out. + +There was not a soul to be seen. Yet the knocking could not have been +from within, for the inside shutters were closed: they did not reach to +the top panes, and the lamplight shone through them on the mulberry +tree. As I leaned out, wondering, the crazy old clock at North Crabb +Church began to tell the hour. I counted the strokes, one by one--ten of +them. Only ten o'clock! And I thought I had been asleep half the night. + +All in a moment I caught sight of some one moving slowly away. He was +keeping in the shade; close to the shrubs that encircled the lawn, as if +not caring to be seen. A short, thin man, in dark clothes and round +black felt hat. Who he was, and what he wanted, was more than I could +imagine. It could not be a robber. Robbers don't come knocking at houses +before people have gone to bed. + +The small side-gate opened, and Mrs. Todhetley came in. Old Coney's farm +was only a stone's-throw off, and she had run home alone. We people +in the country think nothing of being abroad alone at night. The man +emerged from the shade, and placed himself right in her path, on the +gravel walk. They stood there together. I could see him better now: +there was no moon, but the night was light; and it flashed into my mind +that he was the same man I had seen Mrs. Todhetley with in the morning, +as I went across the fields, with my rod and line. She was at the stile, +about to descend into the Ravine, when he came up from it, and accosted +her. He was a stranger; wearing a seedy, shabby black coat; and I had +wondered what he wanted. They were still talking together when I got out +of sight, for I turned to look. + +Not long did they stand now. The gentleman went away; she came hastening +on with her head down, a soft wool kerchief thrown over her cap. In all +North Crabb, no one was so fearful of catching face-ache as Mrs. +Todhetley. + +"Who was it?" I called out, when she was under the window: which seemed +to startle her considerably, for she gave a spring back, right on to the +grass. + +"Johnny! how you frightened me! What are you looking out at?" + +"At that fellow who has just taken himself off. Who is he?" + +"I do believe you have on nothing but your nightshirt! You'll be sure to +take cold. Shut the window down, and get into bed." + +Four times over, in all, had I to ask about the man before I got an +answer. Now it was the nightshirt, now catching cold, now the open +window and the damp air. She always wanted to be as tender with us as +though we were chickens. + +"The man that met me in the path?" she got to, at length. "He made some +excuse for being here: was not sure whose house it was, I think he said: +had turned in by mistake to the wrong one." + +"That's all very fine; but, not being sure, he ought to mind his +manners. He came rapping at the dining-room window like anything, and it +woke me up. Had you been at home, sitting there, good mother, you might +have been startled out of your seven senses." + +"So I should, Johnny. The Coneys would not let me come away: they had +friends with them. Good-night, dear. Shut down that window." + +She went on to the side-door. I put down the window, opened it at the +top, and let the white curtain drop before it. It was an hour or two +before I got to sleep again, and I had the man and the knocking in my +thoughts all the time. + +"Don't say anything about it in the house, Johnny," Mrs. Todhetley said +to me, in the morning. "It might alarm the children." So I promised her +I would not. + +Tod came home at mid-day, not the Squire: and the first thing I did was +to tell him. I wouldn't have broken faith with the mother for the world; +not even for Tod; but it never entered my mind that she wished me to +keep it a close secret, excepting from those, servants or others, who +might be likely to repeat it before Hugh and Lena. I cautioned Tod. + +"Confound his impudence!" cried Tod. "Could he not be satisfied with +disturbing the house at the door at night, but he must make for the +window? I wish I had been at home." + +Crabb Ravine lay to the side of our house, beyond the wide field. It +was a regular wilderness. The sharp descent began in that three-cornered +grove, of which you've heard before, for it was where Daniel Ferrar +hanged himself; and the wild, deep, mossy dell, about as wide as an +ordinary road, went running along below, soft, green and damp. Towering +banks, sloping backwards, rose on either side; a mass of verdure in +summer; of briars, brown and tangled, in winter. Dwarf shrubs, tall +trees, blackberry and nut bushes, sweet-briar and broom clustered there +in wild profusion. Primroses and violets peeped up when spring came in; +blue bells and cowslips, dog-roses, woodbine, and other sweet flowers, +came later. Few people would descend except by the stile opposite our +house and the proper zigzag path leading down the side bank, for a fall +might have broken limbs, besides bringing one's clothes to grief. +No houses stood near it, except ours and old Coney's; and the field +bordering it just here on this side belonged to Squire Todhetley. If you +went down the zigzag path, turned to the right, walked along the Ravine +some way, and then up another zigzag on the opposite side, you soon came +to Timberdale, a small place in itself, but our nearest post-town. The +high-road to Timberdale, winding past our house from South Crabb, was +twice the distance, so that people might sometimes be seen in the Ravine +by day; but no one cared to go near it in the evening, as it had the +reputation of being haunted. A mysterious light might sometimes be +observed there at night, dodging about the banks, where it would be +rather difficult for ordinary human beings to walk: some said it was a +will-o'-the-wisp, and some said a ghost. It was difficult to get even a +farm-servant to go the near way to Timberdale after dark. + +One morning, when I was running through the Ravine with Tod in search of +Tom Coney, we came slap against a man, who seemed to be sneaking there, +for he turned short off, into the underwood, to hide himself. I knew him +by his hat. + +"Tod, that's the man," I whispered. + +"What man, Johnny?" + +"The one who came knocking at the window three nights ago." + +"Oh!" said Tod, carelessly. "He looks like a fellow who comes out with +begging petitions." + +It might have been an hour after that. We had come up from the Ravine, +on our side of it, not having seen or spoken to a soul, except Luke +Mackintosh. Tod told me to stay and waylay Coney if he made his +appearance, whilst he went again to the farm in search of him. +Accordingly, I was sitting on the fence (put there to hinder the cattle +and sheep from getting over the brink of the Ravine), throwing stones +and whistling, when I saw Mrs. Todhetley cross the stile to go down the +zigzag. She did not see me: the fence could hardly be gained for trees, +and I was hidden. + +Just because I had nothing to do, I watched her as she went; tall, thin, +and light in figure, she could spin along nearly as quick as we. The +zigzag path went in and out, sloping along the bank until it brought +itself to the dell at a spot a good bit beyond me as I looked down, +finishing there with a high, rough step. Mrs. Todhetley took it with a +spring. + +What next! In one moment the man with the black coat and hat had +appeared from somewhere, and placed himself in front of her parasol. +Before I could quit the place, and leap down after her, a conviction +came over me that the meeting was not accidental: and I rubbed my eyes +in wonder, and thought I must be dreaming. + +The summer air was clear as crystal; not a bee's hum just then disturbed +its stillness. Detached words ascended from where they stood; and now +and again a whole sentence. She kept looking each way as if afraid to be +seen; and so did he, for that matter. The colloquy seemed to be about +money. I caught the word two or three times; and Mrs. Todhetley said it +was "impossible." "I must, and I will have it," came up distinctly from +him in answer. + +"What's _that_, Johnny?" + +The interruption came from Tod. All my attention absorbed in them, he +stood at my elbow before I knew he was near. When I would have answered, +he suddenly put his hand upon my mouth for silence. His face had a proud +anger on it as he looked down. + +Mrs. Todhetley seemed to be using entreaty to the man, for she clasped +her hands in a piteous manner, and then turned to ascend the zigzag. He +followed her, talking very fast. As to me, I was in a regular sea of +marvel, understanding nothing. Our heads were hardly to be distinguished +from the bushes, even if she had looked up. + +"No," she said, turning round upon him; and they were near us then, half +way up the path, so that every word was audible. "You must not venture +to come to the house, or near the house. I would not have Mr. Todhetley +know of this for the world: for your sake as well as for his." + +"Todhetley's not at home," was the man's answer: and Tod gave a growl as +he heard it. + +"If he is not, his son is," said Mrs. Todhetley. "It would be all the +same; or worse." + +"His son's here," roared out passionate Tod. "What the deuce is the +meaning of this, sir?" + +The man shot down the path like an arrow. Mrs. Todhetley--who had been +walking on, seeming not to have caught the words, or to know whose the +voice was, or where it came from--gazed round in all directions, her +countenance curiously helpless. She ran up the rest of the zigzag, and +went swiftly home across the field. Tod disentangled himself from the +brambles, and drew a long breath. + +"I think it's time we went now, Johnny." It was not often he spoke in +that tone. He had always been at war tacitly with Mrs. Todhetley, and +was not likely to favour her now. Generous though he was by nature, +there could be no denying that he took up awful prejudices. + +"It is something about money, Tod." + +"I don't care what it is about--the fellow has no business to be +prowling here, on my father's grounds; and he _shan't_ be, without my +knowing what it's for. I'll watch madam's movements." + +"What do you think it can mean?" + +"Mean! Why, that the individual is some poor relation of hers, come to +drain as much of my father's money out of her as he can. _She_ is the +one to blame. I wonder how she dare encourage him!" + +"Perhaps she can't help herself." + +"Not help herself? Don't show yourself a fool, Johnny. An honest-minded, +straightforward woman would appeal to my father in any annoyance of +this sort, or to me, in his absence, and say 'Here's So-and-so come down +upon us, asking for help, can we give it him?'--and there's no doubt the +Squire _would_ give it him; he's soft enough for anything." + +It was of no use contending. I did not see it quite in that light, but +Tod liked his own opinion. He threw up his head with a haughty jerk. + +"You have tried to defend Mrs. Todhetley before, in trifling matters, +Johnny; don't attempt it now. Would any good woman, say any _lady_, if +you will, subject herself to this kind of thing?--hold private meetings +with a man--allow him to come tapping at her sitting-room window at +night? No; not though he were her own brother." + +"Tod, it may be her brother. She would never do anything wrong +willingly." + +"Shut up, Johnny. She never had a brother." + +Of course I shut up forthwith, and went across the field by Tod's side +in silence, his strides wide and indignant, his head up in the air. Mrs. +Todhetley was hearing Lena read when we got in, and looked as if she had +never been out that morning. + + * * * * * + +Some days went on. The man remained near, for he was seen occasionally, +and the servants began to talk. One remarked upon him, wondering who he +was; another remarked upon him, speculating on what he did there. In a +quiet country place, a dodging stranger excites curiosity, and this one +dodged about as much as ever the ghostly light did. If you caught sight +of him in the three-cornered plantation, he vanished forthwith to appear +next in the Ravine; if he stood peering out from the trees on the bank, +and found himself observed, the next minute he'd be crouching amongst +the broom on the other side. + +This came to be observed, and was thought strange, naturally; Hannah, +who was often out with Hugh and Lena, often saw him, and talked to the +other servants. One evening, when we were finishing dinner, the glass +doors of the bow-window being open, Hannah came back with the children. +They ran across the grass-plat after the fawn--one we had, just +then--and Hannah sat down in the porch of the side-door to wait. Old +Thomas had just drawn the slips from the table, and went through the +passage to the side-door to shake them. + +"I say," cried Hannah's voice, "I saw that man again." + +"Where?" asked Thomas, between his shakes of the linen. + +"In the old place--the Ravine. He was sitting on the stile at the top of +the zigzag, as cool as might be." + +"Did you speak to him? I should, if I came across the man; and ask what +his business might be in these parts." + +"I didn't speak to him," returned Hannah. "I'd rather not. There's no +knowing the answer one might get, Thomas, or what he's looking after. He +spoke to the children." + +"What did he say to them?" + +"Asked if they'd go away with him to some beautiful coral islands over +the sea, and catch pretty birds, and parrots, and monkeys. He called +them by their names, too--'Hugh' and 'Lena.' I should like to know how +he got hold of _them_." + +"I can't help thinking that he belongs to them engineering folk who come +spying for no good on people's land: the Squire won't like it if they +cut a railroad through here," said Thomas; and the supposition did not +appear to please Hannah. + +"Why you must be as silly as a turkey, old Thomas! Engineers have no +need to hide themselves as if they were afraid of being took up for +murder. He has about as much the cut of an engineer as you have, and no +more: they don't go about looking like Methodist parsons run to seed. +_My_ opinion is that he's something of that sort." + +"A Methodist parson!" + +"No; not anything half so respectable. If I spoke out my thoughts, +though, I dare say you'd laugh at me." + +"Not I," said Thomas. "Make haste. I forgot to put the claret jug on the +table." + +"Then I've got it in my head that he is one of them seducing Mormons. +They appear in neighbourhoods without the smallest warning, lie partly +concealed by day, and go abroad at night, persuading all the likely +women and girls to join their sect. My sister told me about it in a +letter she wrote me only three days ago. There has been a Mormon down +there; he called himself a saint, she says; and when he went finally +away he took fifteen young women with him. Fifteen, Thomas! and after +only three weeks' persuasion! It's as true as that you've got that +damask cloth in your hand." + +Nothing further was heard for a minute. Then Thomas spoke. "Has the man +here been seen talking with young women?" + +"Who is to know? They take care _not_ to be seen; that's their craft. +And so you see, Thomas, I'd rather steer clear of the man, and not give +him the opportunity of trying his arts on me. I can tell him it's not +Hannah Baber that would be cajoled off to a barbarous desert by a man +who had fifteen other wives beside! Lord help the women for geese! Miss +Lena" (raising her voice), "don't you tear about after the fawn like +that; you'll put yourself into a pretty heat." + +"I'd look him up when I came home, if I were the Squire," said Thomas, +who evidently took it all gravely in. "We don't want a Mormon on the +place." + +"If he were not a Mormon, which I'm pretty sure he is, I should say he +was a kidnapper of children," went on Hannah. "After we had got past him +over so far, he managed to 'tice Hugh back to the stile, gave him a +sugar-stick, and said he'd take him away if he'd go. It struck me he'd +like to kidnap him." + +Tod, sitting at the foot of the table in the Squire's place, had +listened to all this deliberately. Mrs. Todhetley, opposite to him, her +back to the light, had tried, in a feeble manner, once or twice, to +drown the sounds by saying something. But when urgently wanting to +speak, we often can't do so; and her efforts died away helplessly. She +looked miserably uncomfortable, and seemed conscious of Tod's feeling in +the matter; and when Hannah wound up with the bold assertion touching +the kidnapping of Hugh, she gave a start of alarm, which left her face +white. + +"Who is this man that shows himself in the neighbourhood?" asked Tod, +putting the question to her in a slow, marked manner, his dark eyes, +stern then, fixed on hers. + +"Johnny, those cherries don't look ripe. Try the summer apples." + +It was of no use at any time trying to put aside Tod. Before I had +answered her that the cherries were ripe enough for me, Tod began at her +again. + +"Can you tell me who he is?" + +"Dear me, no," she faintly said. "I can't tell you anything about it." + +"Nor what he wants?" + +"No. Won't you take some wine, Joseph?" + +"I shall make it my business to inquire, then," said Tod, disregarding +the wine and everything else. "The first time I come across the man, +unless he gives me a perfectly satisfactory answer as to what he may be +doing here on our land, I'll horse-whip him." + +Mrs. Todhetley put the trembling fingers of her left hand into the +finger-glass, and dried them. I don't believe she knew what she was +about more than a baby. + +"The man is nothing to you, Joseph. Why should you interfere with him?" + +"I shall interfere because my father is not here to do it," he answered, +in his least compromising of tones. "An ill-looking stranger has no +right to be prowling mysteriously amongst us at all. But when it comes +to knocking at windows at night, to waylaying--people--in solitary +places, and to exciting comments from the servants, it is time some one +interfered to know the reason of it." + +I am sure he had been going to say _you_; but with all his prejudice +he never was insolent to Mrs. Todhetley, when face to face; and he +substituted "people." Her pale blue eyes had the saddest light in them +you can well conceive, and yet she tried to look as though the matter +did not concern her. Old Thomas came in with the folded damask slips, +little thinking he and Hannah had been overheard, put them in the +drawer, and set things straight on the sideboard. + +"What time tea, ma'am?" he asked. + +"Any time," answered Mrs. Todhetley. "I am going over to Mr. Coney's, +but not to stay. Or perhaps you'll go for me presently, Johnny, and ask +whether Mrs. Coney has come home," she added, as Thomas left the room. + +I said I'd go. And it struck me that she must want Mrs. Coney very +particularly, for this would make the fifth time I had gone on the same +errand within a week. On the morning following that rapping at the +window, Mrs. Coney had news that Mrs. West, her married daughter, was +ill, and she started at once by the rail to Worcester to visit her. + +"I think I'll go and look for the fellow now," exclaimed Tod, rising +from his seat and making for the window. But Mrs. Todhetley rose too, as +one in mortal fright, and put herself in his way. + +"Joseph," she said, "I have no authority over you; you know that I have +never attempted to exercise any since I came home to your father's +house; but I must ask you to respect my wishes now." + +"What wishes?" + +"That you will refrain from seeking this stranger: that you will not +speak to or accost him in any way, should you and he by chance meet. I +have good reasons for asking it." Tod stood stock-still, neither saying +Yes nor No; only biting his lips in the anger he strove to keep down. + +"Oh, very well," said he, going back to his seat. "Of course, as you put +it in this light, I have no alternative. A night's delay cannot make +much difference, and my father will be home to-morrow to act for +himself." + +"You must not mention it to your father, Joseph. You must keep it _from_ +him." + +"I shall tell him as soon as he comes home." + +"Tell him what? What is it that you suspect? What would you tell him?" + +Tod hesitated. He had spoken in random heat; and found, on +consideration, he was without a case. He could not complain to his +father of _her_: in spite of his hasty temper, he was honourable as the +day. Her apparent intimacy with the man would also tie his tongue as to +_him_, whomsoever he might be. + +"You must be quite aware that it is not a pleasant thing, or a proper +thing, to have this mysterious individual encouraged here," he said, +looking at her. + +"And you think I encourage him, Joseph?" + +"Well, it seems that you--that you must know who he is. I saw you +talking with him one day in the Ravine," continued Tod, disdaining not +to be perfectly open, now it had come to an explanation. "Johnny was +with me. If he is a relative of yours, why, of course----" + +"He is no relative of mine, Joseph." And Tod opened his eyes wide to +hear the denial. It was the view he had taken all along. + +"Then why do you suffer him to annoy you?--and I am sure he does do it. +Let me deal with him. I'll soon ascertain what his business may be." + +"But that is just what you must not do," she said, seeming to speak out +the truth in very helplessness, like a frightened child. "You must leave +him in my hands, Joseph: I shall be able, I dare say, to--to--get rid of +him shortly." + +"_You_ know what he wants?" + +"Yes, I am afraid I do. It is quite my affair; and you must take no more +notice of it: above all, you must not say anything to your father." + +How much Tod was condemning her in his heart perhaps he would not have +cared to tell; but he could but be generous, even to his step-mother. + +"I suppose I must understand that you are in some sort of trouble?" + +"Indeed I am." + +"If it is anything in which I can help you, you have only to ask me to +do it," he said. But his manner was lofty as he spoke, his voice had a +hard ring in it. + +"Thank you very much, Joseph," was the meek, grateful answer. "If you +will only take no further notice, and say nothing to your father when he +comes home, it will be helping me sufficiently." + +Tod strolled out; just as angry as he could be; and I ran over to the +farm. Jane Coney had received a letter from her mother by the afternoon +post, saying she might not be home for some days to come. + +"Tell Mrs. Todhetley that I am sorry to have to send her bad news over +and over again," said Jane Coney, who was sitting in the best kitchen, +with her muslin sleeves turned up, and a big apron on, stripping fruit +for jam. The Coneys had brought up their girls sensibly, not to be +ashamed to make themselves thoroughly useful, in spite of their +education, and the fair fortune they would have. Mary was married; Jane +engaged to be. I sat on the table by her, eating away at the fruit. + +"What is it Mrs. Todhetley wants with my mother, Johnny?" + +"As if I knew!" + +"I think it must be something urgent. When she came in, that morning, +only five minutes after mamma had driven off, she was so terribly +disappointed, saying she would give a great deal to have spoken to her +first. My sister is not quite so well again; that's why mamma is staying +longer." + +"I'll tell her, Jane." + +"By the way, Johnny, what's this they are saying--about some strange man +being seen here? A special constable, peeping after bad characters?" + +"A special constable?" + +Jane Coney laughed. "Or a police-officer in disguise. It is what one of +our maids told me." + +"Oh," I answered, carelessly, for somehow I did not like the words; "you +must mean a man that is looking at the land; an engineer." + +"Is that all?" cried Jane Coney. "How foolish people are!" + +It was a sort of untruth, no doubt; but I should have told a worse in +the necessity. I did not like the aspect of things; and they puzzled my +brain unpleasantly all the way home. + +Mrs. Todhetley was at work by the window when I got there. Tod had not +made his re-appearance; Hugh and Lena were in bed. She dropped her work +when I gave the message. + +"Not for some days to come yet! Oh, Johnny!" + +"But what do you want with her?" + +"Well, I do want her. I want a friend just now, Johnny, that's the +truth; and I think Mrs. Coney would be one." + +"Joe asked if he could help you; and you said 'No.' Can I?" + +"Johnny, if you could, there's no one in the world I'd rather ask. But +you cannot." + +"Why?" + +"Because"--she smiled for a moment--"you are not old enough. If you +were--of age, say--why then I would." + +I had hold of the window-frame, looking at her, and an idea struck me. +"Do you mean that I should be able then to command money?" + +"Yes, that's it, Johnny." + +"But, perhaps--if I were to write to Mr. Brandon----" + +"Hush!" she exclaimed in a sort of fright. "You must not talk of this, +Johnny; you don't know the sad mischief you might do. Oh, if I can only +keep it from you all! Here comes Joseph," she added in a whisper; and +gathering up her work, went out of the room. + +"Did I not make a sign to you to come after me?" began Tod, in one of +his tempers. + +"But I had to go over to the Coneys'. I've only just got back again." + +He looked into the room and saw that it was empty. "Where's madam gone? +To the Ravine after her friend?" + +"She was here sewing not a minute ago." + +"Johnny, she told a lie. Did you notice the sound of her voice when she +said the fellow was no relative of hers?" + +"Not particularly." + +"I did, then. At the moment the denial took me by surprise; but I +remembered the tone later. It had an untrue ring in it. Madam told a +lie, Johnny, as sure as that we are here. I'd lay my life he _is_ a +relative of hers, or a connection in some way. I don't think now it +is money he wants; if it were only that, she'd get it, and send him +packing. It's worse than that: disgrace, perhaps." + +"What sort of disgrace can it be?" + +"I don't know. But if something of the sort is not looming, never trust +me again. And here am I, with my hands tied, forbidden to unravel it. +Johnny, I feel just like a wild beast barred up in a cage." + +Had he been a real wild beast he could not have given the window-frame a +much worse shake, as he passed through in his anger to the bench under +the mulberry-tree. + +When you have to look far back to things, recollection sometimes gets +puzzled as to the order in which they happened. How it came about I am +by no means clear, but an uncomfortable feeling grew up in my mind about +Hugh. About both the children, in fact, but Hugh more than Lena. Mrs. +Todhetley seemed to dread Hugh's being abroad--and I'm sure I was not +mistaken in thinking it. I heard her order Hannah to keep the children +within view of the house, and not to allow Hugh to stray away from her. +Had it been winter weather I suppose she'd have kept them indoors +altogether; there could be no plea for it under the blue sky and the hot +summer sun. + +The Squire came home; he had been staying some time with friends in +Gloucestershire; but Mrs. Coney did not come--although Mrs. Todhetley +kept sending me for news. Twice I saw her talking to the strange man; +who I believed made his abode in the Ravine. Tod watched, as he had +threatened to do; and would often appear with in-drawn lips. There was +active warfare between him and his step-mother: at least if you can say +that when both kept silence. As to the Squire, he observed nothing, and +knew nothing: and no one enlightened him. It seems a long time, I dare +say, when reading of this, as if it had extended over a month of +Sundays; but I don't think it lasted much more than a fortnight in all. + +One evening, quite late, when the sun was setting, and the Squire was +smoking his pipe on the lawn, talking to me and Tod, Lena and her mother +came in at the gate. In spite of the red rays lighting up Mrs. +Todhetley's face, it struck me that I had never seen it look more +careworn. Lena put her arms on Tod's knee, and began telling about a +fright she had had: of a big toad that leaped out of the grass, and made +her scream and cry. She cried "because nobody was with her." + +"Where was mamma?" asked Tod; but I am sure he spoke without any +ulterior thought. + +"Mamma had gone to the zigzag stile to talk to the man. She told me to +wait for her." + +"What man?" cried the Squire. + +"Why, the man," said Lena logically. "He asks Hugh to go with him over +the sea to see the birds and the red coral." + +If any one face ever turned whiter than another, Mrs. Todhetley's did +then. Tod looked at her, sternly, ungenerously; and her eyes fell. She +laid hold of Lena's hand, saying it was bed-time. + +"What man is the child talking about?" the Squire asked her. + +"She talks about so many people," rather faintly answered Mrs. +Todhetley. "Come, Lena dear; Hannah's waiting for you. Say good-night." + +The Squire, quite unsuspicious, thought no more. He got up and walked +over to the beds to look at the flowers, holding his long churchwarden +pipe in his mouth. Tod put his back against the tree. + +"It is getting complicated, Johnny." + +"What is?" + +"What is! Why, madam's drama. She is afraid of that hinted scheme of her +friend's--the carrying-off Master Hugh beyond the seas." + +He spoke in satire. "Do you think so?" I returned. + +"Upon my honour I do. She must be an idiot! I should like to give her a +good fright." + +"Tod, I think she is frightened enough without our giving her one." + +"I think she is. She must have caught up the idea from overhearing +Hannah's gossip with old Thomas. This afternoon Hugh was running through +the little gate with me; madam came flying over the lawn and begged me +not let him out of my hand, or else to leave him indoors. But for being +my father's wife, I should have asked her if her common-sense had gone +wool-gathering." + +"I suppose it has, Tod. Fancy a kidnapper in these days! The curious +thing is, that she should fear anything of the sort." + +"If she really does fear it. I tell you, Johnny, the performance is +growing complicated; somewhat puzzling. But I'll see it played out if I +live." + +The week went on to Friday. But the afternoon was over, and evening set +in, before the shock fell upon us: _Hugh was missing_. + +The Squire had been out in the gig, taking me; and it seems they had +supposed at home that Hugh was with us. The particulars of Hugh's +disappearance, and what had happened in the day, I will relate further +on. + +The Squire thought nothing: he said Hugh must have got into Coney's +house or some other neighbour's house: and sat down to dinner, wondering +why so much to-do was made. Mrs. Todhetley looked scared to death; and +Tod tore about as if he were wild. The servants were sent here, the +outdoor men there: it was like a second edition of that day in +Warwickshire when we lost Lena: like it, only worse, more commotion. +Hannah boldly said to her mistress that the strange man must have +carried off the boy. + +Hour after hour the search continued. With no result. Night came on, +with a bright moon to light it up. But it did not light up Hugh. + +Mrs. Todhetley, a dark shawl over her head, and I dare say a darker fear +upon her heart, went out for the second or third time towards the +Ravine. I ran after her. We had nearly reached the stile at the zigzag, +when Tod came bounding over it. + +"Has not the time for shielding this man gone by, think you?" he asked, +placing himself in Mrs. Todhetley's path, and speaking as coolly as he +was able for the agitation that shook him. And why Tod, with his known +carelessness, should be so moved, I could not fathom. + +"Joseph, I do not suppose or think the man knows anything of Hugh; I +have my reasons for it," she answered, bearing on for the stile, and +leaning over it to look down into the dark Ravine. + +"Will you give me permission to inquire that of himself?" + +"You will not find the man. He is gone." + +"Leave the finding him to me," persisted Tod. "Will you withdraw the +embargo you laid upon me?" + +"No, no," she whispered, "I cannot do it." + +The trees had an uncommonly damp feel in the night-air, and the +place altogether looked as weird as could be. I was away then in the +underwood; she looked down always into the Ravine and called Hugh's name +aloud. Nothing but an echo answered. + +"It has appeared to me for several days that you have feared something +of this," Tod said, trying to get a full view of her face. "It might +have been better for--for all of us--if you had allowed me at first to +take the affair in hand." + +"Perhaps I ought; perhaps I ought," she said, bursting into tears. +"Heaven knows, though, that I acted from a good motive. It was not to +screen myself that I've tried to keep the matter secret." + +"Oh!" The sarcasm of Tod's short comment was like nothing I ever heard. +"To screen me, perhaps?" said he. + +"Well, yes--in a measure, Joseph," she patiently answered. "I only +wished to spare you vexation. Oh, Joseph! if--if Hugh cannot be found, +and--and all has to come out--who he is and what he wants here--remember +that I wished nothing but to spare others pain." + +Tod's eyes were blazing with angry, haughty light. Spare _him_! He +thought she was miserably equivocating; he had some such idea as that +she sought (in words) to make him a scape-goat for her relative's sins. +What he answered I hardly know; except that he civilly dared her to +speak. + +"Do not spare _me_: I particularly request you will not," he scornfully +retorted. "Yourself as much as you will, but not me." + +"I have done it for the best," she pleaded. "Joseph, I have done it all +for the best." + +"Where is this man to be found? I have been looking for him these +several hours past, as I should think no man was ever looked for yet." + +"I have said that I think he is not to be found. I think he is gone." + +"Gone!" shouted Tod. "Gone!" + +"I think he must be. I--I saw him just before dinner-time, here at this +very stile; I gave him something that I had to give, and I think he left +at once, to make the best of his way from the place." + +"And Hugh?" asked Tod savagely. + +"I did not know then that Hugh was missing. Oh, Joseph, I can't tell +what to think. When I said to him one day that he ought not to talk +nonsense to the children about corals and animals--in fact, should not +speak to them at all--he answered that if I did not get him the money he +wanted he'd take the boy off with him. I knew it was a jest; but I could +not help thinking of it when the days went on and on, and I had no money +to give him." + +"_Of course_ he has taken the boy," said Tod, stamping his foot. And the +words sent Mrs. Todhetley into a tremor. + +"Joseph! Do you think so?" + +"Heaven help you, Mrs. Todhetley, for a--a simple woman! We may never +see Hugh again." + +He caught up the word he had been going to say--fool. Mrs. Todhetley +clasped her hands together piteously, and the shawl slipped from her +shoulders. + +"I think, madam, you must tell what you can," he resumed, scarcely +knowing which to bring uppermost, his anxiety for Hugh or his lofty, +scornful anger. "_Is_ the man a relative of yours?" + +"No, not of mine. Oh, Joseph, please don't be angry with me! Not of +mine, but of yours." + +"Of mine!" cried proud Tod. "Thank you, Mrs. Todhetley." + +"His name is Arne," she whispered. + +"What!" shouted Tod. + +"Joseph, indeed it is. Alfred Arne." + +Had Tod been shot by a cannon-ball, he could hardly have been more +completely struck into himself; doubled up, so to say. His mother had +been an Arne; and he well remembered to have heard of an ill-doing +mauvais sujet of a half-brother of hers, called Alfred, who brought +nothing but trouble and disgrace on all connected with him. There ensued +a silence, interrupted only by Mrs. Todhetley's tears. Tod was looking +white in the moonlight. + +"So it seems it _is_ my affair!" he suddenly said; but though he drew up +his head, all his fierce spirit seemed to have gone out of him. "You can +have no objection to speak fully now." + +And Mrs. Todhetley, partly because of her unresisting nature, partly in +her fear for Hugh, obeyed him. + +"I had seen Mr. Arne once before," she began. "It was the year that I +first went home to Dyke Manor. He made his appearance there, not openly, +but just as he has made it here now. His object was to get money from +the Squire to go abroad with. And at length he did get it. But it put +your father very much out; made him ill, in fact; and I believe he took +a sort of vow, in his haste and vexation, to give Alfred Arne into +custody if he ever came within reach of him again. I think--I fear--he +always has something or other hanging over his head worse than debt; and +for that reason can never show himself by daylight without danger." + +"Go on," said Tod, quite calmly. + +"One morning recently I suddenly met him. He stepped right into my +path, here at this same spot, as I was about to descend the Ravine, and +asked if I knew him again. I was afraid I did. I was afraid he had come +on the same errand as before: and oh, Joseph, how thankful I felt that +you and your father were away! He told me a long and pitiful tale, and I +thought I ought to try and help him to the money he needed. He was +impatient for it, and the same evening, supposing no one was at home but +myself, he came to the dining-room window, wishing to ask if I had +already procured the money. Johnny heard him knock." + +"It might have been better that we had been here," repeated Tod. "Better +that we should have dealt with him than you." + +"Your father was so thankful that you were at school before, Joseph; so +thankful! He said he would not have you know anything about Alfred Arne +for the world. And so--I tried to keep it this time from both you and +him, and, but for this fear about Hugh, I should have done it." + +Tod did not answer. He looked at her keenly in the twilight of the +summer's night, apparently waiting for more. She continued her +explanation; not enlarging upon things, suffering, rather, inferences +to be drawn. The following was its substance:-- + +Alfred Arne asked for fifty pounds. He had returned to England only a +few months before, had got into some fresh danger, and had to leave it +again, and to hide himself until he did so. The fifty pounds--to get him +off, he said, and start him afresh in the colonies--he demanded not as a +gift, but a matter of right: the Todhetleys, being his near relatives, +must help him. Mrs. Todhetley knew but of one person she could borrow +it from privately--Mrs. Coney--and _she_ had gone from home just as she +was about to be asked for it. Only this afternoon had Mrs. Todhetley +received the money from her and paid it to Alfred Arne. + +"I would not have told you this, but for being obliged, Joseph," she +pleaded meekly, when the brief explanation was ended. "We can still keep +it from your father; better, perhaps, that you should know it than he: +you are young and he is not." + +"A great deal better," assented Tod. "You have made yourself responsible +to Mrs. Coney for the fifty pounds?" + +"Don't think of that, Joseph. She is in no hurry for repayment, and will +get it from me by degrees. I have a little trifle of my own, you know, +that I get half-yearly, and I can economize in my dress. I did so hope +to keep it from you as well as from your father." + +I wondered if Tod saw all the patient, generous, self-sacrificing +spirit. I wondered if he was growing to think that he had been always on +the wrong tack in judging harshly of his stepmother. She turned away, +thinking perhaps that time was being lost. I said something about Hugh. + +"Hugh is all right, Johnny; he'll be found now," Tod answered in a +dreamy tone, as he looked after her with a dreamy look. The next moment +he strode forward, and was up with Mrs. Todhetley. + +"I beg your pardon for the past, mother; I beg it with shame and +contrition. Can you forgive me?" + +"Oh, pray don't, dear Joseph! I have nothing to forgive," she answered, +bursting into fresh tears as she took his offered hand. And that was the +first time in all his life that Tod, prejudiced Tod, had allowed himself +to call her "mother." + + +II. + +I never saw anything plainer in my life. It was not just opposite to +where I stood, but lower down towards the end of the Ravine. Amongst the +dark thick underwood of the rising bank it dodged about, just as if some +one who was walking carried it in his hand lifted up in front of him. A +round white light, exactly as the ghost's light was described to be. One +might have fancied it the light of a wax-candle, only that a candle +would flicker itself dim and bright by turns in the air, and this was +steady and did not. + +If a ghost was carrying it, he must have been pacing backwards and +forwards; for the light confined itself to the range of a few yards. +Beginning at the environs of the black old yew-tree, it would come on +amidst the broom and shrubs to the group of alders, and then go back +again Timberdale way, sometimes lost to sight for a minute, as if hidden +behind a thicker mass of underwood, and then gleaming out afresh further +on in its path. Now up, now down; backwards and forwards; here, there, +everywhere; it was about as unaccountable a sight as any veritable ghost +ever displayed, or I, Johnny Ludlow, had chanced to come upon. + +The early part of the night had been bright. It was the same night, +spoken of in the last chapter, when Hugh was being searched for. Up to +eleven o'clock the moon had shone radiantly. Since then a curious sort +of darkness had come creeping along the heavens, and now, close upon +twelve, it overshadowed the earth like a pall. A dark, black canopy, +which the slight wind, getting up, never stirred, though it sighed and +moaned with a weird unpleasant sound down the Ravine. I did not mind +the light myself; don't think I should much have minded the ghost: but +Luke Mackintosh, standing by me, did. Considering that he was a good +five-and-twenty years of age, and had led an out-of-door life, it may +sound queer to say it, but he seemed timid as a hare. + +"I don't like it, Master Johnny," he whispered, as he grasped the fence +with an unsteady hand, and followed the light with his eyes. What with +the trees around us, and the pall overhead, it was dark enough, but I +could see his face, and knew it had turned white. + +"I believe you are afraid, Luke!" + +"Well, sir, so might you be if you knowed as much of that there light +as I do. It never comes but it bodes trouble." + +"Who brings the light?" + +"It's more than I can say, sir. They call it here the ghost's light. +And folks say, Master Johnny, that when it's seen, there's sure to be +some trouble in the air." + +"I think we have trouble enough just now without the light, Luke; and +our trouble was with us before we saw that." + +The Ravine lay beneath us, stretching out on either hand, weird, +lonesome, dreary, the bottom hidden in gloom. The towering banks, +whether we looked down the one we leaned over, or to the other opposite, +presented nothing to the eye but darkness: we knew the masses of trees, +bushes, underwood were there, but could not see them: and the spot +favoured by the restless light was too wild and steep to be safe for the +foot of man. Of course it was a curious speculation what it could be. + +"Did you ever see the light before, Mackintosh?" + +"Yes," he answered, "half-a-dozen times. Do you mind, Master Johnny, my +getting that there bad cut in the leg with my reaping-hook awhile agone? +Seven weeks I lay in Worcester Infirmary: they carried me there on a +mattress shoved down in the cart." + +"I remember hearing of it. We were at Dyke Manor." + +Before Luke went on, he turned his face to me and dropped his voice to +a deeper whisper. + +"Master Ludlow, as true as us two be a-standing here, I saw the ghost's +light the very night afore I got the hurt. I was working for Mr. Coney +then, it was before I came into the Squire's service. Young Master +Tom, he came out of the kitchen with a letter when we was at our +seven-o'clock supper, and said I were to cut off to Timberdale with it +and to look sharp, or the letter-box 'ud be shut. So I had to do it, +sir, and I came through this here Ravine, a-whistling and a-holding my +head down, though I'd rather ha' went ten mile round. When I got out of +it on t'other side, on top of the zigzag, I chanced to look back over +the stile, and there I see the light. It were opposite then, on _this_ +side, sir, and moving about in the same see-saw way it be now, for I +stood and watched it." + +"I wonder you plucked up the courage to stand and watch it, Luke?" + +"I were took aback, sir, all in a maze like: and then I started off full +pelt, as quick as my heels 'ud carry me. That was the very blessed night +afore I got the hurt. When the doctors was a-talking round me at the +infirmary, and I think they was arguing whether or not my leg must come +off, I telled 'em that I was afeared it wouldn't much matter neither +way, for I'd seen the ghost's light the past night and knowed my fate. +One of them, a young man he was, burst out laughing above my face as I +lay, and t'other next him, a grave gentleman with white hair, turned +round and hushed at him. Master Ludlow, it's all gospel true." + +"But you got well, Luke." + +"But I didn't think to," argued Luke. "And I see the light." + +As he turned his face again, the old church clock at Timberdale struck +twelve. It seemed to come booming over the Ravine with quite a warning +sound, and Luke gave himself a shake. As for me, I could only wish one +thing--that Hugh was found. + +Tod came up the zigzag path, a lantern in his hand; I whistled to let +him know I was near. He had been to look in the unused little shed-place +nearly at the other end of the Ravine; not for Hugh, but for the man, +Alfred Arne. Tod came up to us, and his face, as the lantern flashed +upon it, was whiter and graver than that of Luke Mackintosh. + +"Did you see that, sir?" asked Luke. + +"See what?" cried Tod, turning sharply. He thought it might be some +trace of Hugh. + +"That there ghost light, sir. It's showing itself to-night." + +Angry, perplexed, nearly out of his mind with remorse and fear, Tod gave +Luke a word of a sort, ordering him to be silent for an idiot, and put +the lantern down. He then saw the moving light, and let his eyes rest on +it in momentary curiosity. + +"It's the ghost light, sir," repeated Luke, for the man seemed as if he +and all other interests were lost in that. + +"The deuce take the ghost's light, and you with it," said Tod +passionately. "Is this a time to be staring at ghosts' lights? Get you +into Timberdale, Mackintosh, and see whether the police have news of the +child." + +"Sir, I'd not go through the Ravine to-night," was Luke's answer. "No, +not though I knowed I was to be killed at to-morrow's dawn for +disobeying the order." + +"Man, what are you afraid of?" + +"Of that," said Luke, nodding at the light. "But I don't like the Ravine +in the night at no time." + +"Why, that's nothing but a will-o'-the-wisp," returned Tod, +condescending to reason with him. + +Luke shook his head. There was the light; and neither his faith in it +nor his fear could be shaken. Tod had his arms on the fence now, and was +staring at the light as fixedly as Luke had done. + +"Johnny." + +"What?" + +"That light is carried by some one. It's being lifted about." + +"How could any one carry it _there_?" I returned. "He'd pitch head over +heels down the Ravine. No fellow could get to the place, Tod, let alone +keep his footing. It's where the bushes are thickest." + +Tod caught up the lantern. As its light flashed on his face, I could see +it working with new eagerness. He was taking up the notion that Hugh +might have fallen on that very spot, and that some one was waving a +light to attract attention. As to ghosts, Tod would have met an army of +them without the smallest fear. + +He went back down the Ravine, and we heard him go crashing through the +underwood. Luke never spoke a word. Suddenly, long before Tod could get +to it, the light disappeared. We waited and watched, but it did not come +again. + +"It have been like that always, Master Johnny," whispered Luke, taking +his arms off the fence. "Folks may look as long as they will at that +there light; but as soon as they go off, a-trying to get to see what it +is, it takes itself away. It will be seen no more to-night, sir." + +He turned off across the meadow for the high-road, to go and do Tod's +bidding at Timberdale, walking at a sharp pace. Any amount of exertion +would have been welcome to Mackintosh, as an alternative to passing +through the Ravine. + +It may be remembered that for some days we had been vaguely uneasy about +Hugh, and the uneasiness had penetrated to Mrs. Todhetley. Tod had made +private mockery of it to me, thinking she must be three parts a fool to +entertain any such fear. "I should like to give madam a fright," he said +to me one day--meaning that he would like to hide little Hugh for a +time. But I never supposed he would really do it. And it was only +to-night--hours and hours after Hugh disappeared, that Tod avowed to me +the part he had taken in the loss. To make it clear to the reader, we +must go back to the morning of this same day--Friday. + +After breakfast I was shut up with my books, paying no attention to +anything that might be going on, inside the house or out of it. Old +Frost gave us a woeful lot to do in the holidays. The voices of the +children, playing at the swing, came wafting in through the open window; +but they died away to quietness as the morning went on. About twelve +o'clock Mrs. Todhetley looked in. + +"Are the children here, Johnny?" + +She saw they were not, and went away without waiting for an answer. Lena +ran up the passage, and I heard her say papa had taken Hugh out in the +pony-gig. The interruption served as an excuse for putting up the books +for the day, and I went out. + +Of all young ragamuffins, the worst came running after me as I went +through the fold-yard gate. Master Hugh! Whether he had been in the +green pond again or over the house-roof, he was in a wonderful state; +his blue eyes not to be seen for mud, his straw-hat bent, his brown +holland blouse all tatters and slime, and the pretty fair curls that +Hannah was proud of and wasted her time over, a regular mass of tangle. + +"Take me with you, Johnny!" + +"I should think I would, like that! What have you been doing with +yourself?" + +"Playing with the puppy. We fell down in the mud amongst the ducks. +Joe says I am to stop in the barn and hide myself. I am afraid to go +indoors." + +"You'll catch it, and no mistake. Come, be off back again." + +But he'd not go back, and kept running by my side under the high hedge. +When we came to the gate at the end of the field, I stood and ordered +him to go. He began to cry a little. + +"Now, Hugh, you know you cannot go with me in that plight. Walk yourself +straight off to Hannah and get her to change the things before your +mamma sees you. There; you may have the biscuit: I don't much care for +it." + +It was a big captain's biscuit that I had caught up in going through the +dining-room. He took that readily enough, the young cormorant, but he +wouldn't stir any the more for it: and I might have had the small object +with me till now, but for the appearance of the Squire's gig in the +lane. The moment Hugh caught sight of his papa, he turned tail and +scampered away like a young wild animal. Remembering Mrs. Todhetley's +foolish fear, I mounted the gate and watched him turn safely in at the +other. + +"What are you looking at, Johnny?" asked the Squire, as he drove +leisurely up. + +"At Hugh, sir. I've sent him indoors." + +"I'm going over to Massock's, Johnny, about the bricks for that cottage. +You can get up, if you like to come with me." + +I got into the gig at once, and we drove to South Crabb, to Massock's +place. He was not to be seen; his people thought he had gone out for the +day. Upon that, the Squire went on to see old Cartwright, and they made +us stop there and put up the pony. When we reached home it was past +dinner-time. Mrs. Todhetley came running out. + +"Couldn't get here before: the Cartwrights kept us," called out the +Squire. "We are going to catch it, Johnny," he whispered to me, with a +laugh: "we've let the dinner spoil." + +But it was not the dinner. "Where's Hugh?" asked Mrs. Todhetley. + +"I've not seen Hugh," said the Squire, flinging the reins to Luke +Mackintosh, who had come up. Luke did all kinds of odd jobs about the +place, and sometimes helped the groom. + +"But you took Hugh out with you," she said. + +"Not I," answered the Squire. + +Mrs. Todhetley's face turned white. She looked from one to the other of +us in a helpless kind of manner. "Lena said you did," she returned, and +her voice seemed to fear its own sound. The Squire talking with +Mackintosh about the pony, noticed nothing particular. + +"Lena did? Oh, ay, I remember. I let Hugh get up at the door and drove +him round to the fold-yard gate. I dropped him there." + +He went in as he spoke: Mrs. Todhetley seemed undecided whether to +follow him. Tod had his back against the door-post, listening. + +"What are you alarmed at?" he asked her, not even attempting to suppress +his mocking tone. + +"Oh, Johnny!" she said, "have _you_ not seen him?" + +"Yes; and a fine pickle he was in," I answered, telling her about it. +"I dare say Hannah has put him to bed for punishment." + +"But Hannah has not," said Mrs. Todhetley. "She came down at four +o'clock to inquire if he had come in." + +However, thinking that it might possibly turn out to be so, she ran in +to ascertain. Tod put his hand on my shoulder, and walked me further +off. + +"Johnny, did Hugh really not go with you?" + +"Why, of course he did not. Should I deny it if he did?" + +"Where the dickens can the young idiot have got to?" mused Tod. +"Jeffries vowed he saw him go off with you down the field, Johnny." + +"But I sent him back. I watched him in at the fold-yard gate. You don't +suppose I could take him further in that pickle!" + +Tod laughed a little at the remembrance. Mrs. Todhetley returned, saying +Hugh was not to be found anywhere. She looked ready to die. Tod was +inwardly enjoying her fright beyond everything: it was better than a +play to him. His particularly easy aspect struck her. + +"Oh, Joseph!" she implored, "if you know where he is, pray tell me." + +"How should I know?" returned Tod. "I protest on my honour I have not +set eyes on him since before luncheon to-day." + +"_Do_ you know where he is, Tod?" I asked him, as she turned indoors. + +"No; but I can guess. He's not far off. And I really did think he was +with you, Johnny. I suppose I must go and bring him in, now; but I'd +give every individual thing my pockets contain if madam had had a few +hours' fright of it, instead of a few minutes'." + +The dinner-bell was ringing, but Tod went off in an opposite direction. +And I must explain here what he knew of it, though he did not tell me +then. Walking through the fold-yard that morning, he had come upon +Master Hugh, just emerging from the bed of green mud, crying his eyes +out, and a piteous object. Hannah had promised Hugh that the next time +he got into this state she would carry him to the Squire. Hugh knew +she'd be sure to keep her word, and that the upshot would probably be +a whipping. Tod, after gratifying his eyes with the choice spectacle, +and listening to the fears of the whipping, calmly assured the young +gentleman that he was "in for it," at which Hugh only howled the more. +All in a moment it occurred to Tod to make use of this opportunity to +frighten Mrs. Todhetley. He took Hugh off to the barn, and told him +that if he'd hide himself there until the evening, he'd not only get him +off his whipping, but give him all sorts of good things besides. Hugh +was willing to promise, but said he wanted his dinner, upon which Tod +went and brought him a plate of bread-and-butter, telling Molly, who +cut it, that it was for himself. Tod left him devouring it in the dark +corner behind the waggon, particularly impressing upon him the fact +that he was to keep close and make no sign if his mamma, or Hannah, or +anybody else, came to look for him. One of the men, Jeffries, was at +work in the barn, and Tod, so to say, took him into confidence, ordering +him to know nothing if Master Hugh were inquired for. As Hannah and +Jeffries were at daggers drawn, and the man supposed this hiding was to +spite her, he entered into it with interest. + +There were two barns at Crabb Cot. One some way down the road in front +of the house was the store barn, and you've heard of it before in +connection with something seen by Maria Lease. It was called the yellow +barn from the colour of its outer walls. The other, of red brick, was +right at the back of the fold-yard, and it was in this last that Tod +left Hugh, all safe and secure, as he thought, until told he might come +out again. + +But now, when Tod went into the dining-room to luncheon at half-past +twelve--we country people breakfast early--at which meal he expected the +hue and cry after Hugh to set in, for it was the children's dinner, +he found there was a hitch in the programme. Mrs. Todhetley appeared +perfectly easy on the score of Hugh's absence, and presently casually +mentioned that he had gone out with his papa in the pony-gig. Tod's +lips parted to say that Hugh was not in the pony-gig, but in a state +of pickle instead. Prudence caused him to close them again. Hannah, +standing behind Lena's chair, openly gave thanks that the child was got +rid of for a bit, and said he was "getting a'most beyond her." Tod bit +his lips with vexation: the gilt was taken off the gingerbread. He went +to the barn again presently, and then found that Hugh had left it. +Jeffries said he saw him going towards the lane with Master Ludlow, and +supposed that the little lad had taken the opportunity to slip out of +the barn when he (Jeffries) went to dinner, at twelve o'clock. And thus +the whole afternoon had gone peaceably and unsuspiciously on; Mrs. +Todhetley and Hannah supposing Hugh was with the Squire, Tod supposing +he must be somewhere with me. + +And when we both appeared at home without him, Tod took it for granted +that Hugh had gone back to his hiding-place in the barn, and a qualm of +conscience shot through him for leaving the lad there so many hours +unlooked after. He rushed off to it at once, while the dinner-bell was +ringing. But when he got there, Jeffries declared Hugh had not been back +to it at all. Tod, in his hot way, retorted on Jeffries for saying so; +but the man persisted that he could not be mistaken, as he had never +been away from the barn since coming back from dinner. + +And then arose the commotion. Tod came back with a stern face, almost as +anxious as Mrs. Todhetley's. Hugh had not been seen, so far as could be +ascertained, since I watched him in at the fold-yard gate soon after +twelve. That was nearly seven hours ago. Tod felt himself responsible +for the loss, and sent the men to look about. But the worst he thought +then was, that the boy, whose fears of showing himself in his state of +dilapidation Tod himself had mischievously augmented, had lain down +somewhere or other and dropped asleep. + +It had gone on, and on, and on, until late at night, and then had +occurred that explanation between Tod and his step-mother told of in the +other paper. Tod was all impulse, and pride, and heat, and passion; but +his heart was made of sterling gold, just like the Squire's. Holding +himself aloof from her in haughty condemnation, in the matter of the +mysterious stranger, to find now that the stranger was a man called +Alfred Arne, _his_ relative, and that Mrs. Todhetley had been generously +taking the trouble upon herself for the sake of sparing him and his +father pain, completely turned Tod and his pride over. + +He had grown desperately frightened as the hours went on. The moon-lit +night had become dark, as I've already said, and the men could not +pursue their search to much effect. Tod did not cease his. He got a +lantern, and went rushing about as if he were crazy. You saw him come up +with it from the Ravine, and now he had gone back on a wild-goose chase +after the ghost light. Where was Hugh? Where could he be? It was not +likely Alfred Arne had taken him, because he had that afternoon got from +Mrs. Todhetley the fifty pounds he worried for, and she thought he had +gone finally off with it. It stood to reason that the child would be +an encumbrance to him. On the other hand, Tod's theory, that Hugh had +dropped asleep somewhere, seemed, as the hours crept on, less and less +likely to hold water, for he would have wakened up and come home long +ago. As to the Ravine, in spite of Tod's suspicions that he might be +there, I was sure the little fellow would not have ventured into it. + +I stood on, in the dark night, waiting for Tod to come back again. It +felt awfully desolate now Luke Mackintosh had gone. The ghost light +did not show again. I rather wished it would, for company. He came at +last--Tod, not the ghost. I had heard him shouting, and nothing answered +but the echoes. A piece of his coat was torn, and some brambles were +sticking to him, and the lantern was broken; what dangerous places he +had pushed himself into could never be told. + +"I wonder you've come out with whole limbs, Tod." + +"Hold your peace, Johnny," was all the retort I got; and his voice rose +nearly to a shout in its desperate sorrow. + + * * * * * + +Morning came, but no news with it, no Hugh. Tod had been about all +night. With daylight, the fields, and all other seemingly possible +places, were searched. Tom Coney went knocking at every house in North +and South Crabb, and burst into cottages, and turned over, so to say, +all the dwellings in that savoury locality, Crabb Lane, but with no +result. The Squire was getting anxious; but none of us had ventured to +tell him of our especial cause for anxiety, or to speak of Alfred Arne. + +It appeared nearly certain now, to us, that he had gone with Alfred +Arne, and, after a private consultation with Mrs. Todhetley, Tod and I +set out in search of the man. She still wished to spare the knowledge of +his visit to the Squire, if possible. + +We had not far to go. Mrs. Todhetley's fears went ranging abroad to +London, or Liverpool, or the Coral Islands beyond the sea, of which Arne +had talked to Hugh: but Arne was found at Timberdale. In an obscure +lodging in the further outskirts of the place, the landlord of which, a +man named Cookum, was a bad character, and very shy of the police, Arne +was found. We might have searched for him to the month's end, but for +Luke Mackintosh. When Luke arrived at Timberdale in the middle of the +night, ordered there by Tod to make inquiries at the police-station, he +saw a tipsy man slink into Cookum's house, and recognized him for the +one who had recently been exciting speculation at home. Luke happened to +mention this to Tod, not connecting Hugh with it at all, simply as a bit +of gossip: of course it was not known who Arne was, or his name, or what +he had been waiting for. + +We had a fight to get in. Cookum came leaping down the crazy stairs, and +put himself in our way in the passage, swearing we should not go on. Tod +lifted his strong arm. + +"I mean to go on, Cookum," he said, in a slow, quiet voice that had +determination in every tone of it. "I have come to see a man named Arne. +I don't want to do him any ill, or you either; but, see him, I will. If +you do not move out of my way I'll knock you down." + +Cookum stood his ground. He was short, slight, and sickly, with a puffy +face and red hair; a very reed beside Tod. + +"There ain't no man here of that name. There ain't no man here at all." + +"Very well. Then you can't object to letting me see that there is not." + +"I swear that you shan't see, master. There!" + +Tod flung him aside. Cookum, something like an eel, slipped under Tod's +arm, and was in front of him again. + +"I don't care to damage you, Cookum, as you must see I could do, and +force my way in over your disabled body; you look too weak for it. But +I'll either go in _so_, or the police shall clear an entrance for me." + +The mention of the police scared the man; I saw it in his face. Tod kept +pushing on and the man backing, just a little. + +"I won't have no police here. What is it you want?" + +"I have told you once. A man named Arne." + +"I swear then that I never knowed a man o' that name; let alone having +him in my place." + +And he spoke with such passionate fervour that it struck me Arne did not +go by his own name: which was more than probable. They were past the +stairs now, and Cookum did not seem to care to guard them. The nasty +passage, long and narrow, had a door at the end. Tod thought that must +be the fortress. + +"You are a great fool, Cookum. I've told you that I mean no harm to you +or to any one in the place; so to make this fuss is needless. You may +have a band of felons concealed here, or a cart-load of stolen goods; +they are all safe for me. But if you force me to bring in the police it +might be a different matter." + +Perhaps the argument told on the man; perhaps the tone of reason it was +spoken in; but he certainly seemed to hesitate. + +"You can't prove that to me, sir: not that there's any felons or things +in here. Show me that you don't mean harm, and you shall go on." + +"Have you a stolen child here?" + +Cookum's mouth opened with genuine surprise. "A stolen child!" + +"We have lost a little boy. I have reason to think that a man who was +seen to enter this passage in the middle of the night knows something of +him, and I have come to ask and see. Now you know all. Let me go on." + +The relief on the man's face was great. "Honour bright, sir." + +"Don't stand quibbling, man," roared Tod passionately. "YES!" + +"I've got but one man in all the place. He have no boy with him, he +haven't." + +"But he may know something of one. What's his name?" + +"All the name he've given me is Jack." + +"I dare say it's the same. Come! you are wasting time." + +But Cookum, doubtful still, never moved. They were close to the door +now, and he had his back against it. Tod turned his head. + +"Go for the two policemen, Johnny. They are both in readiness, Cookum. +I looked in at the station as I came by, to say I might want them." + +Before I could get out, Cookum howled out to me _not_ to go, as one in +mortal fear. He took a latch-key from his pocket, and put it into the +latch of the door, which had no other fastening outside, not even a +handle. "You can open it yourself," said he to Tod, and slipped away. + +It might have been a sort of kitchen but that it looked more like a +den, with nothing to light it but a dirty sky-light above. The floor +was of red brick; a tea-kettle boiled on the fire; there was a smell +of coffee. Alfred Arne stood on the defensive against the opposite +wall, a life-preserver in his hand, and his thin hair on end with +fright. + +"I am here on a peaceable errand, if you will allow it to be so," said +Tod, shutting us in. "Is your name Arne?" + +Arne dropped the life-preserver into the breast-pocket of his coat, and +came forward with something of a gentleman's courtesy. + +"Yes, my name is Arne, Joseph Todhetley. And your mother--as I make no +doubt you know--was a very near relative of mine. If you damage me, you +will bring her name unpleasantly before the public, as well as your own +and your father's." + +That he thought our errand was to demand back the fifty pounds, there +could be no doubt: perhaps to hand him into custody if he refused to +give it up. + +"I have not come to damage you in any way," said Tod in answer. "Where's +Hugh?" + +Arne looked as surprised as the other man had. "Hugh!" + +"Yes, Hugh: my little brother. Where is he?" + +"How can I tell?" + +Tod glanced round the place; there was not any nook or corner capable +of affording concealment. Arne gazed at him. He stood on that side the +dirty deal table, we on this. + +"We have lost Hugh since mid-day yesterday. Do you know anything of +him?" + +"Certainly _not_," was the emphatic answer, and I at least saw that it +was a true one. "Is it to ask that, that you have come here?" + +"For that, and nothing else. We have been up all night searching for +him." + +"But why do you come after him here? I am not likely to know where he +is." + +"I think you are likely." + +"Why?" + +"You have been talking to the boy about carrying him off with you to see +coral islands. You hinted, I believe, to Mrs. Todhetley that you might +really take him, if your demands were not complied with." + +Arne slightly laughed. "I talked to the boy about the Coral Islands +because it pleased him. As to Mrs. Todhetley, if she has the sense of a +goose, she must have known I meant nothing. Take off a child with me! +Why, if he were made a present to me, I should only drop him at his own +door at Crabb Cot, as they drop the foundlings at the gate of the Maison +Dieu in Paris. Joseph Todhetley, I _could not_ be encumbered with a +child: the life of shifts and concealment I have to lead would debar +it." + +I think Tod saw he was in earnest. But he stood in indecision: this +dashed out his great hope. + +"I should have been away from here last night, but that I got a drop too +much and must wait till dark again," resumed Arne. "The last time I saw +Hugh was on Thursday afternoon. He was in the meadow with _you_." + +"I did not see you," remarked Tod. + +"I saw you, though. And that is the last time I saw him. Don't you +believe me? You may. I like the little lad, and would find him for you +if I could, rather than help to lose him. I'd say take my honour upon +this, Joseph Todhetley, only you might retort that it has not been worth +anything this many a year." + +"And with justice," said Tod, boldly. + +"True. The world has been against me and I against the world. But it has +not come yet with me to stealing children. With the loan of the money +now safe in my pocket, I shall make a fresh start in life. A precious +long time your step-mother kept me waiting for it." + +"She did her best. You ought not to have applied to her at all." + +"I know that: it should have been to the other side of the house. She +prevented me: wanting, she said, to spare you and your father." + +"The knowledge of the disgrace. Yes." + +"There's no need to have recourse to hard names, Joseph Todhetley. What +I am, I am, but you have not much cause to grumble, for I don't trouble +you often. As many thousand miles away as the seas can put between me +and England, I'm going now: and it's nearly as many chances to one +against your ever seeing me again." + +Tod turned to depart: the intensely haughty look his face wore at odd +moments had been upon it throughout the interview. Had he been a woman +he might have stood with his skirts picked up, as if to save them +contamination from some kind of reptile. He stayed for a final word. + +"Then I may take your answer in good faith--that you know nothing of +Hugh?" + +"Take it, or not, as you please. If I knew that I was going to stand +next minute in the presence of Heaven, I could not give it more +truthfully. For the child's own sake, I hope he will be found. Why +don't you ask the man who owns the rooms?--he can tell you I have had +no boy here. If you choose to watch me away to-night, do so; you'll +see I go alone. A child with me! I might about as well give myself up +to the law at once, for I shouldn't long remain out of its clutches, +Joseph Todhetley." + +"Good-morning," said Tod shortly. I echoed the words, and we were +civilly answered. As we went out, Arne shut the door behind us. In the +middle of the passage stood Cookum. + +"Have you found he was who you wanted, sir?" + +"Yes," answered Tod, not vouchsafing to explain. "Another time when I +say I do not wish to harm you, perhaps you'll take my word." + +Mrs. Todhetley, pale and anxious, was standing under the mulberry-tree +when we got back. She came across the grass. + +"Any news?" cried Tod. As if the sight of her was not enough, that he +need have asked! + +"No, no, Joseph. Did you see him?" + +"Yes, he had not left. He knows nothing of Hugh." + +"I had no hope that he did," moaned poor Mrs. Todhetley. "All he wanted +was the money." + +We turned into the dining-room by the glass-doors, and it seemed to +strike out a gloomy chill. On the wall near the window, there was a +chalk drawing of Hugh in colours, hung up by a bit of common string. It +was only a rough sketch that Jane Coney had done half in sport; but it +was like him, especially in the blue eyes and the pretty light hair. + +"Where's my father?" asked Tod. + +"Gone riding over to the brick-fields again," she answered: "he cannot +get it out of his mind that Hugh must be there. Joseph, as Mr. Arne +has nothing to do with the loss, we can still spare your father the +knowledge that he has been here. Spare it, I mean, for good." + +"Yes. Thank you." + +Hugh was uncommonly fond of old Massock's brick-fields; he would go +there on any occasion that offered, had once or twice strayed there a +truant; sending Hannah, for the time being, into a state of mortal +fright. The Squire's opinion was that Hugh must have decamped there some +time in the course of the Friday afternoon, perhaps followed the gig; +and was staying there, afraid to come home. + +"He might have hung on to the tail of the gig itself, and I and Johnny +never have seen him, the 'cute Turk," argued the Squire. + +Which I knew was just as likely as that he had, unseen, hung on to the +moon. In the state he had brought his clothes to, he wouldn't have gone +to the brick-fields at all. The Squire did not seem so uneasy as he +might have been. Hugh would be sure to turn up, he said, and should get +the soundest whipping any young rascal ever had. + +But he came riding back from the brick-fields as before--without him. +Tod, awfully impatient, met him in the road by the yellow barn. The +Squire got off his horse there, for Luke Mackintosh was at hand to take +it. + +"Father, I cannot think of any other place he can have got to: we have +searched everywhere. Can you?" + +"Not I, Joe. Don't be down-hearted. He'll turn up; he'll turn up. +Halloa!" broke off the Squire as an idea struck him, "has this barn been +searched?" + +"He can't be in there, sir; it's just a moral impossibility that he +could be," spoke up Mackintosh. "The place was empty, which I can be +upon my oath, when I locked it up yesterday afternoon, after getting +some corn out; and the key have never been out o' my trousers' pocket +since. Mr. Joseph, he was inside with me at the time, and knows it." + +Tod nodded assent, and the Squire walked away. As there was no other +accessible entrance to the front barn, and the windows were ever so +many yards from the ground, they felt that it must be, as the man said, +a "moral impossibility." + +The day went on, it was Saturday, remember, and the miserable hours went +on, and there came no trace of the child. The Ravine was again searched +thoroughly: that is, as thoroughly as its overgrown state permitted. It +was like waste of time; for Hugh would not have hidden himself in it; +and if he had fallen over the fence he would have been found before from +the traces that must have been left in the bushes. The searchers would +come in, one after another, now a farm-servant, now one of the police, +bringing no news, except of defeat, but hoping some one else had brought +it. Every time that Tod looked at the poor mild face of Mrs. Todhetley, +always meek and patient, striving ever to hide the anguish that each +fresh disappointment brought, I know he felt ready to hang himself. It +was getting dusk when Maria Lease came up with a piece of straw hat that +she had found in the withy walk. But both Mrs. Todhetley and Hannah, +upon looking at it, decided that the straw was of finer grain than +Hugh's. + +That afternoon they dragged the pond, but there was nothing found in it. +We could get no traces anywhere. No one had seen him, no one heard of +him. From the moment when I had watched him into the fold-yard gate, it +seemed that he had altogether vanished from above ground. Since then all +scent of him was missing. It was very strange: just as though the boy +had been spirited away. + +Sunday morning rose. As lovely a Sunday as ever this world saw, but all +sad for us. Tod had flung himself back in the pater's easy-chair, pretty +near done over. Two nights, and he had not been to bed. In spite of his +faith in Alfred Arne's denial, he had chosen to watch him away in the +night from Timberdale; and he saw the man steal off in the darkness on +foot and alone. The incessant hunting about was bringing its reaction on +Tod, and the fatigue of body and mind began to show itself. But as to +giving in, he'd never do that, and would be as likely as not to walk and +worry himself into a fever. + +The day was warm and beautiful; the glass-doors stood open to the sweet +summer air. Light fleecy clouds floated over the blue sky, the sun shone +on the green grass of the lawn and sparkled amidst the leaves of the +great mulberry-tree. Butterflies flitted past in pairs, chasing each +other; bees sent forth their hum as they sipped the honey-dew from the +flowers; the birds sang their love-songs on the boughs: all seemed +happiness outside, as if to mock our care within. + +Tod lay back with his eyes closed: I sat on the arm of the old red sofa. +The bells of North Crabb Church rang out for morning service. It was +rather a cracked old peal, but on great occasions the ringers assembled +and did their best. The Bishop of Worcester was coming over to-day to +preach a charity sermon: and North Crabb never had anything greater than +that. Tod opened his eyes and listened in silence. + +"Tod, do you know what it puts me in mind of?" + +"Don't bother. It's because of the bishop, I suppose." + +"I don't mean the bells. It's like the old fable, told of in 'The +Mistletoe Bough,' enacted in real life. If there were any deep chest +about the premises----" + +"Hold your peace, Johnny!--unless you want to drive me mad. If we come +upon the child like _that_, I'll--I'll----" + +I think he was going to say shoot himself, or something of that sort, +for he was given to random speech when put to it. But at that moment +Lena ran in dressed for church, in her white frock and straw hat with +blue ribbons. She threw her hands on Tod's knee and burst out crying. + +"Joe, I don't want to go to church; I want Hugh." + +Quite a spasm of pain shot across his face, but he was very tender with +her. In all my life I had never seen Tod so gentle as he had been at +moments during the last two days. + +"Don't cry, pretty one," he said, pushing the fair curls from her face. +"Go to church like a good little girl; perhaps we shall have found him +by the time you come home." + +"Hannah says he's lying dead somewhere." + +"Hannah's nothing but a wicked woman," savagely answered Tod. "Don't you +mind her." + +But Lena would not be pacified, and kept on sobbing and crying, "I want +Hugh; I want Hugh." + +Mrs. Todhetley, who had come in then, drew her away and sat down with +the child on her knee, talking to her in low, soothing tones. + +"Lena, dear, you know I wish you to go with Hannah to church this +morning. And you will put papa's money into the plate. See: it is a +golden sovereign. Hannah must carry it, and you shall put it in." + +"Oh, mamma! will Hugh never come home again? Will he die?" + +"Hush, Lena," she said, as Tod bit his lip and gave his hair a dash +backwards. "Shall I tell you something that sounds like a pretty story?" + +Lena was always ready for a story, pretty or ugly, and her blue eyes +were lifted to her mother's brightly through the tears. At that moment +she looked wonderfully like the portrait on the wall. + +"Just now, dear, I was in my room upstairs, feeling very, very unhappy; +I'm not sure but I was sobbing nearly as much as you were just now. 'He +will never come back,' I said to myself; 'he is lost to us for ever.' +At that moment those sweet bells broke out, calling people to Heaven's +service, and I don't know why, Lena, but they seemed to whisper a great +comfort to me. They seemed to say that God was over us all, and saw our +trouble, and would heal it in His good time." + +Lena stared a little, digesting what she could of the words. The tears +were nowhere. + +"Will He send Hugh back?" + +"I can't tell, darling. He can take care of Hugh, and bless him, and +keep him, wherever he may be, and I know He _will_. If He should have +taken him to heaven above the blue sky--oh then, Hugh must be very +happy. He will be with the angels. He will see Jesus face to face; and +you know how _He_ loved little children. The bells seemed to say all +this to me as I listened to them, Lena." + +Lena went off contented: we saw her skipping along by Hannah's side, +who had on a new purple gown and staring red and green trimmings to her +bonnet. Children are as changeable as a chameleon, sobbing one minute, +laughing the next. Tod was standing now with his back to the window, and +Mrs. Todhetley sat by the table, her long thin fingers supporting her +cheek; very meek, very, very patient. Tod was thinking so as he glanced +at her. + +"How you must hate me for this!" he said. + +"Oh, Joseph! Hate you?" + +"The thing is all my fault. A great deal has been my fault for a long +while; all the unpleasantness and the misunderstanding." + +She got up and took his hand timidly, as if she feared he might think +it too great a liberty. "If you can only understand me for the future, +Joseph; understand how I wish and try to make things pleasant to you, I +shall be fully repaid: to you most especially in all the house, after +your father. I have ever striven and prayed for it." + +He answered nothing for the moment; his face was working a little, and +he gave her fingers a grip that must have caused pain. + +"If the worst comes of this, and Hugh never is amongst us again, I will +go over the seas in the wake of the villain Arne," he said in a low, +firm tone, "and spare you the sight of me." + +Tears began to trickle down her face. "Joseph, my dear--if you will let +me call you so--this shall draw us near to each other, as we never might +have been drawn without it. You shall not hear a word of reproach from +us, or any word but love; there shall never be a thought of reproach in +my heart. I have had a great deal of sorrow in my life, Joseph, and have +learnt patiently to bear, leaving all things to Heaven." + +"And if Hugh is dead?" + +"What I said to Lena, I meant," she softly whispered. "If God has taken +him he is with the angels, far happier than he could be in this world of +care, though his lot were of the brightest." + +The tears were running down her cheeks as she went out of the room. Tod +stood still as a stone. + +"She is made of gold," I whispered. + +"No, Johnny. Of something better." + +The sound of the bells died away. None of us went to church; in the +present excitement it would have been a farce. The Squire had gone +riding about the roads, sending his groom the opposite way. He +telegraphed to the police at Worcester; saying, in the message, that +these country officers were no better than dummies; and openly lamented +at home that it had not happened at Dyke Manor, within the range of old +Jones the constable. + +Tod disappeared with the last sound of the bells. Just as the pater's +head was full of the brick-fields, his was of the Ravine; that he had +gone off to beat it again I was sure. In a trouble such as this you want +incessantly to be up and doing. Lena and Hannah came back from church, +the child calling for Hugh: she wanted to tell him about the gentleman +who had preached in big white sleeves and pretty frills on his wrists. + +Two o'clock was the Sunday dinner-hour. Tod came in when it was +striking. He looked dead-beat as he sat down to carve in his father's +place. The sirloin of beef was as good as usual, but only Lena seemed to +think so. The little gobbler ate two servings, and a heap of raspberry +pie and cream. + +How it happened, I don't know. I was just as anxious as any of them, +and yet, in sitting under the mulberry-tree, I fell fast asleep, never +waking till five. Mrs. Todhetley, always finding excuses for us, said it +was worry and want of proper rest. She was sitting close to the window, +her head leaning against it. The Squire had not come home. Tod was +somewhere about, she did not know where. + +I found him in the yard. Luke Mackintosh was harnessing the pony to +the gig, Tod helping him in a state of excitement. Some man had come in +with a tale that a tribe of gipsies was discovered, encamped beyond the +brick-fields, who seemed to have been there for a week past. Tod jumped +to the conclusion that Hugh was concealed with them, and was about to go +off in search. + +"Will you come with me, Johnny? Luke must remain in case the Squire +rides in." + +"Of course I will. I'll run and tell Mrs. Todhetley." + +"Stay where you are, you stupid muff. To excite her hopes, in the +uncertainty, would be cruel. Get up." + +Tod need not have talked about excited hopes. He was just three parts +mad. Fancy his great strong hands shaking as he took the reins! The pony +dashed off in a fright with the cut he gave it, and brought us cleverly +against the post of the gate, breaking the near shaft. Over _that_, but +for the delay, Tod would have been cool as an orange. + +"The phaeton now, single horse," he called out to Mackintosh. + +"Yes, sir. Bob, or Blister?" + +Tod stamped his foot in a passion. "As if it mattered! Blister; he is +the more fiery of the two." + +"I must get the harness," said Mackintosh. "It is in the yellow barn." + +Mackintosh went round on the run to gain the front barn; the harness, +least used, was kept there, hung on the walls. Tod unharnessed the pony, +left me to lead him to the stable, and went after the man. In his state +of impatience and his strength, he could have done the work of ten men. +He met Mackintosh coming out of the barn, without the harness, but with +a white face. Since he saw the ghost's light on Friday night the man had +been scared at shadows. + +"There's sum'at in there, master," said he, his teeth chattering. + +"What?" roared Tod, in desperate anger. + +"There _is_, master. It's like a faint tapping." + +Tod dashed in, controlling his hands, lest they might take French leave +and strike Luke for a coward. He was seeking the proper set of harness, +when a knocking, faint and irregular, smote his ear. Tod turned to look, +and thought it came from the staircase-door. He went forward and opened +it. + +Lying at the foot of the stairs was Hugh. Hugh! Low, and weak, and +faint, there he lay, his blue eyes only half opened, and his pretty +curls mingling with the dust. + +"Hugh! is it you, my darling?" + +Tod's gasp was like a great cry. Hugh put up his little feeble hand, and +a smile parted his lips. + +"Yes, it's me, Joe." + +The riddle is easily solved. When sent back by me, Hugh saw Hannah in +the fold-yard; she was, in point of fact, looking after him. In his +fear, he stole round to hide in the shrubbery, and thence got to the +front of the house, and ran away down the road. Seeing the front +barn-door open, for it was when Luke Mackintosh was getting the corn, +Hugh slipped in and hid behind the door. Luke went out with the first +lot of corn, and the senseless child, hearing Tod's voice outside, got +into the place leading to the stairs, and shut the door. Luke, talking +to Tod, who had stepped inside the barn, saw the door was shut and +slipped the big outside bolt, _never remembering that it was not he who +had shut it_. Poor little Hugh, when their voices had died away, ran +upstairs to get to the upper granary, and found its door fastened. +And there the child was shut up beyond reach of call and hearing. The +skylight in the roof, miles, as it seemed, above him, had its ventilator +open. He had called and called; but his voice must have been lost amidst +the space of the barn. It was too weak to disturb a rat now. + +Tod took him up in his arms, tenderly as if he had been a new-born baby +that he was hushing to the rest of death. + +"Were you frightened, child?" + +"I was till I heard the church-bells," whispered Hugh. "I don't know how +long it was--oh, a great while--and I had ate the biscuit Johnny gave me +and been asleep. I was not frightened then, Joe; I thought they'd come +to me when church was over." + +I met the procession. What the dirty object might be in Tod's arms was +quite a mystery at first. Tod's eyes were dropping tears upon it, and +his breath seemed laboured. Luke brought up the rear a few yards behind, +looking as if he'd never find his senses again. + +"Oh, Tod! will he get over it?" + +"Yes. Please God." + +"Is he injured?" + +"No, no. Get out of my way, Johnny. Go to the mother now, if you like. +Tell her he has only been shut up in the barn and I'm coming in with +him. The dirt's nothing: it was on him before." + +Just as meek and gentle she stood as ever, the tears rolling down her +face, and a quiet joy in it. Tod brought him in, laying him across her +knee as she sat on the sofa. + +"There," he said. "He'll be all right when he has been washed and had +something to eat." + +"God bless you, Joseph!" she whispered. + +Tod could say no more. He bent to kiss Hugh; lifted his face, and kissed +the mother. And then he went rushing out with a burst of emotion. + + + + +OUR VISIT. + + +I. + +We went down from Oxford together, I and Tod and William Whitney; +accompanying Miss Deveen and Helen and Anna Whitney, who had been there +for a few days. Miss Deveen's carriage was waiting at the Paddington +Station; they got into it with Tod, and William and I followed in a cab +with the luggage. Miss Deveen had invited us all to stay with her. + +Miss Cattledon, the companion, with her tall, thin figure, her +pinched-in waist and her creaking stays, stood ready to receive us when +we reached the house. Miss Deveen held out her hand. + +"How have you been, Jemima? Taking care of yourself, I hope?" + +"Quite well, thank you, Miss Deveen; and very glad to see you at home +again," returned Cattledon. "This is my niece, Janet Carey." + +A slight, small girl, with smooth brown hair and a quiet face that +looked as if it had just come out of some wasting illness, was hiding +herself behind Cattledon. Miss Deveen said a few pleasant words of +welcome, and took her hand. The girl looked as shy and frightened as +though we had all been a pack of gorillas. + +"Thank you, ma'am; you are very kind," she said in a tremble; and her +voice, I noticed, was low and pleasant. I like nice voices, whether in +man or woman. + +"It wants but half-an-hour to dinner-time," said Miss Deveen, untying +the strings of her bonnet. "Miss Cattledon, will you show these young +friends of ours the rooms you have appropriated to them." + +My room and Tod's--two beds in it--was on the second floor; Helen and +Anna had the best company room below, near Miss Deveen's; Bill had a +little one lower still, half-way up the first flight of stairs. Miss +Cattledon's room, we found out, was next to ours, and her niece slept +with her. + +Tod threw himself full length on his counterpane--tired out, he said. +Certain matters had not gone very smoothly for him at Oxford, and the +smart remained. + +"You'll be late, Tod," I said when I was ready. + +"Plenty of time, Johnny. I don't suppose I shall keep dinner waiting." + +Miss Deveen stood at the door of the blue room when I went down: that +pretty sitting-room, exclusively hers, that I remembered so well. She +had on a purple silk gown, with studs of pale yellow topaz in its white +lace front, studs every whit as beautiful as the emeralds made free with +by Sophie Chalk. + +"Come in here, Johnny." + +She was beginning to talk to me as we stood by the fire, when some one +was heard to enter the inner room; Miss Deveen's bed-chamber, which +opened from this room as well as from the landing. She crossed over into +it, and I heard Cattledon's voice. + +"It is so very kind of you, Miss Deveen, to have allowed me to bring my +niece here! Under the circumstances--with such a cloud upon her----" + +"She is quite welcome," interrupted Miss Deveen's voice. + +"Yes, I know that; I know it: and I could not go down without thanking +you. I have told Lettice to take some tea up to her while we dine. She +can come to the drawing-room afterwards if you have no objection." + +"Why can't she dine with us?" asked Miss Deveen. + +"Better not," said Cattledon. "She does not expect it; and with so many +at table----" + +"Nonsense!" came Miss Deveen's quick, decisive interruption. "Many at +table! There are sufficient servants to wait on us, and I suppose you +have sufficient dinner. Go and bring her down." + +Miss Deveen came back, holding out her hand to me as she crossed the +room. The gong sounded as we went down to the drawing-room. They all +came crowding in, Tod last; and we went in to dinner. + +Miss Deveen, with her fresh, handsome face and her snow-white hair, took +the head of the table. Cattledon, at the foot, a green velvet ribbon +round her genteel throat, helped the soup. William Whitney sat on Miss +Deveen's right, I on her left. Janet Carey sat next to him--and this +brought her nearly opposite me. + +She had an old black silk on, with a white frill at the throat--very +poor and plain as contrasted with the light gleaming silks of Helen +and Anna. But she had nice eyes; their colour a light hazel, their +expression honest and sweet. It was a pity she could not get some colour +into her wan face, and a little courage into her manner. + +After coffee we sat down in the drawing-room to a round game at cards, +and then had some music; Helen playing first. Janet Carey was at the +table, looking at a view in an album. I went up to her. + +Had I caught her staring at some native Indians tarred and feathered, +she could not have given a worse jump. It might have been fancy, but I +thought her face turned white. + +"Did I startle you, Miss Carey? I am very sorry." + +"Oh, thank you--no. Every one is very kind. The truth is"--pausing a +moment and looking at the view--"I knew the place in early life, and was +lost in old memories. Past times and events connected with it came back +to me. I recognized the place at once, though I was only ten years old +when I left it." + +"Places do linger on the memory in a singularly vivid manner sometimes. +Especially those we have known when young." + +"I can recognize every spot in this," she said, gazing still at the +album. "And I have not seen it for fifteen years." + +"Fifteen. I--I understood you to say you were ten years old when you +left it." + +"So I was. I am twenty-five now." + +So much as that! So much older than any of us! I could hardly believe +it. + +"I should not have taken you for more than seventeen, Miss Carey." + +"At seventeen I went out to earn my own living," she said, in a sad +tone, but with a candour that I liked. "That is eight years ago." + +Helen's music ceased with a crash. Miss Deveen came up to Janet Carey. + +"My dear, I hear you can sing: your aunt tells me so. Will you sing a +song, to please me?" + +She was like a startled fawn: looking here, looking there, and turning +white and red. But she rose at once. + +"I will sing if you wish it, madam. But my singing is only plain +singing: just a few old songs. I have never learnt to sing." + +"The old songs are the best," said Miss Deveen. "Can you sing that sweet +song of all songs--'Blow, blow, thou wintry wind'?" + +She went to the piano, struck the chords quietly, without any flourish +or prelude, and began the first note. + +Oh the soft, sweet, musical voice that broke upon us! Not a powerful +voice, that astounds the nerves like an electric machine; but one of +that intense, thrilling, plaintive harmony which brings a mist to the +eye and a throb to the heart. Tod backed against the wall to look at +her; Bill, who had taken up the cat, let it drop through his knees. + +You might have heard a pin drop when the last words died away: "As +friends remembering not." Miss Deveen broke the silence: praising her +and telling her to go on again. The girl did not seem to have the least +notion of refusing: she appeared to have lived under submission. I think +Miss Deveen would have liked her to go on for ever. + +"The wonder to me is that you can remember the accompaniment to so many +songs without your notes," cried Helen Whitney. + +"I do not know my notes. I cannot play." + +"Not know your notes!" + +"I never learnt them. I never learnt music. I just play some few chords +by ear that will harmonize with the songs. That is why my singing is so +poor, so different from other people's. Where I have been living they +say it is not worth listening to." + +She spoke in a meek, deprecating manner. I had heard of +self-depreciation: this was an instance of it. Janet Carey was one of +the humble ones. + +The next day was Good Friday. We went to church under lowering clouds, +and came home again to luncheon. Cattledon's face was all vinegar when +we sat down to it. + +"There's that woman downstairs again!--that Ness!" she exclaimed with +acrimony. "Making herself at home with the servants!" + +"I'm glad to hear it," smiled Miss Deveen. "She'll get some dinner, poor +thing." + +Cattledon sniffed. "It's not a month since she was here before." + +"And I'm sure if she came every week she'd be welcome to a meal," spoke +Miss Deveen. "Ah now, young ladies," she went on in a joking tone, "if +you wanted your fortunes told, Mrs. Ness is the one to do it." + +"Does she tell truth?" asked Helen eagerly. + +"Oh, very true, of course," laughed Miss Deveen. "She'll promise you +a rich husband apiece. Dame Ness is a good woman, and has had many +misfortunes. I have known her through all of them." + +"And helped her too," resentfully put in Cattledon. + +"But does she _really_ tell fortunes?" pursued Helen. + +"She thinks she does," laughed Miss Deveen. "She told mine once--many a +year ago." + +"And did it come true?" + +"Well, as far as I remember, she candidly confessed that there was not +much to tell--that my life would be prosperous but uneventful." + +"I _don't_ think, begging your pardon, Miss Deveen, that it is quite a +proper subject for young people," struck in Cattledon, drawing up her +thin red neck. + +"Dear me, no," replied Miss Deveen, still laughing a little. And the +subject dropped, and we finished luncheon. + +The rain had come on, a regular downpour. We went into the +breakfast-room: though why it was called that, I don't know, since +breakfast was never taken there. It was a fair-sized, square room, built +out at the back, and gained by a few stairs down from the hall and a +passage. Somehow people prefer plain rooms to grand ones for everyday +use: perhaps that was why we all took a liking to this room, for it was +plain enough. An old carpet on the floor, chairs covered with tumbled +chintz, and always a good blazing fire in the grate. Miss Deveen would +go in there to write her business letters--when she had any to write; or +to cut out sewing with Cattledon for the housemaids. An old-fashioned +secretary stood against the wall, in which receipts and other papers +were kept. The French window opened to the garden. + +"Pour, pour, pour! It's going to be wet for the rest of the day," said +Tod gloomily. + +Cattledon came in, equipped for church in a long brown cloak, a pair +of clogs in her hand. Did none of us intend to go, she asked. Nobody +answered. The weather outside was not tempting. + +"You must come, Janet Carey," she said very tartly, angry with us all, +I expect. "Go and put on your things." + +"No," interposed Miss Deveen. "It would not be prudent for your niece +to venture out in this rain, Jemima." + +"The church is only over the way." + +"But consider the illness she has only just recovered from. Let her stay +indoors." + +Cattledon went off without further opposition, Janet kneeling down +unasked, to put on her clogs, and then opening her umbrella for her in +the hall. Janet did not come in again. Miss Deveen went out to sit with +a sick neighbour: so we were alone. + +"What a cranky old thing that Cattledon is!" cried Bill, throwing down +his newspaper. "She'd have walked that girl off in the wet, you see." + +"How old is Cattledon?" asked Tod. "Sixty?" + +"Oh, you stupid fellow!" exclaimed Helen, looking up from the stool on +the hearthrug, where she was sitting, nursing her knees. "Cattledon +sixty! Why, she can't be above forty-five." + +It was disrespectful no doubt, but we all called her plain "Cattledon" +behind her back. + +"That's rather a queer girl, that niece," said Tod. "She won't speak to +one: she's like a frightened hare." + +"I like her," said Anna. "I feel very sorry for her. She gives one the +idea of having been always put upon: and she looks dreadfully ill." + +"I should say she has been kept in some Blue Beard's cupboard, amongst a +lot of hanging wives that have permanently scared her," remarked Bill. + +"It's Cattledon," said Tod; "it's not the wives. She puts upon the +girl and frightens her senses out of her. Cattledon's a cross-grained, +two-edged----" + +He had to shut up: Janet Carey was coming in again. For about five +minutes no one spoke. There seemed to be nothing to say. Bill played +at ball with Miss Deveen's red penwiper: Anna began turning over the +periodicals: Helen gave the cat a box when it would have jumped on her +knee. + +"Well, this is lively!" cried Tod. "Nothing on earth to do; I wonder why +the rain couldn't have kept off till to-morrow?" + +"I say," whispered Helen, treason sparkling from her bright eyes, "let +us have up that old fortune-teller! I'll go and ask Lettice." + +She whirled out of the room, shutting the tail of her black silk dress +in the door, and called Lettice. A few minutes, and Mrs. Ness came in, +curtsying. A stout old lady in a cotton shawl and broad-bordered cap +with a big red bow tied in front. + +"I say, Mrs. Ness, can you tell our fortunes?" cried Bill. + +"Bless you, young gentlefolks, I've told a many in my time. I'll tell +yours, if you like to bid me, sir." + +"Do the cards tell true?" + +"I believe they does, sir. I've knowed 'em to tell over true now and +again--more's the pity!" + +"Why do you say more's the pity?" asked Anna. + +"When they've fortelled bad things, my sweet, pretty young lady. Death, +and what not." + +"But how it must frighten the people who are having them told!" cried +Anna. + +"Well, to speak the truth, young gentlefolks, when it's very bad, I +generally softens it over to 'em--say the cards is cloudy, or some'at +o' that," was the old woman's candid answer. "It don't do to make +folks uneasy." + +"Look here," said Helen, who had been to find the cards, "I should not +like to hear it if it's anything bad." + +"Ah, my dear young lady, I don't think _you_ need fear any but a +good fortune, with that handsome face and them bright eyes of yours," +returned the old dame--who really seemed to speak, not in flattery, but +from the bottom of her heart. "I don't know what the young lords 'ud be +about, to pass _you_ by." + +Helen liked that; she was just as vain as a peacock, and thought no +little of herself. "Who'll begin?" asked she. + +"Begin yourself, Helen," said Tod. "It's sure to be something good." + +So she shuffled and cut the cards as directed: and the old woman, +sitting at the table, spread them out before her, talking a little bit +to herself, and pointing with her finger here and there. + +"You've been upon a journey lately," she said, "and you'll soon be going +upon another." I give only the substance of what the old lady said, +but it was interspersed freely with her own remarks. "You'll have a +present before many days is gone; and you'll--stay, there's that black +card--you'll hear of somebody that's sick. And--dear me! there's an +offer for you--an offer of marriage,--but it won't come to anything. +Well, now, shuffle and cut again, please." + +Helen did so. This was repeated three times in all. But, so far as we +could understand it, her future seemed to be very uneventful--to have +nothing in it--something like Miss Deveen's. + +"It's a brave fortune, as I thought, young lady," cried Mrs. Ness. "No +trouble or care in store for you." + +"But there's _nothing_," said Helen, too intently earnest to mind any of +us. "When am I to be married?" + +"Well, my dear, the cards haven't told so much this time. There'll be an +offer, as I said--and I think a bit of trouble over it; but----" + +"But you said it would not come to anything," interrupted Helen. + +"Well, and no more it won't: leastways, it seemed so by the cards; and +it seemed to bring a bother with it--old folks pulling one way maybe, +and young 'uns the other. You'll have to wait a bit for the right +gentleman, my pretty miss." + +"What stupid cards they are!" cried Helen, in dudgeon. "I dare say it's +all rubbish." + +"Any ways, you've had nothing bad," said the old woman. "And that's a +priceless consolation." + +"It's your turn now, Anna." + +"I won't have mine told," said Anna. "I'm afraid." + +"Oh, you senseless donkey!" cried Bill. "Afraid of a pack of cards!" So +Anna laughed, and began. + +"Ah, there's more here," said the old woman as she laid them out. "You +are going through some great ceremony not long first. See here--crowds +of people--and show. Is it a great ball, I wonder?" + +"It may be my presentation," said Anna. + +"And here's the wedding-ring!--and there's the gentleman! See! he's +turning towards you; a dark man it is; and he'll be very fond of you, +too!--and----" + +"Oh, don't go on," cried Anna, in terrible confusion as she heard all +this, and caught Tod's eye, and saw Bill on the broad laugh. "Don't, +pray don't; it must be all nonsense," she went on, blushing redder than +a rose. + +"But it's true," steadily urged the old lady. "There the wedding is. I +don't say it'll be soon; perhaps not for some years; but come it will +in its proper time. And you'll live in a fine big house; and--stay a +bit--you'll----" + +Anna, half laughing, half crying, pushed the cards together. "I won't be +told any more," she said; "it must be all a pack of nonsense." + +"Of course it is," added Helen decisively. "And why couldn't you have +told me all that, Mrs. Ness?" + +"Why, my dear, sweet young lady, it isn't me that tells; it's the +cards." + +"I don't believe it. But it does to while away a wet and wretched +afternoon. Now, Miss Carey." + +Miss Carey looked up from her book with a start. "Oh, not me! Please, +not me!" + +"Not you!--the idea!" cried Helen. "Why, of course you must. I and my +sister have had our turn, and you must take yours." + +As if further objection were out of the question, Miss Carey stood +timidly up by the table and shuffled the cards that Dame Ness handed to +her. When they were spread out, the old woman looked at the cards longer +than she had looked for either Helen or Anna, then at the girl, then at +the cards again. + +"There has been sickness and trouble;--and distress," she said at +length, "And--and--'tain't over yet. I see a dark lady and a fair man: +they've been in it, somehow. Seems to ha' been a great trouble"--putting +the tips of her forefingers upon two cards. "Here you are, you see, +right among it,"--pointing to the Queen of Hearts. "I don't like the +look of it. And there's money mixed up in the sorrow----" + +A low, shuddering cry. I happened to be looking from the window at the +moment, and turned to see Janet Carey with hands uplifted and a face of +imploring terror. The cry came from her. + +"Oh don't, don't! don't tell any more!" she implored. +"I--was--not--guilty." + +Down went her voice by little and little, down fell her hands; and down +dropped she on the chair behind her. The next moment she was crying and +sobbing. We stood round like so many helpless simpletons, quite put down +by this unexpected interlude. Old Dame Ness stared, slowly shuffling the +cards from hand to hand, and could not make it out. + +"Here, I'll have my fortune told next, Mother Ness," said Bill Whitney, +really out of good nature to the girl, that she might be left unobserved +to recover herself. "Mind you promise me a good one." + +"And so I will then, young gentleman, if the cards 'll let me," was the +hearty answer. "Please shuffle 'em well, sir, and then cut 'em into +three." + +Bill was shuffling with all his might when we heard the front-door open, +and Cattledon's voice in the hall. "Oh, by George, I say, what's to be +done?" cried he. "She'll be fit to smother us. That old parson can't +have given them a sermon." + +Fortunately she stayed on the door-mat to take off her clogs. Dame Ness +was smuggled down the kitchen stairs, and Bill hid the cards away in his +pocket. + +And until then it had not occurred to us that it might not be quite the +right thing to go in for fortune-telling on Good Friday. + + +II. + +On Easter Tuesday William Whitney and Tod went off to Whitney Hall for +a few days: Sir John wrote for them. In the afternoon Miss Deveen took +Helen in the carriage to make calls; and the rest of us went to the +Colosseum, in the Regent's Park. Cattledon rather fought against the +expedition, but Miss Deveen did not listen to her. None of us--except +herself--had seen it before: and I know that I, for one, was delighted +with it. + +The last scene of the performance was over. If I remember rightly, at +this distance of time, it was the representation of the falling of an +avalanche on a Swiss village, to bury it for ever in the snow; and we +saw the little lighted church to which the terrified inhabitants were +flying for succour, and heard the tinkling of its alarm bell. As we +pushed out with the crowd, a policeman appeared in our way, facing us, +a tall, big, fierce-looking man; not to impede the advance of the +throng, but to direct its movements. Janet Carey seized my arm, and I +turned to look at her. She stood something like a block of stone; her +face white with terror, her eyes fixed on the policeman. I could not +get her on, and we were stopping those behind. Naturally the man's +eyes fell on her; and with evident recognition. + +"Oh, it's you here, is it, Miss Carey!" + +The tone was not exactly insolent: but it was cool and significant, +wanting in respect. When I would have asked him how he dared so to +address a young lady, the words were arrested by Janet. I thought she +had gone mad. + +"Oh, get me away, Mr. Ludlow, for Heaven's sake! Don't let him take me! +Oh what shall I do? what shall I do?" + +"What you've got to do is to get for'ard out o' this here passage and +not block up the way," struck in the policeman. "I bain't after you now; +so you've no call to be afeared this time. Pass on that way, sir." + +I drew her onwards, and in half-a-minute we were in the open air, clear +of the throng. Cattledon, who seemed to have understood nothing, except +that we had stopped the way, shook Janet by the arm in anger, and asked +what had come to her. + +"It was the same man, aunt, that Mrs. Knox called in," she gasped. "I +thought he had come to London to look for me." + +Miss Cattledon's answer was to keep hold of her arm, and whirl her along +towards the outer gates. Anna and I followed in wonder. + +"What is it all, Johnny?" she whispered. + +"Goodness knows, Anna. I----" + +Cattledon turned her head, asking me to go on and secure a cab. Janet +was helped into it and sat back with her eyes closed, a shiver taking +her every now and then. + +Janet appeared at dinner, and seemed as well as usual. In the evening +Helen tore the skirt of her thin dress: and before she was aware, the +girl was kneeling by the side of her chair with a needle and thread, +beginning to mend it. + +"You are very kind," said Helen heartily, when she saw what Janet was +doing. + +"Oh no," answered Janet, with an upward, humble glance from her nice +eyes. + +But soon after that, when we were describing to Helen and Miss Deveen +the sights at the Colosseum, and the silence of the buried village after +the avalanche had fallen, Janet was taken with an ague fit. The very +chair shook; it seemed that she must fall out of it. Anna ran to hold +her. Miss Deveen got up in consternation. + +"That Colosseum has been too much for her: there's nothing so fatiguing +as sightseeing. I did wrong in letting Janet go, as she is still weak +from her illness. Perhaps she has taken cold." + +Ringing the bell, Miss Deveen told George to make some hot wine and +water. When it was brought in, she made Janet drink it, and sent her +upstairs to bed, marshalled by Cattledon. + +The next morning, Wednesday, I was dressing in the sunshine that +streamed in at the bedroom windows, when a loud hulla-balloo was set up +below, enough to startle the king and all his men. + +"Thieves! robbers! murder!" + +Dashing to the door, I looked over the balustrades. The shrieks and +calls came from Lettice Lane, who was stumbling up the stairs from the +hall. Cattledon opened her door in her night-cap, saw me, and shut it +again with a bang. + +"Murder! robbers! thieves!" shrieked Lettice. + +"But what is it, Lettice?" I cried, leaping down. + +"Oh, Mr. Johnny, the house is robbed!--and we might just as well all +have been murdered in our beds!" + +Every one was appearing on the scene. Miss Deveen came fully +dressed--she was often up before other people; Cattledon arrived in +a white petticoat and shawl. The servants were running up from the +kitchen. + +Thieves had broken in during the night. The (so-called) breakfast-room +at the back presented a scene of indescribable confusion. Everything +in it was turned topsy-turvy, the secretary had been ransacked; the +glass-doors stood open to the garden. + +It seemed that Lettice, in pursuance of her morning's duties, had gone +to the room, and found it in this state. Lettice was of the excitable +order, and went into shrieks. She stood now, sobbing and shaking, as she +gave her explanation. + +"When I opened the door and saw the room in this pickle, the window +standing open, my very blood seemed to curdle within me. For all I knew +the thieves might have done murder. Just look at the place, ma'am!--look +at your secretary!" + +It's what we were all looking at. The sight was as good as moving house. +Chairs and footstools lay upside down, their chintz covers untied +and flung off; the hearthrug was under the table; books were open, +periodicals scattered about; two pictures had been taken from the wall +and lay face downwards; every ornament was moved from the mantelpiece. +The secretary stood open; all its papers had been taken out, opened, and +lay in a heap on the floor; and Janet Carey's well-stocked work-box was +turned bottom upwards, its contents having rolled anywhere. + +"This must be your work, George," said Miss Cattledon, turning on the +servant-man with a grim frown. + +"Mine, ma'am!" he answered, amazed at the charge. + +"Yes, yours," repeated Cattledon. "You could not have fastened the +shutters last night; and that is how the thieves have got in." + +"But I did, ma'am. I fastened them just as usual." + +"Couldn't be," said Cattledon decisively, who had been making her way +over the _débris_ to examine the shutters. "They have not been forced in +any way: they have simply been opened. The window also." + +"And neither window nor shutters could be opened from the outside +without force," remarked Miss Deveen. "I fear, George, you must have +forgotten this room when you shut up last night." + +"Indeed, ma'am, I did not forget it," was the respectful answer. "I +assure you I bolted the window and barred the shutters as I always do." + +Janet Carey, standing in mute wonder like the rest of us, testified to +this. "When I came in here last night to get a needle and thread to mend +Miss Whitney's dress, I am sure the shutters were shut: I noticed that +they were." + +Cattledon would not listen. She had taken up her own opinion of George's +neglect, and sharply told Janet not to be so positive. Janet looked +frightfully white and wan this morning, worse than a ghost. + +"Oh, goodness!" cried Helen Whitney, appearing on the scene. "If ever I +saw such a thing!" + +"I never did--in all my life," cried Cattledon. + +"Have you lost any valuables from the secretary, Miss Deveen?" + +"My dear Helen, there were no valuables in the secretary to lose," was +Miss Deveen's answer. "Sometimes I keep money in it--a little: but last +night there happened to be none. Of course the thieves could not know +that, and must have been greatly disappointed. If they did not come in +through the window--why, they must have got in elsewhere." + +Miss Deveen spoke in a dubious tone, that too plainly showed her own +doubts on the point. George felt himself and his word reflected upon. + +"If I had indeed forgotten this window last night, ma'am--though for me +to do such a thing seems next door to impossible--I would confess to it +at once. I can be upon my oath, ma'am, if put to it, that I made all +secure here at dusk." + +"Then, George, you had better look to your other doors and windows," was +the reply of his mistress. + +The other doors and windows were looked to: but no trace could be found +of how the thieves got in. After breakfast, we succeeded in putting the +room tolerably straight. The letters and bills took most time, for every +one was lying open. And after it was all done, Miss Deveen came to the +conclusion that nothing had been taken. + +"Their object must have been money," she observed. "It is a good thing I +happened to carry my cash-box upstairs yesterday. Sometimes I leave it +here in the secretary." + +"And was much in it?" one of us asked. + +"Not very much. More, though, than one cares to lose: a little gold and +a bank-note." + +"A bank-note!" echoed Janet, repeating the words quickly. "_Is_ it +safe?--are you sure, ma'am, the note is safe?" + +"Well, I conclude it is," answered Miss Deveen with composure. "I saw +the cash-box before I came down this morning. I did not look inside it." + +"Oh, but you had better look," urged Janet, betraying some excitement. +"Suppose it should be gone! Can _I_ look, ma'am?" + +"What nonsense!" exclaimed Helen. "If the cash-box is safe, the money +must be safe inside it. The thieves did not go into Miss Deveen's room, +Janet Carey." + +The servants wanted the police called in; but their mistress saw no +necessity for it. Nothing had been carried off, she said, and therefore +she should take no further trouble. Her private opinion was that George, +in spite of his assertions, must have forgotten the window. + +It seemed a curious thing that the thieves had not visited other rooms. +Unless, indeed, the door of this one had been locked on the outside, and +they were afraid to risk the noise of forcing it: and no one could tell +whether the key had been turned, or not. George had the plate-basket in +his bed-chamber; but on the sideboard in the dining-room stood a silver +tea-caddy and a small silver waiter: how was it they had not walked off +with these two articles? Or, as the cook said, why didn't they rifle her +larder? She had various tempting things in it, including a fresh-boiled +ham. + +"Janet Carey has been ill all the afternoon," observed Anna, when I and +Helen got home before dinner, for we had been out with Miss Deveen. "I +think she feels frightened about the thieves, for one thing." + +"Ill for nothing!" returned Helen slightingly. "Why should she be +frightened any more than we are? The thieves did not hurt her. I might +just as well say I am ill." + +"But she has been really ill, Helen. She has a shivering-fit one +minute and is sick the next. Cattledon says she must have caught cold +yesterday, and is cross with her for catching it." + +"Listen," said Helen, lowering her voice. "I can't get it out of my head +that that old fortune-teller must have had to do with it. She must have +seen the secretary and may have taken note of the window fastenings. I +am in a state over it: as you both know, it was I who had her up." + +Janet did not come down until after dinner. She was pale and quiet, but +not less ready than ever to do what she could for every one. Helen had +brought home some ferns to--transfer, I think she called it. Janet at +once offered to help her. The process involved a large hand-basin full +of water, and Miss Deveen sent the two girls into the breakfast-parlour, +not to make a mess in the drawing-room. + +"Well, my dears," said Miss Deveen, when she had read the chapter before +bed-time, "I hope you will all sleep well to-night, and that we shall +be undisturbed by thieves. Not that they disturbed us last night," she +added, laughing. "Considering all things, I'm sure they were as polite +and considerate thieves as we could wish to have to do with." + +Whether the others slept well I cannot say: I know I did. So well that I +never woke at all until the same cries from Lettice disturbed the house +as on the previous morning. The thieves had been in again. + +Downstairs we went, as quickly as some degree of dressing allowed, and +found the breakfast-room all confusion, the servants all consternation: +the window open as before; the furniture turned about, the ornaments and +pictures moved from their places, the books scattered, the papers of +the secretary lying unfolded in a heap on the carpet, and a pair of +embroidered slippers of Helen Whitney's lying in the basin of water. + +"What an extraordinary thing!" exclaimed Miss Deveen, while the rest of +us stood in silent amazement. + +Lettice's tale was the same as the previous one. Upon proceeding to +the room to put it to rights, she found it thus, and its shutters and +glass-doors wide open. There was no trace, except here, of the possible +entrance or exit of thieves: all other fastenings were secure as they +had been left over-night; other rooms had not been disturbed; and, more +singular than all, nothing appeared to have been taken. What could the +thieves be seeking? + +"Shall you call in the police now, ma'am?" asked Cattledon, her tone +implying that they ought to have been called in before. + +"Yes, I shall," emphatically replied Miss Deveen. + +"Oh!" shrieked Helen, darting in, after making a hasty and impromptu +toilet, "look at my new slippers!" + +After finishing the ferns last night they had neglected to send the +basin away. The slippers were rose-coloured, worked with white flowers +in floss silk; and the bits of loose green from the ferns floated over +them like green weeds on a pond. Helen had bought them when we were out +yesterday. + +"My beautiful slippers!" lamented Helen. "I wish to goodness I had not +forgotten to take them upstairs. What wicked thieves they must be! They +ought to be hung." + +"It's to know, mum, whether it _was_ thieves," spoke the cook. + +"Why, what else can it have been, cook?" asked Miss Deveen. + +"Mum, I don't pretend to say. I've knowed cats do queer things. We've +two on 'em--the old cat and her kitten." + +"Did you ever know cats unlock a secretary and take out the papers, +cook?" returned Miss Deveen. + +"Well, no, mum. But, on the other hand, I never knowed thieves break +into a house two nights running, and both times go away empty-handed." + +The argument was unanswerable. Unless the thieves had been disturbed on +each night, how was it they had taken nothing? + +Miss Deveen locked the door upon the room just as it was; and after +breakfast sent George to the nearest police-station. Whilst he was gone +I was alone in the dining-room, stooping down to hunt for a book in the +lowest shelf of the book-case, when Janet Carey came in followed by +Cattledon. I suppose the table-cover hid me from them, for Cattledon +began to blow her up. + +"One would think you were a troubled ghost, shaking and shivering in +that way, first upstairs and then down! The police coming!--what if they +are? They are not coming after you this time. There's no money missing +now." + +Janet burst into tears. "Oh, aunt, why do you speak so to me? It is as +though you believe me guilty!" + +"Don't be a simpleton, Janet," rebuked Cattledon, in softer tones. "If +I did not know you were not, and could not, be guilty, should I have +brought you here under Miss Deveen's roof? What vexes me so much is to +see you look as though you were guilty--with your white face, and your +hysterics, and your trembling hands and lips. Get a little spirit into +yourself, child: the police won't harm you." + +Catching up the keys from the table, she went out again, leaving Janet +sobbing. I stood forward. She started when she saw me, and tried to dry +her eyes. + +"I am sorry, Miss Carey, that all this bother is affecting you. Why are +you so sad?" + +"I--have gone through a great deal of trouble lately;--and been ill," +she answered, with hesitation, arresting her tears. + +"Can I do anything for you?--help you in any way?" + +"You are very kind, Mr. Ludlow; you have been kind to me all along. +There's nothing any one can do. Sometimes I wish I could die." + +"Die!" + +"There is so much unhappiness in the world!" + +George's voice was heard in the hall with the policeman. Janet vanished. +But whether it was through the floor or out at the door, I declare I did +not see then, and don't quite know to this day. + +I and Cattledon were allowed to assist at the conference between Miss +Deveen and the policeman: a dark man with a double chin and stripes on +his coat-sleeve. After hearing particulars, and examining the room and +the mess it was in, he inquired how many servants were kept, and whether +Miss Deveen had confidence in them. She told him the number, and said +she had confidence in all. + +He went into the kitchen, put what questions he pleased to the servants, +looked at the fastenings of the doors generally, examined the outside +of the window and walked about the garden. George called him Mr. +Stone--which appeared to be his name. Mr. Stone had nothing of a report +to bring Miss Deveen. + +"It's one of two things, ma'am," he said. "Either this has been done by +somebody in your own house; or else the neighbours are playing tricks +upon you. I can't come to any other conclusion. The case is peculiar, +you see, in-so-far as that nothing has been stolen." + +"It is very peculiar indeed," returned Miss Deveen. + +"I should have said--I should feel inclined to say--that the culprit is +some one in the house----" + +"It's the most unlikely thing in the world, that it should have been any +one in the house," struck in Miss Deveen, not allowing him to go on. "To +suspect any of the young people who are visiting me, would be simply an +insult. And my servants would no more play the trick than I or Miss +Cattledon would play it." + +"Failing indoors then, we must look out," said Mr. Stone, after +listening patiently. "And that brings up more difficulty, ma'am. For +I confess I don't see how they could get the windows and shutters open +from the outside, and leave no marks of damage." + +"The fact of the window and shutters being wide open each morning, shows +how they got out." + +"Just so," said Mr. Stone; "but it does not show how they got in. Of +course there's the possibility that they managed to secrete themselves +in the house beforehand." + +"Yesterday I thought that might have been the case," remarked Miss +Deveen; "to-day I do not think so. It seems that, after what occurred, +my servants were especially cautious to keep their doors and windows not +only closed, but bolted all day yesterday, quite barring the possibility +of any one's stealing in. Except, of course, down the chimneys." + +Mr. Stone laughed. "They'd bring a lot of soot with 'em that way." + +"And spoil my hearthrugs. No; that was not the way of entrance." + +"Then we come to the question--did one of the servants get up and admit +'em?" + +"But that would be doubting my servants still, you see. It really seems, +Mr. Stone, as though you could not help me." + +"Before saying whether I can or I can't, I should be glad, ma'am, to +have a conversation with you alone," was the unexpected answer. + +So we left him with Miss Deveen. Cattledon's stays appeared to resent +it, for they creaked alarmingly in the hall, and her voice was tart. + +"Perhaps the man wants to accuse you or me, Mr. Johnny!" + +We knew later, after the upshot came, what it was he did want; and I may +as well state it at once. Stone had made up his mind to watch that night +in the garden; but he wished it kept secret from every one, except Miss +Deveen herself, and he charged her strictly not to mention it. "How will +it serve you, if, as you say, they do not come in that way?" she had +asked. "But the probability is they come out that way," he answered. "At +any rate, they fling the doors open, and I shall be there to drop upon +them." + +Janet Carey grew very ill as the day went on. Lettice offered to sit up +with her, in case she wanted anything in the night. Janet had just the +appearance of somebody worn out. + +We went to bed at the usual time, quite unconscious that Mr. Stone had +taken up his night watch in the summer-house at the end of the garden. +The nights were very bright just then; the moon at about the full. +Nothing came of it: neither the room nor the window was disturbed. + +"They scented my watch," remarked the officer in private next morning +to Miss Deveen. "However, ma'am, I don't think it likely you will be +troubled again. Seeing you've put it into our hands, they'll not dare to +risk further annoyance." + +"I suppose not--if they know it," dubiously spoke Miss Deveen. + +He shook his head. "They know as much as that, ma'am. Depend upon it +their little game is over." + +Mr. Stone was mistaken. On the following morning, the breakfast-room was +found by Lettice in exactly the same state of confusion. The furniture +dragged about, the ornaments moved from the mantelpiece, the bills and +papers opened, as before. Miss Deveen was very silent over it, and +said in the hearing of the servants that she should have to carry the +grievance to Scotland Yard. + +And I'm sure I thought she set out to do it. The carriage came to the +door in the course of the morning. Miss Deveen, who was ready dressed, +passed over the others, and asked me to go with her. + +"Do you know what I'm going to do, Johnny?" she questioned, as George +took his place on the box and the fat old coachman gave the word to his +horses. + +"I think I do, Miss Deveen. We are going to Scotland Yard." + +"Not a bit of it, Johnny," she said. "My opinion has come round to Mr. +Policeman Stone's--that we must look indoors for the disturber. I have +brought you out with me to talk about it. It is a great mystery--for I +thought I could have trusted the servants and all the rest of you with +my life." + +It was a mystery--and no mistake. + +"A great mystery," repeated Miss Deveen; "a puzzle; and I want you +to help me to unravel it, Johnny. I intend to sit up to-night in the +breakfast-room. But not being assured of my nerves while watching in +solitude for thieves, or ghosts, or what not, I wish you to sit up with +me." + +"Oh, I shall like it, Miss Deveen." + +"I have heard of houses being disturbed before in a similar manner," she +continued. "There was a story in the old days of the Cock-Lane ghost: I +think that was something of the same kind, but my memory is rather +cloudy on the point. Other cases I know have been traced to the sudden +mania, solely mischievous or otherwise, of some female inmate. I hope it +will not turn out to have been Lettice herself." + +"Shall I watch without you, Miss Deveen?" + +"No, no; you will bear me company. We will make our arrangements now, +Johnny--for I do not intend that any soul shall know of this; not even +Miss Cattledon. You will keep counsel, mind, like the true and loyal +knight you are." + + * * * * * + +The house had gone to rest. In the dark breakfast-room sat Miss Deveen +and I, side by side. The fire was dying away, and it gave scarcely any +light. We sat back against the wall between the fireplace and the door, +she in one armchair, I in another. The secretary was opposite the fire, +the key in the lock as usual; the window, closed and barred, lay to the +left, the door to the right, a table in the middle. An outline of the +objects was just discernible in the fading light. + +"Do you leave the key in the secretary as a rule, Miss Deveen?" I asked +in a whisper. + +"Yes. There's nothing in it that any one would care to look at," she +replied in the same cautious tone. "My cash-box is generally there, but +that is always locked. But I think we had better not talk, Johnny." + +So we sat on in silence. The faint light of the fire died away, giving +place to total darkness. It was weary watching there, hour after hour, +each hour seeming an age. Twelve o'clock struck; one; two! I'd have +given something to be able to fall asleep. Just to speak a word to Miss +Deveen would be a relief, and I forgot her injunctions. + +"Are you thinking of ghosts, Miss Deveen?" + +"Just then I was thinking of God, Johnny. How good it is to know that He +is with us in the dark as in the light." + +Almost with the last word, my ears, younger and quicker than Miss +Deveen's, caught the sound of a faint movement outside--as though steps +were descending the stairs. I touched Miss Deveen's arm and breathed a +caution. + +"I hear something. I think it is coming now." + +The door softly opened. Some white figure was standing there--as might +be seen by the glimmer of light that came in through the passage window. +Who or what it was, we could not gather. It closed the door behind it, +and came slowly gliding along the room on the other side the table, +evidently feeling its way as it went, and making for the window. We sat +in breathless silence. Miss Deveen had caught my hand and was holding it +in hers. + +Next, the shutters were unfastened and slowly folded back; then the +window was unbolted and its doors were flung wide. This let in a flood +of moonlight: after the darkness the room seemed bright as day. And the +white figure doing all this was--Janet Carey in her nightgown, her feet +bare. + +Whether Miss Deveen held my hand the tighter, or I hers, I dare say +neither of us could tell. Janet's eyes turned on us, as we sat: and I +fully expected her to go into a succession of shrieks. + +But no. She took no manner of notice. It was just as though she did not +see us. Steadily, methodically as it seemed, she proceeded to search the +room, apparently looking for something. First, she took the chintz cover +off the nearest chair, and shook it out; turned over the chair and felt +it all over; a small round stand was served the same; a blotting-case +that happened to lie on the table she carried to the window, knelt down, +and examined it on the floor by the moonlight, passing her fingers over +its few pages, unfolding a letter that was inside and shaking it out +to the air. Then all that was left on the floor, and she turned over +another chair, and so went on. + +I felt as cold as charity. Was it her ghost that was doing this? How was +it she did not see us sitting there? Her eyes were open enough to see +anything! + +Coming to the secretary, she turned the key, and began her search in it. +Pulling out one drawer first, she opened every paper it contained, shook +them one by one, and let them drop on the floor. As she was commencing +at the next drawer, her back towards us, Miss Deveen whispered to me. + +"We will get away, Johnny. You go on first. No noise, mind." + +We got out without being seen or heard. At least, there was no outcry; +no sign to tell we had been. Miss Deveen drew me into the dining-room; +her face, as it caught the glimmer, entering by the fan-light over the +hall-door, looked deadly pale. + +"I understand it all, Johnny. She is doing it in her sleep." + +"In her sleep?" + +"Yes. She is unconscious. It was better to come away. As she came round +to search our part of the room, she might have found us, and awoke. That +would have been dangerous." + +"But, Miss Deveen, what is she searching for?" + +"I know. I see it all perfectly. It is for a bank-note." + +"But--if she is really asleep, how can she go about the search in that +systematic way? Her eyes are wide open: she seems to examine things as +though she _saw_ them." + +"I cannot tell you how it is, Johnny. They do seem to see things, +though they are asleep. What's more, when they awake there remains no +consciousness of what they have done. This is not the first case of +somnambulism I have been an eye-witness to. She throws the window and +shutters open to admit the light." + +"How can she have sense to know in her sleep that opening them will +admit it?" + +"Johnny, though these things _are_, I cannot explain them. Go up to your +bed now and get to sleep. As I shall go to mine. You shall know about +Janet in the morning. She will take no harm if left alone: she has taken +none hitherto. Say nothing to any one." + +It was the solution of the great puzzle. Janet Carey had done it all in +her sleep. And what she had been searching for was a bank-note. + +In the situation where Janet had been living as nursery-governess, a +bank-note had disappeared. Janet was suspected and _accused_ of taking +it. Constitutionally timid and nervous, her spirits long depressed by +circumstances, the accusation had a grave effect upon her. She searched +the house for it incessantly, almost night and day, just as we had seen +her searching the parlour at Miss Deveen's in her sleep, and then fell +into a fever--which was only saved by great care from settling on the +brain. When well enough, Miss Cattledon had her removed to London to +Miss Deveen's; but the stigma still clung to her, and the incipient +fever seemed still to hover about her. The day William Whitney left, she +moved from Miss Cattledon's chamber to the one he had occupied: and that +night, being unrestrained, she went down in her sleep to search. The +situation of the room in which the note had been lost was precisely +similar to this breakfast-room at Miss Deveen's--in her troubled sleep, +poor girl, she must have taken it for the same room, and crept down, +still asleep, to renew the endless search she had formerly made when +awake. The night the policeman was watching in the summer-house, +Lettice sat up with Janet; so that night nothing occurred. Lettice said +afterwards that Miss Carey twice got out of bed in her sleep and seemed +to be making for the door, but Lettice guided her back to bed again. And +so there was the elucidation: and Janet was just as unconscious of what +she had done as the bed-post. + +Miss Deveen's medical man was called in, for brain-fever, escaped, +appeared to be fastening on Janet in earnest now. He gave it as his +opinion that she was no natural sleep-walker, but that the mind's +disturbance had so acted on the brain and system, coupled with her +fright at meeting the policeman at the Colosseum, as to have induced the +result. At any rate, whatever may have caused it, and strange though it +was, I have only given facts. And in the next paper we shall hear more +about the bank-note. + + + + +JANET CAREY. + + +I. + +It was a summer's evening, some two years or so previous to the events +told of in the last chapter, and the sun was setting in clouds of +crimson and gold. On the green lawn at the back of Rose Villa--a pretty +detached house, about twenty minutes' walk from the town of Lefford--sat +a lady in a gay dress. She was dark and plain, with crinkled black hair, +and a rough voice. A girl of twelve, fair, pretty, and not in the least +like her, sat on the same bench. Three younger girls were scampering +about at some noisy play; and a boy, the youngest of all, lay on the +grass, whistling, and knotting a whip-cord. The sun's slanting rays +tinted all with a warm hue. + +"Get up, Dicky," said the lady to the boy. + +Dicky, aged five, whistled on, without taking any notice. + +"Did you hear mamma tell you to get up, Dicky?" spoke the fair girl by +her mother's side. "Get up, sir." + +"Shan't," said Dicky. + +"_You_ go in for me, Mina," said Mrs. Knox. "I want to know the time. +Arnold took my watch into town this morning to have the spring mended." + +Mina seemed in no more hurry to obey than Dicky was. Just then a low +pony-chaise, driven by a boy-groom, rattled out from the stable-yard at +the side of the house. Mina looked across at it. + +"It must be about a quarter-past eight," she said. "You told James not +to be later than that in going to the station." + +"You might go and see," spoke Mrs. Knox: "James is not sure to be to +time. How _glad_ I shall be when that governess is here to take the +trouble of you children off me!" she added, fretfully. Mina did not take +the hint about going in: she made off to her sisters instead. + +This house had once been a doctor's residence. Soon after Thomas +Knox, surgeon and apothecary, set up in practice at Lefford, now +five-and-twenty years ago, he married Mary Arnold. Rose Villa was hers, +and some money besides, and they came to live at it, Mr. Knox keeping on +his surgery in Lefford. They had one son, who was named Arnold. When +Arnold was ten years old, his mother died. A year later his father +married a second wife, Miss Amelia Carey: after which these five other +young ones came to town. Arnold was to be a doctor like his father. His +studies were in progress, when one morning a letter came to him in +London--where he was walking Bartholomew's Hospital under that clever +man, William Lawrence--saying that his father was alarmingly ill. Arnold +reached Lefford just in time to see him die. The little one, Dicky, was +a baby then in long-clothes. Arnold was only nineteen. No chance that he +could set up in, and keep together the practice, which fell through. +So he went back to London to study on, and pass, and what not; and +by-and-by he came down again Dr. Knox: for he had followed the fashion +just then getting common, of taking the M.D. degree. Arnold Knox had +his share of good plain sense, and of earnestness too; but example is +catching, and he only followed that of his fellow-students in going in +thus early for the degree. He arrived at Lefford "Dr. Knox." Mr. Tamlyn +laughed at him, before his face and behind his back, asking him what +experience he had had that he should hasten to tack on M.D. to his name: +why, not more experience than a country apothecary's apprentice. Arnold, +feeling half ashamed of himself, for he was very modest, pleaded the new +custom. Custom! returned old Tamlyn; in _his_ days medical men had +_worked_ for their honours before taking them. Arnold engaged himself as +assistant to Mr. Tamlyn, who had dropped into the best part of Dr. +Knox's practice since that gentleman's death, in addition to his own. + +Meanwhile, Mrs. Knox, the widow, had continued to live at Rose Villa. +It belonged to Arnold, having descended to him in right of his mother. +Mr. Knox had bequeathed by will five hundred pounds to Arnold for the +completion of his studies; and all the rest of his money to his wife and +second family. Lefford talked of it resentfully, saying it was an unjust +will: for a good portion of the money had been Mary Arnold's and ought +to have gone to her son. It was about three hundred and fifty pounds +a-year in all; and Mrs. Knox bewailed and bemoaned her hard fate at +having to bring up her children upon so little. She was one of those who +_must_ spend; and her extravagance had kept her husband poor, in spite +of his good practice. + +Never a hint did she offer her step-son of paying him rent for his +house; never a word of thanks did she tender for the use of it. + +Arnold said nothing: he was thoroughly warm-hearted and generous, +considering every one before himself, and he would not have hurt her +feelings or cramped her pocket for the world. As long as he did not want +the house, she and his half-sisters and brother were welcome to it. When +he came back from London he naturally went to it; it was his home; and +Mrs. Knox did not at all like the addition he made to her housekeeping +expenses: which could not be very much amongst the nine others to +provide for. The very day after Arnold's bargain was made with Mr. +Tamlyn, she asked him how much he was going to pay her for his board. +Half his salary, Arnold promptly replied; seventy-five pounds a-year. +And Mrs. Knox would have liked to say it was not enough. + +"Seventy-five pounds a-year!" cackled Lefford, when it got hold of the +news. "Why, it won't cost her half that. And she using his house and +enjoying all the money that was his poor mother's! Well, she has a +conscience, that Widow Knox!" + +The arrangement had continued until now. Three years had elapsed since +then, and Arnold was four-and-twenty. Mrs. Knox found herself often in +money difficulties; when she would borrow from Arnold, and never think +of repaying him. She was now going to increase expenses by taking a +nursery-governess. Awfully tiresome those children were, and Mrs. Knox +said they wore her out. She should have managed the little brats better: +not indulged and neglected them by turns. One hour she'd let them +run wild, the next hour was shrieking at them in words next door to +swearing. + +The governess engaged was a distant relative of her own, a Miss Janet +Carey. She was an orphan, and had for a year or two been teacher in a +boys' preparatory school, limited to thirty pupils. Mrs. Knox wrote to +offer her twelve pounds a-year and a "very comfortable home at Rose +Villa; to be as one of the family." It must have sounded tempting to +Miss Carey after the thirty little boys, and she gratefully accepted it. +Mrs. Knox had never seen her; she pictured to herself a tall, bony young +woman with weak eyes, for that had been the portrait of her second +cousin, Miss Carey's father. + +"Crack! crack! Tally-ho! tally-ho!" shouted Dicky, who had completed his +whip, and got up to stamp and smack it. "Yo-ho! Tally-ho, tally-ho!" + +"Oh, do for goodness' sake be quiet, Dick!" screamed Mrs. Knox. "I can't +have that noise now: I told you I had a headache. Do you hear me, then! +Mina, come and take away this horrible whip." + +Mina came running at the call. Master Dicky was so much given way to as +a general rule, that to thwart him seemed to his sisters something +delightful. Dicky dodged out of harm's way amongst the shrubs; and +Mina was about to go after him, when some one came through the open +glass-doors of what was called the garden-room. + +"Here's Arnold," she cried. + +Dr. Knox was a tall, strongly built, fair man, looking older than his +four-and-twenty years. Nobody could help liking his thin face, for it +was a _good_ face, full of sense and thought, but it was not a handsome +one. His complexion was sallow, and his light hair had a habit of +standing up wild. + +"You are home betimes," remarked Mrs. Knox. + +"Yes; there was nothing more to do," he answered, sitting down in a +rustic garden-chair. "I met James in the pony-chaise: where's he gone?" + +"Why, Arnold, don't you know that the governess is coming this evening?" +cried the second girl, Lotty, who was fanning her hot face with a +cabbage-leaf. "James has gone to the station for her." + +"I forgot all about the governess," said Dr. Knox. "Lotty, what a heat +you are in!" + +"We have been running races," said the child; "and the sun was blazing." + +Dicky came tearing up. Something had happened to the whip. + +"Look at it, Arnold," he said, throwing his arms and the whip on the +doctor's knees. "The lash won't stay on." + +"And you want me to mend it, I suppose." + +"Yes. Do it now." + +"Is that the way to ask?" + +"Please do it now, Arnold." + +"If I can. But I fear I can't, Dicky." + +"No! You can mend arms and legs." + +"Sometimes. Have you a strip of leather? Or some twine?" + +Dicky pulled a piece of string out of some unfathomable pocket. He was +not promoted to trousers yet, but wore white drawers reaching to the +knee and a purple velvet tunic. Dr. Knox took out his penknife. + +"What's the matter with that young Tamlyn again?" asked Mrs. Knox in a +fretful tone. + +"With Bertie?" returned Dr. Knox, rather carelessly, for he was intent +on the whip. "It is one of the old attacks." + +"Of course! I knew it was nothing more," spoke Mrs Knox in resentment. +"There was to have been a party at Mrs. Green's this evening. Just as I +was ready to start for it, her footman came to say it was put off on +account of Miss Tamlyn, who could not come because Master Albert was +ill." + +"Miss Tamlyn would not leave Bertie when he is ill for all the parties +in Christendom, mother." + +"Miss Tamlyn is welcome to stay with him. But that's no reason why Mrs. +Green should have put the rest of us off. Who's Bessy Tamlyn, that she +should be considered before every one?--stupid old maid!" + +Mrs. Knox pushed up her lace sleeves in wrath, and jingled her +bracelets. Evening parties made the solace of her life. + +The wheels of the returning chaise were heard, and the children went +rushing round to the front of the house to look at the new governess. +They brought Janet Carey back to the lawn. Mrs. Knox saw a small, slight +young girl with a quiet, nice face and very simple manners. Dr. Knox +rose. Mrs. Knox did not rise. Expecting to see a kind of dark strong +giantess, she was struck with astonishment and remained sitting. + +"You are surely not Matthew Carey's daughter?" + +"Yes, madam, I am," was the young lady's answer, as a blush stole into +the clear, meek face. + +"Dear me! I should never have thought it. Mat Carey was as tall and big +as a lamp-post. And--why!--you told me you were twenty-three!" + +"I was twenty-three last March." + +"Well, I trust you will be found competent to manage my children. I had +no idea you were so young-looking." + +The tone expressed a huge doubt of it. The ill-trained youngsters stood +staring rudely into Miss Carey's face. Dr. Knox, pushing some of them +aside, held out his hand with a smile of welcome. + +"I hope you will be able to feel at home here, Miss Carey," he said: +"the children must not be allowed to give you too much trouble. Have you +had a pleasant journey?" + +"Take Miss Carey to her room, Mina," sharply struck in Mrs. Knox, not at +all pleased that her step-son should presume to say so much: as if +the house were his. And Mina, followed by the shy and shrinking young +governess, went indoors and up to the roof, and showed her a little +comfortless chamber there. + + * * * * * + +(But the reader must understand that in writing this paper, I, Johnny +Ludlow, am at a disadvantage. Not having been present myself at Lefford, +I can only relate at second hand what happened at Mrs. Knox's.) + + * * * * * + +The time went on. Janet Carey proved herself equal to her work: although +Mrs. Knox, judging by her young look and gentle manners, had been struck +by a doubt of her capacity, and politely expressed it aloud. Janet's +duties were something like the labours of Hercules: at least, as varied. +Teaching was only one of them. She helped to dress and undress the +children, or did it entirely if Sally the housemaid forgot to attend; +she kept all the wardrobes and mended the clothes and the socks. She had +to be in all places at once. Helping Mrs. Knox in the parlour, taking +messages to the kitchen, hearing the girls' lessons, and rushing out to +the field to see that Dicky was not worrying the pony or milking the cow +on his own account. It was not an orderly household; two maids were kept +and James. Mrs. Knox had no talent for management, and was frightfully +lazy besides; and Janet, little foreseeing what additional labour +she would bring on herself, took to remedy as far as she could the +shortcomings and confusion. Mrs. Knox saw her value, and actually +thanked her. As a reward, she made Janet her own attendant, her +secretary, and partly her housekeeper. Mrs. Knox's hair, coarse and +stiff, was rather difficult hair to manage; in the morning it was let go +anyhow, and Janet dressed it in the afternoon. Janet wrote Mrs. Knox's +letters; kept her accounts; paid the bills--paid them, that is, when she +could get the money. Janet, you perceive, was made Jack-of-all-trades at +Rose Villa. She was conscious that it was hardly fair, but she did it +cheerfully; and, as Mrs. Knox would say, it was all in the day's work. + +The only one who showed consideration for Miss Carey was Dr. Knox. He +lectured the children about giving her so much unnecessary trouble: he +bribed Dicky with lozenges and liquorice from the surgery drawers not to +kick or spit at her; and he was, himself, ever kind and considerate to +her. They only met at dinner and tea, for Dr. Knox snatched a scrambling +breakfast (the servants never got it ready for him in time), and went +off betimes to Lefford. Now and then he would come home tolerably early +in the evening, but he had a great deal to do, and it did not happen +often. Mr. Tamlyn was the parish doctor, and it gave Dr. Knox an +incessant round of tramping: for the less pleasant division of the daily +professional work was turned over to him. + +They got to have a fellow-feeling for one another--Janet and Dr. Knox--a +kind of mutual, inward sympathy. Both of them were overworked; in +the lot of each was less of comfort than might have been. Dr. Knox +compassionated Janet's hard place and the want of poetry in her life. +Janet felt hurt to see him made so little of at home, and she knew about +the house being his property, and the seventy-five pounds a-year he paid +for the liberty of living in it,--and she knew that most of the income +enjoyed by Mrs. Knox ought to have been Arnold's income. His breakfast +was scanty; a cup of coffee, taken standing, and some bread-and-butter, +hurriedly eaten. Or he would be off by cockcrow without chance of +breakfast, unless he cut a slice of bread in the pantry: or perhaps +would have to be out all night. Sometimes he would get home to dinner; +one o'clock; more often it was two o-clock, or half-past, or three. +In that case, Sally would bring in a plate of half-cold scraps for +him--anything that happened to be left. Once, when Janet was carving a +leg of mutton, she asked leave to cut off a slice or two that they might +be kept warm for the doctor; but Mrs. Knox blew her up--a fine trouble +_that_ would be! As to tea, the chances were, if he came in to it at +all, that the teapot would be drained: upon which, some lukewarm water +would be dashed in, and the loaf and butter put before him. Dr. Knox +took it all quietly: perhaps he saw how useless complaint would be. + +Mr. Tamlyn's was a large, handsome, red-brick house, standing in a +beautiful garden, in the best and widest street of Lefford. The surgery, +built on the side of the house, consisted of two rooms: one containing +the drugs and the scales, and so on; the other where the better class of +patients waited. Mr. Tamlyn's wife was dead, and he had one son, who was +a cripple. Poor Bertie was thrown down by his nurse when he was a child; +he had hardly ever been out of pain since; sometimes the attacks were +very bad. It made him more cross and fractious than a stranger would +believe; rude, in fact, and self-willed. Mr. Tamlyn just worshipped +Bertie. He only lived to one end--that of making money for Bertie, after +he, himself, should be gone. Miss Bessy, Mr. Tamlyn's half-sister, kept +his house, and she was the only one who tried to keep down Bertie's +temper. Lefford thought it odd that Mr. Tamlyn did not raise Dr. Knox's +salary: but it was known he wanted to put by what he could for Bertie. + +The afternoon sun streamed full on the surgery-window, and Dr. Knox, who +had just pelted back from dinner, stood behind the counter, making up +bottles of physic. Mr. Tamlyn had an apprentice, a young fellow named +Dockett, but he could not be trusted with the physic department yet, as +he was apt to serve out calomel powder for camomile flowers. Of the +three poor parish patients, waiting for their medicine, two sat and one +stood, as there was not a third chair. The doctor spoke very kindly to +them about their ailments; he always did that; but he did not seem well +himself, and often put his hand to his throat and chest. + +The physic and the parish patients done with, he went into the other +room, and threw himself into the easy-chair. "I wonder what's the matter +with me?" he said to himself: and then he got up again, for Mr. Tamlyn +was coming in. He was a short man with a grey face, and iron grey hair. + +"Arnold," said he, "I wish you'd take my round this afternoon. There are +only three or four people who need be seen, and the carriage is at the +door." + +"Is Bertie worse than usual?" asked Arnold; who knew that every +impediment in Mr. Tamlyn's way was caused by Bertie. + +"He is in a great deal of pain. I really don't care to leave him." + +"Oh, I'll go with pleasure," replied Arnold, passing into the surgery to +get his hat. + +Mr. Tamlyn walked with him across the flagged court to the gate, talking +of the sick people he was going to see. Arnold got into the brougham and +was driven away. When he returned, Mr. Tamlyn was upstairs in Bertie's +sitting-room. Arnold went there. + +"Anything more come in?" he asked. "Or can the brougham be put up?" + +"Dear me, yes; here's a note from Mrs. Stephenson," said Mr. Tamlyn, +replying to the first question. And he spoke testily: for Mrs. +Stephenson was a lady of seventy, who always insisted on his own +attendance, objecting to Dr. Knox on the score of his youth. "Well, you +must go for once, Arnold. If she grumbles, tell her I was out." + +On a sofa in the room lay Albert Tamlyn; a lad of sixteen with a fretful +countenance and rumpled hair. Miss Tamlyn, a pleasant-looking lady of +thirty-five, sat by the sofa at work. Arnold Knox went up to the boy, +speaking with the utmost gentleness. + +"Bertie, my boy, I am sorry you are in pain to-day." + +"Who said I was in pain?" retorted Bertie, ungraciously, his voice as +squeaky as a penny trumpet. + +"Why, Bertie, you know you are in great pain: it was I who told Dr. Knox +so," interposed the father. + +"Then you had no business to tell him so," shrieked Bertie, with a +hideous grin of resentment. "What is it to him?--or to you?--or to +anybody?" + +"Oh, Bertie, Bertie!" whispered Miss Tamlyn. "Oh, my boy, you should not +give way like this." + +"You just give your tongue a holiday, Aunt Bessy," fired Bertie. "I +can't be bothered by you all in this way." + +Dr. Knox, looking down at him, saw something wrong in the position he +was lying in. He stooped, lifted him quietly in his strong arms, and +altered it. + +"There, Bertie, you will be better now." + +"No, I'm not better, and why d'you interfere?" retorted Bertie in his +temper, and burst out crying. It was weary work, waiting on that lad; +the house had a daily benefit of it. He had always been given way to: +his whims were studied, his tempers went unreproved, and no patience was +taught him. + +Dr. Knox drove to Mrs. Stephenson's. He dismissed the carriage when he +came out; for he had some patients to see on his own score amongst the +poor, and went on to them. They were at tea at Mr. Tamlyn's when he got +back. He looked very ill, and sat down at once. + +"Are you tired, Arnold?" asked the surgeon. + +"Not very; but I feel out of sorts. My throat is rather painful." + +"What's the matter with it?" + +"Not much, I dare say. A little ulcerated perhaps." + +"I'll have a look at it presently. Bessy, give Dr. Knox a cup of tea." + +"Thank you, I shall be glad of it," interposed the doctor. It was not +often he took a meal in the house, not liking to intrude on them. When +he went up this evening he had thought tea was over. + +"We are later than usual," said Miss Tamlyn, in answer to some remark he +made. "Bertie dropped asleep." + +Bertie was awake, and eating relays of bread-and-butter as he lay, +speaking to no one. The handsome sitting-rooms downstairs were nearly +deserted: Mr. Tamlyn could not bear even to take his meals away from +Bertie. + +It was growing dusk when Dr. Knox went home. Mr. Tamlyn told him to take +a cooling draught and to go to bed early. Mrs. Knox was out for the +evening. Janet Carey sat at the old piano in the schoolroom, singing +songs to the children to keep them quiet. They were crowding round her, +and no one saw him enter the room. + +Janet happened to be singing the very song she sang later to us that +night at Miss Deveen's--"Blow, blow, thou wintry wind." Although she had +now been at Rose Villa nearly a twelvemonth, for early summer had come +round again, Dr. Knox had never heard her sing. Mrs. Knox hated singing +altogether, and especially despised Janet's: it was only when Janet was +alone with the children that she ventured on it, hoping to keep them +still. Arnold Knox sat in utter silence; entranced; just as we were at +Miss Deveen's. + +"You sing 'I've been roaming,' now," called out Dicky, before the song +was well over. + +"No, not that thing," dissented Mina. "Sing 'Pray, Goody,' Janet." They +had long since called her by her Christian name. + +The whole five (the other three taking sides), not being able to agree, +plunged at once into a hot dispute. Janet in vain tried to make peace by +saying she would sing both songs, one after the other: they did not +listen to her. In the midst of the noise, Sally looked in to say James +had caught a magpie; and the lot scampered off. + +Janet Carey heaved a sad sigh, and passed her hand over her weary brow. +She had had a tiring day: there were times when she thought her duties +would get beyond her. Rising to follow the rebellious flock, she caught +sight of Dr. Knox, seated back in the wide old cane chair. + +"Oh! I--I beg your pardon. I had no idea any one was here." + +He came forward smiling; Janet had sat down again in her surprise. + +"And though I am here? Why should you beg my pardon, Miss Carey?" + +"For singing before you. I did not know--I am very sorry." + +"Perhaps you fancy I don't like singing?" + +"Mine is such poor singing, sir. And the songs are so old. I can't play: +I often only play to them with one hand." + +"The singing is so poor--and the songs are so old, that I was going to +ask of you--to beg of you--to sing one of them again for me." + +She stood glancing up at him with her nice eyes, as shy as could be, +uncertain whether he was mocking her. + +"Do you know, Miss Carey, that I never ask a young lady for a song now. +I don't care to hear the new songs, they are so poor and frivolous: the +old ones are worth a king's ransom. _Won't_ you oblige me?" + +"What shall I sing?" + +"The one you have just sung. 'Blow, blow, thou wintry wind.'" + +He drew a chair close, and listened; and seemed lost in thought when it +was over. Janet could not conveniently get up without pushing the stool +against him, and so sat in silence. + +"My mother used to sing that song," he said, looking up. "I can recall +her every note as well as though I had heard her yesterday. 'As friends +remembering not'! Ay: it's a harsh world--and it grows more harsh and +selfish day by day. I don't think it treats _you_ any too well, Miss +Carey." + +"Me, sir?" + +"Who remembers you?" + +"Not many people. But I have never had any friends to speak of." + +"Will you give me another song? The one I heard Mina ask you for--'Pray, +Goody.' My mother used to sing that also." + +"I don't know whether I must stay. The children will be getting into +mischief." + +"Never mind the children. I'll take the responsibility." + +Janet sang the song. Before it was finished the flock came in again. +Dicky had tried to pull the magpie's feathers out, so James had let it +fly. + +After this evening, it somehow happened that Dr. Knox often came home +early, although his throat was well again. He liked to make Miss Carey +sing; and to talk to her; and to linger in the garden with her and the +children in the twilight. Mrs. Knox was rarely at home, and had no idea +how sociable her step-son was becoming. Lefford and its neighbourhood +followed the unfashionable custom of giving early soirées: tea at six, +supper at nine, at home by eleven. James used to go for his mistress; on +dark nights he took a lighted lantern. Mrs. Knox would arrive at home, +her gown well pinned up, and innocent of any treasonable lingerings +out-of-doors or in. It was beyond Janet's power to get Mina and Lotty to +bed one minute before they chose to go: though her orders from Mrs. Knox +on the point were strict. As soon as their mother's step was heard they +would make a rush for the stairs. Janet had to follow them, as that +formed part of her duty: and by the time Mrs. Knox was indoors, the +rooms were free, and Arnold was shut up in his study with his medical +books and a skeleton. + +For any treason that met the eye or the ear, Mrs. Knox might have +assisted at all the interviews. The children might have repeated every +word said to one another by the doctor and Janet, and welcome. The +talk was all legitimate: of their own individual, ordinary interests, +perhaps; of their lost parents; their past lives; the present daily +doings; or, as the Vicar of Wakefield has it, of pictures, taste, +Shakespeare, and the musical glasses. Dr. Knox never said such a thing +to her as, miss, I am in love with you; Janet was the essence of +respectful shyness, and called him sir. + +One evening something or other caused one of the soirées to break up +midway, and Mrs. Knox came home by twilight in her pink gauze gown. +Instead of ringing at the front-door, she came round the garden to the +lawn, knowing quite well the elder children were not gone to bed, and +would probably be in the garden-room. Very softly went she, intending to +surprise them. The moon shone full on the glass-doors. + +The doors were shut. And she could see no children. Only Janet Carey +sitting at the piano, and Dr. Knox sitting close by her, his eyes +resting on her face, and an unmistakable look of--say friendship--in +them. Mrs. Knox took in the whole scene by the light of the one candle +standing on the table. + +She let go the pink skirt and burst open the doors. Imagination is apt +to conjure up skeletons of the future; a whole army of skeletons rushed +into hers, any one of them ten times more ugly than that real skeleton +in the doctor's study. A vision of his marrying Janet and taking +possession of the house, and wanting all his money for himself instead +of paying the family bills with it, was the worst. + +Before a great and real dread, passion has to be silent. Mrs. Knox felt +that she should very much like to buffet both of them with hands and +tongue: but policy restrained her. + +"Where are the children?" she began, as snappish as a fox; but that was +only usual. + +Janet had turned round on the music-stool; her meek hands dropping on +her lap, her face turning all the colours of the rainbow. Dr. Knox just +sat back in his chair and carelessly hummed to himself the tune Janet +had been singing. + +"Mina and Lotty are at Mrs. Hampshire's, ma'am," answered Janet. "She +came to fetch them just after you left, and said I might send in for +them at half-past nine. The little ones are in bed." + +"Oh," said Mrs. Knox. "It's rather early for you to be at home; is it +not, Arnold?" + +"Not particularly, I think. My time for coming home is always uncertain, +you know." + +He rose, and went to his room as he spoke. Janet got out the basket of +stockings; and Mrs. Knox sat buried in a brown study. + +After this evening things grew bad for Miss Carey. Mrs. Knox watched. +She noted her step-son's manner to Janet, and saw that he liked her ever +so much more than was expedient. What to do, or how to stop it, she did +not know, and was at her wits' end. To begin with, there was nothing to +stop. Had she put together a whole week's looks and words of Arnold's, +directed to Janet, she could not have squeezed one decent iota of +complaint out of the whole. Neither dared she risk offending Arnold. +What with the perpetual soirées out, and the general daily improvidence +at home, Mrs. Knox was never in funds, and Arnold found oceans of +household bills coming in to him. Tradesmen were beginning, as a rule +now, to address their accounts to Dr. Knox. Arnold paid them; he was +good-natured, and sensitively averse to complaining to his step-mother; +but he thought it was hardly fair. What on earth she did with her income +he could not imagine: rather than live in this chronic state of begging, +she might have laid down the pony-carriage. + +Not being able to attack the doctor, Mrs. Knox vented all her venom on +Miss Carey. Janet was the dray horse of the family, and therefore could +not be turned away: she was too useful to Mrs. Knox to be parted with. +Real venom it was; and hard to be borne. Her work grew harder, and she +was snubbed from morning till night. The children's insolence to her was +not reproved; Mina took to ordering her about. Weary and heart-sick grew +she: her life was no better than Cinderella's: the only ray of comfort +in it being the rare snatches of intercourse with Dr. Knox. He was like +a true friend to her, and ever kind. He might have been kinder had +he known what sort of a life she really led. But Mrs. Knox was a +diplomatist, and the young fry did not dare to worry people very much, +or to call names before their big brother Arnold. + + +II. + +"Has Dr. Knox come in, Mr. Dockett?" + +Mr. Dockett, lounging over the counter to tease the dog, brought himself +straight with a jerk, and faced his master, Mr. Tamlyn. + +"Not yet, sir." + +"When he comes in, ask him if he'll be so kind as step to me in the +dining-room." + +Mr. Tamlyn shut the surgery-door, and the apprentice whistled to the +dog, which had made its escape. Presently Dr. Knox came across the +court-yard and received the message. + +"Mr. Tamlyn wants you, sir, please. He is in the dining-room." + +"Have you nothing to do, Dockett? Just set on and clean those scales." + +The dining-room looked out on the garden and on the playing fountain. It +was one of the prettiest rooms in Lefford; with white-and-gold papered +walls, and mirrors, and a new carpet. Mr. Tamlyn liked to have things +nice at home, and screwed the money out of the capital put by for +Bertie. He sat at the table before some account-books. + +"Sit down, Arnold," he said, taking off his spectacles. "I have some +news for you: I hope it won't put you out too much." + +It did put Dr. Knox out very considerably, and it surprised him +even more. For some time past now he had been cherishing a private +expectation that Mr. Tamlyn would be taking him into partnership, giving +him probably a small share only at first. Of all things it seemed the +most likely to Dr. Knox: and, wanting in self-assertion though he was, +it seemed to him that it would be a _right_ thing to do. Mr. Tamlyn +had no one to succeed him: and all the best part of his practice was +formerly Mr. Knox's. Had Arnold only been a little older when his father +died, he should have succeeded to it himself: there would have been +little chance of Mr. Tamlyn's getting any of it. In justice, then, if +Mr. Tamlyn now, or later, took a partner at all, it ought to be Arnold. +But for looking forward to this, Dr. Knox had never stayed on all this +time at the paltry salary paid him, and worked himself nearly to a +skeleton. As old Tamlyn talked, he listened as one in a dream, and he +learnt that his own day-dream was over. + +Old Tamlyn was about to take a partner: some gentleman from London, a +Mr. Shuttleworth. Mr. Shuttleworth was seeking a country practice, and +would bring in three thousand pounds. Arnold's services would only be +required to the end of the year, as Mr. Shuttleworth would join on the +first of January. + +"There won't be room for three of us, Arnold--and Dockett will be coming +on," said Mr. Tamlyn. "Besides, at your age, and with your talents, you +ought to be doing something better for yourself. Don't you see that you +ought?" + +"I have seen it for some time. But--the truth is," added Arnold, "though +I hardly like to own to it now, I have been cherishing a hope of this +kind for myself. I thought, Mr. Tamlyn, you might some time offer it to +me." + +"And so I would, Arnold, and there's no one I should like to take as +partner half so well as yourself, but you have not the necessary funds," +said the surgeon with eagerness. "I see what you are thinking, +Arnold--that I might have taken you without premium: but I must think of +my poor boy. Shuttleworth brings in three thousand: I would have taken +you with two." + +"I could not bring in two hundred, let alone two thousand," said Dr. +Knox. + +"There's where it is. To tell you the truth, Arnold, I am getting tired +of work; don't seem so much up to it as I was. Whoever comes in will +have to do more even than you have done, and of course will expect to +take at least a half-share of the yearly profits. I should not put by +much then: I could not alter my style of living, you know, or put down +the carriages and horses, or anything of that sort: and I must save for +poor Bertie. A sum of three thousand pounds means three thousand to me." + +"Are the arrangements fully made?" asked Dr. Knox. + +"Yes. Mr. Shuttleworth came down to Lefford yesterday, and has been +going into the books with me this morning. And, by the way, Arnold, I +hope you will meet him here at dinner to-night. I should not a bit +wonder, either, but he might tell you of some opening for yourself: he +seems to know most of the chief medical men in London. He is selling a +good practice of his own. It is his health that obliges him to come to +the country." + +"I hope you will suit one another," said Dr. Knox; for he knew that it +was not every one who could get on with fidgety old Tamlyn. + +"We are to give it a six months' trial," said Tamlyn. "He would not bind +himself without that. At the end of the six months, if both parties are +not satisfied, we cancel the agreement: he withdraws his money, and I am +at liberty to take a fresh partner. For that half-year's services he +will receive his half-share of profits: which of course is only fair. +You see I tell you all, Arnold." + +Dr. Knox dined with them, and found the new man a very pleasant fellow, +but quite as old as Tamlyn. He could not help wondering how he would +relish the parish work, and said so in a whisper to Mr. Tamlyn while +Shuttleworth was talking to Bertie. + +"Oh, he thinks it will be exercise for him," replied the surgeon. "And +Dockett will be coming on, you know." + +It was a dark night, the beginning of November, wet and splashy. Mrs. +Knox had a soirée at Rose Villa; and when the doctor reached home he +met the company coming forth with cloaks and lanterns and clogs. + +"Oh, it's you, Arnold, is it!" cried Mrs. Knox. "Could you not have come +home for my evening? Two of the whist-tables had to play dummy: we had +some disappointments." + +"I stayed to dine with Mr. Tamlyn," said Arnold. + +Sitting together over the fire, he and she alone, Mrs. Knox asked him +whether he would not give her a hundred pounds a-year for his board, +instead of seventy-five. Which was uncommonly cool, considering what he +paid for her besides in housekeeping bills. Upon which, Arnold told her +he should not be with her beyond the close of the year: he was going to +leave Lefford. For a minute, it struck her dumb. + +"Good Heavens, Arnold, how am I to keep the house on without your help? +I must say you have no consideration. Leave Lefford!" + +"Mr. Tamlyn has given me notice," replied Arnold. "He is taking a +partner." + +"But--I just ask you--how am I to pay my way?" + +"It seems to me that your income is quite sufficient for that, mother. +If not--perhaps--if I may suggest it--you might put down the +pony-chaise." + +Mrs. Knox shrieked out that he was a cruel man. Arnold, who never cared +to stand scenes, lighted his candle and went up to bed. + +Shuttleworth had taken rather a fancy to Dr. Knox; perhaps he +remembered, too, that he was turning him adrift. Anyway, he bestirred +himself, and got him appointed to a medical post in London, where Arnold +would receive two hundred a-year, and his board. + +"I presume you know that I am about to run away, Miss Carey," said Dr. +Knox, hastening up to join her one Sunday evening when they were coming +out of church at Lefford. + +"As if every one did not know that!" cried Mina. "Where's mamma, Arnold? +and Lotty?" + +"They are behind, talking to the Parkers." + +The Parkers were great friends of Mina's, so she ran back. The doctor +and Janet walked slowly on. + +"You will be glad to leave, sir," said Janet, in her humble fashion. +"Things have not been very comfortable for you at home--and I hear you +are taking a much better post." + +"I shall be sorry to leave for one thing--that is, because I fear things +may be more uncomfortable for you," he spoke out bravely. "What Rose +Villa will be when all restraint is taken from the children, and with +other undesirable things, I don't like to imagine." + +"I shall do very well," said Janet, meekly. + +"I wonder you put up with it," he exclaimed. "You might be ten thousand +times better and happier elsewhere." + +"But I fear to change: I have no one to recommend me or to look out for +me, you know." + +"There's that lady I've heard you speak of--your aunt, Miss Cattledon." + +"I could not think of troubling her. My mother's family do not care to +take much notice of me. They thought my father was not my mother's equal +in point of family, and when she married him, they turned her off, as it +were. No, sir, I have only myself to look to." + +"A great many of us are in the same case," he said. "Myself, for +instance. I have been indulging I don't know what day-dreams for some +time past: one of them that Mr. Tamlyn would give me a share in his +practice: and--and there were others to follow in due course. Vain +dreams all, and knocked on the head now." + +"You will be sure to get on," said Janet. + +"Do you think so?" he asked very softly, looking down into Janet's nice +eyes by the gaslight in the road. + +"At least, I hope you will." + +"Well, I shall try for it." + +"Arnold!--come back, Arnold; I want you to give me your arm up the +hill," called out Mrs. Knox. + +Dr. Knox had to enter on his new situation at quarter-day, the +twenty-fifth of December; so he went up to London on Christmas-Eve. +Which was no end of a blow to old Tamlyn, as it left all the work on his +own shoulders for a week. + + +III. + +From two to three months passed on. One windy March day, Mrs. Knox sat +alone in the garden-room, worrying over her money matters. The table, +drawn near the fire, was strewed with bills and tradesmen's books; the +sun shone on the closed glass-doors. + +Mrs. Knox's affairs had been getting into an extremely hopeless +condition. It seemed, by the accumulation of present debts, that +Arnold's money must have paid for everything. Her own income, which came +in quarterly, appeared to dwindle away, she knew not how or where. A +piteous appeal had gone up a week ago to Arnold, saying she should be in +prison unless he assisted her, for the creditors were threatening to +take steps. Arnold's answer, delivered this morning, was a fifty-pound +note enclosed in a very plain letter. It had inconvenienced him to send +the money, he said, and he begged her fully to understand that it was +the _last_ he should ever send. + +So there sat Mrs. Knox before the table in an old dressing-gown, and her +black hair more dishevelled than a mop. The bills, oceans of them, and +the fifty-pound note lay in a heap together. Master Dicky had been +cutting animals out of a picture-book, leaving the scraps on the cloth +and the old carpet. Lotty had distributed there a few sets of dolls' +clothes. Gerty had been tearing up a newspaper for a kite-tail. The +fifty pounds would pay about a third of the debts, and Mrs. Knox was +trying to apportion a sum to each of them accordingly. + +It bothered her finely, for she was no accountant. She could manage +to add up without making very many mistakes; but when it came to +subtraction, her brain went into a hopeless maze. Janet might have +done it, but Mrs. Knox was furious with Janet and would not ask her. +Ill-treated, over-worked, Janet had plucked up courage to give notice, +and was looking out for a situation in Lefford. Just now, Janet was in +the kitchen, ironing Dick's frilled collars. + +"Take fifty-three from fourteen, and how much _does_ remain?" groaned +Mrs. Knox over the shillings. At that moment there was a sound of +carriage-wheels, and a tremendous ring at the door. Sally darted in. + +"Oh, ma'am, it's my Lady Jenkins! I knew her carriage at a distance. It +have got red wheels!" + +"Oh, my goodness!" cried Mrs. Knox, starting up. "Don't open the door +yet, Sally: let me get upstairs first. Her ladyship's come to take me a +drive, I suppose. Go and call Miss Carey--or stay, I'll go to her." + +Mrs. Knox opened one of the glass-doors, and whisked round to the +kitchen. She bade Janet leave the ironing and go to do her books and +bills: hastily explaining that she wanted to know how far fifty pounds +would go towards paying a fair proportion off each debt. Janet was to +make it all out in figures. + +"Be sure and take care of the note--I've left it somewhere," called back +Mrs. Knox as she escaped to the stairs in hurry and confusion; for my +Lady Jenkins's footman was working both bell and knocker alarmingly. + +Janet only half comprehended. She went round to the garden-room, shut +the glass-doors, and began upon the bills and books. But first of all, +she looked out for the letters that were lying about, never supposing +that the special charge had reference to anything else: at least, she +said so afterwards: and put them inside Mrs. Knox's desk. From first to +last, then and later, Janet Carey maintained that she did not see any +bank-note. + + * * * * * + +Mrs. Knox dressed herself with Sally's help, and went out with my Lady +Jenkins--the ex-Mayor of Lefford's wife. The bills and the calculations +made a long job, and Janet's mind was buried in it, when a startling +disturbance suddenly arose in the garden: Dicky had climbed into the +mulberry-tree and fallen out of it. The girls came, dashing open the +glass-doors, saying he was _dead_. Janet ran out, herself nearly +frightened to death. + +Very true. If Dicky was not dead, he looked like it. He lay white and +cold under the tree, blood trickling down his face. James galloped off +for Mr. Tamlyn. The two maids and Janet carried Dicky into the kitchen, +and put him on the ironing-board, with his head on an old cushion. That +revived him; and when Mr. Shuttleworth arrived, for Tamlyn was out, +Dicky was demanding bread-and-treacle. Shuttleworth put some diachylon +plaster on his head, ordered him to bed, and told him not to get into +trees again. + +Their fears relieved, the maids had time to remember common affairs. +Sally found all the sitting-room fires out, and hastened to light them. +As soon as Janet could leave Dicky, who had persisted in going to bed in +his boots, she went back to the accounts. Mrs. Knox came in before they +were done. She blew up Janet for not being quicker, and when she had +recovered the shock of Dicky's accident, she blew her up for that. + +"Where's the note?" she snapped. + +"What note, ma'am?" asked Janet. + +"The bank-note. The bank-note for fifty pounds that I told you to take +care of." + +"I have not seen any bank-note," said Janet. + +Well, that began the trouble. The bank-note was searched for, and there +was neither sign nor symptom of it to be found. Mrs. Knox accused Janet +Carey of stealing it, and called in a policeman. Mrs. Knox made her tale +good to the man, representing Janet as a very black girl indeed; but the +man said he could not take her into custody unless Mrs. Knox would +charge her formally with the theft. + +And that, Mrs. Knox hesitated to do. She told the policeman she would +take until the morrow to consider of it. The whole of that evening, the +whole of the night, the whole of the next morning till midday, Janet +spent searching the garden-room. At midday the policeman appeared again, +and Janet went into a sort of fit. + +When Mr. Shuttleworth was sent for to her, he said it was caused by +fright, and that she had received a shock to the nervous system. For +some days she was delirious, on and off; and when she could escape +Sally's notice, who waited on her, they'd find her down in the +garden-room, searching for the note, just as we afterwards saw her +searching for it in her sleep at Miss Deveen's. It chanced that the two +rooms resembled each other remarkably: in their situation in the houses, +in their shape and size and building arrangements, and in their opening +by glass-doors to the garden. Janet subsided into a sort of wasting +fever; and Mrs. Knox thought it time to send for Miss Cattledon. The +criminal proceedings might wait, she told Janet: like the heartless +woman that she was! Not but that the loss of the money had thrown her +flat on her beam-ends. + +Miss Cattledon came. Janet solemnly declared, not only that she had not +the bank-note, but that she had never seen the note: never at all. Mrs. +Knox said no one but Janet could have taken it, and but for her illness, +she would be already in prison. Miss Cattledon told Mrs. Knox she ought +to be ashamed of herself for suspecting Janet Carey, and took Janet off +by train to Miss Deveen's. Janet arrived there in a shivering-fit, fully +persuaded that the Lefford policemen were following her by the orders of +Mrs. Knox. + +And for the result of it all we must go on to the next paper. + + + + +DR. KNOX. + + + "MY DEAR ARNOLD, + + "Come down to Lefford without delay if you can: I want to see you + particularly. I am in a peck of trouble. + + "Ever your friend, + "RICHARD TAMLYN." + +The above letter reached Dr. Knox in London one morning in April. He +made it right with the authorities to whom he was subject, and reached +Lefford the same afternoon. + +Leaving his bag at the station, he went straight to Mr. Tamlyn's house; +every other person he met halting to shake hands with him. Entering the +iron gates, he looked up at the windows, but saw no one. The sun shone +on the pillared portico, the drawing-room blinds beside it were down. +Dr. Knox crossed the flagged courtyard, and passed off to enter by the +route most familiar to him, the surgery, trodden by him so often in the +days not long gone by. Mr. Dockett stood behind the counter, compounding +medicines, with his coat-cuffs and wristbands turned up. + +"Well, I never!" exclaimed the young gentleman, dropping a bottle in his +astonishment as he stared at Dr. Knox. "You are about the last person I +should have expected to see, sir." + +By which remark the doctor found that Mr. Tamlyn had not taken his +apprentice into his confidence. "Are you all well here?" he asked, +shaking hands. + +"All as jolly as circumstances will let us be," said Mr. Dockett. "Young +Bertie has taken a turn for the worse." + +"Has he? I am sorry to hear that. Is Mr. Tamlyn at home? If so, I'll in +and see him." + +"Oh, he's at home," was the answer. "He has hardly stirred out-of-doors +for a week, and Shuttleworth says he's done to death with the work." + +Going in as readily as though he had not left the house for a day, Dr. +Knox found Mr. Tamlyn in the dining-room: the pretty room that looked +to the garden and the fountain. He was sitting by the fire, his hand +rumpling his grey hair: a sure sign that he was in some bother or +tribulation. In the not quite four months that had passed since Dr. Knox +left him, he had changed considerably: his hair was greyer, his face +thinner. + +"Is it you, Arnold? I am glad. I thought you'd come if you could." + +Dr. Knox drew a chair near the fire, and sat down. "Your letter gave me +concern," he said. "And what do you mean by talking about a peck of +trouble?" + +"A peck of trouble!" echoed Mr. Tamlyn. "I might have said a bushel. I +might have said a ton. There's trouble on all sides, Arnold." + +"Can I help you out of it in any way?" + +"With some of it, I hope you can: it's why I sent for you. But not with +all: not with the worst. Bertie's dying, Arnold." + +"I hope not!" + +"As truly as that we are here talking to one another, I believe him to +be literally dying," repeated the surgeon, solemnly, his eyes filling +and his voice quivering with pain. "He has dropped asleep, and Bessy +sent me out of the room: my sighs wake him, she says. I can't help +sighing, Arnold: and sometimes the sigh ends with a groan, and I can't +help that." + +Dr. Knox didn't see his way clear to making much answer just here. + +"I've detected the change in him for a month past; in my inward heart I +felt sure he could not live. Do you know what your father used to say, +Arnold? He always said that if Bertie lived over his sixteenth or +seventeenth year, he'd do; but the battle would be just about that time. +Heaven knows, I attached no importance to the opinion: I have hardly +thought of it: but he was right, you see. Bertie would be seventeen next +July, if he were to live." + +"I'm sure I am very grieved to hear this--and to see your sorrow," spoke +Arnold. + +"He is _so_ changed!" resumed Mr. Tamlyn, in a low voice. "You remember +how irritable he was, poor fellow?--well, all that has gone, and he is +like an angel. So afraid of giving trouble; so humble and considerate to +every one! It was this change that first alarmed me." + +"When did it come on?" + +"Oh, weeks ago. Long before there was much change for the worse +to be _seen_ in him. Only this morning he held my hand, poor lad, +and--and----" Mr. Tamlyn faltered, coughed, and then went on again more +bravely. "He held my hand between his, Arnold, and said he thought God +had forgiven him, and how happy it would all be when we met in heaven. +For a long while now not a day has passed but he has asked us to +forgive him for his wicked tempers--that's his word for it, wicked--the +servants, and all." + +"Is he in much pain?" + +"Not much now. He has been in a great deal at times. But it made no +difference, pain or no pain, to his sweetness of temper. He will lie +resigned and quiet, the drops pouring down his face with the agony, +never an impatient word escaping him. One day I heard him tell Bessy +that angels were around him, helping him to bear it. We may be sure, +Arnold, when so extraordinary a change as that takes place in the +temperament, the close of life is not far off." + +"Very true--as an ordinary rule," acquiesced Dr. Knox. "And now, how can +I help you in this trouble?" + +"In this trouble?--not at all," returned Mr. Tamlyn, rousing himself, +and speaking energetically, as if he meant to put the thought behind +him. "_This_ trouble no earthly being can aid me in, Arnold; and I don't +think there's any one but yourself I'd speak to of it: it lies too deep, +you see; it wrings the soul. I could die of this trouble: I only fret at +the other." + +"And what is the other?" + +"Shuttleworth won't stay." + +"Won't he!" + +"Shuttleworth says the kind of practice is not what he has been +accustomed to, and the work's too hard, and he does not care how soon he +leaves it. And yet Dockett has come on surprisingly, and takes his share +now. The fact is, Arnold, Shuttleworth is just as lazy as he can hang +together: he'd like to treat a dozen rose-water patients a-day, and go +through life easily. My belief is, he means to do it." + +"But that will scarcely bring grist to his mill, will it?" cried Dr. +Knox. + +"His mill doesn't want grist; there's the worst of it," said Tamlyn. +"The man was not badly off when he came here: but since then his only +brother must go and die, and Shuttleworth has come into all his money. +A thousand a-year, if it's a penny." + +"Then, I certainly don't wonder at his wanting to give up the practice," +returned the doctor, with a smile. + +"That's not all," grumbled old Tamlyn. "He wants to take away Bessy." + +"To take away Bessy!" + +"The two have determined to make themselves into one, I believe. Bessy +only hesitated because of leaving poor Bertie. That impediment will not +be in her way long." + +He sighed as he spoke. Dr. Knox did not yet see what he was wanted for: +and asked again. + +"I've been leading up to it," said Mr. Tamlyn. "You must come back to +me, Arnold." + +"On the same terms as before?" inquired the doctor, after a pause. + +"Nonsense. You'd say 'No,' off-hand, if I proposed _them_. In +Shuttleworth's place." + +"Of course, Mr. Tamlyn, I could not come--I would not come unless it +were made worth my while. If it were, I should like it of all things." + +"Yes, just so; that's what I mean. Don't you like your post in London?" + +"I like it very well, indeed. And I have had no doubt that it will lead +to something better. But, if I saw a fair prospect before me here, I +should prefer to come back to Lefford." + +"_That_ shall be made fair enough. Things have changed with me, Arnold: +and I shouldn't wonder but you will some time, perhaps not very far +distant, have all my practice in your own hands. I feel to be getting +old: spirits and health are alike broken." + +"Nay, not old yet, Mr. Tamlyn. You may wait a good twenty years for +that." + +"Well, well, we'll talk further at another interview. My mind's at rest +now, and that's a great thing. If you had refused, Arnold, I should have +sold my practice for an old song, and gone clean away: I never could +have stood being associated with another stranger. You are going up +home, I conclude. Will you come in this evening?" + +"Very well," said Dr. Knox, rising. "Can I go up and see Bertie?" + +"Not now; I'd not have him awakened for the world; and I assure you the +turning of a straw seems to do it. You shall see him this evening: he is +always awake and restless then." + +Calling for his bag at the station, Dr. Knox went on to Rose Villa. They +were at tea. The children rose up with a shout: his step-mother looked +as though she could not believe her eyesight. + +"Why, Arnold! Have you come home to stay?" + +"Only for a day or two," he answered. "I thought I should surprise you, +but I had not time to write." + +Shaking hands with her, kissing the children, he turned to some one +else, who was seated at the tea-table and had not stirred. His hand was +already out, when she turned her head, and he drew back his hand and +himself together. + +"Miss Mack, my new governess," spoke Mrs. Knox. + +"I beg your pardon," said Dr. Knox to Miss Mack, who turned out to be +a young person in green, with stout legs and slippers down at heel. "I +thought it was Miss Carey," he added to his step-mother. "Where is Miss +Carey?" + +Which of the company, Miss Mack excepted, talked the fastest, and which +the loudest, could not have been decided though a thousand-pound wager +rested on it. It was a dreadful tale to tell. Janet Carey had turned out +to be a thief; Janet Carey had gone out of her mind nearly with fever +and fear when she knew she was to be taken to prison and tried: tried +for stealing the money; and Janet's aunt had come down and carried her +away out of the reach of the policemen. Dr. Knox gazed and listened, and +felt his blood turning cold with righteous horror. + +"Be silent," he sternly said. "There must have been some strange +mistake. Miss Carey was good and upright as the day." + +"She stole my fifty pounds," said Mrs. Knox. + +"_What?_" + +"She stole my fifty-pound note. It was the one you sent me, Arnold." + +His face reddened a little. "That note? Well, I do not know the +circumstances that led you to accuse Miss Carey; but I know they were +mistaken ones. I will answer for Janet Carey with my life." + +"She took that note; it could not have gone in any other manner," +steadily persisted Mrs. Knox. "You'll say so yourself, Arnold, when you +know all. The commotion it has caused in the place, and the worry it has +caused me are beyond everything. Every day some tradesman or other comes +here to ask whether the money has been replaced--for of course they know +I can't pay them under such a loss, until it is; and I must say they +have behaved very well. I never liked Janet Carey. Deceitful minx!" + +With so many talking together, Dr. Knox did not gather a very clear +account of the details. Mrs. Knox mixed up surmises with facts in a +manner to render the whole incomprehensible. He said no more then. +Later, Mrs. Knox saw that he was preparing to go out. She resented it. + +"I think, Arnold, you might have passed this one evening at home: I want +to have a talk with you about money matters. What I am to do is more +than I know, unless Janet Carey or her friends can be made to return the +money." + +"I am going down to Tamlyn's, to see Bertie." + +Dr. Knox let himself out at the street-door, and was walking down the +garden-path, when he found somebody come flying past. It was Sally the +housemaid, on her way to open the gate for him. Such an act of attention +was unusual and quite unnecessary; the doctor thanked her, but told her +she need not have taken the trouble. + +"I--I thought I'd like to ask you, sir, how that--that poor Miss Carey +is," said Sally, in a whisper, as she held the gate back, and her breath +was so short as to hinder her words. "It was London she was took to, +sir; and, as you live in the same town, I've wondered whether you might +not have come across her." + +"London is a large place," observed Dr. Knox. "I did not even know Miss +Carey was there." + +"It was a dreadful thing, sir, poor young lady. Everybody so harsh, too, +over it. And I--I--I _can't_ believe but she was innocent." + +"It is simply an insult on Miss Carey to suppose otherwise," said Dr. +Knox. "Are you well, Sally? What's the matter with your breath?" + +"Oh, it's nothing but a stitch that takes me, thank you, sir," returned +Sally, as she shut the gate after him and flew back again. + +But Dr. Knox saw it was no "stitch" that had stopped Sally's breath and +checked her utterance, but genuine agitation. It set him thinking. + + * * * * * + +No longer any sitting up for poor Bertie Tamlyn in this world! It was +about eight o'clock when Dr. Knox entered the sick-chamber. Bertie lay +in bed; his arms thrown outside the counterpane beside him, as though +they were too warm. The fire gave out its heat; two lamps were burning, +one on the mantelpiece, one on the drawers at the far end of the room. +Bertie had always liked a great deal of light, and he liked it still. +Miss Tamlyn met Dr. Knox at the door, and silently shook hands with him. + +Bertie's wide-open eyes turned to look, and the doctor approached the +bed; but he halted for one imperceptible moment in his course. When Mr. +Tamlyn had said Bertie was dying, Arnold Knox had assumed it to mean, +not that he was actually dying at that present time, but that he would +not recover! But as he gazed at Bertie now in the bright light, he +saw something in the face that his experienced medical eye could not +mistake. + +He took the wasted, fevered hand in his, and laid his soothing fingers +on the damp brow. Miss Tamlyn went away for a minute's respite from the +sick-room. + +"Bertie, my boy!" + +"Why didn't you come before, Arnold?" was the low, weak answer; and the +breath was laboured and the voice down nowhere. "I have wanted you. Aunt +Bessy would not write; and papa thought you would not care to come down +from London, just for me." + +"But I would, Bertie--had I known you were as ill as this." + +Bertie's hands were restless. The white quilt had knots in it as big as +peas, and he was picking at them. Dr. Knox sat down by the low bed. + +"Do you think I am dying?" suddenly asked Bertie. + +It took the doctor by surprise. One does not always know how to answer +such home questions. + +"I'll tell you more about it when I've seen you by daylight, Bertie. Are +you in any pain?" + +"Not a bit now: that's gone. But I'm weak, and I can't stir about +in bed, and--and--they all look at me so. This morning papa and +Shuttleworth brought in Dr. Green. Any way, you must know that I shall +not get to be as well as I used to be." + +"What with one ailment and another, with care, and pain, and sorrow, and +wrong, it seems to me, Bertie, that very few of us are well for long +together. There's always something in this world: it is only when we go +to the next that we can hope for rest and peace." + +Bertie lifted his restless hands and caught one of Dr. Knox's between +them. He had a yearning, imploring look that quite pained the doctor. + +"I want you to forgive me, Arnold," he said, the tears running down. +"When I remember how wicked I was, my heart just faints with shame. +Calling all of you hideous names!--returning bitter words for kind ones. +When we are going to die the past comes back to us. Such a little while +it seems to have been now, Arnold! Why, if I had endured ten times as +much pain, it would be over now. You were all so gentle and patient with +me, and I never cared what trouble I gave, or what ill words I returned. +And now the time is gone! Arnold, I want you to forgive me." + +"My dear boy, there's nothing to forgive. If you think there is, why +then I forgive you with all my heart." + +"Will God ever forgive me, do you think?" + +"Oh, my boy, yes," said the doctor, in a husky tone. "If we, poor +sinful mortals, can forgive one another, how much more readily will He +forgive--the good Father in heaven of us all!" + +Bertie sighed. "It would have been so easy for me to have tried for a +little patience! Instead of that, I took pleasure in being cross and +obstinate and wicked! If the time would but come over again! Arnold, do +you think we shall be able to do one another good in the next world?--or +will the opportunity be lost with this?" + +"Ah, Bertie, I cannot tell," said Dr. Knox. "Sometimes I think that just +because so few of us make use of our opportunities here, God will, +perhaps, give us a chance once again. I have not been at very many +death-beds yet, but of some of those the recollection of opportunities +wasted has made the chief sting. It is only when life is closing that we +see what we might have been, what we might have done." + +"Perhaps He'll remember what my pain has been, Arnold, and how hard it +was to bear. I was not like other boys. They can run, and climb, and +leap, and ride on horseback, and do anything. When I've gone out, it has +been in a hand-carriage, you know; and I've had to lie and lie on the +sofa, and just look up at the blue sky, or on the street that tired me +so: or else in bed, where it was worse, and always hot. I hope He will +recollect how hard it was for me." + +"He saw how hard it was for you at the time, Bertie; saw it always." + +"And Jesus Christ forgave all who went to Him, you know, Arnold; every +one; just for the asking." + +"Why, yes, of course He did. As He does now." + +Mr. Tamlyn came into the room presently: he had been out to a patient. +Seeing that Bertie was half asleep, he and Dr. Knox stood talking +together on the hearthrug. + +"What's that?" cried the surgeon, suddenly catching sight of the +movement of the restless fingers picking at the counterpane. + +Dr. Knox did not answer. + +"A trick he always had," said the surgeon, breaking the silence, and +trying to make believe to cheat himself still. "The maids say he wears +out all his quilts." + +Bertie opened his eyes. "Is that you, papa? Is tea over?" + +"Why, yes, my boy; two or three hours ago," said the father, going +forward. "Why? Do you wish for some tea?" + +"Oh, I--I thought Arnold would have liked some." + +He closed his eyes again directly. Dr. Knox took leave in silence, +promising to be there again in the morning. As he was passing the +dining-room downstairs, he saw Mr. Shuttleworth, who had just looked in. +They shook hands, began to chat, and Dr. Knox sat down. + +"I hear you do not like Lefford," he said. + +"I don't dislike Lefford: it's a pretty and healthy place," was Mr. +Shuttleworth's answer. "What I dislike is my position in it as Tamlyn's +partner. The practice won't do for me." + +"A doubt lay on my mind whether it would suit you when you came down to +make the engagement," said Dr. Knox. "Parish work is not to every one's +taste. And there's a great deal of practice besides. But the returns +from that must be good." + +"I wouldn't stay in it if it were worth a million a-year," cried Mr. +Shuttleworth. "Dockett takes the parish; I make him; but he is not up to +much yet, and of course I feel that I am responsible. As to the town +practice, why, I assure you nearly all of it has lain on me. Tamlyn, +poor fellow, can think of nothing but his boy." + +"He will not have him here long to think of, I fear." + +"Not very long; no. I hear, doctor, he is going to offer a partnership +to you." + +"He has said something about it. I shall take it, if he does. Lefford is +my native place, and I would rather live here than anywhere. Besides, I +don't mind work," he added, with a smile. + +"Ah, you are younger than I am. But I'd advise you, as I have advised +Tamlyn, to give up the parish. For goodness' sake do, Knox. Tamlyn +says that at one time he had not much else _but_ the parish, but it's +different now. Your father had all the better practice then." + +"Shall you set up elsewhere?" + +"Not at present," said Mr. Shuttleworth. "We--I--perhaps you have heard, +though--that I and Bessy are going to make a match of it? We shall +travel for a few months, or so, and then come home and pitch our tent in +some pleasant sea-side place. If a little easy practice drops in to me +there, well and good: if not, we can do without it. Stay and smoke a +cigar with me?" + +Arnold looked at his watch, and sat down again. He wanted to ask Mr. +Shuttleworth about Miss Carey's illness. + +"The cause of her illness was the loss of that bank-note," said the +surgeon. "They accused her of stealing it, and wanted to give her into +custody. A little more, and she'd have had brain-fever. She was a timid, +inexperienced girl, and the fright gave her system a shock." + +"Miss Carey would no more steal a bank-note than you or I would steal +one, Shuttleworth." + +"Not she. I told Mrs. Knox so: but she scoffed at me." + +"That Miss Carey is innocent as the day, that she is an upright, gentle, +Christian girl, I will stake my life upon," said Dr. Knox. "How the note +can have gone is another matter." + +"Are you at all interested in finding it out?" questioned Mr. +Shuttleworth. + +"Certainly I am. Every one ought to be, I think." + +The surgeon took his cigar from his mouth. "I'll tell you my opinion, if +you care to know it," he said. "The note was burnt." + +"Burnt!" + +"Well, it is the most likely solution of the matter that I can come to. +Either burnt, or else was blown away." + +"But why do you say this?" questioned Dr. Knox. + +"It was a particularly windy day. The glass-doors of the room were left +open while the house ran about in a fright, attending to the child, +young Dick. A flimsy bit of bank-paper, lying on the table, would get +blown about like a feather in a gale. Whether it got into the fire, +caught by the current of the chimney, or whether it sailed out-of-doors +and disappeared in the air, is a question I can't undertake to solve. +Rely upon it, Knox, it was one of the two: and I should bet upon the +fire." + +It was just the clue Dr. Knox had been wishing for. But he did not think +the whole fault lay with the wind: he had another idea. + + * * * * * + +Lefford had a shock in the morning. Bertie Tamlyn was dead. The news +came to Dr. Knox in a note from Mr. Tamlyn, which was delivered whilst +he was dressing. "You will stay for the funeral, Arnold," were the +concluding words. And as Dr. Knox wanted to be at home a little longer +on his own account, he wrote to London to say that business was +temporarily detaining him. He then went to see what he could do for Mr. +Tamlyn, and got back to Rose Villa for dinner. + +Watching for an opportunity--which did not occur until late in the +afternoon--Dr. Knox startled the servants by walking into the kitchen, +and sitting down. Mrs. Knox had gone off in the pony-chaise; the +children were out with the new governess. The kitchen and the servants +were alike smartened-up for the rest of the day. Eliza, the cook, was +making a new pudding-cloth; Sally was ironing. + +"I wish to ask you both a few questions," said Dr. Knox, taking out his +note-book and pencil. "It is not possible that Miss Carey can be allowed +to lie under the disgraceful accusation that was brought against her, +and I am about to try and discover what became of the bank-note. Mrs. +Knox was not in the house at the time, and therefore cannot give me the +details." + +Eliza, who had risen and stood, work in hand, simply stared at the +doctor in surprise. Sally dropped her iron on the blanket. + +"_We_ didn't take the note, sir," said Eliza, after a pause. "We'd not +do such a thing." + +"I'm sure I didn't; I'd burn my hands off first," broke in Sally, with +a burst of tears. + +"Of course you would not," returned Dr. Knox in a pleasant tone. "The +children would not. Mrs. Knox would not. But as the note undoubtedly +disappeared, and without hands, we must try and discover where the +mystery lies and how it went. I dare say you would like Miss Carey to be +cleared." + +"Miss Carey was a downright nice young lady," pronounced the cook. +"Quite another sort from this one we've got now." + +"Well, give me all the particulars as correctly as you can remember," +said the doctor. "We may get some notion or other out of them." + +Eliza plunged into the narration. She was fond of talking. Sally stood +over her ironing, sniffing and sighing. Dr. Knox listened. + +"Mrs. Knox left the note on the table--which was much strewed with +papers--when she went out with Lady Jenkins, and Miss Carey took her +place at the accounts," repeated Dr. Knox, summing up the profuse +history in a few concise words. "While----" + +"And Miss Carey declared, sir, that she never saw the note; never +noticed it lying there at all," came Eliza's interruption. + +"Yes, just so. While Miss Carey was at the table, the alarm came that +Master Dick had fallen out of the tree, and she ran to him----" + +"And a fine fright that fall put us into, sir! We thought he was dead. +Jim went galloping off for the doctor, and me and Sally and Miss Carey +stayed bathing his head on that there very ironing-board, a-trying to +find out what the damage was." + +"And the children: where were they?" + +"All round us here in the kitchen, sir, sobbing and staring." + +"Meanwhile the garden-room was deserted. No one went into it, as far as +you know." + +"Nobody at all, sir. When Sally ran in to look at the fire, she found it +had gone clean out. The doctor had been there then, and Master Richard +was in bed. A fine pickle Sally found the room in, with the scraps of +paper, and that, blown about the floor. The glass-doors was standing +stark staring open to the wind." + +"And, I presume, you gathered up some of these scraps of paper, and +lighted the fire with them, Sally?" + +Dr. Knox did not appear to look at Sally as he spoke, but he saw and +noted every movement. He saw that her hand shook so that she could +scarcely hold the iron. + +"Has it never struck you, Sally, that you might have put the bank-note +into the grate with these scraps of paper, and burnt it?" he continued. +"Innocently, of course. That is how I think the note must have +disappeared. Had the wind taken it into the garden, it would most +probably have been found." + +Sally flung her apron over her face and herself on to a chair, and burst +into a howl. Eliza looked at her. + +"If you think there is a probability that this was the case, Sally, you +must say so," continued Dr. Knox. "You will never be blamed, except for +not having spoken." + +"'Twas only yesterday I asked Sally whether she didn't think this was +the way it might have been," said the cook in a low tone to Dr. Knox. +"She have seemed so put out, sir, for a week past." + +"I vow to goodness that I never knew I did it," sobbed Sally. "All the +while the bother was about, and Miss Carey, poor young lady, was off her +head, it never once struck me. What Eliza and me thought was, that some +tramps must have come round the side of the house and got in at the open +glass-doors, and stole it. The night after Miss Carey left with her +aunt, I was thinking about her as I lay in bed, and wondering whether +the mistress would send the police after her or not, when all of a +sudden the thought flashed across me that it might have gone into the +fire with the other pieces of paper. Oh mercy, I wish I was somewhere!" + +"What became of the ashes out of the grate?--the cinders?" asked Dr. +Knox. + +"They're all in the ash-place, sir, waiting till the garden's ready for +them," sobbed Sally. + + * * * * * + +With as little delay as possible, Dr. Knox had the cinders carefully +sifted and examined, when the traces of what had once undoubtedly been +a bank-note were discovered. The greater portion of the note had been +reduced to tinder, but a small part of it remained, enough to show what +it had been, and--by singular good fortune--its number. It must have +fallen out of the grate partly consumed, while the fire was lighting up, +and been swept underneath by Sally with other remnants, where it had +lain quietly until morning and been taken away with the ashes. + +The traces gathered carefully into a small box and sealed up, Dr. Knox +went into the presence of his step-mother. + +"I think," he said, just showing the box as it lay in his hand, "that +this proof will be accepted by the Bank of England; in that case they +will make good the money to me. One question, mother, I wish to ask you: +how could you possibly suspect Miss Carey?" + +"There was no one else for me to suspect," replied Mrs. Knox in fretful +tones; for she did not at all like this turn in the affair. + +"Did you _really_ suspect her?" + +"Why, of course I did. How can you ask such foolish questions?" + +"It was a great mistake in any case to take it up as you did. I am not +alluding to the suspicion now; but to your harsh and cruel treatment." + +"Just mind your own business, Arnold. It's nothing to you." + +"For my own part, I regard it as a matter that we must ever look back +upon with shame." + +"There, that's enough," said Mrs. Knox. "The thing is done with, and it +cannot be recalled. Janet Carey won't die of it." + +Dr. Knox went about Lefford with the box in his hand, making things +right. He called in at the police-station; he caused a minute account to +be put in the _Lefford News_; he related the details to his private +friends. Not once did he allude to Janet Carey, or mention her name: it +was as though he would proudly ignore the stigma cast on her and assume +that the world did the same. The world did: but it gave some hard words +to Mrs. Knox. + +Mr. Tamlyn had not much sympathy for wonders of any kind just then. Poor +Bertie, lying cold and still in the chamber above, took up all his +thoughts and his grief. Arnold spent a good deal of time with him, and +took his round of patients. + +It was the night before the funeral, and they were sitting together at +twilight in the dining-room. Dr. Knox was looking through the large +window at the fountain in the middle of the grass-plat: Mr. Tamlyn had +his face buried; he had not looked up for the last half-hour. + +"When is the very earliest time that you can come, Arnold?" he began +abruptly. + +"As soon as ever they will release me in London. Perhaps that will be in +a month; perhaps not until the end of June, when the six months will be +up." + +Mr. Tamlyn groaned. "I want you at once, Arnold. You are all I have +now." + +"Shuttleworth must stay until I come." + +"Shuttleworth's not you. You must live with me, Arnold?" + +"Live with you?" + +"Why, of course you must. What am I to do in this large house by myself +now _he_ is gone? Bessy will be gone too. I couldn't stand it." + +"It would be much more convenient for me to be here, as far as the +practice is concerned," remarked Dr. Knox, after reflection. + +"And more sociable. Do you never think of marriage, Arnold?" + +Dr. Knox turned a little red. "It has been of no use for me to think of +it hitherto, you know, sir." + +"I wish you would. Some nice, steady girl, who would make things +pleasant here for us in Bessy's place. There's room for a wife as well +as for you, Arnold. Think of these empty rooms: no one but you and me in +them! And you know people like a married medical man better than a +single one." + +The doctor opened his lips to speak, but his courage failed him; he +would leave it to the last thing before he left on the morrow, or else +write from London. Tamlyn mistook his silence. + +"You'll be well enough off to keep two wives, if the law allowed it, let +alone one. From the day you join me, Arnold, half the profits shall be +yours--I'll have the deed made out--and the whole practice at my death. +I've no one to save for, now Bertie's gone." + +"He is better off; he is in happiness," said Dr. Knox, his voice a +little husky. + +"Ay. I try to let it console me. But I've no one but you now, Arnold. +And I don't suppose I shall forget you in my will. To confess the truth, +turning you away to make room for Shuttleworth has lain on my +conscience." + +When Arnold reached home that night, Mrs. Knox and her eldest daughter +were alone; she reading, Mina dressing a doll. Lefford was a place that +went in for propriety, and no one gave soirées while Bertie Tamlyn lay +dead. Arnold told Mrs. Knox of the new arrangement. + +"Good gracious!" she exclaimed. "Coming back to Lefford! Well, I shall +be glad to have you at home again," she added, thinking of the household +bills. + +"Mr. Tamlyn proposes that I shall live with him," said Dr. Knox. + +"But you will never be so stupid as to do that!" + +"I have promised to do it. It will be much more convenient." + +Mrs. Knox looked sullen, and bit her lips. "How large a share are you to +have?" + +"I go in as full partner." + +"Oh, I am so glad!" cried out Miss Mina--for they all liked their +good-natured brother. "Arnold, perhaps you'll go and get married now!" + +"Perhaps I may," he answered. + +Mrs. Knox dropped her book in the sudden fright. If Arnold married, he +might want his house--and turn her out of it! He read the fear in her +face. + +"We may make some arrangement," said he quietly. "You shall still occupy +it and pay me a small nominal rent--five pounds a-year, say--which I +shall probably return in toys for the children." + +The thought of his marriage had always lain upon her with a dread. "Who +is the lady?" she asked. + +"The lady? Oh, I can't tell you, I'm sure. I have not asked any one +yet." + +"Is that all!" + +"Quite all--at present." + +"I think," said Mrs. Knox slowly, as if deliberating the point with +herself, and in the most affectionate of tones, "that you would be +happier in a single life, Arnold. One never knows what a wife is till +she's tried." + +"Do you think so? Well, we must leave it to the future. What will be, +will be." + + +IV. + +And now I am taking up the story for myself; I, Johnny Ludlow. Had I +gone straight on with it after that last night of Janet's sleep-walking +at Miss Deveen's, you would never have understood. + +It was on the Saturday night that Janet was found out--as any one must +remember who took the trouble to count up the nights and days. On the +Sunday morning early, Miss Deveen's doctor was sent for. Dr. Galliard +happened to be out of town, so Mr. Black attended for him. Cattledon was +like vinegar. She looked upon Janet's proceedings as a regular scandal, +and begged Miss Deveen's pardon for having brought her niece into the +house. Upon which she was requested not to be silly. + +Miss Deveen told the whole tale of the lost bank-note, to me and to +Helen and Anna Whitney: at least, as much as she knew of it herself. +Janet was innocent as a child; she felt sure of that, she said, and +much to be pitied; and that Mrs. Knox, of Lefford, seemed to be a most +undesirable sort of person. To us it sounded like a romance, or a story +out of a newspaper police-report. + +Monday came in; a warm, bright April day. I was returning to Oxford in +the evening--and why I had not returned in the past week, as ought to +have been the case, there's no space to tell here. Miss Deveen said we +might go for a walk if we liked. But Helen and Anna did not seem to care +about it; neither did I, to say the truth. A house with a marvel in it +has attractions; and we would by far rather have gone upstairs to see +Janet. Janet was better, quite composed, but weak, they said: she was up +and dressed, and in Miss Deveen's own blue-room. + +"Well, do you mean to go out, or not, you young people?" asked Miss +Deveen. "Dear me, here are visitors!" + +George came in bringing a card. "Dr. Knox." + +"Why!--it must be some one from that woman at Lefford!" exclaimed Miss +Deveen, in an undertone to me. "Oh no; I remember now, Johnny; Dr. Knox +was the step-son; _he_ was away, and had nothing to do with it. Show Dr. +Knox in, George." + +A tall man in black, whom one might have taken anywhere for a doctor, +with a grave, nice face, came in. He said his visit was to Miss Carey, +as he took the chair George placed near his mistress. Just a few words, +and then we knew the whole, and saw a small sealed-up box in his hand, +which contained the remains of the bank-note. + +"I am more glad than if you brought Janet a purse of gold!" cried Miss +Deveen, her eyes sparkling with pleasure. "Not that I think any one +could have doubted her, Dr. Knox--not even your step-mother, in her +heart,--but it is satisfactory to have it cleared up. It has made Miss +Carey very ill; but this will set her at rest." + +"Your servant told me Miss Carey was ill," he said. "It was for her I +asked." + +With a face of concern, he listened to what Miss Deveen had to say of +the illness. When she spoke of Janet's fright at seeing the policeman at +the Colosseum, his brow went red and he bit his lips. Next came the +sleep-walking: she told it all. + +"Her brain and nerves must have been overstrained to an alarming +degree," he observed, after a short silence. "Mr. Shuttleworth, who +attended her at the time, spoke to me of the shock to the system. But I +hoped she had recovered." + +"She would never have recovered, Dr. Knox, as long as the dread lay +upon her that she was to be criminally prosecuted: at least, that is my +opinion," said Miss Deveen. "I believe the chief thing that ails her is +_fright_. Not a knock at the door, not the marching past the house of a +policeman, not the sudden entrance of a servant into the room, but has +brought to her a shock of agonizing fear. It is a mercy that she has +escaped brain-fever. After all, she must possess a good constitution. +The sight of that Lefford man at the Colosseum did great mischief." + +"It was unfortunate that he should happen to be there," said Dr. Knox: +"and that the man should have dared to accost her with his insolence! +But I shall inquire into it." + +"What you have in that box will be the best medicine for her," said Miss +Deveen. "It will speedily effect a cure--or call me an untrue prophet. +Dear me! how strangely things come out!" + +"May I be allowed to see Miss Carey?" asked Dr. Knox. "And to--to tell +her the story of her clearance in my own way?" + +Miss Deveen made no reply. She looked at Dr. Knox, and seemed to +hesitate. + +"I think it may be better for Miss Carey that I should, madam. For more +reasons than one." + +"And really I don't see why you should not," said Miss Deveen, +heartily. "I hesitated because Mr. Black forbade the admission of +strangers. But--perhaps you are not a stranger to her?" + +"Oh dear, no: I and Miss Carey are old friends," he answered, a curious +smile lighting up his face. "And I should also wish to see her in my +medical capacity." + +But the one to put in her word against this, was Cattledon. She came +down looking green, and protesting in Miss Deveen's ear that no male +subject in her Majesty's dominions, save and except Mr. Black, ought to +be admitted to the blue-room. Janet had no full dress on; nothing but +skirts and a shawl. + +"Oh, nonsense!" cried Miss Deveen. "Why, Dr. Knox might have seen her +had she been in bed: he is a physician." And she took him up herself to +the blue-room. + +"Of all old maids that Cattledon's the worst!" nodded Helen Whitney. + +Miss Deveen went in alone, leaving him outside the door. Janet sat in an +armchair by the fire, muffled in an old brown shawl of Cattledon's. + +"And how do you feel now, my dear?" said Miss Deveen, quietly. "Better, +I see. And oh, I have such pleasant news for you: an old friend of yours +has called to see you; and I think--I think--he will be able to cure you +sooner than Mr. Black. It is Dr. Knox, my dear: not of Lefford now, you +know: of London." + +She called the doctor in, and Janet's pale cheeks took a tint of +crimson. Janet's face had never been big: but as he stood looking at +her, her hand in his, he was shocked to see how small it had become. +Miss Deveen shut the door upon them. She hoped with all her heart he was +not going to spare that woman at Lefford. + +"Janet, my dear," he said in a fatherly kind of way as he drew a chair +near her and kept her hand, "when that trouble happened at home, how was +it you did not write to me?" + +"Write to _you_! Oh, sir, I could not do such a thing," answered Janet, +beginning to tremble. + +"But you might have known I should be your friend. You might also have +known that I should have been able to clear you." + +"I did once think of writing to you, Dr. Knox: just to tell you that I +had not indeed touched the bank-note," faltered Janet. "As the money +came from you, I should have liked to write so much. But I did not +dare." + +"And you preferred to suffer all these weeks of pain, and the fright +brought upon you by Mrs. Knox--for which," said he deliberately, "I +shall never forgive her--rather than drop me a few lines! You must never +be so foolish again, Janet. I should have gone to Lefford at once and +searched out the mystery of the note--and found it." + +Janet moved her lips and shook her head, as much as to say that he could +never have done that. + +"But I have done it," said he. "I have been down to Lefford and found it +all out, and have brought the bank-note up with me--what remains of it. +Sally was the culprit." + +"Sally!" gasped Janet, going from red to white. + +"Sally--but not intentionally. She lighted the fire that afternoon with +the note and some more scraps. The note fell out, only partly burnt; and +I am going to take it to the bank that they may exchange it for a whole +one." + +"And--will--they?" panted Janet. + +"Of course they will; it is in the regular course of business that they +should," affirmed Dr. Knox, deeming it best to be positive for her sake. +"Now, Janet, if you are to tremble like this, I shall go away and send +up Miss Cattledon--and she does not look as if she had a very amiable +temper. Why, my dear child, you ought to be glad." + +"Oh, so I am, so I am!" she said, breaking into sobs. "And--and does +every one in Lefford know that I was innocent?" + +"No one in Lefford believed you guilty. Of course, it is all known, and +in the newspapers too--how Sally lighted the fire with a fifty-pound +bank-note, and the remains were fished out of the ashes." + +"Mrs. Knox--Mrs. Knox----" She could not go on for agitation. + +"As to Mrs. Knox, I am not sure but we might prosecute her. Rely upon +one thing, Janet: that she will not be very well welcomed at her beloved +soirées for some long time to come." + +Janet looked at the fire and thought. Dr. Knox kept silence, that she +might recover herself after the news. + +"I shall get well now," she said in a half-whisper. "I shall +soon"--turning to him--"be able to take another situation. Do you think +Mrs. Knox will give me a recommendation?" + +"Yes, that she will--when it's wanted," said he, with a queer smile. + +She sat in silence again, a tinge of colour in her face, and seeing +fortunes in the fire. "Oh, the relief, the relief!" she murmured, +slightly lifting her hands. "To feel that I may be at peace and fear +nothing! I am very thankful to you, Dr. Knox, for all things." + +"Do you know what I think would do you good?" said Dr. Knox suddenly. +"A drive. The day is so fine, the air so balmy: I am sure it would +strengthen you. Will you go?" + +"If you please, sir. I do feel stronger, since you told me this." + +He went down and spoke to Miss Deveen. She heartily agreed: anything +that would benefit the poor girl, she said; and the carriage was coming +round to the door, for she had been thinking of going out herself. +Cattledon could not oppose them, for she had stepped over to the +curate's. + +"Would you very much mind--would you pardon me if I asked to be allowed +to accompany her alone?" said Dr. Knox, hurriedly to Miss Deveen, as +Janet was coming downstairs on Lettice's arm, dressed for the drive. + +Miss Deveen was taken by surprise. He spoke as though he were flurried, +and she saw the red look on his face. + +"I can take care of her as perhaps no one else could," he added with a +smile. "And I--I want to ask her a question, Miss Deveen." + +"I--think--I--understand you," she said, smiling back at him. "Well, you +shall go. Miss Cattledon will talk of propriety, though, when she comes +home, and be ready to snap us all up." + +And Cattledon was so. When she found Janet had been let go for a slow +and easy drive, with no escort but Dr. Knox inside and the fat coachman +on the box, she conjectured that Miss Deveen must have taken leave of +her senses. Cattledon took up her station at the window to wait for +their return, firing out words of temper every other second. + +The air must have done Janet good. She came in from the carriage on Dr. +Knox's arm, her cheeks bright, her pretty eyes cast down, and looking +quite another girl. + +"Have you put your question, Dr. Knox?" asked Miss Deveen, meeting him +in the hall, while Janet came on. + +"Yes, and had it answered," he said brightly. "Thank you, dear Miss +Deveen; I see we have your sympathies." + +She just took his hand in hers and squeezed it. It was the first day she +had seen him, but she liked his face. + +Cattledon began upon Janet at once. If she felt well enough to start off +on promiscuous drives, she must be well enough to see about a situation. + +"I have been speaking to her of one, Miss Cattledon," said Dr. Knox, +catching the words as he came in. "I think she will accept it." + +"Where is it?" asked Cattledon. + +"At Lefford." + +"She shall never go back to Rose Villa with my consent, sir. And I think +you ought to know better than to propose it to her." + +"To Rose Villa! Certainly not: at least at present. Rose Villa will be +hers, though; the only little settlement that can be made upon her." + +The words struck Cattledon silent. But she could see through a brick +wall. + +"Perhaps _you_ want her, young man?" + +"Yes, I do. I should have wanted her before this, but that I had no home +to offer her. I have one now; and good prospects too. Janet has had it +all explained to her. Perhaps you will allow me to explain it to you, +Miss Cattledon." + +"I'm sure it's more than Janet Carey could have expected," said +Cattledon, growing pacified as she listened. "She's a poor thing. I +hope she will make a good wife." + +"I will risk it, Miss Cattledon." + +"And she shall be married from my house," struck in Miss Deveen. +"Johnny, if you young Oxford blades can get here for it, I will have you +all to the wedding." + +And we did get there for it: I, and Tod, and William Whitney, and saw +the end, so far, of Janet Carey. + + + + +HELEN WHITNEY'S WEDDING. + + +I. + +"What a hot day it is going to be!" cried the Squire, flinging back his +thin light coat, and catching the corner of the breakfast-cloth with it, +so that he upset the salt-cellar. "Yesterday was about the hottest day +_I_ ever felt, but to-day will be worse." + +"And all the jam-making about!" added Mrs. Todhetley. + +"You need not go near the jam-making." + +"I must to-day. Last year Molly made a mistake in the quantity of sugar: +and never could be brought to acknowledge it." + +"Molly---- There's the letter-man," broke off the Squire. "Run, lad." + +I went through the open glass-doors with all speed. Letters were not +everyday events with us. In these fast and busy days a hundred letters +are written where one used to be in those. It was one only that the man +handed me now. + +"That's all this morning, Mr. Johnny." + +I put it beside the Squire's plate, telling him it was from Sir John +Whitney. There was no mistaking Sir John's handwriting: the popular +belief was that he used a skewer. + +"From Whitney, is it," cried he. "Where are my spectacles? What's the +postmark! Malvern? Oh, then, they are there still." + + "_Belle Vue Hotel, Malvern._ + + "DEAR TODHETLEY, + + "Do take compassion upon a weary man, and come over for a day or + two. A whole blessed week this day have I been here with never a + friend to speak to, or to make up a rubber in the evening. + Featherston's a bad player, as you know, but I wish I had him here. + I and my wife might take double dummy, for all the players we can + get. Helen is engaged to be married to Captain Foliott, Lord + Riverside's nephew; and nobody has any time to think of me and my + whist-table. Bring the boys with you: Bill is as moped as I am. We + are at the Belle Vue, you see. The girls wanted to stand out for the + Foley Arms: it's bigger and grander: but I like a place that I have + been used to. + + "From your old friend, + "JOHN WHITNEY." + +The little Whitneys had caught scarlatina, all the fry of them. +Recovered now, they had been sent to a cottage on the estate for change; +and Sir John, his wife, William, Helen, and Anna went for a week to +Malvern while the Hall was cleaned. This news, though, of Helen's +engagement, took us by surprise. + +"How very sudden!" cried the mater. + +Tod was leaning back in his chair, laughing. "I _told_ her I knew there +was something up between her and that Captain Foliott!" + +"Has she known him before?" asked the mater. + +"Known him, yes," cried Tod. "She saw a good deal of him at Cheltenham. +As if she would engage herself to any one after only a week's +acquaintanceship!" + +"As if Sir John would let her!" put in the Squire. "I can't answer for +what Miss Helen would do." And Tod laughed again. + +When the children were taken ill, Helen and Anna, though they had had +the malady, were packed off to Sir John's sister, Miss Whitney, who +lived at Cheltenham, and they stayed there for some weeks. After that, +they came to us at Dyke Manor for three days, and then went with their +father and mother to Malvern. Helen was then full of Captain Foliott, +and talked of him to us in private from morning till night. She had met +him at Cheltenham, and he had paid her no end of attention. Now, as it +appeared, he had followed her to Malvern, and asked for her of Sir John. + +"It seems to be a good match--a nephew of Lord Riverside's," observed +the Squire. "Is he rich, I wonder?--and is the girl over head and ears +in love with him?" + +"Rich he may be: but in love with him she certainly is not," cried Tod. +"She was too ready to talk of him for that." + +The remark was amusing, coming from Tod. How had he learnt to be so +worldly-wise? + +"Shall you go to Malvern, father?" + +"_Shall I go!_" repeated the Squire, astonished at the superfluous +question. "Yes. And start as soon as ever I have finished my breakfast +and changed my coat. You two may go also, as you are invited." + +We reached Malvern in the afternoon. Sir John and Lady Whitney were +alone, in one of the pleasant sitting-rooms of the Belle Vue Hotel, and +welcomed us with outstretched hands. + +"The girls and William?" cried Sir John, in answer to inquiries. "Oh, +they are out somewhere--with Foliott, I conclude; for I'm sure he sticks +to Helen like her shadow. Congratulate me, you say? Well, I don't know, +Todhetley. It's the fashion, of course, to do it; but I'm not sure but +we should rather be condoled with. No sooner do our girls grow up and +become companionable, and learn not to revoke at whist when they can be +tempted into taking a hand, than they want to leave us! Henceforth they +must belong to others, not to us; and we, perhaps, see them no oftener +than we see any other stranger. It's one of the crosses of life." + +Sir John blew his old red nose, so like the Squire's, and my lady rubbed +her eyes. Both felt keenly the prospect of parting with Helen. + +"But you like him, don't you?" asked the Squire. + +"As to liking him," cried Sir John, and I thought there was some +hesitation in his tone; "I am not in love with him: I leave that to +Helen. We don't all see with our children's eyes. He is well enough, I +suppose, as Helen thinks so. But the fellow does not care for whist." + +"I think we play too slow a game for him," put in Lady Whitney. "He +chanced to say one evening that Lord Riverside is one of the first hands +at whist; and I expect Captain Foliott has been in the habit of playing +with him." + +"Anyway, you are satisfied with the match, as a match, I take it?" +observed the Squire. + +"I don't say but that I am," said Sir John. "It might be better, of +course; and at present their means will not be large. Foliott offers to +settle an estate of his, worth about ten thousand pounds, upon Helen; +and his allowance from his uncle Foliott is twelve hundred a-year. They +will have to get along on that at present." + +"And the captain proposes," added Lady Whitney, "that the three thousand +pounds, which will come to Helen when she marries, shall be invested in +a house: and we think it would be wise to do it. But he feels quite +certain that Mr. Foliott will increase his allowance when he marries; +probably double it." + +"It's not Lord Riverside, then, who allows him the income?" + +"Bless you, Todhetley, no!" spoke Sir John in a hurry. "He says +Riverside's as poor as a church mouse, and vegetates from year's end to +year's end at his place in Scotland. It is Foliott the mine-owner down +in the North. Stay: which is it, Betsy?--mine-owner, or mill-owner?" + +"Mill-owner, I think," said Lady Whitney. "He is wonderfully rich, +whichever it is; and Captain Foliott will come into at least a hundred +thousand pounds at his death." + +Listening to all this as I stood on the balcony, looking at the +beautiful panorama stretched out below and beyond, for they were talking +at the open window, I dreamily thought what a good thing Helen was going +to make of it. Later on, all this was confirmed, and we learnt a few +additional particulars. + +Mr. Foliott, mill-owner and millionaire, was a very great man in +the North; employing thousands of hands. He was a good man, full of +benevolence, always doing something or other to benefit his townspeople +and his dependents. But his health had been failing of late, and he had +now gone to the Cape, a sea-voyage having been advised by his doctors. +He had never married, and Captain Foliott was his favourite nephew. + +"It's not so bad, after all, is it, Johnny?" + +The words were whispered over my shoulder, and I started back to see +Helen's radiant face. She and Anna had come in unheard by me, and had +caught the thread of conversation in the room. + +"I call it very good, Helen. I hope he is good too." + +"You shall see," she answered. "He is coming up with William." + +Her dark brown eyes were sparkling, a bright colour glowed on her +cheeks. Miss Helen Whitney was satisfied with her future bridegroom, and +no mistake. She had forgotten all about her incipient liking for poor +Slingsby Temple. + +"What regiment is Captain Foliott in, Helen?" + +"Not in any. He has sold out." + +"Sold out!" + +"His mother and his uncle made him do it. The detachment was ordered to +India, and they would not let him go; would not part with him; begged +and prayed of him to sell out. Nothing ever vexed him so much in his +life, he says; but what could he do? His mother has only him: and on Mr. +Foliott he is dependent for riches." + +"Entirely dependent?" + +"For _riches_, I said, Johnny. He has himself a small competence. Ten +thousand pounds nearly comprises it. And that is to be settled on me." + +A slight bustle in the room, and we both looked round. Bill Whitney was +noisily greeting Tod. Some one else had followed Bill through the door. + +A rather tall man, with reddish hair and drooping, reddish whiskers, +bold handsome features, and a look I did not like in his red-brown eyes. +Stepping over the window-sill from the balcony, they introduced me to +him, Captain Richard Foliott. + +"I have heard much of Johnny Ludlow," said he, holding out his hand with +a cordial smile, "and I am glad to know him. I hope we shall soon be +better acquainted." + +I shook his hand and answered in kind. But I was not drawn to him; not a +bit; rather repelled. The eyes were not nice: or the voice, either. It +had not a true ring in it. Undeniably handsome he was, and I thought +that was the best that could be said. + +"Look here: we are going for a stroll," said Sir John; "you young people +can come, or not, as you please. But if you go up the hill, remember +that we dine at six o'clock. Once you get scampering about up there, you +forget the time." + +He went out with the Squire. Lady Whitney had a letter to write and sat +down to do it; the rest of us stood, some on the balcony, some in the +room. Helen, Tod, and Captain Foliott were apparently trying which could +talk the fastest. + +"Why do you look at me so earnestly?" suddenly demanded the latter. + +It was to me he spoke. I laughed, and apologized; saying that his face +put me in mind of some other face I had seen, but I could not remember +whose. This was true. It was true also that I had been looking at him +more fixedly than the strict rules of etiquette might require: but I had +not an idea that he was observing me. + +"I thought you might be wishing to take my portrait," said the captain, +turning away to whisper to Helen. + +"More likely to take your _character_," jestingly struck in Bill, with +more zeal than discretion. "Johnny Ludlow sees through everybody; reads +faces off like a book." + +Captain Foliott wheeled sharply round at the words, and stood before me, +his eyes gazing straight into mine. + +"Can you read my face?" he asked. "What do you see there?" + +"I see that you have been a soldier: your movements tell me that: +right-about, face; quick march," answered I, turning the matter off with +a jest. Tod opportunely struck in. + +"How _could_ you leave the army?" he asked with emphasis. "I only wish I +had the chance of joining it." Though he knew that he had better not let +the Squire hear him say so. + +"It was a blow," acknowledged Foliott. "One does meet with raps in this +world. But, you see, it was a case of--of the indulgence of my own +gratification weighed in the scale against that of my mother: and I let +my side go up. My uncle also came down upon me with his arguments and +his opposition, and altogether I found myself nowhere. I believe he and +she are equally persuaded that nobody ever comes out of India alive." + +"Who will take my letter to the post?" called out Lady Whitney. All of +us volunteered to do it, and went out together. We met Sir John and the +Squire strolling about the village rubbing their red faces, and saying +how intensely hot it was. + +They left us to regale ourselves at the pastry-cook's, and sauntered on +towards the dark trees shading that deep descent on which the hotel +windows looked out. We found them sitting on one of the benches there. + +"Well, Foliott!" cried Sir John. "You'd not have found it hotter than +this in India." + +"Not so hot, Sir John. But I like heat." + +"How do-you-do?" struck in a big, portly gentleman, who was sitting on +the same bench as the Squire and Sir John, and whose face was even +redder than theirs. "Did not expect to meet you here." + +Captain Foliott, who was the one addressed, wheeled round to the speaker +in that sharp way of his, and was evidently taken by surprise. His +manner was cold; never a smile sat on his face as he answered-- + +"Oh, is it you, Mr. Crane! Are you quite well? Staying at Malvern?" + +"For an hour or two. I am passing a few days at Worcester, and my +friends there would not let me go on without first bringing me to see +Malvern." + +The stranger spoke like a gentleman and looked like one, looked like +a man of substance also (though Foliott did draw down his lips that +same evening and speak of him as "nobody"); and Sir John, in his +old-fashioned cordiality, begged of Captain Foliott to introduce his +friend. Captain Foliott did it with a not very ready grace. "Mr. Crane, +Sir John Whitney; Mr. Todhetley." + +"A beautiful place this, sirs," cried he. + +"Yes, only it's too hot to walk about to-day," answered they. "Have you +been up the hill?" + +"No, I can't manage that: but my friends are gone up. Have you heard +lately from your uncle, Captain Foliott?" added Mr. Crane. + +"Not very lately." + +"I hear the outward voyage did him a world of good." + +"I believe it did." + +As if the questions of the stranger worried him, Captain Foliott +strolled away towards the abbey: the two girls, Tod, and William +following him. I stayed where I was: not liking the heat much more than +the Squire did. + +"You know Mr. Foliott of Milltown?" observed Sir John to the stranger. + +"I know him very well indeed, sir. I am a mill-owner myself in the same +place: but not as large a one as he is." + +"He is uncommonly rich, we hear." + +"Ay, he is. Could buy up pretty well half the world." + +"And a good man into the bargain?" + +"Downright good. Honest, upright, liberal; a true Christian. He does an +immense deal for his fellow-men. Nobody ever asks him to put his hand in +his pocket in vain." + +"When is he expected home?" + +"I am not sure when. That will depend, I expect, upon how he feels. But +we hear the outward voyage has quite set him up." + +"Captain Foliott often talks of his uncle. He seems to think there's +nobody like him." + +"He has cause to think it. Yes, I assure you, sirs, few men in the +world can come up to George Foliott, the mill-owner, for probity and +goodness." + +How much more he might have said in Mr. Foliott's praise was cut short +by the hasty appearance of two young men, evidently the friends of Mr. +Crane. They laughed at the speed they had made down the hill, told him +the carriage was ready, and that they ought to start at once to reach +Worcester by dinner-time. So the portly old gentleman wished us good-day +and departed. Running up the bank, I saw them drive off from the Crown +in a handsome two-horse phæton. + +It was on the day following this, that matters were finally settled with +regard to Helen's marriage. Captain Foliott made good his wish--which, +as it appeared, he had been harping upon ever since the proposal was +first made: namely, that they should be married immediately, and not +wait for the return of Mr. Foliott to England. Sir John had held out +against it, asking where the hurry was. To this Captain Foliott had +rejoined by inquiring what they had to wait for, and where was the need +of waiting, and the chances were that his uncle would stay away for a +year. So at last, Sir John, who was a simple-minded man, and as easily +persuaded as a duck is to water, gave in; and the wedding was fixed to +take place the next month, September, at Whitney. + +We made the most of this, our one entire day at Malvern, for we should +disperse the next. The Whitneys to Whitney Hall, the house now being in +apple-pie order for them; ourselves back to Dyke Manor; Captain Foliott +to get the marriage-settlement prepared. Helen's three thousand pounds, +all she would have at present, was not to be settled at all, but +invested in some snug little house that they would fix upon together +after the marriage, so that Captain Foliott's lawyers took the +preparation of the deeds of settlement on themselves, saving trouble to +Sir John. Three parts of the day we spent roaming the hill: and I must +say Foliott made himself as delightful as sun in harvest, and I told +myself that I must have misjudged his eyes in thinking they were not +nice ones. + +But the next morning we received a shock. How swimmingly the world would +go on without such things, I leave those who have experienced them to +judge. It came when we were at the breakfast-table, in the shape of a +letter to Lady Whitney. Scarlatina--which was supposed to have been +cleaned and scrubbed out--had come into the Hall again, and the +kitchen-maid was laid up with it. + +Here was a pretty kettle of fish! Whether Sir John or my lady looked the +most helplessly bewildered, might have puzzled a juror to decide. Back +to the Hall they could not go; and what was to be done? The Squire, +open-handed and open-hearted, pressed them to accompany us and take up +their quarters at Dyke Manor; and for a minute or two I thought they +would have done it; but somebody, Helen, I think, suggested a furnished +house in London, and that was finally decided upon. So to London they +would go, hire the first suitable house that offered, and the marriage +would take place there instead of at home. Captain Foliott, coming in +after breakfast from his hotel, the Foley Arms, stared at the change of +programme. + +"I wouldn't go to London," said he, emphatically. "London at this season +of the year is the most wretched wilderness on the face of the whole +earth. Not a soul in it." + +"The more room for us, Foliott," cried Sir John. "What will it matter to +us whether the town is empty or full?" + +"I would strongly advise you, Sir John, not to go. Lady Whitney will not +like it, I am certain. As Mr. Todhetley has been good enough to offer +you his hospitality----" + +"Put, bless my heart," interrupted Sir John in a heat, "you don't +suppose, do you, that I could trespass upon an old friend for weeks and +weeks--a regular army of us! Were it a matter of a few days, I wouldn't +say nay; but who is to foresee how long it may be before we can get into +our own house? You've not a bit of thought, Foliott." + +"Why not go to your sister's at Cheltenham, sir?" was all the captain +said to this. + +"Because I don't choose to go to my sister's at Cheltenham," retorted +Sir John, who could be as obstinate as the Squire when he liked. "And +why should we go to Cheltenham more than to London? Come?" + +"I thought it would be less trouble for you, sir. Cheltenham is close at +hand." + +"And London is not far off. As to its being empty, I say that's so much +the better: we shall more readily find a furnished house in it. To +London we go to-day." + +With Sir John in this resolute mood, there was no more to be said. And +the notion became quite agreeable, now that they were growing reconciled +to it. + +"All things are directed for the best," concluded Lady Whitney in +her simple faith. "I hardly see how we should have procured Helen's +trousseau down at Whitney: there will be no difficulty in London." + +"You are right, my dear lady, and I am wrong," conceded Captain Foliott, +with a good-natured smile. "To us young men of fashion," he added, the +smile deepening to a laugh, "London between August and April is looked +upon as a nightmare. But circumstances alter cases; and I see that it +will be the best and most convenient place for you." + +Drawing Helen aside as he spoke, and taking a small morocco case from +his pocket, he slipped upon her finger his first and parting gift: a +magnificent hoop of diamonds. + +"I should like you to wear it always, my love," he whispered. "As +the pledge of your engagement now; later, as the guard of your +wedding-ring." + + +II. + +"I shall go up in the smoking-carriage, Johnny." + +"Shall you! You'll smell finely of smoke when we get there." + +"Not I. I'll give my coat a shake at the end of the journey. By Jove! +I shall be left behind, if I don't take care." + +Tod was right. The train was already on the move. He dashed into the +smoking-compartment; the porter closed the doors, and we were off. + +Off to London. He and I were going up to Helen Whitney's wedding, to +which we had been invited when staying at Malvern some weeks ago. The +Squire declined for himself, though Sir John had wanted him also. This +was Monday; the wedding was to be on Thursday; and on the Saturday Anna +and William were to go back with us to Dyke Manor. + +It was September weather, and a glorious day. Now, as the train steamed +away on its windings and turnings, the Malvern Hills would glide into +view; and now be lost again. But the beautiful landscape was always to +be seen, with its woods and dales and fertile plains; and there was not +a cloud in the deep blue sky to obscure the sun. + +I had the carriage to myself; and pictured Tod one of a crowd of +smokers. At Oxford he came back to the carriage, and got in. + +"Had enough smoke, Tod?" + +"Just for now, lad," he shortly answered; and began to whistle softly +and pull at his whiskers. By which I knew he had something on his mind. + +"I say, Johnny, I am in a dilemma," he began abruptly, when we were +going on again, bending towards me from the opposite seat till his face +nearly touched mine. + +"What about? What is it?" + +"Look here. When I got into the smoking-carriage it was full, all but +one seat, which I took--and that was a corner one, which they had been +polite enough to leave. The carriage was dark with smoke: pipes had been +going, I expect, all the way from Worcester. I lighted mine, saying +nothing, and nobody said anything to me. The man opposite to me and the +one next me had a hot discussion on hand, touching a racehorse; not +quarrelling, but talking loudly, so that they made a tolerable noise. At +the other end of the carriage sat two men facing one another, just as +you and I sit now; and one of them I'll vow was an Oxford man: I could +tell him by his cut. They were talking together also, but rather in an +undertone. All at once, when we were nearing Oxford, there was a lull at +my end, and I heard a bit of what they were saying. The first word that +particularly caught my ear was Foliott. 'What plant is Foliott up to +now, I wonder?' cried one. 'Don't know,' said the other; 'nothing good, +we may be sure of. A rumour reached me that he was going to be married.' +'What a chance for the girl!' cried the first. 'Poor thing! But it may +not be true,' he went on, knocking the ashes out of his pipe: 'who would +marry such a scamp as that?' Now, Johnny," broke off Tod, "the question +is, were they speaking of this Foliott? This man that we are now on our +way to see married to Helen?" + +"Was that all you heard, Tod?" + +"Every word. The train began to slacken speed then for the Oxford +station, and the two men stood up to reach their overcoats and +hand-bags, for they got out there. I had half a mind to stop them and +ask what Foliott they had been speaking of; but I did not much like to, +and while I hesitated they disappeared. They might just have told me to +mind my own business if I had spoken; so perhaps it comes to the same." + +"Foliott is not an absolutely uncommon name, Tod. There may be plenty of +Foliotts about." + +"Just so, lad. But, on the other hand, it may be the one we know of, +Richard Foliott. One point coincides--he is going to be married." + +I sat back on the seat, revolving probabilities, and thinking of many +things. That instinctive dislike I had taken to Captain Foliott's eyes, +or to himself, or to both, flashed over me with vivid force. The fine +scenery we were just then whirling past, and on which my eyes seemed to +be fixed, might have been a sandy desert, for all I saw of it. + +"The worst is, the dilemma it puts one in," continued Tod. "To speak +of this to the Whitneys, or not to speak?--that's the question. If it +should turn out to be another Foliott, they might never forgive me. +_He_ never would." + +"But then--Helen's whole future may be at stake. It may be in peril." + +Tod pulled at his whiskers again. I read the name of the station we were +flashing past. + +"I hate a doubt of this sort," cried Tod impatiently, "where one can't +see how one's duty lies. It bothers the mind. I think I'll let it go, +Johnny." + +"But, if it should turn out, when too late, that he is a scamp: and, for +the want of a word, you have let him--let him make havoc of Helen's +life!" + +"What could I say?" he asked irritably. "That I overheard two fellows, +in the smoking-compartment of a railway train, saying that one Foliott +was a scamp. Sir John would naturally ask me what grounds I had for +assuming that it was their Foliott. Well, I have no grounds. And how +small I should look!" + +"There are slight grounds, at any rate, Tod. The name is his, Foliott; +and both are going to be married." + +"All the same, I don't see that I can speak." + +"Put it in this light, Tod," I said. "You don't speak; and they get +married; and then something or other bad turns up about Foliott; and Sir +John finds out that it was in your power to warn him in time, and you +did not. What will he say then?" + +"I'm sure I don't know," grunted Tod. "I wish I could see on which side +land lies." + +All the rest of the way to London we continued to discuss it by fits +and starts, and at last hit upon a good thought--to tell the whole to +William Whitney. It was the best thing to do, so far as we could see. +It might all end in smoke, or--it might not. + +The Whitneys had found a furnished house in Gloucester Place, near +Portman Square. The maid who had taken the illness was soon well again, +and the Hall was being regularly fumigated now, preparatory to their +return. In Gloucester Place they were within a short drive of Miss +Deveen's, a fact which had guided them to the locality. Indeed, it was +only a walk for the younger of us. + +Not until night did we get any chance of a private talk with William. +Our bedrooms opened into one another; and after we went up for good, he +sat down in our room. + +"You won't be affronted, Bill, at something I am about to say?" struck +in Tod, by way of prelude. + +"Affronted!" cried Bill. "I! What on earth do you ask that stupid +question for?" + +"In coming up to-day, I heard a few words in the train," went on Tod. +"Two fellows were talking, and they brought up a man's name in a +disparaging manner. It is a friend of yours, Bill; and Johnny and I +had a precious discussion, I can tell you, as to whether we should +repeat it to you or not." + +"Was it my name?" asked Bill. "What could they have to say against me?" + +"No, no; they'd have got an answer from me had it been yours. First of +all, we thought of mentioning it to Sir John; but I did not like to, and +that's the truth. So we just concluded to put it before you, as one of +ourselves, and you can tell him if you like." + +"All right," said Bill. "Go ahead." + +Tod told him all from beginning to end. Not that it was very much to +tell: but he brought in our own conversation; the delicacy we felt in +speaking at all, and the arguments for and against. Bill was not in the +least put out; rather wondered, I thought, that we should be. + +"It can't be Dick Foliott, you know," said he. "There's not anything +against him; impossible that there should be." + +"I am glad you say so," cried Tod, relieved. "It was only for Helen's +sake we gave a thought to it." + +"The name was the same, you see--Foliott," I put in. "And that man is +going to be married as well as this one." + +"True," answered Bill, slowly. "Still I feel sure it is quite impossible +that it can be Foliott. If--if you think I had better mention it, I +will. I'll mention it to himself." + +"I should," said I eagerly, for somehow my doubts of the man were +growing larger. "Better be on the safe side. You don't know much about +him, after all, Bill." + +"Not know much about him! What do you mean, Johnny? We know enough. He +is Riverside's nephew, a very respectable old Scotch peer, and he is +Foliott the mill-owner's nephew; and I'm sure _he_ is to be respected, +if it's only for the money he has made. And Dick has a very fair income +of his own, and settles ten thousand pounds upon Helen, and will come +into a hundred thousand by-and-by, or more. What would you have?" + +I could not say what I would have; but the uneasiness lay on my mind. +Tod spoke. + +"The men alluded to conduct, I expect, Bill; not to means. They spoke of +that Foliott as an out-and-out scamp, and called the girl he was going +to marry 'Poor thing,' in a piteous tone. You wouldn't like that applied +to Helen." + +"By Jove, no. Better be on the safe side, as Johnny says. We'll say +nothing to my father at present; but you and I, Tod, will quietly repeat +to Foliott what you heard, and we'll put it to him, as man to man, to +tell us in all honour whether the words could have related to himself. +Of course the idea is altogether absurd; we will tell him that, and beg +his pardon." + +So that was resolved upon. And a great relief it was. To decide upon a +course of action, in any unpleasant difficulty, takes away half its +discomfort. + +Captain Foliott had come to London but once since they met at Malvern. +His stay was short; three days; and during those days he was so busy +that Gloucester Place only saw him in the evenings. He had a great deal +to do down in the North against his marriage, arranging his property +preparatory to settling it on Helen, and seeing to other business +matters. But the zeal he lacked in personal attention, he made up by +letter. Helen had one every morning as regularly as the post came in. + +He was expected in town on the morrow, Tuesday: indeed, Helen had +thought he might perhaps have come to-day. Twelve o'clock on Wednesday, +at Gloucester Place, was the hour fixed for signing the deeds of +settlement: and by twelve o'clock on Thursday, the following day, all +going well, he and Helen would be man and wife. + +Amidst the letters waiting on the breakfast-table on Tuesday morning was +one for Helen. Its red seal and crest told whence it came. + +"Foliott always seals his letters to Helen," announced Bill for our +information. "And what ill news has that one inside it?" continued he to +his sister. "You look as cross as two sticks, Nelly." + +"Just mind your own business," said Helen. + +"What time will Captain Foliott be here to-day, my dear?" questioned her +mother. + +"He will not be here at all to-day," answered Helen, fractiously. "It's +too bad. He says it is impossible for him to get away by any train, in +time to see us to-night; but he will be here the first thing in the +morning. His mother is worse, and he is anxious about her. People always +fall ill at the wrong time." + +"Is Mrs. Foliott coming up to the wedding?" I asked. + +"No," said Lady Whitney. "I of course invited her, and she accepted the +invitation; but a week ago she wrote me word she was not well enough to +come. And now, children, what shall we set about first? Oh dear! there +is such a great deal to do and to think of to-day!" + +But we had another arrival that day, if we had not Captain Foliott. That +was Mary Seabright, who was to act as bridesmaid with Anna. Brides did +not have a string of maids in those days, as some have in these. Leaving +them to get through their multiplicity of work--which must be connected, +Bill thought, with bonnets and wedding-cake--we went up with Sir John in +a boat to Richmond. + +That evening we all dined at Miss Deveen's. It was to be one of the +quietest of weddings; partly by Captain Foliott's express wish, chiefly +because they were not at home at the Hall. Miss Deveen and Miss +Cattledon were to be the only guests besides ourselves and Mary +Seabright, and a Major White who would go to the church with Foliott. +Just twelve of us, all told. + +"But where's the bridegroom?" asked Miss Deveen, when we reached her +house. + +"He can't get up until late to-night; perhaps not until to-morrow +morning," pouted Helen. + +The dinner-table was a downright merry one, and we did not seem +to miss Captain Foliott. Afterwards, when Sir John had made up his +whist-table--with my lady, Miss Deveen, and the grey-haired curate, Mr. +Lake, who had dropped in--we amused ourselves with music and games in +the other room. + +"What do you think of the bridegroom, Johnny Ludlow?" suddenly demanded +Miss Cattledon, who had sat down by me. "I hear you saw him at +Malvern." + +"Think of him! Oh, he--he is a very fine man; good-looking, and all +that." + +"That I have seen for myself," retorted Cattledon, pinching her hands +round her thin waist. "When he was staying in London, two or three weeks +ago, we spent an evening in Gloucester Place. Do you _like_ him?" + +She put the "like" so very pointedly, staring into my face at the time, +that I was rather taken aback. I did _not_ like Captain Foliott: but +there was no particular necessity for telling her so. + +"I like him--pretty well, Miss Cattledon." + +"Well, I do not, Johnny Ludlow. I fancy he has a temper; I'm sure he is +not good-natured; and I--I don't think he'll make a very good husband." + +"That will be a pity. Helen is fond of him." + +Miss Cattledon coughed significantly. "Is she? Helen is fond of him +in-so-far as that she is eager to be married--all girls are--and the +match with Captain Foliott is an advantageous one. But if you think she +cares for him in any other way, Johnny Ludlow, you are quite mistaken. +Helen Whitney is no more in love with Captain Foliott than you are in +love with me." + +At which I laughed. + +"Very few girls marry for love," she went on. "They fall in love, +generally speaking, with the wrong person." + +"Then what do they marry for?" + +"For the sake of being married. With the fear of old-maidism staring +them in the face, they are ready, silly things, to snap at almost any +offer they receive. Go up to Helen Whitney now, tell her she is destined +to live in single blessedness, and she would be ready to fret herself +into a fever. Every girl would not be, mind you: but there are girls and +girls." + +Well, perhaps Miss Cattledon was not far wrong. I did not think as she +did then, and laughed again in answer: but I have learned more of the +world and its ways since. + +In every corner of the house went Helen's eyes when we got back to +Gloucester Place, but they could not see Captain Foliott. She had been +hoping against hope. + + +III. + +Wednesday. Young women, bringing in huge band-boxes, were perpetually +ringing at the door, and by-and-by we were treated to a sight of the +finery. Sufficient gowns and bonnets to set up a shop were spread out in +Helen's room. The wedding-dress lay on the bed: a glistening white silk, +with a veil and wreath beside it. Near to it was the dress she would go +away in to Dover, the first halting-place on their trip to Paris: a +quiet shot-silk, Lady Whitney called it, blue one way, pink another. +Shot, or not shot, it was uncommonly pretty. Straw bonnets were the mode +in those days, and Helen's, perched above her travelling-dress, had +white ribbons on it and a white veil--which was the mode for brides +also. I am sure Helen, in her vanity, thought more of the things than +of the bridegroom. + +But she thought of him also. Especially when the morning went on and did +not bring him. Twelve o'clock struck, and Sir John Whitney's solicitor, +Mr. Hill, who had come up on purpose, was punctual to his appointment. +Sir John had thought it right that his own solicitor should be present +at the reading and signing of the settlements, to see that they were +drawn up properly. + +So there they sat in the back-parlour, which had been converted into +a business room for the occasion, waiting for Captain Foliott and the +deed with what patience they had. At one o'clock, when they came in to +luncheon, Sir John was looking a little blue; and he remarked that +Captain Foliott, however busy he might have been, should have stretched +a point to get off in time. Appointments, especially important ones, +ought to be kept. + +For it was conclusively thought that the delay was caused by the +captain's having been unable to leave the previous day, and that he was +travelling up now. + +So Mr. Hill waited, and Sir John waited, and the rest of us waited, +Helen especially; and thus the afternoon passed in waiting. Helen was +more fidgety than a hen with one chick: darting to the window every +instant, peeping down the staircase at the sound of every ring. + +Dinner-time; and no appearance of Captain Foliott. After dinner; and +still the same. Mary Seabright, a merry girl, told Helen that her lover +was like the knight in the old ballad--he loved and he rode away. There +was a good deal of laughing, and somebody called for the song, "The +Mistletoe Bough." Of course it was all in jest: as each minute passed, +we expected the next would bring Captain Foliott. + +Not until ten o'clock did Mr. Hill leave, with the understanding that +he should return the next morning at the same hour. The servants were +beginning to lay the breakfast-table in the dining-room, for a lot of +sweet dishes had been brought in from the pastry-cook's, and Lady +Whitney thought they had better be put on the table at once. In the +afternoon we had tied the cards together--"Mr. and Mrs. Richard +Foliott"--with white satin ribbon, sealed them up in their envelopes +with white wax, and directed them ready for the post on the morrow. + +At twelve o'clock a move was made to go upstairs to bed; and until that +hour we had still been expecting Captain Foliott. + +"I feel positive some dreadful accident has happened," whispered Helen +to me as she said good-night, her usually bright colour faded to +paleness. "If I thought it was carelessness that is causing the delay, +as they are cruelly saying, I--I should never forgive him." + +"Wait a minute," said Bill to me aside, touching Tod also. "Let them go +on." + +"Are you not coming, William?" said Lady Whitney. + +"In two minutes, mother." + +"I don't like this," began Bill, speaking to us both over our +bed-candles, for the other lights were out. "I'll be hanged if I think +he means to turn up at all!" + +"But why should he not?" + +"Who is to know? Why has he not turned up already? I can tell you that +it seems to me uncommonly strange. Half-a-dozen times to-night I had a +great mind to call my father out and tell him about what you heard in +the train, Tod. It is so extraordinary for a man, coming up to his +wedding, not to appear: especially when he is bringing the settlements +with him." + +Neither of us spoke. What, indeed, could we say to so unpleasant a +topic? Bill went on again. + +"If he were a man in business, as his uncle, old Foliott, is, I could +readily understand that interests connected with it might detain him +till the last moment. But he is not; he has not an earthly thing to do." + +"Perhaps his lawyers are in fault," cried Tod. "If they are backward +with the deeds of settlement----" + +"The deeds were ready a week ago. Foliott said so in writing to my +father." + +A silence ensued, rendering the street noises more audible. Suddenly +there came a sound of a horse and cab dashing along, and it pulled up +at our door. Foliott, of course. + +Down we went, helter-skelter, out on the pavement. The servants, busy in +the dining-room still, came running to the steps. A gentleman, getting +out of the cab with a portmanteau, stared, first at us, then at the +house. + +"This is not right," said he to the driver, after looking about him. +"It's next door but one." + +"This is the number you told me, sir." + +"Ah, yes. Made a mistake." + +But so sure did it seem to us that this late and hurried traveller must +be, at least, some one connected with Captain Foliott, if not himself, +that it was only when he and his luggage had disappeared within the next +house but one, and the door was shut, and the cab gone away, that we +realized the disappointment, and the vague feeling of discomfort it left +behind. The servants went in. We strolled to the opposite side of the +street, unconsciously hoping that luck might bring another cab with the +right man in it. + +"Look there!" whispered Bill, pointing upwards. + +The room over the drawing-room was Lady Whitney's; the room above that, +the girls'. Leaning out at the window, gazing now up the street, now +down, was Helen, her eyes restless, her face pale and woe-begone in the +bright moonlight. + +It was a sad night for Helen Whitney. She did not attempt to undress, +as we knew later, but kept her post at that weary window. Every cab or +carriage that rattled into view was watched by her with eager, feverish +anxiety. But not one halted at the house, not one contained Captain +Foliott. Helen Whitney will never forget that unhappy night of +tumultuous feeling and its intolerable suspense. + +But here was the wedding-morning come, and no bridegroom. The +confectioners were rushing in with more dishes, and the dressmakers +appearing to put the finishing touches to Helen. Lady Whitney was just +off her head: doubtful whether to order all the paraphernalia away, +or whether Captain Foliott might not come yet. In the midst of the +confusion a little gentleman arrived at the house and asked for Sir +John. Sir John and he had a long conference, shut in alone: and when +they at length came out Sir John's nose was a dark purple. The visitor +was George Foliott, the mill-owner: returned since some days from the +Cape. + +And the tale he unfolded would have struck dismay to the nose of many +a wiser man than was poor Sir John. The scamp spoken of in the train +was Richard Foliott; and a nice scamp he turned out to be. Upon Mr. +Foliott's return to Milltown the prospective wedding had come to his +ears, with all the villainy encompassing it; he had at once taken +means to prevent Mr. Richard's carrying it out, and had now come up to +enlighten Sir John Whitney. + +Richard Foliott had been a scamp at heart from his boyhood; but he had +contrived to keep well before the world. Over and over again had Mr. +Foliott paid his debts and set him on his legs again. Captain Foliott +had told the Whitneys that he quitted the army by the wish of his +friends: he quitted it because he dared not stay in. Before Mr. Foliott +departed for the Cape he had thrown Richard off; had been obliged to do +it. His fond foolish mother had reduced herself to poverty for him. The +estate, once worth ten thousand pounds, which he had made a pretence of +settling upon Helen, belonged to his mother, and was mortgaged about a +dozen deep. He dared not go much abroad for fear of arrest, especially +in London. This, and a great deal more, was disclosed by Mr. Foliott to +Sir John; who sat and gasped, and rubbed his face, and wished his old +friend Todhetley was at hand, and thanked God for Helen's escape. + +"He will never be any better," affirmed Mr. Foliott, "be very sure of +that. He is innately bad, and the pain he has inflicted upon me for +years has made me old before my time. But--forgive me, Sir John, for +saying so--I cannot think you exercised discretion in accepting him so +easily for your daughter." + +"I had no suspicion, you see," returned poor Sir John. "How could I have +any? Being your nephew, and Lord Riverside's nephew--" + +"Riverside's nephew he called himself, did he! The old man is ninety, as +I dare say you know, and never stirs from his home in the extreme north +of Scotland. Some twenty years ago, he fell in with the sister of +Richard's mother (she was a governess in a family up there), and married +her; but she died within the year. That's how he comes to be Lord +Riverside's 'nephew.' But they have never met in their lives." + +"Oh dear!" bemoaned Sir John. "What a villain! and what a blessed +escape! He made a great point of Helen's bit of money, three thousand +pounds, not being tied up before the marriage. I suppose he wanted to +get it into his own hands." + +"Of course he did." + +"And to pay his debts with it; as far as it would go." + +"_Pay his debts with it!_" exclaimed Mr. Foliott. "Why, my good sir, it +would take thirty thousand to pay them. He would just have squandered it +away in Paris, at his gaming-tables, and what not; and then have asked +you to keep him. Miss Whitney is well quit of him: and I'm thankful I +came back in time to save her." + +Great news to disclose to Helen! Deeply mortifying to have ordered +a wedding-breakfast and wedding things in general when there was no +wedding to be celebrated! The tears were running down Lady Whitney's +homely cheeks, as Miss Deveen drove up. + +Mr. Foliott asked to see Helen. All he said to her we never knew--but +there's no doubt he was as kind as a father. + +"He is a wicked, despicable man," sobbed Helen. + +"He is all that, and more," assented Mr. Foliott. "You may be thankful +your whole life long for having escaped him. And, my dear, if it will at +all help you to bear the smart, I may tell you that you are not the +first young lady by two or three he has served, or tried to serve, in +precisely the same way. And to one of them he behaved more wickedly than +I care to repeat to you." + +"But," ruefully answered poor Helen, quietly sobbing, "I don't suppose +it came so near with any of them as the very morning." + +And that was the end of Helen Whitney's wedding. + + + + +HELEN'S CURATE. + + +I. + +A summons from Mr. Brandon meant a summons. And I don't think I should +have dared to disobey one any more than I should those other summonses +issued by the law courts. He was my guardian, and he let me know it. + +But I was hardly pleased that the mandate should have come for me just +this one particular day. We were at Crabb Cot: Helen, Anna, and William +Whitney had come to it for a week's visit; and I did not care to lose a +day with them. It had to be lost, however. Mr. Brandon had ordered me to +be with him as early as possible in the morning: so that I must be off +betimes to catch the first train. + +It was a cold bleak day towards the end of February: sleet falling now +and then, the east wind blowing like mad, and cutting me in two as I +stood at the hall-door. Nobody else was down yet, and I had swallowed my +breakfast standing. + +Shutting the door after me, and making a rush down the walk between the +evergreens for the gate, I ran against Lee, the Timberdale postman, who +was coming in, with the letters, on his shaky legs. His face, shaded by +its grey locks, straggling and scanty, had a queer kind of fear upon it. + +"Mr. Johnny, I'm thankful to meet you; I was thinking what luck it would +be if I could," said he, trembling. "Perhaps you will stand my friend, +sir. Look here." + +Of the two letters he handed to me, one was addressed to Mrs. Todhetley; +the other to Helen Whitney. And this last had its envelope pretty nearly +burnt off. The letter inside could be opened by anybody, and some of the +scorched writing lay exposed. + +"If the young lady would only forgive me--and hush it up, Mr. Johnny!" +he pleaded, his poor worn face taking a piteous hue. "The Miss Whitneys +are both very nice and kind young ladies; and perhaps she will." + +"How was it done, Lee?" + +"Well, sir, I was lighting my pipe. It is a smart journey here, all the +way from Timberdale--and I had to take the long round to-day instead of +the Ravine, because there was a newspaper for the Stone House. The east +wind was blowing right through me, Mr. Johnny; and I thought if I had +a bit of a smoke I might get along better. A spark must have fallen on +the letter while I was lighting my pipe, and I did not see it till the +letter was aflame in my hand. If--if you could but stand my friend, sir, +and--and perhaps give the letter to the young lady yourself, so that the +Squire does not see it--and ask her to forgive me." + +One could only pity him, poor worn man. Lee had had pecks of trouble, +and it had told upon him, making him old before his time. Now and then, +when it was a bad winter's morning, and the Squire caught sight of him, +he would tell him to go into the kitchen and get a cup of hot coffee. +Taking the two letters from him to do what I could, I carried them +indoors. + +Putting Helen's with its tindered cover into an envelope, I wrote a line +in pencil, and slipped it in also. + + "DEAR HELEN, + + "Poor old Lee has had a mishap and burnt your letter in lighting his + pipe. He wants you to forgive it and not to tell the Squire. No real + damage is done, so please be kind. + + "J. L." + +Directing this to her, I sent it to her room by Hannah, and made a final +start for the train. + +And this was what happened afterwards. + +Hannah took the letter to Helen, who was in the last stage of dressing, +just putting the finishing touches to her hair. Staring at the state her +letter was in, she read the few words I had written, and then went into +a passion at what Lee had done. Helen Whitney was as good-hearted a girl +as ever lived, but hot and hasty in temper, saying anything that came +uppermost when put out. She, by the help of time, had got over the +smart left by the summary collapse of her marriage, and had ceased to +abuse Mr. Richard Foliott. All that was now a thing of the past. And, +not having had a spark of love for him, he was the more easily +forgotten. + +"The wicked old sinner!" she burst out: and with emphasis so startling, +that Anna, reading by the window, dropped her Prayer-book. + +"Helen! What is the matter?" + +"_That's_ the matter," flashed Helen, showing the half-burnt envelope +and scorched letter, and flinging on the table the piece of paper I had +slipped inside. Anna took the letter up and read it. + +"Poor old man! It was only an accident, Helen; and, I suppose, as Johnny +says, no real damage is done. You must not say anything about it." + +"Must I not!" was Helen's tart retort. + +"Who is the letter from?" + +"Never you mind." + +"But is it from home?" + +"It is from Mr. Leafchild, if you must know." + +"Oh," said Anna shortly. For that a flirtation, or something of the +kind, had been going on between Helen and the curate, Leafchild, and +that it would not be likely to find favour at Whitney Hall, she was +quite aware of. + +"Mr. Leafchild writes about the school," added Helen, after reading the +letter; perhaps tendering the information as an apology for its having +come at all. "Those two impudent girls, Kate and Judith Dill, have been +setting Miss Barn at defiance, and creating no end of insubordination." + +With the last word, she was leaving the room; the letter in her pocket, +the burnt envelope in her hand. Anna stopped her. + +"You are not going to show that, are you, Helen? Please don't." + +"Mr. Todhetley ought to see it--and call Lee to account for his +carelessness. Why, he might have altogether burnt the letter!" + +"Yes; of course it was careless. But I dare say it will be a lesson to +him. He is very poor and old, Helen. Pray don't tell the Squire; he +might make so much commotion over it, and then you would be sorry. +Johnny asks you not." + +Helen knitted her brow, but put the envelope into her pocket with the +letter: not conceding with at all a good grace, and went down nodding +her head in semi-defiance. The cream of the sting lay no doubt in the +fact that the letter was Mr. Leafchild's, and that other eyes than her +own might have seen it. + +She did not say anything at the breakfast-table, though Anna sat upon +thorns lest she should: Helen was so apt to speak upon impulse. The +Squire talked of riding out; Whitney said he would go with him: Tod +seemed undecided what he should do. Mrs. Todhetley read to them the +contents of her letter--which was from Mary Blair. + +"I shall go for a walk," announced Helen, when the rest had dispersed. +"Come and get your things on, Anna." + +"But I don't care to go out," said Anna. "It is a very disagreeable day. +And I meant to help Mrs. Todhetley with the frock she is making for +Lena." + +"You can help her when you come back. I am not going through that Crabb +Ravine by myself." + +"Through Crabb Ravine!" + +"Yes. I want to go to Timberdale." + +It never occurred to Anna that the errand to Timberdale could have any +connection with the morning's mishap. She put her things on without more +ado--Helen always domineered over her, just as Tod did over me--and the +two girls went out together. + +"Halloa!" cried Tod, who was standing by the pigeon-house. "Where are +you off to?" + +"Timberdale," replied Helen. And Tod turned and walked with them. + +They were well through the Ravine, and close on to the entrance of +Timberdale, before Helen said a word of what she had in her mind. +Pulling the burnt envelope and the letter out then, she showed them to +Tod. + +"What do you think of that for a piece of carelessness!" she asked: and +forthwith told him the whole story. Tod, hasty and impulsive, took the +matter up as warmly as she had done. + +"Lee ought to be reported for this--and punished. There might have been +a bank-note in the letter." + +"Of course there might," assented Helen. "And for Johnny Ludlow to want +to excuse him, and ask me to hush it up!" + +"Just like Johnny! In such things he is an out-and-out muff. How would +the world go on, I wonder, if Johnny ruled it? You ought to have shown +it to the Squire at once, Helen." + +"So I should but for Johnny and Anna. As they had asked me not to, I did +not quite like to fly in their faces. But I am going to show it to your +postmaster at Timberdale." + +"Oh, Helen!" involuntarily breathed Anna. And Tod looked up. + +"Don't mind her," said Helen. "She and Johnny are just alike--making +excuses for every one. Rymer the chemist is postmaster, is he not?" + +"Rymer's dead--don't you remember that, Helen? Before he died, he gave +up the post-office business. Salmon, the grocer opposite, took to it." + +This Salmon was brother to the Salmon (grocer and draper) at South +Crabb. Both were long-headed men, and flourishing tradesmen in their +small way. + +"Poor old Lee!" cried Tod, with a shade of pity. "He is too ailing and +feeble; we have often said it. But of course he must be taught not to +set fire to the letters." + +Anna's eyelashes were wet. "Suppose, by your complaining, you should get +him turned out of his post?" she suggested, with the timid deference she +might have observed to a royal duke--but in the presence of those two +she always lost her courage. Tod answered her gently. When he was gentle +to any one, it was to her. + +"No fear of that, Anna. Salmon will blow old Lee up, and there'll be an +end of it. Whose letter was it, Helen?" + +"It was from Mr. Leafchild--about our schools," answered Helen, turning +her face away that he might not see its sudden rush of colour. + +Well, they made their complaint to Salmon; who was properly indignant +and said he would look into it, Tod putting in a word for the offender, +Lee. "We don't want him reported to headquarters, or anything of that +kind, you know, Salmon. Just give him a reprimand, and warn him to be +cautious in future." + +"I'll see to him, sir," nodded Salmon. + +(The final result of the burning of this letter of Helen Whitney's, and +of another person's letter that got burnt later, was recorded in the +last Series, in a paper called "Lee the Letter-Man." + +It may be as well to remind the reader that these stories told by +"Johnny Ludlow" are not always placed consecutively as regards the time +of their occurrence, but go backwards or forwards indiscriminately.) + +Being so near, Helen and Anna thought they would call on Herbert +Tanerton and Grace at the Rectory; next, they just looked in at +Timberdale Court--Robert Ashton's. Altogether, what with one delay and +another, they arrived at home when lunch was nearly over. And who should +be sitting there, but Sir John Whitney! He had come over unexpectedly to +pass an hour or two. + +Helen Whitney was very clever in her way: but she was apt to be +forgetful at times, as all the rest of us are. One thing she had totally +and entirely forgotten to-day--and that was to ask Tod not to speak of +the letter. So that when the Squire assailed them with reproaches for +being late, Tod, unconscious that he was doing wrong, blurted out the +truth. A letter from Mr. Leafchild to Helen had been partly burnt by old +Lee, and they had been to Timberdale to complain to Salmon. + +"A letter from Leafchild to Helen!" cried Sir John. "That must be a +mistake. Leafchild would not presume to write to Helen." + +She grew white as snow. Sir John had turned from the table to face her, +and she dared not run away. The Squire was staring and frowning at the +news of old Lee's sin, denouncing him hotly, and demanding to see the +letter. + +"Yes, where is this letter?" asked Sir John. "Let me see it, Helen." + +"It--it was about the schools, papa." + +"About the schools! Like his impudence! What have you to do with the +schools? Give me the letter." + +"My gracious me, burn a letter!" cried the Squire. "Lee must be in his +dotage. The letter, my dear, the letter; we must see it." + +Between them both, Helen was in a corner. She might have been capable of +telling a white fib and saying she had not the letter, rather than let +her father see it. Anna, who knew she had it in her pocket, went for +nobody; but Tod knew it also. Tod suspecting no complications, was +holding out his hand for her to produce it. With trembling lips, and +fingers that shook in terror, she slowly drew it forth. Sir John took +the letter from her, the Squire caught hold of the burnt envelope. + +There was not a friendly hole in the floor for Helen to drop through. +She escaped by the door to hide herself and her hot cheeks. For this was +neither more nor less than a love-letter from the curate, and Sir John +had taken it to the window to read it in the stronger light. + +"Bless my heart and mind!" cried he when he had mastered its contents, +just such an exclamation as the Squire would have made. "He--he--I +believe the fellow means to make love to her! What a false-hearted +parson he must be! Come here, Todhetley." + +To see the two old heads poring over the letter together through their +spectacles was something good, Tod said, when he told me all this later. +It was just a love-letter and nothing less, but without a word of love +in it. But not a bad love-letter of its kind; rather a sensible one. +After telling Helen about the tracasserie in the parish school (which +must have afforded him just the excuse for writing that he may have +wanted), the curate went on to say a little bit about their mutual +"friendship," and finished up by begging Helen to allow him to speak +to Sir John and Lady Whitney, for he could not bear to think that by +keeping silent they were deceiving them. "As honourable a letter in +its way as you could wish to hear read," observed Tod; for Sir John +and the Squire had read it aloud between them for the benefit of the +dining-room. + +"This comes of having grown-up daughters," bewailed poor Sir John. +"Leafchild ought to be put in the pillory. And where's Helen got to? +Where is that audacious girl?" + +Poor Helen caught it hot and strong--Sir John demanding of her, for one +thing, whether she had not had enough of encouraging disreputable young +sparks with that Richard Foliott. Poor Helen sobbed and hid her head, +and finally took courage to say that Mr. Leafchild was a saint on +earth--not to be as much as named in the same sentence with Richard +Foliott. And when I got home at night, everybody, from Helen downwards, +was in the dumps, and Sir John had gone home to make mincemeat of the +curate. + +Buttermead was one of those straggling parishes that are often found in +rural districts. Whitney Hall was situated in it, also the small village +of Whitney, also that famous school of ours, Dr. Frost's, and there was +a sprinkling of other good houses. Some farm homesteads lay scattered +about; and the village boasted of a street and a half. + +The incumbent of Buttermead, or Whitney, was the Reverend Matthew +Singleton: his present curate was Charles Leafchild. Mr. Leafchild, +though eight-and-twenty years of age, was only now ordained deacon, and +this year was his first in the ministry. At eighteen he had gone out to +the West Indies, a post having been found for him there. He did not go +by choice. Being a steady-minded young fellow, religiously inclined, he +had always wished to be a parson; but his father, Dr. Leafchild, a great +light among Church dignitaries, and canon residentiary of a cathedral in +the North, had set his face against the wish. The eldest son was a +clergyman, and of his preferment Dr. Leafchild could take tolerable +care, but he did not know that he could do much in that way for his +younger sons, and so Charles's hopes had to go to the wall. Spiritual +earnestness, however, at length made itself heard within him to +some purpose; and he resolved, come what might, that he would quit +money-making for piety. The West Indian climate did not agree with +him; he had to leave it for home, and then it was that he made the +change. "You would have been rich in time had you stuck to your post," +remonstrated the Reverend Doctor to him: "now you may be nothing but a +curate all your life." "True, father," was the answer, "but I shall hope +to do my duty as one." So Charles Leafchild made himself into a parson, +and here he was at Buttermead, reading through his first year, partially +tabooed by his family, and especially by that flourishing divine, the +head of it. + +He was a good-looking young man, as men go. Rather tall than not, with +a pale, calm face, brown hair that he wore long, and mild brown eyes +that had no end of earnestness in their depths. A more self-denying man +could not be found; though as a rule young men are not famous for great +self-denial. The small stipend given by Mr. Singleton had to suffice for +all his wants. Leafchild had never said what this stipend was; except +that he admitted one day it was not _more_ than seventy pounds: how much +less than that, he did not state. + +Just a few roods out of the village stood a small dwelling called +Marigold Cottage. A tidy woman named Bean lived in it with her +two daughters, one of whom was the paid mistress of the national +girls'-school. Mr. Leafchild lodged here, as the late curate had before +him, occupying the spare sitting-room and bedroom. And if Mrs. Bean was +to be believed--and she had been a veracious woman all her life--three +days out of the seven, at least, Mr. Leafchild went without meat at +his dinner, having given it away to some sick or poor creature, who +wanted it, he considered, more than he did. A self-denying, earnest, +gentle-minded man; that's what he was: and perhaps it may be forgiven +to Helen Whitney that she fell in love with him. + +When Helen went home from London, carrying with her the mortification +that came of her interrupted marriage and Captain Foliott's delinquency, +she began to do what she had never done in her life before, busy herself +a little in the parish: perhaps as a safety-valve to carry off her +superfluous anger. The curate was a middle-aged man with a middle-aged +wife and two babies, and Helen had no scruple in going about with him, +here, there, and everywhere. To the schools, to the church, to practise +the boys, to visit the poor, went she. But when in a few months that +curate's heart was made glad by a living--two hundred a-year and a +five-roomed Vicarage--and Mr. Leafchild came in his place, it was a +little different. She did not run about with the new curate as she had +with the old, but she did see a good deal of him, and he of her. The +result was they fell in love with one another. For the first time in her +life the uncertain god, Cupid, had pierced the somewhat invulnerable +heart of Helen Whitney. + +But now, could anything be so inappropriate, or look more hopeless? +Charles Leafchild, B.A., curate of Buttermead, positively only yet +reading for his full title, scantily paid, no prospect of anything +better, lacking patronage; and Miss Helen Whitney, daughter of Sir John +Whitney, baronet! Looking at it from a practical point of view, it +seemed that he might just as well have expected to woo and wed one of +the stars in the sky. + +On the bleak February morning that followed Helen's expedition to +Timberdale, Mr. Leafchild came down from his chamber and entered his +sitting-room. The fire, a small one, for Mrs. Bean had received a +general caution to be sparing of his coal, burnt brightly in the grate. +He stood over it for a minute or two, rubbing his slender hands at the +blaze: since he left the West Indies he had felt the cold more keenly +than formerly. Then he turned to the breakfast-table, and saw upon it, +a small portion of cold neck of mutton, an uncut loaf, and a pat of +butter. His tea stood there, already made. + +"If I leave the meat, it will do for dinner," he thought: and proceeded +to make his meal of bread-and-butter. Letty Bean, who chiefly waited on +him, came in. + +"A letter for you, sir," she said, handing him a note. + +He took it, looked at the handwriting, which was thick and sprawly and +not familiar to him, and laid it beside his plate. + +"Sir John Whitney's footman brought it, sir," continued Letty, +volunteering the information: and a hot colour flushed the curate's face +as he heard it. He opened it then. Short and peremptory, it merely +requested the Reverend Charles Leafchild to call upon Sir John Whitney +that morning at Whitney Hall. + +"Is the man waiting for an answer, Letty?" + +"No, sir. He went away as soon as he gave it me." + +Mr. Leafchild half suspected what had occurred--that Sir John must, in +some way, have become acquainted with the state of affairs. He judged +so by the cold, haughty tone of the note: hitherto Sir John had always +shown himself friendly. Far from being put out, Mr. Leafchild hoped it +was so, and went on with his breakfast. + +Another interruption. Mrs. Bean this time. She wore a mob cap and had +lost her teeth. + +"Here's that tipsy Jones come to the door, sir. He says you told him to +come." + +"Ah yes, I did; let him come in," said the curate. "Is he tipsy this +morning?" + +"No, sir, only shaky. And what shall I order you for dinner, sir, +to-day? I may as well ask, as I am here." + +"That will do," he answered, pointing to the cold meat. "And please mash +the potatoes." + +Jones came in. The man was not an incorrigibly bad doer, but weak and +irresolute. If he worked two days, he idled and drank three, and his +wife and children suffered. Mr. Leafchild, who felt more sorrow for him +than anger, invited him to a seat by the fire, and talked to him long +and persuasively, almost as one brother might talk to another, and gave +him a hot cup of tea. Jones went away great in promises and penitence: +and about eleven o'clock the curate betook himself to the Hall. + +Of all men living, the Squire perhaps excepted, Sir John was about the +worst to carry out any troublesome negotiation. He was good-hearted, +irresolute, and quick-tempered. + +When Mr. Leafchild was shown in, Sir John utterly forgot certain +speeches he had conned over in his mind, broke down, went into a +passion, and told the curate he was a designing, impudent villain. + +Though his love for Helen, and that was intense, caused him to feel +somewhat agitated in the presence of Helen's father, Mr. Leafchild's +manner was quiet and calm, a very contrast to that of Sir John. After a +little while, when the baronet had talked himself cool, Mr. Leafchild +entered into a history of the affair: telling how he and Miss Whitney +had met without any intention of any kind, except of that which might be +connected with the parish interests, and how with as little intention, +a mutual liking--nay, a _love_--had sprung up. + +"Yes, that's all very fine," said Sir John, shuffling about his steel +spectacles that were perched on his old red nose. "You knew she was my +daughter; you knew well what you were about." + +The young man reddened at the reproach. + +"Sir, indeed you misjudge me. I never thought of such a thing as falling +in love with Miss Whitney until the love had come. Had she been the most +obscure of young women, it would have been all the same." + +"Then you are an idiot for your pains," retorted Sir John. "Why, +goodness gracious me! have you not _one_ single atom of common sense? +Can't you see how unfitting it is?" + +"My family is a very good one; in point of fact, as good as yours, Sir +John--if you will pardon me for saying so thus pointedly," urged the +curate in his gentle voice. "And though----" + +"Oh, bother!" interrupted Sir John, having no counter argument +particularly at hand. "That goes for nothing. What are your prospects?" + +"They are not great. Perhaps I ought to say that I have no prospects as +yet. But, sir----" + +"Now come! that's honest. No prospects! And yet you must go making love +to my daughter." + +"I have not done that, sir, in one sense--'made love.' Hardly a word, +I think, has passed between myself and Miss Whitney that you might not +have heard. But we have, notwithstanding, been fully aware of the state +of each other's heart----" + +"The state of each other's fiddlestick," spluttered Sir John. "A nice +pair of you, I must say! And pray, what did you think it would come to?" + +"What Miss Whitney may have thought I have not presumed to ask. For +myself, I confess I am cherishing hopes for the future. It is some +little time now since I have been wishing to speak to you, Sir John: and +I intended, if you were so kind as not to entirely reject me, to write +to my father, Dr. Leafchild, and lay the whole case before him. I think +he can help me later if he will; and I certainly believe he will be only +too glad to do it." + +"Help you to what?" + +"To a living." + +"And, bless my heart and mind, how long do you suppose you might have to +wait? A dozen years. Twenty years, for all you know. The curate who was +here before you, poor Bell, had been waiting more than twenty years for +one. It came to him last year, and he was forty-seven years old." + +Mr. Leafchild could say nothing to this. + +"And a fine living it is, now he has it!" went on Sir John. "No, no, +sir: Helen Whitney cannot be dragged into that kind of fate." + +"I should be the last to drag her, or wish to drag her into it. Believe +that, Sir John. But, if I had a good living given to me, then I should +like her to share it. And I think that my father would perhaps allow me +some private means also, for Helen's sake. He has money, and could do +it." + +"But all those fancies and notions are just so many vapours, clouds up +in the sky, and no better, don't you see! You young men are sanguine and +foolish; you lose sight of facts in fallacies. We must look at what is, +not at what might be. Why, you are not yet even a priest!" + +"No. I shall be ordained to that in a few months' time." + +"And then, I suppose, you will either remain here, or get a curacy +elsewhere. And your income will be that of a curate--a hundred pounds +a-year, all told. Some curates get but fifty." + +"True. We are poorly paid." + +"And that may go on till you are forty or fifty years of age! And yet, +in the face of it, you ask me to let you have my daughter. Now, Mr. +Leafchild, you are either a simpleton yourself, or you must think I am +one," added Sir John, rising to end the interview, which had been to him +one of thorough discomfort. "And I'm sure I hope you'll pick up a little +common sense, young man, and I shall order Miss Helen to pick some up +too. There, that's all." + +"I trust you are not angry with me, sir," said the curate mildly, for +Sir John was holding out his hand to be shaken. + +"Well, yes, I am. Anything like this causes one such worry, you know. +I'm sure I and my wife have had no sleep all night. You must not think +any more of Helen. And now good-morning." + +As Mr. Leafchild walked back to his lodgings at Dame Bean's, his hopes +seemed to be about as dull as the wintry sky on which his nice brown +eyes were fixed. His whole happiness, socially speaking, lay in Helen; +hers lay with him; but only separation seemed to be looming in the air. +Suddenly, when he was close to Marigold Cottage, a little rift broke in +the leaden clouds, and a bit of pale blue sky shone forth. + +"I will take that as an omen for good; pray God it may be so!" spoke the +curate gladly and reverently, as he lifted his hat. "And--come what may, +in storm and in tempest, God is over all." + +Helen went home in the dumps and to sundry edifying lectures. An embargo +was laid on her parish work, and she only saw the curate at church. One +month, two months passed over thus, and she grew pale and thin. Sir John +was cross, Lady Whitney uncomfortable; they were both simple-minded +people, caring more for their children's happiness than for their +grandeur. The former told the Squire in confidence that if the young +fellow could get a decent living, he was not sure but he'd give in, and +that he liked him ten thousand times better than he had ever liked that +Foliott. + +They met one day by accident. Helen was out moping in the long broad +walk: which was beginning to be shady now, for May was all but in, and +the trees were putting on their foliage. At the end of it she came to +a standstill, leaning on the gate. The waters of the lake, out yonder, +were blue as the unruffled sky. With a faint cry, she started aside, for +Charles Leafchild stood before her. + +Being a parson, and tacitly on honour to Sir John, he might have been +expected to pass on his way without stopping; but Helen's hand was +already stretched out over the gate. He could but shake it. + +"You are not looking well," he said after a moment's silence. "I am +sorry to see it." + +What with his unexpected presence, and what with her mind's general +discomfort, Helen burst into tears. Mr. Leafchild kept her hand in his. + +"I have a bad headache to-day," said Helen, by way of excuse for her +tears. "It has been gloomy weather lately." + +"Gloomy within and without," he assented, giving a meaning to her words +that she had not meant to imply. "But in every cloud, you know, however +dark it may be, there is always a silver lining." + +"We can't always see it," returned Helen, drying her tears. + +"No; we very often cannot. But we may trust that it is there--and be +patient." + +"I think it sometimes happens that we never see it--that all is gloomy +to the end, the end of life. What then?" + +"Then we may be sure that it is best for us it should be so. God directs +all things." + +Helen sighed: she had not learnt the love and faith and submission that +made up the sum of Mr. Leafchild's life, bringing into it so strange a +peace. + +"Is it true that you are going to leave?" she asked. "We heard it +mentioned." + +"Yes: when I shall be fully ordained. Mr. Singleton has to take his +nephew. It was an old promise--that he should come to him for his first +year, just as I have. I think I shall go to Worcester." + +"To Worcester?" + +"I have been offered a curacy there by one of the minor canons whose +living is in the town, and I feel inclined to take it. The parish is +large and has a good many of the very poor in it." + +Helen made a face. "But would you like that? You might be frightfully +overworked." + +"It is what I should like. As to the work--it is done for our Master." + +He shook hands with her again, and left, the cheery smile still on his +face, the thoughtful light in his steadfast eyes. And never a word of +love, you see, had passed. + +It was, I take it, about a fortnight after this, that there went walking +one afternoon to Whitney Hall, a tall, portly, defiant-looking gentleman +in gold-rimmed spectacles and a laced-up clerical hat. By the way he +turned his head here and there, and threw his shoulders about as he +strode along, you might have taken him for a bishop at least, instead of +a canon--but canons in those days were a great deal more self-important +than bishops are in these. It was the Reverend Dr. Leafchild. A real +canon was he, a great man in his own cathedral, and growing rich on his +share of its substantial revenues: your honorary canons with their empty +title and non-stipends had not sprung into fashion then. In his pompous +manner, and he had been born pompous, Dr. Leafchild asked to see Sir +John Whitney. + +After Mr. Leafchild's interview with Sir John in February, he had +written to his father and told him all about it, asking him whether he +thought he could not help him later to a living, so that he might have a +chance of winning Helen. But for Helen's being a baronet's daughter and +the connection one that even the canon might be proud of, he would have +turned a deaf ear: as it was, he listened. But Dr. Leafchild never did +things in a hurry; and after some correspondence with his son (and a +great deal of grumbling, meant for his good), he had now come into +Worcestershire for the purpose of talking over the affair with Sir John. + +The upshot was, that Sir John gave in, and sanctioned the engagement. +There was an excellent living somewhere down in the North--eight hundred +pounds a-year, a handsome house, and some land--the next presentation to +which the canon could command. He had intended it for his eldest son; +but he, by some lucky chance, had just obtained a better preferment, and +the doctor could promise it to Charles. The present incumbent was old +and ailing; therefore, in all probability, it would very speedily fall +in. The canon added that he might settle on the young people a small sum +at their marriage, say a hundred a-year, or so; and he also hinted that +Charles might stand a chance of better preferment later--say a snug +canonry. So Sir John shook hands heartily upon the bargain, invited the +canon to stay dinner, and sent for Charles. + +For the next six weeks who so happy as the curate and Helen? They came +over to us at Dyke Manor (for we had gone back there) for a day or two, +and we learnt to like him with our whole hearts. What a good, earnest, +warm-natured man he was; and oh, how unselfish! + +I remember one evening in particular when they were out together, pacing +the field-path. Helen had his arm, and he was talking to her in what +seemed an uncommonly solemn manner: for his hand was lifted now and then +in earnestness, and both were gazing upwards. It was a beautiful sky: +the sun had set in splendour, leaving crimson and gold clouds behind it, +the evening star twinkled in the deepening canopy. Mrs. Todhetley sent +me to them. A poor woman had come up for broth for her sick son, one of +our labourers. She was in great distress: a change had taken place in +him for the worse, he was calling for the clergyman to come to him +before he died: but Mr. Holland was out that evening--gone to Evesham. + +"Johnny, I--I think Mr. Leafchild would go," said the mater. "Do you +mind asking him?" + +Hardly any need to ask. At the first word he was hastening to the woman +and walking away with her. Helen's eyes, gazing at the sky still, were +wet with tears. + +"Is it not beautiful, Johnny?" + +"Very." It was a glorious sunset. + +"But I never saw it as I see it now. He is teaching me many things. I +cannot hope to be ever as he is, Johnny, not half as good; but I think +in time he will make me a little like him." + +"You have a happy life before you." + +"Yes--I hope so," she said hesitatingly. "But sometimes a feeling makes +itself heard within me--that one who is so entirely fitted for the next +world may not long be left in this." + + +II. + +It was autumn weather--October. A lot of us were steaming over to +Worcester in the train. Miss Whitney from Cheltenham, and a friend +of hers--a maiden lady as ancient as herself, one Miss Conaway, of +Devonshire--were staying at the Hall. Miss Conaway did not know +Worcester, and was now being taken to see it--especially the cathedral. +Lady Whitney, Helen, Anna, and I made up the party, and we filled +the carriage. My being with them arose from chance: I had come over +accidentally that morning to Whitney Hall. Of course Helen hoped to see +something besides the cathedral her curate. For in June Mr. Leafchild, +then in priest's orders, entered on his new curacy at Worcester, there +to stay until the expected living should fall in. + +"How is he?" I asked Helen, bending over the arm of the seat that +divided us. + +"Working himself to death," she whispered back to me, her tone a cross +one. + +"He said he was glad there would be plenty of work, you know. And it is +a large parish." + +"But he need not let it put _everything_ else out of his head." + +"Meaning you?" + +"I have not heard from him for more than a week. Papa had a letter from +Dr. Leafchild this morning. He said in it that Charles, when he last +wrote, complained of being poorly." + +"A great many curates do get very overtaxed." + +"Oh, and what do you think?" went on Helen. "He is actually beginning to +have scruples about taking that living, on the score that there'll be +hardly any work to do." + +"But--he will take it!" + +"Yes, I suppose he _will_, because of me; but it will go against the +grain, I fancy. I do think one may have too strict a conscience." + +It was past one o'clock when we reached Worcester. Lady Whitney +complained in the train of having started too late. First of all there +was luncheon to be taken at the Star: that brought it to past two. Then +various other things had to be done: see the cathedral, and stay the +afternoon service, go over the china works at Diglis, and buy a bundle +of articles at the linen-draper's. All these duties over, they meant to +invade Mr. Leafchild's lodgings in Paradise Row. + +They took the draper's to begin with, the whole of them trooping in, one +after another, like sheep into a pen: and I vow that they only came out +again when the bell was going for three-o'clock service. Helen was not +in a genial mood: at this rate there would not be much time left for +visiting the curate. + +"It was Aunt Ann's fault," she grumbled to me--"and mamma's. They were +a good half-hour looking at the stuff for the children's winter frocks. +Aunt Ann maintained that cashmere was best, mamma held to merino. All +the shelves they had taken down! I would not be a linen-draper's shopman +for the world." + +Just in time, were we, to get into our seats before the procession of +clergy and choristers came in. The chanter that afternoon was Mr. +Leafchild's rector: I knew him to speak to. But there's no space to +linger upon details. + +A small knot of people, ourselves and others, had collected in the +transept after service, waiting for one of the old bedesmen to do the +honours of the cathedral, when the chanter came down the steps of the +south aisle, after disrobing in the vestry. + +"Do you know who he is?" I said to Helen, who was standing with me a +little apart. + +"No--how should I know? Except that he must be one of the minor canons." + +"He is Mr. Leafchild's rector." + +"Is he?" she eagerly cried, the colour coming into her face. And just +then he chanced to look our way, and nodded to me. I went up to him to +speak. + +"This is a terrible thing about Leafchild," he exclaimed in a minute or +two. + +"What is it?" I asked, my breath stopping. + +Helen, who had slowly paced after me on the white flags, stood stock +still and turned as pale as you please. + +"Have you not heard of his illness? Perhaps not, though: it has been so +sudden. A few days ago he was apparently as well as I am now. But it was +only last night that the doctors began to apprehend danger." + +"Is it fever?" + +"Yes. A species of typhoid, I believe. Whether caught in his +ministrations or not, I don't know. Though I suppose it must have been. +He is lying at his lodgings in Paradise Row. Leafchild has not seemed in +good condition lately," continued the clergyman. "He is most unremitting +in his work, fags himself from morning till night, and lives anyhow: so +perhaps he was not fortified to resist the attack of an enemy. He is +very ill: and since last night he has been unconscious." + +"He is _dangerously_ ill, did you say?" spoke poor Helen, biting her +lips to hide their tremor. + +"Almost more than dangerous: I fear there is little hope left," he +answered, never of course suspecting who Helen was. "Good-afternoon." + +She followed him with her eyes as he turned to the cloister-door: and +then moved away towards the north entrance, looking as one dazed. + +"Helen, where are you going?" + +"To see him." + +"Oh, but it won't do. It won't, indeed, Helen." + +"_I am going to see him_," she answered, in her most wilful tone. "Don't +you hear that he is dying? I know he is; I feel it instinctively as a +sure and certain fact. If you have a spark of goodness you'll come with +me, Johnny Ludlow. It's all the same--whether you do or not." + +I looked around for our party. They had disappeared up the other aisle +under convoy of the bedesman, leaving Helen and myself to follow at our +leisure; or perhaps not noticing our absence. Helen, marching away with +quick steps, passed out at the grand entrance. + +"It is not _safe_ for you to go, Helen," I remonstrated, as we went +round the graveyard and so up High Street. "You would catch the fever +from him." + +"_I_ shall catch no fever." + +"He caught it." + +"I wish you'd be quiet. Can't you _see_ what I am suffering?" + +The sweetest sight to me just then would have been Lady Whitney, or any +one else holding authority over Helen. I seemed responsible for any ill +that might ensue: and yet, what could I do? + +"Helen, pray listen to a word of reason! See the position you put me in. +A fever is not a light thing to risk." + +"I don't believe that typhoid fever is catching. He did not say typhus." + +"Of course it's catching." + +"Are you afraid of it?" + +"I don't know that I am afraid. But I should not run into it by choice. +And I'm sure you ought not to." + +We were just then passing that large druggist's shop that the Squire +always called Featherstonhaugh's--just because Mr. Featherstonhaugh once +kept it. Helen darted across the street and into it. + +"A pound of camphor," said she, to the young man behind the right-hand +counter. + +"A pound of camphor!" he echoed. "Did you say _a pound_, ma'am?" + +"Is it too much?" asked Helen. "I want some to put about me: I am going +to see some one who is ill." + +It ended in his giving her two ounces. As we left the shop she handed +part of it to me, stowing the rest about herself. And whether it was +thanks to the camphor, I don't know, but neither of us took any harm. + +"There. You can't grumble now, Johnny Ludlow." + +Paradise Row, as every one knows, is right at the other end of the town, +past the Tything. We had nearly reached the house when a gentleman, who +looked like a doctor, came out of it. + +"I beg your pardon," said Helen, accosting him as he met us, and +coughing to hide her agitation, "but we think--seeing you come out of +the house--that you may be attending Mr. Leafchild. Is he better?" + +The doctor looked at us both, and shook his head as he answered-- + +"Better in one sense of the word, in so far as that he is now conscious; +worse in another. He is sinking fast." + +A tremor shook Helen from head to foot. She turned away to hide it. I +spoke. + +"Do you mean--dying?" + +"I fear so." + +"Are his friends with him?" + +"Not any of them. His father was sent to yesterday, but he has not yet +come. We did not write before, not having anticipated danger." + +"Why don't they have Henry Carden to him?" cried Helen in passionate +agitation as the doctor walked away. "_He_ could have cured him." + +"No, no, Helen; don't think that. Other men are just as clever as Henry +Carden. They have only one treatment for fever." + +A servant-girl answered the door, and asked us into the parlour. She +took us for the relations from the north. Mr. Leafchild was lying in a +room near--a comfortable bed-chamber. Three doctors were attending him, +she said; but just now the nurse was alone with him. Would we like to go +in? she added: we had been expected all day. + +"Come with me, Johnny," whispered Helen. + +He was lying in bed, white and still, his eyes wide open. The nurse, a +stout old woman in light print gown and full white apron, stood at a +round table in the corner, noiselessly washing a wine-glass. She turned +her head, curtsied, and bustled out of the room. + +But wasn't he weak, as his poor thin hands clasped Helen's! His voice +was hollow as he tried to speak to her. The bitter tears, running down +her checks, were dropping on to the bed-clothes. + +"You should not have come", he managed to say. "My love, my love!" + +"Is there no hope?" she sobbed. "Oh, Charles, is there _no_ hope?" + +"May God soothe it to you! May He have you always in His good keeping!" + +"And is it no trouble to you to die?" she went on, reproach in her +anguished tone. "Have you no regret for the world, and--and for those +you leave behind?" + +"It is God's will," he breathed. "To myself it is no trouble, for He has +mercifully taken the trouble from me. I regret you, my Helen, I regret +the world. Or, rather, I should regret it, but that I know I am going to +one brighter and better. You will come to me there, my dear one, and we +shall live together for ever." + +Helen knelt down by the bed; he was lying close on the edge of it; and +laid her wet face against his. He held her to him for a moment, kissed +her fervently, and then motioned to me to take her away. + +"For your own sake, my dear," he whispered. "You are in danger here. +Give my dear love to them all." + +Helen just waved her hand back at me, as much as to say, Don't _you_ +interfere. But at that moment the fat old nurse bustled in again, with +the announcement that two of the doctors and Mr. Leafchild's rector were +crossing the road. That aroused Helen. + +One minute's close embrace, her tears bedewing his dying cheeks, one +lingering hand-clasp of pain, and they parted. Parted for all time. But +not for eternity. + +"God be with you ever!" he breathed, giving her his solemn blessing. +"Farewell, dear Johnny Ludlow!" + +"I am so sorry! If you could but get well!" I cried, my eyes not much +dryer than Helen's. + +"I shall soon be well: soon," he answered with a sweet faint smile, his +feeble clasp releasing my hand, which he had taken. "But not here. Fare +you well." + +Helen hid herself in a turn of the passage till the doctors had gone in, +and then we walked down the street together, she crying softly. Just +opposite Salt Lane, a fly passed at a gallop. Dr. Leafchild sat in it +muffled in coats, a cloud of sorrow on his generally pompous face. + + * * * * * + +And that was the abrupt end of poor Charles Leafchild, for he died at +midnight, full of peace. God's ways are not as our ways; or we might +feel tempted to ask why so good and useful a servant should have been +taken. + +And so, you perceive, there was another marriage of Helen Whitney +frustrated. Fortune seemed to be against her. + + + + +JELLICO'S PACK. + + +I. + +The shop was not at all in a good part of Evesham. The street was narrow +and dirty, the shop the same. Over the door might be seen written +"Tobias Jellico, Linen-draper and Huckster." One Monday--which is +market-day at Evesham, as the world knows--in going past it with Tod and +little Hugh, the child trod on his bootlace and broke it, and we turned +in to get another. It was a stuffy shop, filled with bundles as well as +wares, and behind the counter stood Mr. Jellico himself, a good-looking, +dark man of forty, with deep-set blue eyes, that seemed to meet at the +nose, so close were they together. + +The lace was a penny, he said, and Tod laid down sixpence. Jellico +handed the sixpence to a younger man who was serving lower down, and +began showing us all kinds of articles--neckties, handkerchiefs, +fishing-lines, cigar-lights, for he seemed to deal in varieties. Hugh +had put in his bootlace, but we could not get away. + +"I tell you we don't want anything of this," said Tod, in his haughty +way, for the persistent fellow had tired him out. "Give me my change." + +The other man brought the change wrapped up in paper, and we went on to +the inn. Tod had ordered the pony to be put in the chaise, and it stood +ready in the yard. Just then a white-haired, feeble old man came into +the yard, and begged. Tod opened the paper of half-pence. + +"The miserable cheat," he called out. "If you'll believe me, Johnny, +that fellow has only given me fourpence in change. If I had time I'd go +back to him. Sam, do you know anything of one Jellico, who keeps a fancy +shop?" asked he of the ostler. + +"A fancy shop, sir?" echoed Sam, considering. + +"Sells calico and lucifer-matches." + +"Oh, I know Mr. Jellico!" broke forth Sam, his recollection coming to +him. "He has got a cousin with him, sir." + +"No doubt. It was the cousin that cheated me. Mistakes are mistakes, and +the best of us are liable to them; but if that was a mistake, I'll eat +the lot." + +"It's as much of a leaving-shop as a draper's, sir. Leastways, it's said +that women can take things in and borrow money on them." + +"Oh!" said Tod. "Borrow a shilling on a Dutch oven to-day, and pay two +shillings to-morrow to get it out." + +"Anyway, Mr. Jellico does a fine trade, for he gives credit," concluded +Sam. + +But the wrong change might have been a mistake. + +In driving home, Tod pulled up at George Reed's cottage. Every one must +remember hearing where that was, and of Reed's being put into prison by +Major Parrifer. "Get down, Johnny," said he, "and see if Reed's there. +He must have left work." + +I went up the path where Reed's children were playing, and opened the +cottage door. Mrs. Reed and two neighbours stood holding out something +that looked like a gown-piece. With a start and a grab, Mrs. Reed caught +the stuff, and hid it under her apron, and the two others looked round +at me with scared faces. + +"Reed here? No, sir," she answered, in a sort of flurry. "He had to go +over to Alcester after work. I don't expect him home much afore ten +to-night." + +I shut the door, thinking nothing. Reed was a handy man at many things, +and Tod wanted him to help with some alteration in the pheasantry at the +Manor. It was Tod who had set it up--a long, narrow place enclosed with +green trellised work, and some gold and silver pheasants running about +in it. The Squire had been against it at first, and told Tod he wouldn't +have workmen bothering about the place. So Tod got Reed to come in of an +evening after his day's work, and in a fortnight the thing was up. Now +he wanted him again to alter it: he had found out it was too narrow. +That was one of Tod's failings. If he took a thing into his head it +must be done off-hand. The Squire railed at him for his hot-headed +impatience: but in point of fact he was of just the same impatient turn +himself. Tod had been over to Bill Whitney's and found their pheasantry +was twice as wide as his. + +"Confound Alcester," cried Tod in his vexation, as he drove on home. "If +Reed could have come up now and seen what it is I want done, he might +have begun upon it to-morrow evening." + +"The pater says it is quite wide enough as it is, Tod." + +"You shut up, Johnny. If I pay Reed out of my own pocket, it's nothing +to anybody." + +On Tuesday he sent me to Reed's again. It was a nice spring afternoon, +but I'm not sure that I thanked him for giving me that walk. Especially +when upon lifting the latch of the cottage door, I found it fastened. +Down I sat on the low bench outside the open window to wait--where Cathy +had sat many a time in the days gone by, making believe to nurse the +children, and that foolish young Parrifer would be leaning against the +pear-tree on the other side the path. I had to leave my message with +Mrs. Reed; I supposed she had only stepped into a neighbour's, and might +be back directly, for the two little girls were playing at "shop" in the +garden. + +Buzz, buzz: hum, hum. Why, those voices were in the kitchen! The lower +part of the casement was level with the top of my head; I turned round +and raised my eyes to look. + +Well! surprises, it is said, are the lot of man. It _was_ his face, +unless my sight deceived itself. The same blue eyes that were in the +shop at Evesham the day before, were inside Mrs. Reed's kitchen now: Mr. +Tobias Jellico's. The place seemed to be crowded with women. He was +smiling and talking to them in the most persuasive manner imaginable, +his hands waving an accompaniment, on one of which glittered a ring with +a yellow stone in it, a persuasive look on his rather well-featured +face. + +They were a great deal too agreeably engrossed to see me, and I looked +on at leisure. A sort of pack, open, rested on the floor; the table was +covered with all kinds of things for women's dress; silks, cottons, +ribbons, mantles; which Mrs. Reed and the others were leaning over and +fingering. + +"Silks ain't for the like of us; I'd never have the cheek to put one +on," cried a voice that I knew at once for shrill Peggy Dickon's. Next +to her stood Ann Dovey, the blacksmith's wife; who was very pretty, and +vain accordingly. + +"What kind o' stuff d'ye call this, master?" Ann Dovey asked. + +"That's called laine," answered Jellico. "It's all pure wool." + +"It's a'most as shiny as silk. I say, Mrs. Reed, d'ye think this 'ud +wear?" + +"It would wear for ever," put in Jellico. "Ten yards of it would make as +good a gown as ever went on a lady's back; and the cost is but two +shillings a yard." + +"Two shillings! Let's see--what 'ud that come to? Why, twenty, wouldn't +it? My patience, I shouldn't never dare to run up that score for one +gownd." + +Jellico laughed pleasantly. "You take it, Mrs. Dovey. It just suits your +bright cheeks. Pay me when you can, and how you can: sixpence a-week, or +a shilling a-week, or two shillings, as you can make it easy. It's like +getting a gown for nothing." + +"So it is," cried Ann Dovey, in a glow of delight. And by the tone, Mr. +Jellico no doubt knew that she had as good as yielded to the temptation. +He got out his yard measure. + +"Ten yards?" said he. + +"I'm a'most afeard. Will you promise, sir, not to bother me for the +money faster than I can pay it?" + +"You needn't fear no bothering from me; only just keep up the trifle +you've got to pay off weekly." + +He measured off the necessary length. "You'll want some ribbon to trim +it with, won't you?" said he. + +"Ribbin--well, I dun know. Dovey might say ribbin were too smart for +me." + +"Not a bit on't, Ann Dovey," spoke up another woman--and _she_ was our +carter's wife, Susan Potter. "It wouldn't look nothing without some +ribbin. That there narrer grass-green satin 'ud be nice upon't." + +"And that grass-green ribbon's dirt cheap," said Jellico. "You'd get +four or five yards of it for a shilling or two. Won't _you_ be tempted +now?" he added to Susan Potter. She laughed. + +"Not with them things. I shouldn't never hear the last on't if Potter +found out I went on tick for finery. He's rough, sir, and might beat me. +I'd like a check apron, and a yard o' calico." + +"Perhaps I might take a apron or two, sir, if you made it easy," said +Mrs. Dickon. + +"Of course I'll make it easy; and a gown too if you'll have it. Let me +cut you off the fellow to this of Mrs. Dovey's." + +Peggy Dickon shook her head. "It ain't o' no good asking me, Mr. +Jellico. Ann Dovey can buy gownds; she haven't got no children; I've +a bushel on 'em. No; I don't dare. I wish I might! Last year, up at +Cookhill Wake, I see a sweet gownd, not unlike this, what had got green +ribbins upon it," added the woman longingly. + +Being (I suppose) a kind of Mephistopheles in his line, Mr. Tobias +Jellico accomplished his wish and cut off a gown against her judgment. +He sold other gowns, and "ribbins," and trumpery; the yard measure had +nearly as little rest as the women's tongues. Mrs. Reed's turn to be +served seemed to come last; after the manner of her betters, she yielded +precedence to her guests. + +"Now for me, sir," she said. "You've done a good stroke o' business here +to-day, Mr. Jellico, and I hope you won't objec' to change that there +gownd piece as I bought last Monday for some'at a trifle stronger. Me +and some others have been a-looking at it, and we don't think it'll +wear." + +"Oh, I'll change it," readily answered Jellico. "You should put a few +more shillings on, Mrs. Reed: better have a good thing when you're about +it. It's always cheaper in the end." + +"Well, I suppose it is," she said. "But I'm a'most frightened at the +score that'll be running up." + +"It's easily wiped off," answered the man, pleasantly. "Just a shilling +or two weekly." + +There was more chaffering and talking; and after that came the chink of +money. The women had each a book, and Jellico had his book, and they +were compared with his, and made straight. As he came out with the pack +on his back, he saw me sitting on the bench, and looked hard at me: +whether he knew me again, I can't say. + +Just then Frank Stirling ran by, turning down Piefinch Lane. I went +after him: the women's tongues inside were working like so many +steam-engines, and it was as well to let them run down before speaking +to Mrs. Reed. + +Half-way down Piefinch Lane on the left, there was a turning, called +Piefinch Cut. It had grown into a street. All kinds of shops had been +opened, dealing in small wares: and two public-houses. A pawnbroker from +Alcester had opened a branch establishment here--which had set the world +gaping more than they would at a wild-beast show. It was managed by a +Mr. Figg. The three gilt balls stood out in the middle of the Cut; and +the blacksmith's forge, to which Stirling was bound, was next door. He +wanted something done to a piece of iron. While we were standing amidst +the sparks, who should go into the house the other side the way but +Jellico and his pack! + +"Yes, he should come into mine, he should, that fellow," ironically +observed John Dovey: who was a good-natured, dark-eyed little man, with +a tolerable share of sense. "I'd be after trundling him out again, feet +foremost." + +"Is he a travelling hawker?" asked Stirling. + +"He's a sight worse, sir," answered Dovey. "If you buy wares off a +hawker you must pay for 'em at the time: no money, no goods. But this +fellow seduces the women to buy his things on tick, he does: Tuesday +arter Tuesday he comes prowling into this here Cut, and does a roaring +trade. His pack'll walk out o' that house a bit lighter nor it goes in. +Stubbs's wife lives over there; Tanken's wife, she lives there; and +there be others. If I hadn't learnt that nobody gets no good by +interfering atween men and their wives, I'd ha' telled Stubbs and Tanken +long ago what was going on." + +It had been on the tip of my tongue to say where I had just seen +Jellico, and the trade he was doing. Remembering in time that Mrs. Dovey +had been one of the larger purchasers, I kept the news in. + +"His name's Jellico," continued Dovey, as he hammered away at Stirling's +iron. "He have got a fine shop somewhere over at Evesham. It's twelve or +fifteen months now, Master Johnny, since he took to come here. When +first I see him I wondered where the deuce the hawker's round could be, +appearing in the Cut so quick and reg'lar; but I soon found he was no +reg'lar hawker. Says I to my wife, 'Don't you go and have no dealings +with that there pest, for I'll not stand it, and I might be tempted to +stop it summary.' 'All right, Jack,' says she; 'when I want things I'll +deal at the old shop at Alcester.' But there's other wives round about +us doing strokes and strokes o' trade with him; 'tain't all of 'em, +Master Ludlow, as is so sensible as our Ann." + +Considering the stroke of trade I had just seen done by Ann Dovey, it +was as well not to hear this. + +"If he's not a hawker, what is he?" asked Stirling, swaying himself on +a beam in the roof; and I'm sure I did not know either. + +"It's a cursed system," hotly returned John Dovey; "and I say that afore +your faces, young gents. It may do for the towns, if they chooses to +have it--that's their business; but it don't do for us. What do our +women here want o' fine shawls and gay gownds?--decking theirselves out +as if they was so many Jezebels? But 'tain't that. Let 'em deck, if +they've got no sense to see how ill it looks on their sun-freckled faces +and hands hard wi' work; it's the ruin it brings. Just you move on +t'other side, Master Ludlow, sir; you be right in the way o' the sparks. +There's a iron pot over there as does for sitting on." + +"I'm all right, Dovey. Tell us about Jellico." + +Jellico's system, to give Dovey's explanation in brief, was this: He +brought over a huge pack of goods every Tuesday afternoon in a pony-gig +from his shop at Evesham. He put up the pony, and carried the pack on +his round, tempting the women right and left to buy. Husbands away at +work, and children at school, the field was open. _He asked for no +ready money down._ The purchases were entered in a book, to be paid off +by weekly instalments. The payments had to be kept up; Jellico saw to +that. However short the household had to run of the weekly necessaries, +Jellico's money had to be ready for him. It was an awful tax, just as +Dovey described it, and drifted into at first by the women without +thought of ill. The debt in itself was bad enough; but the fear lest it +should come to their husbands' ears was almost worse. As Dovey described +all this in his homely, but rather flowery language, it put me in +mind of those pleasure-seekers that sail too far over a sunny sea in +thoughtlessness, and suspect no danger till their vessel is right upon +the breakers. + +"There haven't been no blow-ups yet to speak of," said the blacksmith. +"But they be coming. I could just put my finger upon half-a-dozen women +at this blessed minute what's wearing theirselves to shadders with the +trouble. They come here to Figg's in the dusk o' evening wi' things hid +under their aprons. The longer Jellico lets it go on, the worse it gets, +for they _will_ be tempted, the she-creatures, buying made flowers for +their best bonnets to-day, and ribbuns for their Sunday caps to-morrow. +If Jellico lets 'em, that is. He knows pretty sure where he may trust +and where he mayn't. 'Tain't he as will let his pocket suffer in the +long run. He knows another thing--that the further he staves off any big +noise the profitabler it'll be for him. Once let that come, and Master +Jellico might get hunted out o' the Cut, and his pack and its finery +kicked to shreds." + +"But why are the women such simpletons, Dovey?" asked Frank Stirling. + +"You might as well ask why folks eats and drinks, sir," retorted Dovey, +his begrimed eyes lighted with the flame. "A love o' their faces is just +born with the women, and it goes with 'em to the grave. Set a parcel o' +finery before 'em and the best'll find their eyes a-longing, and their +mouths a-watering. It's said Eve used to do up her hair looking into a +clear pool." + +"Putting it in that light, Dovey, I wonder all the women here don't go +in for Mr. Jellico's temptations." + +"Some on 'em has better sense; and some has husbands what's up to the +thing, and keeps the reins tight in their own hands," complacently +answered the unconscious Dovey. + +"Up to the thing!" repeated Stirling; "I should think all the men are up +to it, if Jellico is here so constantly." + +"No, sir, they're not. Most of 'em are at work when he comes. They may +know some'at about him, but the women contrives to deceive 'em, and they +suspects nothing. The fellow with the pack don't concern them or their +folk at home, as they supposes, an' so they never bothers theirselves +about him or his doings. I'd like to drop a hint to some of 'em to go +home unexpected some Tuesday afternoon; but maybe it's best let alone." + +"I suppose your wife is one of the sensible ones, Dovey?" And I kept my +countenance as I said it. + +"She daredn't be nothing else, Master Johnny. I be a trifle loud if I'm +put out. Not she," emphatically added Dovey, his strong, bared arm +dealing a heavy blow on the anvil, and sending up a whole cloud of +sparks. "I'd never get put in jail for her, as she knows; I'd shave her +hair off first. Run up a score with that there Jellico? No, she'd not +be such a idiot as that. You should hear how she goes on again her +neighbours that does run it, and the names she calls 'em." + +Poor John Dovey! Where ignorance is bliss---- + +"Why, if I thought my wife could hoodwink me as some of 'em does their +men, I'd never hold up my head of one while, for shame; no, not in my +own forge," continued Dovey. "Ann's temper's a bit trying sometimes, and +wants keeping in order; but she'd be above deceit o' that paltry sort. +She don't need to act it, neither; I give her a whole ten shillings +t'other day, and she went and laid it out at Alcester." + +No doubt. Any amount of shillings would soon be sacrificed to Ann's +vanity. + +"How much longer is that thing going to take, Dovey?" interposed +Stirling. + +"Just about two minutes, sir. 'Twere a cranky---- There he goes." + +The break in Dovey's answer was caused by the appearance of Jellico. He +came out, shouldering his pack. The blacksmith looked after him down the +Cut, and saw him turn in elsewhere. + +"I thought 'twas where he was going," said he; "'tain't often he passes +that there dwelling. Other houses seem to have their days, turn and turn +about; but that 'un gets him constant." + +"It's where Bird's wife lives, is it not, Dovey?" + +"It's where she lives, fast enough, sir. And Bird, he be safe at his +over-looking work, five miles off, without fear of his popping in home +to hinder the dealing and chaffering. But she'd better mind--though Bird +do get a'most three pound a-week, he have got means for every sixpence +of it, with his peck o' childern, six young 'uns of her'n, and six +of his first wife's, and no more'n one on 'em yet able to earn a +penny-piece. If Bird thought she was running up a score with Jellico, +he'd give her two black eyes as soon as look at her." + +"Bird's wife never seems to have any good clothes at all; she looks as +if she hadn't a decent gown to her back," said Frank. + +"What she buys is mostly things for the little 'uns: shimmys and +pinafores, and that," replied Dovey. "Letty Bird's one o' them that's +more improvidenter than a body of any sense 'ud believe, Master +Stirling; she never has a coin by the Wednesday night, she hasn't. The +little 'uns 'ud be a-rolling naked in the gutter, but for what she gets +on tick off Jellico; and Bird, seeing 'em naked, might beat her for +that. That don't mend the system; the score's a-being run up, and it'll +bring trouble sometime as sure as a gun. Beside that, if there was no +Jellico to serve her with his poison, she'd _have_ to save enough for +decent clothes. Don't you see how the thing works, sir?" + +"Oh, I see," carelessly answered Stirling. "D'ye call the pack's wares +poison, Dovey?" + +"Yes, I do," said Dovey, stoutly, as he handed Frank his iron. "They'll +poison the peace o' many a household in this here Cut. You two young +gents just look out else, and see." + +We came away with the iron. At the end of Piefinch Lane, Frank Stirling +took the road to the Court, and I turned into Reed's. The wife was by +herself then, giving the children their early tea. + +"Reed shall come up to the Manor as soon as he gets home, sir," she +said, in answer to Tod's message. + +"I was here before this afternoon, Mrs. Reed, and couldn't get in. You +were too busy to hear me at the door." + +The knife halted in the bread she was cutting, and she glanced up for a +moment; but seemed to think nothing, and finished the slice. + +"I've been very busy, Master Ludlow. I'm sorry you've had to come twice, +sir." + +"Busy enough, I should say, with Jellico's pack emptied on the table, +and you and the rest buying up at steam pace." + +The words were out of my lips before I saw her startled gesture of +caution, pointing to the children: it was plain they were not to know +anything about Jellico. She had an honest face, but it turned scarlet. + +"Do you think it is a good plan, Mrs. Reed, to get things upon trust, +and have to make up money for them weekly?" I could not help saying to +her as she came to the door. + +"I'm beginning to doubt whether it is, sir." + +"If Reed thought he had a debt hanging over him, that might fall at any +moment----" + +"For the love of mercy, sir, don't say nothing to Reed!" came the +startled interruption. "You won't, will you, Master Johnny?" + +"Not I. Don't fear. But if I were you, Mrs. Reed, for my own sake I +should cut all connection with Jellico. Better deal at a fair shop." + +She nodded her head as I went through the gate; but her face had now +turned to a sickly whiteness that spoke of terror. Was the woman so deep +in the dangerous books already? + +Reed came up in the evening, and Tod showed him what he wanted done. As +the man was measuring the trellis-work, Hannah happened to pass. She +asked him how he was getting on. + +"Amongst the middlings," answered Reed, shortly. "I was a bit put out +just now." + +"What by?" asked Hannah, who said anything she chose before me without +the smallest ceremony: and Tod had gone away. + +"As I was coming up here, Ingram stops me, and asks if I couldn't let +him have the bit of money I owed him. I stared at the man: what money +was I likely to owe him----" + +"Ingram the cow-keeper?" interrupted Hannah. + +"Ingram the cow-keeper. So, talking a bit, I found there was a matter of +six shillings due to him for the children's milk: it was ever so long +since my wife had paid. Back I went to her at once to know the reason +why--and it was that made me late in coming up here, Master Johnny." + +"I suppose he had sold her skim milk for new, and she thought she'd make +him wait for his money," returned Hannah. + +"All she said to me was that she didn't think it had been running so +long; Ingram had said to me that she always told him she was short of +money and couldn't pay," answered Reed. "Anyway, I don't think she'll +let it run on again. It put me out, though. I'd rather go off into the +workhouse, or die of starvation, than I'd let it be said in the place my +wife didn't pay as she went on." + +_I_ saw through the difficulty, and should have liked to give Reed a +hint touching Jellico. + +Now it was rather strange that, all in two days, Jellico and the +mischief he was working should be thus brought before me in three or +four ways, considering that I had never in my life before heard of the +man. But it chanced to be so. I don't want to say anything about the man +personally, good or bad; the mischief lay in the system. That Jellico +sold his goods at a nice rate for dearness, and used persuasion with the +women to buy them, was as plain as the sun at noonday; but in these +respects he was no worse than are many other people in trade. He went +to the houses in turn, and the women met him; it might be several weeks +before the meeting was held at Mrs. Reed's again. Ann Dovey could not +enjoy the hospitality of receiving him at hers, as her husband's work +lay at home. But she was a constant visitor to the other places. + +And the time went on; and Mr. Jellico's trade flourished. But we heard +nothing more about it at Dyke Manor, and I naturally forgot it. + + +II. + +"Just six shillings on it, Mr. Figg! That's all I want to-day, but I +can't do without that." + +That so well-conducted and tidy a woman as George Reed's wife should be +in what the Cut called familiarly the "pawnshop," would have surprised +every one not in the secret. But she it was. Mr. Figg, a little man with +weak eyes and a few scattered locks of light hair, turned over the +offered loan with his finger and thumb. A grey gown of some kind of +woollen stuff. + +"How many times have this here gownd been brought here, Mrs. Reed?" +asked he. + +"I haven't counted 'em," she sighed. "Why? What's that got to do with +it?" + +"'Cause it's a proof as it must be getting the worse for wear," was the +answer, given disparagingly. + +"It's just as good as it was the day I had it out o' Jellico's pack," +said Mrs. Reed, sadly subdued, as of late she had always seemed. + +Mr. Figg held up the gown to the light, seeking for the parts in it most +likely to be worn. "Look here," said he. "What d'ye call that?" + +There was a little fraying certainly in places. Mrs. Reed had eyes and +could see it. She did not answer. + +"It don't stand to reason as a gownd will wear for ever and show no +marks. You puts this here gownd in of a Wednesday morning, or so, and +gets it out of a Saturday night to wear Sundays. Wear and tear _is_ wear +and tear." + +Mrs. Reed could not deny the accusation. All the available articles her +home contained; that is, the few her husband was not likely to observe +the absence of; together with as much of her own wardrobe as she could +by any shift do without, were already on a visit to Mr. Figg; which +visit, according to the present look-out, promised to be permanent. This +gown was obliged to be taken out periodically. Had she not appeared +decent on Sundays, her husband would have demanded the reason why. + +"You've gave me six shillings on it before," she argued. + +"Can't again. Don't mind lending five; next week it'll be but four. It +wasn't never worth more nor ten new," added Mr. Figg loudly, to drown +remonstrances. + +"Why, I gave Jellico double that for it! Where's the use of you running +things down?" + +As Jellico was in one sense a friend of Mr. Figg's--for he was certainly +the cause of three parts of his pledges being brought to him--the +pawnbroker let the question pass. Mrs. Reed went home with her five +shillings, her eyes taking quite a wild look of distress and glancing +cornerwise on all sides, as if she feared an ambush. + +It had not been a favourable year; weather had been bad, strikes were +prevalent, money was dear, labour scarce. Men were ready to snatch the +work out of each other's hands; some were quite unemployed, others less +than they used to be. Of course the homes in Piefinch Cut, and similar +small homes not in the Cut, went on short-commons. And if the women had +been scarcely able to get on before and stave off exposure, any one may +see that that was a feat impracticable now. One of them, Hester Reed, +thought the doubt and difficulty and remorse and dread would kill her. + +Dread of her husband's discovering the truth, and dread of his being +called upon to answer for the debt. Unable to keep up her weekly +interest and payments to Mr. Jellico for some time now, the main debt +had only accumulated. She owed him two pounds nineteen shillings. And +two pounds nineteen shillings to a labourer's wife seems as a wide gulf +that can never be bridged over while life shall last. Besides this, +she had been obliged to go into debt at the general shop; _that_ had +added itself up now to eight-and-twenty shillings, and the shop was +threatening procedure. There were other little odds and ends of +liabilities less urgent, a few shillings in all. To those not acquainted +with the simple living of a rural district, this may not sound so very +overwhelming: those who are, know what it means, and how awful was the +strait to which Mrs. Reed (with other wives) had reduced herself. + +She had grown so thin as hardly to be able to keep her clothes upon her. +Sleeping and waking, a dead wall crowded with figures, as a huge sum, +seemed to be before her eyes. Lately she had taken to dreaming of +hanging feet downwards over a precipice, held up only by the grasp of +her hands on the edge. Nearly always she awoke with the horror: and it +would seem to her that it was worse to wake up to life and its cares, +than to fall down to death and be at rest from them. Her husband, +perceiving that she appeared very ill, told her she had better speak to +Dr. Duffham. + +Carrying home the five shillings in her hand, Mrs. Reed sat down in her +kitchen and wiped her face, damp with pallor. She had begun to ask--not +so much what the ending would be, but how soon it would come. With the +five shillings in her hand she must find food and necessaries until +Saturday night; there was no more credit to be had. And this was only +Wednesday morning. With credit stopped and supplies stopped, her husband +would naturally make inquiries, and all must come out. Hester Reed +wondered whether she should die of the shame--if she had to stay and +face it. Three of the shillings must be paid that afternoon to Ingram +the milkman; he would not be quiet any longer: and the woman cast her +aching eyes round her room, and saw nothing that it was possible to take +away and raise money on. + +She had the potatoes on the fire when the children ran in, little +toddling things, from school. Some rashers of bacon lay on the table +ready to be toasted. Reed, earning pretty good wages, had been +accustomed to live well: with careful management he knew they might do +so still. Little did he suspect the state things had got into. + +"Tatty dere, mov'er," began the eldest, who was extremely backward in +speaking. + +"Tatty dere" meant "Cathy's there;" and the mother looked up from the +bacon. Cathy Parrifer (though nobody called her by her new name, but +Cathy Reed still) stood at the outer gate, in tatters as usual, talking +to some man who had a paper in his hand. Mrs. Reed's heart leaped into +her mouth: she lived in dread of everything. A stranger approaching the +place turned her sick. And now the terror, whose shadow had been so long +looming, was come in reality. Catherine came bounding up the garden to +tell the tale: the man, standing at the gate, was waiting to see her +father come home to dinner to serve him with a summons for the county +court. Mrs. Reed knew at once what it was for: the eight-and-twenty +shillings owing at the general shop. Her face grew white as she sank +into a chair. + +"Couldn't you get him to leave the paper with me, Cathy?" she whispered, +insane ideas of getting up the money somehow floating into her brain. + +"He won't," answered Cathy. "He means to give that to father personally, +he says, if he stays till night." + +Just as many another has felt, in some apparently insurmountable +obstacle, that seemed to be turning their hair grey in the little space +of time that you can peel an apple, felt Mrs. Reed. Light seemed to be +closing, shame and misery and blackness to be opening. Her hands seemed +powerless to put the bacon into the Dutch oven. + +But there ensued a respite. A very short one, but still a respite. While +the summons-server was loitering outside, Reed came in through the +back-garden, having got over the stile in Piefinch Lane. It was not +often he chose that way; accident caused him to do it to-day. Mrs. Reed, +really not knowing what she did or said, told Cathy there'd be a morsel +of dinner for her if she liked to stop and eat it. As Cathy was not in +the luck of such offers every day, she remained: and in her good-nature +talked and laughed to divert any suspicion. + +But the man at the gate began to smell a rat; perhaps the bacon as well. +Dinner-hour almost over, and no George Reed had come home! He suddenly +thought of the back-entrance, and walked up the front-path to see. Paper +in hand, he gave a thump at the house-door. Reed was about to leave +then: and he went down the path by the man's side, opening the paper. +Mrs. Reed, more like a ghost than a woman, took a glance through the +window. + +"I can't face it, Catherine. When I'm gone, you'd better come home here +and do what you can for the children. Tell him all; it's of no good +trying to hide it any longer." + +She took her worn old shawl from a press and put her bonnet on; and then +stooped to kiss her children, saying good-bye with a burst of grief. + +"But where are you going?" cried the wondering Cathy. + +"Anywhere. If I am tempted to do anything desperate, Cathy, tell father +not to think too bad of me, as he might if I was living." + +She escaped by the back-door. Catherine let her go, uncertain what to +be at for the best. Her father was striding back to the house up the +garden-path, and the storm was coming. As a preliminary van-guard, +Cathy snatched up the youngest girl and held her on her lap. The +summons-server was calling after Reed, apparently giving some +instructions, and that took up another minute or two; but he came in at +last. + +Cathy told as much of the truth as she dared; her father was too angry +for her to venture on all. In his passion he said his wife might go and +be hanged. Cathy answered that she had as good as said it was something +of that she meant to go and do. + +But talking and acting are two things; and when it came to be put to +the test, Hester Reed found herself no more capable of entering upon +any desperate course than the rest of us are. And, just as I had been +brought in accidentally to see the beginning, so was I accidentally +brought in at the ending. + +We were at home again for the holidays, and I had been over for an +afternoon to the Stirlings'. Events in this world happen very strangely. +Upon setting out to walk back in the cool of the late summer's evening, +I took the way by Dyke Brook instead of either of the two ordinary +roads. Why I chose it I did not know then; I do not now; I never shall +know. When fairly launched into the fields, I asked myself why on earth +I had come that way, for it was the loneliest to be found in the two +counties. + +Turning sharp round the dark clump of trees by Dyke Brook (which just +there is wide enough for a pond and as deep as one), I came upon +somebody in a shabby grey straw bonnet, standing on its brink and +looking down into the water. + +"Halloa, Mrs. Reed! Is that you?" + +Before I forget the woe-stricken face she turned upon me, the start she +gave, I must lose memory. Down she sat on the stump of a tree, and burst +into sobs. + +"What is it?" I asked, standing before her. + +"Master Johnny, I've been for hours round it, round and round, wanting +the courage to throw myself in; and I haven't done it." + +"Just tell me all about the trouble," I said, from the opposite stump, +upon which I took my seat. + +And she did tell me. Alone there for so many hours, battling with +herself and Death (it's not wrong to say so), my coming seemed to unlock +all the gates of reticence, and she disclosed to me what I've written +above. + +"God knows I never thought to bring it to such a pass as this," she +sobbed. "I went into it without any sense of doing harm. One day, when +I happened to be at Miles Dickon's, Jellico came in with his pack, and +I was tempted to buy some ribbon. I said he might come and show me his +things the next week, and he did, and I bought a gownd and a shawl. I +know now how wrong and blind I was: but it seemed so easy, just to pay +a shilling or two a-week; like having the things for nothing. And from +that time it went on; a'most every Tuesday I took some trifle of him, +maybe a bit o' print for the little ones, or holland for pinafores; and +I gave Cathy a cotton gownd, for she hadn't one to her back. I didn't +buy as some of 'em did, for the sake of show and bedeckings, but useful +things, Master Johnny," she added, sobbing bitterly. "And this has come +of it! and I wish I was at rest in that there blessed water." + +"Now, Mrs. Reed! Do you suppose you would be at _rest_?" + +"Heaven have mercy on me! It's the thought o' the sin, and of what might +come after, that makes me hold back from it." + +Looking at her, shading her eyes with her hand, her elbow on her lap, +and her face one of the saddest for despair I ever saw, I thought of the +strange contrasts there are in the world. For the want of about five +pounds this woman was seeking to end her life; some have done as much +for five-and-twenty thousand. + +"I've not a friend in the whole world that could help me," she said. +"But it's not that, Master Johnny; it's the shame on me for having +brought things to such a pass. If the Lord would but be pleased to take +me, and save me from the sin of lifting a hand against my own life!" + +"Look here, Mrs. Reed. As to what you call the shame, I suppose we all +have to go in for some sort or another of that kind of thing as we jog +along. As you are _not_ taken, and don't seem likely to be taken, I +should look on that as an intimation that you must live and make the +best of things." + +"Live! how, sir? I can't never show myself at home. Reed, he'll have to +go to jail; the law will put him there. I'd not face the world, sir, +knowing it was all for my thoughtless debts." + +Could I help her? Ought I to help her? If I went to old Brandon and +begged to have five pounds, why, old Brandon in the end would give it +me, after he had gone on rather hotly for an hour. If I did not help +her, and any harm came to her, what should I---- + +"You promise me never to think about pools again, Mrs. Reed, except in +the way of eels, and I'll promise to see you through this." + +She looked up, more helpless than before. "There ain't nothing to be +done for me, Master Johnny. There's the shame, and the talkin' o' the +neighbours----" + +"Yes, you need mind _that_. Why, the neighbours are all in the same +boat!" + +"And there's Reed, sir; he'd never forgive me. He'd----" + +Of all cries, she interrupted herself with about the worst: something +she saw behind me had frightened her. In another moment she had darted +to the pond, and Reed was holding her back from it. + +"Be thee a born fool?" roared Reed. "Dost think thee'st not done enough +harm as it is, but thee must want to cap it by putting theeself in +there? That would mend it, that would!" + +She released herself from him, and slipped on the grass, Reed standing +between her and the pond. But he seemed to think better of it, and +stepped aside. + +"Jump in, an' thee likes to," said he, continuing to speak in the +familiar home manner. "I once see a woman ducked in the Severn for +pocket-picking, at Worcester races, and she came out all the cooler and +better for't." + +"I never thought to bring trouble on you or anybody, George," she +sobbed. "It seems to have come on and on, like a great monster growing +bigger and bigger as you look at him, till I couldn't get away from it." + +"Couldn't or wouldn't, which d'ye mean?" retorted Reed. "Why you women +were ever created to bother us, hangs me. I hope you'll find you can +keep the children when I and a dozen more of us are in jail. 'Twon't be +my first visit there." + +"Look here, Reed; I've promised to set it right for her. Don't worry +over it." + +"I'll not accept help from anybody; not even from you, Master Johnny. +What she has done she must abide by." + +"The bargain's made, Reed; you can't break it if you would. Perhaps a +great trouble may come to me some time in my life that I may be glad to +be helped out of. Mrs. Reed will get the money to-morrow, only she need +not tell the parish where she found it." + +"Oh, George, let it be so!" she implored through her tears. "If Master +Johnny's good enough to do this, let him. I might save up by little and +little to repay him in time. If you went to jail through me!--I'd rather +die!" + +"Will you let it be a lesson to you--and keep out of Jellico's clutches +in future?" he asked, sternly. + +"It's a lesson that'll last me to the end of my days," she said, with a +shiver. "Please God, you let Master Johnny get me out o' this trouble, +I'll not fall into another like it." + +"Then come along home to the children," said he, his voice softening a +little. "And leave that pond and your folly behind you." + +I was, of course, obliged to tell the whole to Mr. Brandon and the +Squire, and they both pitched into me as fiercely as tongues could +pitch. But neither of them was really angry; I saw that. As to the +five pounds, I only wish as much relief could be oftener given with as +little money. + + + + +CAROMEL'S FARM. + + +I. + +You will be slow to believe what I am about to write, and say it savours +of romance instead of reality. Every word of it is true. Here truth was +stranger than fiction. + +Lying midway between our house, Dyke Manor, and Church Dykely, was a +substantial farm belonging to the Caromels. It stood well back from the +road a quarter-of-a-mile or so, and was nearly hidden by the trees +that surrounded it. An avenue led to the house; which was a rambling, +spacious, very old-fashioned building, so full of queer angles inside, +nooks and corners and passages, that you might lose your way in them and +never find it again. The Caromels were gentlemen by descent; but their +means had dwindled with years, so that they had little left besides this +property. The last Caromel who died, generally distinguished as "Old +Caromel" by all the parish, left two sons, Miles and Nash. The property +was willed to the elder, Miles: but Nash continued to have his home with +him. As to the house, it had no particular name, but was familiarly +called "Caromel's Farm." + +Squire Todhetley had been always intimate with them; more like a brother +than anything else. Not but that he was considerably their senior. I +think he liked Nash the best: Nash was so yielding and easy. Some said +Nash was not very steady in private life, and that his brother, Miles, +stern and moral, read him a lecture twice a-week. But whether it was so +no one knew; people don't go prying into their neighbours' closets to +look up their skeletons. + +At the time I am beginning to tell of, old Caromel had been dead about +ten years; Nash was now five-and-thirty, Miles forty. Miles had married +a lady with a good fortune, which was settled upon herself and her +children; the four of them were girls, and there was no son. + +At the other end of Church Dykely, ever so far past Chavasse Grange, +lived a widow lady named Tinkle. And when the world had quite done +wondering whether Nash Caromel meant to marry (though, indeed, what +had he to marry upon?), it was suddenly found out that he wanted Mrs. +Tinkle's daughter, Charlotte. The Tinkles were respectable people, but +not equal to the Caromels. Mrs. Tinkle and her son farmed a little land, +she had also a small private income. The son had married well. Just now +he was away; having gone abroad with his wife, whose health was failing. + +Charlotte Tinkle was getting on towards thirty. You would not have +thought it, to look at her. She had a gentle face, a gentle voice, and +a young, slender figure; her light brown hair was always neat; and she +possessed one of those inoffensive natures that would like to be at +peace with the whole world. It was natural that Mrs. Tinkle should wish +her daughter to marry, if a suitable person presented himself--all +mothers do, I suppose--but to find it was Nash Caromel took her aback. + +"You think it will not do," observed the Squire, when Mrs. Tinkle was +enlarging on the grievance to him one day that they met in a two-acre +field. + +"How can it do?" returned poor Mrs. Tinkle, in a tone between wailing +and crying. "Nash Caromel has nothing to keep her on, sir, and no +prospects." + +"That's true," said the pater. "At present he has thoughts of taking a +farm." + +"But he has no money to stock a farm. And look at that tale, sir, that +was talked of--about that Jenny Lake. Other things have been said also." + +"Oh, one must not believe all one hears. For myself, I assure you, Mrs. +Tinkle, I know no harm of Nash. As to the money to stock a farm, I +expect his brother could help him to it, if he chose." + +"But, sir, you would surely not advise them to marry upon an +uncertainty!" + +"I don't advise them to marry at all; understand that, my good lady; I +think it would be the height of imprudence. But I can't prevent it." + +"Mr. Todhetley," she answered, a tear rolling down her thin cheeks, on +which there was a chronic redness, "I am unable to describe to you how +much my mind is set against the match: I seem to foresee, by some subtle +instinct, that no good would ever come of it; nothing but misery for +Charlotte. And she has had so peaceful a home all her life." + +"Tell Charlotte she can't have him--if you think so strongly about it." + +"She won't listen--at least to any purpose," groaned Mrs. Tinkle. "When +I talk to her she says, 'Yes, dear mother; no, dear mother,' in her +dutiful way: and the same evening she'll be listening to Nash Caromel's +courting words. Her uncle, Ralph Tinkle, rode over from Inkberrow to +talk to her, for I wrote to him: but it seems to have made no permanent +impression on her. What I am afraid of is that Nash Caromel will marry +her in spite of us." + +"I should like to see my children marry in spite of me!" cried the +Squire, giving way to one of his hot fits. "I'd 'marry' them! Nash can't +take her against her will, my dear friend: it takes two people, you +know, to complete a bargain of that sort. Promise Charlotte to shake her +unless she listens to reason. Why should she not listen! She is meek and +tractable." + +"She always has been. But, once let a girl be enthralled by a +sweetheart, there's no answering for her. Duty to parents is often +forgotten then." + +"If---- Why, mercy upon us, there _is_ Charlotte!" broke off the Squire, +happening to lift his eyes to the stile. "And Nash too." + +Yes, there they were: standing on the other side the stile in the +cross-way path. "Halloa!" called out Mr. Todhetley. + +"I can't stay a moment," answered Nash Caromel, turning his good-looking +face to speak: and it cannot be denied it was a good-looking face, or +that he was an attractive man. "Miles has sent me to that cattle sale up +yonder, and I am full late." + +With a smile and a nod, he stepped lightly onwards, his slender supple +figure, of middle height, upright as a dart; his fair hair waving +in the breeze. Charlotte Tinkle glanced shyly after him, her cheeks +blushing like a peony. + +"What's this I hear, young lady?--that you and Mr. Nash yonder want to +make a match of it, in spite of pastors and masters?" began the Squire. +"Is it true?" + +Charlotte stood like a goose, making marks on the dusty path with the +end of her large grass-green parasol. Parasols were made for use then, +not show. + +"Nash has nothing, you know," went on the Squire. "No money, no house, +no anything. There wouldn't be common sense in it, Charlotte." + +"I tell him so, sir," answered Charlotte, lifting her shy brown eyes for +a moment. + +"To be sure; that's right. Here's your mother fretting herself into +fiddlestrings for fear of--of--I hardly know what." + +"Lest you should be tempted to forget your duty to me, Lottie," struck +in the mother. "Ah, my dear! you young people little think what trouble +and anxiety you bring upon us." + +Charlotte Tinkle suddenly burst into tears, to the surprise of her +beholders. Drying them up as soon as she could, she spoke with a sigh. + +"I hope I shall never bring trouble upon you, mother, never; I wouldn't +do it willingly for the world. But----" + +"But what, child?" cried the mother, for Charlotte had come to a +standstill. + +"I--I am afraid that parents and children see with different eyes--just +as though things were for each a totally opposite aspect," she went on +timidly. "The difficulty is how to reconcile that view and this." + +"And do you know what my father used to say to me in my young days?" put +in the Squire. "'Young folks think old folks fools, but old folks know +the young ones to be so.' There was never a truer saying than that, Miss +Charlotte." + +Miss Charlotte only sighed in answer. The wind, high that day, was +taking her muslin petticoats, and she had some trouble to keep them +down. Mrs. Tinkle got over the stile, and the Squire turned back towards +home. + +A fortnight or so had passed by after this, when Church Dykely woke one +morning to an electric shock; Nash Caromel and Charlotte had gone and +got married. They did it without the consent of (as the Squire had put +it) pastors and masters. Nash had none to consult, for he could not be +expected to yield obedience to his brother; and Charlotte had asked Mrs. +Tinkle, and Mrs. Tinkle had refused to countenance the ceremony, though +she did not actually walk into the church to forbid it. + +Taking a three weeks' trip by way of honeymoon, the bride and bridegroom +came back to Church Dykely. Caromel's Farm refused to take them in; and +Miles Caromel, indignant to a degree, told his brother that "as he +had made his bed, so must he lie upon it," which is a very convenient +reproach, and often used. + +"Nash is worse than a child," grumbled Miles to the Squire, his tones +harder than usual, and his manner colder. "He has gone and married this +young woman--who is not his equal--and now he has no home to give her. +Did he suppose that we should receive him back here?--and take her in as +well? He has acted like an idiot." + +"Mrs. Tinkle will not have anything to do with them, I hear," returned +the Squire: "and Tinkle, of Inkberrow, is furious." + +"Tinkle of Inkberrow's no fool. Being a man of substance, he thinks they +may be falling back upon him." + +Which was the precise fear that lay upon Miles himself. Meanwhile Nash +engaged sumptuous lodgings (if such a word could be justly applied +to any rooms at Church Dykely), and drove his wife out daily in the +pony-gig that was always looked upon as his at Caromel's Farm. + +Nash was flush of money now, for he had saved some; but he could not go +on living upon it for ever. After sundry interviews with his brother, +Miles agreed to hand him over a thousand pounds: not at all too large +a sum, considering that Nash had given him his services, such as they +were, for a number of years for just his keep as a gentleman and a bonus +for pocket-money. A thousand pounds would not go far with such a farm +as Nash had been used to and would like to take, and he resolved to +emigrate to America. + +Mrs. Tinkle (the Squire called her simple at times) was nearly wild when +she heard of it. It brought her out of her temper with a leap. +Condoning the rebellious marriage, she went off to remonstrate with +Nash. + +"But now, why need you put yourself into this unhappy state?" asked +Nash, when he had heard what she had to say. "Dear Mrs. Tinkle, do admit +some common sense into your mind. I am not taking Charlotte to the +'other end of the world,' as you put it, but to America. It is only a +few days' passage. Outlandish foreigners! Not a bit of it. The people +are, so to speak, our own countrymen. Their language is ours; their laws +are, I believe, much as ours are." + +"You may as well be millions of miles away, practically speaking," +bewailed Mrs. Tinkle. "Charlotte will be as much lost to me there as she +would be at the North Pole. She is my only daughter, Nash Caromel, she +has never been away from me: to part with her will be like parting with +life." + +"I am very sorry," said poor Nash, who was just a woman when any appeal +was made to his feelings. "Live with you? No, that would not do: but, +thank you all the same for offering it. Nothing would induce me to +spunge upon you in that way: and, were I capable of it, your son Henry +would speedily turn us out when he returned. I must get a home of my +own, for Charlotte's sake as well as for mine: and I know I can do that +in America. Land, there, may be had for an old song; fortunes are made +in no time. The probability is that before half-a-dozen years have gone +over our heads, I shall bring you Charlotte home a rich woman, and we +shall settle down here for life." + +There isn't space to pursue the arguments--which lasted for a week or +two. But they brought forth no result. Nash might have turned a post +sooner than the opinions of Mrs. Tinkle, and she might as well have +tried to turn the sun as to stop his emigrating. The parish looked upon +it as not at all a bad scheme. Nash might get on well over there if he +would put off his besetting sin, indolence, and not allow the Yankees to +take him in. + +So Nash Caromel and Charlotte his wife set sail for New York; Mrs. +Tinkle bitterly resenting the step, and wholly refusing to be +reconciled. + + +II. + +About five years went by. Henry Tinkle's wife had died, leaving him a +little girl, and he was back with the child at his mother's: but that +has nothing to do with us. A letter came from the travellers now and +then, but not often, during the first three years. Nash wrote to +Caromel's Farm; Charlotte to the parson's wife, Mrs. Holland, with +whom she had been very friendly. But none of the letters gave much +information as to personal matters; they were chiefly filled with +descriptions of the new country, its manners and customs, and especially +its mosquitoes, which at first nearly drove Mrs. Nash Caromel mad. It +was gathered that Nash _did not prosper_. They seemed to move about from +place to place, making New York a sort of standing point to return to +occasionally. For the past two years no letters at all had come, and it +was questioned whether poor Nash and his wife had not dropped out of the +world. + +In the midst of this uncertainty, Miles Caromel, who had been seriously +ailing for some months, died. And to Nash, if he were still in +existence, lapsed the Caromel property. + +Old Mr. Caromel's will had been a curious one. He bequeathed Caromel +Farm, with all its belongings, the live stock, the standing ricks, the +crops, the furniture, and all else that might be in or upon it, to his +son Miles, and to Miles's eldest son after him. If Miles left no son, +then it was to go to Nash (with all that might then be upon it, just as +before), and so on to Nash's son. But if neither of them had a son, +and Nash died during Miles's lifetime--in short, if there was no male +inheritor living, then Miles could dispose of the property as he +pleased. As could Nash also under similar circumstances. + +The result of this odd will was, that Nash, if living, came into the +farm and all that was upon it. If Nash had, or should have, a son, +it must descend to said son; if he had not, the property was his +absolutely. But it was not known whether Nash was living; and, in the +uncertainty, Miles made a will conditionally, bequeathing it to his wife +and daughters. It was said that possessing no son had long been a thorn +in the shoes of Miles Caromel; that he had prayed for one, summer and +winter. + +But now, who was to find Nash? How could the executors let him know of +his good luck? The Squire, who was one of them, talked of nothing else. +A letter was despatched to Nash's agents in New York, Abraham B. Whitter +and Co., and no more could be done. + +In a shorter time than you would have supposed possible, Nash arrived at +Church Dykely. He chanced to be at these same agents' house in New York, +when the letter got there, and he came off at full speed. So the will +made by Miles went for nothing. + +Nash Caromel was a good bit altered--looked thinner and older: but he +was evidently just as easy and persuadable as he used to be: people +often wondered whether Nash had ever said No in his whole life. He did +not tell us much about himself, only that he had roamed over the world, +hither and thither, from country to country, and had been lately for +some time in California. Charlotte was at San Francisco. When Nash took +ship from thence for New York, she was not well enough to undertake the +voyage, and had to stay behind. Mrs. Tinkle, who had had time, and to +spare, to get over her anger, went into a way at this last item of news; +and caught up the notion that Charlotte was dead. For which she had no +grounds whatever. + +Charlotte had no children; had not had any; consequently there was every +probability that Caromel's Farm would be Nash's absolutely, to will away +as he should please. He found Mrs. Caromel (his brother's widow) and +her daughters in it; they had not bestirred themselves to look out +for another residence. Being very well off, Mrs. Caromel having had +several substantial windfalls in the shape of legacies from rich +uncles and aunts, they professed to be glad that Nash should have the +property--whatever they might have privately felt. Nash, out of a +good-natured wish not to disturb them too soon, bade them choose their +own time for moving, and took up his abode at Nave, the lawyer's. + +There are lawyers and lawyers. I am a great deal older now than I was +when these events were enacted, and have gained my share of worldly +wisdom; and I, Johnny Ludlow, say that there are good and honest lawyers +as well as bad and dishonest. My experience has lain more amidst the +former class than the latter. Though I have, to my cost, been brought +into contact with one or two bad ones in my time; fearful rogues. + +One of these was Andrew Nave: who had recently, so to say, come, a +stranger, to settle at Church Dykely. His name might have had a "K" +prefixed, and been all the better for it. Of fair outward show, indeed +rather a good-looking man, he was not fair within. He managed to hold +his own in the parish estimation, as a rule: it was only when some +crafty deed or other struggled to the surface that people would say, +"What a sharper that man is!" + +The family lawyer of the Caromels, Crow, of Evesham, chanced to be ill +at this time, and gone away for change of air, and Nave rushed up to +greet Nash on his return, and to offer his services. And the fellow was +so warm and hearty, so fair-speaking, so much the gentleman, that easy +Nash, to whom the man was an entire stranger, and who knew nothing of +him, bad or good, clasped the hand held out to him, and promised Knave +his patronage forthwith. If I've made a mistake in spelling the name, +it can go. + +To begin with, Nave took him home. He lived a door or two past +Duffham's: a nice house, well kept up in paint. Some five years before, +the sleepy old lawyer, Wilkinson, died in that house, and Nave came down +from London and took to the concern. Nave thought that he was doing a +first-rate stroke of business now by securing Nash Caromel as an inmate, +the solicitorship to the Caromel property being worth trying for: though +he might not have been so eager to admit Nash had he foreseen all that +was to come of it. + +Not caring to trouble Mrs. Caromel with his company, Nash accepted +Nave's hospitality; but, liking to be independent, he insisted upon +paying for it, and mentioned a handsome weekly sum. Nave made a show of +resistance--which was all put on, for he was as fond of shillings as he +was of pounds--and then gave in. So Nash, feeling free, stayed on at his +ease. + +When Nave had first come to settle at Church Dykely with his daughter +Charlotte, he was taken for a widower. It turned out, however, that +there was a Mrs. Nave living somewhere with the rest of the children, +she and her husband having agreed to what was called an amicable +separation, for their tempers did not agree. This eldest daughter, +Charlotte, a gay, dashing girl of two-and-twenty then, was the only +creature in the world, it was said, for whom Nave cared. + +Mrs. Caromel did not appear readily to find a place to her liking. +People are particular when about to purchase a residence. She made +repeated apologies to Nash for keeping him out of his home, but he +assured her that he was in no hurry to leave his present quarters. + +And that was true. For Charlotte Nave was casting her glamour over him. +She liked to cast that over men; and tales had gone about respecting +her. Nothing very tangible: and perhaps they would not have held water. +She was a little, fair, dashing woman, swaying about her flounces as she +walked, with a great heap of beautiful hair, bright as gold. Her blue +eyes had a way of looking into yours rather too freely, and her voice +was soft as a summer wind. A dangerous companion was Miss Nave. + +Well, they fell in love with one another, as was said; she and Nash. +Nash forgot his wife, and she her old lovers. Being now on the road to +her twenty-eighth year, she had had her share of them. Once she had been +mysteriously absent from home for two weeks, and Church Dykely somehow +took up the idea that she and one of her lovers (a young gentleman who +was reading law with Nave) were taking a fraternal tour together as far +as London to see the lions. But it turned out to be a mistake, and no +one laughed at the notion more than Charlotte when she returned. She +wished she had been on a tour--and seeing lions, she said, instead of +moping away the whole two weeks at her aunt's, who had a perpetual +asthma, and lived in a damp old house at Chelsea. + +But that is of the past, and Nash is back again. The weeks went on. +Autumn weather came in. Mrs. Caromel found a place to suit her at +Kempsey--one of the prettiest of the villages that lie under the wing +of Worcester. She bought it; and removed to it with her private goods +and chattels. Nash, even now, made no haste to quit the lawyer's house +for his own. Some said it was he who could not tear himself away from +Charlotte; others said Miss Charlotte would not let him go; that she +held him fast by a silken cord. Anyhow, they were always together, +out-of-doors and in; she seemed to like to parade their friendship +before the world, as some girls like to lead about a pet monkey. +Perhaps Nash first took to her from her name being the same as his +wife's. + +One day in September, Nash walked over to the Manor and had a long talk +in private with the Squire. He wanted to borrow twelve hundred pounds. +No ready money had come to him from his brother, and it was not a +favourable time for selling produce. The Squire cheerfully agreed to +lend it him: there was no risk. + +"But I'd counsel you to remember one thing, Nash Caromel--that you have +a wife," said he, as they came out of the room when Nash was going away. +"It's time you left off dallying with that other young woman." + +Nash laughed a laugh that had an uneasy sound in it. "It is nothing, +Todhetley." + +"Glad to hear you say so," said the pater. "She has the reputation of +being a dangerous flirt. _You_ are not the first man she has entangled, +if all tales be true. Get out of Nave's house and into your own." + +"I will," acquiesced Nash. + +Perhaps that was easier said than done. It happened that the same +evening I overheard a few words between the lawyer and Nash. They were +not obliged to apply to Miss Nave: but, the chances were that they did. + +The Squire sent me to Nave's when dinner was over, to take a note +to Nash. Nave's smart waiting-maid, in a muslin apron and cherry +cap-strings, was standing at the door talking and laughing with some +young man, under cover of the twilight. She was as fond of finery as +her mistress; perhaps as fond of sweethearts. + +"Mr. Caromel? Yes, sir, he is at home. Please to walk in." + +Showing me to a sitting-room on the left of the passage--the lawyer's +offices were on the right--she shut me in, and went, as I supposed, to +tell Caromel. At the back of this room was the dining-room. I heard the +rattle of glasses on the table through the unlatched folding-doors, and, +next, the buzz of voices. The lawyer and Nash were sitting over their +wine. + +"You must marry her," said Nave, concisely. + +"I wish I could," returned Nash; and his wavering, irresolute tone was +just a contrast to the other's keen one. "I want to. But how can I? I'm +heartily sorry." + +"And as soon as may be. _You must._ Attentions paid to young ladies +cannot be allowed to end in smoke. And you will find her thousand pounds +useful." + +"But how _can_ I, I say?" cried Nash ruefully. "You know how +impracticable it is--the impediment that exists." + +"Stuff and nonsense, Caromel! Where there's a will there's a way. +Impediments only exist to be got over." + +"It would take a cunning man to get over the one that lies between me +and her. I assure you, and you may know I say it in all good faith, that +I should ask nothing better than to be a free man to-morrow--for this +one sole cause." + +"Leave things to me. For all you know, you are free now." + +The opening of their door by the maid, who had taken her own time to do +it, and the announcement that I waited to see Mr. Caromel, stopped the +rest. Nash came in, and I gave him the note. + +"Wants to see me before twelve to-morrow, does he?--something he forgot +to say," cried he, running his eyes over it. "Tell the Squire I will be +there, Johnny." + +Caromel was very busy after that, getting into his house--for he took +the Squire's advice, and did not linger much longer at Nave's. And I +think two or three weeks only had passed, after he was in it, when news +reached him of his wife's death. + +It came from his agent in New York, Abraham B. Whitter, who had received +the information from San Francisco. Mr. Whitter enclosed the San +Francisco letters. They were written by a Mr. Munn: one letter to +himself, the other (which was not as yet unsealed) to Nash Caromel. + +We read them both: Nash brought them to the Squire before sending them +to Mrs. Tinkle--considerate as ever, he would not let her see them until +she had been prepared. The letters did not say much. Mrs. Nash Caromel +had grown weaker and weaker after Nash departed from San Francisco for +New York, and she finally sank under low fever. A diary, which she had +kept the last few weeks of her life, meant only for her husband's own +eye, together with a few letters and sundry other personal trifles, +would be forwarded the first opportunity to Abraham B. Whitter and Co., +who would hold the box at Mr. Caromel's disposal. + +"Who is he, this Francis Munn, who writes to you?" asked the Squire. +"A friend of your wife's?--she appears to have died at his house." + +"A true friend of hers and of mine," answered Nash. "It was with Mr. and +Mrs. Munn that I left Charlotte, when I was obliged to go to New York. +She was not well enough to travel with me." + +"Well--look here, Caromel--don't go and marry that other Charlotte," +advised the Squire. "She is as different from your wife as chalk is from +cheese. Poor thing! it was a hard fate--dying over there away from +everybody!" + +But now--would any one believe it?--instead of taking the Squire's +advice and not marrying her at all, instead even of allowing a decent +time to elapse, in less than a week Nash went to church with Charlotte +the Second. Shame, said Parson Holland under his breath; shame, said the +parish aloud; but Nash Caromel heeded them not. + +We only knew it on the day before the wedding was to be. On Wednesday +morning, a fine, crisp, October day, a shooting party was to meet at old +Appleton's, who lived over beyond Church Dykely. The Squire and Tod +started for it after an early breakfast, and they let me go part of the +way with them. Just after passing Caromel's Farm, we met Pettipher the +postman. + +"Anything for the Manor?" asked the pater. + +"Yes, sir," answered the man; and, diving into his bundle, he handed a +letter. + +"This is not mine," said the Squire, looking at the address; "this is +for Mr. Caromel." + +"Oh! I beg your pardon, sir; I took out the wrong letter. This is +yours." + +"What a thin letter!--come from foreign parts," remarked the pater, +reading the address, "Nash Caromel, Esq." "I seem to know the +handwriting: fancy I've seen it before. Here, take it, Pettipher." + +In passing the letter to Pettipher, which was a ship's letter, I looked +at the said writing. Very small poor writing indeed, with long angular +tails to the letters up and down, especially the capitals. The Squire +handed me his gun and was turning to walk on, opening his letter as he +did so; when Pettipher spoke and arrested him. + +"Have you heard what's coming off yonder, to-morrow, sir?" asked he, +pointing with his thumb to Caromel's Farm. + +"Why no," said the Squire, wondering what Pettipher meant to be at. +"What should be coming off!" + +"Mr. Caromel's going to bring a wife home. Leastways, going to get +married." + +"I don't believe it," burst forth the pater, after staring angrily at +the man. "You'd better take care what you say, Pettipher." + +"But it's true, sir," reasoned Pettipher, "though it's not generally +known. My niece is apprentice to Mrs. King the dressmaker, as perhaps +you know, sir, and they are making Miss Nave's wedding-dress and bonnet. +They are to be married quite early, sir, nine o'clock, before folks are +about. Well yes, sir, it is _not_ seemly, seeing he has but now heard of +his wife's death, poor Miss Charlotte Tinkle, that grew up among us--but +you'll find it's true." + +Whether the Squire gave more hot words to Nash Caromel, or to Charlotte +the Second, or to Pettipher for telling it, I can't say now. Pettipher +touched his hat, said good-morning, and turned up the avenue to +Caromel's Farm to leave the letter for Nash. + +And, married they were on the following morning, amidst a score or two +of spectators. What was agate had slipped out to others as well as +ourselves. Old Clerk Bumford looked more fierce than a raven when he saw +us flocking into the church, after Nash had fee'd him to keep it quiet. + +As the clock struck nine, the party came up. The bride and one of her +sisters, both in white silk; Nave and some strange gentleman, who might +be a friend of his; and Caromel, pale as a ghost. Charlotte the Second +was pale too, but uncommonly pretty, her mass of beautiful hair shining +like threads of gold. + +The ceremony over, they filed out into the porch; Nash leading his +bride, and Nave bringing up the rear alone; when an anxious-looking +little woman with a chronic redness of face was seen coming across the +churchyard. It was Mrs. Tinkle, wearing the deep mourning she had put on +for Charlotte. Some one had carried her the tidings, and she had come +running forth to see whether they _could_ be true. + +And, to watch her, poor thing, with her scared face raised to Nash, and +her poor hands clasped in pain, as he and his bride passed her on the +pathway, was something sad. Nash Caromel's face had grown white again; +but he never looked at her; never turned his eyes, fixed straight out +before him, a hair's point to the right or left. + +"May Heaven have mercy upon them--for surely they'll need it!" cried the +poor woman. "No luck can come of such a wedding as this." + + +III. + +The months went on. Mrs. Nash was ruling the roast at Caromel's Farm, +being unquestionably both mistress and master. Nash Caromel's old easy +indolence had grown now to apathy. It almost seemed as though the farm +might go as it liked for him; but his wife was energetic, and she kept +servants of all kinds to their work. + +Nash excused himself for his hasty wedding when people reproached +him--and a few had done that on his return from the honeymoon. His first +wife had been dead for some months, he said, and the farm wanted a +mistress. She had only been dead to him a week, was the answer he +received to this: and, as to the farm, he was quite as competent to +manage that himself without a mistress as with one. After all, where was +the use of bothering about it when the thing was done?--and the offence +concerned himself, not his neighbours. So the matter was condoned at +length; Nash was taken into favour again, and the past was dropped. + +But Nash, as I have told you, grew apathetic. His spirits were low; the +Squire remarked one day that he was like a man who had some inward care +upon him. Mrs. Nash, on the contrary, was cheerful as a summer's day; +she filled the farm with visitors, and made the money fly. + +All too soon, a baby arrived. It was in May, and he must have travelled +at railroad speed. Nurse Picker, called in hastily on the occasion, +could not find anything the matter with him. A beautiful boy, she said, +as like his father, Master Nash (she had known Nash as a boy), as one +pea was like another. Mrs. Nash told a tale of having been run after by +a cow; Duffham, when attacked by the parish on the point, shut his lips, +and would say never a word, good or bad. Anyway, here he was; a fine +little boy and the son and heir: and if he had mistaken the proper time +to appear, why, clearly it must be his own fault or the cow's: other +people were not to be blamed for it. Mrs. Nash Caromel, frantic with +delight at its being a boy, sent an order to old Bumford to set the +bells a-ringing. + +But now, it was a singular thing that the Squire should chance to +be present at the delivery of another of those letters that bore +the handwriting with the angular tails. Not but that very singular +coincidences do take place in this life, and I often think it would not +hurt us if we paid more heed to them. Caromel's Farm was getting rather +behind-hand with its payments. Whether through its master's apathy or +its mistress's extravagance, ready money grew inconveniently short, and +the Squire could not get his interest paid on the twelve hundred pounds. + +"I'll go over and jog his memory," said he one morning, as we got up +from breakfast. "Put on your cap, Johnny." + +There was a pathway to Caromel's across the fields, and that was the way +we took. It was a hot, lovely day, early in July. Some wheat on the +Caromel land was already down. + +"Splendid weather it has been for the corn," cried the Squire, turning +himself about, "and we shall have a splendid harvest. Somehow I always +fancy the crops ripen on this land sooner than on any other about here, +Johnny." + +"So they do, sir." + +"Fine rich land it is; shouldn't grumble if it were mine. We'll go in at +this gate, lad." + +"This gate" was the side-gate. It opened on a path that led direct to +the sitting-room with glass-doors. Nash was standing just inside the +room, and of all the uncomfortable expressions that can sit on a man's +face, the worst sat on his. The Squire noticed it, and spoke in a +whisper. + +"Johnny, lad, he looks just as though he had seen a ghost." + +It's just what he did look like--a ghost that frightened him. We were +close up before he noticed us. Giving a great start, he smoothed his +face, smiled, and held out his hand. + +"You don't look well," said the Squire, as he sat down. "What's amiss?" + +"Nothing at all," answered Nash. "The heat pothers me, as usual: can't +sleep at night for it. Why, here's the postman! What makes him so late, +I wonder?" + +Pettipher was coming straight down to the window, letters in hand. +Something in his free, onward step seemed to say that he must be in the +habit of delivering the letters to Nash at that same window. + +"Two, sir, this morning," said Pettipher, handing them in. + +As Nash was taking the letters, one of them fell, either by his own +awkwardness or by Pettipher's. I picked it up and gave it to him, +address upwards. The Squire saw it. + +"Why, that's the same handwriting that puzzled me," cried he, speaking +on the impulse of the moment. "It seemed familiar to me, but I could not +remember where I had seen it. It's a ship letter, as was the other." + +Nash laughed--a lame kind of laugh--and put both letters into his +pocket. "It comes from a chum of mine that I picked up over yonder," +said he to the Squire, nodding his head towards where the sea might be +supposed to lie. "I don't think you could ever have been familiar with +it." + +They went away to talk of business, leaving me alone. Mrs. Nash Caromel +came in with her baby. She wore a white dress and light green ribbons, a +lace cap half shading her bright hair. Uncommonly pretty she looked--but +I did not like her. + +"Is it you, Johnny Ludlow?" said she, pausing a moment at the door, and +then holding out her hand. "I thought my husband was here alone." + +"He is gone into the library with the Squire." + +"Sit down. Have you seen my baby before? Is he not a beauty?" + +It was a nice little fellow, with fat arms and blue knitted shoes, a +good deal like Nash. They had named him Duncan, after some relative of +hers, and the result was that he was never called anything but "Dun." +Mrs. Caromel was telling me that she had "short-coated" him early, as it +was hot weather, when the others appeared, and the Squire marched me +off. + +"Johnny," said he, thoughtfully, as we went along, "how curiously Nash +Caromel is altered!" + +"He seems rather--_down_, sir," I answered, hesitating for a word. + +"Down!" echoed the Squire, slightingly; "it's more than that. He seems +lost." + +"Lost, sir?" + +"His mind does. When I told him what I had come about: that it was time, +and long ago, too, that my interest was paid, he stared at me more like +a lunatic than a farmer--as if he had forgotten all about it, interest, +and money, and all. When his wits came to him, he said it ought to have +been paid, and he'd see Nave about it. Nave's his father-in-law, Johnny, +and I suppose will take care of his interests; but I know I'd as soon +entrust my affairs to Old Scratch as to him." + +The Squire had his interest paid. The next news we heard was that +Caromel's Farm was about to give an entertainment on a grand scale; an +afternoon fête out-of-doors, with a sumptuous cold collation that you +might call by what name you liked--dinner, tea, or supper--in the +evening. An invitation printed on a square card came to us, which we all +crowded round Mrs. Todhetley to look at. Cards had not come much into +fashion then, except for public ceremonies, such as the Mayor's Feast at +Worcester. In our part of the world we were still content to write our +invitations on note-paper. + +The mother would not go. She did not care for fêtes, she said to us. In +point of fact she did not like Mrs. Nash Caromel any better than she had +liked Charlotte Nave, and she had never believed in the cow. So she sent +a civil note of excuse for herself. The Squire accepted, after some +hesitation. He and the Caromels had been friends for so many years that +he did not care to put the slight of a refusal upon Nash; besides, he +liked parties, if they were jolly. + +But now, would any rational being believe that Mrs. Nash had the cheek +to send an invitation to Mrs. Tinkle and her son Henry? It was what +Harry Tinkle called it--cheek. When poor Mrs. Tinkle broke the red seal +of the huge envelope, and read the card of invitation, from Mr. and Mrs. +Caromel, her eyes were dim. + +"I think they must have sent it as a cruel joke," remarked Mrs. Tinkle, +meeting the Squire a day or two before the fête. "She has never spoken +to me in her life. When we pass each other she picks up her skirts as if +they were too good to touch mine. Once she laughed at me, rudely." + +"Don't believe she knows any better," cried the Squire in his hot +partisanship. "Her skirts were not fit to touch your own Charlotte's." + +"Oh, Charlotte! poor Charlotte!" cried Mrs. Tinkle, losing her +equanimity. "I wish I could hear the particulars of her last moments," +she went on, brushing away the tears. "If Mr. Caromel has had +details--and that letter, telling of her death, promised them, you +know--he does not disclose them to me." + +"Why don't you write a note and ask him, Mrs. Tinkle?" + +"I hardly know why," she answered. "I think he cannot have heard, or he +would surely tell me; he is not bad-hearted." + +"No, only too easy; swayed by anybody that may be at his elbow for the +time being," concluded the Squire. "Nash Caromel is one of those people +who need to be kept in leading-strings all their lives. Good-morning." + +It was a fête worth going to. The afternoon as sunny a one as ever +August turned out, and the company gay, if not numerous. Only a +sprinkling of ladies could be seen; but amongst them was Miles Caromel's +widow, with her four daughters. Being women of consideration, deserving +the respect of the world, their presence went for much, and Mrs. Nash +had reason to thank them. They scorned and despised her in their hearts, +but they countenanced her for the sake of the honour of the Caromels. + +Archery, dancing, promenading, and talking took up the afternoon, and +then came the banquet. Altogether it must have cost Caromel's Farm a +tidy sum. + +"It is well for you to be able to afford this," cried the Squire +confidentially to Nash, as they stood together in one of the shady +paths beyond the light of the coloured lanterns, when the evening was +drawing to an end. "Miles would never have done it." + +"Oh, I don't know--it's no harm once in a way," answered Nash, who had +exerted himself wonderfully, and finished up by drinking his share of +wine. "Miles had his ways, and I have mine." + +"All right: it is your own affair. But I wouldn't have done one thing, +my good friend--sent an invitation to your mother-in-law." + +"What mother-in-law?" asked Nash, staring. + +"Your ex-mother-in-law, I ought to have said--Mrs. Tinkle. I wouldn't +have done it, Caromel, under the circumstances. It pained her." + +"But who did send her an invitation? Is it likely? I don't know what you +are talking about, Squire." + +"Oh, that's it, is it?" returned the Squire, perceiving that the act was +madam's and not his. "Have you ever had those particulars of Charlotte's +death?" + +Nash Caromel's face changed from red to a deadly pallor: the question +unnerved him--took his wits out of him. + +"The particulars of Charlotte's death," he stammered, looking all +abroad. "What particulars?" + +"Why, those promised you by the man who wrote from San Francisco--Munn, +was his name? Charlotte's diary, and letters, and things, that he was +sending off to New York." + +"Oh--ay--I remember," answered Nash, pulling his senses together. "No, +they have not come." + +"Been lost on the way, do you suppose? What a pity!" + +"They may have been. I have not had them." + +Nash Caromel walked straight away with the last words. Either to get rid +of the subject, or to join some people who had just then crossed the top +of the path. + +"Caromel does not like talking of her: I can see that, Johnny," remarked +the Squire to me later. "I don't believe he'd have done as he did, but +for this second Charlotte throwing her wiles across his path. He fell +into the snare and his conscience pricks him." + +"I dare say, sir, it will come right with time. She is very pretty." + +"Yes, most crooked things come straight with time," assented the Squire. +"Perhaps this one will." + +Would it, though! + +The weeks and the months went on. Caromel's Farm seemed to prosper, its +mistress being a most active manager, ruling with an apparently soft +will, but one firm as iron; and little Dun grew to be about fifteen +months old. The cow might have behaved ungenteelly to him, as Miss +Bailey's ghost says to Captain Smith, but it had not hurt the little +fellow, or his stout legs either, which began now to be running him into +all kinds of mischief. And so the time came round again to August--just +a year after the fête, and nearly twenty-two months after Nash's second +marriage. + +One evening, Tod being out and Mrs. Todhetley in the nursery, I was +alone with the Squire in the twilight. The great harvest moon was rising +behind the trees; and the Squire, talking of some parish grievance that +he had heard of from old Jones the constable, let it rise: while I was +wishing he would call for lights that I might get on with "The Old +English Baron," which I was reading for about the seventeenth time. + +"And you see, Johnny, if Jones had been firm, as I told him this +afternoon, and taken the fellow up, instead of letting him slope off and +be lost, the poachers---- Who's this coming in, lad?" + +The Squire had caught sight of some one turning to the door from the +covered path. I saw the fag-end of a petticoat. + +"I think it must be Mrs. Scott, sir. The mother said she had promised to +come over one of these first evenings." + +"Ay," said the Squire. "Open the door for her, Johnny." + +I had the front-door open in a twinkling, and saw a lady with a +travelling-cloak on her arm. But she bore no resemblance to Mrs. Scott. + +"Is Mr. Todhetley at home?" + +The soft voice gave me a thrill and a shock, though years had elapsed +since I heard it. A confused doubt came rushing over me; a perplexing +question well-nigh passed my lips: "Is it a living woman or a dead one?" +For there, before me, stood Nash Caromel's dead wife, Charlotte the +First. + + + + +CHARLOTTE AND CHARLOTTE. + + +I. + +People are apt to say, when telling of a surprise, that a feather would +have knocked them down. I nearly fell without the feather and without +the touch. To see a dead woman standing straight up before me, and to +hear her say "How are you, and is the Squire at home?" might have upset +the balance of a giant. + +But I could not be mistaken. There, waiting at the front-door to come +in, her face within an inch of mine, was Nash Caromel's first wife, +Charlotte Tinkle; who for some two years now had been looked upon as +dead and buried over in California. + +"Is Mr. Todhetley at home!" she repeated. "And can I see him?" + +"Yes," I answered, coming partially out of my bewilderment. "Do you mind +staying here just a minute, while I tell him?" + +For, to hand in a dead woman, might take him aback, as it had taken me. +The pater stood bolt upright, waiting for Mrs. Scott (as he had supposed +it to be) to enter. + +"It is not Mrs. Scott," I whispered, shutting the door and going close +up to him. "It--it is some one else. I hardly like to tell you, sir; she +may give you a fright." + +"Why, what does the lad mean?--what are you making a mystery of now, +Johnny?" cried he, staring at me. "Give me a fright! I should like to +see any woman give me that. Is it Mrs. Scott, or is it not?" + +"It is some one we thought dead, sir." + +"Now, Johnny, don't be a muff. Somebody you thought dead! What on +earth's come to you, lad? Speak out!" + +"It is Nash Caromel's first wife, sir: Charlotte Tinkle." + +The pater gazed at me as a man bereft of reason. I don't believe he +knew whether he stood on his head or his heels. "Charlotte Tinkle!" he +exclaimed, backing against the curtain. "What, come to life, Johnny?" + +"Yes, sir, and she wants to see you. Perhaps she has never been dead." + +"Bless my heart and mind! Bring her in." + +The first thing Charlotte the First did when she came in and the Squire +clasped her by her two hands, was to burst into a fit of sobbing. Some +wine stood on the sideboard; the Squire poured her out a glass, and she +untied the strings of her bonnet as she sat down. + +"If I might take it off for a minute?" she said. "I have had it on all +the way from Liverpool." + +"Do so, my dear. Goodness me! I think I must be in a dream. And so you +are not dead!" + +"Yes, I knew it was what you must have all been thinking," she answered, +stifling her sobs. "Poor Nash!--what a dreadful thing it is! I cannot +imagine how the misconception can have arisen." + +"What misconception?" asked the pater, whose wits, once gone a +wool-gathering, rarely came back in a hurry. + +"That I had died." + +"Why, that friend of yours with whom you were staying--Bunn--Munn--which +was it, Johnny?--wrote to tell your husband so." + +Mrs. Nash Caromel, sitting there in the twilight, her brown hair as +smooth as ever and her eyes as meek, looked at the Squire in surprise. + +"Oh no, that could not have been; Mr. Munn would not be likely to write +anything of the sort. Impossible." + +"But, my dear lady, I read the letter. Your husband brought it to me as +soon as it reached him. You remained at San Francisco, very ill after +Nash's departure, and you got no better, and died at last of low fever." + +She shook her head. "I was very poorly indeed when Nash left, but I grew +better shortly. I had no low fever, and I certainly did not die." + +"Then why did Munn write it?" + +"He did not write it. He could not have written it. I am quite certain +of that. He and his wife are my very good and dear friends, and most +estimable people." + +"The letter certainly came to your husband," persisted the Squire. "I +read it with my own eyes. It was dated San Francisco, and signed Francis +Munn." + +"Then it was a forgery. But why any one should have written it, or +troubled themselves about me and my husband at all, I cannot imagine." + +"And then, Nash--Nash---- Good gracious, what a complication!" cried the +Squire, breaking off what he meant to say, as the thought of Charlotte +Nave crossed his mind. + +"I know," she quietly put in: "Nash has married again." + +It was a complication, and no mistake, all things considered. The Squire +rubbed up his hair and deliberated, and then bethought himself that it +might be as well to keep the servants out of the room. So I went to tell +old Thomas that the master was particularly engaged with a friend, and +no one was to come in unless rung for. Then I ran upstairs to whisper +the news to the mother--and it pretty nearly sent her into a fit of +hysterics. + +Charlotte Caromel was entering on her history to the Squire when I got +back. "Yes," she said, "I and my husband went to California, having +found little luck in America. Nash made one or two ventures there also, +but nothing seemed to succeed; not as well even as it did in America, +and he resolved to go back there, and try at something or other again. +He sailed for New York, leaving me in San Francisco with Francis Munn +and his wife; for I had been ill, and was not strong enough for the +tedious voyage. The Munns kept a dry-goods store at San Francisco, +and----" + +"A dry-goods store!" interrupted the Squire. + +"Yes. You cannot afford to be fastidious over there; and to be in trade +is looked upon as an honour, rather than the contrary. Francis Munn +was the youngest son of a country gentleman in England; he went to +California to make his fortune at anything that might turn up; and it +ended in his marrying and keeping a store. They made plenty of money, +and were very kind to me and Nash. Well, Nash started for New York, +leaving me with them, and he wrote to me soon after his arrival there. +Things were looking gloomy in the States, he said, and he felt inclined +to take a run over to England, and ask his brother Miles to help him +with some money. I wrote back a letter in duplicate, addressing one to +the agents' in New York, the other to Caromel's Farm--not knowing, you +perceive, in which place he might be. No answer reached me--but people +think little of the safety of letters out there, so many seem to +miscarry. We fancied Nash might be coming back to San Francisco and did +not trouble himself to write: like me, he is not much of a scribe. But +the months went on, and he did not come; he neither came nor wrote." + +"What did you think hindered him?" + +"We did not know what to think--except, as I say, that the letters had +miscarried. One day Mr. Munn brought in a file of English newspapers for +me and his wife to read: and in one of them I saw an announcement that +puzzled me greatly--the marriage of one Nash Caromel, of Caromel's Farm, +to Charlotte Nave. Just at first it startled me; I own that; but I +felt so sure it could not be my Nash, my husband, that I remained only +puzzled to know what Nash Caromel it could be." + +"There is only one Nash Caromel," growled the Squire, half inclined to +tell her she was a simpleton--taking things in this equable way. + +"I only knew of him; but I thought he must have some relative, a cousin +perhaps, of the same name, of whom I had not heard. However," continued +Charlotte, "I wrote then to Caromel's Farm, telling Nash what we had +read, and asking him what it meant, and where he was. But that letter +shared the fate of the former one, and obtained no reply. In the course +of time we saw another announcement--The wife of Nash Caromel of a son. +Still I did not believe it could be my Nash, but I could see that Mr. +Munn did believe it was. At least he thought there was something strange +about it all, especially our not hearing from Nash: and at length I +determined to come home and see about it." + +"You must have been a long time coming," remarked the Squire. "The child +is fifteen months old." + +"But you must remember that often we did not get news until six months +after its date. And I chose a most unfortunate route--overland from +California to New York." + +"What on earth---- Why, people are sometimes a twelvemonth or so doing +that!" cried the Squire. "There are rocky mountains to scale, as I've +heard and read, and Red Indians to encounter, and all sorts of horrors. +Those who undertake it travel in bands, do they not? and are called +pilgrims, and some of them don't get to the end of the journey alive." + +"True," she sighed. "I would never have attempted it had I known what it +would be: but I did so dread the sea. Several of us were laid up midway, +and had to be left behind at a small settlement: one or two died. It was +a long, long time, and only after surmounting great discomforts and +difficulties, we reached New York." + +"Well?" said the Squire. It must be remembered that they were speaking +of days now gone by, when the journey was just what she described it. + +"I could hear nothing of my husband in New York," she resumed, "except +that Abraham Whitter believed him to be at home here. I took the steamer +for Liverpool, landed at dawn this morning, and came on by rail. And I +find it is my husband who is married. And what am I to do?" + +She melted away into tears again. The Squire told her that she must +present herself at the farm; she was its legal mistress, and Nash +Caromel's true wife. But she shook her head at this: she wouldn't bring +any such trouble upon Nash for the world, as to show him suddenly that +she was living. What he had done he must have done unwittingly, she +said, believing her to be dead, and he ought not to suffer for it more +than could be helped. Which was a lenient way of reasoning that put the +Squire's temper up. + +"He deserves no quarter, ma'am, and _I_ will not give it him if you do. +Within a week of the time he heard of your death he went and took that +Charlotte Nave. Though I expect it was she who took him--brazen hussy! +And I am glad you have come to put her out!" + +But, nothing would induce Charlotte the First to assume this view, or to +admit that blame could attach to Nash. Once he had lost her by death, he +had a right to marry again, she contended. As to the haste--well, she +had been dead (as he supposed) a great many months when he heard of it, +and that should be considered. The Squire exploded, and walked about +the room, and rubbed his hair the wrong way, and thought her no better +than an imbecile. + +Mrs. Todhetley came in, and there was a little scene. Charlotte declined +our offer of a bed and refreshment, saying she would like to go to her +mother's for the night: she felt that she should be received gladly, +though they had parted in anger and had held no communication with one +another since. + +Gladly? ay, joyfully. Little doubt of that. So the Squire put on his +hat, and she her bonnet, and away they started, and I with them. + +We took the lonely path across the fields: her appearance might have +raised a stir in the highway. Charlotte was but little altered, and +would have been recognized at once. And I have no space to tell of the +scene at Mrs. Tinkle's, which was as good as a play, or of the way they +rushed into one another's arms. + +"Johnny, there's something on my mind," said the Squire in a low tone as +we were going back towards home: and he was looking grave and silent as +a judge. "Do you remember those two foreign letters we chanced to see of +Nash Caromel's, with the odd handwriting, all quavers and tails?" + +"Yes, I do, sir. They were ship letters." + +"Well, lad, a very ugly suspicion has come into my head, and I can't +drive it away. I believe those two letters were from Charlotte--the two +she speaks of--I believe the handwriting which puzzled me was hers. Now, +if so, Nash went to the altar with that other Charlotte, knowing this +one was alive: for the first letter came the day before the marriage." + +I did not answer. But I remembered what I had overheard Nave the lawyer +say to Nash Caromel: "You must marry her: where there's a will there's +a way"--or words to that effect. Had Nave concocted the letters which +pretended to tell of Mrs. Nash Caromel's death, and got them posted to +Nash from New York? + +With the morning, the Squire was at Caromel's Farm. The old-fashioned +low house, the sun shining on its quaint windows, looked still and quiet +as he walked up to the front-door across the grass-plat, in the middle +of which grew a fine mulberry-tree. The news of Charlotte's return, as +he was soon to find, had travelled to it already; had spread to the +village. For she had been recognized the night before on her arrival; +and her boxes, left in charge of a porter, bore her full name, Mrs. Nash +Caromel. + +Nash stood in that little library of his in a state of agitation not to +be described; he as good as confessed, when the Squire tackled him, that +he _had_ known his wife might have been alive, and that it was all +Nave's doings. At least he suspected that the letter, telling of her +death, might be a forgery. + +"Anyway, you had a letter from her the day before you married, so you +must have known it by that," cried the Squire; who had so much to do +always with the Caromel family that he deemed it his duty to interfere. +"What on earth could have possessed you?" + +"I--was driven into a corner," gasped Nash. + +"I'd be driven into fifty corners before I'd marry two wives," retorted +the Squire. "And now, sir, what do you mean to do?" + +"I can't tell," answered Nash. + +"A pretty kettle of fish this is! What do you suppose your father would +have said to it?" + +"I'm sure I can't tell," repeated Nash helplessly, biting his lips to +get some life into them. + +"And what's the matter with your hands that they are so hot and white?" + +Nash glanced at his hands, and hid them away in his pockets. He looked +like a man consumed by inward fever. + +"I have not been over well for some time past," said he. + +"No wonder--with the consciousness of this discovery hanging over your +head! It might have sent some men into their graves." + +Nash drummed upon the window pane. What in the world to do, what to say, +evidently he knew not. + +"You must put away this Jez--this lady," went on the Squire. "It was she +who bewitched you; ay, and set herself out to do it, as all the parish +saw. Let her go back to her father: you might make some provision for +her: and instal your wife here in her proper place. Poor thing! she is +so meek and patient! She won't hear a word said against you; thinks you +are a saint. _I_ think you a scoundrel, Nash: and I tell you so to your +face." + +The door had slowly opened; somebody, who had been outside, listening, +put in her head. A very pretty head, and that's the truth, surmounting +a fashionable morning costume of rose-coloured muslin, all flounces and +furbelows. It was Charlotte the Second. The Squire had called her a +brazen hussy behind her back; he had much ado this morning not to call +her so to her face. + +"What's that I hear you saying to my husband, Mr. Todhetley--that he +should discard me and admit that creature here! How dare you bring your +pernicious counsels into this house?" + +"Why, bless my heart, he is her husband, madam; he is not yours. You'd +not stay here yourself, surely!" + +"This is my home, and he is _my_ husband, and my child is his heir; and +that woman may go back over the seas whence she came. Is it not so, +Nash? Tell him." + +She put her hand on Nash's shoulder, and he tried to get out something +or other in obedience to her. He was as much under her finger and thumb +as Punch in the street is under the showman's. The Squire went into a +purple heat. + +"You married him by craft, madam--as I believe from my very soul: you +married him, knowing, you and your father also, that his wife was alive. +He knew it, too. The motive must have been one of urgency, I should say, +but I've nothing to do with that----" + +"Nor with any other business of ours," she answered with a brazen face. + +"This business is mine, and all Church Dykely's," flashed the Squire. +"It is public property. And now, I ask you both, what you mean to do in +this dilemma you have brought upon yourselves? His wife is waiting to +come in, and you cannot keep her out." + +"She shall never come in; I tell you that," flashed Charlotte the +Second. "She sent word to him that she was dead, and she must abide +by it; from that time she was dead to him, dead for ever. Mr. Caromel +married me equally in the eyes of the world: and here I shall stay with +him, his true and lawful wife." + +The Squire rubbed his face; the torrent of words and the heat made it +glisten. + +"Stay here, would you, madam! What luck do you suppose would come of +that?" + +"Luck! I have quite as much luck as I require. Nash, why do you not +request this--this gentleman to leave us?" + +"Why, he _dare_ not keep you here," cried the Squire, passing over the +last compliment. "He would be prosecuted for--you know what." + +"Let him be prosecuted! Let the wicked woman do her worst. Let her bring +an action, and we'll defend it. I have more right to him than she has. +Mr. Caromel, _do_ you wish to keep up this interview until night?" + +"Perhaps you had better go now, Squire," put in the man pleadingly. +"I--I will consult Nave, and see what's to be done. She may like to go +back to California, to the Munns; the climate suited her: and--and an +income might be arranged." + +This put the finishing stroke to the Squire's temper. He flung out of +the room with a few unorthodox words, and came home in a tantrum. + +We had had times of commotion at Church Dykely before, but this affair +capped all. The one Mrs. Nash Caromel waiting to go into her house, and +the other Mrs. Nash Caromel refusing to go out of it to make room for +her. The Squire was right when saying it was public property: the public +made it theirs. Tongues pitched into Nash Caromel in the fields and in +the road: but some few of us pitied him, thinking what on earth we could +do ourselves in a like position. While old Jones the constable stalked +briskly about, expecting to get a warrant for taking up the master of +Caromel's Farm. + +But the great drawback to instituting legal proceedings lay with Mrs. +Nash Caromel the First. She declined to prosecute. Her husband might +refuse to receive her; might hold himself aloof from her; might keep his +second wife by his side; but she would never hurt a hair of his head. +Heaven might bring things round in its own good time, she said; +meanwhile she would submit--and bear. + +And she held to this, driving indignant men distracted. They argued, +they persuaded, they remonstrated; it was said that one or two +strong-minded ones _swore_. All the same. She stayed on at her mother's, +and would neither injure her husband herself, nor let her family injure +him. Henry Tinkle, her brother, chanced to be from home (as he was when +she had run away to be married), or he might have acted in spite of her. +And, when this state of things had continued for two or three weeks, the +world began to call it a "crying scandal." As to Nash Caromel, he did +not show his face abroad. + +"Not a day longer shall the fellow retain my money," said the pater, +speaking of the twelve hundred pounds he had lent to Nash: and in fact +the term it had been lent for was already up. But it is easier to make +such a threat than to enforce it; and it is not everybody who can +extract twelve hundred pounds at will from uncertain coffers. Any way +the Squire found he could not. He wrote to Nash, demanding its return; +and he wrote to Nave. + +Nash did not answer him at all. Nave's clerk sent a semi-insolent +letter, saying Mr. Caromel should be communicated with when occasion +offered. The Squire wrote in a rage to his lawyer at Worcester, bidding +him enforce the repayment. + +"You two lads can take the letter to the post," said he. + +But we had not got many yards from home when we heard the Squire coming +after us. We all walked into Church Dykely together; and close to the +post-office, which was at Dame Chad's shop, we met Duffham. Of course +the Squire, who could not keep anything in had he been bribed to do it, +told Duffham what steps he was about to take. + +"Going to enforce payment," nodded Duffham. "The man deserves no +quarter. But he is ill." + +"Serve him right. What's the matter with him?" + +"Nervous fever. Has fretted or frightened himself into it. Report says +that he is very ill indeed." + +"Don't you attend him?" + +"Not I. I did not please madam at the time the boy was born--would not +give in to some of her whims and fancies. They have called in that new +doctor who has settled in the next parish, young Bluck." + +"Why, he is no better than an apothecary's boy, that young Bluck! +Caromel can't be very ill, if they have him." + +"So ill, that, as I have just heard, he is in great danger--likely to +die," replied Duffham, tapping his cane against the ledge of Dame Chad's +window. "Bluck's young, but he is clever." + +"Bless my heart! Likely to die! What, Nash Caromel! Here, you lads, if +that's it, I won't annoy him just now about the money, so don't post the +letter." + +"It is posted," said Tod. "I have just put it in." + +"Go in and explain to Dame Chad, and get it out again. Or, stay; the +letter can go, and I'll write and say it's not to be acted on until +he is well again. Nervous fever! I'm afraid his conscience has been +pricking him." + +"I hope it has," said Duffham. + + +II. + +A few days went on. Nash Caromel lay in the greatest danger. Nave was at +the farm day and night. A physician was called in from a distance to aid +young Bluck; but it was understood that there remained very little hope +of recovery. We began to feel sorry for Nash and to excuse his offences, +the Squire especially. It was all that strong-minded young woman's +doings, said he; she had drawn him into her toils, and he had not had +the pluck, first or last, to escape from them. + +But a change for the better took place; Nash passed the crisis, and +would probably, with care, recover. I think every one felt glad; one +does not wish a fellow quite to die, though he has misinterpreted the +laws on the ticklish subject of matrimony. And the Squire felt vexed +later when he learned that his lawyer had disregarded his countermanding +letter and sent a peremptory threat to Nash of enforcing instant +proceedings, unless the money was repaid forthwith. That was not the +only threat conveyed to Caromel's Farm. Harry Tinkle returned; and, +despite his sister's protestations, took the matter into his own hands, +and applied for the warrant that had been so much talked about. As +soon as Nash Caromel could leave his bed, he would be taken before the +magistrates. + +Soon a morning came that we did not forget in a hurry. While dressing +with the window open to the white flowers of the trailing jessamine and +the sweet perfume of the roses, blooming in the warm September air, Tod +came in, fastening his braces. + +"I say, Johnny, here's the jolliest lark! The pater----" + +And what the lark was, I don't know to this day. At that moment the +passing-bell tolled out--three times three; its succession of quick +strokes following it. The wind blew in our direction from the church, +and it sounded almost as though it were in the room. + +"Who can be dead?" cried Tod, stretching his neck out at the window to +listen. "Was any one ill, Jenkins?" he called to the head-gardener, then +coming up the path with a barrow; "do you know who that bell's tolling +for?" + +"It's for Mr. Caromel," answered Jenkins. + +"What?" shouted Tod. + +"It's tolling for Mr. Caromel, sir. He died in the night." + +It was a shock to us all. The Squire, pocketing his indignation against +madam and the Nave family in general, went over to the farm after +breakfast, and saw Miss Gwendolen Nave, who was staying with her sister. +They called her Gwinny. + +"We heard that he was better--going on so well," gasped the Squire. + +"So he was until a day or two ago," said Miss Gwinny, holding her +handkerchief to her eyes. "Very well indeed until then--when it turned +to typhus." + +"Goodness bless me!" cried the Squire, an unpleasant feeling running +through him. "Typhus!" + +"Yes, I am sorry to say." + +"Is it safe to be here? Safe for you all?" + +"Of course it is a risk. We try not to be afraid, and have sent as many +out of the house as we could. I and the old servant Grizzel alone remain +with Mrs. Caromel. The baby has gone to papa's." + +"Dear me, dear me! I was intending to ask to look at poor Nash; we have +known each other always, you see. But, perhaps it would not be prudent." + +"It would be very imprudent, Mr. Todhetley. The sickness was of the +worst type; it might involve not only your own death, but that of +others to whom you might in turn carry it. You have a wife and children, +sir." + +"Yes, yes, quite right," rejoined the Squire. "Poor Nash! How is--your +sister?" He would not, even at that trying moment for them, call her +Mrs. Caromel. + +"Oh, she is very ill; shocked and grieved almost to death. For all we +know, she has taken the fever and may follow her husband; she attended +upon him to the last. I hope that woman, who came here to disturb the +peace of a happy family, that Charlotte Tinkle, will reap the fruit of +what she has sown, for it is all owing to her." + +"People do mostly reap the fruit of their own actions, whether they are +good or bad," observed the Squire to this, as he got up to leave. But he +would not add what he thought--that it was another Charlotte who ought +to reap what she had sown. And who appeared to be doing it. + +"Did the poor fellow suffer much?" + +"Not at the last," said Miss Gwinny. "His strength was gone, and he lay +for many hours insensible. Up to yesterday evening we thought he might +recover. Oh, it is a dreadful calamity!" + +Indeed it was. The Squire came away echoing the words in his heart. + +Three days later the funeral took place: it would not do to delay it +longer. The Squire went to it: when a man was dead, he thought animosity +should cease. Harry Tinkle would not go. Caromel, he said, had escaped +him and the law, to which he had rendered himself amenable, and nobody +might grumble at it, for it was the good pleasure of Heaven, but he +would not show Caromel respect, dead or living. + +All the parish seemed to have been bidden to the funeral. Some went, +some did not go. It looked a regular crowd, winding down the lawn and +down the avenue. Few ventured indoors; they preferred to assemble +outside: for an exaggerated fear of Caromel's Farm and what might be +caught in it, ran through the community. So, when the men came out of +the house, staggering under the black velvet pall with its deep white +border, followed by Lawyer Nave, the company fell up into line behind. + +Little Dun would have been the legal heir to the property had there been +no Charlotte the First. That complication stood in his way, and he could +no more inherit it than I could. Under the peculiar circumstances _there +was no male heir living_, and Nash Caromel, the last of his name, had +the power to make a will. Whether he had done so, or not, was not known; +but the question was set at rest after the return from the funeral. Nave +had gone strutting next the coffin as chief mourner, and he now produced +the will. Half-a-dozen gentlemen had entered, the Squire one of them. + +It was executed, the will, all in due form, having been drawn up by a +lawyer from a distance; not by Nave, who may have thought it as well to +keep his fingers out of the pie. A few days after the return of +Charlotte the First, when Nash first became ill, the strange lawyer was +called in, and the will was made. + +Caromel's Farm and every stick and stone upon it, and all other +properties possessed by Nash, were bequeathed to the little boy, Duncan +Nave (as it was worded), otherwise Duncan Nave Caromel. Not to him +unconditionally, but to be placed in the hands of trustees for his +ultimate benefit. The child's mother (called in the will Charlotte Nave, +otherwise Charlotte Caromel) was to remain at the farm if she pleased, +and to receive the yearly income derived from it for the mutual +maintenance of herself and child. When the child should be twenty-one, +he was to assume full possession, but his mother was at liberty to +continue to have her home with him. In short, they took all; Charlotte +Tinkle, nothing. + +"It is a wicked will," cried one of the hearers when they came out from +listening to it. + +"And it won't prosper them; you see if it does," added the Squire. "She +stands in the place of Charlotte Tinkle. The least Caromel could have +done, was to divide the property between them." + +So that was the apparent ending of the Caromel business, which had +caused the scandal in our quiet place, and a very unjust ending it was. +Charlotte Tinkle, who had not a sixpence of her own in the world, +remained on with her mother. She would come to church in her widow's +mourning, a grievous look of sorrow upon her meek face; people said she +would never get over the cruelty of not having been sent for to say +farewell to her husband when he was dying. + +As for Charlotte Nave, she stayed on at the farm without let or +hindrance, calling herself, as before, Mrs. Nash Caromel. She appeared +at church once in a way; not often. Her widow's veil was deeper than the +other widow's, and her goffered cap larger. Nobody took the fever: and +Nave the lawyer sent back the Squire's twelve hundred pounds within +a month of Nash's death. And that, I say, was the ending, as we all +supposed, of the affair at Caromel's Farm. + +But curious complications were destined to crop up yet. + + +III. + +Nash Caromel died in September. And in how short, or long, a time it was +afterwards that a very startling report grew to be whispered, I cannot +remember; but I think it must have been at the turn of winter. The two +widows were deep in weeds as ever, but over Charlotte Nave a change had +come. And I really think I had better call them in future Charlotte +Tinkle and Charlotte Nave, or we may get in a fog between the two. + +Charlotte Nave grew pale and thin. She ruled the farm, as before, +with the deft hand of a capable woman, but her nature appeared to be +changing, her high spirits to have flown for ever. Instead of filling +the house with company, she secluded herself in it like a hermit, being +scarcely ever seen abroad. Ill-natured people, quoting Shakespeare, said +the thorns, which in her bosom lay, did prick and sting her. + +It was reported that the fear of the fever had taken a haunting hold +upon her. She could not get rid of it. Which was on-reasonable, as Nurse +Picker phrased it; for if she'd ha' been to catch it, she'd ha' caught +it at the time. It was not for herself alone she feared it, but for +others, though she did fear it for herself still, very much indeed. An +impression lay on her mind that the fever was not yet out of the house, +and never would be out of it, and that any fresh person, coming in to +reside, would be liable to take it. More than once she was heard to say +she would give a great deal not to be tied to the place--but the farm +could not get on without a head. Before Nash died, when it was known the +disorder had turned to typhus, she had sent all the servants (except +Grizzel) and little Dun out of the house. She would not let them come +back to it. Dun stayed at the lawyer's; the servants in time got other +situations. The gardener's wife went in by day to help old Grizzel with +the work, and some of the out-door men lived in the bailiff's house. +Nave let out one day that he had remonstrated with his daughter in vain. +Some women are cowards in these matters; they can't help being so; and +the inward fear, perpetually tormenting them, makes a havoc of their +daily lives. But in this case the fear had grown to an exaggerated +height. In short, not to mince the matter, it was suspected her brain, +on that one point, was unhinged. + +Miss Gwinny could not leave her. Another sister, Harriet Nave, had come +to her father's house, to keep it and take care of little Dun. Dun +was allowed to go into the grounds of the farm and to play under the +mulberry-tree on the lawn; and once or twice on a wet day, it was said, +his mother had taken him into the parlour that opened with glass-doors, +but she never let him run the risk of going in farther. At last old +Nave, as was reported, consulted a mad doctor about her, going all the +way to Droitwich to do it. + +But all this had nothing to do with the startling rumour I spoke of. +Things were in this condition when it first arose. It was said that Nash +Caromel "came again." + +At first the whisper was not listened to, was ridiculed, laughed at: but +when one or two credible witnesses protested they had seen him, people +began to talk, and then to say there must be something in it. + +A little matter that had occurred soon after the funeral, was remembered +then. Nash Caromel had used to wear on his watch-chain a small gold +locket with his own and his wife's hair in it. I mean his real wife. +Mrs. Tinkle wrote a civil note to the mistress of Caromel's Farm asking +that the locket might be restored to her daughter--whose property it in +fact was. She did not receive any answer, and wrote again. The second +letter was returned to Mrs. Tinkle in a blank envelope with a wide black +border. + +Upon this, Harry Tinkle took up the matter. Stretching a point for his +sister, who was pining for the locket and Nash's bit of hair in it, +for she possessed no memento at all of her husband, he called at the +farm and saw the lady. Some hard words passed between them: she was +contemptuously haughty; and he was full of inward indignation, not only +at the general treatment accorded to his sister, but also at the unjust +will. At last, stung by some sneering contumely she openly cast upon his +sister, he retorted in her own coin--answering certain words of hers-- + +"I hope his ghost will haunt you, you false woman!" Meaning, you know, +the ghost of the dead man. + +People recalled these words of Harry Tinkle's now, and began to look +upon them (spoken by one of the injured Tinkles) in the light of +prophecy. What with this, and what with their private belief that Nash +Caromel's conscience would hardly allow him to rest quietly in his +grave, they thought it very likely that his ghost _was_ haunting her, +and only hoped it would not haunt the parish. + +Was this the cause of the change apparent in her? Could it be that Nash +Caromel's spirit returned to the house in which he died, and that she +could not rest for it? Was this the true reason, and not the fever, why +she kept the child and the servants out of the house?--lest they should +be scared by the sight? Gossips shivered as they whispered to one +another of these unearthly doubts, which soon grew into a belief. But +you must understand that never a syllable had been heard from herself, +or a hint given, that Caromel's Farm was troubled by anything of the +kind; neither did she know, or was likely to hear, that it was talked of +abroad. Meanwhile, as the time slipped on, every now and then something +would occur to renew the report--that Nash Caromel had been seen. + +One afternoon, during a ride, the Squire's horse fell lame. On his +return he sent for Dobbs, the blacksmith and farrier. Dobbs promised to +be over about six o'clock; he was obliged to go elsewhere first. When +six o'clock struck, the Squire, naturally impatient, began to look out +for Dobbs. And if he sent Thomas out of the room once during dinner, to +see whether the man had arrived, he sent him half-a-dozen times. + +Seven o'clock, and no Dobbs. The pater was in a fume; he did nothing +but walk to and fro between the house and the stables, and call Dobbs +names as he looked out for him. At last, there came a rush across the +fold-yard, and Dobbs appeared, his face looking very peculiar, and his +hair standing up in affright, like a porcupine's quills. + +"Why, what on earth has taken you?" began the Squire, surprised out of +the reproach that had been upon his tongue. + +"I don't know what has taken me," gasped Dobbs. "Except that I've seen +Mr. Nash Caromel." + +"What?" roared the Squire, his surprise changing to anger. + +"As true as I'm a living man, I've seen him, sir," persisted Dobbs, +wiping his face with a blue cotton handkerchief. "I've seen his shadow." + +"Seen the Dickens!" retorted the Squire, slightingly. "One would think +_he_ was after you, by the way you flew up here. I wonder you are not +ashamed of yourself, Dobbs." + +"Being later than I thought to be, sir, I took the field way; it's a bit +shorter," went on Dobbs, attempting to explain. "In passing through that +little copse at the back of Caromel's Farm, I met a curious-looking +shadow of a figure that somehow startled me. May I never stir from this +spot, sir, if it was not Caromel himself." + +"You have been drinking, Dobbs." + +"A strapping pace I was going at, knowing I was being waited for here," +continued Dobbs, too much absorbed in his story to heed the sarcasm. "I +never saw Mr. Nash Caromel plainer in his lifetime than I saw him then, +sir. Drinking? No, that I had not been, Squire; the place where I went +to is teetotal. It was up at the Glebe, and they don't have nothing +stronger in their house than tea. They gave me two good cups of that." + +"Tea plays some people worse tricks than drink, especially if it is +green," observed the Squire: and I am bound to confess that Dobbs, +apart from his state of fright, seemed as sober as we were. "I wouldn't +confess myself a fool, Dobbs, if I were you." + +Dobbs put out his brawny right arm. "Master," said he, with quite a +solemn emphasis, "as true as that there moon's a-shining down upon us, +I this night saw Nash Caromel. I should know him among a thousand. +And I thought my heart would just ha' leaped out of me." + +To hear this strong, matter-of-fact man assert this, with his sturdy +frame and his practical common sense, sounded remarkable. Any one +accustomed to seeing him in his forge, working away at his anvil, would +never have believed it of him. Tod laughed. The Squire marched off to +the stables with an impatient word. I followed with Dobbs. + +"The idea of your believing in ghosts and shadows, Dobbs!" + +"Me believe in 'em, Master Johnny! No more I did; I'd have scorned it. +Why, do you remember that there stir, sir, about the ghost that was said +to haunt Oxlip Dell? Lots of people went into fits over that, a'most +lost their heads; but I laughed at it. Now, I never put credit in +nothing of the kind; but I have seen Mr. Caromel's ghost to-night." + +"Was it in white?" + +"Bless your heart, sir, no. He was in a sort o' long-skirted dark cloak +that seemed to wrap him well round; and his head was in something black. +It might ha' been a cap; I don't know. And here we are at the stable, so +I'll say no more: but I can't ever speak anything truer in my life than +I've spoke this, sir." + +All this passed. In spite of the blacksmith's superstitious assertion, +made in the impulse of terror, there lay on his mind a feeling of shame +that he should have betrayed fear to us (or what bordered upon it) in an +unguarded moment; and this caused him to be silent to others. So the +matter passed off without spreading further. + +Several weeks later, it cropped up again. Francis Radcliffe (if the +reader has not forgotten him, and who had not long before been delivered +out of his brother's hands at Sandstone Torr) was passing along at the +back of Caromel's Farm, when he saw a figure that bore an extraordinary +resemblance to Nash Caromel. The Squire laughed well when told of it, +and Radcliffe laughed too. "But," said he, "had Nash Caromel not been +dead, I could have sworn it was he, or his shadow, before any justice of +the peace." + +His shadow! The same word that Dobbs had used. Francis Radcliffe told +this story everywhere, and it caused no little excitement. + +"What does this silly rumour mean--about Nash Caromel being seen?" +demanded the Squire one day when he met Nave, and condescended to stop +to speak to him. + +And Nave, hearing the question, turned quite blue: the pater told us so +when he came home. Just as though Nave saw the apparition before him +then, and was frightened at it. + +"The rumour is infamous," he answered, biting his cold lips to keep down +his passion. "Infamous and ridiculous both. Emanating from idle fools. I +think, sir, as a magistrate, you might order these people before you and +punish them." + +"Punish people for thinking they see Caromel's ghost!" retorted the +Squire. "Bless my heart! What an ignorant man (for a lawyer) you must +be! No act has been passed against seeing ghosts. But I'd like to know +what gives rise to the fancy about Caromel." + +The rumour did not die away. How could it, when from time to time the +thing continued to be seen? It frightened Mary Standish into a fit. +Going to Caromel's Farm one night to beg grace for something or other +that her ill-doing husband, Jim, then working on the farm, had done or +left undone, she came upon a wonderfully thin man standing in the nook +by the dairy window, and took him to be the bailiff, who was himself +no better than a walking lamp-post. "If you please, sir," she was +beginning, thinking to have it out with him instead of Mrs. Caromel, +"if you please, sir----" + +When, upon looking into his pale, stony face, she saw the late master. +He vanished into air or into the wall, and down fell Mary Standish in a +fainting-fit. The parish grew uneasy at all this--and wondered what had +been done to Nash, or what he had done, that he could not rest. + +One night I was coming, with Tod, across from Mrs. Scott's, who lived +beyond Hyde Stockhausem's. We took the field way from Church Dykely, as +being the shortest route, and that led us through the copse at the back +of Caromel's Farm. It was a very light night, though not moonlight; and +we walked on at a good rate, talking of a frightful scrape Sam Scott +had got into, and which he was afraid to tell his mother of. All in a +moment, just in the middle of the copse, we came upon a man standing +amongst the trees, his face towards us. Tod turned and I turned; and we +both saw Nash Caromel. Now, of course, you will laugh. As the Squire did +when we got home (in a white heat) and told him: and he called us a +couple of poltroons. But, if ever I saw the face of Nash Caromel, I saw +it then; and if ever I saw a figure that might be called a shadow, it +was his. + +"Fine gentlemen, both of you!" scoffed the Squire. "Clear and sensible! +Seen a ghost, have you, and confess to it! Ho, ho! Running through the +back copse, you come upon somebody that you must take for an apparition! +Ha, ha! Nice young cowards! I'd write an account of it to the Worcester +papers if I were you. A ghost, with glaring eyes and a white face! +Death's head upon a mopstick, lads! I shouldn't have wondered at Johnny; +but I do wonder at you, Joe," concluded the Squire, smoothing down. + +"I am no more afraid of ghosts than you are, father," quietly answered +Joe. "I was not afraid when we saw--what we did see; I can't answer for +Johnny. But I do declare, with all my senses (which you are pleased to +disparage) about me, that it was the form and face of Nash Caromel, and +that 'it' (whatever it might be) seemed to vanish from our sight as we +looked." + +"Johnny calls it a shadow," mocked the Squire, amiably. + +"It looked shadowy," said Tod. + +"A tree-trunk, I dare be bound, lads, nothing else," nodded the Squire. +And you might as well have tried to make an impression on a post. + + +IV. + +September came in: which made it a year since Nash died. And on one of +its bright days, when the sun was high, and the blue sky cloudless, +Church Dykely had a stir given it in the sight of the mistress of +Caromel's Farm. She and her father were in a gig together, driving off +on the Worcester road: and it was so very rare a thing to see her abroad +now, that folks ran to their windows and doors to stare. Her golden +hair, what could be seen of it for her smart blue parasol, shone in the +sunlight; but her face looked white and thin through the black crape +veil. + +"Just like a woman who gets disturbed o' nights," pronounced Sam Rimmer, +thinking of the ghostly presence that was believed to haunt the house. + +Before that day's beautiful sun had gone down to light the inhabitants +of the other hemisphere, ill-omened news reached Church Dykely. An +accident had happened to the horse and gig. It was said that both Nave +and his daughter were dreadfully injured; one of them nearly killed. +Miss Gwinny, left at home to take care of Caromel's Farm, posted off to +the scene of damage. + +Holding Caromel's Farm in small respect now, the Squire yet chose to +show himself neighbourly; and he rose up from his dinner to go there and +inquire particulars. "You may come with me, lads, if you like," said he. +Tod laughed. + +"He's afraid of seeing Caromel," whispered he in my ear, as we took down +our hats. + +And, whether the Squire was afraid of it or not, he did see him. It was +a lovely moonlight night, bright and clear as the day had been. Old +Grizzel could not tell us much more of the accident than we had heard +before; except that it was quite true there had been one, and that Miss +Gwinny had gone. And, by the way Grizzel inwardly shook and shivered +while she spoke, and turned her eyes to all corners in some desperate +fear, one might have thought she had been pitched out of a gig herself. + +We had left the door--it was the side-entrance--when the Squire turned +back to put some last query to her. Tod and I went on. The path was +narrow, the overhanging trees on either side obscured the moonlight, +making it dark. Chancing to glance round, I noticed the Squire, at the +other end of the path, come soberly after us. Suddenly he seemed to +halt, to look sideways at the trees, and then he came on with a bound. + +"Boys! Boys!" cried he, in a half-whisper, "come on. There's Caromel +yonder." + +And to see the pater's face in its steaming consternation, and to watch +him rush on to the gate, was better than a play. Seen Caromel! It was +not so long since he had mocked at us for saying it. + +Through the gate went he, bolt into the arms of some unexpected figure, +standing there. We peered at it in the uncertain lights cast by the +trees, and made it out to be Dobbs, the blacksmith. + +Dobbs, with a big coat on, hiding his shirt-sleeves and his leather +apron: Dobbs standing as silent as the grave: arms folded, head bent: +Dobbs in stockinged feet, without his shoes. + +"Dobbs, my good fellow, what on earth do you put yourself in people's +way for, standing stock-still like a Chinese image?" gasped the Squire. +"Dobbs--why, you have no boots on." + +"Hush!" breathed Dobbs, hardly above his breath. "I ask your pardon, +Squire. Hush, please! There's something uncanny in this place; some ugly +mystery. I mean to find it out if I can, sirs, and this is the third +night I've come here on the watch. Hark!" + +Sounds, as of a woman's voice weeping and wailing, reached us faintly +from somewhere--down beyond the garden trees. The pater looked regularly +flustered. + +"Listen!" repeated Dobbs, raising his big hand to entreat for silence. +"Yes, Squire; I don't know what the mystery is; but there is something +wrong about the place, and I can't sleep o' nights for it. Please +hearken, sirs." + +The blacksmith was right. Wrong and mystery, such as the world does not +often hear of, lay within Caromel's Farm. Curious mystery; wicked wrong. +Leaning our arms on the gate, watching the moonlight flickering on the +trees, we listened to Dobbs's whispered revelation. It made the Squire's +hair stand on end. + + + + +THE LAST OF THE CAROMELS. + + +I. + +When a house is popularly allowed to be haunted, and its inmates grow +thin and white and restless, it is not the best place in the world for +children: and this was supposed by Church Dykely to be the reason why +Mrs. Nash Caromel the Second had never allowed her child to come home +since the death of its father. At first it was said that she would not +risk having him lest he should catch the fever Nash had died of: but, +when the weeks went on, and the months went on, and years (so far as +could be seen) were likely to go on, and still the child was kept away, +people put it down to the other disagreeable fact. + +Any way, Mrs. Nash Caromel--or Charlotte Nave, as you please--did not +have the boy home. Little Dun was kept at his grandfather's, Lawyer +Nave; and Miss Harriet Nave took care of him: the other sister, Gwinny, +remaining at Caromel's Farm. Towards the close of spring, the spring +which followed the death of Nash, when Dun was about two years old, he +caught whooping-cough and had it badly. In August he was sent for change +of air to a farm called the Rill, on the other side of Pershore, Miss +Harriet Nave taking the opportunity to go jaunting off elsewhere. The +change of air did the child good, and he was growing strong quickly, +when one night early in September croup attacked him, and he lay in +great danger. News of it was sent to his mother in the morning. It drove +her nearly wild with fear, and she set off for the Rill in a gig, her +father driving it: as already spoken of. So rare was the sight of her +now, for she kept indoors at Caromel's Farm as a snail keeps to its +shell, that no wonder Church Dykely thought it an event, and talked of +it all the day. + +Mr. Nave and his daughter reached the Rill--which lay across country, +somewhere between Pershore and Wyre--in the course of the morning, and +found little Dun gasping with croup, and inhaling steam from a kettle. +Moore told us there was nothing half so sweet in life as love's young +dream; but to Charlotte Nave, otherwise Caromel, there was nothing sweet +at all except this little Dun. He was the light of her existence; the +apple of her eye, to put it poetically. She sat down by the bed-side, +her pale face (so pale and thin to what it used to be) bent lovingly +upon him, and wiping away the tears by stealth that came into her eyes. +In the afternoon Dun was better; but the doctor would not say he was out +of danger. + +"If I could but stay here for the night! I can't bear to leave him," +Charlotte snatched an opportunity to say to her father, when their +friends, the farmer and his wife, were momentarily occupied. + +"But you can't, you know," returned Lawyer Nave. "You must be home by +sunset." + +"By sunset? Nay, an hour after that would do." + +"No, it will not do. Better be on the safe side." + +"It seems _cruel_ that I should have to leave him," she exclaimed, with +a sob. + +"Nonsense, Charlotte! The child will do as well without you as with you. +You may see for yourself how much better he is. The farm cannot be left +to itself at night: remember that. We must start in half-an-hour." + +No more was said. Nave went to see about getting ready the gig; +Charlotte, all down in the dumps, stayed with the little lad, and let +him pull about as he would her golden hair, and drank her tea by his +side. Mr. and Mrs. Smith (good hospitable people, who had stood by +Charlotte Nave through good report and ill report, believing no ill of +her) pressed her to stay all night, promising, however, that every care +should be taken of Duncan, if she did not. + +"My little darling must be a good child and keep warm in bed, and when +mamma comes in the morning he will be nearly well," breathed Charlotte, +showering tears and kisses upon him when the last moment had come. And, +with that, she tore herself away. + +"Such a pity that you should have to go!" said Mrs. Smith, stepping to +the door with her. "I think Gwendolen and old Grizzel might have been +left for one night: they'd not have run away, nor the house neither. +Come over as soon as you can in the morning, my dear; and see if you +can't make arrangements to stay a day or two." + +They were starting from the back-door, as being the nearest and +handiest; Nave, already in the gig, seemed in a rare hurry to be off. +Mr. Smith helped Charlotte up: and away the lawyer drove, across the +fold-yard, one of the farm-boys holding the outer gate open for them. +The sun, getting down in the west, shone right in their eyes. + +"Oh dear, I have left my parasol!" cried Charlotte, just as they reached +the gate. "I must have it: my blue parasol!" And Nave, giving an angry +growl to parasols in general, pulled the horse up. + +"You need not get out, hindering time!" growled he. "Call out for it. +Here, Smith! Mrs. Caromel has forgotten her blue parasol." But the +farmer, then nearing the house, did not hear. + +"I'll run for it, ma'am," said the lad. And he set off to do so, leaving +the gate to itself. Charlotte, who had been rising to get out, looked +back to watch him; the lawyer looked back to shout again, in his +impatience, to Mr. Smith. Their faces were both turned from the side +where the gate was, and they did not see what was about to happen. + +The gate, swinging slowly and noiselessly forward, touched the horse, +which had been standing sideways, his head turned to see what the +stoppage might be about. + +Touched him, and startled him. Bounding upwards, he tore forward down +the narrow lane on which the gate opened; tried to scale a bank, and +pitched the lawyer and Charlotte out of the gig. + +The farmer, and as many of his people as could be gathered at the +moment, came running down, some of them armed with pitchforks. Nave was +groaning as he lay; Charlotte was insensible. Just at first they thought +her dead. Both were carried back to the Rill on hurdles, and the doctor +was sent for. After which, Mr. Smith started off a man on horseback to +tell the ill-news of the accident at Caromel Farm. + +Ill-news. No doubt a bad and distressing accident. But now, see how +curiously the "power that shapes our ends" brings things about. But for +that accident, the mystery and the wrong being played out at Caromel's +Farm might never have had daylight thrown upon it. The accident, like a +great many other accidents, must have been sent to this wise and good +end. At least, so far as we, poor blind mortals that we all are, down +here, might presume to judge. + +The horseman, clattering in at a hard pace to Caromel's Farm, delivered +to Miss Gwendolen Nave, and to Grizzel, the old family servant, the +tidings he was charged with--improving upon them as a thing of course. + +Lawyer Nave, he were groaning awful, all a-bleeding, and unable to move +a limb. The young lady, she were dead; leastways, looked like it. + +With a scream and a cry, Gwendolen gave orders for her own departure. +Seeking the bailiff, she bade him drive her over in the tax-cart, there +being no second gig. + +"Now mind, Grizzel," she said, laying hold of the old woman's arm after +flinging on her bonnet and shawl anyhow, "you will lock all the doors as +soon as I am gone, and take out the keys. Do you hear?" + +"I hear, Miss Gwinny. My will's good to do it: you know that." + +"Take care that you _do_ do it." + +Fine tidings to go flying about Church Dykely in the twilight! Lawyer +Nave half killed, his daughter quite. The news reached us at Dyke +Manor; and Squire Todhetley, though holding Caromel's Farm in little +estimation, thought it only neighbourly to walk over there and inquire +how much was true, how much not. You remember what happened. That in +leaving the farm after interviewing Grizzel, we found ourselves in +contact with Dobbs the blacksmith. Dobbs standing stock-still, like a +marble pillar, outside the gate under the dark, overhanging trees; Dobbs +standing on the watch, in a stealthy, mysterious manner, without his +boots. + +"But what on earth are you here for, Dobbs?" reiterated the Squire. +"Where are your boots?" + +And all Dobbs did for answer, was to lay his hand respectfully on the +Squire's coat-sleeve to begin with, so as to prevent his running away. +Then he entered upon his whispered tale. Leaning our arms upon the low +gate, we listened to it, and to the curious sound of weeping and wailing +that stole faintly on our ears from amongst the garden trees. The scene +altogether looked weird enough in the moonlight, flickering through the +rustling leaves. + +Dobbs, naturally an unbeliever in ghosts, had grown to think that this +ghost, so long talked of, was no ghost at all, but some one got up to +resemble one by Caromel's Farm, for some mysterious purpose of its own. +Remembering his attack of fright, and resenting it excessively, Dobbs +determined if possible to unearth the secret: and this was the third +night he had come upon the watch. + +"But why stand without your boots?" whispered the Squire, who could not +get over the shoeless feet. + +"That I may make no noise in running to pounce upon him, sir," Dobbs +whispered back. "I take 'em off and hide 'em in the copse behind here. +They be just at your back, Master Johnny." + +"Pounce upon whom?" demanded the Squire. "Can't you speak plainly?" + +"That's what I'd like to know," breathed Dobbs. "I feel nearly sure, +Squire, that the--the thing looking like Nash Caromel is not Nash +Caromel. Nor his ghost, either." + +"I never saw two faces more alike, and I have just seen it now," put in +the Squire. "At least, as much as a shadow can look like a face." + +"Ay," assented Dobbs. "I'm as sure, sir, as I am of my own forge, that +it is a likeness got up by Nave to scare us. And I'll _eat_ the forge," +added Dobbs with emphasis, "if there's not something worse than ghosts +at Caromel's Farm--though I can't guess what it is." + +"What a villain he must be: and Nave, too!" cried the Squire, rubbing +his red nose, while Tod simply stared at the man. "But, look here, +Dobbs--how could any man put on the face of Nash Caromel?" + +"I don't know how he does it, Squire, or what he does, but I'm good to +find out," returned the blacksmith. "And if--just hark there again, +sirs!" + +The same faint sounds of wailing, of entreaty in a woman's voice, rose +again upon the air. Dobbs, with a gesture to ask for silence, went +noiselessly down the dark path in his brown woollen stockings, that +looked thick enough for boots. Tod, eager for any adventure, stole after +him, and I brought up the rear. The Squire remained where he was, and +held the gate open, expecting perhaps that we might want to make a rush +through it as he had just done. + +Two minutes more, and the mystery was solved. Near the house, under the +shade of the closely intersecting trees, stood old Grizzel and the +figure people had taken to be the ghost of Nash Caromel. It was +Grizzel's voice we heard, full of piteous entreaty to him not to do +something. + +"Just for this night, master, for the love of Heaven! Don't do it, just +this night that I'm left in charge! They've trusted me, you see!" + +The words seemed to make no impression. Pushing her hands back, the +figure was turning impatiently away, when Dobbs seized upon it. + +But, in sheer astonishment, or perhaps in terror, Dobbs let go again to +step backwards; and the prize might have escaped but for the strong arms +of Tod. It was indeed Nash Caromel. Not his ghost, but himself. + +Nash Caromel worn to the veriest shadow mortal eyes ever gazed upon. The +Squire came up; we all went into the house together, and explanation +ensued. + +Nash had not died. When the fever, of which it was feared he would die, +reached its crisis, he awoke to life, not to death. But, terrified +at his position--the warrant, applied for by Henry Tinkle, being out +against him--overwhelmed with a sense of shame, he had feigned death as +the only chance of escaping disgrace and punishment. The first thought +perhaps was Nave's; indeed there was no doubt of it--or his and his +daughter's combined. They wanted to keep the income, you see. Any way, +they carried the thought out, and had successfully contrived to deceive +doctors, undertakers, and the world. Nash, weak as a rat, had got out of +bed to watch his own funeral procession wind down the avenue. + +And there, in the upper rooms of the house, he had since lived until +now, old Grizzel sharing the secret. But a grievous complaint, partly +brought on by uneasiness of mind, partly inherited from his father, who +had died of it, had speedily attacked Nash, one for which there was no +cure. It had worn him to a shadow. + +He had walked in the garden sometimes. He had come out in the twilight +of the evening or at night; he had now and then passed through the gate +and crossed over to the copse; simply because to live entirely without +fresh air, to remain inactive indoors, was intolerable to him. His wife +and her sister did their best to prevent it. Nave came in the daytime +and would blow him up by the hour together; but they could not always +keep him in. At last they grew alarmed. For, when they attempted to use +force, by locking the doors, he told them that unless he was allowed his +way in this, he would declare himself to the world. Life could not have +been a bed of roses for any of them. + +To look at him, as he sat there to-night by the kitchen fire, his cheeks +white and hollow, his sunken eyes encased in dark rims, and his thin +lips on the shiver, you'd hardly have given him a week of life. A great +pity sat in the blacksmith's face. + +"Don't reproach yourself, Dobbs: it's the best thing that could have +happened to me," spoke Nash Caromel, kindly. "I am not sure but I should +have gone out this very night and declared myself. Grizzel thought it, +and put herself into a paroxysm of fear. Nobody but myself knows the +yearning to do it that has been upon me. You won't go and tell it out in +the market-place, will you, Dobbs?" + +"I'll not tell on't to a single soul, sir," said Dobbs, earnestly, +standing straight in his brown stockings. "Nobody shall know on't from +me. And I'm as glad as glad can be that you be alive and did not die in +that fever." + +"We are all safe and sure, Caromel; not a hint shall escape us," spoke +the Squire from the midst of his astonishment. + +"The first thing must be to get Duffham here." + +"Duffham can't do any good; things have gone too far with me," said poor +Nash. "Once this disorder lays regular hold of a man, there's no hope +for him: you know that, Todhetley." + +"Stuff!" said the pater. "I don't believe it has gone too far, only +you've got moped here and think so. We'll have Duffham here at once. You +boys can go for him." + +"No," dissented Caromel. "Duffham may tell the tale abroad. I'd rather +die in peace, if I can." + +"Not he. Duffham! Why, you ought to know him better. Duffham will be as +secret as ourselves. Do you suppose that he, a family doctor, has not +many a weighty secret to keep? Come, be off, lads: and, mind, we trust +_you_." + +Nash Caromel sighed, and said no more. He had been wanting badly enough +to see a friend or two, but not to be shown up to the parish. We went +out with Dobbs, who rushed into the copse to find his shoes. + +This discovery might never have ensued, I take it, had Charlotte +Nave and the lawyer not been upset in the gig. They would have stood +persistently in his light--perhaps have succeeded in locking him in by +force! As it was, we had it all our own way. + +"How could you lend yourself to so infamous a deception?" cried the +Squire to old Grizzel, following her into the pantry to ask it, when she +returned from bolting the door after us. "I'm not at all sure that you +could not be punished for it. It's--it's a conspiracy. And you, of all +people, old Grizzel, to forget the honour of the Caromels! Why, you +lived with his father!--and with his brother. All these years!" + +"And how could I tell again him when I was asked not to?" contended +Grizzel, the tears dropping on to a tin saucepan she was rubbing out. +"Master Nash was as dear to me as the others were. Could it be me to +speak up and say he was not in the coffin, but only old things to make +up weight! Could it be me to tell he was alive and hiding up aloft here, +and so get him put in prison? No, sir; the good name of the Caromels was +much to me, but Master Nash was more." + +"Now, come, old woman, where's the use of crying like that? Well, yes; +you have been faithful, and it's a great virtue. And--and there's a +shilling or two for you." + +"Have you been blowing her up?" asked Nash, as the Squire went back to +him, and sat down on the other side the wide kitchen hearth, the fire +throwing its glow upon the bricks, square and red and shining, and upon +Nash Caromel's wan face, in which it was not very difficult to read +death. He had put his out-of-door coat off, a long brown garment, and +sat in a grey suit. Tho Squire's belief was that he wouldn't have minded +getting into the fire itself; he sat there shivering and shaking, and +seeming to have no warmth left in him. The room was well guarded from +outer observation. The shutters were up, and there was not a chink in +them. + +"I have," said the Squire, in answer. "Told her she did not show +much regard for the honour of the family--lending herself to such a +deception!" + +"Poor old Grizzel!" sighed Nash, with a half-smile. "She has lived upon +thorns, fearing I should be discovered. As to the family honour, +Todhetley, the less said about that the better." + +"How _could_ you do it, Caromel?" + +"I don't know," answered Nash, with apathy, bringing his face closer to +the blaze. "I let it be done, more than did it. All I did, or could do, +was just to lie still in my bed. The fever had left me weaker than a +child----" + +"Did it really turn to typhus?" interrupted the Squire. + +"No, it didn't. They said so to scare people away. I was weaker than +a child," continued Nash, "both in mind and body. And when I grew +stronger--what was done could not be undone. Not that I seek to defend +or excuse myself. Don't think that." + +"And, in the name of all that's marvellous, what could have put so +monstrous an idea into their heads?" demanded the Squire, getting up to +face the kitchen. + +"Well, I have always fancied that business at Sandstone Torr did," +replied Nash, who had no idea of reticence now, but spoke out as freely +as you please. "It had come to light, you know, not long before. Stephen +Radcliffe had hidden his brother in the old tower, passing him off to +the world as dead; and so, I suppose, it was thought that I could be +hidden and passed off as dead." + +"But Stephen Radcliffe never got up a mock funeral. His tale was that +Frank had died in London. You were bold people. What will Parson Holland +say, when he comes to learn that he read the burial-service over a box +of rubbish?" + +"I don't know," was the helpless reiteration of poor Nash. "The trouble +and worry of it altogether, the discomforts of my position, the +constant, never-ceasing dread of discovery have--have been to me what +you cannot realize. But for going out of the house at night and striding +about in the fresh, free air, I should have become mad. It was a _taste_ +of freedom. Neither could I always confine myself to the walks in the +garden; whether I would nor not, my feet would carry me beyond it and +into the shaded copse." + +"Frightening people who met you!" + +"When I heard footsteps approach I hid myself--though not always quite +in time. I was more put out at meeting people than they were at meeting +me." + +"I wonder your keepers here ever let you get out!" cried the Squire, +musingly. + +"They tried hard to keep me in: and generally succeeded. It was only by +fits and starts I gained my way. They were afraid, you see, that I +should carry out my threat of disclosing myself but for being yielded to +now and then." + +But the Squire did not get over the discovery. He strode about the +large kitchen, rubbing his face, giving out sundry Bless my hearts! at +intervals. The return to life of Charlotte Tinkle had been marvellous +enough, but it was nothing to this. + +Meanwhile we were on our road to Duffham's. Leaving Dobbs at his own +forge, we rushed on, and found the doctor in his little parlour at +supper; pickled eels and bread-and-cheese: the eels in the wide stone +jar they were baked in--which was Nomy's way of serving pickled fish. + +"Will you sit down and take some?" asked Duffham, pointing to the jar: +out of which he took the pieces with a fork as he wanted them. + +"I should like to, but there's no time for it," answered Tod, eyeing the +jar wistfully. + +Pickled eels are a favourite dish in our parts: and you don't often eat +anything as good. + +"Look here, Duffham," he went on: "we want you to go with us and +see--see somebody: and to undertake not to tell tales out of school. The +Squire has answered for it that you will not." + +"See who?" asked Duffham, going on with his supper. + +"A ghost," said Tod, grimly. "A dead man." + +"What good can I do _them_?" + +"Well, the man has come to life again. Not for long, though, I should +say, judging by his looks. You are not to go and tell about it, mind." + +"Tell what?" + +"That he is alive, instead of being, as is supposed, under a gravestone +in yonder churchyard. I am not sure but that you went to his funeral." + +Tod's significant tone, half serious, half mocking, attracted Duffham's +curiosity more even than the words. But he still went on with his eels. + +"Who is it?" + +"Nash Caromel. There. Don't fall off in a faint. Caromel has come to +life." + +Down went Duffham's fork. "Why--what on earth do you mean?" + +"It is not a joke," said Tod. "Nash Caromel has been alive all this +time, concealed in his house--just as Francis Radcliffe was concealed +in the tower. The Squire is with him now--and he is very ill." + +Duffham appealed to me. "Is this true, Johnny Ludlow?" + +"Yes, sir, it is. We found him out to-night. He looks as if he were +dying. Dobbs is sure he is. You never saw anything so like a ghost." + +Leaving his eels now, calling out to old Nomy that she might take away +the supper, Duffham came off with us at once. Dobbs ran up as we passed +his forge, and went with us to the turning, talking eagerly. + +"If you can cure him, Mr. Duffham, sir, I should take it as a great +favour, like, showed to myself," spoke the blacksmith. "I'd not have +pounced upon him for all the world, to give him pain, in the state he's +in. He looks as if he were dying." + +They were in the kitchen still, when Grizzel opened the door to us, the +fire bigger and hotter than ever. The first thing Duffham did was to +order Caromel to bed, and to have a good fire lighted in his room. + +But there was no hope for Nash Caromel. The Squire told us so going home +that night. Duffham thought about ten days more would see the end of +him. + + +II. + +"And how have things gone during my short absence, Grizzel?" demanded +Miss Gwinny Nave, alighting from the tax-cart the following morning, +upon her return to Caromel's Farm. + +"Oh, pretty well," answered Grizzel, who in her heart detested Miss +Gwinny and all the Naves. "The master seems weaker. He have took to his +bed, and got a fire in his room." + +"When did he do that?" + +"He came down last night after you went, Miss Gwinny, and sat over +this here kitchen fire for ever so long. Then he went up to bed, and I +lighted him a fire and took him up some hot arrowroot with a wine glass +o' brandy in it. Shivering with cold, he was." + +"And he has not got up this morning?" + +"No; and he says he does not mean to get up. 'I've taken to my bed for +good, Grizzel,' he says to me this morning when I went in to light the +fire again and see what he'd eat for breakfast. And I think he has, Miss +Gwinny." + +Which information considerably lightened the doubt which was tormenting +Miss Nave's mind. She wanted, oh how badly, and _was_ wanted, to remain +at the Rill, being sorely needed there; but she had not seen her way +clear to do it. If Nash was indeed confined to his bed, she might +perhaps venture to leave him for a day or two to Grizzel. + +But, please don't think old Grizzel mean for keeping in what had taken +place: she was only obeying orders. Duffham and the Squire had laid +their heads together and then talked to Caromel; and it was agreed that +for the present nothing should be disclosed. They gave their orders to +Grizzel, and her master confirmed them. + +"And what news have you brought from the Rill, ma'am?" questioned +Grizzel, who was making a custard pudding at the kitchen table. "I hope +you found things better than you feared." + +"They could not well be worse," sighed Miss Gwinny, untying her bonnet. +She had not the beauty of Charlotte. Her light complexion was like +brick-dust, and her hair was straw-coloured. Not but that she was proud +of her hair, wearing it in twists, with one ringlet trailing over the +left shoulder. "Your mistress lies unconscious still; it is feared the +brain is injured; and papa's leg is broken in two places." + +"Alack a-day?" cried Grizzel, lifting her hands in consternation. "Oh, +but I am sorry to hear it, Miss Gwendolen! And the pretty little boy?" + +Miss Gwendolen shook her head. "The croup came on again last night worse +than ever," she said, with a rising sob. "They don't know whether they +will save him." + +Grizzel brushed away some tears as she began to beat up her eggs. She +was a tender-hearted old thing, and loved little Dun. Miss Nave put +aside her bonnet and shawl, and turned to the staircase to pay a visit +to Nash. But she looked back to ask a question. + +"Then, I am to understand that you had no trouble with the master last +night, Grizzel? He did not want to force himself out?" + +"The time for that has gone by, ma'am, I think," answered Grizzel, +evasively; not daring and not wishing to confess that he had forced +himself out, and what the consequences were. "He seems a deal weaker +to-day, Miss Gwinny, than I've ever seen him." + +And when Miss Gwinny got into Nash's room she found the words true. +Weak, inert, fading, there lay poor Nash. With the discovery, all +struggle had ceased; and it is well known that to resign one's self to +weakness quietly, makes weakness ten times more apparent. One thing +struck her greatly: the hollow sound in the voice. Had it come on +suddenly? If not, how was it she had never noticed it before? It struck +her with a sort of unpleasant chill: for she believed that peculiar +hollowness is generally the precursor of death. + +"You are feeling worse, Nash, Grizzel says," she observed; and she +thought she had never seen him looking half so ill. + +"Oh, I am all right, Gwendolen," answered he. "What of Charlotte and the +child?" + +Sitting down on the edge of the large bed, Gwendolen told him all there +was to tell. Her papa would get well in time, though he could not be +moved yet awhile; but Charlotte and the child were lying in extreme +danger. + +"Dear me! dear me!" he said, and began to cry, as Grizzel had begun. +When a man is reduced, as Nash was, faint in mind and in body, the tears +are apt to lie near the eyes. + +"And there's nobody to attend upon them but Mrs. Smith and her +maids--two of the stupidest country wenches you ever saw," said +Gwendolen. "I did not know how to come away this morning. The child is +more than one person's work." + +"Why did you come?" + +"Because I could not trust you; you know that, Nash. You want to be up +to your tricks too often." + +"My tricks!" + +"Yes. Going out of doors at night. I'm sure it is a dreadful +responsibility that's thrown upon me. And all for your own sake!" + +"You need no longer fear that--if you call my going out the +responsibility. I shall never get out of this bed again, Gwinny." + +"What makes you think so?" + +"Look at me," answered Nash. "See if you think it likely. I do not." + +She shook her head doubtingly. He certainly did look too ill to +stir--but she remembered the trouble there had been with him; the +fierce, wild yearning for exit, that could not be controlled. + +"Are you not satisfied? Listen, then: I give you my solemn word of +honour not to go out of doors; not to attempt to do so. You must go back +to Charlotte and the boy." + +"I'll see later," decided Gwinny. "I shall stay here till the afternoon, +at any rate." + +And when the afternoon came she took her departure for the Rill. +Convinced by Nash's state that he could not quit his bed, and satisfied +at length by his own solemn and repeated assurances that he would not, +Gwinny Nave consigned him to the care of Grizzel, and quitted Caromel's +Farm. + +Which left the field open again, you perceive. And the Squire and +Duffham were there that evening as they had been the previous one. + +It was a curious time--the few days that ensued. Gwendolen Nave came +over for an hour or two every other day, but otherwise Caromel's Farm +was a free house. Her doubts and fears were gone, for Nash grew worse +very rapidly; and, though he sat up in his room sometimes, he could +hardly have got downstairs though the house were burning--as Grizzel put +it. And he seemed so calm, so tranquil, so entirely passive under his +affliction, so resigned to his enfeebled state, so averse to making +exertion of any kind, that Miss Gwinny could not have felt much easier +had he been in the burial-ground where Church Dykely supposed him to be. + +What with his past incarceration, which had endured twelve months, and +what with the approach of death, which he had seen looming for pretty +nearly half that time, Nash Caromel's conscience had come back to him. +It was pricking him in more corners than one. As his love for Charlotte +Nave weakened--and it had been going down a long time, for he saw what +the Naves were now, and what they had done for him--his love for +Charlotte Tinkle came back, and he began to wish he could set wrongs to +rights. That never could be done; he had put it out of his power; but he +meant to make some little reparation, opportunity being allowed him. + +"I want to make a will, Todhetley," he said one evening to the Squire, +as he sat by the fire, dressed, a huge carriage-rug thrown on his knees +for warmth. "I wonder if my lawyer could be induced to come to me?" + +"Do you mean Nave?" retorted the Squire, who could not for the life of +him help having a fling at Caromel once in a way. "He has been your +lawyer of late years." + +"You know I don't mean Nave; and if I did mean him he could not come," +said poor Nash. "I mean our family lawyer, Crow. Since I discarded him +for Nave he has turned the cold shoulder upon me. When I've met him in +the street at Evesham, he has either passed me with a curt nod or looked +another way. I would rather have Crow than anybody, for he'd be true, I +know, if he could be induced to come." + +"I'll see about it," said the Squire. + +"And you'll be executor, won't you, Todhetley? you and Duffham." + +"No," said the Squire. "And what sort of a will are you going to make?" + +"I should like to be just," sighed Nash. "As just as I know how. As +just as I can be under the unfortunate circumstances I am placed in." + +"That you have placed yourself in, Caromel." + +"True. I think of it night and day. But she ought to be provided for. +And there's the boy!" + +"Who ought to be?" + +"My second wife." + +"I don't say to the contrary. But there is somebody else, who has a +greater and prior claim upon you." + +"I know. My heart would be good to leave her all. But that would hardly +be just. Poor Charlotte, how patient she has been!" + +"Ah, you threw off a good woman when you threw her off. And when you +made that other infamous will, leaving her name out of it----" + +"It was Nave made it," interrupted Nash, as hotly as his wasted +condition allowed him to speak. "He got another lawyer to draw it up, +for look's sake--but he virtually made it. And, Todhetley, I must--I +_must_ get another one made," he added, getting more and more excited; +"and there's no time to be lost. If I die to-night that will would have +to stand." + +With the morning light the Squire went off to Evesham, driving Bob and +Blister, and saw the lawyer, Crow--an old gentleman with a bald head. +The two shut themselves up in a private room, and it seemed as if they +never meant to come out again. + +First of all, old Crow had to recover his astonishment at hearing Nash +Caromel was living, and that took him some time; next, he had to get +over his disinclination and refusal--to act again for Nash, and that +took him longer. + +"Mind," said he at last, "if I do consent to act--to see the man and +make his will--it will be done out of the respect I bore his father and +his brother, and because I don't like to stand in the way of an act of +justice. Mrs. Nash Caromel was here yesterday----" + +"Mrs. Nash Caromel!" interrupted the Squire, in a puzzle, for his +thoughts had run over to Charlotte Nave. Which must have been very +foolish, seeing she was in bed with a damaged head. + +"I speak of his wife," said the old gentleman, loftily. "I have never +called any other woman Mrs. Nash Caromel. Her uncle, Tinkle, of +Inkberrow, called about the transfer of some of his funded property, +and she was with him. I respect that young woman, Squire Todhetley." + +"Ay, to be sure. So do I. Well, now, you will let me drive you back this +afternoon, and you'll take dinner with me, and we'll go to Caromel's +Farm afterwards. We never venture there before night; that Miss Gwinny +Nave makes her appearance sometimes in the daytime." + +"It must be late in the afternoon then," said the lawyer, rather +crossly--for he did not enter into the business with a good grace yet. + +"All the same to me," acquiesced the pater, pleased at having got his +consent on any terms. + +And when the Squire drove in that evening just at the dinner-hour and +brought Lawyer Crow with him, we wondered what was agate. Old Jacobson, +who had called in, and been invited to stay by the mater, was as curious +as anything over it, and asked the Squire aside, what he was up to, that +he must employ Crow instead of his own man. + +The will Nash Caromel wished to make was accomplished, signed and +sealed, himself and this said Evesham lawyer being alone privy to its +contents. Dobbs the blacksmith was fetched in, and he and Grizzel +witnessed it. + +And, as if Nash Caromel had only lived to make the will, he went +galloping on to death at railroad speed directly it was done. A change +took place in him the same night. His bell rang for Grizzel, and the old +woman thought him dying. + +But he rallied a bit the next day: and when the Squire got there in the +evening, he was sitting up by the fire dressed. And terribly uneasy. + +"I want to see her," he began, before the Squire had time to say, How +are you, or How are you not. "I can't die in peace unless I see her. And +it will not be long first now. I am a bit better, but I thought I was +dying in the night: has Grizzel told you?" + +The Squire nodded in silence. He was struck with the change in Nash. + +"Who is it you want to see? Charlotte Tinkle?" + +"Ay, you've guessed it. 'Twasn't hard to guess, was it? I want to see +her, Todhetley. I know she'd come." + +Little doubt of that. Had Nash wanted her to visit him in the midst of +a fiery furnace, she'd have rushed into it headlong. + +But there were difficulties in the way. Charlotte Tinkle was not one +of your strong-minded women who are born without nerves; and to tell +her that Nash Caromel was living, and not dead, might send her into +hysterics for a week. Besides that, Harry Tinkle was Nash Caromel's +bitter enemy: if he learnt the truth he might be for handing him over, +dying or living, to old Jones the constable. + +"I don't see how she is to be got here, and that's the truth, Caromel," +spoke the Squire, awaking from his reverie. "It's not a thing I should +like to undertake. Here comes Duffham." + +"I know what you are thinking of--Harry Tinkle," returned Nash, as +Duffham felt his pulse. "When I was supposed to have died, balking him +of his revenge, he grew mad with rage. For a month afterwards he abused +me to everybody in the most atrocious terms: in public rooms, in----" + +"Who told you that?" interrupted the Squire. "Nave?" + +"Nave. I saw no one else to tell me." Duffham laughed. + +"Then it was just as false as Nave is. You might have known Harry Tinkle +better." + +Nash looked up. "False!--was it?" + +"Why, of course it was," repeated the Squire. "I say you might have +known Harry Tinkle better." + +Nash sighed. "Well, I suppose you think he might give me trouble now. +But he would hardly care to apprehend a dying man." + +"We'll see about it," they said. Duffham undertook this expedition--if +you can call it one. He found it easier than he anticipated. That same +evening, upon quitting Caromel's Farm, Duffham went mooning along, deep +in thought, as to how he should make the disclosure to Charlotte, when +he overtook her near his home. Her crape veil was thrown back; her face +looked pale and quiet in the starlight. + +"You are abroad late," said Duffham. + +"I went to see old Miss Pinner this afternoon, and stayed tea with +her," answered Charlotte. "And now I am going to run home." + +"Would you mind coming in for a few minutes, Mrs. Caromel?" he asked, as +they reached his door. "I have something to say to you." + +"Can you say it another time? It is nine o'clock, and my mother will be +wondering." + +"No; another time may not do," said Duffham. "Come in. I won't detain +you long." + +And being just one of those yielding people that never assert a will of +their own, in she went. + +Shut up in Duffham's surgery, which was more remote from Nomy's ears +than the parlour, Duffham disclosed to her by degrees the truth. Whether +he had to get out his sal-volatile over it, or to recover her from fits, +we did not hear. One thing was certain: that when Mrs. Nash Caromel +recommenced her walk homewards, she was too bewildered to know whether +she went on her feet or her head. By that time on the following evening +she would have seen her husband. + +At least, such was the programme Duffham carved out. But to that +bargain, as he found the next day, there might be two words. + +Eleven was striking in the morning by the kitchen clock at Caromel's +Farm, when Grizzel saw Miss Gwinny driving in. The damaged gig had been +mended, and she now drove backwards and forwards herself. + +"How's the master?" asked she, when she entered the kitchen. + +"Very ill," answered Grizzel. "He won't be with us long, now, ma'am." + +And when Miss Gwinny saw Nash, and saw how greatly he was altered in the +last two days, she thought as Grizzel did--that death was close at hand. +Under these circumstances, she sat down to reflect on what she ought to +do: whether to remain herself in the house, or whether to go back to the +Rill and report to her father and sister. For the latter had come out of +her insensibility; the doctors said there was no permanent injury, and +she could soon be removed home if she wished to be. + +"What do you think, Grizzel?" she inquired, condescending to ask +counsel. "It does not seem right to leave him--and you won't like to be +left alone, either, at the last. And I don't see that any end will be +gained by my hastening back to tell them. They'll know it soon enough: +and they cannot come to him." + +"As you please, Miss Gwinny," replied Grizzel, trembling lest she should +remain and complicate matters, but not daring to urge her departure; +Gwinny Nave being given, as a great many more ladies are, to act by the +rules of contrary in the matter of advice. "It seems hardly right, +though, not to let the mistress know he is dying. And I am glad the +child's well: dear little thing!" + +Gwinny Nave sat pulling at her one straw ringlet, her brow knitted in +abstraction. Various reflections, suggesting certain unpleasant facts, +passed rapidly through her mind. That Nash would not be here many days +longer, perhaps not many hours, was a grave fact: and then, what of the +after-necessities that would arise? A sham funeral had gone out of that +house not very long ago: but how was the real funeral to go out, and +who was to make the arrangements for it? The truth of Nash Caromel's +being alive, and of the trick which had been played, would have to be +disclosed then. And Mr. Nave was incapacitated; he could do nothing, and +her sister could do as little; and it seemed to be all falling upon +herself, Gwinny; and who was to know but she might be punished for +letting Nash lie and die without calling in a doctor to him? + +With every fresh moment of thought, some darker complication presented +itself. Miss Gwinny began to see that she had better get away, and leave +old Grizzel to it. The case must be laid before her father. He might +invent some scheme to avoid exposure: for though Lawyer Nave was +deprived for the present of action, his mind was not less keen and +fertile than usual. + +"I think, Grizzel, that the mistress ought to be told how ill he is," +said she, at length. "I shall go back to the Rill. Do all you can for +the master: I dare say he will rally." + +"That he never will," spoke Grizzel, on impulse. + +"Now don't you be obstinate," returned Miss Gwinny. + +Gwendolen Nave drove back to the Rill. Leaving, as she thought, all +responsibility upon old Grizzel. And, that evening, the coast being +clear again, Charlotte Tinkle, piloted by Duffham, came to Caromel's +Farm and had an interview with her once recreant husband. It lasted +longer than Duffham had bargained for; every five minutes he felt +inclined to go and knock at the door. Her sobs and his dying voice, +which seemed to be sobbing too, might be heard by all who chose to +listen. At last Duffham went in and said that it must end: the emotion +was bad for Nash. She was kneeling before the sofa on which he lay, her +tears dropping. + +"Good-bye, good-bye, Charlotte," he whispered. "I have never cared for +any one as I cared for you. Believe that. God bless you, my dear--and +forgive me!" + +And the next to go in was Harry Tinkle--to clasp Caromel's hand, and to +say how little he had needed to fear him. And the next was the Reverend +Mr. Holland; Nash had asked for the parson to be sent for. + +Grizzel had a surprise the next day. She had just taken some beef-tea up +to the master, which Duffham had called out for--for the end was now so +near that the doctor had not chosen to defer his visit till dark--when a +closed fly drove up, out of which stepped Miss Gwinny and her sister. +Old Grizzel dropped the waiter, thinking it must be her mistress's +ghost. + +But it was Charlotte herself. Upon hearing Gwinny's report she had +insisted upon coming home--and Nave supported her views. That stupid old +Grizzel, left to her own devices, might be for getting frightened and +call in half the parish. The doctor in attendance at the Rill had said +Mrs. Caromel might go home if she had any urgent reason for wishing +it--and here she was. And really she seemed tolerably well again; quite +herself. + +Passing Grizzel with a nod, she went straight upstairs, opened Nash's +door, and then--drew back with a scream. For there she saw two +strangers. Mr. Duffham was leaning over the bed, trying to feed Nash +with spoonfuls of beef-tea; Parson Holland (who had stayed with Nash all +night) sat by the fire. Poor Nash himself lay without motion: the hours +were very limited now. + +Well, there ensued a commotion. Charlotte Nave went down to blow up +Grizzel; and she did it well, in spite of her recent illness. Grizzel +answered that she was not to blame; it was not she who had betrayed +him: Dobbs the blacksmith and Squire Todhetley had found him out, and +the Squire had called in Duffham. Charlotte the Second had to make the +best of a bad case; but she did not suspect half the treachery that had +been at work. + +There is no space to enlarge upon the day. Nash died that night; without +having been able to speak a word to Charlotte the Second; he was past +that when she came; though he shook hands with her. + +And the other funeral, which Miss Nave had foreseen a difficulty over, +took place without any difficulty. Unless it might be said that the +crowd made one. Nash Caromel dead a second time! Church Dykely had never +been astounded like this. + +But the one dire act of treachery had to come out yet. Nash Caromel had +made a fresh will. Crow the lawyer brought it in his pocket when he came +from Evesham to attend the funeral, and he read it aloud afterwards. +Mrs. Nash the Second sat biting her lips as she listened. + +Caromel's Farm and everything upon it, every stick and stone possessed +by Nash, was directed to be sold without delay. Of the money this should +realize, the one half was devised to "my dear wife Charlotte, formerly +Charlotte Tinkle;" the other half was to be invested by trustees and +settled upon "my child, Duncan Nave." His mother, Charlotte Nave, was to +receive a stated portion of the interest for life, or until she should +marry again; and that was all the will said about Charlotte the Second. + +There's not much more to tell. As soon as might be, the changes were +carried out. Before Lawyer Nave's leg was fit to go again, Caromel's +Farm had been purchased by the Squire, and Harry Tinkle had taken it +from him on a long lease. Just after Harry got into it with his little +girl, Mrs. Tinkle died; and Charlotte, well off now, came to live in it +with him. The other Charlotte proclaimed herself to be in bad health, +and went off to stay at the sea-side. And Nave, when he came out again +to rejoice the eyes of Church Dykely (walking lame), was fit to swallow +us up with rage. He considered ladies' parasols an infamous institution, +and wished they were all sunk in the sea; especially that particular +blue one of Charlotte's which had led to the accident that unlucky +afternoon. + +It seemed strange that, after all the chances and changes, it should be +a Mrs. Nash Caromel (she was always given her true name now) to inhabit +Caromel's Farm. She, forgiving and loving, made friends with little Dun +for poor Nash's sake, inviting him often to spend the day with her, and +picking him choice fruit off the trees. + + + + +A DAY IN BRIAR WOOD. + + +That day, and its events, can never go out of my memory. There are +epochs in life that lie upon the heart for ever, marking the past like +stones placed for retrospect. They may be of pleasure, or they may be of +pain; but there they are, in that great store-field locked up within us, +to be recalled at will as long as life shall last. + +It was in August, and one of the hottest days of that hot month. A +brilliant day: the sun shining with never a cloud to soften it, the sky +intensely blue. Just the day for a picnic, provided you had shade. + +Shade we had. Briar Wood abounds in it. For the towering trees are dark, +and their foliage thick. Here and there the wood opens, and you come +upon the sweetest little bits of meadow-land scenery that a painter's +eye could desire. Patches of green glade, smooth enough for fairy +revels; undulating banks, draped with ferns and fragrant with sweet +wild-flowers; dells dark, and dim, to roam in and fancy yourself out of +the world. + +Briar Wood belonged to Sir John Whitney. It was of a good length but +narrow, terminating at one end in the tangled coppice which we had +dashed through that long-past day when we played at hare and hounds, and +poor Charles Van Rheyn had died, in that same coppice, of the running. +The other and best end, up where these lonely glades lie sheltered, +extends itself nearly to the lands belonging to Vale Farm--if you have +not forgotten that place. The wood was a rare resort for poachers and +gipsies, as well as picnic parties, and every now and again Sir John +would declare that it should be rooted up. + +We were staying at Whitney Hall. Miss Deveen was there on a visit +(Cattledon included, of course), and Sir John wrote over to invite us +for a few days to meet her: the Squire and Mrs. Todhetley, I and Tod. +And, there we were, enjoying ourselves like anything. + +It was Sir John himself who proposed the picnic. He called it a +gipsy-party: indeed, the word "picnic" had hardly come in then, for this +happened many a year ago. The weather was so hot indoors that Sir John +thought it might be an agreeable change to live a day in the open air; +and lie in the shade and look up at the blue sky through the flickering +trees. So the cook was told to provide fowls and ham and pigeon pies, +with apple puffs, salads, and creams. + +"The large carriage and the four-wheeled chaise shall take the ladies," +observed Sir John, "and I dare say they can make room for me and the +Squire amongst them; it's a short distance, and we shan't mind a little +crowding. You young men can walk." + +So it was ordained. The carriages started, and we after them, William +and Henry Whitney disputing as to which was the best route to take: Bill +holding out for that by Goose Brook, Harry for that by the river. It +ended in our dividing: I went with Bill his way; the rest of the young +Whitneys and Tod the other, with Featherston's nephew; an overgrown +young giant of seventeen, about six feet high, who had been told he +might come. + +Barring the heat, it was a glorious walk: just as it was a glorious day. +Passing Goose Brook (a little stream meandering through the trees, with +a rustic bridge across it: though why it should bear that name I never +knew), we soon came to the coppice end of the wood. + +"Now," said Bill to me, "shall we plunge into the wood at once, and so +onwards right through it; or skirt round by the Granary?" + +"The wood will be the shadiest," I answered. + +"And pleasantest. I'm not at all sure, though, Johnny, that I shan't +lose my way in it. It has all kinds of bewildering tricks and turnings." + +"Never mind if you do. We can find it again." + +"We should have been safe to meet some of those Leonards had we gone by +the Granary," observed Bill, as we turned into the wood, where just at +present the trees were thin, "and they might have been wanting to join +us, pushing fellows that they are! I don't like them." + +"Who are those Leonards, I wonder? Who were they before they came here?" + +"Old Leonard made a mint of money in India, and his sons are spending it +for him as fast as they can. One day when he was talking to my father, +he hinted that he had taken this remote place, the Granary, and brought +them down here, to get them out of the fast lives they were leading in +London. He got afraid, he said." + +"Haven't the sons any professions, Bill?" + +"Don't seem to have. Or anything else that's good--money excepted?" + +"What do they do with their time?" + +"Anything. Idle it away. Keep dogs; and shoot, and fish, and lounge, and +smoke, and---- Halloa! look yonder, Johnny!" + +Briar Wood had no straight and direct road through it; but plenty of +small paths and byways and turnings and windings, that might bring you, +by good luck, to landing at last; or might take you unconsciously back +whence you came. Emerging from a part, where the trees grew dark and +dense and thick, upon one of those delightful glades I spoke of before, +we saw what I took to be a small gipsy encampment. A fire of sticks, +with a kettle upon it, smoked upon the ground; beside it sat a young +woman and child; a few tin wares, tied together, lay in a corner, and +some rabbits' skins were stretched out to dry on the branches of trees. + +Up started the woman, and came swiftly towards us. A regular gipsy, with +the purple-black hair, the yellow skin, and the large soft gleaming +eyes. It was a beautiful young face, but worn and thin and anxious. + +"Do you want your fortunes told, my good young gentlemen? I can----" + +"Not a bit of it," interrupted Bill. "Go back to your fire. We are only +passing through." + +"I can read the lines of your hands unerringly, my pretty sirs. I can +forewarn you of evil, and prepare you for good." + +"Now, look you here," cried Bill, turning upon her good-humouredly, as +she followed up with a lot of the like stuff, "I can forewarn _you_ of +it, unless you are content to leave us alone. This wood belongs to Sir +John Whitney, as I dare say all your fraternity know, and his keepers +wage war against you when they find you are encamped here, and that I am +sure you know. Mind your own affairs, and you may stay here in peace, +for me: keep on bothering us, and I go straight to Rednal and give him a +hint. I am Sir John's son." + +He threw her a sixpence, and the woman's face changed as she caught it. +The persuasive smile vanished as if by magic, giving place to a look of +anxious pain. + +"What's the matter?" said he. + +"Do you know my husband, sir?" she asked. "It's more than likely that +you do." + +"And what if I do?" cried Whitney. + +The woman took the words as an affirmative answer. She drew near, and +laid her small brown finger on his coat-sleeve. + +"Then, if you chance to meet him, sir, persuade him to come back to me, +for the love of Heaven. I _can_ read the future: and for some days past, +since we first halted here, I have foreseen that evil is in store for +him. He won't believe me; he is not one of _us_; but I scent it in the +air, and it comes nearer and nearer; it is drawing very close now. He +may listen to you, sir, for we respect Sir John, who is never hard on us +as some great owners of the land are; and oh, send him back here to me +and the child! Better that it should fall on him when by our side than +when away from us." + +"Why--what do you mean?" cried Whitney, surprised out of the question, +and hardly understanding her words or their purport. And he might have +laughed outright, as he told me later, but for the dreadful trouble that +shone forth from her sad, wild eyes. + +"I don't know what I mean: it's hidden from me," she answered, taking +the words in a somewhat different light from what he meant to imply. "I +think it may be sudden sickness; or it may be trouble: whatever it is, +it will end badly." + +Whitney nodded to her, and we pursued our way. I had been looking at the +little girl, who had drawn shyly up to gaze at us. She was fair as a +lily, with a sweet face and eyes blue as the sky. + +"What humbugs they are!" exclaimed Whitney, alluding to gipsies and +tramps in general. "As to this young woman, I should say she's going off +her head!" + +"Do you know her husband?" + +"Don't know him from Adam. Johnny, I hope that's not a stolen child! +Fair as she is, she can't be the woman's: there's nothing of the gipsy +in her composition." + +"How well the gipsy appears to speak! With quite a refined accent." + +"Gipsies often do, I've heard. Let us get on." + +What with this adventure, and dawdling, and taking a wrong turn or two, +it was past one o'clock when we got in, and they were laying the cloth +for dinner. The green, mossy glade, with the sheltering trees around, +the banks and the dells, the ferns and wild-flowers, made a picture of +a retreat on a broiling day. The table (some boards, brought from the +Hall, and laid on trestles) stood in the middle of the grass; and Helen +and Anna Whitney, in their green-and-white muslins, were just as busy as +bees placing the dishes upon it. Lady Whitney (with a face redder than +beetroot) helped them: she liked to be always doing something. Miss +Cattledon and the mater were pacing the dell below, and Miss Deveen sat +talking with the Squire and Sir John. + +"Have they not got here?" exclaimed William. + +"Have who not got here?" retorted Helen. + +"Todhetley and the boys." + +"Ages ago. They surmised that you two must be lost, stolen, or strayed." + +"Then where are they?" + +"Making themselves useful. Johnny Ludlow, I wish you'd go after them, +and tell them of all things to bring a corkscrew. No one can find ours, +and we think it is left behind." + +"Why, here's the corkscrew, in my pocket," called out Sir John. +"Whatever brings it there? And---- What's that great thing, moving down +to us?" + +It was Tod with a wooden stool upon his head, legs upwards. Rednal the +gamekeeper lived close by, and it was arranged that we should borrow +chairs, and things, from his cottage. + +We sat down to dinner at last--and a downright jolly dinner it was. +Plenty of good things to eat; cider, lemonade, and champagne to drink: +and every one talking together, and bursts of laughter. + +"Look at Cattledon!" cried Bill in my ear. "She is as merry as the rest +of us." + +So she was. A whole sea of smiles on her thin face. She wore a grey gown +as genteel as herself, bands of black velvet round her pinched-in waist +and long throat. Cattledon looked like vinegar in general, it's true; +but I don't say she was bad at heart. Even she could be genial to-day, +and the rest of us were off our head with jollity, the Squire's face and +Sir John's beaming back at one another. + +If we had only foreseen how pitifully the day was to end! It makes me +think of some verses I once learnt out of a journal--Chambers's, I +believe. They were written by Mrs. Plarr. + + "There are twin Genii, who, strong and mighty, + Under their guidance mankind retain; + And the name of the lovely one is Pleasure, + And the name of the loathly one is Pain. + Never divided, where one can enter + Ever the other comes close behind; + And he who in Pleasure his thoughts would centre + Surely Pain in the search shall find! + + "Alike they are, though in much they differ-- + Strong resemblance is 'twixt the twain; + So that sometimes you may question whether + It can be Pleasure you feel, or Pain. + Thus 'tis, that whatever of deep emotion + Stirreth the heart--be it grave or gay + Tears are the Symbol--from feeling's ocean + These are the fountains that rise to-day. + + "Should not this teach us calmly to welcome + Pleasure when smiling our hearths beside? + If she be the substance, how dark the shadow; + Close doth it follow, the near allied. + Or if Pain long o'er our threshold hover, + Let us not question but Pleasure nigh + Bideth her time her face to discover, + Rainbow of Hope in a clouded sky." + +Yes, it was a good time. To look at us round that dinner-table, you'd +have said there was nothing but pleasure in the world. Not but that +ever and anon the poor young gipsy woman's troubled face and her sad +wild eyes, and the warning some subtle instinct seemed to be whispering +to her about her husband, would rise between me and the light. + +The afternoon was wearing on when I got back to the glade with William +Whitney (for we had all gone strolling about after dinner) and found +some of the ladies there. Mrs. Todhetley had gone into Rednal's cottage +to talk to his wife, Jessy; Anna was below in the dell; all the rest +were in the glade. A clean-looking, stout old lady, in a light cotton +gown and white apron, a mob cap with a big border and bow of ribbon in +front of it, turned round from talking to them, smiled, and made me a +curtsy. + +The face seemed familiar to me: but where had I seen it before? Helen +Whitney, seeing my puzzled look, spoke up in her free manner. + +"Have you no memory, Johnny Ludlow? Don't you remember Mrs. Ness!--and +the fortune she told us on the cards?" + +It came upon me with a rush. That drizzling Good Friday afternoon at +Miss Deveen's, long ago, and Helen smuggling up the old lady from +downstairs to tell her fortune. But what brought her here? There seemed +to be no connection between Miss Deveen's house in town and Briar Wood +in Worcestershire. I could not have been more at sea had I seen a +Chinese lady from Pekin. Miss Deveen laughed. + +"And yet it is so easy of explanation, Johnny, so simple and +straightforward," she said. "Mrs. Ness chances to be aunt to Rednal's +wife, and she is staying down here with them." + +Simple it was--as are most other puzzles when you have the clue. The old +woman was a great protégée of Miss Deveen's, who had known her through +her life of misfortune: but Miss Deveen did not before know of her +relationship to Rednal's wife or that she was staying at their cottage. +They had been talking of that past afternoon and the fortune-telling in +it, when I and Bill came up. + +"And what I told you, miss, came true--now didn't it?" cried Mrs. Ness +to Helen. + +"True! Why, you told me _nothing_!" retorted Helen. "There was nothing +in the fortune. You said there was nothing in the cards." + +"I remember it," said Mother Ness; "remember it well. The cards showed +no husband for you then, young lady; they might tell different now. But +they showed some trouble about it, I recollect." + +Helen's face fell. There had indeed been trouble. Trouble again and +again. Richard Foliott, the false, had brought trouble to her; and so +had Charles Leafchild, now lying in his grave at Worcester: not to speak +of poor Slingsby Temple. Helen had got over all those crosses now, and +was looking up again. She was of a nature to look up again from any evil +that might befall her, short of losing her head off her shoulders. All +dinner-time she had been flirting with Featherston's nephew. + +This suggestion of Mrs. Ness, "the cards might tell different now," +caught hold of her mind. Her colour slightly deepened, her eyes +sparkled. + +"Have you the cards with you now, Mrs. Ness?" + +"Ay, to be sure, young lady. I never come away from home without my +cards. They be in the cottage yonder." + +"Then I should like my fortune told again." + +"Oh, Helen, how can you be so silly!" cried Lady Whitney. + +"Silly! Why, mamma, it is good fun. You go and fetch the cards, Mrs. +Ness." + +"I and Johnny nearly had our fortune told to-day," put in Bill, while +Mrs. Ness stood where she was, hardly knowing what to be at. "We came +upon a young gipsy woman in the wood, and she wanted to promise us a +wife apiece. A little girl was with her that may have been stolen: she +was too fair to be that brown woman's child." + +"It must have been the Norths," exclaimed Mrs. Ness. "Was there some +tinware by 'em, sir; and some rabbit skins?" + +"Yes. Both. The rabbit skins were hanging out to dry." + +"Ay, it's the Norths," repeated Mrs. Ness. "Rednal said he saw North +yesterday; he guessed they'd lighted their campfire not far off." + +"Who are the Norths? Gipsies?" + +"The wife is a gipsy, sir; born and bred. He is a native of these parts, +and superior; but he took to an idle, wandering life, and married the +gipsy girl for her beauty. She was Bertha Lee then." + +"Why, it is quite a romance," said Miss Deveen, amused. + +"And so it is, ma'am. Rednal told me all on't. They tramp the country, +selling their tins, and collecting rabbit skins." + +"And is the child theirs?" asked Bill. + +"Ay, sir, it be. But she don't take after her mother; she's like him, +her skin fair as alabaster. You'd not think, Rednal says, that she'd a +drop o' gipsy blood in her veins. North might ha' done well had he only +turned out steady; been just the odds o' what he is--a poor tramp." + +"Oh, come, never mind the gipsies," cried Helen, impatiently. "You go +and bring the cards, Mrs. Ness." + +One can't go in for stilts at a picnic, or for wisdom either; and when +Mrs. Ness brought her cards (which might have been cleaner) none of them +made any objection. Even Cattledon looked on, grimly tolerant. + +"But you can't think there's anything in it--that the cards tell true," +cried Lady Whitney to the old woman. + +"Ma'am, be sure they do. I believe in 'em from my very heart. And so, I +make bold to say, would everybody here believe, if they had read the +things upon 'em that I've read, and seen how surely they've come to +pass." + +They would not contradict her openly; only smiled a little among +themselves. Mother Ness was busy with the cards, laying them out for +Helen's fortune. I drew near to listen. + +"You look just as though you put faith in it," whispered Bill to me. + +"I don't put faith in it. I should not like to be so foolish. But, +William, what she told Helen before _did_ come true." + +Well, Helen's "fortune" was told again. It sounded just as uneventful as +the one told that rainy afternoon long ago--for we were now some years +older than we were then. Helen Whitney's future, according to the cards, +or to Dame Ness's reading of them, would be all plain sailing; smooth +and easy, and unmarked alike by events and by care. A most desirable +career, some people would think, but Helen looked the picture of +desolation. + +"And you say I am not to be married!" she exclaimed. + +Dame Ness had her head bent over the cards. She shook it without looking +up. + +"I don't see a ring nowhere, young lady, and that's the blessed truth. +There _ain't_ one, that's more. There ain't a sign o' one. Neither was +there the other time, I remember: that time in London. And so--I take it +that there won't never be." + +"Then I think you are a very disagreeable story-telling old woman!" +flashed Helen, all candour in her mortification. "Not be married, +indeed!" + +"Why, my dear, I'd be only too glad to promise you a husband if the +cards foretelled it," said Dame Ness, pityingly. "Yours is the best +fortune of all, though, if you could but bring your mind to see it. +Husbands is more plague nor profit. I'm sure I had cause to say so by +the one that fell to my share, as that there dear good lady knows," +pointing to Miss Deveen. + +In high dudgeon, Helen pushed the cards together. Mrs. Ness, getting +some kind words from the rest of us, curtsied as she went off to the +cottage to see about the kettles for our tea. + +"You are a nice young lady!" exclaimed Bill. "Showing your temper +because the cards don't give you a sweetheart!" + +Helen threw her fan at him. "Mind your own business," returned she. And +he went away laughing. + +"And, my dear, I say the same as William," added Lady Whitney. "One +really might think that you were--were _anxious_ to be married." + +"All cock-a-hoop for it," struck in Cattledon: "as the housemaids are." + +"And no such great crime, either," returned Helen, defiantly. "Fancy +that absurd old thing telling me I never shall be!" + +"Helen, my dear, I think the chances are that you will not be married," +quietly spoke Miss Deveen. + +"Oh, _do_ you!" + +"Don't be cross, Helen," said her mother. "Our destinies are not in our +own hands." + +Helen bit her lip, laughed, and recovered her temper. She was like her +father; apt to flash out a hot word, but never angry long. + +"Now--please, Miss Deveen, _why_ do you think I shall not be?" she asked +playfully. + +"Because, my dear, you have had three chances, so to say, of marriage, +and each time it has been frustrated. In two of the instances by--if we +may dare to say it--the interposition of Heaven. The young men died +beforehand in an unexpected and unforeseen manner: Charles Leafchild and +Mr. Temple----" + +"I was never engaged to Mr. Temple," interrupted Helen. + +"No; but, by all I hear, you shortly would have been." + +Helen gave no answer. She knew perfectly well that she had expected an +offer from Slingsby Temple; that his death, as she believed, alone +prevented its being made. She would have said Yes to it, too. Miss +Deveen went on. + +"We will not give more than an allusion to Captain Foliott; he does not +deserve it; but your marriage with him came nearest of all. It may be +said, Helen, without exaggeration, that you have been on the point of +marriage twice, and very nearly so a third time. Now, what does this +prove?" + +"That luck was against me," said Helen, lightly. + +"Ay, child: luck, as we call it in this world. I would rather say, +Destiny. _God knows best._ Do you wonder that I have never married?" +continued Miss Deveen in a less serious tone. + +"I never thought about it," answered Helen. + +"I know that some people have wondered at it; for I was a girl likely to +marry--or it may be better to say, likely to be sought in marriage. I +had good looks, good temper, good birth, and a good fortune: and I dare +say I was just as willing to be chosen as all young girls are. Yes, I +say that all girls possess an innate wish to marry; it is implanted in +their nature, comes with their mother's milk. Let their station be high +or low, a royal princess, if you will, or the housemaid Jemima Cattledon +suggested just now, the same natural instinct lies within each--a wish +to be a wife. And no reason, either, why they should not wish it; it's +nothing to be ashamed of; and Helen, my dear, I would rather hear a +girl avow it openly, as you do, than pretend to be shocked at its very +mention." + +Some gleams of sunlight flickered on Miss Deveen's white hair and fine +features as she sat under the trees, her bronze-coloured silk gown +falling around her in rich folds, and a big amethyst brooch fastening +her collar. I began to think how good-looking she must have been when +young, and where the eyes of the young men of those days could have +been. Lady Whitney, looking like a bundle in her light dress that ill +became her, sat near, fanning herself. + +"Yes, I do wonder, now I think of it, that you never married," said +Helen. + +"To tell you the truth, I wonder myself sometimes," replied Miss Deveen, +smiling. "I think--I believe--that, putting other advantages aside, I +was well calculated to be a wife, and should have made a good one. Not +that _that_ has anything to do with it; for you see the most incapable +women marry, and remain incapable to their dying day. I could mention +wives at this moment, within the circle of my acquaintance, who are +no more fitted to be wives than is that three-legged stool Johnny is +balancing himself upon; and who in consequence unwittingly keep their +husbands and their homes in a state of perpetual turmoil. I was not one +of these, I am sure; but here I am, unmarried still." + +"Would you marry now?" asked Helen briskly: and we all burst into a +laugh at the question, Miss Deveen's the merriest. + +"Marry at sixty! Not if I know it. I have at least twenty years too many +for that; some might say thirty. But I don't believe many women give up +the idea of marriage before they are forty; and I do not see why they +should. No, nor then, either." + +"But--why did you not marry, Miss Deveen?" + +"Ah, my dear, if you wish for an answer to that question, you must ask +it of Heaven. I cannot give one. All I can tell you is, that I did hope +to be married, and expected to be married, _waited_ to be married; but +here you see me in my old age--Miss Deveen." + +"Did you--never have a chance of it--an opportunity?" questioned Helen +with hesitation. + +"I had more than one chance: I had two or three chances, just as you +have had. During the time that each 'chance' was passing, if we may give +it the term, I thought assuredly I should soon be a wife. But each +chance melted away from this cause or that cause, ending in nothing. And +the conclusion I have come to, Helen, for many a year past, is, that +God, for some wise purpose of His own, decreed that I should not marry. +What we know not here, we shall know hereafter." + +Her tone had changed to one of deep reverence. She did not say more for +a little time. + +"When I look around the world," she at length went on, "and note how +many admirable women see their chances of marriage dwindle down one +after another, from unexpected and apparently trifling causes, it is +impossible not to feel that the finger of God is at work. That----" + +"But now, Miss Deveen, we _could_ marry if we would--all of us," +interrupted Helen. "If we did not have to regard suitability and +propriety, and all that, there's not a girl but could go off to church +and marry _somebody_." + +"If it's only a broomstick," acquiesced Miss Deveen, "or a man no better +than one. Yes, Helen, you are right: and it has occasionally been +done. But when we fly wilfully in the teeth of circumstances, bent +on following our own resolute path, we take ourselves out of God's +hands--and must reap the consequences." + +"I--do not--quite understand," slowly spoke Helen. + +"Suppose I give you an instance of what I mean, my dear. Some years ago +I knew a young lady----" + +"Is it _true_? What was her name?" + +"Certainly it is true, every detail of it. As to her name--well, I do +not see any reason why I should not tell it: her name was Eliza Lake. I +knew her family very well indeed, was intimate with her mother. Eliza +was the third daughter, and desperately eager to be married. Her chances +came. The first offer was eligible; but the two families could not agree +about money matters, and it dropped through. The next offer Eliza would +not accept--it was from a widower with children, and she sent him to the +right-about. The third went on smoothly nearly to the wedding-day, and a +good and suitable match it would have been, but something occurred +then very unpleasant though I never knew the precise particulars. The +bridegroom-elect fell into some trouble or difficulty, he had to quit +his country hastily, and the marriage was broken off--was at an end. +That was the last offer she had, so far as I knew; and the years went +on, Eliza gadding out to parties, and flirting and coquetting, all in +the hope to get a husband. When she was in her thirtieth year, her +mother came to me one day in much distress and perplexity. Eliza, she +said, was taking the reins into her own hands, purposing to be married +in spite of her father, mother, and friends. Mrs. Lake wanted me to talk +to Eliza; she thought I might influence her, though they could not; and +I took an opportunity of doing so--freely. It is of no use to mince +matters when you want to save a girl from ruin. I recalled the past to +her memory, saying that I believed, judging by that past, that Heaven +did not intend her to marry. I told her all the ill I had heard of the +man she was now choosing; also that she had absolutely thrown herself +at him, and he had responded for the sake of the little money she +possessed; and that if she persisted in marrying him she would assuredly +rue it. In language as earnest as I knew how to choose, I laid all this +before her." + +"And what was her answer to you?" Helen spoke as if her breath was +short. + +"Just like the reckless answer that a blinded, foolish girl would make. +'Though Heaven and earth were against me, I should marry him, Miss +Deveen. I am beyond the control of parents, brothers, sisters, friends; +and I will not die an old maid to please any of you.' Those were the +wilful words she used; I have never forgotten them; and the next week +she betook herself to church." + +"Did the marriage turn out badly?" + +"Ay, it did. Could you expect anything else? Poor Eliza supped the cup +of sorrow to its dregs: and she brought bitter sorrow and trouble also +on her family. _That_, Helen, is what I call taking one's self out of +God's hands, and flying determinedly in the face of what is right and +seemly, and _evidently appointed_." + +"You say yourself it is hard not to be married," quoth Helen. + +"No, I do not," laughed Miss Deveen. "I say that it appears hard to us +when our days of youth are passing, and when we see our companions +chosen and ourselves left: but, rely upon it, Helen, as we advance in +years, we acquiesce in the decree; many of us learning to be thankful +for it." + +"And you young people little think what great cause you have to be +thankful for it," cried Lady Whitney, all in a heat. "Marriage brings a +bushel of cares: and no one knows what anxiety boys and girls entail +until they come." + +Miss Deveen nodded emphatically. "It is very true. I would not exchange +my present lot with that of the best wife in England; believe that, or +not, as you will, Helen. Of all the different states this busy earth can +produce, a lot such as mine is assuredly the most exempt from trouble. +And, my dear, if you are destined never to marry, you have a great deal +more cause to be thankful than rebellious." + +"The other day, when you were preaching to us, you told us that trouble +came for our benefit," grumbled Helen, passing into rebellion forthwith. + +"I remember it," assented Miss Deveen, "and very true it is. My +heart has sickened before now at witnessing the troubles, apparently +unmerited, that some people, whether married or single, have to undergo; +and I might have been almost tempted to question the loving-kindness of +Heaven, but for remembering that we must through much tribulation enter +into the Kingdom." + +Anna interrupted the silence that ensued. She came running up with a +handful of wild roses and sweetbriar, gathered in the hedge below. Miss +Deveen took them when offered to her, saying she thought of all flowers +the wild rose was the sweetest. + +"How solemn you all look!" cried Anna. + +"Don't we!" said Helen. "I have been having a lecture read to me." + +"By whom?" + +"Every one here--except Johnny Ludlow. And I am sure I hope _he_ was +edified. I wonder when tea is going to be ready!" + +"Directly, I should say," said Anna: "for here comes Mrs. Ness with the +cups and saucers." + +I ran forward to help her bring the things. Rednal's trim wife, a neat, +active woman with green eyes and a baby in her arms, was following with +plates of bread-and-butter and cake, and the news that the kettle was +"on the boil." Presently the table was spread; and William, who had come +back to us, took up the baby's whistle and blew a blast, prolonged and +shrill. + +The stragglers heard it, understood it was the signal for their return, +and came flocking in. The Squire and Sir John said they had been sitting +under the trees and talking: our impression was, they had been sleeping. +The young Whitneys appeared in various stages of heat; Tod and +Featherston's nephew smelt of smoke. The first cups of tea had gone +round, and Tod was making for Rednal's cottage with a notice that the +bread-and-butter had come to an end, when I saw a delicate little +fair-haired face peering at us from amid the trees. + +"Halloa!" cried the Squire, catching sight of the face at the same +moment. "Who on earth's that?" + +"It's the child we saw this morning--the gipsy's child," exclaimed +William Whitney. "Here, you little one! Stop! Come here." + +He only meant to give her a piece of cake: but the child ran off with +a scared look and fleet step, and was lost in the trees. + +"Senseless little thing!" cried Bill: and sat down to his tea again. + +"But what a pretty child it was!" observed the mater. "She put me in +mind of Lena." + +"Why, Lena's oceans of years older," said Helen, free with her remarks +as usual. "That child, from the glimpse I caught of her, can't be more +than five or six." + +"She is about seven, miss," struck in Rednal's wife, who had just come +up with a fresh supply of tea. "It is nigh upon eight years since young +Walter North went off and got married." + +"Walter North!" repeated Sir John. "Who's Walter North? Let me see? The +name seems familiar to me." + +"Old Walter North was the parish schoolmaster over at Easton, sir. The +son turned out wild and unsteady; and at the time his father died he +went off and joined the gipsies. They had used to encamp about here more +than they do now, as Rednal could tell you, Sir John; and it was said +young North was in love with a girl belonging to the tribe--Bertha Lee. +Any way, they got married. Right-down beautiful she was--for a gipsy; +and so young." + +"Then I suppose North and his wife are here now--if that's their child?" +remarked Sir John. + +"They are here sure enough, sir; somewhere in the wood. Rednal has seen +him about this day or two past. Two or three times they'll be here, +pestering, during the summer, and stop ten or twelve days. Maybe young +North has a hankering after the old spots he was brought up in, and +comes to see 'em," suggestively added Rednal's wife; whose tongue ran +faster than any other two women's put together. And that's saying +something. + +"And how does this young North get a living?" asked Sir John. "By +poaching?--and rifling the poultry-yards?" + +"Like enough he do, Sir John. Them tramps have mostly light fingers." + +"They sell tins--and collect rabbit skins," struck in William. "Johnny +Ludlow and I charged the encampment this morning, and nearly got our +fortunes told." + +Jessy Rednal's chin went up. "They'd better let Rednal catch 'em at +their fortune-telling!--it was the wife, I know, sir, did that. When she +was but a slip of a girl she'd go up as bold as brass to any gentleman +or lady passing, and ask them to cross her hand with silver." + +With this parting fling at the gipsies, Rednal's wife ran off to the +cottage for another basin of sugar. The heat made us thirsty, and we +wanted about a dozen cups of tea apiece. + +But now, I don't know why it was, I had rather taken a fancy to this +young woman, Bertha North, and did not believe the words "as bold as +brass" could be properly applied to her. Gipsy though she was, her face, +for good feeling and refinement, was worth ten of Jessy Rednal's. It's +true she had followed us, wanting to tell our fortunes, but she might +have been hard up for money. + +When we had swallowed as much tea as the kettles would produce, and +cleared the plates of the eatables, Sir John suggested that it would +soon be time to move homewards, as the evening would be coming on. This +had the effect of scattering some of us at once. If they did not get us, +they could not take us. "Home, indeed! as early as this!" cried Helen, +wrathfully--and rushed off with her brother Harry and Featherston's +nephew. + +I was ever so far down one of the wood paths, looking about, for somehow +I had missed them all, when sounds of wailing and crying from a young +voice struck my ear. In a minute, that same fair little child came +running into view, as if she were flying for her life from some pursuing +foe, her sobs wild with terror, her face white as death. + +What she said I could not make out, though she made straight up to me +and caught my arm; the language seemed strange, the breath gone. But +there was no mistaking the motions: she pulled me along with her across +the wood, her little arms and eyes frantically imploring. + +Something must be amiss, I thought. What was it? "Is there a mad bull in +the way, little one? And are you making off with me to do battle with +him?" + +No elucidation from the child: only the sobs, and the words I did not +catch. But we were close to the outskirts of the wood now (it was but +narrow), and there, beyond the hedge that bordered it, crouched down +against the bank, was a man. A fair-faced, good-looking young man, small +and slight, and groaning with pain. + +No need to wonder who he was: the likeness between him and the child +betrayed it. How like they were! even to the expression in the large +blue eyes, and the colour of the soft fair hair. The child's face was +his own in miniature. + +"You are Walter North," I said. "And what's to do?" + +His imploring eyes in their pitiful pain looked up to mine, as if he +would question how I needed to ask it. Then he pulled his fustian coat +aside and pointed to his side. It made me start a step back. The side +was steeped in blood. + +"Oh dear, what is it?--what has caused it? An accident?" + +"I have been shot," he answered--and I thought his voice sounded +ominously weak. "Shot from over yonder." + +Looking across the field in front of us, towards which he pointed, I +could see nothing. I mean, nothing likely to have shot him. No men, no +guns. Off to the left, partly buried amidst its grounds, lay the old +house called the Granary; to the right in the distance, Vale Farm. The +little child was stretched on the ground, quiet now, her head resting on +his right shoulder; it was the left side that was injured. Suddenly he +whispered a few words to her; she sprang up with a sob and darted into +the wood. The child, as we heard later, had been sent out by her mother +to look for her father: it was in seeking for him that she had come upon +our tea-party and peeped at us. Later, she found him, fallen where he +was now, just after the shot which struck him was fired. In her terror +she was flying off for assistance, and met me. The man's hat lay near +him, also an old drab-coloured bag, some tin basins, and a Dutch-oven. + +"Can I move you, to put you easier?" I asked between his groans. "Can I +do anything in the world to help you?" + +"No, no, don't touch me," he said, in a hopeless tone. "I am bleeding to +death." + +And I thought he was. His cheeks and lips were growing paler with every +minute. The man's diction was as good as mine; and, tramp though he was, +many a gentleman has not half as nice a face as his. + +"If you don't mind being left, I will run for a doctor--old +Featherston." + +Before he could answer yes or no, Harry Vale, who must have espied us +from their land, came running up. + +"Why--what in the world----" he began. "Is it you, North? What? Shot, +you say?" + +"From over yonder, sir; and I've got my death-blow: I think I have. +Perhaps if Featherston----" + +"I'll fetch him," cried Harry Vale. "You stay here with him, Johnny." +And he darted away like a lamplighter, his long legs skimming the grass. + +I am nothing but a muff; you know that of old. And never did I feel my +own deficiencies come home to me as they did then. Any one else might +have known how to stop the bleeding--for of course it ought to be +stopped--if only by stuffing a handkerchief into the wound. I did +not dare attempt it; I was worse at any kind of surgery than a born +imbecile. All in a moment, as I stood there, the young gipsy-woman's +words of the morning flashed into my mind. She had foreseen some ill +for him, she said; had scented it in the air. How strange it seemed! + +The next to come upon the scene was the Squire, crushing through the +brambles when he heard our voices. He and Sir John, in dire wrath at our +flight, had come out to look for us and to marshal us back for the start +home. I gave him a few whispered words of explanation. + +"What!" cried he. "Dying?" and his face went as pale as the man's. "Oh, +my poor fellow, I am sorry for this!" + +Stooping over him, the Squire pulled the coat aside. The stains were +larger now, the flow was greater. North bent his head forward to look, +and somehow got his hand wet in the process. Wet and red. He snatched it +away with a kind of horror. The sight seemed to bring upon him the +conviction that his minutes were numbered. His _minutes_. Which is the +last and greatest terror that can seize upon man. + +"I'm going before God now, and I'm not fit for it," he cried, a +shrieking note, born of emotion, in his weakening voice. "Can there be +any mercy for me?" + +The Squire seemed to feel it--he has said so since--as one of the most +solemn moments of his life. He took off his spectacles--a habit of his +when much excited--dropped them into his pocket, and clasped his hands +together. + +"There's mercy with God through the Lord Jesus always," he said, bending +over the troubled face. "He pardoned the thief on the Cross. He pardoned +all who came to Him. If you are Walter North, as they tell me, you must +know all this as well as I do. Lord God have mercy upon this poor dying +man, for Christ's sake!" + +And perhaps the good lessons that North had learnt in childhood from his +mother, for she was a good woman, came back to him then to comfort him. +He lifted his own hands towards the skies, and half the terror went out +of his face. + +Some one once said, I believe, that by standing stock still in the +Strand, and staring at any given point, he could collect a crowd about +him in no time. In the thronged thoroughfares of London that's not to +be surprised at; but what I should like to know is this--how is it that +people collect in deserts? They _do_, and you must have seen it often. +Before many minutes were over we had quite a levee: Sir John Whitney, +William, and Featherston's nephew; three or four labourers from Vale +Farm; Harry Vale, who had met Featherston, and outrun him; and one of +the tall sons of Colonel Leonard. The latter, a young fellow with lazy +limbs, a lazy voice, and supercilious manner, strolled up, smacking a +dog-whip. + +"What's the row here?" cried he: and William Whitney told him. The +man had been shot: by whom or by what means, whether wilfully or +accidentally, remained to be discovered. + +"Did you do it--or your brothers?" asked Harry Vale of him in a low +tone. And Herbert Leonard whirled round to face Vale with a haughty +stare. + +"What the devil do you mean? What should we want to shoot a tramp for?" + +"Any way, you were practising with pistols at your target over yonder +this afternoon." + +Leonard did not condescend to reply. The words had angered him. By no +possibility could a shot, aimed at their target, come in this direction. +The dog-whip shook, as if he felt inclined to use it on Harry Vale for +his insolent suggestion. + +"Such a fuss over a tramp!" cried Leonard to Sir John, not caring who +heard him. "I dare say the fellow was caught thieving, and got served +out for his pains." + +But he did not well know Sir John--who turned upon him like lightning. + +"How dare you say that, young man! Are you not ashamed to give utterance +to such sentiments?" + +"Look here!" coolly retorted Leonard. + +Catching hold of the bag to shake it, out tumbled a dead hen with +ruffled feathers. Sir John looked grave. Leonard held it up. + +"I thought so. It is still warm. He has stolen it from some +poultry-yard." + +I chanced to be standing close to North as Leonard said it, and felt +a feeble twitch at my trousers. Poor North was trying to attract my +attention; gazing up at me with the most anxious face. + +"No," said he, but he was almost too faint to speak now. "No. Tell them, +sir, No." + +But Harry Vale was already taking up the defence. "You are wrong, Mr. +Herbert Leonard. I gave that hen myself to North half-an-hour ago. +Some little lads, my cousins, are at the farm to-day, and one of them +accidentally killed the hen. Knowing our people would not care to use +it, I called to North, who chanced to be passing at the time, and told +him he might take it if he liked." + +A gleam of a smile, checked by a sob, passed over the poor man's face. +Things wear a different aspect to us in the hour of death from what +they do in lusty life. It may be that North saw then that theft, even of +a fowl, _was_ theft, and felt glad to be released from the suspicion. +Sir John looked as pleased as Punch: one does not like to hear wrong +brought home to a dying man. + +Herbert Leonard turned off indifferently, strolling back across the +field and cracking his whip; and Featherston came pelting up. + +The first thing the doctor did, when he had seen North's face, was to +take a phial and small glass out of his pocket, and give him something +to drink. Next, he made a clear sweep of us all round, and knelt down to +examine the wound, just as the poor gipsy wife, fetched by the child, +appeared in sight. + +"Is there any hope?" whispered the Squire. + +"Hope!" whispered back Featherston. "In half-an-hour it will be over." + +"God help him!" prayed the Squire. "God pardon and take him!" + +Well, well--that is about all there is to tell. Poor North died, there +as he lay, in the twilight; his wife's arm round his neck, and his +little girl feebly clasped to him. + +What an end to the bright and pleasant day! Sir John thanked Heaven +openly that it was not we who had caused the calamity. + +"For _somebody_ must have shot him, lads," he observed, "though I +dare say it was accidental. And it might have chanced to be one of +you--there's no telling: you are not too cautious with your guns." + +The "somebody" turned out to be George Leonard. Harry Vale (who had +strong suspicions) was right. When they dispersed after their target +practising, one of them, George, went towards Briar Wood, his pistol +loaded. The thick trees afforded a promising mark, he thought, and he +carelessly let off the pistol at them. Whether he saw that he had shot +a man was never known; he denied it out and out: didn't know one was +there, he protested. A waggoner, passing homewards with his team, had +seen him fire the pistol, and came forward to say so; or it might have +been a mystery to the end. "Accidental Death," decided the jury at +the inquest; but they recommended the supercilious young man (just as +indifferent as his brothers) to take care what he fired at for the +future. Mr. George did not take the rebuke kindly. + +For these sons had hard, bad natures; and were doing their best to bring +down their father's grey hairs with sorrow to the grave. + + * * * * * + +But how strange it seemed altogether! The poor young gipsy-wife's subtle +instinct that evil was near!--and that the shot should just have struck +_him_ instead of spending itself harmlessly upon one of the hundreds of +trees! Verily there are things in this world not to be grasped by our +limited understandings. + + + + +THE STORY OF DOROTHY GRAPE. + +DISAPPEARANCE. + + +I. + +According to Mrs. Todhetley's belief, some people are born to be +unlucky. Not only individuals, but whole families. "I have noticed it +times and again, Johnny, in going through life," she has said to me: +"ill-luck in some way lies upon them, and upon all they do; they +_cannot_ prosper, from their cradle to their grave." That there will be +some compensating happiness for these people hereafter--for they do +exist--is a belief we all like to cherish. + +I am now going to tell of people in rather humble life whom this +ill-luck seemed to attend. _That_ might never have brought the family +into notice, ups and downs being so common in the world: but two +mysterious disappearances occurred in it, which caused them to be talked +about; and those occurrences I must relate before coming to Dorothy's +proper history. They took place before my time; in fact when Squire +Todhetley was a young man, and it is from him that I repeat it. + +At this end of the village of Islip, going into it from Crabb, there +stood on the right-hand side of the road a superior cottage residence, +with lovely yellow roses intertwining themselves about its porch. Robert +Grape and his wife lived in it, and were well enough to do. He was in +the "post-horse duty," the Squire said--whatever that might mean; and +she had money on her own account. The cottage was hers absolutely, and +nearly one hundred pounds a-year income. The latter, however, was only +an annuity, and would die with her. + +There were two children living: Dorothy, softened by her friends into +Dolly; and Thomas. Two others, who came between them, went off in what +Mrs. Grape used to call a "galloping consumption." Dolly's cheeks were +bright and her eyes were blue, and her soft brown hair fell back in +curls from her dimpled face. All the young men about, including the +Squire, admired the little girl; more than their mothers did, who said +she was growing up vain and light-headed. Perhaps she might be; but she +was a modest, well-behaved little maiden. She went to school by day, as +did her brother. + +Mr. Grape's occupation, connected with the "post-horse duty," appeared +to consist in driving about the country in a gig. The length of these +journeys varied, but he would generally be absent about three weeks. +Then he would come home for a short interval, and go off again. He was +a well-conducted man and was respected. + +One Monday morning in summer, when the sun was shining on the yellow +roses and the dew glittered on the grass, Robert Grape was about to +start on one of these journeys. Passing out to his gig, which waited at +the gate, after kissing his wife and daughter, he stopped to pluck a +rose. Dolly followed him out. She was sixteen now and had left school. + +"Take care your old horse does not fall this time, father," said she, +gaily and lightly. + +"I'll take care, lass, if I can," he answered. + +"The truth is, Robert, you want a new horse," said Mrs. Grape, speaking +from the open door. + +"I know I do, Mary Ann. Old Jack's no longer to be trusted." + +"Shall you be at Bridgenorth to-morrow?" + +"No; on Wednesday evening. Good-bye once more. You may expect me home at +the time I've said." And, with those last words he mounted his gig and +drove away. + +From that day, from that hour, Robert Grape was never more seen by his +family. Neither did they hear from him: but he did not, as a rule, write +to them when on his journeys. They said to one another what delightful +weather he was having this time, and the days passed pleasantly until +the Saturday of his expected return. + +But he did not come. Mrs. Grape had prepared a favourite dinner of his +for the Sunday, lamb and peas, and a lemon cheese-cake. They had to take +it without him. Three or four more days passed, and still they saw +nothing of him. Mrs. Grape was not at all uneasy. + +"I think, children, he must have been mistaken in a week," she said to +Dolly and Tom. "It must be next Saturday that he meant. I shall expect +him then." + +He did not come. The Saturday came, but he did not. And the following +week Mrs. Grape wrote a letter to the inn at Bridgenorth, where he was +in the habit of putting-up, asking when he had left it, and for what +town. + +Startling tidings came back in answer. Mr. Grape had quitted the place +nearly four weeks ago, leaving his horse and gig at the inn. He had not +yet returned for them. Mrs. Grape could not make it out; she went off +to Worcester to take the stage-coach for Bridgenorth, and there made +inquiries. The following was the substance of what she learned:-- + +On Wednesday evening, the next day but one after leaving his home, Mr. +Grape approached Bridgenorth. Upon entering the town, the horse started +and fell: his master was thrown out of the gig, but not hurt; the shafts +were broken and the horse lamed. "A pretty kettle of fish, this is," +cried Mr. Grape in his good-humoured way to the ostler, when the damaged +cavalcade reached the inn: "I shall have to take a week's holiday now, I +suppose." The man's answer was to the effect that the old horse was no +longer of much good; Mr. Grape nodded assent, and remarked that he must +be upon the look-out for another. + +In the morning, he quitted the inn on foot, leaving the horse to the +care of the veterinary surgeon, who said it would be four or five +days before he would be fit to travel, and the gig to have its shafts +repaired. Mr. Grape observed to the landlord that he should use the +opportunity to go on a little expedition which otherwise he could not +have found time for, and should be back before the horse was well. But +he never had come back. This was recounted to Mrs. Grape. + +"He did not give any clue as to where he was going," added the landlord; +"he started away with nothing but his umbrella and what he might have +put in his pockets, saying he should walk the first stage of his +journey. His portmanteau is up in his bedroom now." + +All this sounded very curious to Mrs. Grape. It was unlike her open, +out-speaking husband. She inquired whether it was likely that he had +been injured in the fall from the gig and could be lying ill somewhere. + +The landlord shook his head in dissent. "He said he was not hurt a bit," +replied he, "and he did not seem to be. He ate a good supper that night +and made a famous breakfast in the morning." + +An idea flashed across Mrs. Grape's mind as she listened. "I think he +must have gone off for a ramble about the Welsh mountains," spoke she. +"He was there once when a boy, and often said how much he should like to +go there again. In fact he said he should go when he could spare the +time." + +"May be so," assented the landlord. "Them Welsh mountains be pleasant to +look upon; but if a mist comes on, or one meets with an awkward pass, or +anything of that sort--well, ma'am, let's hope we shall see him back +yet." + +After bringing all the inquiries to an end that she was able to make, +Mrs. Grape went home in miserable uncertainty. She did not give up hope; +she thought he must be lying ill amongst the Welsh hills, perhaps had +caught a fever and lost his senses. As the days and the weeks passed on, +a sort of nervous expectancy set in. Tidings of him might come to her +any day, living or dead. A sudden knock at the door made her jump; if +the postman by some rare chance paid them a visit--for letters were not +written in those days by the bushel--it set her trembling. More than +once she had hastily risen in the middle of the night, believing she +heard a voice calling to her outside the cottage. But tidings of Robert +Grape never came. + +That was disappearance the first. + +In the spring of the following year Mrs. Grape sold her pretty homestead +and removed to Worcester. Circumstances had changed with her. Beyond +what little means had been, or could be, saved, the children would have +nothing to help them on in the world. Tom, thirteen years old now, +must have a twelvemonth's good schooling before being placed at some +business. Dolly must learn a trade by which to get her living. In past +times, young people who were not specially educated for it, or were of +humble birth, did not dream of making themselves into governesses. + +"You had better go to the mantua-making, Dolly," said Mrs. Grape. "It's +nice genteel work." + +Dolly drew a wry face. "I should not make much hand at that, mother." + +"But what else is there? You wouldn't like the stay-making----" + +"Oh dear, no." + +"Or to serve in a pastry-cook's shop, or anything of that sort. I should +not like to see you in a shop, myself; you are too--too giddy," added +Mrs. Grape, pulling herself up from saying too pretty. "I think it must +be the mantua-making, Dolly: you'll make a good enough hand at it, once +you've learnt it. Why not?" + + +II. + +The house rented by Mrs. Grape at Worcester was near the London Road. It +was semi-detached, and built, like its fellow in rather a peculiar way, +as though the architect had found himself cramped for space in width +but had plenty of it in depth. It was close to the road, about a yard +only of garden ground lying between. The front-door opened into the +sitting-room; not a very uncommon case then with houses of its class. It +was a fair-sized room, light and pretty, the window being beside the +door. Another door, opposite the window, led to the rest of the house: +a small back-parlour, a kitchen, three rooms above, with a yard and a +strip of garden at the back. It was a comfortable house, at a small +rent; and, once Mrs. Grape had disposed her tasty furniture about it to +advantage, she tried to feel at home and to put aside her longing to be +back under the old roof at Islip. + +In the adjoining house dwelt two Quaker ladies named Deavor, an aunt and +niece, the latter a year or two older than Dolly. They showed themselves +very friendly to the new-comers, as did their respectable old +servant-maid, and the two families became intimate neighbours. + +Dolly, seventeen now, was placed with Miss Pedley, one of the first +dressmakers in the city, as out-door apprentice. She was bound to her +for three years, and went to and fro daily. Tom was day-scholar at a +gentleman's school in the neighbourhood. + +One Saturday evening in summer, when they had been about three months in +their new abode, Mrs. Grape was sitting at the table in the front-room, +making up a smart cap for herself. She had never put on mourning for +her husband, always cherishing the delusive hope that he would some +day return. Tom sat by her, doing his lessons; Dolly was near the open +window, nursing a grey kitten. Tom looked as hot as the evening, as +he turned over the books before him with a puzzled face. He was a +good-looking boy, with soft brown eyes, and a complexion as brilliant +as his sister's. + +"I say, mother," cried he, "I don't think this Latin will be of much +good to me. I shan't make any hand at it." + +"You will be like me then, Tom, for I'm sure I shall never make much of +a hand at dressmaking," spoke up Dolly. "Miss Pedley sees it too." + +"Be quiet, Dolly; don't talk nonsense," said Mrs. Grape. "Let Tom finish +his tasks." + +Thus reprimanded, silence ensued again. It grew dusk; candles were +lighted and the window was shut down, as the breeze blew them about; but +the bright moonlight still streamed in. Presently Dolly left the room to +give the kitten its supper. Suddenly, Tom shut up his books with a bang. + +"Finished, Tom?" + +"Yes, mother." + +He was putting them away when a knock came to the front-door. Tom opened +it. + +"Halloa, Bill!" said he. + +"Halloa, Tom!" responded a boy's voice. "I've come up to ask if you'll +go fishing with me to-morrow." + +"To-morrow!" echoed Tom in surprise. "Why, to-morrow's Sunday!" + +"Bother! I mean Monday. I'm going up to the Weir at Powick: there's +first-rate fishing there. Will you come, Tom?" + +Mrs. Grape wondered who the boy was; she knew the voices of some of +Tom's schoolfellows, but did not recognize this one. Tom, standing on +the low step outside, had partly closed the door behind him, and she +could not see out; but she heard every word as plainly as though the +speakers had been in the room. + +"I should like to go, but I'm sure I could never get leave from school," +said Tom. "Why, the Midsummer examination comes on the end of next week; +our masters just do keep us to it!" + +"Stingy old misers! You might take French leave, Tom." + +"Mother would never let me do that," returned Tom; and he probably made +a sign to indicate that his mother was within hearing, as both voices +dropped to a lower key; but Mrs. Grape still heard distinctly. "Are you +going to take French leave yourself, Bill?" added young Grape. "How else +shall you manage to get off?" + +"Oh, Monday will be holiday with us; it's a Saint's Day. Look here, Tom; +you may as well come. Fishing, up at Powick, is rare fun; and I've some +prime bait." + +"I can't," pleaded Tom: "no good thinking about it. You must get one of +your own fellows instead." + +"Suppose I must. Well, good-night." + +"Good-night, Bill." + +"I touched you last," added the strange voice. There was a shout of +laughter, the door flew back, Tom's hand came in to snatch up his cap, +which lay on a table near, and he went flying after the other boy. + +They had entered upon the fascinating game of "Titch-touch-last." Mrs. +Grape got up, laid her finished cap upon the table, shook the odds and +ends of threads from her black gown, and began to put her needles and +cotton in the little work-box. While she was doing this, Dolly came in +from the kitchen. She looked round the room. + +"Why, where's Tom, mother?" + +"Some boy called to speak to him, and they are running about the road at +Titch-touch-last. The cap looks nice, does it not, Dolly?" + +"Oh, very," assented Dolly. It was one she had netted for her mother; +and the border was spread out in the shape of a fan--the fashion +then--and trimmed with yellow gauze ribbon. + +The voices of the boys were still heard, but at a distance. Dolly went +to the door, and looked out. + +"Yes, there the two are," she cried. "What boy is it, mother?" + +"I don't know," replied Mrs. Grape. "I did not see him, or recognize his +voice. Tom called him 'Bill.'" + +She went also to the door as she spoke, and stood by her daughter on the +low broad step. The voices were fainter now, for the lads, in their +play, were drawing further off and nearer to the town. Mrs. Grape could +see them dodging around each other, now on this side the road, now on +that. It was a remarkably light night, the moon, in the cloudless sky, +almost dazzlingly bright. + +"They'll make themselves very hot," she remarked, as she and Dolly +withdrew indoors. "What silly things boys are!" + +Carrying her cap upstairs, Mrs. Grape then attended to two or three +household matters. Half-an-hour had elapsed when she returned to the +parlour. Tom had not come in. "How very thoughtless of him!" she cried; +"he must know it is his bed-time." + +But neither she nor Dolly felt any uneasiness until the clock struck +ten. A shade of it crept over Mrs. Grape then. What could have become of +the boy? + +Standing once more upon the door-step, they gazed up and down the road. +A few stragglers were passing up from the town: more people would be out +on a Saturday night than on any other. + +"How dost thee this evening, friend Grape?" called out Rachel Deavor, +now sitting with her niece at their open parlour window in the +moonlight. Mrs. Grape turned to them, and told of Tom's delinquency. +Elizabeth Deavor, a merry girl, came out laughing, and linked her arm +within Dolly's. + +"He has run away from thee to take a moonlight ramble," she said +jestingly. "Thee had been treating him to a scolding, maybe." + +"No, I had not," replied Dolly. "I have such a pretty grey kitten, +Elizabeth. One of the girls at Miss Pedley's gave it to me." + +They stood on, talking in the warm summer night, Mrs. Grape at the +window with the elder Quakeress, Dolly at the gate, with the younger, +and the time went on. The retiring hour of the two ladies had long +passed, but they did not like to leave Mrs. Grape to her uncertainty: +she was growing more anxious with every minute. At length the clocks +struck half-past eleven, and Mrs. Grape, to the general surprise, burst +into tears. + +"Nay, nay, now, do not give way," said Rachel Deavor kindly. "Doubtless +he has but gone to the other lad's home, and is letting the time pass +unthinkingly. Boys will be boys." + +"That unaccountable disappearance of my husband makes me more nervous +than I should otherwise be," spoke Mrs. Grape in apology. "It is just a +year ago. Am I going to have a second edition of that, in the person of +my son?" + +"Hush thee now, thee art fanciful; thee should not anticipate evil. It +is a pity but thee had recognized the boy who came for thy son; some of +us might go to the lad's house." + +"I wish I had," sighed Mrs. Grape. "I meant to ask Tom who it was when +he came in. Tom called him 'Bill;' that is all I know." + +"Here he comes!" exclaimed Dolly, who was now standing outside the gate +with Elizabeth Deavor. "He is rushing round the corner, at full speed, +mother." + +"Won't I punish him!" cried Mrs. Grape, in her relieved feelings: and +she too went to the gate. + +Dolly's hopeful eagerness had misled her. It was not Tom. But it was one +of Tom's schoolfellows, young Thorn, whom they all knew. He halted to +explain that he had been to a boys' party in the Bath Road, and expected +to "catch it" at home for staying so late. Dolly interrupted him to +speak of Tom. + +"What an odd thing!" cried the lad. "Oh, he'll come home presently, safe +enough. Which of our fellows are named Bill, you ask, Miss Grape? Let's +see. There's Bill Stroud; and Bill Hardwick--that is, William----" + +"It was neither Stroud nor Hardwick; I should have known the voices of +both," interrupted Mrs. Grape. "This lad cannot, I think, be in your +school at all, Thorn: he said his school was to have holiday on Monday +because it would be a Saint's Day." + +"Holiday, because it was a Saint's Day!" echoed Thorn. "Oh then, he +must have been one of the college boys. No other school goes in for +holidays on the Saints' Days but that. The boys have to attend service +at college, morning and afternoon, so it's not a complete holiday: they +can get it easily, though, by asking leave." + +"I don't think Tom knows any of the college boys," debated Dolly. + +"Yes, he does; our school knows some of them," replied Thorn. +"Good-night: I can't stay. He is sure to turn up presently." + +But Tom Grape did not turn up. At midnight his mother put on her bonnet +and shawl and started out to look for him in the now deserted streets of +the town. Now and again she would inquire of some late wayfarer whether +he had met a boy that night, or perhaps two boys, and described Tom's +appearance; but she could learn nothing. The most feasible idea she +could call up, and the most hopeful, was that Tom had really gone home +with the other lad and that something must have happened to keep him +there; perhaps an accident. Dolly felt sure it must be so. Elizabeth +Deavor, running in at breakfast-time next morning to ask for news, +laughingly said Tom deserved to be shaken. + +But when the morning hours passed and did not bring the truant or any +tidings of him, this hope died away. The first thing to be done was to +find out who the other boy was, and to question him. Perhaps he had also +disappeared! + +Getting from young Thorn the address of those of the college +boys--three--who, as he chanced to know, bore the Christian name of +William, Mrs. Grape went to make inquiries at their houses. She could +learn nothing. Each of the three boys disclaimed all knowledge of the +affair; their friends corroborating their assertion that they had not +been out on the Saturday night. Four more of the King's scholars were +named William, they told her; two of them boarding in the house of the +head-master, the Reverend Allen Wheeler. + +To this gentleman's residence, in the College Green, Mrs. Grape next +proceeded. It was then evening. The head-master listened courteously to +her tale, and became, in his awakened interest, as anxious as she was to +find the right boy. Mrs. Grape said she should not know him, but should +know his voice. Not one of the three boys, already seen, possessed the +voice she had heard. + +The two boarders were called into the room, as a mere matter of form; +for the master was able to state positively that they were in bed at +the hour in question. Neither of them had the voice of the boy who had +called for Tom. It was a very clear voice, Mrs. Grape said; she should +recognize it instantly. + +"Let me see," said the master, going over mentally the list of the forty +King's scholars: "how many more of you boys are named William, beyond +those this lady has seen?" + +The boys considered, and said there were two others; William Smith and +William Singleton; both called familiarly "Bill" in the school. Each of +these boys had a clear, pleasant voice, the master observed; but neither +of them had applied for leave for Monday, nor had he heard of any +projected fishing expedition to Powick. + +To the house of the Singletons next went Mrs. Grape: but the boy's voice +there did not answer to the one she had heard. The Smith family she +could not see; they had gone out for the evening: and she dragged +herself home, utterly beaten down both in body and spirit. + +Another night of anxiety was passed, and then Mrs. Grape returned to +Mr. Smith's and saw "Bill." But Bill was hoarse as a raven; it was not +at all the clear voice she had heard; though he looked desperately +frightened at being questioned. + +So there it was. Tom Grape was lost. Lost! and no clue remained as to +the why and wherefore. He must have gone after his father, said the +sympathizing townspeople, full of wonder; and a superstitious feeling +crept over Mrs. Grape. + +But ere the week was quite over, news came to the desolate home: not of +Tom himself; not of the manner of his disappearance; only of the night +it happened. On the Friday evening Mrs. Grape and Dolly were sitting +together, when a big boy of sixteen appeared at their door, Master Fred +Smith, lugging in his brother Bill. + +"He is come to confess, ma'am," said the elder. "He blurted it all out +to me just now, too miserable to keep it in any longer, and I've brought +him off to you." + +"Oh, tell me, tell me where he is!" implored Mrs. Grape from her fevered +lips; as she rose and clasped the boy, Bill, by the arm. + +"I don't know where he is," answered the boy in trembling earnestness. +"I can't think where; I wish I could. I know no more than the dead." + +"For what have you come here then?" + +"To confess that it was I who was with him. You didn't know my voice on +the Monday because I had such a cold," continued he, laying hold of a +chair-back to steady his shaking hands. "I must have caught it playing +with Tom that night; we got so hot, both of us. When I heard he had +never been home since, couldn't be found anywhere, I felt frightened to +death and didn't like to say it was me who had been with him." + +"Where did you leave him? Where did you miss him?" questioned the +mother, her heart sinking with despair. + +"We kept on playing at titch-touch-last; neither of us would give in, +each wanted to have the last touch; and we got down past the Bath Road, +and on up Sidbury near to the canal bridge. Tom gave me a touch; it was +the last; and he rushed through the Commandery gates. I was getting +tired then, and a thought came to me that instead of going after him +I'd play him a trick and make off home; and I did so, tearing over the +bridge as hard as I could tear. And that's all the truth," concluded the +boy, bursting into tears, "and I never saw Tom again, and have no more +to tell though the head-master hoists me for it to-morrow." + +"It is just what he said to me, Mrs. Grape," put in the brother quietly, +"and I am sure it is the truth." + +"Through the Commandery gates," repeated Mrs. Grape, pressing her aching +brow. "And you did not see him come out again?" + +"No, ma'am, I made off as hard as I could go. While he was rushing down +there--I heard his boots clattering on the flags--I rushed over the +bridge homewards." + +The boy had told all he knew. Now that the confession was made, he +would be too glad to add more had he been able. It left the mystery +just as it was before; no better and no worse. There was no outlet to +the Commandery, except these iron gates, and nothing within it that +could have swallowed up Tom. It was a cul-de-sac, and he must have +come out again by these self-same gates. Whither had he then gone? + +It was proved that he did come out. When Mr. Bill Smith's confession was +made public, an assistant to a doctor in the town remembered to have +seen Tom Grape, whom he knew by sight, as he was passing the Commandery +about that same time to visit a patient in Wyld's Lane. Tom came flying +out of the gates, laughing, and looking up and down the street. "Where +are you, Bill?" he called out. The young doctor, whose name was Seton, +looked back at Tom, as he went on his way. + +But the young man added something more, which nobody else had thought to +speak of, and which afforded a small loop-hole of conjecture as to what +poor Tom's fate might have been. Just about that hour a small barge on +the canal, after passing under Sidbury bridge, came in contact with +another barge. Very little damage was done, but there was a great deal +of shouting and confusion. As Mr. Seton walked over the bridge, not a +second before he saw Tom, he heard the noise and saw people making for +the spot. Had Tom Grape made for it? He could easily have reached it. +And if so, had he, amidst the general pushing and confusion on the canal +bank, fallen into the canal? It was hardly to be imagined that any +accident of this kind could happen to him _unseen_; though it might be +just possible, for the scene for some minutes was one of tumult; but +nothing transpired to confirm it. The missing lad did not reappear, +either dead or alive. + +And so poor Tom Grape had passed out of life mysteriously as his father +had done. Many months elapsed before his mother gave up her search for +him; she was always thinking he would come home again, always hoping +it. The loss affected her more than her husband's had, for Tom vanished +under her very eye, so to say; all the terror of it was palpably enacted +before her, all the suspense had to be borne and lived through; whereas +the other loss took place at a distance and she only grew to realize it +by degrees; which of course softened the blow. And the time went on by +years, but nothing was seen of Tom Grape. + +That was disappearance the second. + +Dolly left her place of business at the end of the three years for which +she had been apprenticed, and set up for herself; a brass plate on her +mothers door--"Miss Grape, Mantua-maker"--proclaiming the fact to the +world. She was only twenty then, with as sweet a face, the Squire says, +as Worcester, renowned though it is for its pretty faces, ever saw. She +had never in her heart taken kindly to her business, so would not be +likely to set the world on fire with her skill; but she had tried to do +her best and would continue to do it. A little work began to come in now +and then; a gown to be turned or a spencer to be made, though not so +many of them as Dolly hoped for: but, as her mother said, Rome was not +built in a day. + + +III. + +"Mother, I think I shall go to college this morning." + +So spoke Dolly at the breakfast-table one Sunday in July. The sun was +shining in at the open window, the birds were singing. + +"It's my belief, Dolly, you would go off to college every Sunday of your +life, if you had your way," said Mrs. Grape. + +Dolly laughed. "And so I would, mother." + +For the beautiful cathedral service had charms for Dolly. Islip +Church was a very primitive church, the good old clergyman was +toothless, the singing of the two psalms was led off by the clerk in a +cracked bass voice; there was no organ. Accustomed to nothing better +than this, the first time Dolly found herself at the cathedral, after +their removal to Worcester, and the magnificent services burst upon +her astonished senses, she thought she must have ascended to some +celestial sphere. The fine edifice, the musical chanting of the +prayers by the minor canons, the singing of the numerous choir, men +and boys in their white surplices, the deep tones of the swelling +organ, the array of white-robed prebendaries, the dignified and +venerable bishop--Cornwall--in his wig and lawn sleeves, the state, +the ceremony of the whole, and the glittering colours of the famed +east window in the distance; all this laid hold of Dolly's senses for +ever. She and her mother attended St. Martin's Church generally, but +Dolly would now and then lure her mother to the cathedral. Latterly +Mrs. Grape had been ailing and did not go anywhere. + +"If you could but go to college to-day, mother!" went on Dolly. + +"Why!" + +"Mr. Benson preaches. I met Miss Stafford yesterday afternoon, and she +told me Mr. Benson had come into residence. The _Herald_ said so too." + +"Then you must go betimes if you would secure a seat," remarked Mrs. +Grape. "And mind you don't get your new muslin skirt torn." + +So Dolly put on her new muslin, and her bonnet, and started. + +When the Reverend Christopher Benson, Master of the Temple, became one +of the prebendaries of Worcester, his fame as a preacher flew to all +parts of the town. You should hear the Squire's account of the crush in +getting into the cathedral on the Sundays that he was in residence: four +Sundays in the year; or five, as the case might be; all told. Members of +other churches, Dissenters of different sects, Quakers, Roman Catholics, +and people who never went anywhere at other times, scrupled not to run +to hear Mr. Benson. For reading like unto his, or preaching like unto +his, had rarely been heard in that cathedral or in any other. Though +it might be only the Gospel that fell to his share in the communion +service, the crowd listened, enraptured, to his sweet, melodious tones. +The college doors were besieged before the hour for opening them; it was +like going into a theatre. + +Dolly, on this day, made one in the crowd at the cloister entrance; +she was pushed here and there; and although she hurried well with the +rest as soon as the doors were unlocked, every seat was taken when she +reached the chancel. She found standing room opposite the pulpit, near +King John's tomb, and felt very hot in the crush. + +"Is it always like this, here?" + +The whispered words came from a voice at her side. Dolly turned, and saw +a tall, fine-looking, well-dressed man about thirty, with a green silk +umbrella in his hand. + +"No," she whispered back again. "Only for four or five Sundays, at this +time of the year, when Mr. Benson preaches." + +"Indeed," said the stranger. "His preaching ought to be something +extraordinary to attract such a crowd as this." + +"And so it is," breathed Dolly. "And his reading--oh, you never heard +any reading like it." + +"Very eloquent, I suppose?" + +"I don't know whether it may be called eloquence," debated Dolly, +remembering that a chance preacher she once heard, who thumped the +cushions with his hands and shook the air with his voice, was said to +be eloquent. "Mr. Benson is the quietest preacher and reader I ever +listened to." + +The stranger seemed to be a kind sort of man. During the stir made by +the clergy, preceded by the six black-robed, bowing bedesmen, going up +to the communion-table, he found an inch of room on a bench, and secured +it for Dolly. She thanked him gratefully. + +Mr. Benson's sermon came to an end, the bishop gave the blessing from +his throne, and the crowd poured out. Dolly, by way of a change, made +her exit from the great north entrance. The brightness of the day had +changed; a sharp shower was falling. + +"Oh dear! My new muslin will be wet through!" thought Dolly. "This +parasol's of no use." + +"Will you allow me to offer you my umbrella--or permit me to hold it +over you?" spoke the stranger, who must have followed her out. And Dolly +hesitated and flushed, and did not know whether she ought to say yes or +no. + +He held the umbrella over Dolly, letting his own coat get wet. The +shower ceased presently; but he walked on by her side to her mother's +door, and then departed with a bow fit for an emperor. + +"What a polite man!" thought Dolly. "Quite a gentleman." And she +mentioned the occurrence to her mother; who seemed to-day more poorly +than usual. + +They sat at the open window in the afternoon, and Dolly read aloud the +evening psalms. It was the fifth day of the month. As Dolly finished the +last verse and closed the book, Mrs. Grape, after a moment's silence, +repeated the words:-- + +"The Lord shall give strength unto His people: the Lord shall give His +people the blessing of peace." + +"What a beautiful promise that is, Dolly!" she said in hushed tones. +"Peace! Ah, my dear, no one can know what that word means until they +have been sorely tried. Peace everlasting!" + +Mrs. Grape leaned back in her chair, gazing upwards. The sky was of a +deep blue; a brilliant gold cloud, of peculiar shape, was moving slowly +across it just overhead. + +"One could almost fancy it to be God's golden throne in the brighter +land," she murmured. "My child, do you know, the thought comes across me +at times that it may not be long before I am there. And I am getting to +long for it." + +"Don't say that, mother," cried the startled girl. + +"Well, well, dear, I don't want to frighten you. It is all as God +pleases." + +"I shall send to ask Mr. Nash to come to see you to-morrow, mother. Do +you feel worse?" + +Mrs. Grape slightly shook her head. Presently she spoke. + +"Is it not almost teatime, Dolly?--whoever is that?" + +A gentleman, passing, with a red rose in his button-hole and silk +umbrella in his hand, was taking off his hat to Dolly. Dolly's face +turned red as the rose as she returned the bow, and whispered to her +mother that it was the polite stranger. He halted to express a hope that +the young lady had not taken cold from the morning shower. + +He turned out to be a Mr. Mapping, a traveller in the wine trade for +some London house. But, when he was stating this to Mrs. Grape during +the first visit paid her (for he contrived to make good his entrance +to the house), he added in a careless, off-hand manner, that he was +thankful to say he had good private means and was not dependent upon his +occupation. He lingered on in Worcester, and became intimate with the +Grapes. + +Events thickened. Before the next month, August, came in, Mrs. Grape +died. Dolly was stunned; but she would have felt the blow even more +keenly than she did feel it had she not fallen over head and ears in +love with Alick Mapping. About three hundred pounds, all her mother's +savings, came to Dolly; excepting that, and the furniture, she was +unprovided for. + +"You cannot live upon that: what's a poor three hundred pounds?" spoke +Mr. Mapping a day or two after the funeral, his tone full of tender +compassion. + +"How rich he must be himself!" thought poor Dolly. + +"You will have to let me take care of you, child." + +"Oh dear!" murmured Dolly. + +"We had better be married without delay. Once you are my wife----" + +"Please don't go on!" interposed Dolly in a burst of sobs. "My dear +mother is hardly buried." + +"But what are you to do?" he gently asked. "You will not like to live +here alone--and you have no income to live here upon. Your business is +worth nothing as yet; it would not keep you in gloves. If I speak of +these things prematurely, Dolly, it is for your sake." + +Dolly sobbed. The future looked rather desolate. + +"You have promised to be my wife, Dolly: remember that." + +"Oh, please don't talk of it yet awhile!" sobbed Dolly. + +"Leave you here alone I will not; you are not old enough to take care +of yourself; you must have a protector. I will take you with me to +London, where you will have a good home and be happy as a cricket: but +you must know, Dolly, that I cannot do that until we are married. All +sensible people must say that you will be quite justified under the +circumstances." + +Mr. Alick Mapping had a wily tongue, and Dolly was persuaded to listen. +The marriage was fixed for the first week in September, and the banns +were put up at St. Martin's Church; which, as every one knows, stands in +the corn-market. Until then, Mr. Mapping returned to London; to make, +as he told Dolly, preparations for his bride. An acquaintance of Mrs. +Grape's, who had been staying with Dolly since the death, would remain +with her to the last. As soon as Dolly was gone, the furniture would be +sold by Mr. Stretch, the auctioneer, and the proceeds transmitted to +Dolly in London. Mrs. Grape had given all she possessed to Dolly, in the +fixed and firm belief that her son was really no more. + +But all this was not to be put in practice without a warning from their +neighbour, the Quaker lady; she sent for Dolly, being confined to her +own chamber by illness. + +"Thee should not be in this haste, Dorothy," she began. "It is not +altogether seemly, child, and it may not be well for thee hereafter. +Thee art too young to marry; thee should wait a year or two----" + +"But I am not able to wait," pleaded poor Dolly, with tears in her eyes. +"How could I continue to live alone in the house--all by myself?" + +"Nay, but thee need not have done that. Some one of discreet age would +have been glad to come and share expenses with thee. I might have helped +thee to a suitable person myself: a cousin of mine, an agreeable and +kindly woman, would like to live up this way. But the chief objection +that I see to this hasty union, Dorothy," continued Miss Deavor, "is +that thee knows next to nothing about the young man." + +Dolly opened her eyes in surprise. "Why, I know him quite well, dear +Miss Rachel. He has told me all about himself." + +"That I grant thee. Elizabeth informs me that thee has had a good +account from himself as to his means and respectability. But thee has +not verified it." + +"Verified it!" repeated Dolly. + +"Thee has not taken steps to ascertain that the account he gives is +true. How does thee know it to be so?" + +Dolly's face flushed. "As if he would deceive me! You do not know him, +Miss Deavor." + +"Nay, child, I wish not to cast undeserved aspersion on him. But thee +should ask for proof that what he tells thee is correct. Before thee +ties thyself to him for life, Dorothy, thee will do well to get some +friend to make inquiries in London. It is my best advice to thee, child; +and it is what Mary Ann Grape, thy mother, would have done before giving +thee to him." + +Dolly thanked Miss Deavor and went away. The advice was well meant, of +course; she felt that; but quite needless. Suspect Alick Mapping of +deceit! Dolly would rather have suspected herself. And she did nothing. + +The morning of the wedding-day arrived in due course. Dolly was attiring +herself for the ceremony in a pretty new grey gown, her straw bonnet +trimmed with white satin lying on the bed (to resume her black on the +morrow), when Elizabeth Deavor came in. + +"I have something to say to thee, Dolly," she began, in a grave tone. "I +hardly knew whether to speak to thee or not, feeling not altogether sure +of the thing myself, so I asked Aunt Rachel, and she thinks thee ought +to be told." + +"What is it?" cried Dolly. + +"I think I saw thy brother Tom last night." + +The words gave Dolly a curious shock. She fell back in a chair. + +"I will relate it to thee," said Elizabeth. "Last evening I was at Aunt +Rachel's window above-stairs, when I saw a boy in dark clothes standing +on the pavement outside, just opposite thy gate. It was a bright night, +as thee knows. He had his arms folded and stood quite still, gazing at +this house. The moonlight shone on his face and I thought how much it +was like poor lost Tom's. He still stood on; so I went downstairs and +stepped to our gate, to ask whether he was in want of any one: and then, +Dolly, I felt queerer than I ever felt in my life, for I saw that it was +Tom. At least, I thought so." + +"Did he speak?" gasped Dolly. + +"He neither spoke nor answered me: he turned off, and went quickly down +the road. I think it was Tom; I do indeed." + +"What am I to do?" cried Dolly. "Oh, if I could but find him!" + +"There's nothing to do, that we can see," answered the young Quakeress. +"I have talked it over with Aunt Rachel. It would appear as though he +did not care to show himself: else, if it were truly thy brother, why +did he not come in? I will look out for him every night and speak to him +if he appears again. I promise thee that, Dolly." + +"Why do you say 'appears,' Elizabeth?" cried the girl. "You think it was +himself, do you not; not his--his spirit?" + +"Truly, I can but conclude it was himself." + +Dolly, in a state of bewilderment, what with one thing and another, was +married to Alick Mapping in St. Martin's Church, by its white-haired +Rector, Digby Smith. A yellow post-chaise waited at the church-gates +and carried them to Tewkesbury. The following day they went on by coach +to Gloucester, where Mr. Mapping intended to stay a few days before +proceeding to London. + +They took up their quarters at a comfortable country inn on the +outskirts of the town. On the second day after their arrival, Dolly, +about to take a country walk with her husband, ran downstairs from +putting her bonnet on, and could not see him. The barmaid told her he +had gone into the town to post a letter, and asked Dolly to step into +the bar-parlour to wait. + +It was a room chiefly used by commercial travellers. Dolly's attention +was caught by something over the mantelpiece. In a small glass-case, +locked, there was the portrait of a man cleverly done in pencil; by its +side hung a plain silver watch with a seal and key attached to a short +black ribbon: and over all was a visiting-card, inscribed in ink, "Mr. +Gardner." Dolly looked at this and turned sick and faint: it was her +father's likeness, her father's watch, seal, and ribbon. Of an excitable +nature, she burst into tears, and the barmaid ran in. There and then, +the mystery so long hanging about Robert Grape's fate was cleared up, so +far as it ever would be in this world. + +He had left Bridgenorth, as may be remembered, on the Thursday morning. +Towards the evening of the following day, Friday, as Dolly now heard, he +appeared at this very inn. This same barmaid, an obliging, neat, and +modest young woman, presenting a rare contrast to the barmaids of the +present day, saw him come in. His face had a peculiar, grey shade upon +it, which attracted her notice, and she asked him if he felt ill. He +answered that he felt pretty well then, but supposed he must have had a +fainting-fit when walking into the town, for to his surprise he found +himself on the grass by the roadside, waking up from a sort of stupor. +He engaged a bedroom for the night, and she thought he said--but she had +never been quite sure--that he had come to look out for a horse at the +fair to be held in Gloucester the next day. He took no supper, "not +feeling up to it," he said, but drank a glass of weak brandy-and-water, +and ate a biscuit with it, before going up to bed. The next morning he +was found dead; had apparently died quietly in his sleep. An inquest was +held, and the medical men testified that he had died of heart disease. +Poor Dolly, listening to this, wondered whether the pitch out of the gig +at Bridgenorth had fatally injured him. + +"We supposed him to be a Mr. Gardner," continued the barmaid, "as that +card"--pointing to it--"was found in his pocket-book. But we had no clue +as to who he was or whence he came. His stockings were marked with a 'G' +in red cotton; and there was a little loose money in his pocket and a +bank-note in his pocket-book, just enough to pay the expenses of the +funeral." + +"But that likeness," said Dolly. "How did you come by it? Who took it?" + +"Ah, ma'am, it was a curious thing, that--but such things do not happen +by chance. An idle young man of the town used to frequent our inn; he +was clever at drawing, and would take off a likeness of any one near +him with a few strokes of a pen or pencil in a minute or two, quite +surreptitious like and for his own amusement. Wonderful likenesses +they were. He was in the bar-parlour, this very room, ma'am, while the +stranger was drinking his brandy-and-water, and he dashed off this +likeness." + +"It is _exactly_ like," said poor Dolly. "But his name was Grape, not +Gardner. It must have been the card of some acquaintance." + +"When nobody came forward to identify the stranger, the landlord got the +sketch given up to him," continued the young woman. "He put it in this +case with the watch and seal and card, and hung it where you see, hoping +that sometime or other it might be recognized." + +"But did you not let it be known abroad that he had died?" sighed Dolly. + +"Why, of course we did; and put an advertisement in the Gloucester +papers to ask if any Mr. Gardner was missing from his friends. Perhaps +the name, not being his, served to mislead people. That's how it was, +ma'am." + +So that the one disappearance, that of Robert Grape, was now set at +rest. + + + + +THE STORY OF DOROTHY GRAPE. + +IN AFTER YEARS. + + +I. + +We found her out through Mr. Brandon's nephew, Roger Bevere, a medical +student, who gave his people trouble, and one day got his arm and +head broken. Mr. Brandon and the Squire were staying in London at the +Tavistock Hotel. I, Johnny Ludlow, was also in London, visiting Miss +Deveen. News of the accident was brought to Mr. Brandon; the young man +had been carried into No. 60, Gibraltar Terrace, Islington, and a doctor +named Pitt was attending him. + +We went to see him at once. A narrow, quiet street, as I recollected +well, this Gibraltar Terrace, the dwellings it contained facing each +other, thirty in a row. No. 60 proved to be the same house to which +we had gone once before, when inquiring about the illness of Francis +Radcliffe, and Pitt was the same doctor. It was the same landlady also; +I knew her as soon as she opened the door; a slender, faded woman, long +past middle life, with a pink flush on her thin cheeks, and something of +the lady about her. + +"What an odd thing, Johnny!" whispered the Squire, recognizing the +landlady as well as the house. "Mapping, I remember her name was." + +Mr. Brandon went upstairs to his nephew. We were shown by her into the +small parlour, which looked as faded as it had looked on our last visit, +years before: as faded as she was. While relating to us how young +Bevere's accident occurred, she had to run away at a call from upstairs. + +"Looks uncommonly careworn, doesn't she, Johnny!" remarked the Squire. +"Seems a nice sort of person, though." + +"Yes, sir. I like her. Does it strike you that her voice has a home-ring +in it? I think she must be from Worcestershire." + +"A home-ring--Worcestershire!" retorted he. "It wouldn't be you, Johnny, +if you did not get up some fancy or other. Here she comes! You are not +from Worcestershire, are you, ma'am?" cried the Squire, going to the +root of the question at once, in his haste to convict my fancy of its +sins. + +"Yes, I am, sir," she replied; and I saw the pink flush on her cheeks +deepen to crimson. "I knew you, sir, when I was a young girl, many years +ago. Though I should not have recognized you when you were last here, +but that you left your card. We lived at Islip, sir; at that pretty +cottage with the yellow roses round the porch. You must remember Dolly +Grape." + +"But you are not Dolly Grape!" returned the Squire, pushing up his +spectacles. + +"Yes, sir, I was Dolly Grape. Your mother knew us well; so did you." + +"Goodness bless my heart!" softly cried the Squire, gazing at her as if +the news were too much for him. And then, starting up impulsively, he +grasped her hand and gave it a hearty shake. A sob seemed to take her +throat. The Squire sat back again, and went on staring at her. + +"My father disappeared mysteriously on one of his journeys; you may +remember us by that, sir." + +"To be sure I remember it--Robert Grape!" assented the Squire. "Had to +do with the post-horse duty. Got as far as Bridgenorth, and was never +heard of again. And it is really you--Dolly Grape! And you are living +here--letting lodgings! I'm afraid the world has not been overkind to +you." + +She shook her head; tears were running down her faded cheeks. + +"No, it has not, sir," she answered, as she wiped them away with her +handkerchief. "I have had nothing but ups and downs in life since +leaving Worcester: sad misfortunes: sometimes, I think, more than my +share. Perhaps you heard that I married, sir--one Mr. Mapping?" + +The Squire nodded slightly. He was too busy gazing at her to pay +attention to much else. + +"I am looking at you to see if I can trace the old features of the old +days," he said, "and I do now; they grow upon my memory; though you +were but a slip of a girl when I used to see you. I wonder I did not +recognize you at first." + +"And I wonder that you can even recognize me now, sir," she returned: +"trouble and grief have so much altered me. I am getting old, too." + +"Have you lived in this house long?" + +"Nearly ten years, sir. I live by letting my rooms." + +The Squire's voice took a tone of compassion. + +"It can't be much of a living, once the rent and taxes are paid." + +Mrs. Mapping's mild blue eyes, that seemed to the Squire to be of a +lighter tinge than of yore, wore a passing sadness. Any one able to read +it correctly might have seen she had her struggles. + +"Are you a widow?" + +"I--call myself one, sir," she replied, with hesitation. + +"_Call_ yourself one!" retorted the Squire, for he liked people to be +straightforward in their speech. "My good woman, you are a widow, or you +are not one." + +"I pass for one, sir." + +"Now, what on earth do you mean?" demanded he. "Is your +husband--Mapping--not dead?" + +"He was not dead when I last heard of him, sir; that's a long while ago. +But he is not my husband." + +"Not your husband!" echoed the Squire, pushing up his spectacles again. +"Have you and he quarrelled and parted?" + +Any countenance more pitifully sad than Mrs. Mapping's was at that +moment, I never wish to see. She stood smoothing down her black silk +apron (which had a slit in it) with trembling fingers. + +"My history is a very painful one," she said at last in a low voice. "I +will tell it if you wish; but not this morning. I should like to tell +it you, sir. It is some time since I saw a home-face, and I have often +pictured to myself some kind friendly face of those old happy days +looking at me while I told it. Different days from these." + +"These cannot be much to boast of," repeated the Squire. "It must be a +precarious sort of living." + +"Of course it fluctuates," she said. "Sometimes my rooms are full, at +other times empty. One has to put the one against the other and strive +to tide over the hard days. Mr. Pitt is very good to me in recommending +the rooms to medical students; he is a good-natured man." + +"Oh, indeed! Listen to that, Johnny! Pitt good-natured! Rather a loose +man, though, I fancy, ma'am." + +"What, Mr. Pitt? Sir, I don't think so. He has a surgery close by, and +gets a good bit of practice----" + +The rest was interrupted by Mr. Pitt himself; he came to say we might go +up to Mr. Brandon in the sick-room. We had reason to think ill enough +of Pitt in regard to the Radcliffe business; but the Squire could not +tackle him about the past offhand, this not being just the time or place +for it. Later, when he did so, it was found that we had been misjudging +the man. Pitt had not joined Stephen Radcliffe in any conspiracy; and +the false letter, telling of Frank's death at Dr. Dale's, had not been +written by him. So we saw that it must have been concocted by Stephen +himself. + +"Any way, if I did write such a letter, I retained no consciousness +of it afterwards," added Pitt, with candour. "I am sorry to say, Mr. +Todhetley, that I gave way to drink at that time, and I know I was often +not myself. But I do not think it likely that I wrote it; and as to +joining Mr. Radcliffe in any conspiracy against his brother, why, I +would not do such a thing, drunk or sober, and I never knew it had been +done." + +"You have had the sense to pull up," cried the Squire, in reference to +what Pitt had admitted. + +"Yes," answered Pitt, in a voice hardly above a whisper. "And I never +think of what I might have become by this time, but for pulling up, but +I thank God." + +These allusions, however, may perhaps only puzzle the reader. And it is +not with Mr. Pitt, his virtues or his failings, that this paper concerns +itself, but with the history of Dorothy Grape. + +We must take it up from the time Dorothy arrived in London with her +husband, Alick Mapping, after their marriage at Worcester, as already +narrated. The sum of three hundred pounds, owned by Dolly, passed into +Mr. Mapping's possession on the wedding-day, for she never suggested +such a thing as that it should be settled on herself. The proceeds, +arising from the sale of the furniture, were also transmitted to him +later by the auctioneer. Thus he had become the proprietor of Dolly, +and of all her worldly goods. After that, he and she faded out +of Worcestershire memory, and from the sight of Worcestershire +people--except for one brief meeting, to be mentioned presently. + +The home in London, to which her husband conveyed her, and of which he +had boasted, Dolly found to be lodgings. Lodgings recently engaged by +him, a sitting-room and bedroom, in the Blackfriars Road. They were over +a shop, kept by one Mrs. Turk, who was their landlady. "I would not +fix upon a house, dear, without you," he said; and Dolly thanked him +gratefully. All he did was right to her. + +She was, as he had told her she would be, happy as a cricket, though +bewildered with the noisy bustle of the great town, and hardly daring to +venture alone into its busy streets, more crowded than was Worcester +Cathedral on the Sundays Mr. Benson preached. The curious elucidation at +Gloucester of what her father's fate had been was a relief to her mind, +rather than the contrary, once she had got over its sadness; though the +still more curious doubt about her brother Tom, whispered to her by +Elizabeth Deavor on her wedding morning, was rarely absent from her +thoughts. But Dolly was young, Dolly was in love, and Dolly was +intensely happy. Her husband took her to the theatres, to Vauxhall, and +to other places of amusement; and Dolly began to think life was going to +be a happy valley into which care would never penetrate. + +This happy state of things changed. Mr. Mapping took to be a great deal +away from home, sometimes for weeks together. He laid the fault upon his +business; travellers in the wine trade had to go all over England, +he said. Dolly was not unreasonable and accepted the explanation +cheerfully. + +But something else happened now and then that was less satisfactory. Mr. +Mapping would appear at home in a condition that frightened Dolly: as if +he had made the mistake of tasting the wine samples himself, instead of +carrying them to his customers. Never having been brought into contact +with anything of the kind in her own home, she regarded it with terror +and dismay. + +Then another phase of discomfort set in: money seemed to grow short. +Dolly could not get from her husband what was needed for their moderate +expenses; which were next to nothing when he was away from home. She +cried a little one day when she wanted some badly and he told her he had +none to give her. Upon which Mr. Mapping turned cross. There was no need +of tears, he said: it would all come right if she did not bother. Dolly, +in her secret heart, hoped he would not have to break in upon what +he called their "nest-egg," that three hundred pounds in the bank. +A nest-egg which, as he had more than once assured her, it was his +intention to keep intact. + +Only in one thing had Mr. Mapping been arbitrary: he would not allow +her to hold any communication with Worcester. When they first came to +London, he forbade Dolly to write to any of her former friends, or to +give them her address. "You have no relatives there," he said, "only a +few acquaintances, and I would prefer, Dolly, that you dropped them +altogether." Of course she obeyed him: though it prevented her writing +to ask Elizabeth Deavor whether she had again seen Tom. + +Things, despite Mr. Mapping's assurances, did not come right. As the +spring advanced, his absences became more marked and the money less +plentiful. Dolly shed many tears. She knew not what to do; for, as +the old song says, not e'en love can live on flowers. It was a very +favourite song of Dolly's, and her tuneful voice might often be heard +trilling it through from beginning to end as she sat at work. + + "Young Love lived once in a humble shed, + Where roses breathing + And woodbines wreathing + Around the lattice their tendrils spread, + As wild and as sweet as the life he led. + + "The garden flourished, for young Hope nourished, + And Joy stood by to count the hours: + But lips, though blooming, must still be fed, + And not e'en Love can live on flowers. + + "Alas, that Poverty's evil eye + Should e'er come hither + Such sweets to wither; + The flowers laid down their heads to die, + And Love looked pale as the witch drew nigh. + + "She came one morning, and Love had warning, + For he stood at the window, peeping for day: + 'Oh, oh,' said he, 'is it you,--good-bye'-- + And he opened the window and flew away." + +Dolly's love did not fly away, though the ugly witch, Poverty, was +certainly showing herself. Mrs. Turk grew uneasy. Dolly assured her +there was no occasion for that; that if the worst came to the worst, +they must break into the "nest-egg" which they had lying by in the Bank +of England--the three hundred pounds left her by her mother. + +One bright day in May, Dolly, pining for the outdoor sunshine, betook +herself to Hyde Park, a penny roll in her pocket for her dinner. The sun +glittered in the blue sky, the air was warm, the birds chirped in the +trees and hopped on the green grass. Dolly sat on a bench enjoying the +sweetness and tranquillity, thinking how very delightful life might be +when no evil stepped in to mar it. + +Two Quakeress ladies approached arm-in-arm, talking busily. Dolly +started up with a cry: for the younger one was Elizabeth Deavor. She had +come to London with a friend for the May meetings. The two girls were +delighted to see each other, but Elizabeth was pressed for time. + +"Why did thee never write to me, Dorothy? I had but one letter from +thee, written at Gloucester, telling me, thee knows, all about thy poor +father." And, to this question, Dolly murmured some lame excuse. + +"I wanted to write to thee, but I had not thy address. I promised thee +I would look out for Tom--" + +"And have you seen him again?" interrupted Dolly in excitement. "Oh, +Elizabeth?" + +"I have seen the boy again, but it was not Tom: and I am very sorry +that my fancy misled me and caused me to excite thy hopes. It was only +recently, in Fourth month. I saw the same boy standing in the same +place before thy old gate, his arms folded, and looking at the house as +before, in the moonlight. I ran out, and caught his arm, and held it +while he told me who he was and why he came there. It was not thy +brother, Dorothy, but the likeness to him is marvellous." + +"No!--not he?" gasped Dolly, woefully disappointed. + +"It is one Richard East," said Elizabeth; "a young sailor. He lived with +his mother in that house before she died, when he was a little boy; and +when he comes home from a voyage now, and is staying with his friends in +Melcheapen Street, he likes to go up there and have a good look at it. +This is all. As I say, I am sorry to have misled thee. We think there +cannot be a doubt that poor Tom really lost his life that night in the +canal. And art thee nicely, Dorothy?--and is thy husband well? Thee art +looking thin. Fare thee well." + +Summer passed, Dolly hardly knew how. She was often reduced to straits, +often and often went dinnerless. Mrs. Turk only had a portion of what +was due to her by fits and starts. Mr. Mapping himself made light of +troubles; they did not seem to touch him much; he was always in spirits +and always well dressed. + +"Alick, you should draw a little of that money in the bank," his wife +ventured to suggest one day when Mrs. Turk had been rather troublesome. +"We cannot go on like this." + +"Break in upon our 'nest-egg!'" he answered. "Not if I know it, Dolly. +Mrs. Turk must wait." + +A little circumstance was to happen that gave some puzzle to Dolly. She +had been married about fourteen months, and her husband was, as she +believed, on his travels in Yorkshire, when Lord-Mayor's day occurred. +Mrs. Gurk, a good woman in the main, and compassionating the loneliness +of the young wife, offered to take her to see the show, having been +invited to an upper window of a house in Cheapside. Of all the sights in +the world that Dolly had heard of, she quite believed that must be the +greatest, and felt delighted. They went, took up their station at the +window, and the show passed. If it had not quite come up to Dolly's +expectation, she did not say so. + +"A grand procession, is it not, Mrs. Mapping?" cried her companion, +gazing after it with admiring eyes. + +"Very," said Dolly. "I wonder--Good gracious!" she broke off, with +startling emphasis, "there's my husband!" + +"Where?" asked Mrs. Turk, her eyes bent on the surging crowd below. + +"There," said Dolly, pointing with her finger; "there! He is arm-in-arm +with two others; in the middle of them. How very strange! It was only +yesterday I had a letter from him from Bradford, saying he should be +detained there for some time to come. How I wish he had looked up at +this window!" + +Mrs. Turk's sight had failed to single him out amongst the moving crowd. +And as Mr. Mapping did not make his appearance at home that evening, or +for many evenings to come, she concluded that the young wife must have +been mistaken. + +When Mr. Mapping did appear, he said the same, telling Dolly she must +have "seen double," for that he had not been in London. Dolly did not +insist, but she felt staggered and uncomfortable; she felt _certain_ it +was her husband she saw. + +How long the climax would have been postponed, or in what way it might +have disclosed itself, but for something that occurred, cannot be +conjectured. This wretched kind of life went on until the next spring. +Dolly was reduced to perplexity. She had parted with all the pretty +trinkets her mother left her; she would live for days together upon +bread-and-butter and tears: and a most unhappy suspicion had instilled +itself into her mind--that the nest-egg no longer existed. But even yet +she found excuses for her husband; she thought that all doubt might +still be explained away. Mrs. Turk was very good, and did not worry; +Dolly did some plain sewing for her, and made her a gown or two. + +On one of these spring days, when the sun was shining brightly on the +pavement outside, Dolly went out on an errand. She had not gone many +steps from the door when a lady, very plainly dressed, came up and +accosted her quietly. + +"Young woman, I wish to ask why you have stolen away my husband?" + +"Good gracious!" exclaimed the startled Dolly. "What do you mean?" + +"You call yourself Mrs. Mapping." + +"I am Mrs. Mapping." + +The stranger shook her head. "We cannot converse here," she said. "Allow +me to go up to your room"--pointing to it. "I know you lodge there." + +"But what is it that you want with me?" objected Dolly, who did not like +all this. + +"You think yourself the wife of Alick Mapping. You think you were +married to him." + +Dolly wondered whether the speaker had escaped from that neighbouring +stronghold, Bedlam. "I don't know what it is you wish to insinuate," she +said. "I was married to Mr. Mapping at St. Martin's Church in Worcester, +more than eighteen months ago." + +"Ay! But I, his wife, was married to him in London seven years ago. +Yours was no marriage; he deceived you." + +Dolly's face was turning all manner of colours. She felt frightened +almost to death. + +"Take me to your room and I will tell you all that you need to know. Do +not fear I shall reproach you; I am only sorry for you; it has been no +fault of yours. He is a finished deceiver, as I have learnt to my cost." + +Dolly led the way. Seated together, face to face, her eyes strained on +the stranger's, she listened to the woeful tale, which was gently told. +That it was true she could not doubt. Alick Mapping had married her at +St. Martin's Church in Worcester, but he had married this young woman +some years before it. + +"You are thinking that I look older than my husband," said she, +misinterpreting Dolly's gaze. "That is true. I am five years older, and +am now approaching my fortieth year. He pretended to fall in love with +me; I thought he did; but what he really fell in love with was my +money." + +"How did you come to know about me?--how did you find it out?" gasped +Dolly. + +"It was through Mrs. Turk, your landlady," answered the true wife. "She +has been suspecting that something or other was wrong, and she talked of +it to a friend of hers who chances to know my family. This friend was +struck with the similarity of name--the Alick Mapping whose wife was +here in the Blackfriars Road, and the Alick Mapping whose wife lived at +Hackney." + +"How long is it since he left you?" asked poor Dolly. + +"He has not left me. He has absented himself inexplicably at times for +a year or two past, but he is still with me. He is at home now, at this +present moment. I have a good home, you must understand, and a good +income, which he cannot touch; he would think twice before giving up +that. Had you money?" continued the lady abruptly. + +"I had three hundred pounds. He told me he had placed it in the Bank of +England; I think he did do that; and that he should never draw upon it, +but leave it there for a nest-egg." + +Mrs. Mapping smiled in pity. "You may rely upon it that there's not a +shilling left of it. Money in his hands, when he can get hold of any, +runs out of them like water." + +"Is it true that he travels for a wine house?" + +"Yes--and no. It is his occupation, but he is continually throwing up +his situations: pleasure has more attraction for him than work; and he +will be a gentleman at large for months together. Yet not a more clever +man of business exists than he is known to be, and he can get a place at +any time." + +"Have you any children?" whispered Dolly. + +"No. Shall you prosecute him?" continued the first wife, after a pause. + +"Shall I--what?" cried Dolly, aghast. + +"Prosecute him for the fraud he has committed on you?" + +"Oh dear! the exposure would kill me," shivered the unhappy girl. "I +shall only hope to run away and hide myself forever." + +"Every syllable I have told you is truth," said the stranger, producing +a slip of paper as she rose to depart. "Here are two or three references +by which you can verify it, if you doubt me. Mrs. Turk will do it for +you if you do not care to stir in it yourself. Will you shake hands with +me?" + +Dolly assented, and burst into a whirlwind of tears. + +Nothing seemed to be left for her, as she said, but to run away and +hide herself. All the money was gone, and she was left penniless and +helpless. By the aid of Mrs. Turk, who proved a good friend to her, she +obtained a situation in a small preparatory school near Croydon, as +needle-woman and companion to the mistress. She called herself Mrs. +Mapping still, and continued to wear her wedding-ring; she did not know +what else to do. She _had_ been married; truly, as she had believed; and +what had come of it was surely no fault of hers. + +A little good fortune fell to her in time; a little bit. For years and +years she remained in that school at Croydon, until, as it seemed to +herself, she was middle-aged, and then the mistress of it died. Having +no relatives, she left her savings and her furniture to Dolly. With the +money Dolly set up the house in Gibraltar Terrace, put the furniture +into it, and began to let lodgings. A young woman, who had been teacher +in the school, and whom Dolly regarded as her sister, and often called +her so, removed to it with her and stayed with her until she married. + +Those particulars--which we listened to one evening from her own +lips--were gloomy enough. The Squire went into an explosion over Alick +Mapping. + +"The despicable villain! What has become of him?" + +"I never saw him after his wife came to me," she answered, "but Mrs. +Turk would get news of him now and then. Since Mrs. Turk's death, I have +heard nothing. Sometimes I think he may be dead." + +"I hope he was hung!" flashed the Squire. + +Well--to hasten on. That was Dorothy Grape's history since she left +Worcester; and a cruel one it was! + +We saw her once or twice again before quitting London. And the Squire +left a substantial present with her, for old remembrance sake. + +"She looks as though she needed it, Johnny," said he. "Poor thing! +poor thing! And such a pretty, happy little maiden as she used to be, +standing in her pinafore amongst the yellow roses in the porch at Islip! +Johnny, lad, I _hope_ that vagabond came to be hanged!" + + +II. + +It was ever so long afterwards, and the time had gone on by years, when +we again fell into the thread of Dorothy Grape's life. The Squire was in +London for a few days upon some law business, and had brought me with +him. + +"I should like to see how that poor woman's getting on, Johnny," he said +to me one morning. "Suppose we go down to Gibraltar Terrace?" + +It was a dull, damp, misty day at the close of autumn; and when the +Squire turned in at No. 60, after dismissing the cab, he stood still +and stared, instead of knocking. A plate was on the door, "James Noak, +carpenter and joiner." + +"Has she left, do you think, Johnny?" + +"Well, sir, we can ask. Perhaps the carpenter is only lodging here?" + +A tidy young woman, with a baby in her arms, answered the knock. "Does +Mrs. Mapping live here still?" asked the Squire. + +"No, sir," she answered. "I don't know the name." + +"Not know the name!" retorted he, turning crusty; for he disliked, of +all things, to be puzzled or thwarted. "Mrs. Mapping lived here for ten +or a dozen years, anyhow." + +"Oh, stay, sir," she said, "I remember the name now. Mapping; yes, that +was it. She lived here before we came in." + +"Is she dead?" + +"No, sir. She was sold up." + +"Sold up?" + +"Yes, sir. Her lodging-letting fell off--this neighbourhood's not what +it was: people like to get further up, Islington way--and she was badly +off for a long while, could not pay her rent, or anything; so at last +the landlord was obliged to sell her up. At least, that's what we heard +after we came here, but the house lay empty for some months between. I +did not hear what became of her." + +The people at the next house could not tell anything; they were +fresh-comers also; and the Squire stood in a quandary. I thought of +Pitt the surgeon; he was sure to know; and ran off to his surgery in +the next street. + +Changes seemed to be everywhere. Pitt's small surgery had given place to +a chemist's shop. The chemist stood behind his counter in a white apron. +Pitt? Oh, Pitt had taken to a practice further off, and drove his +brougham. "Mrs. Mapping?" added the chemist, in further answer to me. +"Oh yes, she lives still in the same terrace. She came to grief at No. +60, poor woman, and lodges now at No. 32. Same side of the way; this +end." + +No. 32 had a plate on the door: "Miss Kester, dressmaker," and Miss +Kester herself--a neat little woman, with a reserved, not to say sour, +face and manner, and a cloud of pins sticking out of her brown +waistband--answered the knock. She sent us up to a small back-room at +the top of the house. + +Mrs. Mapping sat sewing near a fireless grate, her bed in one corner; +she looked very ill. I had thought her thin enough before; she was a +shadow now. The blue eyes had a piteous look in them, the cheeks a +hectic. + +"Yes," she said, in answer to the Squire, her voice faint and her cough +catching her every other minute, "it was a sad misfortune for me to be +turned out of my house; it nearly broke my heart. The world is full of +trouble, sir." + +"How long is it since?" + +"Nearly eighteen months, sir. Miss Kester had this room to let, and I +came into it. It is quiet and cheap: only half-a-crown a-week." + +"And how do you get the half-crown?" questioned the Squire. "And your +dinner and breakfast--how do you get that?" + +Mrs. Mapping passed her trembling fingers across her brow before she +answered-- + +"I'm sorry to have to tell of these things, sir. I'm sorry you have +found me out in my poverty. When I think of the old days at home, +the happy and plentiful days when poor mother was living, and what a +different life mine might have been but for the dreadful marriage I +made, I--I can hardly bear up against it. I'm sure I beg your pardon, +gentlemen, for giving way." + +For the tears were streaming down her thin cheeks. The Squire set up a +cough on his own account; I went to the window and looked down at some +grimy back-gardens. + +"When I am a little stronger, and able to do a full day's work again, I +shall get on, sir, but I've been ill lately through going out in the wet +and catching cold," she said, mastering the tears. "Miss Kester is very +good in supplying me with as much as I can do." + +"A grand 'getting on,'" cried the Squire. "You'd be all the better for +some fire in that grate." + +"I might be worse off than I am," she answered meekly. "If it is but +little that I have, I am thankful for it." + +The Squire talked a while longer; then he put a sovereign into her hand, +and came away with a gloomy look. + +"She wants a bit of regular help," said he. "A few shillings paid to +her weekly while she gets up her strength might set her going again. +I wonder if we could find any one to undertake it?" + +"You would not leave it with herself in a lump, sir?" + +"Why, no, I think not; she may have back debts, you see, Johnny, and be +tempted to pay them with it; if so, practically it would be no good to +her. Wish Pitt lived here still! Wonder if that Miss Kester might be +trusted to---- There's a cab, lad! Hail it." + +The next morning, when we were at breakfast at the hotel--which was not +the Tavistock this time--the Squire burst into a state of excitement +over his newspaper. + +"Goodness me, Johnny! here's the very thing." + +I wondered what had taken him, and what he meant; and for some time +did not clearly understand. The Squire's eyes had fallen upon an +advertisement, and also a leading article, treating of some great +philanthropic movement that had recently set itself up in London. +Reading the articles, I gathered that it had for its object the +distribution of alms on an extensive scale and the comprehensive +relieving of the distressed. Some benevolent gentlemen (so far as we +could understand the newspaper) had formed themselves into a band for +taking the general welfare of the needy into their hands, and devoted +their lives to looking after their poverty-stricken brothers and +sisters. A sort of universal, benevolent, set-the-world-to-rights +invention. + +The Squire was in raptures. "If we had but a few more such good men in +the world, Johnny! I'll go down at once and shake their hands. If I +lived in London, I'd join them." + +I could only laugh. Fancy the Squire going about from house to house +with a bag of silver to relieve the needy! + +Taking note of the office occupied by these good men, we made our way to +it. Only two of them were present that morning: a man who looked like a +clerk, for he had books and papers before him; and a thin gentleman in +spectacles. + +The Squire shook him by the hand at once, breaking into an ovation at +the good deeds of the benevolent brotherhood, that should have made the +spectacles before us, as belonging to a member of it, blush. + +"Yes," he said, his cool, calm tones contrasting with the Squire's hot +ones, "we intend to effect a work that has never yet been attempted. +Why, sir, by our exertions three parts of the complaints of hunger, and +what not, will be done away with." + +The Squire folded his hands in an ecstasy of reverence. "That is, you +will relieve it," he remarked. "Bountiful Samaritans!" + +"Relieve it, certainly--where the recipients are found to be deserving," +returned the other. "But non-deserving cases--impostors, ill-doers, and +the like--will get punishment instead of relief, if we can procure it +for them." + +"Quite right, too," warmly assented the Squire. "Allow me to shake your +hand again, sir. And you gentlemen are out every day upon this good +work! Visiting from house to house!" + +"Some of us are out every day; we devote our time to it." + +"And your money, too, of course!" exclaimed the Squire. "Listen, Johnny +Ludlow," he cried, turning to me, his red face glowing more and more +with every word, "I hope you'll take a lesson from this, my lad! Their +time, and their money too!" + +The thin gentleman cleared his throat. "Of course we cannot do all in +the way of money ourselves," he said; "some of us, indeed, cannot do +anything in that way. Our operations are very large: a great deal is +needed, and we have to depend upon a generous public for help." + +"By their making subscriptions to it?" cried the Squire. + +"Undoubtedly." + +The Squire tugged at an inner pocket. "Here, Johnny, help me to get out +my cheque-book." And when it was out, he drew a cheque for ten pounds +there and then, and laid it on the table. + +"Accept this, sir," he said, "and my praises with it. And now I should +like to recommend to your notice a case myself--a most deserving one. +Will you take it in hand?" + +"Certainly." + +The Squire gave Mrs. Mapping's address, telling briefly of her present +distress and weakly state, and intimated that the best mode of relief +would be to allow her a few shillings weekly. "You will be sure to see +to her?" was his parting injunction. "She may starve if you do not." + +"Have no fear: it is our business to do so," repeated the thin +gentleman. "Good-day." + +"Johnny," said the Squire, going up the street sideways in his +excitement, "it is refreshing to hear of these self-denying deeds. +These good men must be going on straight for heaven!" + +"Take care, sir! Look where you are going." + +The Squire had not been going on straight himself just then, and had +bumped up against a foot-passenger who was hurrying along. It was Pitt, +the surgeon. After a few words of greeting, the Squire excused his +flurry by telling him where he had come from. + +"Been _there_!" exclaimed Pitt, bursting into a laugh. "Wish you joy, +sir! We call it Benevolence Hall." + +"And a very good name, too," said the Squire. "Such men ought to be +canonized, Pitt." + +"Hope they will be?" answered Pitt in a curious kind of tone. "I can't +stop now, Mr. Todhetley; am on my way to a consultation." + +"He slips from one like an eel," cried the Squire, looking after the +doctor as he hurried onwards: "I might have spoken to him about Mrs. +Mapping. But my mind is at ease with regard to her, Johnny, now that +these charitable men have the case in hand: and we shall be up again in +a few weeks." + + +III. + +It was nearly two months before we were again in London, and winter +weather: the same business, connected with a lawsuit, calling the Squire +up. + +"And now for Mrs. Mapping," he said to me during the afternoon of the +second day. So we went to Gibraltar Terrace. + +"Yes, she is in her room," said Miss Kester in a resentful tone, when +she admitted us. "It is a good thing somebody's come at last to see +after her! I don't care to have her alone here on my hands to die." + +"To die!" cried the Squire sharply, supposing the dressmaker spoke only +in temper. "What is she dying of?" + +"Starvation," answered Miss Kester. + +"Why, what on earth do you mean, ma'am?" demanded he. "Starvation!" + +"I've done what I could for her, so far as a cup of tea might go, and a +bit of bread-and-butter once a day, or perhaps a drop of broth," ran on +Miss Kester in the same aggrieved tone. "But it has been hard times with +myself lately, and I have my old mother to keep and a bedridden sister. +What she has wanted is a supply of nourishing food; and she has had as +good as none of any sort since you were here, sir, being too weak to +work: and so, rapid consumption set in." + +She whisked upstairs with the candle, for the short winter day was +already closing, and we followed her. Mrs. Mapping sat in an old +easy-chair, over a handful of fire, her thin cotton shawl folded round +her: white, panting, attenuated, starved; and--there could not be much +mistake about it--dying. + +"Starved? dying? dear, dear!" ejaculated the Squire, backing to the +other chair and sitting down in a sort of terror. "What has become of +the good people at Benevolence Hall?" + +"They!" cried Miss Kester contemptuously. "You don't suppose those +people would spend money to keep a poor woman from dying, do you, sir?" + +"Why, it is their business to do it," said the Squire. "I put Mrs. +Mapping's case into their hands, and they undertook to see to it." + +"To see to it, perhaps, sir, but not to relieve it; I should be +surprised if they did that. One of them called here ever so many weeks +ago and frightened Mrs. Mapping with his harsh questions; but he gave +her nothing." + +"I don't understand all this," cried the Squire, rumpling his hair. "Was +it a gentleman?"--turning to Mrs. Mapping. + +"He was dressed as one," she said, "but he was loud and dictatorial, +almost as though he thought me a criminal instead of a poor sick woman. +He asked me all kinds of questions about my past life, where I had lived +and what I had done, and wrote down the answers." + +"Go on," said the Squire, as she paused for breath. + +"As they sent me no relief and did not come again, Miss Kester, after +two or three weeks had gone by, was good enough to send a messenger to +the place: her nephew. He saw the gentlemen there and told them I was +getting weaker daily and was in dreadful need, if they would please to +give me a trifle; he said he should never have thought of applying to +them but for their having come to see after me. The gentlemen answered +unfavourably; inquiries had been made, they sternly told him, and the +case was found to be one not suitable for relief, that I did not deserve +it. I--I--have never done anything wrong willingly," sobbed the poor +woman, breaking down. + +"I don't think she has, sir; she don't seem like it; and I'm sure she +struggled hard enough to get a living at No. 60," said Miss Kester. "Any +way, they did nothing for her--they've just left her to starve and die." + +I had seen the Squire in many a temper, but never in a worse than now. +He flung out of the room, calling upon me to follow him, and climbed +into the hansom that waited for us outside. + +"To Benevolence Hall," roared he, "and drive like the deuce." + +"Yes, sir," said the man. "Where is Benevolence Hall?" + +I gave him the address, and the man whirled us to Benevolence Hall in a +very short time. The Squire leaped out and indoors, primed. In the +office stood a young man, going over some accounts by gaslight. His +flaxen hair was parted down the middle, and he looked uncommonly simple. +The rest of the benevolent gentlemen had left for the day. + +What the Squire said at first, I hardly know: I don't think he knew +himself. His words came tumbling out in a way that astonished the clerk. + +"Mrs. Mapping," cried the young man, when he could understand a little +what the anger was about. "Your ten pounds?--meant for her, you say----" + +"Yes, my ten pounds," wrathfully broke in the Squire; "my ten-pound +cheque that I paid down here on this very table. What have you done with +it?" + +"Oh, that ten pounds has been spent, partly so, at least, in making +inquiries about the woman, looking-up her back history and all that. +Looking-up the back lives of people takes a lot of money, you see." + +"But why did you not relieve her with it, or a portion of it? That +is the question I've come to ask, young man, and I intend to have it +answered." + +The young man looked all surprise. "Why, what an idea!" lisped he. "Our +association does not profess to help sinners. That would be a go!" + +"Sinners!" + +"We can't be expected to take up a sinner, you know--and she's a topping +one," continued he, keeping just as cool as the Squire was hot. "We +found out all sorts of dreadful things against the woman. The name, +Mapping, is not hers, to begin with. She went to church with a man who +had a living wife----" + +"She didn't," burst in the Squire. "It was the man who went to church +with her. And I hope with all my heart he came to be hanged!" + +The clerk considered. "It comes to the same, doesn't it?" said he, +vaguely. "She did go to church with him; and it was ever so long before +his proper wife found it out; and she has gone on calling herself +Mapping ever since! And she managed so badly in a lodging-house she set +up, that she was sold out of it for rent. Consider that! Oh, indeed, +then, it is not on such people as these that our good gentlemen would +waste their money." + +"What do they waste it on?" demanded the Squire. + +"Oh, come now! They don't waste it. They spend it." + +"What on? The sick and needy?" + +"Well, you see, the object of this benevolent association is to discover +who is deserving and who is not. When an applicant comes or sends for +relief, representing that he is sick and starving, and all the rest of +it, we begin by searching out his back sins and misfortunes. The chances +are that a whole lot of ill turns up. If the case be really deserving, +and--and white, you know, instead of black--we relieve it." + +"That is, you relieve about one case in a hundred, I expect?" stormed +the Squire. + +"Oh, now you can't want me to go into figures," said the clerk, in his +simple way. "Anybody might know, if they've some knowledge of the world, +that an out-and-out deserving case does not turn up often. Besides, our +business is not relief but inquiry. We do relieve sometimes, but we +chiefly inquire." + +"Now look you here," retorted the Squire. "Your object, inquiring into +cases, may be a good one in the main and do some excellent service; I +say nothing against it; but the public hold the impression that it is +_relief_ your association intends, not inquiry. Why is this erroneous +impression not set to rights?" + +"Oh, but our system is, I assure you, a grand one," cried the young +fellow. "It accomplishes an immense good." + +"And how much harm does it accomplish? Hold your tongue, young man! Put +it that an applicant is sick, starving, _dying_, for want of a bit of +aid in the shape of food, does your system give that bit of aid, just to +keep body and soul together while it makes its inquiries--say only to +the value of a few pence?" + +The young fellow stared. "What a notion!" cried he. "Give help before +finding out whether it ought to be given or not? That would be quite a +Utopian way of fixing up the poor, that would." + +"And do you suppose I should have given my ten pounds, but for being +misled, for being allowed to infer that it would be expended on the +distressed?" stamped the Squire. "Not a shilling of it. No money of mine +shall aid in turning poor helpless creatures inside out to expose their +sins, as you call it. _That's_ not charity. What the sick and the +famished want is a little kindly help--and the Bible enjoins us to give +it." + +"But most of them are such a bad lot, you know," remonstrated the young +man. + +"All the more need they should be helped," returned the Squire; "they +have bodies and souls to be saved, I suppose. Hold your silly tongue, I +tell you. I should have seen to this poor sick woman myself, who is just +as worthy as you are and your masters, but for their taking the case in +hand. As it is she has been left to starve and die. Come along, Johnny! +Benevolence Hall, indeed!" + +Back to Gibraltar Terrace now, the Squire fretting and fuming. He was +hot and hasty, as the world knows, given to saying anything that came +uppermost, justifiable or the contrary: but in this affair it did seem +that something or somebody must be wrong. + +"Johnny," said the Squire, as the cab bowled along, waking up out +of a brown study, "it seems to me that this is a serious matter of +conscience. It was last Sunday evening, wasn't it, that you read the +chapter in St. Matthew which tells of the last judgment?" + +"Tod read it, sir. I read the one that followed it." + +"Any way, it was one of you. In that chapter Christ charges us to +relieve the poor if we would be saved--the hungry and thirsty, the sick, +the naked. Now, see here, lad: if I give my alms to this new society +that has sprung up, and never a stiver of it to relieve the distress +that lies around me, would the blame, rest on _me_, I wonder? Should _I_ +have to answer for it?" + +It was too complicated a question for me. But just then we drew up at +Miss Kester's door. + +Mrs. Mapping had changed in that short time. I thought she was dying, +thought so as I looked at her. There was a death-shade on the wan face, +never seen but when the world is passing away. The Squire saw it also. + +"Yes," said Miss Kester, gravely, in answer to his whisper. "I fear it +is the end." + +"Goodness bless me!" gasped the Squire. And he was for ordering in +pretty nearly every known restorative the shops keep, from turtle-soup +to calves'-foot jelly. Miss Kester shook her head. + +"Too late, sir; too late. A month ago it would have saved her. Now, +unless I am very much mistaken, the end is at hand." + +Well, he was in a way. If gold and silver could revive the dying, she'd +have had it. He sent me out to buy a bottle of port wine, and got Miss +Kester's little apprentice to run for the nearest doctor. + +"Not rally again at all, you say! all stuff and nonsense," he was +retorting on Miss Kester when I returned. "Here's the wine, at last! Now +for a glass, Johnny." + +She sipped about a teaspoonful by degrees. The shade on her face was +getting darker. Her poor thin fingers kept plucking at the cotton shawl. + +"I have never done any harm that I knew of: at least, not wilfully," she +slowly panted, looking piteously at the Squire, evidently dwelling upon +the accusation made by Benevolence Hall: and it had, Miss Kester said, +troubled her frightfully. "I was only silly--and inexperienced--and--and +believed in everybody. Oh, sir, it was hard!" + +"I'd prosecute them if I could," cried the Squire, fiercely. "There, +there; don't think about it any more; it's all over." + +"Yes, it is over," she sighed, giving the words a different meaning from +his. "Over; over: the struggles and the disappointments, the privations +and the pain. Only God sees what mine have been, and how I've tried to +bear up in patience. Well, well; He knows best: and I think--I do think, +sir--He will make it up to us in heaven. My poor mother thought the same +when she was dying." + +"To be sure," answered the Squire, soothingly. "One must be a heathen +not to know that. Hang that set-the-world-to-rights company!" he +muttered in a whisper. + +"The bitterness of it all has left me," she whispered, with pauses +between the words for want of breath; "this world is fading from my +sight, the world to come opening. Only this morning, falling asleep in +the chair here, after the fatigue of getting up--and putting on my +things--and coughing--I dreamt I saw the Saviour holding out His hand to +welcome me, and I knew He was waiting to take me up to God. The clouds +round about Him were rose colour; a light, as of gold, lay in the +distance. Oh, how lovely it was! nothing but peace. Yes, yes, God will +forgive all our trials and our shortcomings, and make it up to us +there." + +The room had a curious hush upon it. It hardly seemed to be a living +person speaking. Any way, she would not be living long. + +"Another teaspoonful of wine, Johnny," whispered the Squire. "Dear, +dear! Where on earth can that doctor be?" + +I don't believe a drop of it went down her throat. Miss Kester wiped +away the damp from her brow. A cough took her; and afterwards she lay +back again in the chair. + +"Do you remember the yellow roses in the porch," she murmured, speaking, +as must be supposed, to the Squire, but her eyes were closed: "how the +dew on them used to glisten again in the sun on a summer's morning? I +was picking such a handful of them last night--beautiful roses, they +were; sweet and beautiful as the flowers we shall pick in heaven." + +The doctor came upstairs, his shoes creaking. It was Pitt. Pitt! The +girl had met him by chance, and told him what was amiss. + +"Ah," said he, bending over the chair, "you have called me too late. I +should have been here a month or two ago." + +"She is dying of starvation," whispered the Squire. "All that money--ten +pounds--which I handed over to that blessed fraternity, and they never +gave her a sixpence of it--after assuring me they'd see to her!" + +"Ah," said Pitt, his mouth taking a comical twist. "They meant they'd +see after her antecedents, I take it, not her needs. Quite a blessed +fraternity, I'm sure, as you say, Squire." + +He turned away to Mrs. Mapping. But nothing could be done for her; even +the Squire, with all his impetuosity, saw that. Never another word did +she speak, never another recognizing gaze did she give. She just passed +quietly away with a sigh as we stood looking at her; passed to that +blissful realm we are all travelling to, and which had been the last +word upon her lips--Heaven. + +And that is the true story of Dorothy Grape. + + + + +LADY JENKINS. + +MINA. + + +I. + +"Had I better go? I should like to." + +"Go! why of course you had better go," answered the Squire, putting down +the letter. + +"It will be the very thing for you, Johnny," added Mrs. Todhetley. "We +were saying yesterday that you ought to have a change." + +I had not been well for some time; not strong. My old headaches stuck to +me worse than usual; Duffham complained that the pulse was feeble. +Therefore a letter from Dr. Knox of Lefford, pressing me to go and stay +with them, seemed to have come on purpose. Janet had added a postscript: +"You _must_ come, Johnny Ludlow, if it is only to see my two babies, and +you must not think of staying less than a month." Tod was from home, +visiting in Leicestershire. + +Three days, and I was off, bag and baggage. To Worcester first, and then +onwards again, direct for Lefford. The very journey seemed to do me +good. It was a lovely spring day: the hedges were bursting into bud; +primroses and violets nestled in the mossy banks. + +You have not forgotten, I dare say, how poor Janet Carey's hard life, +her troubles, and the sickness those troubles brought, culminated in a +brave ending when Arnold Knox, of Lefford, made her his wife. Some five +years had elapsed since then, and we were all of us that much older. +They had asked me to visit them over and over again, but until now I had +not done it. Mr. Tamlyn, Arnold's former master and present partner, +with whom they lived, was growing old; he only attended to a few of the +old patients now. + +It was a cross-grained kind of route, and much longer than it need +have been could we have gone straight as a bird flies. The train made +all sorts of detours, and I had to change no less than three times. +For the last few miles I had had the carriage to myself, but at Toome +Junction, the last station before Lefford, a gentleman got in: a +rather elderly man with grey hair. Not a syllable did we say, one to +another--Englishmen like--and at length Lefford was gained. + +"In to time exactly," cried this gentleman then, peering out at the +gas-lighted station. "The clock's on the stroke of eight." + +Getting my portmanteau, I looked about for Dr. Knox's brougham, which +would be waiting for me, and soon pitched upon one, standing near the +flys. But my late fellow-passenger strode on before me. + +"I thought I spied you out, Wall," he said to the coachman. "Quite a +chance your being here, I suppose?" + +"I'm waiting for a gentleman from Worcester, sir," answered the man, +looking uncommonly pleased, as he touched his hat. "Dr. Knox couldn't +come himself." + +"Well, I suppose you can take me as well as the gentleman from +Worcester," answered the other, as he turned from patting the old horse, +and saw me standing there. And we got into the carriage. + +It proved to be Mr. Shuttleworth, he who had been old Tamlyn's partner +for a short time, and had married his sister. Tamlyn's people did not +know he was coming to-night, he told me. He was on his way to a distant +place, to see a relative who was ill; by making a round of it, he could +take Lefford, and drop in at Mr. Tamlyn's for the night--and was doing +so. + +Janet came running to the door, Mr. Tamlyn walking slowly behind her. +He had a sad countenance, and scanty grey hair, and looked ever so +much older than his actual years. Since his son died, poor Bertie, +life's sunshine had gone out for him. Very much surprised were they to +see Mr. Shuttleworth as well as me. + +Janet gave us a sumptuous high-tea, pouring out unlimited cups of tea +and pressing us to eat of all the good things. Except that she had +filled out a little from the skeleton she was, and looked as joyous now +as she had once looked sad, I saw little difference in her. Her boy, +Arnold, was aged three and a half: the little girl, named Margaret, +after Miss Deveen, could just walk. + +"Never were such children in all the world before, if you listen to +Janet," cried old Tamlyn, looking at her fondly--for he had learnt to +love Janet as he would a daughter--and she laughed shyly and blushed. + +"You don't ask after mine," put in Mr. Shuttleworth, quaintly; "my one +girl. She is four years old now. Such a wonder! such a paragon! other +babies are nothing to it; so Bessy says. Bessy is silly over that child, +Tamlyn." + +Old Tamlyn just shook his head. They suddenly remembered the one only +child he had lost, and changed the subject. + +"And what about everything!" asked Mr. Shuttleworth, lighting a cigar, +as we sat round the fire after our repast, Janet having gone out to see +to a room for Shuttleworth, or perhaps to contemplate her sleeping +babies. "I am glad you have at last given up the parish work." + +"There's enough to do without it; the practice increases daily," cried +Tamlyn. "Arnold is much liked." + +"How are all the old patients?" + +"That is a comprehensive question," smiled Tamlyn. "Some are +flourishing, and some few are, of course, dead." + +"Is Dockett with you still?" + +"No. Dockett is in London at St. Thomas's. Sam Jenkins is with us in his +place. A clever young fellow; worth two of Dockett." + +"Who is Sam Jenkins?" + +"A nephew of Lady Jenkins--you remember her? At least, of her late +husband's." + +"I should think I do remember Lady Jenkins," laughed Shuttleworth. "How +is she? Flourishing about the streets as usual in that red-wheeled +carriage of hers, dazzling as the rising sun?" + +"Lady Jenkins is not well," replied Tamlyn, gravely. "She gives me some +concern." + +"In what way does she give you concern?" + +"Chiefly because I can't find out what it is that's amiss with her?" + +"Has she been ill long?" + +"For some months now. She is not very ill: goes out in her carriage to +dazzle the town, as you observe, and has her regular soirées at home. +But I don't like her symptoms: I don't understand them, and they grow +worse. She has never been well, really well, since that French journey." + +"What French journey?" + +"At the end of last summer, my Lady Jenkins must needs get it into her +head that she should like to see Paris. Stupid old thing, to go all the +way to France for the first time in her life! She did go, taking Mina +Knox with her--who is growing up as pretty a girl as you'd wish to see. +And, by the way, Shuttleworth, Mina is in luck. She has had a fortune +left her. An old gentleman, not related to them at all, except that he +was Mina's godfather, left her seven thousand pounds last year in his +will. Arnold is trustee." + +"I am glad of it. Little Mina and I used to be great friends. Her mother +is as disagreeable as ever, I suppose?" + +"As if she'd ever change from being _that_!" returned Tamlyn. "I have no +patience with her. She fritters away her own income, and then comes here +and worries Arnold's life out with her embarrassments. He does for her +more than I should do. Educates young Dicky, for one thing." + +"No doubt. Knox always had a soft place in his heart. But about Lady +Jenkins?" + +"Lady Jenkins went over to Paris with her maid, taking Mina as her +companion. It was in August. They stayed three weeks there, racketing +about to all kinds of show-places, and overdoing it, of course. When +they arrived at Boulogne on their way back, expecting to cross over at +once, they found they had to wait. A gale was raging, and the boats +could not get out. So they put up at an hotel there; and, that night, +Lady Jenkins was taken alarmingly ill--the journey and the racketing and +the French living had been too much for her. Young people can stand +these things, Johnny Ludlow; old ones can't," added Tamlyn, looking at +me across the hearth. + +"Very true, sir. How old is Lady Jenkins?" + +"Just seventy. But you wouldn't have thought her so much before that +French journey. Until then she was a lively, active, bustling woman, +with a good-natured, pleasant word for every one. Now she is weary, +dull, inanimate; seems to be, half her time, in a sort of lethargy." + +"What was the nature of the illness?" asked Shuttleworth. "A seizure?" + +"No, nothing of that sort. I'm sure I don't know what it was," added old +Tamlyn, rubbing back his scanty grey hair in perplexity. "Any way, they +feared she was going to die. The French doctor said her getting well +was a miracle. She lay ill ten days, keeping her bed, and was still ill +and very weak when she reached home. Mina believes that a lady who was +detained at the same hotel by the weather, and who came forward and +offered her services as nurse, saved Lady Jenkins's life. She was so +kind and attentive; never going to her bed afterwards until Lady Jenkins +was up from hers. She came home with them." + +"Who did? This lady?" + +"Yes; and has since remained with Lady Jenkins as companion. She is a +Madame St. Vincent; a young widow----" + +"A Frenchwoman!" exclaimed Mr. Shuttleworth. + +"Yes; but you wouldn't think it. She speaks English just as we do, and +looks English. A very nice, pleasant young woman; as kind and loving to +Lady Jenkins as though she were her daughter. I am glad they fell in +with her. She---- Oh, is it you, Sam?" + +A tall smiling young fellow of eighteen, or so, had come in. It was Sam +Jenkins: and, somehow, I took to him at once. Mr. Shuttleworth shook +hands and said he was glad to hear he promised to be a second Abernethy. +Upon which Sam's wide mouth opened in laughter, showing a set of nice +teeth. + +"I thought Dr. Knox was here, sir," he said to Mr. Tamlyn, as if he +would apologize for entering. + +"Dr. Knox is gone over to the Brook, but I should think he'd be back +soon now. Why? Is he wanted?" + +"Only a message, sir, from old Willoughby's. They'd like him to call +there as soon as convenient in the morning." + +"Now, Sam, don't be irreverent," reproved his master. "_Old_ Willoughby! +I should say Mr. Willoughby if I were you. He is no older than I am. You +young men of the present day are becoming very disrespectful; it was +different in my time." + +Sam laughed pleasantly. Close upon that, Dr. Knox came in. He was more +altered than Janet, looking graver and older, his light hair as wild as +ever. He was just thirty now. + +Mr. Shuttleworth left in the morning, and afterwards Dr. Knox took me to +see his step-mother. Her house (but it was his house, not hers), Rose +Villa, was in a suburb of the town, called the London Road. Mrs. Knox +was a dark, unpleasing-looking woman; her voice harsh, her crinkled +black hair untidy--it was never anything else in a morning. The two +eldest girls were in the room. Mina was seventeen, Charlotte twelve +months younger. Mina was the prettiest; a fair girl with a mild face and +pleasant blue eyes, her manner and voice as quiet as her face. Charlotte +seemed rather strong-minded. + +"Are you going to the soirée next door to-night, Arnold?" cried Mrs. +Knox, as we were leaving. + +"I think not," he answered. "Janet wrote to decline." + +"You wished her to decline, I dare say!" retorted Mrs. Knox. "You always +did despise the soirées, Arnold." + +Dr. Knox laughed pleasantly. "I have never had much time for soirées," +he said; "and Janet does not care for them. Besides, we think it unkind +to leave Mr. Tamlyn alone." At which latter remark Mrs. Knox tossed her +head. + +"I must call on Lady Jenkins, as I am up here," observed Dr. Knox to me, +when we were leaving. "You don't mind, do you, Johnny?" + +"I shall like it. They were talking about her last night." + +It was only a few yards higher up. A handsome dwelling, double the size +of Rose Villa, with two large iron gates flanked by imposing pillars, on +which was written in gold letters, as large as life, "Jenkins House." + +Dr. Knox laughed. "Sir Daniel Jenkins re-christened it that," he said, +dropping his voice, lest any ears should be behind the open windows: "it +used to be called 'Rose Bank.' They moved up here four years ago; he was +taken ill soon afterwards and died, leaving nearly all his money to +his wife unconditionally: it is over four thousand a-year. He was in +business as a drysalter, and was knighted during the time he was mayor." + +"Who will come in for the money?" + +"That is as Lady Jenkins pleases. There are lots of relations, +Jenkinses. Sir Daniel partly brought up two orphan nephews--at least, he +paid for their schooling and left each a little money to place them out +in life. You have seen the younger of them, Sam, who is with us; the +other, Dan, is articled to a solicitor in the town, old Belford. Two +other cousins are in the drysalting business; and the ironmonger, Sir +Daniel's youngest brother, left several sons and daughters. The old +drysalter had no end of nephews and nieces, and might have provided for +them all. Perhaps his widow will do so." + +Not possessing the faintest idea of what "drysalting" might be, unless +it had to do with curing hams, I was about to inquire, when the +house-door was thrown open by a pompous-looking gentleman in black--the +butler--who showed us into the dining-room, where Lady Jenkins was +sitting. I liked her at first sight. She was short and stout, and had +pink cheeks and a pink turned-up nose, and wore a "front" of flaxen +curls, surmounted by a big smart cap with red roses and blue ribbons in +it; but there was not an atom of pretence about her, and her blue eyes +were kindly. She took the hands of Dr. Knox in hers, and she shook mine +warmly, saying she had heard of Johnny Ludlow. + +Turning from her, I caught the eyes of a younger lady fixed upon me. She +looked about seven-and-twenty, and wore a fashionable black-and-white +muslin gown. Her hair was dark, her eyes were a reddish brown, her +cheeks had a fixed bloom upon them. The face was plain, and it struck me +that I had seen it somewhere before. Dr. Knox greeted her as Madame St. +Vincent. + +When we first went in, Lady Jenkins seemed to wake up from a doze. In +two minutes she had fallen into a doze again, or as good as one. Her +eyelids drooped, she sat perfectly quiet, never speaking unless spoken +to, and her face wore a sort of dazed, or stupid look. Madame St. +Vincent talked enough for both of them; she appealed frequently to Lady +Jenkins--"Was it not so, dear Lady Jenkins?"--or "Don't you remember +that, dear Lady Jenkins?" and Lady Jenkins docilely answered "Yes, +dear," or "Yes, Patty." + +That Madame St. Vincent was a pleasant woman, as Mr. Tamlyn had said, +and that she spoke English as we did, as he had also said, there +could not be a doubt. Her tongue could not be taken for any but a +native tongue; moreover, unless my ears deceived me, it was native +Worcestershire. Ever and anon, too, a homely word would be dropped by +her in the heat of conversation that belonged to Worcestershire proper, +and to no other county. + +"You will come to my soirée this evening, Mr. Ludlow," Lady Jenkins woke +up to say to me as we were leaving. + +"Johnny can come; I dare say he would like to," put in Dr. Knox; +"although I and Janet cannot----" + +"Which is very churlish of you," interposed Madame St. Vincent. + +"Well, you know what impediments lie in our way," he said, smiling. "Sam +can come up with Johnny, if you like, Lady Jenkins." + +"To be sure; let Sam come," she answered, readily. "How is Sam? and how +does he get on?" + +"He is very well, and gets on well." + +Dr. Knox walked down the road in silence, looking grave. "Every time I +see her she seems to me more altered," he observed presently, and I +found he was speaking of Lady Jenkins. "_Something_ is amiss with her, +and I cannot tell what. I wish Tamlyn would let me take the case in +hand!" + +Two peculiarities obtained at Lefford. The one was that the universal +dinner hour, no-matter how much you might go in for fashion, was in the +middle of the day; the other was that every evening gathering, no matter +how unpretentious, was invariably called a "soirée." They were the +customs of the town. + +The soirée was in full swing when I reached Jenkins House that night--at +six o'clock. Madame St. Vincent and Charlotte Knox sat behind the +tea-table in a cloud of steam, filling the cups as fast as the company +emptied them; a footman, displaying large white calves, carried round a +tray of bread-and-butter and cake. Lady Jenkins sat near the fire in an +easy-chair, wearing a red velvet gown and lofty turban. She nodded +to the people as they came in, and smiled at them with quite a silly +expression. Mina and Charlotte Knox were in white muslin and pink roses. +Mina looked very pretty indeed, and as mild as milk; Charlotte was +downright and strong-minded. Every five minutes or so, Madame St. +Vincent--the white streamers on her rich black silk dress floating +behind her--would leave the tea-table to run up to Lady Jenkins and ask +if she wanted anything. Sam had not come with me: he had to go out +unexpectedly with Dr. Knox. + +"Mr. Jenkins," announced the pompous butler, showing in a tall young +fellow of twenty. He had just the same sort of honest, good-natured face +that had taken my fancy in Sam, and I guessed that this was his brother, +the solicitor. He came up to Lady Jenkins. + +"How do you do, aunt?" he said, bending to kiss her. "Hearing of your +soirée to-night, I thought I might come." + +"Why, my dear, you know you may come; you are always welcome. Which is +it?" she added, looking up at him stupidly, "Dan, or Sam?" + +"It is Dan," he answered; and if ever I heard pain in a tone, I heard it +in his. + +"You are Johnny Ludlow, I know!" he said, holding out his hand to me in +the warmest manner, as he turned from his aunt. "Sam told me about you +this morning." And we were friends from that moment. + +Dan brought himself to an anchor by Mina Knox. He was no beauty +certainly, but he had a good face. Leaning over Mina's chair, he began +whispering to her--and she whispered back again. Was there anything +between them? It looked like it--at any rate, on his side--judging by +his earnest expression and the loving looks that shot from his honest +grey eyes. + +"Are you really French?" I asked of Madame St. Vincent, while standing +by her side to drink some tea. + +"Really," she answered, smiling. "Why?" + +"Because you speak English exactly like ourselves." + +"I speak it better than I do French," she candidly said. "My mother was +English, and her old maid-servant was English, and they educated me +between them. It was my father who was French--and he died early." + +"Was your mother a native of Worcestershire?" + +"Oh dear, no: she came from Wales. What made you think of such a thing?" + +"Your accent is just like our Worcestershire accent. I am Worcestershire +myself: and I could have thought you were." + +She shook her head. "Never was there in my life, Mr. Ludlow. Is that why +you looked at me so much when you were here with Dr. Knox this morning?" + +"No: I looked at you because your face struck me as being familiar," I +frankly said: "I thought I must have seen you somewhere before. Have I, +I wonder?" + +"Very likely--if you have been much in the South of France," she +answered: "at a place called Brétage." + +"But I have never been at Brétage." + +"Then I don't see how we can have met. I have lived there all my life. +My father and mother died there: my poor husband died there. I only came +away from it last year." + +"It must be my fancy, I suppose. One does see likenesses----" + +"Captain Collinson," shouted the butler again. + +A military-looking man, got up in the pink of fashion, loomed in with a +lordly air; you'd have said the room belonged to him. At first he seemed +all hair: bushy curls, bushy whiskers, a moustache, and a fine flowing +beard, all purple black. Quite a flutter stirred the room: Captain +Collinson was evidently somebody. + +After making his bow to Lady Jenkins, he distributed his favours +generally, shaking hands with this person, talking with that. At last he +turned our way. + +"Ah, how do you do, madame?" he said to Madame St. Vincent, his tone +ceremonious. "I fear I am late." + +It was not a minute that he stood before her, only while he said this: +but, strange to say, something in his face or voice struck upon my +memory. The face, as much as could be seen of it for hair, seemed +familiar to me--just as madame's had seemed. + +"Who is he?" I whispered to her, following him with my eyes. + +"Captain Collinson." + +"Yes, I heard the name. But--do you know anything of him?--who he is?" + +She shook her head. "Not much; nothing of my own knowledge. He is in an +Indian regiment, and is home on sick leave." + +"I wonder which regiment it is? One of our fellows at Dr. Frost's got +appointed to one in Madras, I remember." + +"The 30th Bengal Cavalry, is Captain Collinson's. By his conversation, +he appears to have spent nearly the whole of his life in India. It is +said he is of good family, and has a snug private fortune. I don't know +any more about him than that," concluded Madame St. Vincent, as she once +more rose to go to Lady Jenkins. + +"He may have a snug private fortune, and he may have family, but I do +not like him," put in Charlotte Knox, in her decisive manner. + +"Neither do I, Lotty," added Dan--who was then at the tea-table: and his +tone was just as emphatic as Charlotte's. + +He had come up for a cup of tea for Mina. Before he could carry it to +her, Captain Collinson had taken up the place he had occupied at Mina's +elbow, and was whispering to her in a most impressive manner. Mina +seemed all in a flutter--and there was certainly no further room for +Dan. + +"Don't you want it now, Mina?" asked Dan, holding the cup towards her, +and holding it in vain, for she was too much occupied to see it. + +"Oh, thank you--no--I don't think I do want it now. Sorry you should +have had the trouble." + +Her words were just as fluttered as her manner. Dan brought the tea back +and put it on the tray. + +"Of course, she can't spare time to drink tea while _he_ is there," +cried Charlotte, resentfully, who had watched what passed. "That man has +bewitched her, Dan." + +"Not quite yet, I think," said Dan, quietly. "He is trying to do it. +There is no love lost between you and him, I see, Lotty." + +"Not a ghost of it," nodded Lotty. "The town may be going wild in its +admiration of him, but I am not; and the sooner he betakes himself back +to India to his regiment, the better." + +"I hope he will not take Mina with him," said Dan, gravely. + +"I hope not, either. But she is silly enough for anything." + +"Who is that, that's silly enough for anything?" cried Madame St. +Vincent, whisking back to her place. + +"Mina," promptly replied Charlotte. "She asked for a cup of tea, and +then said she did not want it." + +Some of the people sat down to cards; some to music; some talked. It was +the usual routine at these soirées, Mrs. Knox condescended to inform +me--and, what more, she added, could be wished for? Conversation, music, +and cards--they were the three best diversions of life, she said, not +that she herself much cared for music. + +Poor Lady Jenkins did not join actively in any one of the three: she for +the most part dozed in her chair. When any one spoke to her, she would +wake up and say Yes or No; but that was all. Captain Collinson stood in +a corner, talking to Mina behind a sheet of music. He appeared to be +going over the bars with her, and to be as long doing it as if a whole +opera were scored there. + +At nine o'clock the supper-room was thrown open, and Captain Collinson +handed in Lady Jenkins. Heavy suppers were not the mode at Lefford; +neither, as a rule, did the guests sit down, except a few of the elder +ones; but the table was covered with dainties. Sandwiches, meats in +jelly, rissoles, lobster salad, and similar things that could be eaten +with a fork, were supplied in abundance, with sweets and jellies. + +"I hope you'll be able to make a supper, my dear," said Lady Jenkins to +me in her comfortable way--for supper seemed to wake her up. "You see, +if one person began to give a grand sitting-down supper, others would +think themselves obliged to do it, and every one can't afford that. So +we all confine ourselves to this." + +"And I like this best," I said. + +"Do you, my dear? I'm glad of that. Dan, is that you? Mind you make a +good supper too." + +We both made a famous one. At least, I can answer for myself. And, at +half-past ten, Dan and I departed together. + +"How very good-natured Lady Jenkins seems to be!" I remarked. + +"She is good-nature itself, and always was," Dan warmly answered. "She +has never been a bit different from what you see her to-night--kind to +us all. You should have known her though in her best days, before she +grew ill. I never saw any one so altered." + +"What is it that's the matter with her?" + +"I don't know," answered Dan. "I wish I did know. Sam tells me Tamlyn +does not know. I'm afraid he thinks it is the break-up of old age. I +should be glad, though, if she did not patronize that fellow Collinson +so much." + +"Every one seems to patronize him." + +"Or to let him patronize them," corrected Dan. "I can't like the fellow. +He takes too much upon himself." + +"He seems popular. Quite the fashion." + +"Yes, he is that. Since he came here, three or four months ago, the +women have been running after him. Do _you_ like him, Johnny Ludlow?" +abruptly added Dan. + +"I hardly know whether I do or not: I've not seen much of him," was my +answer. "As a rule, I don't care for those people who take much upon +themselves. The truth is, Dan," I laughed jokingly, "you think Collinson +shows too much attention to Mina Knox." + +Dan walked on for a few moments in silence. "I am not much afraid of +that," he presently said. "It is the fellow himself I don't like." + +"And you do like Mina?" + +"Well--yes; I do. If Mina and I were older and my means justified it, I +would make her my wife to-morrow--I don't mind telling you so much. And +if the man is after her, it is for the sake of her money, mind, not for +herself. I'm sure of it. I can see." + +"I thought Collinson had plenty of money of his own." + +"So he has, I believe. But money never comes amiss to an extravagant and +idle man; and I think that Mina's money makes her attraction in +Collinson's eyes. I wish with all my heart she had never had it left +her!" continued Dan, energetically. "What did Mina want with seven +thousand pounds?" + +"I dare say you would not object to it, with herself." + +"I'd as soon not have it. I hope I shall make my way in my profession, +and make it well, and I would as soon take Mina without money as with +it. I'm sure her mother might have it and welcome, for me! She is always +hankering after it." + +"How do you know she is?" + +"We do her business at old Belford's, and she gets talking about the +money to him, making no scruple of openly wishing it was hers. She +bothers Dr. Knox, who is Mina's trustee, to lend her some of it. As if +Knox would!--she might just as well go and bother the moon. No! But for +that confounded seven thousand pounds Collinson would let Mina alone." + +I shook my head. He could not know it. Mina was very pretty. Dan saw my +incredulity. + +"I will tell you why I judge so," he resumed, dropping his voice to a +lower key. "Unless I am very much mistaken, Collinson likes some one +else--and that's Madame St. Vincent. Sam thinks so too." + +It was more than I thought. They were cool to one another. + +"But we have seen them when no one else was by," contended Dan: "when he +and she were talking together alone. And I can tell you that there was +an expression on his face, an anxiousness, an eagerness--I hardly know +how to word it--that it never wore for Mina. Collinson's love is given +to madame. Rely upon that." + +"Then why should he not declare it?" + +"Ah, I don't know. There may be various reasons. Her poverty +perhaps--for she has nothing but the salary Lady Jenkins pays her. Or, +he may not care to marry one who is only a companion: they say he is of +good family himself. Another reason, and possibly the most weighty one, +may be, that madame does not like him." + +"I don't think she does like him." + +"I am sure she does not. She gives him angry looks, and she turns away +from him with ill-disguised coldness. And so, that's about how the state +of affairs lies up there," concluded Dan, shaking hands with me as we +reached the door of his lodgings. "Captain Collinson's love is given to +Madame St. Vincent, on the one hand, and to Mina's money on the other; +and I think he is in a pretty puzzle which of the two to choose. +Good-night, Johnny Ludlow. Be sure to remember this is only between +ourselves." + + +II. + +A week or so passed on. Janet was up to her eyes in preparations, +expecting a visitor. And the visitor was no other than Miss +Cattledon--if you have not forgotten her. Being fearfully particular +in all ways, and given to fault-finding, as poor Janet only too well +remembered, of course it was necessary to have things in apple-pie +order. + +"I should never hear the last of it as long as Aunt Jemima stayed, if +so much as a speck of dust was in any of the rooms, or a chair out of +place," said Janet to me laughingly, as she and the maids dusted and +scrubbed away. + +"What's she coming for, Janet?" + +"She invited herself," replied Janet: "and indeed we shall be glad to +see her. Miss Deveen is going to visit some friends in Devonshire, and +Aunt Jemima takes the opportunity of coming here the while. I am sorry +Arnold is so busy just now. He will not have much time to give to +her--and she likes attention." + +The cause of Dr. Knox's increased occupation, was Mr. Tamlyn's illness. +For the past few days he had had feverish symptoms, and did not go out. +Few medical men would have found the indisposition sufficiently grave to +remain at home; but Mr. Tamlyn was an exception. He gave in at the least +thing now: and it was nothing at all unusual for Arnold Knox to find all +the patients thrown on his own hands. + +Amongst the patients so thrown this time was Lady Jenkins. She had +caught cold at that soirée I have just told of. Going to the door in +her old-fashioned, hospitable way, to speed the departure of the last +guests, she had stayed there in the draught, talking, and began at once +to sneeze and cough. + +"There!" cried Madame St. Vincent, when my lady got back again, "you +have gone and caught a chill." + +"I think I have," admitted Lady Jenkins. "I'll send for Tamlyn in the +morning." + +"Oh, my dear Lady Jenkins, we shall not want Tamlyn," dissented madame. +"I'll take care of you myself, and have you well in no time." + +But Lady Jenkins, though very much swayed by her kind companion, who +was ever anxious for her, chose to have up Mr. Tamlyn, and sent him a +private message herself. + +He went up at once--evidently taking madame by surprise--and saw his +patient. The cold, being promptly treated, turned out to be a mere +nothing, though Madame St. Vincent insisted on keeping the sufferer some +days in bed. By the time Mr. Tamlyn was ill, she was well again, and +there was not much necessity for Dr. Knox to take her: at least, on the +score of her cold. But he did it. + +One afternoon, when he was going up there late, he asked me if I would +like the drive. And, while he paid his visit to Lady Jenkins, I went in +to Rose Villa. It was a fine, warm afternoon, almost like summer, and +Mrs. Knox and the girls were sitting in the garden. Dicky was there +also. Dicky was generally at school from eight o'clock till six, but +this was a half-holiday. Dicky, eleven years old now, but very little +for his age, was more troublesome than ever. Just now he was at open war +with his two younger sisters and Miss Mack, the governess, who had gone +indoors to escape him. + +Leaning against the trunk of a tree, as he talked to Mrs. Knox, Mina, +and Charlotte, stood Captain Collinson, the rays of the sun, now drawing +westward, shining full upon him, bringing out the purple gloss of +his hair, whiskers, beard, and moustache deeper than usual. Captain +Collinson incautiously made much of Dicky, had told him attractive +stories of the glories of war, and promised him a commission when he +should be old enough. The result was, that Dicky had been living in the +seventh heaven, had bought himself a tin sword, and wore it strapped to +his waist, dangling beneath his jacket. Dicky, wild to be a soldier, +worshipped Captain Collinson as the prince of heroes, and followed him +about like a shadow. An inkling of this ambition of Dicky's, and of +Captain Collinson's promise, had only reached Mrs. Knox's ears this very +afternoon. It was a ridiculous promise of course, worth nothing, but +Mrs. Knox took it up seriously. + +"A commission for Dicky!--get Dicky a commission!" she exclaimed in a +flutter that set her bracelets jangling, just as I arrived on the scene. +"Why, what can you mean, Captain Collinson? Do you think I would have +Dicky made into a soldier--to be shot at? Never. He is my only son. How +can you put such ideas into his head?" + +"Don't mind her," cried Dicky, shaking the captain's coat-tails. "I say, +captain, don't you mind her." + +Captain Collinson turned to young Dicky, and gave him a reassuring wink. +Upon which, Dicky went strutting over the grass-plat, brandishing his +sword. I shook hands with Mrs. Knox and the girls, and, turning to +salute the captain, found him gone. + +"You have frightened him away, Johnny Ludlow," cried Charlotte: but she +spoke in jest. + +"He was already going," said Mina. "He told me he had an engagement." + +"And a good thing too," spoke Mrs. Knox, crossly. "Fancy his giving +dangerous notions to Dicky!" + +Dicky had just discovered our loss. He came shrieking back to know where +the captain was. Gone away for good, his mother told him. Upon which +young Dicky plunged into a fit of passion and kicking. + +"Do you know how Lady Jenkins is to-day?" I asked of Charlotte, when +Dicky's noise had been appeased by a promise of cold apple-pudding for +tea. + +"Not so well." + +"Not so well! I had thought of her as being much better." + +"I don't think her so," continued Charlotte. "Madame St. Vincent told +Mina this morning that she was all right; but when I went in just now +she was in bed and could hardly answer me." + +"Is her cold worse?" + +"No; I think that is gone, or nearly so. She seemed dazed--stupid, more +so than usual." + +"I certainly never saw any one alter so greatly as Lady Jenkins has +altered in the last few months," spoke Mrs. Knox. "She is not like the +same woman." + +"I'm sure I wish we had never gone that French journey!" said Mina. "She +has never been well since. Oh, here's Arnold!" + +Dr. Knox had come straight into the garden from Jenkins House. Dicky +rushed up to besiege his arms and legs; but, as Dicky was in a state of +flour--which he had just put upon himself in the kitchen, or had had put +upon him by the maids--the doctor ordered him to keep at arm's-length; +and the doctor was the only person who could make himself obeyed by +Dicky. + +"You have been to see Lady Jenkins, Arnold," said his step-mother. "How +is she?" + +"Nothing much to boast of," lightly answered Dr. Knox. "Johnny, are you +ready?" + +"I am going to be a soldier, Arnold," put in Dicky, dancing a kind of +war-dance round him. "Captain Collinson is going to make me a captain +like himself." + +"All right," said Arnold. "You must grow a little bigger first." + +"And, Arnold, the captain says---- Oh, my!" broke off Dicky, "what's +this? What have I found?" + +The boy stooped to pick up something glittering that had caught his eye. +It proved to be a curiously-shaped gold watch-key, with a small compass +in it. Mina and Lotty both called out that it was Captain Collinson's, +and must have dropped from his chain during a recent romp with Dicky. + +"I'll take it in to him at Lady Jenkins's," said Dicky. + +"You will do nothing of the sort, sir," corrected his mother, taking the +key from him: she had been thoroughly put out by the suggestion of the +"commission." + +"Should you chance to see the captain when you go out," she added to me, +"tell him his watch-key is here." + +The phaeton waited outside. It was the oldest thing I ever saw in regard +to fashion, and might have been in the firm hundreds of years. Its hood +could be screwed up and down at will; just as the perch behind, where +Thomas, the groom, generally sat, could be closed or opened. I asked Dr. +Knox whether it had been built later than the year One. + +"Just a little, I suppose," he answered, smiling. "This vehicle was +Dockett's special aversion. He christened it the 'conveyance,' and we +have mostly called it so since." + +We were about to step into it, when Madame St. Vincent came tripping out +of the gate up above. Dr. Knox met her. + +"I was sorry not to have been in the way when you left, doctor," she +said to him in a tone of apology: "I had gone to get the jelly for Lady +Jenkins. Do tell me what you think of her?" + +"She does not appear very lively," he answered; "but I can't find out +that she is in any pain." + +"I wish she would get better!--she does give me so much concern," warmly +spoke madame. "Not that I think her seriously ill, myself. I'm sure I do +everything for her that I possibly can." + +"Yes, yes, my dear lady, you cannot do more than you do," replied +Arnold. "I will be up in better time to-morrow." + +"Is Captain Collinson here?" I stayed behind Dr. Knox to ask. + +"Captain Collinson here!" returned Madame St. Vincent, tartly, as if +the question offended her. "No, he is not. What should bring Captain +Collinson here?" + +"I thought he might have called in upon leaving Mrs. Knox's. I only +wished to tell him that he dropped his watch-key next door. It was found +on the grass." + +"I don't know anything of his movements," coldly remarked madame. And as +I ran back to Dr. Knox, I remembered what Dan Jenkins had said--that she +did not like the captain. And I felt Dan was right. + +Dr. Knox drove home in silence, I sitting beside him, and Thomas in the +perch. He looked very grave, like a man preoccupied. In passing the +railway-station, I made some remark about Miss Cattledon, who was coming +by the train then on its way; but he did not appear to hear me. + +Sam Jenkins ran out as we drew up at Mr. Tamlyn's gate. An urgent +message had come for Dr. Knox: some one taken ill at Cooper's--at the +other end of the town. + +"Mr. Tamlyn thinks you had better go straight on there at once, sir," +said Sam. + +"I suppose I must," replied the doctor. "It is awkward, though"--pulling +out his watch. "Miss Cattledon will be due presently and Janet wanted me +to meet her," he added to me. "Would you do it, Johnny?" + +"What--meet Miss Cattledon? Oh yes, certainly." + +The conveyance drove on, with the doctor and Thomas. I went indoors +with Sam. Janet said I could meet her aunt just as well as Arnold, as I +knew her. The brougham was brought round to the gate by the coachman, +Wall, and I went away in it. + +Smoothly and quietly glided in the train, and out of a first-class +carriage stepped Miss Cattledon, thin and prim and upright as ever. + +"Dear me! is that you, Johnny Ludlow?" was her greeting to me when I +stepped up and spoke to her; and her tone was all vinegar. "What do +_you_ do here?" + +"I came to meet you. Did you not know I was staying at Lefford?" + +"I knew _that_. But why should they send you to meet me?" + +"Dr. Knox was coming himself, but he has just been called out to a +patient. How much luggage have you, Miss Cattledon?" + +"Never you mind how much, Johnny Ludlow: my luggage does not concern +you." + +"But cannot I save you the trouble of looking after it? If you will get +into the brougham, I will see to the luggage and bring it on in a fly, +if it's too much to go on the box with Wall." + +"You mean well, Johnny Ludlow, I dare say; but I always see to my +luggage myself. I should have lost it times and again, if I did not." + +She went pushing about amongst the porters and the trucks, and secured +the luggage. One not very large black box went up by Wall; a smaller +inside with us. So we drove out of the station in state, luggage and +all, Cattledon holding her head bolt upright. + +"How is Janet, Johnny Ludlow?" + +"Quite well, thank you." + +"And those two children of hers--are they very troublesome?" + +"Indeed, no; they are the best little things you ever saw. I wanted to +bring the boy with me to meet you, but Janet would not let me." + +"Um!" grunted Cattledon: "showed a little sense for once. What is that +building?" + +"That's the Town Hall. I thought you knew Lefford, Miss Cattledon?" + +"One cannot be expected to retain the buildings of a town in one's head +as if they were photographed there," returned she in a sharp tone of +reproof. Which shut me up. + +"And, pray, how does that young woman continue to conduct herself?" she +asked presently. + +"What young woman?" I said, believing she must be irreverently alluding +to Janet. + +"Lettice Lane." + +Had she mentioned the name of some great Indian Begum I could not have +been more surprised. _That_ name brought back to memory all the old +trouble connected with Miss Deveen's emeralds, their loss and their +finding: which, take it for all in all, was nothing short of a romance. +But why did she question _me_ about Lettice Lane. I asked her why. + +"I asked it to be answered, young man," was Cattledon's grim retort. + +"Yes, of course," I said, with deprecation. "But how should I know +anything about Lettice Lane?" + +"If there's one thing I hate more than another, Johnny Ludlow, it is +shuffling. I ask you how that young woman is going on; and I request you +to answer me." + +"Indeed, I would if I could. I don't understand why you should ask me. +Is Lettice Lane not living still with you--with Miss Deveen?" + +Cattledon evidently thought I _was_ shuffling, for she looked daggers at +me. "Lettice Lane," she said, "is with Janet Knox." + +"With Janet Knox! Oh dear, no, she is not." + +"Don't you get into a habit of contradicting your elders, Johnny Ludlow. +It is very unbecoming in a young man." + +"But--see here, Miss Cattledon. If Lettice were living with Janet, I +must have seen her. I see the servants every day. I assure you Lettice +is not one of them." + +She began to see that I was in earnest, and condescended to explain in +her stiff way. "Janet came to town last May to spend a week with us," +she said. "Before that, Lettice Lane had been complaining of not feeling +strong: I thought it was nothing but her restlessness; Miss Deveen and +the doctor thought she wanted country air--that London did not agree +with her. Janet was parting with her nurse at the time; she engaged +Lettice to replace her, and brought her down to Lefford. Is the matter +clear to you now, young man?" + +"Quite so. But indeed, Miss Cattledon, Lettice is not with Janet now. +The nurse is named Harriet, and she is not in the least like Lettice +Lane." + +"Then Lettice Lane must have gone roving again--unless you are +mistaken," said Cattledon, severely. "Wanting country air, forsooth! +Change was what _she_ wanted." + +Handing over Miss Cattledon, when we arrived, to the care of Janet, who +took her upstairs, and told me tea would be ready soon, I went into Mr. +Tamlyn's sitting-room. He was in the easy-chair before the fire, dozing, +but opened his eyes at my entrance. + +"Visitor come all right, Johnny?" + +"Yes, sir; she is gone to take her cloaks off. Janet says tea is nearly +ready." + +"I am quite ready for it," he remarked, and shut his eyes again. + +I took up a book I was reading, "Martin Chuzzlewit," and sat down on the +broad window-seat, legs up, to catch the now fading light. The folds of +the crimson curtain lay between me and Mr. Tamlyn--and I only hoped Mrs. +Gamp would not send me into convulsions and disturb him. + +Presently Dr. Knox came in. He went up to the fire, and stood at the +corner of the mantelpiece, his elbow on it, his back to me; and old +Tamlyn woke up. + +"Well," began he, "what was the matter at Cooper's, Arnold?" + +"Eldest boy fell off a ladder and broke his arm. It is only a simple +fracture." + +"Been very busy to-day, Arnold?" + +"Pretty well." + +"Hope I shall be out again in a day or two. How did you find Lady +Jenkins?" + +"Not at all to my satisfaction. She was in bed, and--and in fact seemed +hardly to know me." + +Tamlyn said nothing to this, and a silence ensued. Dr. Knox broke it. He +turned his eyes from the fire on which they had been fixed, and looked +full at his partner. + +"Has it ever struck you that there's not quite fair play going on up +there?" he asked in a low tone. + +"Up where?" + +"With Lady Jenkins." + +"How do you mean, Arnold?" + +"That something is being given to her?" + +Tamlyn sat upright in his chair, pushed back his scanty hair, and stared +at Dr. Knox. + +"_What_ do you mean, Knox? What do you suspect?" + +"That she is being habitually drugged; gradually, slowly----" + +"Merciful goodness!" interrupted Tamlyn, rising to his feet in +excitement. "Do you mean slowly poisoned?" + +"Hush!--I hear Janet," cried Dr. Knox. + + + + +LADY JENKINS. + +DOUBT. + + +I. + +You might have heard a pin drop in the room. They were listening to the +footsteps outside the door, but the footsteps did not make the hush and +the nameless horror that pervaded it: the words spoken by Dr. Knox had +done that. Old Tamlyn stood, a picture of dismay. For myself, sitting +in the window-seat, my feet comfortably stretched out before me, and +partially sheltered by the red curtains, I could only gaze at them both. + +Janet's footsteps died away. She appeared to have been crossing the hall +to the tea-room. And they began to talk again. + +"I do not say that Lady Jenkins is being poisoned; absolutely, +deliberately poisoned," said Dr. Knox, in the hushed tones to which his +voice had dropped; "I do not yet go quite so far as that. But I do think +that she is in some way being tampered with." + +"In what way?" gasped Tamlyn. + +"Drugged." + +The doctor's countenance wore a puzzled expression as he spoke; his eyes +a far-away look, just as though he did not see his own theory clearly. +Mr. Tamlyn's face changed: the astonishment, the alarm, the dismay +depicted on it gave place suddenly to relief. + +"It cannot be, Arnold. Rely upon it you are mistaken. Who would harm +her?" + +"No one that I know of; no suspicious person is about her to do it," +replied Dr. Knox. "And there lies the puzzle. I suppose she does not +take anything herself? Opium, say?" + +"Good Heavens, no," warmly spoke old Tamlyn. "No woman living is less +likely to do that than Lady Jenkins." + +"Less likely than she _was_. But you know yourself how unaccountably she +has changed." + +"She does not take opium or any other drug. I could stake my word upon +it, Arnold." + +"Then it is being given to her--at least, I think so. If not, her state +is to me inexplicable. Mind you, Mr. Tamlyn, not a breath of this must +transpire beyond our two selves," urged Dr. Knox, his tone and his gaze +at his senior partner alike impressively earnest. "If anything is wrong, +it is being wilfully and covertly enacted; and our only chance of +tracing it home is to conceal our suspicion of it." + +"I beg your pardon, Dr. Knox," I interrupted at this juncture, the +notion, suddenly flashing into my mind, that he was unaware of my +presence, sending me hot all over; "did you know I was here?" + +They both turned to me, and Dr. Knox's confused start was a sufficient +answer. + +"You heard all I said, Johnny Ludlow?" spoke Dr. Knox. + +"All. I am very sorry." + +"Well, it cannot be helped now. You will not let it transpire?" + +"That I certainly will not." + +"We shall have to take you into our confidence--to include you in the +plot," said Arnold Knox, with a smile. "I believe we might have a less +trustworthy adherent." + +"You could not have one more true." + +"Right, Johnny," added Mr. Tamlyn. "But I do hope Dr. Knox is mistaken. +I think you must be, Arnold. What are your grounds for this new theory?" + +"I don't tell you that it is quite new," replied Dr. Knox. "A faint idea +of it has been floating in my mind for some little time. As to grounds, +I have no more to go upon than you have had. Lady Jenkins is in a state +that we do not understand; neither you nor I can fathom what is amiss +with her; and I need not point out that such a condition of things is +unsatisfactory to a medical man, and sets him thinking." + +"I am sure I have not been able to tell what it is that ails her," +concurred old Tamlyn, in a helpless kind of tone. "She seems always to +be in a lethargy, more or less; to possess no proper self-will; to have +parted, so to say, with all her interest in life." + +"Just so. And I cannot discover, and do not believe, that she is in any +condition of health to cause this. _I believe that the evil is being +daily induced_," emphatically continued Dr. Knox. "And if she does +not herself induce it, by taking improper things, they are being +administered to her by others. You will not admit the first theory, Mr. +Tamlyn?" + +"No, that I will not. Lady Jenkins no more takes baneful drugs of her +own accord than I take them." + +"Then the other theory must come up. It draws the point to a narrow +compass, but to a more startling one." + +"Look here, Arnold. If I did admit the first theory you would be +no nearer the light. Lady Jenkins could not obtain drugs, and be +everlastingly swallowing them, without detection. Madame St. Vincent +would have found her out in a day." + +"Yes." + +"And would have stopped it at once herself, or handed it over to me to +be dealt with. She is truly anxious for Lady Jenkins, and spares no +pains, no time, no trouble for her." + +"I believe that," said Dr. Knox. "Whatsoever is being done, Madame St. +Vincent is kept in the dark--just as much as we are. Who else is about +her?" + +"No one much but her maid, that I know of," replied old Tamlyn, after +a pause of consideration. "And I should think she was as free from +suspicion as madame herself. It seems a strange thing." + +"It is. But I fear I am right. The question now will be, how are we to +set about solving the mystery?" + +"She is not quite always in a lethargic state," observed Tamlyn, his +thoughts going off at a tangent. + +"She is so more or less," dissented Dr. Knox. "Yesterday morning I was +there at eight o'clock; I went early purposely, and she was in a more +stupidly lethargic state than I had before seen her. Which of course +proves one thing." + +"What thing? I fail to catch your meaning, Arnold." + +"That she is being drugged in the night as well as the day." + +"If she is drugged at all," corrected Mr. Tamlyn, shaking his head. "But +I do not give in to your fancy yet, Arnold. All this must edify you, +Johnny!" + +Tamlyn spoke the words in a jesting sense, meaning of course that it had +done nothing of the kind. He was wrong, if to edify means to interest. +Hardly ever during my life had I been more excited. + +"It is a frightful shame if any one is playing with Lady Jenkins," I +said to them. "She is as good-hearted an old lady as ever lived. And why +should they do it? Where's the motive?" + +"There lies one of the difficulties--the motive," observed Dr. Knox. "I +cannot see any; any end to be obtained by it. No living being that I +know of can have an interest in wishing for Lady Jenkins's death or +illness." + +"How is her money left?" + +"A pertinent question, Johnny. I do not expect any one could answer it, +excepting herself and Belford, the lawyer. I _suppose_ her relatives, +all the nephews and nieces, will inherit it: and they are not about her, +you see, and cannot be dosing her. No; the motive is to me a complete +mystery. Meanwhile, Johnny, keep your ears and eyes open when you are up +there; there's no telling what chance word or look may be dropped that +might serve to give you a clue: and keep your mouth shut." + +I laughed. + +"If I could put aside my patients for a week, and invent some excuse for +taking up my abode at Jenkins House, I know I should soon find out all +the mystery," went on Dr. Knox. + +"Arnold, why not take Madame St. Vincent into your confidence?" + +Dr. Knox turned quickly round at the words to face his senior partner. +He held up his finger warningly. + +"Things are not ripe for it," he said. "Let me get, or try to get, a +little more inkling into matters than I have at present, as touching the +domestic economy at Jenkins House. I may have to do as you say, later: +but women are only chattering magpies; marplots, often with the best +intentions; and Madame St. Vincent may be no exception." + +"Will you please come to tea?" interrupted Janet, opening the door. + +Miss Cattledon, in a sea-green silk gown that I'm sure I had seen many +times before, and the velvet on her thin throat, and a bow of lace on +her head, shook hands with Mr. Tamlyn and Dr. Knox, and we sat down to +tea. Little Arnold, standing by his mother in his plaid frock and white +drawers (for the time to dress little children as men had not come in +then by many a year), had a piece of bread-and-butter given to him. +While he was eating it, the nurse appeared. + +"Are you ready, Master Arnold? It is quite bedtime." + +"Yes, he is ready, Harriet; and he has been very good," spoke Janet. And +the little fellow went contentedly off without a word. + +Miss Cattledon, stirring her tea at the moment, put the spoon down to +look at the nurse, staring at her as if she had never seen a nurse +before. + +"That's not Lettice Lane," she observed sententiously, as the door +closed on Harriet. "Where is Lettice Lane?" + +"She has left, Aunt Jemima." + +If a look could have withered Janet, Cattledon's was severe enough to do +it. But the displeasure was meant for Lettice, not for Janet. + +"What business had she to leave? Did she misbehave herself?" + +"She stayed with me only two months," said Janet. "And she left because +she still continued poorly, and the two children were rather too much +for her. The baby was cutting her teeth, which disturbed Lettice +at night; and I and Arnold both thought we ought to have some one +stronger." + +"Did you give her warning?" asked Cattledon, who was looking her very +grimmest at thought of the absent Lettice; "or did she give it you?" + +Janet laughed presently. "I think it was a sort of mutual warning, Aunt +Jemima. Lettice acknowledged to me that she was hardly equal to the care +of the children; and I told her I thought she was not. We found her +another place." + +"A rolling-stone gathers no moss," commented Cattledon. "Lettice Lane +changes her places too often." + +"She stayed some time with Miss Deveen, Aunt Jemima. And she likes her +present place. She gets very good wages, better than she had with me, +and helps to keep her mother." + +"What may her duties be? Is she housemaid again?" + +"She is lady's-maid to Lady Jenkins, an old lady who lives up the London +Road. Lettice has grown much stronger since she went there. Why, what do +you think, Aunt Jemima?" added Janet, laughing, "Lettice has actually +been to Paris. Lady Jenkins went there just after engaging Lettice, and +took her." + +Miss Cattledon tossed her head. "Much good that would do Lettice Lane! +Only fill her up with worse conceits than ever. I wonder she is not yet +off to Australia! She used always to be talking of it." + +"You don't appear to like Lettice Lane, ma'am," smiled old Tamlyn. + +"No, I do _not_, sir. Lettice Lane first became known to me under +unfavourable circumstances, and I have not liked her since." + +"Indeed! What were they?" + +"Some of Miss Deveen's jewels disappeared--were stolen; and Lettice Lane +was suspected. It turned out later that she was not guilty; but I could +not get over my dislike to her. We cannot help our likes and dislikes, +which often come to us without rhyme or reason," acknowledged Miss +Cattledon, "and I admit that I am perhaps too persistent in mine." + +Not a soul present, myself excepted, had ever heard about the loss of +the emeralds: and somehow I felt sorry that Cattledon had spoken of it. +Not that she did it in ill-nature--I give her that due. Questions were +immediately poured out, and she had to give the full history. + +The story interested them all, Dr. Knox especially. + +"And who did take the jewels?" he asked. + +But Cattledon could not enlighten him, for Miss Deveen had not betrayed +Sophie Chalk, even to her. + +"I don't know who it was," tartly confessed Cattledon, the point being a +sore one with her. "Miss Deveen promised, I believe, to screen the +thief; and did so." + +"Perhaps it was really Lettice Lane?" + +"I believe not. I am sure not. It was a lady, Miss Deveen told me that +much. No; of that disgraceful act Lettice Lane was innocent: but I +should never be surprised to hear of her falling into trouble. She is +capable of it." + +"Of poisoning somebody, perhaps?" spoke Dr. Knox. + +"Yes," acquiesced Cattledon, grimly. + +How prejudiced she was against Lettice Lane! But she had given this last +answer only in the same jesting spirit in which it appeared to have been +put, not really meaning it. + +"To be wrongly suspected, as poor Lettice Lane was, ought to make people +all the more considerate to her," remarked Janet, her thoughts no doubt +reverting to the time when she herself was falsely suspected--and +accused. + +"True, my dear," answered old Tamlyn. "Poor Lettice must have had her +troubles." + +"And she has had her faults," retorted Cattledon. + +But this story had made an impression on Dr. Knox that Cattledon never +suspected, never intended. He took up the idea that Lettice Lane was +guilty. Going into Mr. Tamlyn's sitting-room for "Martin Chuzzlewit," +when tea was over, I found his hand on my shoulder. He had silently +followed me. + +"Johnny Ludlow," he said, looking down into my eyes in the dim room, +which was only lighted by the dim fire, "I don't like this that I have +heard of Lettice Lane." + +And the next to come in was Tamlyn. Closing the door, he walked up to +the hearthrug where we stood, and stirred the fire into a blaze. + +"I am telling Johnny Ludlow that this story of Miss Deveen's emeralds +has made an unfavourable impression on me," quoth Dr. Knox to him. "It +does not appear to me to be at all clear that Lettice Lane did not take +them; and that Miss Deveen, in her benevolence, screened her from the +consequences." + +"But, indeed----" I was beginning, when Dr. Knox stopped me. + +"A moment, Johnny. I was about to add that a woman who is capable of one +crime can sometimes be capable of another; and I should not be surprised +if it is Lettice Lane who is tampering with Lady Jenkins." + +"But," I repeated, "Lettice Lane did _not_ take the jewels. She knew +nothing about it. She was perfectly innocent." + +"You cannot answer for it, Johnny." + +"Yes, I can; and do. I know who did take them." + +"_You_ know, Johnny Ludlow?" cried old Tamlyn, while Dr. Knox looked at +me in silence. + +"I helped Miss Deveen to find it out. At least, she had me with her +during the progress of the discovery. It was a lady who took the +jewels--as Miss Cattledon told you. She fainted away when it was brought +home to her, and fell on my shoulder." + +I believe they hardly knew whether to give me credit or not. Of course +it did sound strange that I, young Johnny Ludlow, should have been +entrusted by Miss Deveen with a secret she would not disclose even to +her many years' companion and friend, Jemima Cattledon. + +"Who was it, then, Johnny?" began Mr. Tamlyn. + +"I should not like to tell, sir. I do not think it would be right to +tell. For the young lady's own sake, Miss Deveen hushed the matter up, +hoping it would be a warning to her in future. And I dare say it has +been." + +"Young, was she?" + +"Yes. She has married since then. I could not, in honour, tell you her +name." + +"Well, I suppose we must believe you, Johnny," said Dr. Knox, making the +admission unwillingly. "Lettice Lane did get fingering the jewels, it +appears; you admit that." + +"But she did not take them. It was--another." And, cautiously choosing +my words, so as not to say anything that could direct suspicion to +Sophie Chalk--whose name most likely they had never heard in their +lives--I gave them an outline of the way in which Miss Deveen had +traced the matter out. The blaze lighted up Mr. Tamlyn's grey face as +I told it. + +"You perceive that it could not have been Lettice Lane, Dr. Knox," I +said, in conclusion. "I am sorry Miss Cattledon should have spoken +against her." + +"Yes, I perceive Lettice could not have been guilty of stealing the +jewels," answered Dr. Knox. "Nevertheless, a somewhat unfavourable +impression of the girl has been made upon me, and I shall look a little +after her. Why does she want to emigrate to Australia?" + +"Only because two of her brothers are there. I dare say it is all idle +talk--that she will never go." + +They said no more to me. I took up my book and quitted the room, leaving +them to talk it out between themselves. + + +II. + +Mr. Tamlyn might be clever in medicine; he certainly was not in +diplomacy. Dr. Knox had particularly impressed upon him the desirability +of keeping their suspicion a secret for the present, even from Madame +St. Vincent; yet the first use old Tamlyn made of his liberty was to +disclose it to her. + +Tossed about in the conflict of doubts and suspicions that kept arising +in his mind, Mr. Tamlyn, from the night I have just told you of, +was more uneasy than a fish out of water, his opinion constantly +vacillating. "You must be mistaken, Arnold; I feel sure there's nothing +wrong going on," he would say to his junior partner one minute; and, the +next minute, decide that it _was_ going on, and that its perpetrator +must be Lettice Lane. + +The uneasiness took him abroad earlier than he would otherwise have +gone. A slight access of fever attacked him the day after the subject +had been broached--which fever he had no doubt worried himself into. In +the ordinary course of things he would have stayed at home for a week +after that: but he now went out on the third day. + +"I will walk," he decided, looking up at the sunshine. "It will do me +good. What lovely weather we are having." + +Betaking himself through the streets to the London Road, he reached +Jenkins House. The door stood open; and the doctor, almost as much at +home in the house as Lady Jenkins herself, walked in without knocking. + +The dining-room, where they mostly sat in the morning, was empty; the +drawing-room was empty; and Mr. Tamlyn went on to a third room, that +opened to the garden at the back with glass-doors. + +"Any one here? or is the house gone a-maying?" cried the surgeon as he +entered and came suddenly upon a group of three people, all upon their +knees before a pile of old music--Madame St. Vincent, Mina Knox, and +Captain Collinson. Two of them got up, laughing. Mina remained where she +was. + +"We are searching for a manuscript song that is missing," explained +madame, as she gave her hand to the doctor. "Mina feels sure she left +it here; but I do not remember to have seen it." + +"It was not mine," added Mina, looking round at the doctor in her +pretty, gentle way. "Caroline Parker lent it to me, and she has sent for +it twice." + +"I hope you'll find it, my dear." + +"I must have left it here," continued Mina, as she rapidly turned over +the sheets. "I was singing it yesterday afternoon, you remember," she +added, glancing up at the captain. "It was while you were upstairs with +Lady Jenkins, Madame St. Vincent." + +She came to the end of the pile of music, but could not find the song. +Putting it all on a side-table, Mina said a general good-bye, escaped by +the glass-doors, and ran home by the little gate that divided the two +gardens. + +Captain Collinson left next. Perhaps he and Mina had both a sense of +being de trop when the doctor was there. Waiting to exchange a few words +with Mr. Tamlyn, and bidding Madame St. Vincent an adieu that had more +of formality in it than friendship, the captain bowed himself out, +taking his tasselled cane with him, madame ringing for one of the +men-servants to attend him to the hall-door. Tasselled canes were the +fashion then. + +"They do not make a practice of meeting here, do they?" began old +Tamlyn, when the captain was beyond hearing. + +"Who? What?" asked Madame St. Vincent. + +"The captain and little Mina Knox." + +For a minute or two it appeared that madame could not catch his meaning. +She looked at him in perplexity. + +"I fail to understand you, dear Mr. Tamlyn." + +"The captain is a very attractive man, no doubt; a good match, I dare +say, and all that: but still we should not like poor little Mina to be +whirled off to India by him. I asked if they often met here." + +"Whirled off to India?" repeated madame, in astonishment. "Little Mina? +By him? In what capacity?" + +"As his wife." + +"But--dear me!--what can have put such an idea into your head, my good +sir? Mina is a mere child." + +"Old enough to take up foolish notions," quoth the doctor, quaintly; +"especially if they are put into it by a be-whiskered grenadier, such as +he. I hope he is not doing it! I hope you do not give them opportunities +of meeting here!" + +Madame seemed quite taken aback at the implication. Her voice had a +sound of tears in it. + +"Do you suppose I could be capable of such a thing, sir? I did think you +had a better opinion of me. Such a child as Mina! We were both on our +knees, looking for the song, when Captain Collinson came in; and he must +needs go down on his great stupid knees too. He but called to inquire +after Lady Jenkins." + +"Very thoughtful of him, of course. He is often up here, I fancy; at the +next house, if not at this." + +"Certainly not often at this. He calls on Lady Jenkins occasionally, and +she likes it. _I_ don't encourage him. He may be a brave soldier, and a +man of wealth and family, and everything else that's desirable; but he +is no especial favourite of mine." + +"Well, Sam Jenkins has an idea that he would like to get making love to +Mina. Sam was laughing about it in the surgery last night with Johnny +Ludlow, and I happened to overhear him. Sam thinks they meet here, as +well as next door: and you heard Mina say just now that she was singing +to him here yesterday afternoon. Stay, my dear lady, don't be put out. +I am sure _you_ have thought it no harm, have been innocent of all +suspicion of it. Mistaken, you tell me? Well, it may be I am. Mina is +but a child, as you observe, and--and perhaps Sam was only jesting. How +is our patient to-day?" + +"Pretty well. Just a little drowsy." + +"In bed, or up?" + +"Oh, up." + +"Will you tell her I am here?" + +Madame St. Vincent, her plumage somewhat ruffled, betook herself to the +floor above, Mr. Tamlyn following. Lady Jenkins, in a loose gown of blue +quilted silk and a cap with yellow roses in it, sat at the window, +nodding. + +"Well," said he, sitting down by her and taking her hand, "and how do +you feel to-day?" + +She opened her eyes and smiled at him. Better, she thought: oh yes, +certainly better. + +"You are sleepy." + +"Rather so. Getting up tired me." + +"Are you not going for a drive to-day? It would do you good." + +"I don't know. Ask Patty. Patty, are we going out to-day?" + +The utter helplessness of mind and body which appeared to be upon her as +she thus appealed to another, Mr. Tamlyn had rarely seen equalled. Even +while listening to Madame St. Vincent's answer--that they would go if +she felt strong enough--her heavy eyelids closed again. In a minute +or two she was in a sound sleep. Tamlyn threw caution and Dr. Knox's +injunction to the winds, and spoke on the moment's impulse to Madame St. +Vincent. + +"You see," he observed, pointing to the sleeping face. + +"She is only dozing off again." + +"_Only!_ My dear, good lady, this perpetual, stupid, lethargic +sleepiness is not natural. You are young, perhaps inexperienced, or you +would know it to be not so." + +"I scarcely think it altogether unnatural," softly dissented madame, +with deprecation. "She has really been very poorly." + +"But not sufficiently so to induce this helplessness. It has been upon +her for months, and is gaining ground." + +"She is seventy years of age, remember." + +"I know that. But people far older than that are not as she is without +some cause: either of natural illness, or--or--something else. Step here +a minute, my dear." + +Old Tamlyn walked rapidly to the other window, and stood there talking +in low tones, his eyes fixed on Madame St. Vincent, his hand, in his +eagerness, touching her shoulder. + +"Knox thinks, and has imparted his opinion to me--ay, and his doubts +also--that something is being given to her." + +"That something is being given to her!" echoed Madame St. Vincent, her +face flushing with surprise. "Given to her in what way?" + +"Or else that she is herself taking it. But I, who have known her longer +than Knox has, feel certain that she is not one to do anything of the +sort. Besides, you would have found it out long ago." + +"I protest I do not understand you," spoke madame, earnestly. "What is +it that she _could_ take? She has taken the medicine that comes from +your surgery. She has taken nothing else." + +"Knox thinks she is being drugged." + +"Drugged! Lady Jenkins drugged? How, drugged? What with? What for? Who +would drug her?" + +"There it is; who would do it?" said the old doctor, interrupting the +torrent of words poured forth in surprise. "I confess I think the +symptoms point to it. But I don't see how it could be accomplished and +you not detect it, considering that you are so much with her." + +"Why, I hardly ever leave her, day or night," cried madame. "My bedroom, +as you know, is next to hers, and I sleep with the intervening door +open. There is no more chance, sir, that she could be drugged than that +I could be." + +"When Knox first spoke of it to me I was pretty nearly startled out of +my senses," went on Tamlyn. "For I caught up a worse notion than he +meant to convey--that she was being systematically poisoned." + +A dark, vivid, resentful crimson dyed madame's face. The suggestion +seemed to be a reproof on her vigilance. + +"Poisoned!" she repeated in angry indignation. "How dare Dr. Knox +suggest such a thing?" + +"My dear, he did not suggest it against _you_. He and I both look upon +you as her best safeguard. It is your being with her, that gives us some +sort of security: and it is your watchfulness we shall have to look to +for detection." + +"Poisoned!" reiterated madame, unable to get over the ugly word. "I +think Dr. Knox ought to be made to answer for so wicked a suspicion." + +"Knox did not mean to go so far as that: it was my misapprehension. But +he feels perfectly convinced that she is being tampered with. In short, +drugged." + +"It is not possible," reasoned madame. "It could not be done without my +knowledge. Indeed, sir, you may dismiss all idea of the kind from your +mind; you and Dr. Knox also. I assure you that such a thing would be +simply impracticable." + +Mr. Tamlyn shook his head. "Any one who sets to work to commit a crime +by degrees, usually possesses a large share of innate cunning--more +than enough to deceive lookers-on," he remarked. "I can understand how +thoroughly repulsive this idea is to you, my good lady; that your mind +shrinks from admitting it; but I wish you would, just for argument's +sake, allow its possibility." + +But madame was harder than adamant. Old Tamlyn saw what it was--that she +took this accusation, and would take it, as a reflection on her care. + +"Who is there, amidst us all, that would attempt to injure Lady +Jenkins?" she asked. "The household consists only of myself and the +servants. _They_ would not seek to harm their mistress." + +"Not so sure; not so sure. It is amidst those servants that we must look +for the culprit. Dr. Knox thinks so, and so do I." + +Madame's face of astonishment was too genuine to be doubted. She feebly +lifted her hands in disbelief. To suspect the servants seemed, to her, +as ridiculous as the suspicion itself. + +"Her maid, Lettice, and the housemaid, Sarah, are the only two servants +who approach her when she is ill, sir: Sarah but very little. Both of +them are kind-hearted young women." + +Mr. Tamlyn coughed. Whether he would have gone on to impart his doubt of +Lettice cannot be known. During the slight silence Lettice herself +entered the room with her mistress's medicine. A quick, dark-eyed young +woman, in a light print gown. + +The stir aroused Lady Jenkins. Madame St. Vincent measured out the +physic, and was handing it to the patient, when Mr. Tamlyn seized the +wine-glass. + +"It's all right," he observed, after smelling and tasting, speaking +apparently to himself: and Lady Jenkins took it. + +"That is the young woman you must especially watch," whispered Mr. +Tamlyn, as Lettice retired with her waiter. + +"What! Lettice?" exclaimed madame, opening her eyes. + +"Yes; I should advise you to do so. She is the only one who is much +about her mistress," he added, as if he would account for the advice. +"_Watch her._" + +Leaving madame at the window to digest the mandate and to get over her +astonishment, he sat down by Lady Jenkins again, and began talking of +this and that: the fineness of the weather, the gossip passing in the +town. + +"What do you take?" he asked abruptly. + +"Take?" she repeated. "What is it that I take, Patty?" appealing to her +companion. + +"Nay, but I want you to tell me yourself," hastily interposed the +doctor. "Don't trouble madame." + +"But I don't know that I can recollect." + +"Oh yes, you can. The effort to do so will do you good--wake you out +of this stupid sleepiness. Take yesterday: what did you have for +breakfast?" + +"Yesterday? Well, I think they brought me a poached egg." + +"And a very good thing, too. What did you drink with it?" + +"Tea. I always take tea." + +"Who makes it?" + +"I do," said madame, turning her head to Mr. Tamlyn with a meaning +smile. "I take my own tea from the same tea-pot." + +"Good. What did you take after that, Lady Jenkins?" + +"I dare say I had some beef-tea at eleven. Did I, Patty? I generally do +have it." + +"Yes, dear Lady Jenkins; and delicious beef-tea it is, and it does you +good. I should like Mr. Tamlyn to take a cup of it." + +"I don't mind if I do." + +Perhaps the answer was unexpected: but Madame St. Vincent rang the bell +and ordered up a cup of the beef-tea. The beef-tea proved to be "all +right," as he had observed of the medicine. Meanwhile he had continued +his questions to his patient. + +She had eaten some chicken for dinner, and a little sweetbread for +supper. There had been interludes of refreshment: an egg beaten up with +milk, a cup of tea and bread-and-butter, and so on. + +"You don't starve her," laughed Mr. Tamlyn. + +"No, indeed," warmly replied madame. "I do what I can to nourish her." + +"What do you take to drink?" continued the doctor. + +"Nothing to speak of," interposed madame. "A drop of cold +brandy-and-water with her dinner." + +"Patty thinks it is better for me than wine," put in Lady Jenkins. + +"I don't know but it is. You don't take too much of it?" + +Lady Jenkins paused. "Patty knows. Do I take too much, Patty?" + +Patty was smiling, amused at the very idea. "I measure one +table-spoonful of brandy into a tumbler and put three or four +table-spoonfuls of water to it. If you think that is too much brandy, +Mr. Tamlyn, I will put less." + +"Oh, nonsense," said old Tamlyn. "It's hardly enough." + +"She has the same with her supper," concluded madame. + +Well, old Tamlyn could make nothing of his suspicions. And he came home +from Jenkins House and told Knox he thought they must be both mistaken. + +"Why did you speak of it to madame?" asked Dr. Knox. "We agreed to be +silent for a short time." + +"I don't see why she should not be told, Arnold. She is straightforward +as the day--and Lettice Lane seems so, too. I tasted the beef-tea they +gave her--took a cup of it, in fact--and I tasted the physic. Madame +says it is impossible that anything in the shape of drugs is being given +to her; and upon my word I think so too." + +"All the same, I wish you had not spoken." + +And a little time went on. + + +III. + +The soirée to-night was at Rose Villa; and Mrs. Knox, attired in a +striped gauze dress and the jangling ornaments she favoured, stood to +receive her guests. Beads on her thin brown neck, beads on her sharp +brown wrists, beads in her ears, and beads dropping from her waist. +She looked all beads. They were drab beads to-night, each resting in +a little cup of gold. Janet and Miss Cattledon went up in the brougham, +the latter more stiffly ungracious than usual, for she still resented +Mrs. Knox's former behaviour to Janet. I walked. + +"Where can the people from next door be?" wondered Mrs. Knox, as the +time went on and Lady Jenkins did not appear. + +For Lady Jenkins went abroad again. In a day or two after Mr. Tamlyn's +interview with her, Lefford had the pleasure of seeing her red-wheeled +carriage whirling about the streets, herself and her companion within +it. Old Tamlyn said she was getting strong. Dr. Knox said nothing; but +he kept his eyes open. + +"I hope she is not taken ill again? I hope she is not too drowsy to +come!" reiterated Mrs. Knox. "Sometimes madame can't rouse her up from +these sleepy fits, do what she will." + +Lady Jenkins was the great card of the soirée, and Mrs. Knox grew cross. +Captain Collinson had not come either. She drew me aside. + +"Johnny Ludlow, I wish you would step into the next door and see whether +anything has happened. Do you mind it? So strange that Madame St. +Vincent does not send or come." + +I did not mind it at all. I rather liked the expedition, and passed out +of the noisy and crowded room to the lovely, warm night-air. The sky was +clear; the moon radiant. + +I was no longer on ceremony at Jenkins House, having been up to it +pretty often with Dan or Sam, and on my own score. Lady Jenkins had been +pleased to take a fancy to me, had graciously invited me to some drives +in her red-wheeled carriage, she dozing at my side pretty nearly all the +time. I could not help being struck with the utter abnegation of will +she displayed. It was next door to imbecility. + +"Patty, Johnny Ludlow would like to go that way, I think, to-day may +we?" she would say. "Must we turn back already, Patty?--it has been such +a short drive." Thus she deferred to Madame St. Vincent in all things, +small and great: if she had a will or choice of her own, it seemed that +she never thought of exercising it. Day after day she would say the +drives were short: and very short indeed they were made, upon some +plea or other, when I made a third in the carriage. "I am so afraid +of fatigue for her," madame whispered to me one day, when she seemed +especially anxious. + +"But you take a much longer drive, when she and you are alone," I +answered, that fact having struck me. "What difference does my being in +the carriage make?--are you afraid of fatigue for the horses as well?" +At which suggestion madame burst out laughing. + +"When I am alone with her I take care not to talk," she explained; "but +when three of us are here there's sure to be talking going on, and it +cannot fail to weary her." + +Of course that was madame's opinion: but my impression was that, let us +talk as much as we would, in a high key or a low one, that poor nodding +woman neither heard nor heeded it. + +"Don't you think you are fidgety about it, madame?" + +"Well, perhaps I am," she answered. "I assure you, Lady Jenkins is an +anxious charge to me." + +Therefore, being quite at home now at Jenkins House (to return to the +evening and the soirée I was telling of), I ran in the nearest way to +do Mrs. Knox's behest. That was through the two back gardens, by the +intervening little gate. I knocked at the glass-doors of what was called +the garden-room, in which shone a light behind the curtains, and went +straight in. Sitting near each other, conversing with an eager look on +their faces, and both got up for Mrs. Knox's soirée, were Captain +Collinson and Madame St. Vincent. + +"Mr. Ludlow!" she exclaimed. "How you startled me!" + +"I beg your pardon for entering so abruptly. Mrs. Knox asked me to run +in and see whether anything was the matter, and I came the shortest way. +She has been expecting you for some time." + +"Nothing is the matter," shortly replied madame, who seemed more put out +than the occasion called for: she thought me rude, I suppose. "Lady +Jenkins is not ready; that is all. She may be half-an-hour yet." + +"Half-an-hour! I won't wait longer, then," said Captain Collinson, +catching up his crush hat. "I do trust she has not taken another chill. +Au revoir, madame." + +With a nod to me, he made his exit by the way I had entered. The same +peculiarity struck me now that I had observed before: whenever I went +into a place, be it Jenkins House or Rose Villa, the gallant captain +immediately quitted it. + +"Do I frighten Captain Collinson away?" I said to madame on the spur of +the moment. + +"_You_ frighten him! Why should you?" + +"I don't know why. If he happens to be here when I come in, he gets up +and goes away. Did you never notice it? It is the same at Mrs. Knox's. +It was the same once at Mrs. Hampshire's." + +Madame laughed. "Perhaps he is shy," said she, jestingly. + +"A man who has travelled to India and back must have rubbed his shyness +off, one would think. I wish I knew where I had met him before!--if I +have met him. Every now and again his face seems to strike on a chord of +my memory." + +"It is a handsome face," remarked madame. + +"Pretty well. As much as can be seen of it. He has hair enough for a +Russian bear or a wild Indian." + +"Have wild Indians a superabundance of hair?" asked she gravely. + +I laughed. "Seriously speaking, though, Madame St. Vincent, I think I +must have met him somewhere." + +"Seriously speaking, I don't think that can be," she answered; and her +jesting tone had become serious. "I believe he has passed nearly all his +life in India." + +"Just as you have passed yours in the South of France. And yet there is +something in your face also familiar to me." + +"I should say you must be just a little fanciful on the subject of +likenesses. Some people are." + +"I do not think so. If I am I did not know it. I----" + +The inner door opened and Lady Jenkins appeared, becloaked and +beshawled, with a great green hood over her head, and leaning on Lettice +Lane. Madame got up and threw a mantle on her own shoulders. + +"Dear Lady Jenkins, I was just coming to see for you. Captain Collinson +called in to give you his arm, but he did not wait. And here's Mr. +Johnny Ludlow, sent in by Mrs. Knox to ask whether we are all dead." + +"Ay," said Lady Jenkins, nodding to me as she sat down on the sofa: "but +I should like a cup of tea before we start." + +"A cup of tea?" + +"Ay; I'm thirsty. Let me have it, Patty." + +She spoke the last words in an imploring tone, as if Patty were her +mistress. Madame threw off her mantle again, untied the green hood of +her lady, and sent Lettice to make some tea. + +"You had better go back and tell Mrs. Knox we are coming, though I'm +sure I don't know when it will be," she said aside to me. + +I did as I was told; and had passed through the garden-gate, when my eye +fell upon Master Richard Knox. He was standing on the grass in the +moonlight, near the clump of laurels, silently contorting his small form +into cranks and angles, after the gleeful manner of Punch in the show +when he has been giving his wife a beating. Knowing that agreeable youth +could not keep himself out of mischief if he tried, I made up to him. + +"Hush--sh--sh!" breathed he, silencing the question on my lips. + +"What's the sport, Dicky?" + +"She's with him there, beyond the laurels; they are walking round," he +whispered. "Oh my! such fun! I have been peeping at 'em. He has his arm +round her waist." + +Sure enough, at that moment they came into view--Mina and Captain +Collinson. Dicky drew back into the shade, as did I. And I, to my very +great astonishment, trod upon somebody else's feet, who made, so to say, +one of the laurels. + +"It's only I," breathed Sam Jenkins. "I'm on the watch as well as Dicky. +It looks like a case of two loviers, does it not?" + +The "loviers" were parting. Captain Collinson held her hand between both +his to give her his final whisper. Then Mina tripped lightly over the +grass and stole in at the glass-doors of the garden-room, while the +captain stalked round to the front-entrance and boldly rang, making +believe he had only then arrived. + +"Oh my, _my_!" repeated the enraptured Dicky, "won't I have the pull of +her now! She'd better tell tales of me again!" + +"Is it a case, think you?" asked Sam of me, as we slowly followed in the +wake of Mina. + +"It looks like it," I answered. + +Janet was singing one of her charming songs, as we stole in at the +glass-doors: "Blow, blow, thou wintry wind:" just as she used to sing +it in that house in the years gone by. Her voice had not lost its +sweetness. Mina stood near the piano now, a thoughtful look upon her +flushed face. + +"Where did you and Dicky go just now, Sam?" + +Sam turned short round at the query. Charlotte Knox, as she put it, +carried suspicion in her low tone. + +"Where did I and Dicky go?" repeated Sam, rather taken aback. "I--I only +stepped out for a stroll in the moonlight. I don't know anything about +Dicky." + +"I saw Dicky run out to the garden first, and you went next," persisted +Charlotte, who was just as keen as steel. "Dick, what was there to see? +I will give you two helpings of trifle at supper if you tell me." + +For two helpings of trifle Dick would have sold his birthright. "Such +fun!" he cried, beginning to jump. "She was out there with the captain, +Lotty: he came to the window here and beckoned to her: I saw him. I +dodged them round and round the laurels, and I am pretty nearly sure he +kissed her." + +"Who was?--who did?" But the indignant glow on Lotty's face proved that +she scarcely needed to put the question. + +"That nasty Mina. She took and told that it was me who eat up the big +bowl of raspberry cream in the larder to-day; and mother went and +believed her!" + +Charlotte Knox, her brow knit, her head held erect, walked away after +giving us all a searching look apiece. "I, like Dicky, saw Collinson +call her out, and I thought I might as well see what he wanted to be +after," Sam whispered to me. "I did not see Dicky at all, though, until +he came into the laurels with you." + +"He is talking to her now," I said, directing Sam's attention to the +captain. + +"I wonder whether I ought to tell Dr. Knox?" resumed Sam. "What do you +think, Johnny Ludlow? She is so young, and somehow I don't trust him. +Dan doesn't, either." + +"Dan told me he did not." + +"Dan fancies he is after her money. It would be a temptation to some +people,--seven thousand pounds. Yet he seems to have plenty of his +own." + +"If he did marry her he could not touch the money for three or four +years to come." + +"Oh, couldn't he, though," answered Sam, taking me up. "He could touch +it next day." + +"I thought she did not come into it till she was of age, and that Dr. +Knox was trustee." + +"That's only in case she does not marry. If she marries it goes to her +at once. Here comes Aunt Jenkins!" + +The old lady, as spruce as you please, in a satin gown, was shaking +hands with Mrs. Knox. But she looked half silly: and, may I never be +believed again, if she did not begin to nod directly she sat down. + +"Do you hail from India? as the Americans phrase it," I suddenly ask of +Captain Collinson, when chance pinned us together in a corner of the +supper-room, and he could not extricate himself. + +"Hail from India!" he repeated. "Was I born there, I conclude you mean?" + +"Yes." + +"Not exactly. I went there, a child, with my father and mother. And, +except for a few years during my teens, when I was home for education, I +have been in India ever since. Why do you ask?" + +"For no particular reason. I was telling Madame St. Vincent this evening +that it seemed to me I had seen you before; but I suppose it could not +be. Shall you be going back soon?" + +"I am not sure. Possibly in the autumn, when my leave will expire: not +till next year if I can get my leave extended. I shall soon be quitting +Lefford." + +"Shall you?" + +"Must do it. I have to make my bow at a levée; and I must be in town for +other things as well. I should like to enjoy a little of the season +there: it may be years before the opportunity falls to my lot again. +Then I have some money to invest: I think of buying an estate. Oh, I +have all sorts of business to attend to, once I am in London." + +"Where's the use of buying an estate if you are to live in India?" + +"I don't intend to live in India always," he answered, with a laugh. "I +shall quit the service as soon as ever I can, and settle down +comfortably in the old country. A home of my own will be of use to me +then." + +Now it was that very laugh of Captain Collinson's that seemed more +familiar to me than all the rest of him. That I had heard it before, ay, +and heard it often, I felt sure. At least, I should have felt sure but +for its seeming impossibility. + +"You are from Gloucestershire, I think I have heard," he observed to me. + +"No; from Worcestershire." + +"Worcestershire? That's a nice county, I believe. Are not the Malvern +Hills situated in it?" + +"Yes. They are eight miles from Worcester." + +"I should like to see them. I must see them before I go back. And +Worcester is famous for--what is it?--china?--yes, china. And for its +cathedral, I believe. I shall get a day or two there if I can. I can do +Malvern at the same time." + +"Captain Collinson, would you mind giving Lady Jenkins your arm?" cried +Mrs. Knox at this juncture. "She is going home." + +"There is no necessity for Captain Collinson to disturb himself: I can +take good care of Lady Jenkins," hastily spoke Madame St. Vincent, in +a tart tone, which the room could not mistake. Evidently she did not +favour Captain Collinson. + +But the captain had already pushed himself through the throng of people +and taken the old lady in tow. The next minute I found myself close to +Charlotte Knox, who was standing at the supper-table, with a plate of +cold salmon before her. + +"Are you a wild bear, Johnny Ludlow?" she asked me privately, under +cover of the surrounding clatter. + +"Not that I know of. Why?" + +"Madame St. Vincent takes you for one." + +I laughed. "Has she told you so?" + +"She has not told me: I guess it is some secret," returned Charlotte, +beginning upon the sandwiches. "I learnt it in a curious way." + +A vein of seriousness ran through her half-mocking tone; seriousness lay +in her keen and candid eyes, lifted to mine. + +"Yes, it was rather curious, the way it came to me: and perhaps on my +part not altogether honourable. Early this morning, Johnny, before ten +o'clock had struck, mamma made me go in and ask how Lady Jenkins was, +and whether she would be able to come to-night. I ran in the nearest +way, by the glass-doors, boisterously of course--mamma is always going +on at me for that--and the breeze the doors made as I threw them open +blew a piece of paper off the table. I stooped to pick it up, and saw it +was a letter just begun in madame's handwriting." + +"Well?" + +"Well, my eyes fell on the few words written; but I declare that I read +them heedlessly, not with any dishonourable intention; such a thought +never entered my mind. 'Dear Sissy,' the letter began, 'You must not +come yet, for Johnny Ludlow is here, of all people in the world; it +would not do for you and him to meet.' That was all." + +"I suppose madame had been called away," continued Charlotte, after a +pause. "I put the paper on the table, and was going on into the passage, +when I found the room-door locked: so I just came out again, ran round +to the front-door and went in that way. Now if you are not a bear, +Johnny, why should you frighten people?" + +I did not answer. She had set me thinking. + +"Madame St. Vincent had invited a sister from France to come and stay +with her: she does just as she likes here, you know. It must be she who +is not allowed to meet you. What is the mystery?" + +"Who is talking about mystery?" exclaimed Caroline Parker; who, standing +near, must have caught the word. "What _is_ the mystery, Lotty?" + +And Lotty, giving her some evasive reply, put down her fork and turned +away. + + + + +LADY JENKINS. + +MADAME. + + +I. + +"If Aunt Jenkins were the shrewd woman she used to be, I'd lay the +whole case before her, and have it out; but she is not," contended Dan +Jenkins, tilting the tongs in his hand, as we sat round the dying +embers of the surgery fire. + +His brother Sam and I had walked home together from Mrs. Knox's soirée, +and we overtook Dan in the town. Another soirée had been held in Lefford +that night, which Dan had promised himself to before knowing Mrs. Knox +would have one. We all three turned into the surgery. Dr. Knox was out +with a patient, and Sam had to wait up for him. Sam had been telling +his brother what we witnessed up at Rose Villa--the promenade round the +laurels that Captain Collinson and Mina had stolen in the moonlight. As +for me, though I heard what Sam said, and put in a confirming word here +and there, I was thinking my own thoughts. In a small way, nothing had +ever puzzled me much more than the letter Charlotte Knox had seen. Who +was Madame St. Vincent? and who was her sister, that I, Johnny Ludlow, +might not meet her? + +"You see," continued Dan, "one reason why I can't help suspecting the +fellow, is this--he does not address Mina openly. If he were honest and +above board, he would go in for her before all the world. He wouldn't do +it in secret." + +"What do you suspect him of?" cried Sam. + +"I don't know. I do suspect him--that he is somehow not on the square. +It's not altogether about Mina; but I have no confidence in the man." + +Sam laughed. "Of course you have not, Dan. You want to keep Mina for +yourself." + +Dan pitched his soft hat at Sam's head, and let fall the tongs with a +clatter. + +"Collinson seems to be all right," I put in. "He is going up to London +to a levée, and he is going to buy an estate. At least, he told me so +to-night in the supper-room." + +"Oh, in one sense of the word the fellow is all right," acknowledged +Dan. "He is what he pretends to be; he is in the army list; and, for all +I know to the contrary, he may have enough gold to float an argosy of +ships. What I ask is, why he should go sneaking after Mina _when he does +not care for her_." + +"That may be just a fallacy of ours, Dan," said his brother. + +"No, it's not. Collinson is in love with Madame St. Vincent; not with +Mina." + +"Then why does he spoon after Mina?" + +"That's just it--why?" + +"Any way, I don't think madame is in love with him, Dan. It was proposed +that he should take aunt home to-night, and madame was as tart as you +please over it, letting all the room know that she did not want him." + +"Put it down so," agreed Dan, stooping to pick up the tongs. "Say that +he is not fond of madame, but of Mina, and would like to make her his +wife: why does he not go about it in a proper manner; court her openly, +speak to her mother; instead of pursuing her covertly like a sneak?" + +"It may be his way of courting." + +"May it! It is anything but a right way. He is for ever seeking to meet +her on the sly. I know it. He got her out in the garden to-night to a +meeting, you say: you and Johnny Ludlow saw it." + +"Dicky saw it too, and Charlotte got the truth out of him. There may be +something in what you say, Dan." + +"There's a great deal in what I say," contended Dan, his honest face +full of earnestness. "Look here. Here's an officer and a gentleman; a +rich man, as we are given to believe, and we've no reason to doubt it. +He seems to spend enough--Carter saw him lose five pounds last night, +betting at billiards. If he is in love with a young lady, there's +nothing to hinder a man like that from going in for her openly----" + +"Except her age," struck in Sam. "He may think they'll refuse Mina to +him on that score." + +"Stuff! I wish you wouldn't interrupt me, Sam. Every day will help to +remedy that--and he might undertake to wait a year or two. But I feel +sure and certain he does not really care for Mina; I feel sure that, if +he is seeking in this underhand way to get her to promise to marry him, +he has some ulterior motive in view. My own belief is he would like to +kidnap her." + +Sam laughed. "You mean, kidnap her money?" + +"Well, I don't see what else it can be. The fellow may have outrun the +constable, and need some ready money to put him straight. Rely upon this +much, Sam--that his habits are as fast as they can well be. I have been +learning a little about him lately." + +Sam made no answer. He began to look grave. + +"Not at all the sort of man who ought to marry Mina, or any other tender +young girl. He'd break her heart in a twelvemonth." + +Sam spoke up. "I said to Johnny Ludlow, just now, that it might be +better to tell Dr. Knox. Perhaps----" + +"What about?" interrupted the doctor himself, pouncing in upon us, and +catching the words as he opened the door. "What have you to tell Dr. +Knox about, Sam? And why are all you young men sitting up here? You'd be +better in bed." + +The last straw, you know, breaks the camel's back. Whether Sam would +really have disclosed the matter to Dr. Knox, I can't say; the doctor's +presence and the doctor's question decided it. + +Sam spoke in a low tone, standing behind the drug-counter with the +doctor, who had gone round to look at some entry in what they called the +day-book, and had lighted a gas-burner to do it by. Dr. Knox made no +remark of any kind while he listened, his eyes fixed on the book: one +might have thought he did not hear, but his lips were compressed. + +"If she were not so young, sir--a child, as may be said--I should not +have presumed to speak," concluded Sam. "I don't know whether I have +done wrong or right." + +"Right," emphatically pronounced the doctor. + +But the word had hardly left his lips when there occurred a startling +interruption. The outer door of the surgery, the one he had come in by, +was violently drummed at, and then thrown open. Charlotte Knox, Miss +Mack the governess, and Sally the maid--the same Sally who had been at +Rose Villa when the trouble occurred about Janet Carey, and the same +Miss Mack who had replaced Janet--came flocking in. + +"Dicky's lost, Arnold," exclaimed Charlotte. + +"Dicky lost!" repeated Dr. Knox. "How can he be lost at this time of +night?" + +"He _is_ lost. And we had nearly gone to bed without finding it out. The +people had all left, and the doors were locked, when some one--Gerty, I +think--began to complain of Dicky----" + +"It was I who spoke," interposed the governess; and though she was fat +enough for two people she had the meekest little voice in the world, and +allowed herself to be made a perfect tool of at Rose Villa. "Dicky did +behave very ill at supper, eating rudely of everything, and----" + +"Yes, yes," broke in Charlotte, "I remember now, Macky. You said Dicky +ought to be restrained, and you wondered he was not ill; and then mamma +called out, 'But where is Dicky?' 'Gone to bed to sleep off his supper,' +we all told her: and she sent Sally up to see that he had put his candle +out." + +"And of course," interrupted Sally, thinking it was her turn to begin, +"when I found the room empty, and saw by the moonlight that Master +Dicky had not come to bed at all, I ran down to say so. And his mamma +got angry, accusing us servants of having carelessly locked him +out-of-doors. And he can't be found, sir--as Miss Lotty says." + +"No, he cannot be found anywhere," added Lotty. "We have searched the +house and the gardens, and been in to inquire at Lady Jenkins's; and he +is _gone_. And mamma is frantic, and said we were to come to you, +Arnold." + +"Master Dicky's playing truant: he has gone off with some of the +guests," observed Dr. Knox. + +"Well, mamma is putting herself into a frightful fever over him, Arnold. +That old well in the field at the back was opened the day before +yesterday; she says Dicky may have strayed there and fallen in." + +"Dicky's after more mischief than that," said the doctor, sagely. "A +well in a solitary field would have no charms for Dicky. I tell you, +Lotty, he must have marched home with some one or other. Had you any +lads up there to-night?" + +"No, not any. You know mamma never will have them. Lads, _and_ Dicky, +would be too much." + +"If Master Dicky have really gone off, as the doctor thinks, I'd lay +my next quarter's wages that it's with Captain Collinson," cried Sally. +"He is always wanting to be after the captain." + +Lotty lifted her face, a gleam of intelligence flashing across it. +"Perhaps that's it," she said; "I should not wonder if it is. He has +strayed off after, or with, Captain Collinson. What is to be done, +Arnold?" + +"Not strayed with him, I should think," observed the doctor. "Captain +Collinson, if he possesses any sense or consideration, would order Dicky +back at once." + +"Won't you come with us to the captain's lodgings, Arnold, and see?" +cried Charlotte. "It would not do, would it, for us to go there alone at +this time of night? The captain may be in bed." + +Arnold Knox looked at his sister; looked at the three of them, as if he +thought they were enough without him. He was nearly done up with his +long day's work. + +"I suppose I had better go with you, Lotty," he said. "Though I don't +think Captain Collinson would kidnap any one of you if you went alone." + +"Oh dear, no; it is Mina he wants to kidnap, not us," answered Lotty, +freely. And Arnold glanced at her keenly as he heard the words. + +Did you ever know a fellow in the hey-dey of his health and restlessness +who was not ready for any night expedition--especially if it were to +search after something lost? Dr. Knox took up his hat to accompany the +visitors, and we three took up ours. + +We proceeded in a body through the moonlit streets to Collinson's +lodgings; the few stragglers we met no doubt taking us all for benighted +wayfarers, trudging home from some one or other of the noted Lefford +soirées. Collinson had the rooms at the hairdresser's--good rooms, +famed as the best lodgings in the town. The gas was alight in his +sitting-room over the shop; a pretty fair proof that the captain was +yet up. + +"Stay, Lotty," said Dr. Knox, arresting her impatient hand, that was +lifted to pull the bell. "No need to arouse the house: I dare say Pink +and his family are in bed. I will go up to Collinson." + +It was easy to say so, but difficult to do it. Dr. Knox turned the +handle of the door to enter, and found it fastened. He had to ring, +after all. + +Nobody answered it. Another ring and another shared the same fate. Dr. +Knox then searched for some small loose stones, and flung them up at the +window. It brought forth no more than the bell had. + +"Dicky can't be there, or that gravel would have brought him to the +window," decided Lotty. "I should say Captain Collinson is not there, +either." + +"He may be in his room at the back," observed Dr. Knox. And he rang +again. + +Presently, after a spell of at least ten minutes' waiting, and no end +of ringing, an upper window was opened and a head appeared--that of +the hairdresser. + +"Whatever's the matter?" called out he, seeing us all below. "It's not +fire, is it?" + +"I am sorry to disturb you, Pink," called back Dr. Knox. "It is Captain +Collinson I want. Is he in, do you know?" + +"Yes, sir; he came in about twenty minutes ago, and somebody with +him, for I heard him talking," answered Pink. "He must be in his +sitting-room, if he is not gone to bed." + +"There is a light in the room, but I don't think he can be in. I have +thrown up some gravel, and he does not answer." + +"I'll come down and see, sir." + +Pink, the most obliging little man in the world, descended to the +captain's room and thence to us at the door. Captain Collinson was not +in. He had gone out again, and left his gas alight. + +"You say some one came in with him, Pink. Was it a young lad?" + +"I can't tell, sir. I heard the captain's latch-key, and I heard him +come on upstairs, talking to somebody; but I was just dropping off to +sleep, so did not take much notice." + +That the somebody was young Dick, and that Captain Collinson had gone +out to march Dick home again, seemed only probable. There was nothing +for it but to go on to Rose Villa and ascertain; and we started for it, +after a short consultation. + +"I shall not have the remotest idea where to look for Dick if he is not +there," remarked Dr. Knox. + +"And in that case, I do believe mamma will have a fit," added Charlotte. +"A real fit, I mean, Arnold. I wish something could be done with Dicky! +The house is always in a commotion." + +Captain Collinson was at Rose Villa, whether Dicky was or not. At the +garden-gate, talking to Mina in the moonlight, stood he, apparently +saying good-night to her. + +"Dicky? oh dear, yes; I have just brought Dicky back," laughed the +captain, before Dr. Knox had well spoken his young half-brother's name, +while Mina ran indoors like a frightened hare. "Upon getting home to my +rooms just now I found some small mortal stealing in after me, and it +proved to be Dicky. He followed me home to get a top I had promised him, +and which I forgot to bring up here when I came to-night." + +"I hope you did not give it him," said Dr. Knox. + +"Yes, I did. I should never have got him back without," added the +captain. "Good-night." + +He laughed again as he went away. Dicky's vagaries seemed to be rare fun +for him. + +Dicky was spinning the top on the kitchen table when we went in--for +that's where they had all gathered: Mrs. Knox, Gerty, Kate, and the +cook. A big humming-top, nearly as large and as noisy as Dick. Dr. Knox +caught up the top and caught Dicky by the hand, and took both into the +parlour. + +"Now then, sir!" he sternly asked. "What did you mean by this night's +escapade?" + +"Oh, Arnold, don't scold him," implored Mrs. Knox, following them in +with her hands held up. "It _was_ naughty of him, of course, and it gave +me a dreadful fright; but it was perhaps excusable, and he is safe at +home again. The captain was to bring the top, and did not, and poor +Dicky ran after him to get it." + +"You be quiet, Arnold; I am not to be scolded," put in cunning Dicky. +"You just give me my top." + +"As to scolding you, I don't know that it would be of any further use: +the time seems to have gone by for it, and I must take other measures," +spoke Dr. Knox. "Come up to bed now, sir. I shall see you in it before +I leave." + +"But I want my top." + +"Which you will not have," said the doctor: and he marched off Dicky. + +"How cross you are with him, Arnold!" spoke his step-mother when the +doctor came down again, leaving Dicky howling on his pillow for the top. + +"It needs some one to be cross with him," observed Dr. Knox. + +"He is only a little boy, remember." + +"He is big enough and old enough to be checked and corrected--if it ever +is to be done at all. I will see you to-morrow: I wish to have some +conversation with you." + +"About Dicky?" she hastily asked. + +"About him and other things. Mina," he added in a low tone, as he passed +her on his way out, but I, being next to him, caught the words, "I did +not like to see you at the gate with Captain Collinson at this hour. Do +not let it occur again. Young maidens cannot be too modest." + +And, at the reproof, Miss Mina coloured to the very roots of her hair. + + +II. + +They sat in the small garden-room, its glass-doors open to the warm +spring air. Mrs. Knox wore an untidy cotton gown, of a flaming +crimson-and-white pattern, and her dark face looked hot and angry. Dr. +Knox, sitting behind the table, was being annoyed as much as he could be +annoyed--and no one ever annoyed him but his step-mother--as the lines +in his patient brow betrayed. + +"It is for his own good that I suggest this; his welfare," urged Dr. +Knox. "Left to his own will much longer, he must not be. Therefore I say +that he must be placed at school." + +"You only propose it to thwart me," cried Mrs. Knox. "A fine expense it +will be!" + +"It will not be your expense. I pay his schooling now, and I shall pay +it then. My father left me, young though I was, Dicky's guardian, and +I must do this. I wonder you do not see that it will be the very best +thing for Dicky. Every one but yourself sees that, as things are, the +boy is being ruined." + +Mrs. Knox looked sullenly through the open doors near which she sat; she +tapped her foot impatiently upon the worn mat, lying on the threshold. + +"I know you won't rest until you have carried your point and separated +us, Arnold; it has been in your mind to do it this long while. And my +boy is the only thing I care for in life." + +"It is for Dicky's own best interest," reiterated Dr. Knox. "Of course +he is dear to you; it would be unnatural if he were not; but you surely +must wish to see him grow up a good and self-reliant man: not an idle +and self-indulgent one." + +"Why don't you say outright that your resolve is taken and nothing can +alter it; that you are going to banish him to school to-morrow?" + +"Not to-morrow, but he shall go at the half-quarter. The child will be +ten times happier for it; believe that." + +"Do you _really_ mean it?" she questioned, her black eyes flashing fury +at Arnold. "Will nothing deter you?" + +"Nothing," he replied, in a low, firm tone. "I--bear with me a moment, +mother--I cannot let Dicky run riot any longer. He is growing up the +very incarnation of selfishness; he thinks the world was made for him +alone; you and his sisters are only regarded by him as so many ministers +to his pleasure. See how he treats you all. See how he treats the +servants. Were I to allow this state of things to continue, how should I +be fulfilling my obligation to my dead father?--my father and Dicky's." + +"I will hear no more," spoke Mrs. Knox, possibly thinking the argument +was getting too strong for her. "_I_ have wanted to speak to you, +Arnold, and I may as well do it now. Things must be put on a different +footing up here." + +"What things?" + +"Money matters. I cannot continue to do upon my small income." + +Arnold Knox passed his hand across his troubled brow, almost in despair. +Oh, what a weary subject this was! Not for long together did she ever +give him rest from it. + +"Your income is sufficient, mother; I am tired of saying it. It +is between three and four hundred a-year; and you are free from +house-rent." + +"Why don't you remind me that the house is yours, and have done with +it!" she cried, her voice harsh and croaking as a raven's. + +"Well, it is mine," he said good-humouredly. + +"Yes; and instead of settling it upon me when you married, you must +needs settle it on your wife! Don't _you_ talk of selfishness, Arnold." + +"My wife does not derive any benefit from it. It has made no difference +to you." + +"She would derive it, though, if you died. Where should I be then?" + +"I am not going to die, I hope. Oh, mother, if you only knew how these +discussions vex me!" + +"Then you should show yourself generous." + +"Generous!" he exclaimed, in a pained tone. And, goaded to it by his +remembrance of what he had done for her in the present and in the past, +he went on to speak more plainly than he had ever spoken yet. "Do you +forget that a great portion of what you enjoy should, by right, be mine? +_Is_ mine!" + +"Yours!" she scornfully said. + +"Yes: mine. Not by legal right, but by moral. When my father died he +left the whole of his property to you. Considerably more than the half +of that property had been brought to him by my mother: some people might +have thought that much should have descended to her son." + +"He did not leave me the whole. You had a share of it." + +"Not of the income. I had a sum of five hundred pounds left me, for a +specific purpose--to complete my medical education. Mother, I have never +grumbled at this; never. It was my father's will and pleasure that the +whole should be yours, and that it should go to your children after +you; and I am content to think that he did for the best; the house was +obliged to come to me; it had been so settled at my mother's marriage; +but you have continued to live in it, and I have not said you nay." + +"It is like you to remind me of all this!" + +"I could remind you of more," he rejoined, chafing at her unjust words, +her resentful manner. "That for years I impoverished myself to help +you to augment this income. Three parts of what I earned, before my +partnership with Mr. Tamlyn, I gave to you." + +"Well, I needed it. Do, for goodness' sake, let the past alone, if you +can: where's the use of recalling it? Would you have us starve? Would +you see me taken off to prison? And that's what it will come to, unless +I can get some money to pay up with. That table-drawer that you've +got your elbow on, is full of bills. I've not paid one for these six +months." + +"I cannot think what it is you do with your money!" + +"Do with my money! Why, it goes in a hundred ways. How very ignorant you +are, Arnold. Look at what dress costs, for myself and four girls! Look +at what the soirées cost! We have to give all sorts of dishes now; +lobster salads and raspberry creams, and all kinds of expensive things. +Madame St. Vincent introduced _that_." + +"You must put down the soirées and the dress--if you cannot keep them +within the bounds of your income." + +"Thank you. Just as I had to put down the pony-carriage and James. How +cruel you are, Arnold!" + +"I hope I am not. I do not wish to be so." + +"It will take two hundred pounds to set me straight; and I must have it +from you, or from somebody else," avowed Mrs. Knox. + +"You certainly cannot have it, or any portion of it, from me. My +expenses are heavy now, and I have my own children coming on." + +His tone was unmistakably decisive, and Mrs. Knox saw that it was +so. For many years she had been in the habit of regarding Arnold as +something like a bucket in a well, which brings up water every time it +is let down. Just so had he brought up money for her from his pocket +every time she worried for it. But that was over now: and he had to bear +these reproaches periodically. + +"You know that you _can_ let me have it, Arnold. You can lend it me from +Mina's money." + +His face flushed slightly, he pushed his fair hair back with a gesture +of annoyance. + +"The last time you spoke of _that_ I begged you never to mention it +again," he said in a low tone. "Why, what do you take me for, mother?" + +"Take you for?" + +"You must know that I could not touch Mina's money without becoming a +false trustee. Men have been brought to the criminal bar to answer for +a less crime than that would be." + +"If Mina married, you would have to hand over the whole of it." + +"Of course I should. First of all taking care that it was settled upon +her." + +"I don't see the necessity of that. Mina could let me have what she +pleased of it." + +"Talking of Mina," resumed Dr. Knox, passing by her remark, "I think you +must look a little closely after her. She is more intimate, I fancy, +with Captain Collinson than is desirable, and----" + +"Suppose Captain Collinson wants to marry her?" interrupted Mrs. Knox. + +"Has he told you that he wants to do so?" + +"No; not in so many words. But he evidently likes her. What a good match +it would be!" + +"Mina is too young to be married yet. And Captain Collinson cannot, I +should suppose, have any intention of the sort. If he had, he would +speak out: when it would be time enough to consider and discuss his +proposal. Unless he does speak, I must beg of you not to allow Mina to +be alone with him." + +"She never is alone with him." + +"I think she is, at odd moments. Only last night I saw her with him at +the gate. Before that, while your soirée was going on, Dicky--I believe +he could tell you so, if you asked him--saw them walking together in +the garden, the captain's arm round her waist." + +"Girls are so fond of flirting! And young men think no harm of a little +passing familiarity." + +"Just so. But for remembering this, I should speak to Captain Collinson. +The thought that there may be nothing serious in it prevents me. At any +rate, I beg of you to take care of Mina." + +"And the money I want?" she asked, as he took up his hat to go. + +But Dr. Knox, shortly repeating that he had no money to give her, made +his escape. He had been ruffled enough already. One thing was certain: +that if some beneficent sprite from fairyland increased Mrs. Knox's +annual income cent. per cent. she would still, and ever, be in +embarrassment. Arnold knew this. + +Mrs. Knox sat on, revolving difficulties. How many similar interviews +she had held with her step-son, and how often he had been brought round +to pay her bills, she could but remember. Would he do it now? A most +unpleasant doubt, that he would not, lay upon her. + +Presently the entrance was darkened by some tall form interposing +itself between herself and the sunlight. She glanced up and saw Captain +Collinson. He stood there smiling, his tasselled cane jauntily +swayed in his left hand. + +"My dear madam, you looked troubled. Is anything wrong?" + +"Troubled! the world's full of trouble, I think," spoke Mrs. Knox, in a +pettish kind of way. "Dr. Knox has been here to vex me." + +Captain Collinson stepped airily in, and sat down near Mrs. Knox, his +eyes expressing proper concern: indignation blended with sympathy. + +"Very inconsiderate of Dr. Knox: very wrong! Can I help you in any way, +my dear lady?" + +"Arnold is always inconsiderate. First, he begins upon me about Dicky, +threatening to put him altogether away at school, poor ill-used child! +Next, he----" + +"Sweet little angel?" interlarded the captain. + +"Next, he refuses to lend me a trifling sum of money--and he knows how +badly I want it!" + +"Paltry!" ejaculated the captain. "When he must be making so much of +it!" + +"Rolling in it, so to say," confirmed Mrs. Knox. "Look at the practice +he has! But if he did not give me any of his, he might advance me a +trifle of Mina's." + +"Of course he might," warmly acquiesced Captain Collinson. + +What with the warmth and the sympathy, Mrs. Knox rather lost her head. +Many of us are betrayed on occasion into doing the same. That is, she +said more than she should have said. + +"You see, if Mina married, as I pointed out to Arnold, the money would +no longer be under his control at all. It would be hers to do as she +pleased with. She is a dear, good, generous girl, and would not scruple +to let me have one or two hundred pounds. What would such a trifle be +out of the whole seven thousand?" + +"Very true; nothing at all," cried the captain, toying with his handsome +beard. + +"But no; Arnold will not hear of it: he answered me in a way that I +should not like to repeat. He also said he should take care, if Mina did +marry before she was of age, that her money was settled upon her; said +it on purpose to thwart me." + +"Cruel!" aspirated the captain. + +"Some girls might be tempted to marry off-hand, and say nothing to him, +if only to get her fortune out of his control. I don't say Mina would." + +"Miser! My dear madam, rely upon it that whenever Miss Mina does marry, +her husband will join with her in letting you have as much money as you +wish. I am sure it would be his pride and pleasure to do so." + +Was it an implied promise? meant to be so understood? Mrs. Knox took it +for one. She came out of her dumps, and felt exalted to the seventh +heaven. + +Meanwhile, Arnold Knox was with Lady Jenkins, to whom he had gone on +quitting his step-mother. The old lady, up and dressed, sat in her +dining-room. There appeared to be no change in her condition: drowsy, +lethargic, gentle, yielding; imbecile, or not many shades removed from +it. And yet, neither Dr. Knox nor his fellow-practitioner could see any +cause to account for this. Of bodily illness she had none: except that +she seemed feeble. + +"I wish you would tell me what it is you are taking," said Dr. Knox, +bending over her and speaking in low, persuasive tones. "I fear that you +are taking something that does you harm." + +Lady Jenkins looked up at him, apparently trying to consider. "I've not +had anything since I took the physic," she said. + +"What physic?" + +"The bottles that Mr. Tamlyn sent me." + +"But that was when you were ill. Are you sure you have not taken +anything else?--that you are not taking anything? Any"--he dropped his +voice to a still lower key--"opiates? Laudanum, for instance?" + +Lady Jenkins shook her head. "I never took any sort of opiate in my +life." + +"Then it is being given to her without her knowledge," mentally decided +the doctor. "I hear you were at the next door last night, as gay as the +best of them," he resumed aloud, changing his tone to a light one. + +"Ay. I put on my new bronze satin gown: Patty said I was to. Janet sang +her pretty songs." + +"Did she? When are you coming to spend an evening with us? She will sing +them again for you." + +"I should like to come--if I may." + +"If you may! There's nothing to prevent it. You are quite well enough." + +"There's Patty. We shall have to ask her whether I may." + +Anything Arnold Knox might have rejoined to this was stopped by the +entrance of Patty herself, a light blue shawl on her shoulders. A +momentary surprise crossed her face at sight of the doctor. + +"Oh, Dr. Knox! I did not know you were here," she said, as she threw off +the shawl. "I was running about the garden for a few minutes. What a +lovely day it is!--the sun so warm." + +"It is that. Lady Jenkins ought to be out in it. Should you not like to +take a run in the garden?" he laughingly added to her. + +"Should I, Patty?" + +The utter abnegation of will, both of tone and look, as she cast an +appealing glance at her companion, struck Dr. Knox forcibly. He looked +at both of them from under his rather overhanging eyebrows. Did Madame +St. Vincent extort this obedience?--or was it simply the old lady's +imbecility? Surely it must be the latter. + +"I think," said madame, "a walk in the garden will be very pleasant +for you, dear Lady Jenkins. Lettice shall bring down your things. The +may-tree is budding beautifully." + +"Already!" said the doctor: "I should like to see it. Will you go with +me, madame? I have two minutes to spare." + +Madame St. Vincent, showing no surprise, though she may have felt it, +put the blue shawl on her shoulders again and followed Dr. Knox. The +may-tree was nearly at the end of the garden, down by the shrubbery. + +"Mr. Tamlyn mentioned to you, I believe, that we suspected something +improper, in the shape of opiates, was being given to Lady Jenkins," +began Dr. Knox, never as much as lifting his eyes to the budding +may-tree. + +"Yes; I remember that he did," replied Madame St. Vincent. "I hardly +gave it a second thought." + +"Tamlyn said you had a difficulty in believing it. Nevertheless, I feel +assured that it is so." + +"Impossible, Dr. Knox." + +"It seems impossible to you, I dare say. But that it is being done, I +would stake my head upon. Lady Jenkins is being stupefied in some way: +and I have brought you out here to tell you so, and to ask your +co-operation in tracing the culprit." + +"But--I beg your pardon, Dr. Knox--who would give her anything of the +kind? You don't suspect me, I hope?" + +"If I suspected you, my dear lady, I should not be talking to you as I +am. The person we must suspect is Lettice Lane." + +"Lettice Lane!" + +"I have reason to think it. Lettice Lane's antecedents are not, I fear, +quite so clear as they might be: though it is only recently I have known +this. At any rate, she is the personal attendant of Lady Jenkins; the +only one of them who has the opportunity of being alone with her. I must +beg of you to watch Lettice Lane." + +Madame St. Vincent looked a little bewildered; perhaps felt so. +Stretching up her hand, she plucked one of the budding may-blossoms. + +"Mr. Tamlyn hinted at Lettice also. I have always felt confidence in +Lettice. As to drugs--Dr. Knox, I don't believe a word of it." + +"_Lady Jenkins is being drugged_," emphatically pronounced Dr. Knox. +"And you must watch Lettice Lane. If Lettice is innocent, we must look +elsewhere." + +"Shall I tax Lettice with it?" + +"Certainly not. You would make a good detective," he added, with a +laugh; "showing your hand to the enemy. Surely, Madame St. Vincent, you +must yourself see that Lady Jenkins is being tampered with. Look at her +state this morning: though she is not quite as bad as she is sometimes." + +"I have known some old people sleep almost constantly." + +"So have I. But theirs is simply natural sleep, induced by exhausted +nature: hers is not natural. She is stupefied." + +"Stupefied with the natural decay of her powers," dissented madame. +"But--to drug her! No, I cannot believe it. And where would be the +motive?" + +"That I know not. But I am sure I am not mistaken," he added decisively. +"You will watch Lettice Lane?" + +"I will," she answered, after a pause. "Of course it _may_ be as you +say; I now see it. I will watch her to the very utmost of my ability +from this hour." + + +III. + + "DEAR JOHNNY, + + "I expect your stay at Lefford is drawing towards a close; mine is, + here. It might be pleasant if we travelled home together. I could + take Lefford on my way--starting by an early train--and pick you up. + You need some one to take care of you, you know. Let me hear when + you intend to be ready. I will arrange my departure accordingly. + + "Hope you have enjoyed yourself, old fellow." + + "Ever yours, + "J. T." + +The above letter from Tod, who was still in Leicestershire, reached me +one morning at breakfast-time. Dr. Knox and Janet, old Tamlyn--all the +lot of them--called out that they could not spare me yet. Even Cattledon +graciously intimated that she should miss me. Janet wrote to Tod, +telling him he was to take Lefford on his way, as he proposed, and to +stay a week when he did come. + +It was, I think, that same day that some news reached us touching +Captain Collinson--that he was going to be married. At least that he had +made an offer, and was accepted. Not to Mina Knox; but to an old girl +(the epithet was Sam's) named Belmont. Miss Belmont lived with her +father at a nice place on the London Road, half-a-mile beyond Jenkins +House; he had a great deal of money, and she was his only child. She was +very plain, very dowdy, and quite forty years of age; but very good, +going about amongst the poor with tracts and soup. If the tidings +were true, and Captain Collinson _had_ made Miss Belmont an offer, it +appeared pretty evident that his object was her money: he could not +well have fallen in love with her, or court a wife so much older than +himself. + +When taxed with the fact--and it was old Tamlyn who did it, meeting him +opposite the market-house--Collinson simpered, and stroked his dark +beard, and said Lefford was fond of marvels. But he did not deny it. +Half-an-hour later he and Miss Belmont were seen together in the High +Street. She had her old cloth mantle on and her brown bonnet, as close +as a Quaker's, and carried her flat district basket in her hand. The +captain presented a contrast, with his superb dandy-cut clothes and +flourishing his ebony cane. + +"I think it must be quite true," Janet observed, as we watched them pass +the house. "And I shall be glad if it is: Arnold has been tormenting +himself with the fancy that the gallant captain was thinking of little +Mina." + +A day or two after this, it chanced that Dr. Knox had to visit Sir Henry +Westmorland, who had managed to give a twist to his ankle. Sir Henry was +one of those sociable, good-hearted men that no one can help liking; a +rather elderly bachelor. He and Tamlyn were old friends, and we had all +dined at Foxgrove about a week before. + +"Would you like to go over with me, Johnny?" asked Dr. Knox, when he was +starting. + +I said I should like it very much, and got into the "conveyance," the +doctor letting me drive. Thomas was not with us. We soon reached +Foxgrove: a low, straggling, red-brick mansion, standing in a small +park, about two miles and a half from Lefford. + +Dr. Knox went in; leaving me and the conveyance on the smooth wide +gravel-drive before the house. Presently a groom came up to take charge +of it, saying Sir Henry was asking for me. He had seen me from the +window. + +Sir Henry was lying on a sofa near the window, and Knox was already +beginning upon the ankle. A gentlemanly little man, nearly bald, sat on +the ottoman in the middle of the room. I found it was one Major Leckie. + +Some trifle--are these trifles _chance_?--turned the conversation upon +India. I think Knox spoke of some snake-bite in a man's ankle that had +laid him by for a month or two: it was no other than the late whilom +mayor, Sir Daniel Jenkins. Upon which, Major Leckie began relating his +experience of some reptile bites in India. The major had been home +nearly two years upon sick leave, he said, and was now going back again. + +"The 30th Bengal Cavalry!" repeated Dr. Knox, as Major Leckie happened +to mention that regiment--which was his, and the doctor remembered that +it was Captain Collinson's. "One of the officers of that regiment is +staying here now." + +"Is he!" cried the major, briskly. "Which of them?" + +"Captain Collinson." + +"Collinson!" echoed the major, his whole face alight with pleasure. +"Where is he? How long has he been here? I did not know he had left +India." + +"He came home last autumn, I fancy; was not well, and got twelve months' +leave. He has been staying at Lefford for some time." + +"I should like to see him! Good old Collinson! He and I were close +friends. He is a nice fellow." + +"Old, you style him!" cried Dr. Knox. "I should rather call him +young--of the two." + +Major Leckie laughed. "It is a word we are all given to using, doctor. +Of course Collinson's not old in years. Why is he staying at Lefford?" + +"I'm sure I don't know. Unless it is that he has fallen in love. I heard +him remark one day that the air of the place suited him." + +"Ah ah, Master Collinson!" laughed the major. "In love, are you, sir! +Caught at last, are you! Who is the lady?" + +"Nay, I spoke only in jest," returned Dr. Knox. "He seems to be a +general admirer; but I don't know that it is any one in particular. +Report has mentioned one or two ladies, but report is often a false +town-crier." + +"Well, she will be in luck--whoever gets him. He is one of the nicest, +truest fellows I know; and will make a rare good husband." + +"It is said he has private means. Do you know whether that's true?" + +"He has very good private means. His father left him a fortune. +Sometimes we fancy he will not stay with us long. I should not be +surprised if he sells out while he is at home, and settles down." + +"Johnny Ludlow heard him say something the other night to that effect," +observed the doctor, looking at me. + +"Yes," I said, confirming the words. "He is about buying an estate now, +I believe. But he talked of going back to India for a few years." + +"I hope he will. There's not a man amongst us, that I would not rather +spare than Collinson. I _should_ like to see him. I might walk into +Lefford now--if you will give me his address, doctor. Will you spare me +for an hour or two, Sir Henry?" + +"Well, I must, I suppose," grumbled Sir Henry. "It's rather bad of you, +though, Leckie; and after putting me off with so miserably short a stay. +You get here at ten o'clock last night, and you go off at ten o'clock +to-night! Fine behaviour that!" + +"I am obliged to go to-night, Westmorland; you know I am, and I could +not get to you earlier, although I tried. I won't be away a minute +longer than I can help. I can walk into Lefford in half-an-hour--my pace +is a quick one. No; and I won't stay an unconscionable time with +Collinson," he added, in answer to a growl of the baronet's. "Trust me. +I'll be back under two hours." + +"Bring him back with you for the rest of the day," said Sir Henry. + +"Oh, thank you. And I am sure you will say he is the best fellow going. +I wonder you and he have not found out one another before." + +"If you don't mind taking a seat in yonder nondescript vehicle--that Mr. +Johnny Ludlow here has the audacity to say must have been built in the +year One," laughed Dr. Knox, pointing outside, "I can drive you to +Captain Collinson's lodgings." + +"A friend in need is a friend indeed," cried the major, laughing also. +"What style of vehicle do you call it?" + +"_We_ call it the conveyance. As to its style--well I never had the +opportunity of asking that of the builder. I believe my father bought +it second-hand when he first went into practice many a year ago." + +The doctor drove this time; Major Leckie sitting beside him, I in the +perch behind. Leaving the major at the hairdresser's, upon reaching +Lefford, Dr. Knox and I went home. And this is what occurred--as we +heard later. + +Ringing at the private door, which was Captain Collinson's proper +entrance, a young servant-girl appeared, and--after the manner of +many young country servants--sent Major Leckie alone up to Captain +Collinson's rooms, saying she supposed the captain was at home. It +turned out that he was not at home. Seated before the fire was a +gentleman in a crimson dressing-gown and slippers, smoking a huge pipe. + +"Come in," cried out he, in answer to the major's knock. + +"I beg your pardon," said the major, entering. "I understood that +Captain Collinson lodged here." + +"He does lodge here," replied he of the dressing-gown, putting his pipe +into the fender, as he rose. "What is it that you want with him?" + +"I only called to see him. I am one of his brother-officers--home on +sick leave; as I understand he is." + +"Collinson is out," said the gentleman. "I am sorry it should happen so. +Can you leave any message?" + +"Will he be long? I should much like to see him." + +"He will be back to dinner to-night; not much before that, I think. He +is gone by train to--to--some place a few miles off. Boom--or Room--or +Doom--or some such name. I am a stranger here." + +"Toome, I suppose," remarked the major. "It's the last station before +you get to Lefford--I noticed the name last night. I am very sorry. I +should liked to have seen Collinson. Tell him so, will you. I am Major +Leckie." + +"You will be calling again, perhaps?" + +"I can't do that. I must spend the rest of this day with my friend, Sir +Henry Westmorland, and I leave to-night. Tell Collinson that I embark in +a few days. Stay: this is my address in London, if he will write to me. +I wonder he did not attempt to find me out--I came home before he did: +and he knew that he could always get my address at my bankers'." + +"I will tell Collinson all you say, Major Leckie," said the stranger, +glancing at the card. "It is a pity he is out." + +"Should he come back in time--though I fear, by what you say, there's +little chance of it--be so good as to say that Sir Henry Westmorland +will be happy to see him to dinner this evening at Foxgrove, at six +o'clock--and to come over as much earlier as he can." + +With the last words, Major Leckie left, Collinson's friend politely +attending him down to the front-door. I was standing at Mr. Tamlyn's +gate as he passed it on his way back to Foxgrove. Dr. Knox, then going +off on foot to see a patient, came across the yard from the surgery at +the same moment. + +"Such a mischance!" the major stopped in his rapid walk to say to us. +"Collinson has gone to Toome to-day. I saw a friend of his, who is +staying with him, and he thinks he won't be back before night." + +"I did not know Collinson had any one staying with him," remarked the +doctor. "Some one called in upon him, probably." + +"This man is evidently staying with him; making himself at home too," +said the major. "He was in a dressing-gown and slippers, and had his +feet on the fender, smoking a pipe. A tall, dark fellow, face all +hair." + +"Why, that is Collinson himself," cried I. + +"Not a bit of it," said the major. "This man is no more like +Collinson--except that Collinson is dark and has a beard--than he is +like me. He said he was a stranger in the place." + +A rapid conclusion crossed me that it must be a brother of +Collinson's--for a resemblance to himself, according to the major's +description, there no doubt was. Major Leckie wished me good-day, and +continued his way up the street, Dr. Knox with him. + +"What are you gazing at, Johnny Ludlow?" + +I turned at the question, and saw Charlotte Knox. She was coming to +call on Janet. We stood there talking of one thing and another. I told +Charlotte that Collinson's brother, as I took it to be, was staying with +him; and Charlotte told me of a quarrel she had just had with Mina on +the score of the captain. + +"Mina won't believe a word against him, Johnny. When I say he is nothing +but a flirt, that he is only playing with her, she bids me hold my +tongue. She quite scorns the notion that he would like to marry Miss +Belmont." + +"Have you seen any more letters, that concern me, in at Madame St. +Vincent's?" I asked. + +"Do you think I should be likely to?--or that such letters are as +plentiful as blackberries?" retorted Charlotte. "And you?--have you +discovered the key to that letter?" + +"I have not discovered it, Charlotte. I have taxed my memory in vain. +Never a girl, no matter whose sister she may be, can I recall to mind as +being likely to owe me a grudge." + +"It was not that the girl owed you a grudge," quickly spoke Charlotte. +"It was that she must not meet you." + +"Does not the one thing imply the other? I can't think of any one. There +was a young lady, indeed, in the years gone by, when I was not much more +than a lad, who--may--have--taken up a prejudice against me," I added +slowly and thoughtfully, for I was hardly sure of what I said. "But she +cannot have anything to do with the present matter, and I am quite sure +she was not a sister of Madame St. Vincent." + +"What was her name?" asked Charlotte. + +"Sophie Chalk." + + + + +LADY JENKINS. + +LIGHT. + + +I. + +Tod arrived at Lefford. I met him at the train, just as I had met +Miss Cattledon, who was with us still. As we walked out of the +station together, many a man cast a glance after the tall, fine young +fellow--who looked strong enough to move the world, if, like Archimedes, +the geometrician of Syracuse, he had only possessed the necessary lever. + +"Shall you be able to stay a week, Tod?" + +"Two weeks if they'd like it, Johnny. How you have picked up, lad!" + +"Picked up?" + +"In looks. They are all your own again. Glad to see it, old fellow." + +Some few days had elapsed since the latest event recorded in this +veritable little history--the call that Major Leckie made on Captain +Collinson, and found his brother there, instead of himself--but no +change worth noting to the reader had occurred in the town politics. +Lady Jenkins was ailing as much as ever, and Madame St. Vincent was +keeping a sharp watch on the maid, Lettice Lane, without, as yet, +detecting her in any evil practices: the soirées were numerous, one +being held at some house or other every night in the work-a-day week: +and the engagement of Captain Collinson to Miss Belmont was now talked +of as an assured fact. Collinson himself had been away from Lefford +during these intervening days. Pink, the hairdresser, thought he had +taken a run up to London, on some little matter of business. As to the +brother, we had heard no more of him. + +But, if Captain Collinson had taken a run up to London, he had +unquestionably run down again, though not to Lefford. On the day but one +before the coming of Tod, Janet and Miss Cattledon went over by train +to do some shopping at the county town, which stood fifteen miles from +Lefford, I being with them. Turning into a pastry-cook's in the middle +of the day to get something to eat, we turned in upon Captain Collinson. +He sat at a white marble-topped table in the corner of the shop, eating +an oyster patty. + +"We heard you were in London," said Janet, shaking hands with him, as he +rose to offer her his seat. + +"Got back this morning. Shall be at Lefford to-morrow: perhaps +to-night," he answered. + +He stood gobbling up his patty quickly. I said something to him, just +because the recollection came into my mind, about the visit of his +brother. + +"My brother!" he exclaimed in answer, staring at me with all his eyes. +"What brother? How do you know anything about my brother?" + +"Major Leckie saw him when he called at your lodgings. Saw him instead +of you. You had gone to Toome. We took it to be your brother, from the +description; he was so like yourself." + +The captain smiled. "I forgot that," he said. "We _are_ much alike. Ned +told me of Leckie's call. A pity I could not see him! Things always +happen cross and contrary. Has Leckie left Foxgrove yet?" + +"Oh, he left it that same night. I should think he is on his way back to +India by this time." + +"His visit to Lefford seems to have been as flying a one as my brother's +was, and _his_ did not last a day. How much?" to the girl behind the +counter. "Sixpence? There it is." And, with a general adieu nodded to +the rest of us, the captain left the shop. + +"I don't like that dandy," spoke Cattledon, in her severest tone. "I +have said so before. I'm sure he is a man who cannot be trusted." + +I answered nothing: but I had for a little time now thought the same. +There was that about him that gave you the idea he was in some way or +other not _true_. And it may as well be mentioned here that Captain +Collinson got back to Lefford that same evening, in time to make his +appearance at Mrs. Parker's soirée, at which both Miss Belmont and Mina +Knox were present. + +So now we come to Tod again, and to the day of his arrival. Talking of +one thing and another, telling him of this and that, of the native +politics, as we all like to do when a stranger comes to set himself +down, however temporarily, amidst us, I mentioned the _familiarity_ that +in two of the people struck upon my memory. Never did I see this same +Captain Collinson, never did I see Madame St. Vincent, or hear them +speak, or listen to their laugh, but the feeling that I had met them +before--had been, so to say, intimate with both one and the other--came +forcibly upon me. + +"And yet it would seem, upon the face of things, that I never have +been," I continued to Tod, when telling of this. "Madame St. Vincent +says she never left the South of France until last year; and the captain +has been nearly all his life in India." + +"You know you do take fancies, Johnny." + +"True. But, are not those fancies generally borne out by the result? Any +way, they puzzle me, both of them: and there's a ring in their voices +that----" + +"A ring in their voices!" put in Tod, laughing. + +"Say an accent, then; especially in madame's; and it sounds, to my ears, +unmistakably Worcestershire." + +"Johnny, you _are_ fanciful!" + +I never got anything better from Tod. "You will have the honour of +meeting them both here to-night," I said to him, "for it is Janet's turn +to give the soirée, and I know they are expected." + +Evening came. At six o'clock the first instalment of guests knocked at +the door; by half-past six the soirée was in full glory: a regular +crowd. Every one seemed to have come, with the exception of the ladies +from Jenkins House. Sam Jenkins brought in their excuses. + +Sam had run up to Jenkins House with some physic for the butler, who +said he had a surfeit (from drinking too much old ale, Tamlyn thought), +and Sam had made use of the opportunity to see his aunt. Madame St. +Vincent objected. It would try the dear old lady too much, madame said. +She was lying in a sweet sleep on the sofa in her own room; had been +quite blithe and lively all day, but was drowsy now; and she had better +not be disturbed until bedtime. Perhaps Mr. Sam would kindly make their +excuses to Mrs. Arnold Knox. + +"Can't you come yourself, madame?" asked Sam, politely. "If Aunt Jenkins +is asleep, and means to keep asleep till bed-time, she can't want you." + +"I could not think of leaving her," objected madame. "She looks for me +the moment she wakes." + +So Sam, I say, brought back the message. Putting himself into his +evening-coat, he came into the room while tea was going on, and +delivered madame's excuses to Janet as distinctly as the rattle of cups +and saucers allowed. You should have seen Cattledon that evening:--in a +grey silk gown that stood on end, a gold necklace, and dancing shoes. + +"This is the second soirée this week that Lady Jenkins has failed to +appear at," spoke Mrs. Knox--not Janet--in a resentful tone. "My firm +opinion is that Madame St. Vincent keeps her away." + +"Keeps her away," cried Arnold. "Why should she do that?" + +"Well, yes; gives way to her fads and fancies about being ill, instead +of rousing her out of them. As to _why_ she does it," continued Mrs. +Knox, "I suppose she is beginning to grow nervous about her. As if an +innocent, quiet soirée could hurt Lady Jenkins!" + +"Johnny," whispered Sam, subsiding into the background after delivering +his message, "may I never stir again if I didn't see Collinson hiding in +aunt's garden!" + +"_Hiding_ in your aunt's garden!" I exclaimed. "What was he doing that +for?" + +"Goodness knows. Did you ever notice a big bay-tree that you pass on the +left, between the door and the gate? Well, he was standing behind it. I +came out of the house at a double quick pace, knowing I should be late +for the soirée, cleared the steps at a leap, and the path to the gate at +another. Too quick, I suppose, for Collinson. He was bending forward to +look at the parlour windows, and drew back as I passed." + +"Did you speak, Sam?" + +"No, I came flying on, taking no notice. I dare say he thinks I did not +see him. One does not like, you know, to speak to a man who evidently +wants to avoid you. But now--I wonder what he was doing there?" +continued Sam, reflectively. "Watching Madame St. Vincent, I should say, +through the lace curtains." + +"But for what purpose?" + +"I can't even imagine. There he was." + +To my mind this sounded curious. But that Mina Knox was before my +eyes--just at the moment listening to the whispers of Dan Jenkins--I +should have thought the captain was looking after her. Or, rather, _not_ +listening to Dan. Mina had a pained, restless look on her face, not in +the least natural to it, and kept her head turned away. And the more Dan +whispered, the more she turned it from him. + +"Here he is, Sam." + +Sam looked round at my words, and saw Captain Collinson, then coming in. +He was got up to perfection as usual, and wore a white rose in his +button-hole. His purple-black hair, beard, whiskers and moustache were +grand; his voice had its ordinary fashionable drawl. I saw Tod--at the +opposite side of the room--cease talking with old Tamlyn, to fix his +keen eyes on the captain. + +"Very sorry to be so late," apologized the captain, bowing over Janet's +hand. "Been detained at home writing letters for India. Overland mail +goes out to-morrow night." + +Sam gave me a knock with his elbow. "What a confounded story!" he +whispered. "Wonder what the gallant captain means, Johnny! Wonder what +game he is up to?" + +It was, I dare say, nearly an hour after this that I came across Tod. He +was standing against the wall, laughing slightly to himself, evidently +in some glee. Captain Collinson was at the piano opposite, his back to +us, turning over the leaves for Caroline Parker, who was singing. + +"What are you amused at, Tod?" + +"At you, lad. Thinking what a muff you are." + +"I always am a muff, I know. But why am I one just now in particular?" + +"For not knowing that man," nodding towards Collinson. "I thought I +recognized him as he came in; felt sure of him when I heard him speak. +Men may disguise their faces almost at will; but not their voices, +Johnny." + +"Why, who is he?" I asked in surprise. + +"I'll tell you when we are alone. I should have known him had we met +amid the Hottentots. I thought he was over in Australia; knew he went +there." + +"But--is he not Captain Collinson?" + +Tod laughed. "Just as much as I am, Johnny. Of course he may have +assumed the name of Collinson in place of his own: if so, nobody has a +right, I take it, to say him nay. But, as to his being a captain in the +Bengal Cavalry--well, I don't think he is." + +"And you say I know him!" + +"I say you ought to--but for being a muff. I suppose it is the hair he +is adorned with that has thrown you off the scent." + +"But, where have I seen him, Tod? Who----" + +"Hush, lad. We may be overheard." + +As a general rule, all the guests at these soirées left together. They +did so to-night. The last to file out at the door were the Hampshires, +with Mrs. Knox, her daughter, and Miss Mack--for Janet had made a point +of inviting poor hard-worked, put-upon Macky. Both families lived in the +London Road, and would go home in company. Dan had meant to escort Mina, +but she pointedly told him he was not wanted, and took the offered arm +of Captain Collinson. Upon which, Dan turned back in a huff. Sam laughed +at that, and ran after them himself. + +How long a time had elapsed afterwards, I hardly know. Perhaps +half-an-hour; perhaps not so much. We had not parted for the night: in +fact, Mr. Tamlyn and Tod were still over the game at chess they had +begun since supper; which game seemed in no mood to be finished. I +watched it: Dr. Knox and Miss Cattledon stood talking over the fire; +while Janet, ever an active housekeeper, was in the supper-room, helping +the maids to clear the table. In the midst of this, Charlotte Knox came +back, rushing into the room in a state of intense excitement, with the +news that Mina and Captain Collinson were eloping together. + +The account she gave was this--though just at first nothing clear could +be made out of her. Upon starting, the Hampshires, Mrs. Knox, and Miss +Mack went on in front; Captain Collinson and Mina walked next, and +Charlotte fell behind with Sam. Fell very much behind, as it appeared; +for when people are talking of what interests them, their steps are apt +to linger; and Sam was telling her of having seen Captain Collinson +behind the bay-tree. It was a beautiful night, warm and pleasant. + +Charlotte and Sam let the captain and Mina get pretty nearly the length +of a street before them; and _they_, in their turn, were as much behind +the party in advance. Suddenly Sam exclaimed that the captain was taking +the wrong way. His good eyes had discerned that, instead of keeping +straight on, which was the proper (and only) route to the London Road, +he and Mina had turned down the lane leading to the railway-station. +"Halloa!" he exclaimed to Charlotte, "what's that for?" "They must be +dreaming," was Charlotte's laughing reply: "or, perhaps the captain +wants to take an excursion by a night-train!" Whether anything in the +last remark, spoken in jest, struck particularly on the mind of Sam, +Charlotte did not know: away he started as if he had been shot, +Charlotte running after him in curiosity. Arrived at the lane, Sam saw +the other two flying along, just as if they wanted to catch a train and +had not a minute to do it in. Onward went Sam's long legs in pursuit; +but the captain's legs were long also, and he was pulling Mina with him: +altogether Sam did not gain much upon them. The half-past eleven o'clock +train was then gliding into the station, where it was timed to halt two +minutes. The captain and Mina dashed on to the platform, and, when +Sam got up, he was putting her into the nearest carriage. Such was +Charlotte's statement: and her eyes looked wild, and her breath was +laboured as she made it. + +"Have they _gone_?--gone on by the train?" questioned Dr. Knox, who +seemed unnaturally calm. + +"Goodness, no!" panted the excited Charlotte. "Sam managed to get his +arm round Mina's waist, and the captain could not pull her away from +him. It was a regular struggle on the platform, Arnold. I appealed to +the station-master, who stood by. I told him it was my sister, and that +she was being kidnapped against her will; Sam also appealed to him. So +he gave the signal when the time was up, and let the train go on." + +"Not against her will, I fear," spoke Arnold Knox from between his +condemning lips. "Where are they now, Lotty?" + +"On the platform, quarrelling; and still struggling which shall keep +possession of Mina. I came running here to fetch you, Arnold, and I +believe I shall never get my breath again." + +With one accord we all, Cattledon excepted, set off to the station; even +old Tamlyn proved he had some go in his legs yet. Tod reached it first: +few young men could come up to him at running. + +Sam Jenkins had exchanged his hold of Mina for a hold on Captain +Collinson. The two were struggling together; but Sam's grasp was firm, +and he held him as in a vice. "No, no," he was saying, "you don't escape +me, captain, until some one comes here to take charge of Mina." As +to Mina, little simpleton, she cowered in the shade of the corner, +shivering and crying. The station-master and the two night-porters stood +about, gaping and staring. + +Tod put his hand on the captain's shoulder; his other hand momentarily +holding back Dr. Knox. "Since when have you been Captain Collinson," he +quietly asked. + +The captain turned his angry eyes upon him. "What is that to you?" he +retorted. "I am Captain Collinson; that is enough for you." + +"Enough for me, and welcome. Not enough, as I judge, for this gentleman +here," indicating the doctor. "When I knew you your name was not +Collinson." + +"How dare you insult me?" hissed the captain. "My name not Collinson!" + +"Not at all!" was Tod's equable answer. "It used to be FABIAN PELL." + + +II. + +The history of the Clement-Pells and their downfall was given in the +First Series of these stories, and the reader can have no difficulty in +recalling Fabian to his memory. There are times, even to this day, when +it seems to me that I must have been a muff, as Tod said, not to know +him. But, some years had elapsed since I saw him; and those years, +with their ill-fortune and exposure, and the hard life he had led in +Australia, had served to change him greatly; above all, there was now +the mass of hair disguising the greater part of his face. Bit by bit my +recollection came to me, and I knew that he was, beyond all shadow of +doubt, Fabian Pell. + +How long we sat up that night at Mr. Tamlyn's, talking over its events, +I cannot precisely tell. For quite the half of what was left of it. +Mina, brought to his own home by Arnold for safety, was consigned to +Cattledon's charge and bed, and retired to the latter in a state of +humiliation and collapse. + +The scene on the platform had soon come to a conclusion. With the +security of Mina assured by the presence of her brother and the rest of +us, Sam let go his hold of the captain. It had been a nice little plot +this, that the captain had set on foot in secret, and persuaded that +silly girl, not much better than a child, to accede to. They were to +have run away to London that night, and been married there the next day; +the captain, as was found out later, having already managed to procure a +licence. You see, if Mina became his wife without any settlement, her +money at once lapsed to him and he could do what he would with it. How, +as Captain Collinson, he would have braved the matter out to Dr. Knox +that night, and excused himself for his treachery, he best knew. Tod +checkmated him by proclaiming him as Fabian Pell. A lame attempt at +denial, which Tod, secure in his assertion, laughed at; a little +bravado, and Captain Collinson collapsed. Against the truth--that he was +Fabian Pell--brought home to him so suddenly and clearly, he could not +hold out; the man's hardihood deserted him; and he turned tail and went +off the platform, calling back that Mr. Todhetley should hear from him +in the morning. + +We came away then, bringing Mina. Sam went to escort Charlotte home, +where they would have the pleasure of imparting the news to Mrs. Knox, +who probably by that time was thinking that Lotty had eloped as well as +Mina. And now we were sitting round the fire in old Tamlyn's room, +discussing what had happened. Sam came back in the midst of it. Arnold +_was_ down in the mouth, and no mistake. + +"Did you see Mrs. Knox?" he asked of Sam. + +"Not to speak to, sir. I saw her through the kitchen window. She was +spreading bread-and-jam for Dicky, who had come down in his night-gown +and would not be coaxed back to bed." + +"What an injudicious woman she is!" put in old Tamlyn. "Enough to ruin +the boy." + +Perhaps Dr. Knox was thinking, as he sat there, his hand pressed upon +his brow, that if she had been a less injudicious woman, a different +mother altogether, Mina might not have been in danger of falling into +the present escapade: but he said nothing. + +"I remember hearing of the notorious break-up of the Clement-Pells at +the time it took place," observed old Tamlyn to Tod. "And to think that +this man should be one of them!" + +"He must carry his impudence about with him," was Tod's remark. + +"They ruined hundreds of poor men and women, if not thousands," +continued old Tamlyn. "I conclude your people knew all about it?" + +"Indeed, yes. We were in the midst of it. My father lost--how much was +it, Johnny?" + +"Two hundred pounds," I answered; the question bringing vividly back to +me our adventures in Boulogne, when the pater and Mr. Brandon went over +there to try to get the money back. + +"I suppose," resumed the surgeon, "your father had that much balance +lying in their hands, and lost it all?" + +"No," said Tod, "he did not bank with them. A day or two before +Clement-Pell burst up, he drove to our house as bold as brass, asking my +father in the most off-hand manner to let him have a cheque for two +hundred pounds until the next day. The Squire did let him have it, +without scruple, and of course lost it. He would have let him have two +thousand had Pell asked for it." + +"But that was a fraud. Pell might have been punished for it." + +"I don't know that it was so much a fraud as many other things Pell did, +and might have been punished for," observed Tod. "At any rate, not as +great a one. He escaped out of the way, as I dare say you know, sir, and +his family escaped with him. It was hard on them. They had been brought +up in the greatest possible extravagance, in all kinds of luxury. This +one, Fabian, was in the army. He, of course, had to retire. His own +debts would have forced that step upon him, apart from the family +disgrace." + +"Did he re-enter it, I wonder." + +Tod laughed. "_I_ should say not. He went to Australia. Not above a +year ago I heard that he was still there. He must have come back here +fortune-hunting; _bread_-hunting; and passed himself off as Captain +Collinson the better to do it. Miss Mina Knox's seven thousand pounds +was a prize to fight for." + +"That's it!" cried Sam. "Dan has said all along it was the money he was +after, dishonourable wretch, not Mina herself. He cares too much for +Madame St. Vincent to care for Mina: at least we think so. How did he +get the funds, I wonder, that he has been flourishing about upon?" + +"Won them at billiards," suggested Tod. + +"No," said Sam, "I don't think that. By all accounts he lost more than +he won in the billiard-rooms." + +Dr. Knox looked up from a reverie. "Was it himself that Major Leckie +saw?--and did he pass himself off as another man to escape detection? +Did he go off for the remainder of the week lest the major should look +him up again?" + +And we knew it must have been so. + +Little sleep did I get that night, or, rather, morning, for the small +hours had struck when we went to bed. The association of ideas is a +great thing in this world; a help in many an emergency. This association +led me from Fabian Pell to his sisters: and the mysterious memory of +Madame St. Vincent that had so puzzled my mind cleared itself up. As +though a veil had been withdrawn from my eyes, leaving the recollection +unclouded and distinct, I saw she was one of those sisters: the eldest +of them, Martha Jane. And, let not the reader call me a muff, as Tod +again did later, for not having found her out before. When I knew her +she was an angular, raw-boned girl, with rather a haggard and very pale +face, and nothing to say for herself. Now she was a filled-out woman, +her face round, her colour healthy, and one of the most self-possessed +talkers I ever listened to. In the old days her hair was reddish +and fell in curls: now it was dark, and worn in braids and plaits +fashionably incomprehensible. Whether the intervening years had +darkened the hair, or whether madame cunningly dyed it, must remain +a question. + +Dan Jenkins and his brother were right. They no doubt had seen looks of +anxious interest given to Madame St. Vincent by Captain Collinson. Not +as a lover, however; they were mistaken there; but as a brother who was +living in a state of peril, and whom she was doubtless protecting and +trying to aid. But how far had her aid gone? That she kept up the +ball, as to his being Captain Collinson, the rich, honourable, and +well-connected Indian officer, went without saying, as the French have +it; and no one could expect her to proclaim him as Fabian Pell, the +swindler; but had she been helping him in his schemes upon Mina? As to +her display of formal coolness to him, it must have been put on to +mislead the public. + +And what was I to do? Must I quietly bury my discovery within me and say +nothing? or must I tell Dr. Knox that Madame St. Vincent was no other +than Martha Jane Pell? What _ought_ I to do? It was that question that +kept me awake. Never liking to do harm where I could not do good, I +asked myself whether I had any right to ruin her. It might be that she +was not able to help herself; that she had done no worse than keep +Fabian's secret: it might be that she had wanted him gone just as much +as Dan Jenkins had wanted it. + +"I'll tell Tod in the morning," was my final conclusion, "and hear what +he thinks." + +When I got downstairs they were beginning breakfast, and Miss Cattledon +was turning from the table to carry up Mina's tea. Mina remained in the +depths of tears and contrition, and Cattledon had graciously told her +she might lie in bed. Breakfast was taken very late that morning, the +result of the previous night's disturbance, and the clock was striking +ten when we rose from it. + +"Tod, I want to speak to you," I said in his ear. "I want to tell you +something." + +"All right, lad. Tell away." + +"Not here. Won't you come out with me somewhere? We must be alone." + +"Then it must wait, Johnny. I am going round to the stables with +Tamlyn. He wishes me to see the horse they have got on trial. By the +description, I don't think much of him: should give him a pretty long +trial before I bought him." + +They went out. Not long after that, I was strolling across the +court-yard with Sam Jenkins, who had been despatched on some +professional errand, when we saw Sir Henry Westmorland ride up and +rein in his horse. He asked for Dr. Knox. Sam went back to the house +to say so, while Sir Henry talked to me. + +"Look here," said Sir Henry to the doctor, after they had shaken +hands, "I have had a curious letter from Major Leckie this morning. At +least"--taking the letter from his pocket and opening it--"it contains +an odd bit of news. He says--where is it?--stand still, sir,"--to the +horse. "Here it is; just listen, doctor. 'Dr. Knox must have made a +mistake in saying Collinson was at Lefford. Collinson is in India; has +not been home at all. I have had a letter from him by the overland mail +just in, asking me to do a commission for him. Tell Dr. Knox this. If +the man he spoke of is passing himself off for Collinson of ours, he +must be an impostor.' What do you think of that, doctor?" concluded Sir +Henry, folding the letter again. + +"He is an impostor," replied Dr. Knox. "We found him out last night." + +"What a rogue! Has he been taking people in--fleecing them?" + +"He has taken us all in, Sir Henry, in one sense of the word; he was +on the point of doing it more effectually, when he was stopped. As to +fleecing people, I don't know about that. He seems to have had plenty +of money at his command--whence obtained is another question." + +"Cheated some one out of it; rely upon that," remarked the baronet, as +he nodded a good-day to us, and rode off. + +Mina was downstairs when we returned indoors. Anything more pitiful than +her state of contrition and distress I should not care to see. No doubt +the discovery, just made, tended to strengthen her repentance. In +a silly girl's mind some romance might attach to the notion of an +elopement with a gallant captain of consideration, brave in Her +Majesty's service; but to elope with Mr. Fabian Pell, the chevalier +d'industrie, was quite another affair. Mina was mild in temperament, +gentle in manners, yet she might have flown at the ex-captain's face +with sharp nails, had he come in her way. + +"I did not really like him," she sobbed forth: and there was no doubt +that she spoke truth. "But they were always on at me, persuading me; +they never let me alone." + +"Who persuaded you, my dear?" asked Janet. + +"He did. He was for ever meeting me in private, and urging me. I could +not go out for a walk, or just cross the garden, or run into the next +door, but he would be there. Madame St. Vincent persuaded me. She did +not say to me, in words, 'you had better do as he asks you and run +away,' but all her counsels tended towards it. She would say to me how +happy his wife would be; what a fine position it was for any young lady +lucky enough to be chosen by him; and that all the world thought me old +enough to marry, though Arnold did not, and for that reason Arnold would +do his best to prevent it. And so--and so----" + +"And so they persuaded you against your better judgment," added Janet +pityingly, as Mina broke down in a burst of tears. + +"There, child, take this, and don't cry your eyes out," interposed +Cattledon, bringing in a beaten-up egg. + +Cattledon was coming out uncommonly strong in the way of compassion, all +her tartness gone. She certainly did not look with an eye of favour on +elopements; but she was ready to take up Mina's cause against the man +who had deceived her. Cattledon hated the Pells: for Cattledon had been +done out of fifty pounds at the time of old Pell's failure, money she +had rashly entrusted to him. She could not very well afford to lose it, +and she had been bitter on the Pells, one and all, ever since. + +That morning was destined to be one of elucidation. Mr. Tamlyn was in +the surgery, saying a last word to Dr. Knox before the latter went out +to visit his patients, when Lettice Lane marched in. She looked so fresh +and innocent that three parts of Tamlyn's suspicions of her melted away. + +"Anything amiss at home?" asked he. + +"No, sir," replied Lettice, "I have only brought this note"--handing one +in. "Madame St. Vincent told the butler to bring it; but his pains are +worse this morning; and, as I chanced to be coming out at the moment, he +asked me to leave it here for him." + +"Wait an instant," said Mr. Tamlyn, as he opened the note. + +It contained nothing of consequence. Madame St. Vincent had written to +say that Lady Jenkins was pretty well, but had finished her medicine: +perhaps Mr. Tamlyn would send her some more. Old Tamlyn's injunction to +wait an instant had been given in consequence of a sudden resolution he +had then come to (as he phrased it in his mind), to "tackle" Lettice. + +"Lettice Lane," he began, winking at Dr. Knox, "your mistress's state is +giving us concern. She seems to be always sleeping." + +"She is nearly always dozing off, sir," replied Lettice, her tone and +looks open and honest as the day. + +"Ay. I can't quite come to the bottom of it," returned old Tamlyn, +making believe to be confidential. "To me, it looks just as though she +took--took opiates." + +"Opiates, sir?" repeated Lettice, as if she hardly understood the +word: while Dr. Knox, behind the desk, was glancing keenly at her from +underneath his compressed eyebrows. + +"Opium. Laudanum." + +Lettice shook her head. "No, sir, my mistress does not take anything of +that sort, I am sure; we have nothing of the kind in the house. But +Madame St. Vincent is for ever dosing her with brandy-and-water." + +"What?" shouted old Tamlyn. + +"I have said a long while, sir, that I thought you ought to know it; +I've said so to the housemaid. I don't believe an hour hardly passes, +day or night, but madame administers to her a drop of brandy-and-water. +Half a wine-glass, maybe, or a full wine-glass, as the case may happen; +and sometimes I know it's pretty strong." + +"That's it," said Dr. Knox quietly: and a curious smile crossed his +face. + +Mr. Tamlyn sat down on the stool in consternation. "Brandy-and-water!" +he repeated, more than once, "Perpetually dosed with brandy-and-water! +And now, Lettice Lane, how is it you have not come here before to tell +me of this?" + +"I did not come to tell you now, sir," returned Lettice. "Madame St. +Vincent says that Lady Jenkins needs it: she seems to give it her for +her good. It is only lately that I have doubted whether it can be +right. I have not liked to say anything: servants don't care to +interfere. Ten times a-day she will give her these drops of cold +brandy-and-water: and I know she gets up for the same purpose once or +twice in the night." + +"Does Lady Jenkins take it without remonstrance?" asked Dr. Knox, +speaking for the first time. + +"She does, sir, now. At first she did not. Many a time I have heard my +lady say, 'Do you think so much brandy can be good for me, Patty? I +feel so dull after it,' and Madame St. Vincent has replied, that it is +the only thing that can get her strength back and bring her round." + +"The jade!" spoke Dr. Knox, between his teeth. "And to assure us both +that all the old lady took was a drop of it weak twice a-day at her +meals! Lettice Lane," he added aloud, and there was a great sternness +in his tone, "you are to blame for not having spoken of this. A little +longer silence, and it might have cost your mistress her life." And +Lettice went out in contrition. + +"What can the woman's motive be, for thus dosing her into stupidity?" +spoke the one doctor to the other when they were shut in together. + +"_That_: the dosing her into it," said Dr. Knox. + +"But the motive, Arnold?--the reason? She must have had a motive." + +"That remains to be found out." + +It turned out to be too true. The culprit was Madame St. Vincent. She +had been administering these constant doses of brandy-and-water for +months. Not giving enough at a time to put Lady Jenkins into a state of +intoxication; only to reduce her to a chronic state of semi-stupidity. + +Tod called me, as I tell you, a muff: first for not knowing Madame St. +Vincent; and next for thinking to screen her. Of course this revelation +of Lettice Lane's had put a new complexion upon things. I left the +matter with Tod, and he told the doctors at once: Madame St. Vincent +was, or used to be, Martha Jane Pell, own sister to Captain Collinson +the false. + + +III. + +Quietly knocking at the door of Jenkins House this same sunny morning +went three gentlemen: old Tamlyn, Mr. Lawrence, and Joseph Todhetley. +Mr. Lawrence was a magistrate and ex-mayor; he had preceded the late +Sir Daniel Jenkins in the civic chair, and was intimate with him as a +brother. Just as old Tamlyn tackled Lettice, so they were now about to +tackle Madame St. Vincent on the score of the brandy-and-water; and they +had deemed it advisable to take Tod with them. + +Lady Jenkins was better than usual; rather less stupid. She was seated +with madame in the cheerful garden-room, its glass-doors standing open +to the sunshine and the flowers. The visitors were cordially received; +it was supposed they had only come to pay a morning visit. Madame St. +Vincent sat behind a table in the corner, writing notes of invitation +for a soirée, to be held that day week. Tod, who had his wits about him, +went straight up to her. It must be remembered that they had not yet +met. + +"Ah! how are you?" cried he, holding out his hand. "Surprised to see +you here." And she turned white, and stared, uncertain how to take his +words, or whether he had really recognized her, and bowed stiffly as to +a stranger, and never put out her own hand in answer. + +I cannot tell you much about the interview: Tod's account to me was not +very clear. Lady Jenkins began talking about Captain Collinson--that +he had turned out to be some unworthy man of the name of Pell, and had +endeavoured to kidnap poor little Mina. Charlotte Knox imparted the news +to her that morning, in defiance of Madame St. Vincent, who had tried +to prevent her. Madame had said it must be altogether some mistake, and +that no doubt Captain Collinson would be able to explain: but she, Lady +Jenkins, did not know. After that there was a pause; Lady Jenkins shut +her eyes, and madame went on writing her notes. + +It was old Tamlyn who opened the ball. He drew his chair nearer the old +lady, and spoke out without circumlocution. + +"What is this that we hear about your taking so much brandy-and-water?" + +"Eh?" cried the old lady, opening her eyes. Madame paused in her +writing, and looked up. Tamlyn waited for an answer. + +"Lady Jenkins does not take much brandy-and-water," cried madame. + +"I am speaking to Lady Jenkins, madame," returned old Tamlyn, severely: +"be so kind as not to interfere. My dear lady, listen to me"--taking her +hand; "I am come here with your life-long old friend, William Lawrence, +to talk to you. We have reason to believe that you continually take, and +have taken for some time past, small doses of brandy-and-water. Is it +so?" + +"Patty gives it me," cried Lady Jenkins, looking first at them and then +at Patty, in a helpless sort of manner. + +"Just so: we know she does. But, are you aware that brandy-and-water, +taken in this way, is so much poison?" + +"Tell them, Patty, that you give it me for my good," said the poor lady, +in affectionate appeal. + +"Yes, it is for your good, dear Lady Jenkins," resentfully affirmed +Madame St. Vincent, regarding the company with flashing eyes. "Does any +one dare to suppose that I should give Lady Jenkins sufficient to hurt +her? I may be allowed, I presume, as her ladyship's close companion, +constantly watching her, to be the best judge of what is proper for her +to take." + +Well, a shindy ensued--as Tod called it--all of them talking altogether, +except himself and poor Lady Jenkins: and madame defying every one and +everything. They told her that she could no longer be trusted with Lady +Jenkins; that she must leave the house that day; and when madame defied +this with a double defiance, the magistrate intimated that he had come +up to enforce the measure, if necessary, and he meant to stay there +until she was gone. + +She saw it was serious then, and the defiant tone changed. "What I have +given Lady Jenkins has been for her good," she said; "to do her good. +But for being supported by a little brandy-and-water, the system could +never have held out after that serious attack she had in Boulogne. I +have prolonged her life." + +"No, madame, you have been doing your best to shorten her life," +corrected old Tamlyn. "A little brandy-and-water, as you term it, might +have been good for her while she was recovering her strength, but you +have gone beyond the little; you have made her life a constant lethargy; +you would shortly have killed her. What your motive was, Heaven knows." + +"My motive was a kind one," flashed madame. "Out of this house I will +not go." + +So, upon that, they played their trump card, and informed Lady Jenkins, +who was crying softly, that this lady was the sister of the impostor, +Collinson. The very helplessness, the utter docility to which the +treatment had reduced her, prevented her expressing (and most probably +feeling) any dissent. She yielded passively to all, like a child, and +told Patty that she must go, as her old friends said so. + +A bitter pill for madame to take. But she could not help herself. + +"You will be as well as ever in a little time," Tamlyn said to Lady +Jenkins. "You would have died, had this gone on: it must have induced +some malady or other from which you could not have rallied." + +Madame St. Vincent went out of the house that afternoon, and Cattledon +entered it. She had offered herself to Lady Jenkins for a few days in +the emergency. + +It was, perhaps, curious that I should meet Madame St. Vincent before +she left the town. Janet was in trouble over a basket of butter and +fowls that had been sent her by one of the country patients, and of +which the railway people denied the arrival. I went again to the station +in the afternoon to see whether they had news of it: and there, seated +on the platform bench, her boxes around her, and waiting for the London +train, was madame. + +I showed myself as respectful to her as ever, for you can't humiliate +fallen people to their faces, telling her, in the pleasantest way I +could, that I was sorry things had turned out so. The tone seemed to +tell upon her, and she burst into tears. I never saw a woman so subdued +in the space of a few hours. + +"I have been treated shamefully, Johnny Ludlow," she said, gulping down +her sobs. "Day and night for the past nine months have I been about Lady +Jenkins, wearing myself out in attendance on her. The poor old lady had +learnt to love me and to depend upon me. I was like a daughter to her." + +"I dare say," I answered, conveniently ignoring the dosing. + +"And what I gave her, I gave her for the best," went on madame. "It +_was_ for the best. People seventy years old need it. Their nerves and +system require soothing: to induce sleep now and then is a boon to them. +It was a boon to her, poor old thing. And this is my recompense!--turned +from the house like a dog!" + +"It does seem hard." + +"Seem! It _is_ hard. I have had nothing but hardships all my life," she +continued, lifting her veil to wipe away the tears. "Where I am to go +now, or how make a living, I know not. They told me I need not apply to +Lady Jenkins for references: and ladies won't engage a companion who has +none." + +"Is your husband really dead?" I ventured to ask. + +"My poor husband is really dead, Johnny Ludlow--I don't know why you +should imply a doubt of it. He left me nothing: he had nothing to leave. +He was only a master in the college at Brétage--a place in the South of +France--and he died, I verily believe, of poor living. We had not been +married twelve months. I had a little baby, and that died. Oh, I assure +you I have had my troubles." + +"How are--Mr. and Mrs. Clement-Pell?" I next asked, with hesitation. +"And Conny?--and the rest of them?" + +"Oh, they were well when I last heard," she answered, slightingly. "I +don't hear often. Foreign postage is expensive. Conny was to have come +here shortly on a visit." + +"Where is Gusty? Is----" + +"I know nothing at all about my brothers," she interrupted sharply. "And +this, I suppose, is my train. Good-bye, Johnny Ludlow; you and I at +least can part friends. You are always kind. I wish the world was like +you." + +I saw her into the carriage--first-class--and her boxes into the van. +And thus she disappeared from Lefford. And her brother, "Captain +Collinson," as we found later, had taken his departure for London by an +early morning train, telling little Pink, his landlord, as he paid his +week's rent, that he was going up to attend a levee. + +It was found that the rumour of his engagement to Miss Belmont was +altogether untrue. Miss Belmont was rather indignant about it, freely +saying that she was ten years his senior. He had never hinted at such a +thing to her, and she should have stopped him if he had. We concluded +that the report had been set afloat by himself, to take attention from +his pursuit of Mina Knox. + +Madame St. Vincent had feathered her nest. As the days went on, and Lady +Jenkins grew clearer, better able to see a little into matters, she +could not at all account for the money that had been drawn from the +bank. Cheque after cheque had been presented and cashed; and not +one-tenth of the money could have been spent upon home expenses. Lady +Jenkins had been always signing cheques; she remembered that much; never +so much as asking, in her loss of will, what they were needed for. "I +want a cheque to-day, dear Lady Jenkins," her companion would say, +producing the cheque-book from her desk; and Lady Jenkins would docilely +sign it. That a great portion of the proceeds had found their way to Mr. +Fabian Pell was looked upon as a certainty. + +And to obtaining this money might be traced the motive for dosing Lady +Jenkins. Once let her intellect become clear, her will reassert itself, +and the game would be stopped. Madame St. Vincent had also another +scheme in her head--for the past month or two she had been trying to +persuade Lady Jenkins to make a codicil to her will, leaving her a few +thousand pounds. Lady Jenkins might have fallen blindly into that; but +they had not as yet been able to agree upon the details: Madame St. +Vincent urging that a lawyer should be called in from a distance; Lady +Jenkins clinging to old Belford. That this codicil would have been made +in time, and by the remote lawyer, there existed no doubt whatever. + +Ah, well: it was a deep-laid plot altogether. And my visit to Lefford, +with Tod's later one, had served, under Heaven, to frustrate it. + +Lady Jenkins grew rapidly better, now that she was no longer drugged. In +a few days she was herself again. Cattledon came out amazingly strong in +the way of care and kindness, and was gracious to every one, even to +Lettice. + +"She always forbade me to say that I took the brandy-and-water," Lady +Jenkins said to me one day when I was sitting with her under the +laburnum tree on her lawn, talking of the past, her bright green silk +dress and pink cap ribbons glistening in the sun. "She made my will +hers. In other respects she was as kind as she could be to me." + +"That must have been part of her plan," I answered. "It was the great +kindness that won you to her. After that, she took care that you should +have no will of your own." + +"And the poor thing might have been so happy with me had she only chosen +to be straightforward, and not try to play tricks! I gave her a handsome +salary, and new gowns besides; and I don't suppose I should have +forgotten her at my death." + +"Well, it is all over, dear Lady Jenkins, and you will be just as well +and brisk as you used to be." + +"Not quite that, Johnny," she said, shaking her head; "I cannot expect +that. At seventy, grim old age is laying its hand upon us. What we need +then, my dear," she added, turning her kindly blue eyes upon me, in +which the tears were gathering, "is to go to the mill to be ground young +again. And that is a mill that does not exist in this world." + +"Ah no!" + +"I thank God for the mercy He has shown me," she continued, the tears +overflowing. "I might have gone to the grave in the half-witted state to +which I was reduced. And, Johnny, I often wonder, as I lie awake at +night thinking, whether I should have been held responsible for it." + +The first use Lady Jenkins made of her liberty was to invite all her +relations, the young nephews and nieces, up to dinner, as she used +to do. Madame St. Vincent had set her face against these family +entertainments, and they had fallen through. The ex-mayor, William +Lawrence, and his good old wife, made part of the company, as did Dr. +Knox and Janet. Lady Jenkins beamed on them once more from her place at +the head of the table, and Tamlyn sat at the foot and served the big +plum-pudding. + +"Never more, I trust, shall I be estranged from you, my dears, until it +pleases Heaven to bring about the final estrangement," she said to the +young people when they were leaving. And she gave them all a sovereign +a-piece. + +Cattledon could not remain on for ever. Miss Deveen wanted her: so Mina +Knox went to stay at Jenkins House, until a suitable lady should be +found to replace Madame St. Vincent. Upon that, Dan Jenkins was taken +with an anxious solicitude for his aunt's health, and was for ever +finding his way up to inquire after it. + +"You will never care to notice me again, Dan," Mina said to him, with a +swelling heart and throat, one day when he was tilting himself by her on +the arm of the sofa. + +"Shan't I!" returned Dan. + +"Oh, I am so ashamed of my folly; I feel more ashamed of it, day by +day," cried Mina, bursting into tears. "I shall never, never get over +the mortification." + +"Won't you!" added Dan. + +"And I never liked him much: I think I _dis_-liked him. At first I did +dislike him; only he kept saying how fond he was of me; and Madame St. +Vincent was always praising him up. And you know he was all the +fashion." + +"Quite so," assented Dan. + +"Don't you think it would be almost as well if I were dead, Dan--for all +the use I am likely to be to any one?" + +"Almost, perhaps; not quite," laughed Dan; and he suddenly stooped and +kissed her. + + * * * * * + +That's all. And now, at the time I write this, Dan Jenkins is a +flourishing lawyer at Lefford, and Mina is his wife. Little feet patter +up and down the staircase and along the passages that good old Lady +Jenkins used to tread. She treads them no more. There was no mill to +grind her young again here; but she is gone to that better land where +such mills are not needed. + +Her will was a just one. She left her property to her nephews and +nieces; a substantial sum to each. Dan had Jenkins House in addition. +But it is no longer Jenkins House; for he had that name taken off the +entrance pillars forthwith, replacing it by the one that had been there +before--Rose Bank. + + + + +THE ANGELS' MUSIC. + + +I. + +How the Squire came to give in to it, was beyond the ken of mortal man. +Tod turned crusty; called the young ones all the hard names in the +dictionary, and said he should go out for the night. But he did not. + +"Just like her!" cried he, with a fling at Mrs. Todhetley. "Always +devising some rubbish or other to gratify the little reptiles!" + +The "little reptiles" applied to the school children at North Crabb. +They generally had a treat at Christmas; and this year Mrs. Todhetley +said she would like it to be given by us, at Crabb Cot, if the Squire +did not object to stand the evening's uproar. After vowing for a day +that he wouldn't hear of it, the Squire (to our astonishment) gave in, +and said they might come. It was only the girls: the boys had their +treat later on, when they could go in for out-of-door sports. After the +pater's concession, she and the school-mistress, Miss Timmens, were as +busy planning-out the arrangements as two bees in a honeysuckle field. + +The evening fixed upon was the last in the old year--a Thursday. And the +preparations seemed to me to be in full flow from the previous Monday. +Molly made her plum-cakes and loaves on the Wednesday; on the Thursday +after breakfast, her mistress went to the kitchen to help her with the +pork-pies and the tartlets. To judge by the quantity provided, the +school would require nothing more for a week to come. + +The Squire went over to Islip on some matter of business, taking Tod +with him. Our children, Hugh and Lena, were spending the day with the +little Letsoms, who would come back with them for the treat; so we had +the house to ourselves. The white deal ironing-board under the kitchen +window was raised on its iron legs; before it stood Mrs. Todhetley and +Molly, busy with the mysteries of pastry-making and patty-pan filling. +I sat on the edge of the board, looking on. The small savoury pies were +done, and in the act of baking, a tray-load at a time; every now and +then Molly darted into the back kitchen, where the oven was, to look +after them. For two days the snow had come down thickly; it was falling +still in great flakes; far and near, the landscape showed white and +bright. + +"Johnny, if you will persist in eating the jam, I shall have to send you +away." + +"Put the jar on the other side then, good mother." + +"Ugh! Much jam Master Johnny would leave for the tarts, let him have his +way," struck in Molly, more crusty than her own pastry, when I declare I +had only dipped the wrong end of the fork in three or four times. The +jam was not hers. + +"Mind you don't give the young ones bread-and-scrape, Molly," I +retorted, catching sight of no end of butter-pats through the open door. +At which advice she only threw up her head. + +"Who is this, coming up through the snow?" cried the mater. + +I turned to the window and made it out to be Mrs. Trewin: a meek little +woman who had seen better days, and tried to get her living as a +dressmaker since the death of her husband. She had not been good for +very much since: never seemed quite to get over the shock. Going out one +morning, as usual, to his duties as an office clerk, he was brought home +dead. Killed by an accident. It was eighteen months ago now, but Mrs. +Trewin wore deep mourning still. + +Not standing upon ceremony down in our country, Mrs. Todhetley had her +brought into the kitchen, going on with the tartlets all the same, while +she talked. Mrs. Trewin was making a frock for Lena, and had come up to +say that the trimming ran short. The mater told her she was too busy to +see to it then, and was very sorry she had come through the snow for +such a trifle. + +"'Twas not much further, ma'am," was her answer: "I had to go out to the +school to fetch home Nettie. The path is so slippery, through the boys +making slides, that I don't altogether like to trust the child to go to +and fro to school by herself." + +"As if Nettie would come to any harm, Mrs. Trewin!" I put in. "If she +went down, it would only be a Christmas gambol." + +"Accidents happen so unexpectedly, sir," she answered, a shadow crossing +her sad face. And I was sorry to have said it: it had put her in mind of +her husband. + +"You are coming up this evening, you know, Mrs. Trewin," said mother. +"Don't be late." + +"It is very good of you to have asked me, ma'am," she answered +gratefully. "I said so to Miss Timmens. I'm sure it will be something +new to have such a treat. Nettie, poor child, will enjoy it too." + +Molly came banging in with a tray of pork-pies, just out of the oven. +The mater told Mrs. Trewin to take one, and offered her a glass of beer. + +But, instead of eating the pie, she wrapped it in paper to take with her +home, and declined the beer, lest it should give her a headache for the +evening. + +So Mrs. Trewin took her departure; and, under cover of it, I helped +myself to another of the pork-pies. Weren't they good! After that the +morning went on again, and the tart-making with it. + +The last of the paste was being used up, the last of the jam jars stood +open, and the clock told us that it was getting on for one, when we had +another visitor: Miss Timmens, the schoolmistress. She came in, stamping +the snow from her shoes on the mat, her thin figure clad in an old long +cloth cloak, and the chronic redness in her face turned purple. + +"My word! It is a day, ma'am, this is!" she exclaimed. + +"And what have you come through it for?" asked Mrs. Todhetley. "About +the forms? Why, I sent word to you by Luke Mackintosh that they would be +fetched at two o'clock." + +"He never came, then," said Miss Timmens, irate at Luke's negligence. +"That Mackintosh is not worth his salt. What delicious-looking +tartlets!" exclaimed she, as she sat down. "And what a lot of them!" + +"Try one," said the mother. "Johnny, hand them to Miss Timmens, and a +plate." + +"That silly Sarah Trewin has gone and tumbled down," cried Miss Timmens, +as she thanked me and took the plate and one of the tartlets. "Went and +slipped upon a slide near the school-house. What a delicious tart!" + +"Sarah Trewin!" cried the mater, turning round from the board. "Why, she +was here an hour ago. Has she hurt herself?" + +"Just bruised all the one side of her black and blue, from her shoulder +to her ankle," answered Miss Timmens. "Those unruly boys have made +slides all over the place, ma'am; and Sarah Trewin must needs go down +upon one, not looking, I suppose, to her feet. She had only just turned +out of the schoolroom with Nettie." + +"Dear, dear! And she is so unable to bear a fall!" + +"Of course it might have been worse, for there are no bones broken," +remarked Miss Timmens. "As to Nettie, the child was nearly frightened +out of her senses; she's sobbing and crying still. Never was such a +timid child as that." + +"Will Sarah Trewin be able to come this evening?" + +"Not she, ma'am. She'll be as stiff as buckram for days to come. I'd +like to pay out those boys--making their slides on the pathway and +endangering people's lives! Nicol's not half strict enough with them; +and I'm tired of telling him so. Tiresome, rude monkeys! Not that my +girls are a degree better: they'd go down all the slides in the parish, +let 'em have their way. What with them, and what with these fantastical +notions of the new parson, I'm sure my life's a martyrdom." + +The mother smiled over her pastry. Miss Timmens and the parson, civilly +polite to one another, were mentally at daggers drawn. + +The time I am writing of was before the movement, set in of later years, +for giving the masses the same kind of education as their betters; +but our new parson at Crabb was before his age in these ideas. To +experienced Miss Timmens, and to a great many more clear-sighted people, +the best word that could be given to the movement was "fantastical." + +"He came in yesterday afternoon at dusk," she resumed, "when I was +holding my Bible Class. 'And what has been the course of instruction +to-day, Miss Timmens?' asked he, as mild as new milk, all the girls +gaping and staring around him. 'It has been reading, and writing, and +summing, and spelling, and sewing,' said I, giving him the catalogue in +full: 'and now I'm trying to teach them their duty to Heaven and to one +another. And according to my old-fashioned notion, sir,' I summed up, +'if a poor girl acquires these matters thoroughly, she is a deal more +fitted to go through life in the station to which God has called her +(as the catechism says), than she would be if you gave her a course of +fine mincing uppishness, with your poetry and your drawing and your +embroidery.' Oh, he gets his answer from me, ma'am." + +"Mr. Bruce may be kind and enlightened, and all that," spoke Mrs. +Todhetley, "but he certainly seems inclined to carry his ideas beyond +reasonable bounds, so far as regards these poor peasant children." + +"Reasonable!" repeated Miss Timmens, catching up the word, and rubbing +her sharp nose with excitement: "why, the worst is, that there's no +reason in it. Not a jot. The parson's mind has gone a little bit off +its balance, ma'am; that's my firm conviction. This exalted education +applied to young ladies would be all right and proper: but where can be +the use of it to these poor girls? What good will his accomplishments, +his branches of grand learning do them? His conchology and meteorology, +and all the rest of his ologies? Of what service will it be to them in +future?" + +"I'd have got my living nicely, I guess, if I'd been taught them +things," satirically struck in Molly, unable to keep her tongue still +any longer. "A fine cook I should ha' made!--kept all my places a +beautiful length of time; I wouldn't come with such flighty talk to the +Squire, Miss Timmens, if 'twas me." + +"The talk's other people's; it isn't mine," fired Miss Timmens, turning +her wrath on Molly. "That is, the notions are. You had better attend to +your baking, Molly." + +"So I had," said Molly. "Baking's more in my line than them other +foreign jerks. But well I should have knowed how to do it if my mind +had been cocketed up with the learning that's only fit for lords and +ladies." + +"Is not that my argument?" retorted Miss Timmens, flinging the last word +after her as she went out to her oven. "Poor girls were sent into the +world to work, ma'am, not to play at being fine scholars," she added to +Mrs. Todhetley, as she got up to leave. "And, as sure as we are born, +this new dodge of education, if it ever gets a footing, will turn the +country upside down." + +"I'm sure I hope not," replied the mother in her mild way. "Take another +tart, Miss Timmens. These are currant and raspberry." + + +II. + +The company began to arrive at four o'clock. The snow had ceased to +fall; it was a fine, cold, clear evening, the moon very bright. A large +store-room at the back of the house had been cleared out, and a huge +fire made in it. The walls were decorated with evergreens, and tin +sconces holding candles; benches from the school-house were ranged +underneath them. This was to be the principal play-room, but the other +rooms were open. Mrs. Hill (formerly Mrs. Garth, who had not so very +long before lost poor David) and Maria Lease came up by invitation to +help Miss Timmens with the children; and Mrs. Trewin would have come but +for her fall on the slide. Miss Timmens appeared in full feather: a +purple gown of shot silk, with a red waist-band, and red holly berries +in her lace cap. The children, timid at first, sat round on the forms in +prim stillness, just like so many mice. + +By far the most timid of all was a gentle little thing of seven years +old, got up like a lady; white frock, black sash and sleeve ribbons. She +was delicate-featured, blue-eyed, had curling flaxen hair. It was Nettie +Trewin. Far superior she looked to all of them; out of place, in fact, +amongst so many coarser natures. Her little arm and hand trembled as she +clung to Miss Timmens' gown. + +"Senseless little thing," cried Miss Timmens, "to be afraid in a +beautiful room like this, and with all these kind friends around her! +Would you believe it, Mr. Johnny, that I could hardly get her here? +Afraid, she said, to come without mother!" + +"Oh, Nettie! Why, you are going to have lots of fun! Is mother better +this evening?" + +"Yes," whispered Nettie, venturing to take a peep at me through her wet +eyelashes. + +The order of the day was this. Tea at once, consisting of as much +bread-and-butter and plum-cake as they could eat; games afterwards. The +savoury pies and tartlets later on; more cake to wind up with, which, if +they had no room for, they might carry home. + +After all signs of tea had disappeared, and our neighbours, the Coneys, +had come in, and several round rings were seated on the floor at +"Hunt-the-Slipper," I, chancing to draw within earshot, found Miss +Timmens had opened out her grievance to the Squire--the parson's +interference with the school. + +"It would be reversing the proper and natural order of things, as _I_ +look upon it," she was saying, "to give an exalted education to those +who must get their living by the sweat of their brow; as servants, and +what not. Do you think so, sir?" + +"Think so! of course I think so," spluttered the Squire, taking up the +subject hotly as usual. "It's good for them to read and write well, to +add up figures, and know how to sew and clean, and wash and iron. That's +the learning they want, whether they are to pass their lives serving in +families, or as the wives of working men." + +"Yes, sir," acquiesced Miss Timmens, in a glow of satisfaction; "but +you may as well try to beat common sense into a broomstick as into Mr. +Bruce. The other day--what, is it you again, Nettie!" she broke off, as +the little white-robed child sidled up and hid her head in what appeared +to be her haven of refuge--the folds of the purple gown. "Never was such +a child as this, for shyness. When put to play with the rest, she'll not +stay with them. What do you think you are good for?"--rather wrathfully. +"Do you suppose the gentlefolk are going to eat you, Nettie?" + +"There's nothing to be afraid of, little lassie. What child is it?" +added the Squire, struck with her appearance. + +"Tell your name to the Squire," said Miss Timmens, with authority. And +the little one lifted her pretty blue eyes appealingly to his face, as +if beseeching him not to bite her. + +"It's Nettie Trewin, sir," she said in a whisper. + +"Dear me! Is that poor Trewin's child! She has a look of her father too. +A delicate little maid." + +"And silly also," added Miss Timmens. "You came here to play, you know, +Nettie; not hide your face. What are they all stirring at, now? Oh, +going to have 'Puss-in-the-corner.' You can play at that, Nettie. Here, +Jane Bright! Take Nettie with you and attend to her. Find her a corner: +she has not had any play at all." + +A tall, awkward girl stepped up: slouching shoulders, narrow forehead, +stolid features, coarse hair all ruffled; thick legs, thick boots--Miss +Jane Bright. She seized Nettie's hand. + +"Yes, sir, you are right: the child is a delicate, dainty little thing, +quite a contrast to most of these other girls," resumed Miss Timmens, +in answer to the Squire. "Look at that one who has just fetched Nettie +away: she is only a type of the rest. They come, most of them, of +coarse, stupid parents, and will be no better to the end of the chapter, +whatever education you may try to hammer into them. As I said to Mr. +Bruce the other day when---- Well, I never! There he is!" + +The young parson caught her eye, as he was looming in. Long coat, +clerical waistcoat, no white tie to speak of round his bare neck; quite +à la mode. The new fashions and the new notions that Mr. Bruce went in +for, were not at all understood at North Crabb. + +The Squire had gone on at first against the party; but no face was more +sunshiny than his, now that he was in the thick of it. A select few of +the children, with ours and the little Lawsons, had appropriated the +dining-room for "Hunt-the-Whistle." The pater chanced to look in just +before it began, and we got him to be the hunter. I shall never forget +it as long as I live. I don't believe I had ever laughed as much before. +He did not know the play, or the trick of it: and to see him whirling +himself about in search of the whistle as it was blown behind his back, +now seizing on this bold whistler, believing he or she must be in +possession of the whistle, and now on that one, all unconscious that the +whistle was fastened to the back button of his own coat; and to look at +the puzzled wonder of his face as to where the whistle could possibly +be, and how it contrived to elude his grasp, was something to be +remembered. The shrieks of laughter might have been heard down at the +Ravine. Tod had to sit on the floor and hold his sides; Tom Coney was in +convulsions. + +"Ah--I--ah--what do you think, Mr. Todhetley?" began Bruce, with his +courteous drawl, catching the Squire, as he emerged later, red and +steaming, from the whistle-hunt. "Suppose I collect these young ones +around me and give them a quarter-of-an-hour's lecture on pneumatics? +I've been getting up the subject a little." + +"Pneumatics be hanged!" burst forth the pater, more emphatically than +politely, when he had taken a puzzled stare at the parson. "The young +ones have come here to _play_, not to have their brains addled. Be shot +if I quite know myself what 'pneumatics' means. I beg your pardon, +Bruce. You mean well, I know." + +"Pneumatics!" repeated old Coney, taking time to digest the word. "Don't +you think, parson, that's more in the department of the Astronomer +Royal?" + +One required a respite after the whistle-hunt. I put my back against the +wall in the large room, and watched the different sets of long tails, +then pulling fiercely at "Oranges and Lemons." Mrs. Hill and Maria Lease +sat side by side on one of the benches, both looking as sad as might be, +their memories, no doubt, buried in the past. Maria Lease had never, so +to say, worn a smiling countenance since the dreadful end of Daniel +Ferrar. + +A commotion! Half-a-dozen of the "lemons," pulling too fiercely, had +come to grief on the ground. Maria went to the rescue. + +"I was just thinking of poor David, sir," Mrs. Hill said to me, with a +sigh. "How he would have enjoyed this scene: so merry and bright!" + +"But he is in a brighter scene than this, you know." + +"Yes, Master Johnny, I do know it," she said, tears trickling slowly +down her cheeks. "Where he is, all things are beautiful." + +In her palmy days Mrs. Todhetley used to sing a song, of which this was +the first verse:-- + + "All that's bright must fade, + The brightest still the fleetest; + All that's sweet was made + But to be lost when sweetest." + +Mrs. Hill's words brought this song to my memory, and with it the +damping reminder that nothing lasts in this world, whether of pleasure +or brightness. All things must fade, or die: but in that better life to +come they will last for ever. And David had entered upon it. + + * * * * * + +"Now, where's that senseless little Nettie?" + +The words, spoken sharply, came from Miss Timmens. But if she did +possess a sharp-toned tongue, she was good and kind at heart. The +young crew were sitting down at the long table to the savoury pies and +tartlets; Miss Timmens, taking stock of them, missed Nettie. + +"Jane Bright, go and find Nettie Trewin." + +Not daring to disobey the curt command, but looking as though she feared +her portion of the good things would be eaten up during her absence, +Jane Bright disappeared. Back she came in a brace of shakes, saying +Nettie "was not there." + +"Maria Lease, where's Nettie Trewin?" asked Miss Timmens. + +Maria turned from the table. "Nettie Trewin?" she repeated, looking +about her. "I don't know. She must be somewhere or other." + +"I wish to goodness you'd find her then." + +Maria Lease could not see anything of the child. "Nettie Trewin" was +called out high and low; but it brought forth no response. The servants +were sent to look over the house, with no better result. + +"She is hiding somewhere in her shyness," said Miss Timmens. "I have a +great mind to punish her for this." + +"She can't have got into the rain-water butt?" suggested the Squire. +"Molly, go and look." + +It was not very likely: as the barrel was quite six feet high. But, as +the Squire once got into the water-butt to hid himself when he was a +climbing youngster, and had reasons for anticipating a whipping, his +thoughts naturally flew to it. + +"Well, she must be somewhere," cried he when we laughed at him. "She +could not sink through the floor." + +"Who saw her last?" repeated Miss Timmens. "Do you hear, children? Just +stop eating for a minute, and answer." + +Much discussion--doubt--cross-questioning. The whole lot seemed to be +nearly as stupid as owls. At last, so far as could be gathered, none of +them had noticed Nettie since they began "Puss-in-the-corner." + +"Jane Bright, I told you to take Nettie to play with the rest, and to +find her a corner. What did you do with her?" + +Jane Bright commenced her answer by essaying to take a sly bite at her +pie. Miss Timmens stopped her midway, and turned her from the table to +face the company. + +"Do you hear me? Now don't stand staring like a gaby! Just answer." + +Like a "gaby" did Jane Bright stand: mouth wide open, eyes round, +countenance bewildered. + +"Please, governess, I didn't do nothing with her." + +"You must have done something with her: you held her hand." + +"I didn't do nothing," repeated the girl, shaking her head stolidly. + +"Now, that won't do, Jane Bright. Where did you leave her?" + +"'Twas in the corner," answered Jane Bright, apparently making desperate +efforts of memory. "When I was Puss, and runned across and came back +again, I didn't see her there." + +"Surely, the child has not stolen out by herself and run off home!" +cried Mrs. Coney: and the schoolmistress took up the suggestion. + +"It is the very thought that has been in my mind the last minute or +two," avowed she. "Yes, Mrs. Coney, that's it, depend upon it. She has +decamped through the snow and gone back to her mother's." + +"Then she has gone without her things," interposed Maria Lease, who was +entering the room with a little black cloak and bonnet in her hand. "Are +not these Nettie's things, children?" And a dozen voices all speaking +together, hastened to say Yes, they were Nettie's. + +"Then she must be in the house," decided Miss Timmens. "She wouldn't be +silly enough to go out this cold night with her neck and arms bare. The +child has her share of sense. She has run away to hide herself, and may +have dropped asleep." + +"It must be in the chimbleys, then," cried free Molly from the back of +the room. "We've looked everywhere else." + +"You had better look again," said the Squire. "Take plenty of light--two +or three candles." + +It seemed rather a queer thing. And, while this talking had been going +on, there flashed into my mind the old Modena story, related by the poet +Rogers, of the lovely young heiress of the Donatis: and which has been +embodied in our song "The Mistletoe Bough." Could this timid child have +imprisoned herself in any place that she was unable to get out of? Going +to the kitchen for a candle, I went upstairs, taking the garret first, +with its boxes and lumber, and then the rooms. And nowhere could I find +the least trace or sign of Nettie. + +Stepping into the kitchen to leave the candle, there stood Luke +Mackintosh, whiter than death; his back propped against Molly's press, +his hands trembling, his hair on end. Tod stood in front of him +suppressing his laughter. Mackintosh had just burst in at the back-door +in a desperate state of fright, declaring he had seen a ghost. + +It's not the first time I have mentioned the man's cowardice. Believing +in ghosts and goblins, wraiths and witches, he could hardly be persuaded +to cross Crabb Ravine at night, on account of the light sometimes seen +there. Sensible people told him that this light (which, it was true, no +one had ever traced to its source) was nothing but a will-o'-the-wisp, +an ignis-fatuus arising from the vapour; but Luke could not be brought +to reason. On this evening it chanced that the Squire had occasion to +send Mackintosh to the Timberdale post-office, and the man had now just +come in from the errand. + +"I see the light, too, sir," he was saying to Tod in a scared voice, as +he ran his shaking hand through his hair. "It be dodging about on the +banks of the Ravine for all the world like a corpse-candle. Well, sir, +I didn't like that, and I got up out of the Ravine as fast as my legs +would bring me, and were making straight for home here, with my head +down'ards, not wanting to see nothing more, when something dreadful met +me. All in white, it was." + +"A man in his shroud, who had left his grave to take a moonlight walk," +said Tod, gravely, biting his lips. + +"'Twere in grave-clothes, for sure; a long, white garment, whiter than +the snow. I'd not say but it was Daniel Ferrar," added Luke, in the low +dread tones that befitted the dismal subject. "His ghost do walk, you +know, sir." + +"And where did his ghost go to?" + +"Blest if I saw, sir," replied Mackintosh, shaking his head. "I'd not +have looked after it for all the world. 'Twarn't a slow pace I come at, +over the field, after that, and right inside this here house." + +"Rushing like the wind, I suppose." + +"My heart was all a-throbbing and a-skeering. Mr. Joseph, I _hope_ the +Squire won't send me through the Ravine after dark again! I couldn't +stand it, sir; I'd a'most rather give up my place." + +"You'll not be fit for this place, or any other, I should say, +Mackintosh, if you let this sort of fear run away with your senses," I +put in. "You saw nothing; it was all fancy." + +"Saw nothing!" repeated Mackintosh in the excess of desperation. "Why, +Mr. Johnny, I never saw a sight plainer in all my born days. A great, +white, awesome apparition it were, that went rushing past me with a +wailing sound. I hope you won't ever have the ill-luck to see such a +thing yourself, sir." + +"I'm sure I shan't." + +"What's to do here?" asked Tom Coney, putting in his head. + +"Mackintosh has seen a ghost." + +"Seen a ghost!" cried Tom, beginning to grin. + +Mackintosh, trembling yet, entered afresh on the recital, rather +improving it by borrowing Tod's mocking suggestion. "A dead man in his +shroud come out walking from his grave in the churchyard--which he +feared might be Ferrar, lying on the edge on't, just beyond consecrated +ground. I never could abear to go by the spot where he was put in, and +never a prayer said over him, Mr. Tom!" + +But, in spite of the solemnity of the subject, touching Ferrar, Tom +Coney could only have his laugh out. The servants came in from their +fruitless search of the dairy and cellars, and started to see the state +of Mackintosh. + +"Give him a cup of warm ale, Molly," was Tod's command. And we left them +gathered round the man, listening to his tale with open mouths. + +From the fact that Nettie Trewin was certainly not in the house, one +only deduction could be drawn--that the timid child had run home to her +mother. Bare-headed, bare-necked, bare-armed, she had gone through the +snow; and, as Miss Timmens expressed it, might just have caught her +death. + +"Senseless little idiot!" exclaimed Miss Timmens in a passion. "Sarah +Trewin is sure to blame me; she'll say I might have taken better care of +her." + +But one of the elder girls, named Emma Stone, whose recollection only +appeared to come to her when digesting her supper, spoke up at this +juncture, and declared that long after "Puss-in-the-corner" was over, +and also "Oranges and Lemons," which had succeeded it, she had seen and +spoken to Nettie Trewin. Her account was, that in crossing the passage +leading from the store-room, she saw Nettie "scrouged against the wall, +half-way down the passage, like anybody afeared of being seen." + +"Did you speak to her, Emma Stone?" asked Miss Timmens, after listening +to these concluding words. + +"Yes, governess. I asked her why she was not at play, and why she was +hiding there." + +"Well, what did she say?" + +"Not anything," replied Emma Stone. "She turned her head away as if she +didn't want to be talked to." + +Miss Timmens took a long, keen look at Emma Stone. This young lady, +it appeared, was rather in the habit of romancing; and the governess +thought she might be doing it then. + +"I vow to goodness I saw her," interrupted the girl, before Miss Timmens +had got out more than half a doubt: and her tone was truthful enough. +"I'm not telling no story, 'm. I thought Nettie was crying." + +"Well, it is a strange thing you should have forgotten it until this +moment, Emma Stone." + +"Please, 'm, it were through the pies," pleaded Emma. + +It was time to depart. Bonnets and shawls were put on, and the whole of +them filed out, accompanied by Miss Timmens, Mrs. Hill, and Maria Lease: +good old motherly Dame Coney saying she hoped they would find the child +safe in bed between the blankets, and that her mother would have given +her some hot drink. + +Our turn for supper came now. We took it partly standing, just the fare +that the others had had, with bread-and-cheese added for the Squire +and old Coney. After that, we all gathered round the fire in the +dining-room, those two lighting their pipes. + +And I think you might almost have knocked some of us down with a feather +in our surprise, when, in the midst of one of old Coney's stories, we +turned round at the sudden opening of the door, and saw Miss Timmens +amongst us. A prevision of evil seemed to seize Mrs. Todhetley, and she +rose up. + +"The child! Is she not at home?" + +"No, ma'am; neither has she been there," answered Miss Timmens, ignoring +ceremony (as people are apt to do at seasons of anxiety or commotion) +and sitting down uninvited. "I came back to tell you so, and to ask what +you thought had better be done." + +"The child must have started for home and lost her way in the snow," +cried the Squire, putting down his pipe in consternation. "What does the +mother think?" + +"I did not tell her of it," said Miss Timmens. "I went on by myself to +her house; and the first thing I saw there, on opening the door, was a +little pair of slippers warming on the fender. 'Oh, have you brought +Nettie?' began the mother, before I could speak: 'I've got her shoes +warm for her. Is she very, very cold?--and has she enjoyed herself and +been good?' Well, sir, seeing how it was--that the child had not got +home--I answered lightly: 'Oh, the children are not here yet; my sister +and Maria Lease are with them. I've just stepped on to see how your +bruises are getting on.' For that poor Sarah Trewin is good for so +little that one does not care to alarm her," concluded Miss Timmens, as +if she would apologize for her deceit. + +The Squire nodded approval, and told me to give Miss Timmens something +hot to drink. Mrs. Todhetley, looking three parts frightened out of her +wits, asked what was to be done. + +Yes; what was to be done? What could be done? A sort of council was held +amongst them, some saying one thing, some another. It seemed impossible +to suggest anything. + +"Had harm come to her in running home, had she fallen into the snow, +for instance, or anything of that sort, we should have seen or heard +her," observed Miss Timmens. "She would be sure to take the direct +path--the way we came here and returned." + +"It might be easy enough for the child to lose her way--the roads and +fields are like a wide white plain," observed Mrs. Coney. "She might +have strayed aside amongst the trees in the triangle." + +Miss Timmens shook her head in dissent. + +"She'd not do that, ma'am. Since Daniel Ferrar was found there, the +children don't like the three-cornered grove." + +"Look here," said old Coney, suddenly speaking up. "Let us search all +these places, and any others that she could have strayed to, right or +left, on her road home." + +He rose up, and we rose with him. It was the best thing that could be +done: and no end of a relief, besides, to pitch upon something to do. +The Squire ordered Mackintosh (who had not recovered himself yet) to +bring a lantern, and we all put on our great-coats and went forth, +leaving the mater and Mrs. Coney to keep the fire warm. A black party +we looked, in the white snow, Miss Timmens making one of us. + +"I can't rest," she whispered to me. "If the child has been lying on the +snow all this while, we shall find her dead." + +It was a still, cold, lovely night; the moon high in the sky, the snow +lying white and pure beneath her beams. Tom Coney and Tod, all their +better feelings and their fears aroused, plunged on fiercely, now amidst +the deep snow by the hedges, now on the more level path. The grove, +which had been so fatal to poor Daniel Ferrar, was examined first. And +now we saw the use of the lantern ordered by the Squire, at which order +we had secretly laughed: for it served to light up the darker parts +where the trunks of the trees grew thick. Mackintosh, who hated that +grove, did not particularly relish his task of searching it, though he +was in good company. But it did not appear to contain Nettie. + +"She would not turn in here," repeated Miss Timmens, from the depth of +her strong conviction; "I'm sure she wouldn't. She would rather bear +onwards towards her mother's." + +Bounding here, trudging there, calling her name softly, shouting +loudly, we continued our search after Nettie Trewin. It was past twelve +when we got back home and met Mrs. Todhetley and Mrs. Coney at the door, +both standing there in their uneasiness, enveloped in woollen shawls. + +"No. No success. Can't find her anywhere." + +Down sank the Squire on one of the hall-chairs as he spoke, as though +he could not hold himself up a minute longer, but was dead beat with +tramping and disappointment. Perhaps he was. What was to be done next? +What _could_ be done? We stood round the dining-room fire, looking at +one another like so many helpless mummies. + +"Well," said the pater, "the first thing is to have a drop of something +hot. I am half-frozen. What time's that?"--as the clock over the +mantelpiece chimed one stroke. "Half-past twelve." + +"And she's dead by this time," gasped Miss Timmens, in a faint voice, +its sharpness gone clean out of it. "I'm thinking of the poor widowed +mother." + +Mrs. Coney (often an invalid) said she could do no good by staying +longer, and wanted to be in bed. Old Coney said _he_ was not going +in yet; so Tom took her over. It might have been ten minutes after +this--but I was not taking any particular account of the time--that I +saw Tom Coney put his head in at the parlour-door, and beckon Tod out. +I went also. + +"Look here," said Coney to us. "After I left mother indoors, I thought +I'd search a bit about the back-ground here: and I fancy I can see the +marks of a child's footsteps in the snow." + +"No!" cried Tod, rushing out at the back-door and crossing the premises +to the field. + +Yes, it was so. Just for a little way along the path leading to Crabb +Ravine the snow was much trodden and scattered by the footsteps of a +man, both to and fro. Presently some little footsteps, evidently of a +child, seemed to diverge from this path and go onwards in rather a +slanting direction through the deeper snow, as if their owner had lost +the direct way. When we had tracked these steps half-way across the +field. Tod brought himself to a halt. + +"I'm sure they are Nettie's," he said. "They look like hers. Whose else +should they be? She may have fallen down the Ravine. One of you had +better go back and bring a blanket--and tell them to get hot water +ready." + +Eager to be of use, Tom Coney and I ran back together. Tod continued his +tracking. Presently the little steps diverged towards the path, as if +they had suddenly discovered their wanderings from it; and then they +seemed to be lost in those other and larger footsteps which had kept +steadily to the path. + +"I wonder," thought Tod, halting as he lost the clue, "whether +Mackintosh's big ghost could have been this poor little white-robed +child? What an idiotic coward the fellow is! These are his footmarks. A +slashing pace he must have travelled at, to fling the snow up in this +manner!" + +At that moment, as Tod stood facing the Ravine, a light, looking +like the flame of a candle, small and clear and bright as that of a +glow-worm, appeared on the opposite bank, and seemed to dodge about the +snow-clad brushwood around the trunks of the wintry trees. What was this +light?--whence did it proceed?--what caused it? It seemed we were never +tired of putting these useless questions to ourselves. Tod did not know; +never had known. He thought of Mack's fright and of the ghost, as he +stood watching it, now disappearing in some particular spot, now coming +again at ever so many yards' distance. But ghosts had no charms for Tod: +by which I mean no alarms: and he went forward again, trying to find +another trace of the little footsteps. + +"I don't see what should bring Nettie out here, though," ran his +thoughts. "Hope she has not pitched head foremost down the Ravine! +Confound the poltroon!--kicking up the snow like this!" + +But now, in another minute, there were traces again. The little feet +seemed to have turned aside at a tangent, and once more sought the deep +snow. From that point he did not again lose them; they carried him to +the low and narrow dell (not much better than a ditch) which just there +skirted the hedge bordering the Ravine. + +At first Tod could see nothing. Nothing but the drifted snow. +But--looking closely--what was that, almost at his feet? Was it only a +dent in the snow?--or was anything lying on it? Tod knelt down on the +deep soft white carpet (sinking nearly up to his waist) and peered and +felt. + +There she was: Nettie Trewin! With her flaxen curls fallen about her +head and mingling with the snow, and her little arms and neck exposed, +and her pretty white frock all wet, she lay there in the deep hole. Tod, +his breast heaving with all manner of emotion, gathered her into his +arms, as gently as an infant is hushed to rest by its mother. The white +face had no life in it; the heart seemed to have stopped beating. + +"Wake up, you poor little mite!" he cried, pressing her against his warm +side. "Wake up, little one! Wake up, little frozen snow-bird!" + +But there came no response. The child lay still and white in his arms. + +"Hope she's not frozen to death!" he murmured, a queer sensation taking +him. "Nettie, don't you hear me? My goodness, what's to be done?" + +He set off across the field with the child, meeting me almost directly. +I ran straight up to him. + +"Get out, Johnny Ludlow!" he cried roughly, in his haste and fear. +"Don't stop me! Oh, a blanket, is it? That's good. Fold it round her, +lad." + +"Is she dead?" + +"I'll be shot if I know." + +He went along swiftly, holding her to him in the blanket. And a fine +commotion they all made when he got her indoors. + +The silly little thing, unable to get over her shyness, had taken the +opportunity, when the back-door was open, to steal out of it, with the +view of running home to her mother. Confused, perhaps, by the bare white +plain; or it may be by her own timidity; or probably confounding the +back-door and its approaches with the front, by which she had entered, +she went straight across the field, unconscious that this was taking +her in just the opposite direction to her home. It was she whom Luke +Mackintosh had met--the great idiot!--and he frightened her with his +rough appearance and the bellow of fear he gave, just as much as she had +frightened him. Onwards she went, blindly terrified, was stopped by the +hedge, fell into the ditch, and lay buried in the snow. Whether she +could be brought back to life, or whether death had really taken her, +was a momentous question. + +I went off for Cole, flying all the way. He sent me back again, saying +he'd be there as soon as I--and that Nettie Trewin must be a born +simpleton. + +"Master Johnny!--Mr. Ludlow!--Is it you?" + +The words greeted me in a weak panting voice, just as I reached the +corner by the store barn, and I recognized Mrs. Trewin. Alarmed at +Nettie's prolonged stay, she had come out, all bruised as she was, and +extorted the fact--that the child was missing--from Maria Lease. I told +her that the child was found--and where. + +"Dead or alive, sir?" + +I stammered in my answer. Cole would be up directly, I said, and we must +hope for the best. But she drew a worse conclusion. + +"It was all I had," she murmured. "My one little ewe lamb." + +"Don't cry, Mrs. Trewin. It may turn out to be all right, you know." + +"If I could only have laid her poor little face on my bosom to die, and +said good-bye to her!" she wailed, the tears falling. "I have had so +much trouble in the world, Master Johnny!--and she was all of comfort +left to me in it." + +We went in. Cole came rushing like a whirlwind. By-and-by they got some +warmth into the child, lying so still on the bed; and she was saved. + +"Were you cold, dear, in the snow?--were you frightened?" gently asked +the mother, when Nettie could answer questions. + +"I was very cold and frightened till I heard the angels' music, mother." + +"The angels' music?" + +"Yes. I knew they played it for me. After that, I felt happy and went to +sleep. Oh, mother, there's nothing so sweet as angels' music." + +The "music" had been that of the church bells, wafted over the Ravine by +the rarefied air; the sweet bells of Timberdale, ringing in the New +Year. + + +THE END. + + + + + LONDON: + PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, + STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS. + + + + +"Mrs. Henry Wood has an art of novel writing which no rival possesses in +the same degree."--_Spectator._ + +"The fame of Mrs. Henry Wood widens and strengthens."--_Morning Post._ + + +MRS. HENRY WOOD'S NOVELS. + +_Sale approaching Two Million and a half Copies._ + + EAST LYNNE. _480th Thousand._ + THE CHANNINGS. _200th Thousand._ + MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. _150th Thousand._ + THE SHADOW OF ASHLYDYAT. _110th Thousand._ + LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS. _105th Thousand._ + VERNER'S PRIDE. _85th Thousand._ + ROLAND YORKE. _130th Thousand._ + JOHNNY LUDLOW. First Series. _55th Thousand._ + MILDRED ARKELL. _80th Thousand._ + ST. MARTIN'S EVE. _76th Thousand._ + TREVLYN HOLD. _65th Thousand._ + GEORGE CANTERBURY'S WILL. _70th Thousand._ + THE RED COURT FARM. _80th Thousand._ + WITHIN THE MAZE. _112th Thousand._ + ELSTER'S FOLLY. _60th Thousand._ + LADY ADELAIDE. _60th Thousand._ + OSWALD CRAY. _60th Thousand._ + JOHNNY LUDLOW. Second Series. _35th Thousand._ + ANNE HEREFORD. _55th Thousand._ + DENE HOLLOW. _60th Thousand._ + EDINA. _45th Thousand._ + A LIFE'S SECRET. _65th Thousand._ + COURT NETHERLEIGH. _46th Thousand._ + BESSY RANE. _42nd Thousand._ + THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. _50th Thousand._ + ORVILLE COLLEGE. _38th Thousand._ + POMEROY ABBEY. _48th Thousand._ + THE HOUSE OF HALLIWELL. _30th Thousand._ + THE STORY OF CHARLES STRANGE. _15th Thousand._ + ASHLEY. _15th Thousand._ + JOHNNY LUDLOW. Third Series. _23rd Thousand._ + LADY GRACE. _21st Thousand._ + ADAM GRAINGER. _15th Thousand._ + THE UNHOLY WISH. _15th Thousand._ + JOHNNY LUDLOW. Fourth Series. _15th Thousand._ + JOHNNY LUDLOW. Fifth Series. _15th Thousand._ + JOHNNY LUDLOW. Sixth Series. + + + LONDON: + MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED. + + + + + * * * * * + + + + +Transcriber's note: + +Errors in punctuation were corrected without comment. + +The following corrections were made, on page + + 116 "a" changed to "at" (a party at Mrs. Green's) + 116 "al" changed to "all" (for all the parties) + 172 "ts" changed to "its" (away half its discomfort.) + 186 "he" changed to "the" (of the dining-room.) + 188 "a" added (and a five-roomed Vicarage) + 226 "Charlote" changed to "Charlotte" (Charlotte stood like a goose) + 264 "III" changed to "IV" (Section header) + 269 "noislessly" changed to "noiselessly" (swinging slowly and + noiselessly forward) + 290 "Deeven" changed to "Deveen" (Miss Deveen was there) + 301 "Deeven" changed to "Deveen" (in my old age--Miss Deveen.) + 454 "Trewen" changed to "Trewin" (to any harm, Mrs. Trewin!). + +Otherwise the original was preserved, including inconsistent spelling +and hyphenation. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40936 *** |